Blog Archives
Jazzoetry Lives
Jazzoetry Lives is a slim but spiritually packed collection of poems rooted in Black history, jazz, memory, grief, and resistance. Author J. Vern Cromartie frames “jazzoetry” as a living form, one that moves through The Last Poets, Langston Hughes, blues traditions, Black Arts voices, and the ache of contemporary racial violence. The poems travel from Congo Square and the Satilla River to Alabama, Oakland, Ohio, and beyond, carrying tributes to figures like John Coltrane, Alice Coltrane, Kamau Seitu, Amiri Baraka, Bob Kaufman, Zahieb Mwongozi, and Langston Hughes. What emerges is less a conventional poetry collection than a call-and-response across generations, with music acting as both memory and medicine.
Cromartie’s lines often return like a chant, and at their best, that return feels ceremonial rather than merely structural. In “Alabama,” the repeated cry of the title and the invocation of Coltrane create a sorrowful music that gathers Birmingham, the 16th Street Baptist Church, capitalism, and mourning into one long, bruised breath. “And the Killings Go On” is even more direct, almost painfully so, naming Bobby Hutton, Betty Scott, Melvin Black, and Oscar Grant in a cadence that refuses the reader any easy distance. The book isn’t interested in decorative grief. It wants the wound visible.
The writing has a raw quality that feels tied to performance. Some poems read as if they’re waiting for drums, a bassline, or a room full of people murmuring back. “A Gathering of Sounds” captures that beautifully, with music exploding into fragments and sheets of sound before slipping into silence. I liked how Cromartie treats jazz not as background atmosphere but as a way of thinking, remembering, and surviving. At the same time, the collection can feel uneven when its political declarations become too blunt, as in “Elon Musk has a God Complex,” where the anger is clear. Even there, I respected the book’s refusal to soften its judgments. Its ideas are fierce, ancestral, and unapologetically Black, and its best moments make history feel less like a record than a rhythm still beating under the floorboards.
By the end, especially with the inclusion of Langston Hughes’s “The Negro and the Racial Mountain,” I felt the collection circling back to its deepest concern: the freedom of Black artists to speak from their own ground without apology, translation, or disguise. Jazzoetry Lives is warm-blooded, grieving, insistent, and often moving. I’d recommend it to readers who care about Black poetic traditions, jazz-inflected verse, political poetry, and work that carries the weight of cultural memory with both tenderness and fire.
Pages: 54
Sheltered
Sheltered, by Elisa Hertzan Schetrompf, is a memoir of grief, faith, family, and unexpected resilience, following the author after the sudden death of her husband, John, and into a trip to Israel that becomes something far more dangerous and transformative than the pilgrimage she imagined. What begins in Tennessee, with boat races, church, late-life love, and the raw shock of widowhood, opens into a journey through wartime Israel, where Schetrompf finds herself stranded amid sirens, shelters, cancelled flights, medical uncertainty, and the startling tenderness of relatives she barely knows. The book moves from loss to dislocation to a hard-won sense of purpose, tracing how grief can be held, not erased, by faith, memory, and human kindness.
I was moved by the way the memoir lets love remain ordinary and immense at the same time. John isn’t presented as an abstract saint, but as a vivid man of engines, boats, teasing confidence, and rough working hands. The scene of him racing on the Tennessee River gives the book its first pulse of danger and joy, while the later hospital scene, when Schetrompf kisses his cold hands and smooths his hair, lands with quiet devastation. I also appreciated how honestly she writes about spiritual identity. Her Jewish roots, her Christian church community, the breaking of the glass at her wedding, her prayers, and her complicated attachment to Israel all sit together in a way that feels lived rather than neatly resolved. The book’s strongest idea, to me, is that healing doesn’t always arrive gently. Sometimes it comes through exhaustion, sirens at 2 a.m., a crowded shelter, a stranger’s cookies on a plane, or a cousin saying, in effect, you belong to us now.
The writing is at its best when it trusts small, concrete moments. Uncle Isaac’s disciplined routines, the bus full of soldiers headed toward Eilat, Shorayna filling a kitchen with music and food, the musty bomb shelter with children’s toys, the beach glowing beneath the Red Mountains while war presses in from elsewhere, all of these details give the memoir its emotional texture. I did occasionally feel that the narration became more explanatory than evocative, especially when historical and political reflections somewhat overtook the intimacy of the personal story. Schetrompf writes as someone trying to make meaning while still shaken, and that urgency gives the memoir its particular human grain.
By the end, when the author returns through Rome and New York, rests on the Kavanah, and begins to speak of being “whole and healing,” the memoir has earned its title in a way I found unexpectedly affecting. Sheltered is not only about physical refuge from missiles, but about the shelters made by memory, kinship, prayer, and the stubborn will to keep living after love has been torn away. I would recommend it to readers who appreciate reflective memoirs about grief, interfaith identity, Israel, family inheritance, and the strange ways crisis can reveal both vulnerability and strength.
Pages: 189 | ASIN : B0H42WQ5CC
6060 Vision
M. Soler’s 6060 Vision is a wild, inventive science fiction journey set in a far-future Earth where evolution has gone into overdrive. As the narrator explains early on, “The year is 6060, the Sun bathes the Earth in potent sunshine, the Glow.” That Glow has transformed the planet into a living laboratory of new species, strange civilizations, and dangerous biological change. At the center of it all is Sam, a CORAL construct built to observe, record, adapt, and learn, but the deeper Sam travels into the New Wilds, the more observation turns into connection.
Sam’s encounters with the Baast, Sen, Sagoin, Kalak, Mimicats, Slik, and other altered lifeforms give the world a constant sense of motion. Every region has its own ecology, culture, danger, and rhythm. Soler clearly enjoys building societies from biology outward, and that gives the setting a fresh, lived-in feeling. The details can be dense, but they’re also part of the pleasure. This is a book about a world that’s always changing, and the prose reflects that restless energy.
Sam is a compelling guide because they begin as something close to a research instrument, then slowly become someone with loyalties, grief, anger, humor, and purpose. Their relationship with Kit is especially strong, shifting from field partnership to something more instinctive and intimate as the story grows darker. One of the book’s clearest emotional truths comes when Kit tells Sam, “You are not separate from this world, Sam.” That line lands because the whole novel has been moving Sam toward that realization.
The story also has a sharp political edge. SAGE and Research bring the old world’s need for control into a planet that has moved beyond their assumptions. As Sam learns more about the silver contagion, the violence against the New People, and the hidden history behind the Glow, the book becomes more than a survival adventure. It becomes a story about personhood, exploitation, inherited power, and the danger of treating living beings as data points. Soler doesn’t flatten those ideas into speeches. They come through in battles, betrayals, strange friendships, and the terrible cost of delayed understanding.
6060 Vision is a big emotional science fiction novel with a strong sense of biological imagination. It’s packed with mutated ecosystems, sentient species, body horror, dry humor, and moments of real tenderness. What makes it memorable is how fully it commits to Sam’s point of view: curious, analytical, sometimes awkward, and increasingly heartfelt. By the end, the book feels like the beginning of an even larger story, but it also gives Sam a meaningful arc from witness to participant, from constructed observer to someone who finally understands that the world they study has claimed them too. Soler’s work is an excellent choice for readers who seek character-driven science fiction that explores identity and belonging.
Pages: 307 | ASIN : B0GXXDXNXL
Black and White Smoke – C-Suite Woes: Subtlety Has Limits
Black and White Smoke, by Thomas V. Papa, is a corporate thriller with its feet planted firmly in boardrooms, investor meetings, private jets, cocktail bars, and the quiet corners where reputations are made or ruined. The book opens with a regulatory fight over credit rating agencies and quickly widens into a story about money, control, succession, and the people willing to bend or break the rules to get ahead. Its early mantra, “Evidence, evidence, evidence,” captures the world of the novel well: everyone claims to be guided by facts, but almost everyone is also chasing power.
At the center is Jon Kiza, VASPI’s CFO, who’s trying to steer the company through a dangerous period after founder Vlad Fabiano disappears from active leadership. Jon’s rival, Paxton Stump, is louder, flashier, and more naturally theatrical, while Tessy Hill has to hold the company together from the board chair’s seat. Around them, Abe Quinn and Krenith bring a more predatory energy to the story, turning what could’ve been a corporate succession drama into something closer to a chess match with surveillance, planted scandals, hostile media, and real physical danger.
What makes the book so engaging is how seriously it takes corporate life as a battlefield. Papa doesn’t treat finance, acquisitions, data, or board politics as background noise. They’re the machinery of the plot. The scenes work best when the characters are sparring across a table, testing each other’s weaknesses, or trying to read what isn’t being said. Jon is especially compelling because he isn’t a smooth superhero type. He’s smart, proud, bruised, and sometimes cornered, which makes his fight to survive feel personal as well as professional.
The writing has a brisk, slightly satirical edge, with plenty of sharp internal commentary and personality packed into the dialogue. Paxton’s bluster, Dreyfuss’s bluntness, Quinn’s menace, and Jon’s controlled irritation all give the book texture. The plot is busy, sometimes deliberately crowded, but that fits a story about a sector being reshaped by deregulation, ambition, and backroom pressure. The line “Subtlety has limits” feels like the book’s operating principle: polite corporate language keeps giving way to harder tactics.
Black and White Smoke is a smart and energetic corporate thriller about who gets to lead when a company is under siege. It blends boardroom maneuvering with espionage-style tension, while keeping its focus on character, loyalty, ego, and judgment under pressure. Readers who enjoy high-stakes business fiction, succession battles, and stories where the real weapons are information and leverage will find plenty to chew on here.
Pages: 244 | ASIN : B0GQ1X71NF
Shadows of the Archipelago: An Anthology of Philippine Mythological Creatures
Shadows of the Archipelago, by E. R. Escober, is a dark anthology that reimagines Philippine mythological creatures through tragic, emotionally heightened stories of love, terror, betrayal, and vengeance. Across tales centered on the Nuno sa Punso, Tikbalang, Manananggal, Diwata, Multo, mermaid, Batibat, and Aswang, the book treats folklore not as decorative mythology but as a living force: something old, wounded, and still watching from the edges of human life. These are monster stories, yes, but the deeper concern is often what people do to the misunderstood, the lonely, the beautiful, and the cursed.
I was struck by how insistently the book asks me to reconsider the word “monster.” Escober’s creatures are frightening, but they are rarely simple villains. The Nuno becomes a protector whose love is misread as horror; the Tikbalang’s violence grows from persecution and grief; the Batibat becomes less a random nightmare than a moral reckoning. The book’s strongest moments come when folklore and human cruelty collide, creating a kind of gothic pressure in which the supernatural is not the scariest thing in the room. I appreciated that the stories don’t merely parade legendary beings across the page. They give them sorrow, appetite, dignity, and doom.
The style is dramatic, sometimes operatic, and it leans into excess: curses crackle, grief burns, bodies transform, and love tends to arrive already shadowed by catastrophe. That intensity won’t be for every reader. But the book’s fervor also gives it its peculiar magnetism. It reads like folklore retold around a fire by someone who refuses to whisper, someone who wants each legend to feel less like an artifact and more like a warning pressed into your palm.
I would recommend Shadows of the Archipelago to readers who enjoy folklore, mythology, dark fantasy, supernatural horror, gothic tragedy, creature horror, and mythic retellings with a strong emotional core. Readers who admire the folkloric menace of Neil Gaiman or the culturally rooted darkness of Silvia Moreno-Garcia may find a similar pleasure here, though Escober’s work is more fevered and melodramatic in its delivery. This is a book for those who like their legends blood-warm, grief-soaked, and morally thorny.
Pages: 210 | ASIN : B0GP2QB14K
Protect the Most Vulnerable
A Strange Sound follows a toad who works as a berry delivery driver, who is perplexed by the mysterious noises she hears along her route and is pleasantly surprised to discover their source. What was the inspiration for the setup of your story?
The inspiration comes from a deep desire to nurture a love of animals in young readers. I want children to be curious, thoughtful, and compassionate. Of course, my dog, Mazzy, was my greatest muse. I adore her completely. She gives me so much warmth and saves me emotionally every single day. I wanted to share this deep connection through a spirited story, helping children discover these feelings in a fun way.
Was Mazzy the puppy part of the original concept, or did the story evolve toward adoption as you wrote it?
Mazzy was the heart of the concept from the very beginning. She is a real-life companion whom I rescued from a dangerous situation in another country. In fact, she traveled a long way, by truck, before we met. The story is a tribute to her presence in my life.
What do you hope children learn about care and responsibility from Terry’s decision?
I hope children learn not to close their hearts to those who need help. It is important to protect the most vulnerable creatures in our world. Responsibility means recognizing when another living being depends on us and choosing to act with kindness, even when it requires patience, strength, and effort. Terry’s kindness brings a loving puppy into her life, but her decision matters most because she offered help when it was needed, without knowing what would come of it.
What is the next book you are working on, and when will it be available?
The next book is titled Little Differences, the first part of a two-book series. It uses funny rhymes and brilliant art by Dainius Sukys to explain the differences between animals that are often confused with one another. For example, children will learn how to tell a hare from a rabbit or a toad from a frog. Many adults who have seen the previews told me that they themselves just learned how to tell these apart. So much fun! We plan to launch it just in time for Christmas or sooner.
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It opens gentle conversations about kindness and discovery where you least expect it.
Terry the Toad is driving through a beautiful landscape when something unusual breaks the quiet. First, a great roaring sound. Then, much softer, a sweet and curious sound from somewhere deep inside her truck.
Another driver might have hurried on. Terry stops. She listens. She looks. What she finds in that still, unhurried moment brings a warmth that lingers long after the final page.
For parents, this is a thoughtful gift that creates a space for quiet sharing. For children, hearing these rhythmic words feels like a comforting embrace. Through its lilting rhyme and Terry’s observant choices, the book builds real emotional vocabulary without ever feeling like a lesson. Each repeated phrase and turned page guides little readers toward kindness and an unexpected visitor.
Open this gentle story today and let curiosity lead you both home.
Teaching Through Action
Babies on Board Part 2 follows an iguana, a parrot, a squirrel, and a mouse who band together to visit the beach in the middle of the night to help sea turtle hatchlings safely reach the ocean. What was the inspiration for the setup of your story?
I moved to Florida in 2013, and I started to take notice of all the wonderful wildlife and sea creatures that live here in this amazing state. My first residence was right on the beach, and it just happened to be sea turtle nesting season, which occurs May through November ( also Hurricane season). I first noticed the poles with yellow tape all along the beach, and then I met actual volunteers who sit next to the nest at night and wait for the hatchlings to break free from their shells. This occurs exactly two months after the female turtle lays her eggs. The baby sea turtles must make the long trek from their nest to the water, where they will swim to freedom. Only half of the baby turtles survive because there are many predators on land ( crabs, snakes, birds) and sea (sharks, dolphins, barracuda, grouper) waiting to gobble them up. Also, the babies do get confused by the street lights, if there are any around. They instinctively crawl toward the moonlight, which is always over the ocean. This magnificent journey inspired me to educate children about these adorable little sea creatures who are the greatest of survivors.
How did the concept of teamwork among such different animal characters first develop?
The concept for my series started out with a friendship between Grumpy the Iguana and Green Parrot. Afterwards, neighbors in Flamingo Park were introduced into the storyline, like Mr. Squirrel and adopted friend, Little Mouse.
Do you have a personal favorite character to write scenes for?
I love all the characters because they each have their own individual personality. Grumpy is the brains. Green Parrot brings sensibility. Mr. Squirrel is a perfectionist, and Little Mouse is a kid who used to be scared but is now fearless.
How do you balance storytelling with factual environmental education?
I try not to preach, and by teaching through action, I think children will be more willing to absorb the message.
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Babies on board (part 2) continues the story. Grumpy and friends return to the beach, only this time it is in the middle of the night. They are there to make sure that all of the baby turtles make it safely to the sea where their father anxiously awaits their arrival. But as we all know, nothing ever goes smoothly when it comes to
Grumpy the Iguana, the Green Parrot, Mr. Squirrel and Little Mouse. Follow along and watch as our heroes fight against time and a street light to help the baby sea turtles find their dad..
An Everyman
Over Brooklyn Hills follows a seventy-year-old man whose struggles with the painful realities of climate change parallel larger threats involving fossil fuel interests and a climate terrorist group. What was the inspiration for the setup of your story?
Several things bother me about a lot of climate fiction, and one is that while climate change is an actual existential threat to the social and economic well-being of humans and our biosphere, climate fiction often puts climate change to be upfront acutely. Today—and into the near future—the danger of climate change is less on a human scale than most other of life’s challenges. Much of climate fiction has some apocalyptic quality to the story or presents a main character who is a climate scientist or activist trying to correct a wrong. Unfortunately, such approaches can fail to help readers identify with the issue of climate change within their own lives. Without such identification, the issue of climate change is more likely to remain abstract and all the more easily ignored.
One of the important threads in my writing of fiction and poetry is to make the attempt to capture characters’ feelings as they respond to circumstances. I love to write full-on action and plot-driven parts of stories too, but both as a reader and as a writer, I find that characters without some interiority seem only pawns in the puzzle master’s play, and no matter how compelling or cleverly built the plot may be, the story will feel empty. Raymond Chandler, as much as he’s pointed to as a master of private investigation pulp fiction, is a wonderful and effective writer because the reader gets to know Philip Marlowe, whether by actual reflection by the character, the way the character describes the world around him (including the famously odd and wonderful similes), or how he interacts with other characters.
Why did you want to tell this story through the perspective of Davin Caine at this stage of his life?
Davin Caine is something of an everyman—neither hero nor villain, not a genius with special knowledge nor someone lacking curiosity. Caine, like many other characters in the book, knows about climate change, but like most everyone else, his priorities are the bills to pay, work, friends, family, the next house repair….
By the time of the action of Over Brooklyn Hills in 2035, Caine is seeing a lot of change with the climate crisis and has gotten more involved. Climate migration—writ small and large—is one of the themes.
At the start of the series (in Kill Well, taking place in 2026), Caine is still recovering from a divorce, is worried about paying bills and the cost of energy, and is ambivalent about his paying job. All the chaos of the Trump regime overwhelms him. He’s frustrated that he can’t get into his art studio, and anxious, basically, about everything. Caine feels isolated, just like most people living in our culture today. One of the themes in this book is the difficulty of grasping in our daily lives the import of climate change; another theme is the malfeasance of entrenched interests such as the fossil fuel corporations and the countervailing forces obscuring, delaying, and denying climate action. Well, the malfeasance of moneyed interests and danger of income inequality carry throughout the series.
In Dear Josephine (which takes place in 2029), the climate situation worsens, but progress has a glimmer of hope in the U.S., post-2028 elections. Still, Caine and most everyone else tend to focus on mundane everyday concerns, but the climate crisis keeps creeping in, and acutely so with Hurricane Josephine. I didn’t want the hurricane to be experienced directly—that’s not how most of us would experience it. Caine is in the Berkshires, and the perspective on the hurricane is mediated by the news and by distance. A major theme is how climate change affects us, including economically, even when the consequence is not direct. Another theme is the previously referenced malfeasance, but in this book, the readers see bad actors emerging from different sides: pro-climate, pro-economic justice, and the big money interests.
As I age, I find myself interested in how aging fits into climate fiction, so Caine is set up to show us these effects. Farm to Me, the last book of the series and set in 2047, has Caine at 82. There’s plenty of climate progress, but the accumulation of greenhouse gases in the years before maintain a changing climate. There’s a distinct focus on young persons’ climate change struggles, in part contrasting with what we see with Caine.
I don’t think you can talk about climate change effectively without including it in daily lives.
Do you think fiction can help readers grapple with issues that often become polarized in public debate?
I believe so, but I can’t claim to know this. There have been some studies on the efficacy of climate fiction to get readers involved, but those studies are thin—small sample sizes—and there’s the lack of consideration in them about the characteristics of the specific climate fiction used in the studies. One easy conclusion? Apocalypse and dystopia may have the tendency to discourage people from acting, but I’m pretty sure there’s no need for a Ph.D. for this finding.
The biggest need for public action is to end the social silence suppressing conversations about climate change. In the U.S., nearly three-quarters of the population think climate change is a serious problem, but only something like 20 percent talk to others about it. Can the right fiction help encourage conversations? I hope so. Is my work that kind of climate fiction? I hope so, but this question can only be answered by readers. Climate change is a big problem, and big problems get addressed legislatively. Conversation is oxygen for political metabolisms.
One of the reasons why I pursued the topic of climate change through a series is to provide a sort of longitudinal study across the next two decades. Restricting the series through characters to the Berkshires helps, I hope, to keep the reader thinking about their own everyday lives in relation to climate change. The fact is that here in the developed nations, we aren’t on the verge of climate change-instigated societal collapse, even if the energy systems we’re participating in are laying the groundwork for longer-term problems that make the world a harder place for people to thrive.
What is the next book you are working on, and when will it be available?
I’m at work on Farm to Me, which is the last book in The Steep Climes Quartet. I expect a Spring 2027 publication date. In this last book, food production is a theme, as is the consequence that the young will suffer. Like the other books in the series, there are thriller elements, although none of the books are simply thrillers, which is why I describe the series as “literary climate fiction.”
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Davin Caine is at last on Medicare and is getting a modest Social Security check each month, but still works with Berkshire Interactive. He’s also been busier in his studio and has sculptures in galleries in the Berkshires and the Hudson Valley, and his solar/batteries and VPP membership keeps electricity bills down. His three house sharers, with housing still scarce, help with expenses. Marsha’s been with the Housatonic House on the Hill for nearly a decade, and she’s queen of the big vegetable garden. Charlie is a more recent house sharer, and a nigh-on perfect one, since he’s often away on business or holed up in his third-floor bedroom working. The newest house sharer is Be, a ceramic artist who helps Davin out with the first floor Airbnb apartment and who has just claimed a corner of the studio and could easily claim his heart if he isn’t careful.
But as summer approaches, a stunning heatwave settles over New York City, west to Lake Erie, and south into parts of New Jersey and Pennsylvania. The heat drives people to escape into the relatively cool hills of the Berkshires just as high season is coming on, so there’s little room for the hordes. Young Brooklyn hipsters take up camping in the woods around Monument Mountain Reservation and along the Appalachian Trail, or double and triple up at the summer homes of friends’ parents, or anywhere, somewhere, to sleep. Many in the town aren’t happy about it, or the spike in petty crimes, and it’s up to Marian Gray-Fletcher, Great Barrington’s town manager, to solve the problem. But she’s distracted with her own philandering husband, until a drug-gang killing focuses her attention.
The international news is full of climate migration stories and political problems in Europe and a conflict between India and Pakistan. Central and South American climate change-induced droughts make for huge numbers of people heading north and the militarized southern border and running battles between cartels and U.S. forces are in the headlines. And then there’s No One is Safe, a climate terrorist organization that has a history of blowing up refineries and pipelines and the occasional oil exec, and one climate direct action veteran finds himself wondering how deep the NOS-cartels connection goes.
