Blog Archives
Noticing the Small Things
The Star Thrower follows three recent graduates on a trip to Bali, where they abandon their expected paths to pursue ones that give them purpose, learning along the way that small actions can make a big impact. What was the inspiration for the setup of your story?
The story and setup stems from the Loren Eiseley’s “The Star Thrower” (or “starfish story”) is part of a 26-page essay. In that story, a man sees a boy throwing stranded starfish back into the ocean. When told he can’t save them all, the boy replies, “It made a difference to that one.” I wanted to explore how “Generation Z” or recent grads or really anyone—who often feel paralyzed by the scale of global problems—can find agency by focusing on the “one” thing in front of them rather than the “everything” they can’t control.
Bali feels transformative rather than decorative. What made it the right setting for this moment of awakening?
Bali is often called the “Island of the Gods,” but its power lies in its Tri Hita Karanaphilosophy—the harmony between people, nature, and the spirit world. It introduces a paradox and a stark visual and spiritual contrast to the “corporate ladder” or the rigid academic structures the graduates just left that plays out throughout the book. The setting isn’t just a backdrop; the physical environment and getting lost force the characters to slow down and notice the “small things” they overlooked in their fast-paced lives back home.
Each character finds a different path, yet their journeys remain interconnected. What interested you about that balance?
I wanted to highlight the importance of friendship. Even as we travel paths, our growth is often fueled by the people who knew us before we changed. It highlights that “purpose” isn’t a one-size-fits-all destination. By keeping the characters interconnected, it shows that when one person finds their light, it makes it easier for their friends and others to find theirs, too. It’s a “rising tide lifts all boats” philosophy.
The novel is openly hopeful. What do you hope readers carry with them after finishing the book?
I hope readers can feel less overwhelmed by the “grand plan” of their lives and more empowered by their daily choices. Hope isn’t a feeling; it’s an action. The Star Thrower is presented as a disciplined choice and sometimes that choice involves making changes and perhaps finding a new direction. It’s not that the characters ignore the world’s problems; they simply choose to address them one “starfish” at a time. The “Star Thrower” isn’t a person who fixes everything; the “Star Thrower” is someone who refuses to do nothing. If you finish the book and feel like you can do one small, kind thing for your community, the book has done its job. What is one “starfish” action a reader can take today?
Author Links: GoodReads | Website
Their summer of self-discovery takes a sharp turn when they become entangled in a legal battle against a powerful corporation responsible for a massive environmental spill. The stakes are immediate and personal: their coastal community’s health, its economy, and the survival of endangered wildlife.
The friends emerge victorious. While the community celebrates the win, the friends’ ultimate reward is deeper than the legal triumph. By protecting life and bringing a corporation to justice, Ava, Sam, and Leo discover their true purpose, realizing that their combined talents are the ‘how’—the essential tools—for the greater ‘why’—the fierce protection of their world. The book celebrates the profound benefit of teamwork, illustrating that true purpose is often found not in solitude, but in collaboration for a cause greater than oneself.
When the Forest Dreams
When the Forest Dreams, by Andrea Ezerins, follows Emma Jablonski, a dutiful Polish American bakery daughter living in a cramped Upper East Side apartment, who believes she may be on the brink of inheriting her mother’s illness and decides she has only a little time to begin living before life closes around her for good. What unfolds is a romance of awakening: Emma slips from obedience into appetite, from silence into speech, and from mere survival into a more enchanted attentiveness to birds, trees, food, friendship, and love. The novel braids immigrant family pressure, illness anxiety, Central Park birding, and a slow-blooming relationship with Jake into a story that is at once tender and self-consciously dreamy.
I was taken most by how emotional the book is. Emma’s voice has an inward intensity that could have grown claustrophobic, but instead it becomes the novel’s chief pleasure: she is funny, pious, exasperated, lonely, sensuous, and faintly feral all at once. Her private vocabulary of birds gives the story an animating pulse; the white-eyed vireo, the kingfisher, the wood duck, even the idea of the elusive ivory-bill make the natural world feel less decorative than salvific. I liked that the book understands how deprivation can make beauty feel almost violent. A plush quilt, a duck on a pond, a hand on the shoulder, fresh parmesan, a cup of tea these are not trimmings here. They arrive with the force of revelation.
This isn’t a book embarrassed by sincerity, and that gives it a certain old-fashioned glow. The prose is lush, and the emotional beats are worn close to the skin, but I found that part of its charm; the book is unabashed about wanting transformation, romance, and a reprieve from beige existence. Veronica also gives the story a welcome texture, preventing it from collapsing into a sealed two-person fantasy. Beneath the romance, I felt a persuasive argument that a life can narrow by increments, and that reclaiming it may begin in something as humble as cooking for someone, naming what you love, or admitting that duty alone is a meager gospel.
I’d recommend When the Forest Dreams to readers who gravitate toward contemporary romance, women’s fiction, coming-of-age fiction, immigrant family drama, and nature-inflected romantic fiction. Especially readers who like introspective heroines and stories where emotional thaw matters as much as plot. It will likely appeal to people who love L. M. Montgomery’s The Blue Castle or readers of Emily Henry who wouldn’t mind a more sheltered, more devotional, more bird-struck heroine; the author’s note makes that lineage explicit, and you can feel it in the book’s faith in reinvention.
Pages: 344 | ASIN : B0FWZXGTXC
The Star Thrower: A Novel
The Star Thrower is a contemporary coming-of-age novel that blends personal reinvention with environmental activism. It starts with Ava Wainwright at graduation, caught between her father’s expectation that she pursue law and her own quieter pull toward art, storytelling, and wildlife. From there, the book opens outward through a trip to Bali, where Ava and her friends Sam and Leo begin to see their lives with fresh eyes and, just as importantly, begin to imagine futures that actually belong to them.
I liked that the novel knows exactly what kind of story it wants to be. It’s earnest, idealistic, and driven by purpose. Bali isn’t just a scenic backdrop. It becomes the place where the three friends start naming what matters to them, and the title image of the star thrower gives the whole book its moral center. When the old man on the beach says, “It matters to this one,” the novel makes its argument plainly and effectively: individual acts may be small, but they still count.
The book also works because it gives each member of the trio a distinct path. Ava moves toward writing and illustration, Leo toward forensic science and evidence-based advocacy, and Sam toward community action and ocean-centered leadership. That structure gives the novel a nice forward motion, because each character’s growth feeds the larger plot about pollution, corporate misconduct, and public pressure. I also appreciated that the book keeps returning to the question of purpose.
In style, the novel is direct, sincere, and easy to read. It wears its heart on its sleeve, and I think that openness is part of its appeal. The dialogue is often used to clarify where each character stands emotionally, and the scenic descriptions of beaches, forests, and wildlife give the story a steady sense of atmosphere. The courtroom and activism sections shift the novel into a more issue-driven register, but they still connect back to the characters’ search for meaning, which keeps the book grounded in human stakes rather than abstract causes.
The Star Thrower is a hopeful novel about choosing a life that feels true, then learning how to defend it. It’s about friendship, grief, vocation, environmental responsibility, and the way conviction grows from small moments of attention. More than anything, it’s a book that believes people can change course and that communities can change too. That belief is what gives the novel its warmth. By the end, it feels less like a story about grand destiny and more like a story about finding your bearings and moving toward them, one choice at a time.
Pages: 136 | ASIN : B0GQL5NMGG
Exit Signs
Exit Signs opens with an eighteen-year-old girl, Stella Hart, being thrown out by her mother after a lie at work detonates her already precarious life. From there, the novel follows her through car-sleeping, couch-hopping, cheap rooms, fragile friendships, predatory arrangements, and the long, humiliating mathematics of survival in the Bay Area, all while she tries to hold onto the future she imagined for herself, Stanford, stability, self-definition, even as pregnancy, coercion, and family damage keep redrawing the map. It is, in plain terms, a novel about homelessness and control, but it is also about the subtler violence of being treated as temporary in every room you enter.
Author Dawnette Brenner understands that catastrophe is not only dramatic; it’s logistical, sensory, and repetitive. The novel keeps returning to money, soap, gas, laundry, parking lots, hunger, paperwork, doors, and the freighted atmosphere of other people’s houses. That accumulation gives the book its tensile strength. I felt Stella’s vigilance in my own body. I also admired the way the prose often moves in clipped, pressure-built units, then suddenly opens into a more lyrical sentence when Stella’s mind slips from survival into grief or recognition. The result is a voice that feels both young and sharply weathered. At its best, the writing has a granular honesty that refuses uplift on credit.
What I liked even more was the book’s understanding of control: how it masquerades as help, how gratitude can be weaponized, how a girl trained to be “good” can be made legible to everyone except herself. This is where the novel has real bite. Stella’s progress is not a clean ascent but a series of grim recognitions, and I appreciated that the ending leans toward clarity rather than false closure. At times the interior monologue reiterates a point the scene has already made, and a little pruning would sharpen the writing. But I never lost faith in the emotional intelligence behind it. Brenner is writing from a place of close observation, and that gives the story moral weight without turning it into a sermon.
I would hand Exit Signs to readers of contemporary coming-of-age fiction, domestic drama, survival fiction, trauma fiction, literary women’s fiction, and character-driven social realism, especially readers who want emotionally immediate prose and a heroine whose resilience is hard-won rather than ornamental. It feels closer to a more intimate, female-centered cousin of Demon Copperhead than to conventional “issue fiction,” and readers who admire authors who can braid precarity with psychological precision will find plenty here. This is a bruised, clear-eyed novel about how survival can become a way of seeing.
Pages: 600 | ASIN : B0GPPH2WKJ
A Life in Too Many Margins
S. E. Thomson’s A Life in Too Many Margins: Laughing Through the Labels is a whip-smart and emotionally stirring memoir that opens in a hospital room, David, chronically ill and exhausted, finally believed after months of dismissal, staring at the “beige hospital blanket” and coping with gallows humor as doctors confirm an omental infarction tied to Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. From there, the book moves through a childhood and adulthood spent ricocheting between forced gender roles, neurodivergent masking, disability and medical trauma, and the slow, hard-earned assembly of a self, one chapter at a time, like a life rebuilt from receipts and radiology reports.
I liked the voice in this book. It’s not “funny” as decoration; it’s funny as a crowbar. In the prologue alone, the humor keeps snapping the seal on the airless jar of medical neglect: the hospital gown “afraid of commitment,” the Jell-O christened Gary, the pain described as a “damp grocery bag full of bees.” That comedic metabolism doesn’t dilute the suffering; it metabolizes it, turning indignity into something you can hold up to the light without going blind. I found myself laughing, then immediately feeling implicated, because the joke keeps pointing back to the systems and people who require disabled folks to audition for basic credibility.
I also didn’t expect the book to be so precise about the small origin-moments that become a lifelong weather pattern. The early sections about gender feel like being trapped in a brightly colored room where everything is a script you didn’t agree to learn; the “pink” isn’t just décor, it’s enforcement. And when the narrative arrives at pronouns later, quietly, almost offhand, in a classroom roll call, it lands with the force of a key finally fitting a lock: “Uh, I don’t care?” becomes the hinge that swings the door open. The moment David names it, I am transgender… I am a man, it’s rendered not as a glossy reveal, but as an “ohhhhhhh” that rearranges decades of memory in one night. That ordinariness is the point. Self-recognition isn’t always fireworks; sometimes it’s just the first time someone asks the right question in a room that doesn’t punish honesty.
This is for readers who gravitate toward memoir, humor, disability, neurodiversity, LGBTQ+, and trauma recovery narratives, especially anyone who’s ever been treated like a “case” instead of a person, or who wants a story that makes space rather than demanding palatability. If you like the sharp, self-protective candor of Jenny Lawson (or the laughter-through-the-bruises essay energy of Samantha Irby), Thomson’s voice will feel familiar. And when the book closes by insisting, without sentimentality, that if your body is falling apart and no one believes you, you should write it down because it might save someone else’s life, it doesn’t read like a slogan; it reads like a field note from a survivor.
Pages: 229 | ASIN : B0FL6XG768
There Is Always More
Into the Arms follows a woman from her early days at a Catholic boarding school through a series of life-shattering experiences into womanhood, leaving her questioning everything she was taught and seeking a life filled with truth and joy. What was the inspiration for the setup of your story?
I think as young children we see the world through a different lens than the adults around us. We have an innocence and grand awareness of what is happening, a wisdom and a sensitivity that actually allows us to see through things without the burdens, expectations, ideals and conditions on life that we seemingly pick up through our developing years. Yet this is crushed so very quickly and we are asked to jump aboard the treadmill of life with little to no concern of what may be true for us.
The staggering numbers of young suicides, teenage self-harming, drug and alcohol abuse is only but rising. I don’t know a single person who hasn’t questioned why we are here or what life is about in some shape of form throughout their years. With no answers, often a distinct lack of purpose, and only a show of hands pointing us in a direction other than what we are sensing from within, it seems we stop trusting ourselves and what we feel, usually at a huge cost.
I wanted to offer something more than the usual depiction of life, that may allow space for others to ponder on something grander than what is usually served up; to return to the innocence, wonder and sensitivity we all had as children; to not brush over all the daily irks but to acknowledge them for what they are, and to live untainted by their brutality, in the glory of who we truly are.
All of these factors and more were the inspiration.
I found Rei to be a very well-written and in-depth character. What was your inspiration for her and her emotional turmoil throughout the story?
Rei is a character that many, if not all, of us can relate to. A young being inquisitive, playful and eager to see the world and explore its people; a being craving to be seen and loved for who they truly are. It’s what permeates our skin and is often the basis for all that we do, whether consciously or not. We see each other as such vastly different characters on the world stage and in its playground, when in truth there is so much we have in common with one another. Despite this commonality we are taught to covet our insecurities which often creates further separation and emotional turmoil.
Our pathways through to, and including, adulthood are paved on our experiences at birth and as youngsters; these are often turbulent, rocky or laden with nuances that distort our behaviours moving forward. We are taught that there is something wrong with us and we react accordingly, when actually perhaps it is more than the individual stories and structures we have grown up with.
Bringing light to emotional turmoil such as this is important to help us all understand that intrinsically there is nothing wrong with any of us, we have just been encrusted with layer upon layer of brutality from everything around us. Unpacking this is wise, it’s no-one’s fault per se, yet the burdens we carry are often grossly unnecessary and harmful for all.
I feel we have a responsibility in life to live and share what is true. Unpacking and unpicking situations and experiences can be hugely healing and empowering and it gives us an awareness from which we can grow. Using Rei’s character, I felt able to give voice to occurrences that are often left unspoken about, and that felt great.
What were some themes that were important for you to explore in this book?
Abuse is such a huge word with many connotations and examples attached to it. Just as everything in life there are 50 shades (and more) of it. The novel touches upon this but I’m not sure in life we stop and give it much air time. Whilst it happens to ‘someone, way over there’ we are quite happy to go about our every day regardless. To add insult to injury, because we have these 50 shades of abuse, we often accept the so called lesser-scale abusive behaviours because there are far-worse versions out there, telling ourselves it’s not so bad, it could be worse. And so the behaviours go on, not being called out, not being stopped. For this reason we can see how we are all complicit enablers in the play out. This is an extremely relevant and important theme that runs through our daily lives that I felt was necessary to explore.
Love too was, and is, a biggie and is believe it or not linked to the abusive theme above. Without fully loving ourselves it is easy, if not second nature, to accept abuse, regardless of where it falls on the so-called sliding scale. Anything that is not loving is abusive. Simple. Why would, and do, we settle for anything in-between and call it something different? Why have we given up on ourselves and the love we truly deserve? We can’t expect the quality of anything to raise if we except lower standards ourselves; supply meets demand. I wanted to explore this too, because too often we bitch and moan about everything, without actually making the small, simple steps within ourselves that we are capable of making that could and would bring about huge and eternal change globally.
Were you able to achieve everything you wanted with Rei in the novel?
I think a character as universally relatable as Rei could continue on as a never ending story. There are so many experiences in every day life, minute-to-minute, moment-to-moment that highlight things that go on around, or to, us. Perhaps we have given voice to them, perhaps not, but they are all possible learnings for us. How can one possibly cover them all?
Rei’s journey had to have an end date (2025 in this story), but perhaps there could be more as the years unfold and she connects back to what came before and all that is left there to deepen into. Within the pages it felt complete, but as the story so beautifully depicts There is always more.
Author Website
Rei grows up on the fringes, taught by society from young to stay quiet and look pretty, not questioning life until it is too late. Escaping the clutches of family and relationships she builds a life free from everything she’d known, but at a cost.
Could losing everything be the richest lesson of all or was it merely a delay tactic from living all that was there to begin with?
A magnificent story, with lightness and dumbfounding truth all over it.
NICK and CLANCY – A Tale of Nine Lives
NICK and CLANCY – A Tale of Nine Lives tells the story of Nick, a gentle and wounded man recovering from severe heart trauma, and Clancy, the sharp, funny, deeply devoted dog who enters his life at exactly the right moment. The narrative moves through years of shared life, illness, dreams, small victories, and fear, often told from Clancy’s point of view. At its core, the book is about survival, companionship, purpose, and the strange ways love shows up when life feels fragile and uncertain.
The writing feels intimate and conversational, almost like someone sitting across from you and telling you a story late at night. I laughed more than I expected. I also felt a quiet ache settle in as the pages went on. The dog’s perspective could have felt gimmicky, but it does not. It feels earnest and oddly wise. Clancy’s humor, guilt, loyalty, and protectiveness landed hard for me. I felt protective of Nick, too, even frustrated with him at times. The writing is messy in a relatable way. It rambles. It lingers. That worked for me. Life rarely moves in neat arcs, and this book does not pretend otherwise.
The theme of borrowed time runs through everything. Illness hangs over each chapter like background noise that never fully shuts off. I felt the anxiety of waiting for the next medical crisis. I also felt the stubborn hope that keeps Nick moving forward anyway. The story made me think about purpose in small terms. Not destiny. Not grand success. Just showing up for someone else. Just staying. There is a tenderness here that caught me off guard. Some sections felt repetitive, and a tighter edit could help in places, but I did not mind lingering with these characters. I cared about them. That matters more to me than polish.
I would recommend this book to readers who enjoy character-driven stories and emotional honesty. It is especially well-suited for animal lovers, people who have faced serious illness, or anyone who has felt unmoored and searching for meaning. This book is reflective and heartfelt and sometimes sad. If you like books that feel personal and lived in, and you do not mind getting a little misty-eyed along the way, this one is worth your time.
Pages: 288 | ASIN : B0FMTS6KZK
Comfrey, Wyoming Book 4: Black Sheep, Black Sheep
Black Sheep, Black Sheep, the fourth book in the Comfrey, Wyoming series by Daphne Birkmyer, is a layered family novel that follows intertwined lives shaped by love, secrecy, disability, and belonging. The story moves between past and present, with a strong focus on Melissa McNabb and the people orbiting her world, from siblings and parents to lovers, friends, and the quiet town that absorbs them all. It explores what family really means, how truth surfaces whether invited or not, and how difference can be both a burden and a gift.
What struck me first was the writing itself. It feels intimate and patient. The prose slows down when it needs to. It lingers on small moments. A look, a gesture, a habit. I felt close to these characters very quickly. Melissa especially stayed with me. Her inner world is rendered with care and respect, and I felt protective of her almost right away. The author never rushes her. That choice made me emotional more than once. I found myself smiling at her sharp humor and aching during her quieter struggles.
The ideas in this book landed hard for me. It takes on autism, family secrets, chosen family, and loyalty without preaching. It trusts the reader. I liked that nothing was neat. People mess up. They love fiercely and badly at the same time. I felt anger toward some choices and deep empathy for others. The theme of being the odd one out hit close to home. The black sheep idea is not just symbolic. It feels lived in.
Like Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine, this book feels quieter and more grounded. Where Eleanor Oliphant uses sharp humor and big emotional swings, Black Sheep, Black Sheep slowly reveals its heart in smaller, steadier moments. I would recommend Black Sheep to readers who love character-driven stories and emotional realism. It is a good fit for people who enjoy family sagas, small-town settings, and emotional books that make you think. It is especially meaningful for readers interested in neurodivergent characters written with warmth and depth.
Pages: 450 | ASIN : B0FY8W9LGM
