A Review - Nothing O'Clock

I gave this book 5 out of 5 stars.

The Blurb: 

Thousands of years ago, Time Lords built a Prison for the Kin. They made it utterly impregnable and unreachable. As long as Time Lords existed, the Kin would be trapped forever and the universe would be safe. They had planned for everything… everything, that is, other than the Time War and the fall of Gallifrey. Now the Kin are free again and there’s only one Time Lord left in the universe who can stop them!

Author Neil Gaiman puts his own unique spin on the Doctor's amazing adventures through time and space in the eleventh and final story in the bestselling 50th anniversary series!

This eBook short is an amusing triumph for Gaiman, Doctor, and Reader!

What can I say about this bite sized adventure without sounding like I'm a gushing fan boy?

It's beautifully succinct and well told. What more can you really ask for from a 45 page genre fiction short?

Not a single word was wasted, anything added would have been too much. Gaiman has proven his worth yet again, and succeeded in giving us a tale of the Doctor that aches for the screen. Clearly he should pen more episodes of the series - and for what that's worth, give us more Doctor Who shorts like this one.

I can happily recommend this to fans of Gaiman, fans of Doctor Who, or any reader who wants a well told bite-size work of science fiction.

- Dennis Sharpe

Nothing O'Clock on Goodreads.com

Nothing O'Clock on Amazon.com (kindle)

A Haunting Memory

This piece is from (un)SPOKEN. It's been stuck in my head for a while now, as has my longing for another night... at the No Exit, or Heartland... Back on the North Side. For what it's worth, I hope you enjoy it.

Bohemian Parking Lot

With Lake Effect Snow

The acidic flavor of loss

Equal parts bile

And orange juice concentrate

The hazy outline

Of a conversation

With blinding noise

Providing the backing score

This is where the company parts

While the rain comes down

Like a million spears

Thrown by a tiny army of tribesman

Bent on the destruction

Of my temples, if not my soul

Awareness, I am alone

It slides upon me

Draped like a silk sheet

There’s a comfort there

However thin and less than insulating

It may be

The chill spills through me

One pint less and I could likely think

At least join one thought into the next

Without the abruptness

Of rough cutting reality

Inhale the blades of air, so cold

It’s frozen hair to my face in chunks

Adding weight to close my lips

I can smell the exhaust of the car

It’s gone but that’s still here

In the parking lot of Yabo’s favorite bar

This is where it happens

This is where I finally seize the day

Test the fragile bond of life

Throwing myself at its boundary full force

Tomorrow a new day dawns

With the dark heavy clouds

Likely still hanging thick over the L stop

I’ll rise, dress, and coffee myself

There may be enough ambition in me

To shave my face

And dress in worker’s clothes

Walking to my platform I’ll pass the scene

Of tonight’s miserable performance

Only the briefest of moment’s thought

Will be given over

Taken from my bagel and cigarette

The memory will be a haze

And not worth the effort to recall in full

I will force myself not to look into the window

Of the Evanston sandwich shop,

Where you worked

Nor will I look to my right as I pass by

That house where we met

Smoking on the porch over idle chatter

The kind only strangers make with other smokers

The whole of the time I’ve known you will be made

To vanish from my mind’s eye

I will tell myself this lie, until I can believe it

And then I will have died

Or the part of me I most admire will have

Buried under so many wrappers, cartons, and papers

In an alley refuse bin that smells of the rot

I will so keenly feel

But for now I will dwell

I die, as I imagine giving into

A frostbitten death by exposure

And paramedics trying to peel off

The ice solid layers that surround me

I die alone

Because I couldn’t stand to be alone

And so, have driven away those who

Truly matter most 



From (un)SPOKEN, by Dennis Sharpe
copyright 2010

Summer Scare Giveaway

Beat the heat this weekend with the chills of this short fiction/horror story...

'First Boy' 

Free on Amazon July 4th-7th (Kindle Exclusive)


Blurb:

Forrest County Sherriff’s Deputy Matthew Burroughs is having a bad day. First there was the cold winter weather, then a car accident on an icy bridge, and finally a routine stop to investigate a claim of neglected children. At an abandoned farm house in the middle of nowhere he finds a little girl and boy, and ends up dealing with far more than he ever expected.

Rated:

4.8 stars on Amazon and 4.67 stars on Goodreads

Excerpt: 

“He was born in Nuremberg in sixteen thirty-two.” The boy stopped putting clothes in his bag and looked at Matthew. “Can you even imagine what that must have been like, Deputy? Like a fairytale land. Like something out of a Terry Brooks story.”

“Keep packing. That was the deal,” Matthew said, pointing back at the large plastic bag. The boy sighed and turned, but kept his eyes on Matthew for a moment longer.

“His parents weren’t royal, but they weren’t poor either,” the boy continued, ignoring Matthew’s persistence. “They were educated for their time, with enough money to travel. You know, just to travel.  But on a trip, when he was twelve, his parents got themselves caught up in the English Civil War.”

The boy was picking up each article of threadbare clothing from piles in the corner, to hold them out in front of him, and then gently refold them before placing them in the bag just so. He was stalling, and Matthew knew it. He was probably just biding his time, waiting for just the right moment to make a run for it. Matthew wasn’t going to let that happen. Not on his watch, not in this weather, and most certainly not with Holly waiting on him.

“They were killed -- his parents I mean. They were killed, right before his thirteenth birthday, and he was ferried off to what he was told would be the ‘safety of London’ in sixteen forty-five. He was put in an orphan’s home, but an ambitious woman sold him to a blacksmith for the price of a pair of boots. He was the blacksmith’s slave for almost a year before he escaped, only to be gathered up as a ‘ne’er-do-well,’ and shipped to the colonies to be a bound servant.”

“I’m going to check on…her. Is she your sister?”

“Yes, she is. But not in a way you’d understand.”

Matthew did his best to look sympathetic. This kid still saw children and adults as being in an ‘us versus them’ situation. “Hey, I was a kid once, too. I know you don’t think grown-ups understand you, and what you’re going through. I’m not your enemy though. I’m here to help.”

Shaking his head slowly, he replied, “You really don’t get it, Deputy.”
___________________________________________________________

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First Boy on Amazon.com

First Boy on Amazon.co.uk

First Boy on Amazon.ca