One reader's lyric is another reader's labor

Kirkus's review of Mary Monster isn't always positive, but it's fair. And anytime anyone compares me to Thomas Pynchon, I'll take it.

In this ambitious novel, Ingwalson’s (The Baby Monitor, 2017, etc.) prose slips in and out of Otis’ Mancunian dialect, flecked with rich allusions to rock, literature, and various Colorado locales. Otis’ voice is noirish in a way that will strike some readers as lyric and others as a bit labored... This is an elegant mystery in the mode of Thomas Pynchon or Jonathan Lethem, invested more in the journey than the outcome.

As an example of "labored" prose, the reviewer offers this, from my novel's third chapter:

For a few seconds I stared back, my eyes gone black as cats as I surveyed the silk of her neck. This one’s world had been night for far too long. She’d never seen a beach, she’d never cared for light. A streetlamp kicked on and it made her flesh milk-flesh.

Which is fine. If you don't like that, I'd urge you not to buy this book. Because the whole thing is like that. I swung for the fences on this one. I regret nothing.

Kirkus and IndieReader review The Baby Monitor: A Novella of Family Horrors

I haven't written a lot about The Baby Monitor: A Novella of Family Horrors since the podcast version launched back in January. The book dropped February 28 in print and on Kindle. I ran a new release sale on FKBT. Mentioned it a couple times on Goodreads. And offered it free to my email list.

It's been reviewed on a couple of the indie publishing sites. IndieReader was unequivocal in its praise. "Short, but perfectly formed, The Baby Monitor is a very smart, very human, and very skillfully constructed horror novel... The conclusion is a stroke of genius."

Kirkus Reviews was a little conflicted about my style, but also enjoyed the end. "Ingwalson’s narrative is effective and suspenseful, and while the conclusion at first appears to be a standard, urban legend-style twist, the ending is more complex and satisfying than that... While some readers may feel that the short length leads to a lack of details about the characters and their surroundings, others should enjoy the tight pacing and claustrophobic dynamic."

I find it intriguing, even frustrating, that the number one comment I get is that my novellas are short. Never mind that novellas are short by definition. I read a lot. And I'm often frustrated by how little happens in many novels. And by how many words it takes some authors to convey simple ideas.

The Baby Monitor: A Novella of Family Horrors is a novella by design. It would crack if it was spread over too many pages. On the other hand, I do wonder where my novel is. I'm toying with a couple of ideas for the type of story where the plot deserves 80,000 words.

Someday, I guess. Someday.

A judge in the 22nd Annual Writer's Digest Self Published Book Awards on Sin Walks Into The Desert

I entered Sin Walks Into The Desert in the 22nd Annual Writer's Digest Self-Published Book Awards. Winners won't be notified until December 31. But each entry comes with written commentary and advice from a judge. Here is a portion of what mine had to say, good and bad:

"What we have here is a hardboiled detective novel without the theatrics, stripped bare to the bones with prose that is tight and taut, that causes as much damage as a loaded gun. It's a thrilling ride and the story not only grips the reader because of the expressive characters, like Sin himself, but because of the way the phrases turn and return like a stacked deck of cards. The story bounces around in time a little bit and while this makes sense, overall I'd suggest that these transitions be played up a bit, prepared for in a way."

There's more to it, but that's the gist. I have no idea what this means for the awards, but I'm honored to be considered. And taken with the reviews from CrimeFictionLover.com, IndieReader.com, Kirkus Reviews and San Francisco Book Review, well, I guess I'm pretty convinced my book doesn't suck.

Doting descriptions of guns: Sin and his Beretta

I got an email from IndieReader with a sneak preview of next month's review of Sin Walks Into The Desert. They're giving it five stars and awarding it the IndieReader Approved designation. Here's an excerpt:

SIN WALKS INTO THE DESERT is a short, violent story of loyalty and revenge. The dialog is terse and fits perfectly with a title character whose fluency is in his skill with a gun rather than his words... SIN WALKS INTO THE DESERT is a taut, suspenseful tale without a wasted word or scene.

Exciting as hell. I can't wait for the full review to come out.

Sin sizes up friends, enemies and strangers based on the weapons they carry. So I spent time making sure I got them right. Apparently that showed. Kirkus' review stated the book was a "sterling achievement, featuring an ultracool protagonist and doting descriptions of all types of guns." And one reviewer on Goodreads wrote:

I found myself involuntarily getting an adrenaline high as the author's descriptions of stealth tactics and firearms fluency in the face of evil forces brought back long-forgotten memories.

Sin carries a Beretta Px4 Storm. It's not just an awesome gun. It's a metaphor for the complex relationship he has with his larger-than-life uncle, who is known as el Viejo. Here's excerpt from the opening pages, in which Sin gets ready to make a late-night journey to his girlfriend's tattoo parlor.

In the hallway he stopped, extended one foot backwards, caught the door before it latched shut. Something didn’t feel right. His eyes flashed up and down the rows of doors, registered ceiling lights that had blown out and corners with indistinct shadows behind them. Nothing out of the ordinary, really.

Sin went back inside and opened up the drawer.

El Viejo had Berettas so Sin’d wanted a Beretta. But el Viejo’s were M9s, classic military sidearms chambered for 9, so Sin asked for the new model, the Px4 with a rail on it and the smooth black slide, rounded and mean, space age almost. And Sin wanted it chambered in .40, not 9. DA/SA please, with the exposed hammer. And fullsize even though he intended to carry it tucked inside skinny jeans because fuck that compact shit. El Viejo’d given him that and also a custom-molded leather IWB holster for it.

It was about the best gift ever.

Sin clipped the holster inside his jeans, brass checked the gun and seated it. He tugged his t-shirt down. It pretty much covered his belt and even if he leaned the wrong way, what was anybody going to say? This was Arizona, after all. Sin stepped out of his tiny rented hole-in-the-wall apartment and thought, “I didn’t grab a spare clip.” And then he thought, “Fuck it. For real this time.”

He let the door latch behind him and went off into the night.

In City Book Review's story about Sin Walks Into The Desert, they gave it four out of five stars, praising almost everything but dinging it for "the overuse of unnecessary expletives." I guess I see their point.