Catriona' Wards Latest

THE LAST HOUSE ON NEEDLESS STREET is a dark and twisty tale that deftly stitches together a number of POVs starting with Ted. We are then introduced to his daughter and his cat, among others. We hear their tales of Little Girl with Popsicle, the Teds, the Green Boys, and so much more. It has been called a masterpiece, and rightly so. This sad and terrifying story feels more like a spell. Saying more—even a little—would be an injustice to the reader. Go into this one as if you were exploring the creepy, haunted house at the end of the street. The one that even the bravest fears to tread. The house where the owner could come home at any minute and catch you. 

This is a horror and a thriller. It comes at you with a slow creep—like a dripping water torture, but with acid. That's not to say there are no heartwarming moments. They are there but you have been warned, this novel will niggle and gnaw at the corners of your brains, and purr along at just the right clip until you are feeling nice and comfortable with your darkest fears. That’s when you’ll find that knife in your belly. Buckle up, pilgrims, because Ward is in full control and, believe me, you’ll want someone as skilled and crafty behind the wheel on this inimitable and harrowing ride down Needless Street.

Ted’s story is disturbing on so many levels, but the writer makes it worth it. It is my introduction to Catriona Ward’s writing. This book is a triumph. I cannot wait to see this one brought to the big screen. Andy Serkis will certainly have his hands full with the adaptation. Now, I must away, to find her other novels. 

The audiobook I listened to, narrated by Christopher Ragland, was provided to me courtesy of the publisher, Macmillan Audio, #NetGalley, and the author in exchange for my review. I am thrilled to have been able to get a sneak peek.

THE QUEEN OF THE CICADAS by V. Castro

I really wanted to love this book—like five stars love it, and I did through the first part of this story. It is one of obsession, retribution, and revenge and spans several timelines and characters with the primary focus on Milagros and Belinda. V. Castro weaves the sad and brutal tale of Milagros Santos. Here the author exposed us to the everyday horrors that face migrant farmworkers with the folkloric terror found in such stories as Bloody Mary or the Candyman. Castro uses Belinda as both our guide and our anchor to the modern world until we lose her to her obsession with the story of La Reina de las Chicharras, the Queen of the Cicadas.

I found myself languishing about two-thirds of the way in, making finishing this novel longer than I had hoped. I think the author had too many good ideas and tried too hard to make them all work. For those not much on erotica, the story is not crawling with it but it is there. In the end, Castro tied everything together nicely. She pulled me back into the story and gave me an ending to go along with the great beginning. Castro has crafted a tale that is equally mystical, magical, and folkloric. She is certainly an author who will be on my radar for years to come. 

I reviewed a digital ARC generously provided by the author, V. Castro, and publisher, Flame Tree Press, via NetGalley at no cost, obligation, or remuneration. I opted to review this title.

Come October, this Writer becomes an Author

 I can only share a little. That's the way of the publishing world. I have an announcement.

My work has finally found a home. I have a piece of flash fiction (a short, short story) that a literary journal will publish in October. More details as I can share. 

What I can share is that I will have achieved one of my biggest goals this year—a dream, to be sure. Since 2019, when I started writing much more seriously, I hired a writing coach, Max Gorlov from across the pond, I have taken several classes to strengthen my writing skills, and I have been in a constant cycle of submissions and rejections—short stories, flash fiction, and poetry. Max helped me see through quite a few errors and problems that I had with my novel—a work of 13 years. I was over 85,000 words in when I hired him to help me write my first novel. I think that the hardest part was to have to ditch that first, uncompleted draft and rework it. I should break 100,000 words in the rewrite within the month and finish this year for certain. I was a 'pantser' with no structure or plan. A 'pantser' is someone who writes from the seat of his pants. The alternative would be to be a 'plotter.' That is someone who outlines and methodically maps out where almost everything goes. While I live my life so much more like a 'pantser,' I have come to the realization that I NEED to be a 'plantser.' That will satisfy my nature and the reality of life. 

I have many people to thank for their support and inspiration as I transition into retirement to add this skill/art to my repertoire. They don't let you add an acknowledgment section in a literary journal for a piece of flash fiction. Of course, I owe almost everything to my wife, Linda​, for her support, love, and belief in me and my dream. My daughter, Lian, has also been there for me. They have both been beta readers, critics, and cheerleaders. I would not have made it this far without them. My lifelong friends, Ray​ and Skip​, the horror/writing community on social media (Jonathan Maberry, Gabino Iglesias, Cina Pelayo, Stephen Graham Jones,  Cat Cavendish, Victor LaValle, and so many others) who have been more than generous. My mother, Jean, for an undying love that ALWAYS supported me and kept me on my path. And that guy in the CBS Sunday Morning story that I posted below, our Uncle Stevie. He has thrown more scares into me and shared so much on the art of writing that it would be a horror not to mention him.

The Whammy Weekend

Growing up, this was always a crazy weekend for me. June 19 is my parents’ anniversary. June 20 is my mother’s birthday. And if these two dates sandwiched together weren’t enough, they usually occurred over Father’s Day Weekend. I didn’t call it ‘The Whammy Weekend’ back then, but I should have. I struggled with what to do for these two wonderful parents that God blessed me with. Their anniversary was always a concrete reminder of what love could be—and should be. They were there for each other—always. And while they disagreed at times, I cannot remember a true fight. They were the loves of each other’s lives—an undying love.
And how could I honor the birth of the woman who raised me up and took care of me, who loved me unconditionally even when I was being a shit? She was a strong, fierce mother. A real beauty, inside and out.

And Father’s Day… I can't imagine a better man and father. He was larger than life and that was a good thing because he had to be larger than life to fit all the life he had inside. If he ever failed at anything, it was holding all that life inside himself. I don’t believe he tried to hold it in. He shared everything good that he had, and that life spilled forth from his body in the smile on his face, the laughter in his voice, and the love he had for everyone. How can you buy or make a gift to repay them for all that they have given you? 

And, of course, I couldn’t leave things alone. As if the Whammy Weekend wasn’t complicated enough, I married the love of my life. Linda’s birthday is the same day as my mother’s, June 20. I often joked that it took me until I was 40 to find a wonderful woman who had the same birthday as my mother so I wouldn’t forget the date, but the truth is, for me at least, June 20 was just a happy coincidence. For my wife, she had to share the day. And I know that sometimes it was tough, but she, like my mother, is an amazing woman who puts up with a lot of my wild living. And I am forever thankful that she is in my life. Happy birthday, my love. 

Hang on folks, I am not finished. Complicated and multi-layered and all-over-the-place is just part of who I am so… I HAD to go and tinker around with Father’s Day. Some of you may have deduced from recent posts that I have been on a bit of a life journey recently. Earlier this week, I got back from a whirlwind trip that was mostly dedicated to discovering who my birth father was. I discovered my birth family through DNA analysis. Unfortunately, both of my birth parents had passed on. I missed meeting my father by a little more than a year. I have been fortunate enough to meet his two sisters and almost all of his other children, and cousins and friends. My father had six more children after I was born and from everything that I learned about him, he, too, loved life and was full of life. And while his path differed greatly from my father, Phil, they were both self-made men and the life of the party. Greatly loved and full of love. Perhaps Daddy Rich had a little too much love to spread around, but I am so grateful for that, too, otherwise I probably would be here writing this. Thank you to all my sisters, brothers, aunts, and cousins for bringing him back to life for me—for just a little while. And from the looks on so many of your faces, it seems that my looks brought him back to life for you, if only for the brief moment of recognition when we finally got to meet face-to-face. 

And how could I talk about Father’s Day without mentioning and bragging on the wonderful woman who is the reason that I am blessed enough to call myself a father? I am so proud of the woman that she has become and while I so miss her being here in our home every day, she will always be with me in my heart and in my thoughts. I don’t know what I did to deserve her. My beautiful, wonderful, amazing, funny, silly, smart, caring daughter Lian has now been cursed with the Whammy Weekend. Curse is not the right word because this weekend, while it might overwhelm at times, is a joyous one, full of life, laughter, and most importantly, love.  

I love my family—old and new. I am so happy we are on this journey together.