Monday, February 24, 2014

Okay. So I Was Wrong

Prodigious Savant and Deviant Acts by JJ White have been acquired by Black Opal Books!


Prodigious Savant (Estimated release date Fall 2014)


There are fewer than one hundred reported cases of prodigious savants in the world. Those few who possess the savant syndrome all have an island of brilliance that allows them to excel in some remarkable talent. Unfortunately, they all share various developmental disabilities; some bizarre, others violent. 

In 1962 Vermont, seventeen-year-old Gavin Weaver survives a horrendous explosion, six hours of brain surgery, and thirty days in a coma, to awaken possessing not just one savant talent, but several: art, music, mathematics, and memory, and all without suffering any of the usual mental disabilities associated with head trauma…except one issue he keeps hidden from all.

His newly acquired abilities thrust him into the public eye as the amazing ‘Whiz Kid’ from Burlington; a moniker he detests. His genius, paranoia, and increased hallucinations result in some strange and extraordinary encounters with the icons of the ‘60s, including Bobby Fischer, Nikita Khrushchev, Edward R. Murrow, John Chancellor and even a tragic meeting with John Fitzgerald Kennedy. He also catches the eye of a neurologist who is unique in his own right, and is most interested in the young man’s brain -- for many reasons.

Gavin’s odds are slim that he will survive not only his external trials but also his inner conflicts; keeping him from the one thing he desires most, the girl he’s loved since childhood.


Deviant Acts (Estimated release date 2015)


Jackson is living his nightmares even when his eyes are open. Addicted to heroin since Vietnam, it is the only thing that tends to keep the horror at bay. Besides killing him slowly, it has cost him his job. Living with his mother, in the same home he grew up in, he is now stealing from her and his neighbors for a fix, his girlfriend since grade school has dumped him and the only means of transportation is a beat-up bike. Is there a word for lower than low?            

            Then his rich aunt from Vermont calls requiring his “services”. Cheryl, his so-called cousin, has been kidnapped and is being held for ransom. Auntie wants her back no matter what it costs, and she wants them all dead. Can Jackson kill again? Can he stay straight long enough to get her back? Nothing is what it seems.


White has written over two hundred short stories, had articles and stories published in several anthologies and magazines including, Wordsmith, The Homestead Review, The Seven Hills Review and The Grey Sparrow Journal. “The Nine Hole League” is scheduled to be published in the Sherlock Holmes Mystery Magazine, Volume 14. He has won awards and honors from the Alabama Writers Conclave, Writers-Editors International, Maryland Writers Association, The Royal Palm Literary Awards, Professional Writers of Prescott, and Writer’s Digest. He was recently nominated for the Pushcart Prize for his short piece in The Grey Sparrow Journal.

Represented by Loiacono Literary Agency

Published by Black Opal Books

Thursday, February 13, 2014

Dead Authors On Twitter

1.             Ernest Hemingway

    Poor Faulkner. Does he really think big emotions come from big words?

     William Faulkner

       And that from a writer who has never been known to use a word that might send a reader to the dictionary.”

      Jane Austen-

     Gentlemen. May we agree you are both fine writers with different styles?


Mark Twain
Jane, I haven’t any right to criticize books, and I don’t do it except when I hate them. I often want to criticize yours, but your books madden me so that I can’t conceal my frenzy from the reader; and therefore I have to stop every time I begin. Every time I read ‘Pride and Prejudice,’ I want to dig you up and hit you over the skull with your own shin-bone.

            Jane Austen-   Mr. Twain. Surely, even a man of your meager literary background and lineage must be joking?


    Ralph Waldo Emerson

     I think he is not, Jane. Whenever I peruse your novels, they seem to me vulgar in tone, sterile in artistic invention, imprisoned in the wretched conventions of English society, without genius, wit, or knowledge of the world. Never was life so pinched and narrow. The one problem in your mind. . . is marriageableness.

      Jane Austen- I believe I have had enough bullying and shall sign off for the night.


     Mark Twain – Good news for all seven of your followers.


         Ralph Waldo Emerson- Touché.


      Truman Capote – My, but we girls are testy tonight.


     Gore Vidal

     And that from a full-fledged housewife from Kansas with all the prejudices.

       Truman Capote – Gore-I believe Buckley awaits a rematch with you in Hell. Toute suite, dear.


     Truman Capote – And while you’re there, I believe Jack Kerouac is working with Buckley on some writing you can help them with. Oh wait. That’s not writing, it’s typing.


     Jack Kerouac- Not cool, Tru. Dig?


       Truman Capote – I’ll dig Jane Austen’s shin bone up with Twain and hit you over the head with it until you learn to write.


     Vladimir Nabokov

      Let’s stick with Hemingway, shall we? I read him for the first time in the early ‘forties, something about bells, balls and bulls, and loathed it.

       Ernest Hemingway

      Come by and see me some time, Vladimir. I have two twelve-year-old nieces who wish to hide from you.

         Vladimir Nabokov

       I must leave for the night. I cannot abide Hemingway’s monosyllabic prose any more than I could tolerate Joseph Conrad’s souvenir shop style of romanticist clichés without acquiring a tremendous headache.


      Virginia Woolf

       My turn. My turn. Let us pounce on James Joyce, shall we?  Ulysses is the work of a queasy undergraduate scratching his pimples.”


         Virginia Woolf

      And Huxley. His prose is raw, uncooked, protesting.

     William Faulkner

      And Twain, while he’s still online. A hack writer who would not have been considered fourth rate in Europe, who tricked out a few of the old proven sure fire literary skeletons with sufficient local color to intrigue the superficial and the lazy.


     Mark Twain- I understood, hack, Bill, though the rest escaped me.


            Ernest Hemingway

      I’m with you, Mr. Twain, but it’s time to bury the hatchet. Can’t we all just get along?


      William Faulkner

     Bury the hatchet. So cliché, though not unexpected or unusual from the great Papa. My IPhone’s ringing. ICYMI  # kissmyroyalass.