7.jpgGuest blogger: JO MILLER

‘Hair Club Burning ‘is a brilliant, mesmerizing, wry and witty piece of art with a strong narrative, rich prose, detailed imagery and clever phrasing.

Beth Wareham  and Jason Davis are keen, astute observers – offering illuminating insights into our human nature. The flow and rhythm add magic to the reading of this tale.

The dialogue is soul satisfying, drawing one in with the touch of an unseen snake charmer ~ stirring, evocative – sometimes fierce, sometimes strangely tender.  The inner conversations held in the minds of the characters are particularly delightful and
the twists, the turns, the contrasts that pull at your heartstrings, the patches of light, of dark ~all transport you to extraordinary wonder.

The characters are authentically developed ~ irresistible as you respond to their shine, their vulnerable voices, their individual joys, contrasts, & their own catalysts are hauntingly beautiful.

This story has the power to rattle your mind, disturb your heart and scatter your very being.

I was ripped open by the pondering of one ‘gangsta’, how one is placed in circumstances,taught learned truths and accepts their fate.

I could identify with a middle-aged white woman’s situation, understanding the circumstances that led to her settling.

The contrasts between them — my level of understanding gave me a glimpse of my reality — and I had thought that I truly understood, at least was empathetic… nope, not so much.

I am left with a very strong desire to see beyond, to become more aware of my awakened conscious, to honour this rising emotion, the feelings spreading into my very core.

This novel has the sweet energy of hope and redemption – showing that time after time, simple acts of kindness and truly showing care can bring out our best.

And did I mention how much fun, lovely laughter, moments of grace and perspective this book gives to the reader?

An Excellent Experience!


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If You Don’t Like Questions, Memoir Isn’t For You


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I just spent a few days with a novelist who had to keep yelling “SHE ISN’T ME” about the main character in her latest book. Of course it’s her. When publishing, she did put the word “fiction” on it so we had to back down. We have to honor — as friends and literary lovers — that she says the book isn’t her life story. I am not going to know who she was talking about when she wrote about a sexual encounter in the Dean’s office in college. (The idea of it excited me, by the by.)

Who WHO was it? Maybe Louis had the gumption, maybe Mike. Finally, one night, gone on buttery chardonnay, my friend blurted “memoir” instead of novel. I had her dead-to-rights and she knew it. My form of Rendition began.

Within 8 minutes, (I used a kitchen towel and Diet Coke) I’d broken through her little “fiction” to the “memoir” and found she did it on the Dean’s oriental with Martin the TA. I was appalled. Martin looked like Gene Wilder and my friend was in need of an A in Shakespeare. Our friendship has not been the same since.

Own what you’ve lived or use your imagination to build a world in which the reader could live. Spin something into something larger or spend some time on earth before you race to tell your “story.” Know why you do what you do. Do it well. Contribute higher not just more.

I knew who my friend’s heroine in her novel was: I wish she had called it a memoir, given herself credit for a life well-lived and made up something for a story later.

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