I received a free copy of this book in exchange for a fair and honest review. All opinions are my own.
A woman pushes herself to experience more of life after the sudden loss of her mother in author Caitlin Forbes’s “What Comes Next.”
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The Synopsis
An empowering and heartfelt novel about the complexities of family, the power of sisterhood, and the bravery it takes to choose happiness when all seems lost.
“My life is perfectly fine.”
Alex has pretended this for years―despite an emotionally absent father, a best friend drifting away, and a floundering dog-training business. At least Alex has her sister, Meredith, a driven polar opposite. But both their lives are upended when their estranged mother dies of a genetic condition that the sisters have a fifty-fifty chance of inheriting. For Alex, a world without her mother is uncomfortable. But a world without Meredith is unthinkable.
Alex suggests a pact to which Meredith tentatively agrees: In three months they’ll get tested. Until then they go after everything they’ve ever wanted. Alex is finally stepping out of her comfort zone and opening herself up to new relationships. Or maybe reconnecting with an old one. Nathan, a boy who once broke her heart, needs a trainer for his mixed-breed rescue. Alex can’t resist.
As sparks rekindle, and time passes much too quickly, Alex discovers more about herself, her sister, and her mother than she ever imagined. And that everything in life―especially happiness―comes with a risk worth taking.
The Review
What a heartfelt and emotional read. The author finds such a delicate yet perfect balance between exploring the grieving process, the intricacies of relationships, and the power of self-discovery. The juxtaposition of animal care with the protagonist’s life, especially with Remy and the frequency of animal abandonment due to past trauma, making it difficult to train or home them, mirrors the protagonist’s own abandonment issues and really speaks volumes throughout this story.
Yet it was the relationship between Alex and Meredith that really stood out to the reader. The way they learned to lean on one another in the absence of their parents, the loss they share, and the shock of a shared illness lingering as a possibility is something that felt so relatable as someone who inherited several ailments and the dangers that come with genetic diseases. The author artfully navigates these troubled waters by exploring the path to finding hope again in a person’s life amidst the trauma.
The Verdict
Memorable, heartfelt, and engaging, author Caitlin Forbes’s “What Comes Next” is a must-read women’s fiction-meets-family-drama novel. The imagery and atmosphere the author brought to life on the page, along with the compelling blend of emotional storytelling and hopeful tones, will keep readers engaged until the book’s final chapters. If you haven’t yet, be sure to grab your copy today!
Rating: 10/10
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About the Author
Photography by Molly Haley, mollyhaley.com
Caitlin Forbes is a Maine-based author who writes stories that explore the messiness of relationships—from sisterhood to romance to the tricky relationship we have with ourselves. When not writing, you can find her chasing after her toddler (or her dog) and exploring small-town New England life.
Join us at the Muffin as we celebrate the launch of What Comes Next by Caitlin Forbes. We interview the author and give you a chance to win a copy of the book.
Stop by B. Lynn Goodwin’s blog for a guest post by author Caitlin Forbes about the question of inheritance – of what we inherit versus what we get to choose.
Stop by Katherine’s blog for her review of What Comes Next by Caitlin Forbes. You’ll also have a chance to read her response to our tour-themed prompt about whether if she had an incurable condition and if she would want to find out.
An empowering and heartfelt novel about the complexities of family, the power of sisterhood, and the bravery it takes to choose happiness when all seems lost.
“My life is perfectly fine.”
Alex has pretended this for years―despite an emotionally absent father, a best friend drifting away, and a floundering dog-training business. At least Alex has her sister, Meredith, a driven polar opposite. But both their lives are upended when their estranged mother dies of a genetic condition that the sisters have a fifty-fifty chance of inheriting. For Alex, a world without her mother is uncomfortable. But a world without Meredith is unthinkable.
Alex suggests a pact to which Meredith tentatively agrees: In three months they’ll get tested. Until then they go after everything they’ve ever wanted. Alex is finally stepping out of her comfort zone and opening herself up to new relationships. Or maybe reconnecting with an old one. Nathan, a boy who once broke her heart, needs a trainer for his mixed-breed rescue. Alex can’t resist.
As sparks rekindle, and time passes much too quickly, Alex discovers more about herself, her sister, and her mother than she ever imagined. And that everything in life―especially happiness―comes with a risk worth taking.
Caitlin Forbes is a Maine-based author who writes stories that explore the messiness of relationships—from sisterhood to romance to the tricky relationship we have with ourselves. When not writing, you can find her chasing after her toddler (or her dog) and exploring small-town New England life.
Join us at the Muffin as we celebrate the launch of What Comes Next by Caitlin Forbes. We interview the author and give you a chance to win a copy of the book.
Stop by B. Lynn Goodwin’s blog for a guest post by author Caitlin Forbes about the question of inheritance – of what we inherit versus what we get to choose.
Stop by Katherine’s blog for her review of What Comes Next by Caitlin Forbes. You’ll also have a chance to read her response to our tour-themed prompt about whether if she had an incurable condition and if she would want to find out.
When the doorbell rings, I’m standing in front of my bathroom sink, the picture of indecision: boxer briefs paired with a black silk tank top, made-up face, and completely untamed hair.
I’m supposed to meet my roommate, Holly, for drinks. But it was a last-minute invite—with people I don’t know, planned days or even weeks earlier—and now I feel uncomfortable. As if I’ve become the kind of obligation that I never wanted to be. We’ve been best friends for nearly a decade, but these days, things are different, and I don’t know that I want to feel the strain of it tonight. I’m more tempted by Netflix and cold pizza. My favorite pair of slippers.
I check the weather app on my phone and am almost relieved that it calls for rain.
I’m conceding defeat, turning off the curler, when the bell rings and I physically jump. Because who rings the doorbell in Somerville, Massachusetts, other than someone who wants to kill me? Or someone who wants to sell something, which is maybe not all that much better. But then I consider my upstairs neighbor, who has lost her keys more than once, and is so young, still new to the Boston area, and I feel guilty, so I pad down the stairs of our apartment and crack open the building door. And I swear, I get a whiff of cinnamon, a smell so familiar it knocks me back before I can remember why.
And he’s standing there. On my doorstep. Tall. Even taller than I remember.
Nathan Browning.
We stare at each other from either side of the doorframe. And I will him to disappear. Or turn into someone else. Or at the very least, to come back when I’m wearing pants.
Nathan. Those first two years of college. Nights spent squeezed onto a twin bed in his dorm room, pretending we weren’t uncomfortable just so we could fall asleep together. The summer I’d spent with his family at Lake Winnipesaukee. Campfires and smoky hair. His lips, pillow soft. Water. An excess of water—one oversize tube, our limbs tangled together. Salty tears.
“Alex?”
It’s my name that gets my attention. My name in his mouth, as if it belongs there. As if we still mean something to each other.
I almost shut the door right then.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. I’m relieved my voice sounds calm. Disengaged, even. Because it doesn’t matter that he is here. Because it doesn’t matter what we once were.
“I need your help,” he says.
I stare at him blankly, but he’s not looking at me. He’s looking over his shoulder. He’s looking at the car parked behind him and, more accurately, at what is sitting in the front seat.
He turns back to me with those gray-blue eyes. The ones that were always focused, always so certain, but now hold the smallest hesitation. An expression that seems wrong in this face I still somehow know.
“I saw your video,” he says. “And I—we need your help.”
The video. The one that changed my life right up until it didn’t.
I was a part-time dog trainer then, still trying to make that dream real. Holly and I made a video, and she stuck it up on YouTube, and then it went viral. It was a fluky kind of thing, like those things always are: the right content at the right time in front of the right people. The algorithm was alerted, and the amplification went from there. I was twenty-four and poor and bored—working a second job and involved in a fling to pass the time—and then suddenly, I was also something else. A dog whisperer, people typed. Cesar Millan but softer, with a woman’s touch. Silly. Casually sexist.
But something just the same.
After the video, it was Holly’s idea to start the training business. DogKind, we called it. I dropped my second job as copywriter to train full-time, and she did everything else—the administration and the management. The promotions. We’d both majored in marketing in college, but Holly was better at it than me. Maybe because she believed in it: the concept of brands that build trust, and colors and fonts that tell a story. It took her only two weeks to launch DogKind’s website and get us live on all the social platforms. We were still twenty-four and poor but suddenly not so bored. I remember the day the site launched—us sitting on the floor in our cramped living room, a five-dollar bottle of red between us. Stained teeth. It was summer in an attic apartment in the city, and we didn’t have air-conditioning. Holly had chopped her hair off, and we were trying to convince ourselves it was edgy.
We were young in that way you actually notice. When you’re afraid of what will happen when you blink.
Four years ago. The length of high school, or of college, but without the predetermined milestones. The signposts that tell you how and why everything is about to change.
Holly quit the business less than two years later, and I followed her lead not long after. Partly because I wasn’t making enough money to cover rent, and partly because of what happened with Cliff, one of the dogs I tried to save. But mainly because I hated being called a “dog whisperer.” I hated that people thought I could perform miracles, that they insisted on believing I was more than I was.
I work at Kensington Media now. It covers the rent, and it could one day become a real career. And I don’t have regrets. Except, there are these moments—when I see a short haircut on a blonde, when Instagram flashes up a memory of a pup—and it’s like my whole body freezes over. A little voice in my head, whispering, You can go back if you just stay still.
“How did you find me? I took down my website ages ago.”
“An old testimonial from a woman named Lois, I think?” Nathan says. “Her address is publicly listed. So I called her. She pointed me in your direction.”
Lois. She was my neighbor as a kid. She moved closer to the city after my mom left, but she always kept a close eye on me and Mere. A bespectacled not-quite grandmother—that careful mix of kind and overbearing. She’s a lifelong dog rescuer and was DogKind’s first client.
Lois never wanted me to quit.
I sneak a peek at him while he’s checking the car, again. He’s still handsome. Those eyes, and dark-brown hair with the slightest hint of red—the red was the part that I liked most, that almost made us match. Behind him, I can see a flash of auburn fur. Two half-bent glossy ears pointed forward. A white-tipped tail.
I swallow. “I don’t train anymore,” I say.
He lifts a shoulder. The gesture looks comfortable on him. Like he’s used to half explaining himself, half caring if anyone understands. And I remember that part, too: the easy confidence. The kind I imagine he still takes for granted.
“She thought you might still help.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Lois is one of those people who likes to imagine me as bigger and braver than I am.
“Listen, I don’t know what you saw in that video, but it’s not—she’s not me.”
“She sure looked like you.”
And right then, our eyes meet. And we get stuck there. Three breaths. Blue-gray eyes, like he still knows me. Like we still know each other. And something electric—something more than anger—passes between us. Right here, on my dirty Somerville stoop, wearing the bottom half of my pajamas, everything else recedes. For three breaths, it’s just us.
A car drives by with the windows open, the radio blaring through the street. I take a step back.
“I’ll give you a referral,” I say. “I know a lot better trainers than me out there.”
“Alex.” I hate the way he says my name. “I know that you and I . . . that our history makes this tough . . .” His voice trails off as my eyes snap to him. He takes in my expression, then lifts his chin. That confidence. Whatever hesitation I saw earlier is long gone.
“I’m sorry,” he says firmly. “You know that I am sorry.”
I shake my head. I don’t want an apology. I’m embarrassed—mortified, really—that I still care. That he knows that I still care. That he’s still talking, and I’m falling backward into sand and blue water and the particular ache of a wound that is old but was also first.
I pull my shoulders back. I make my voice flat. “This isn’t about us. I’m not a trainer anymore. I haven’t worked with a dog in almost two years.”
“Her name is Remy,” he says. “She only has three months.”
I pause, already half turned away, my hand pressed against the battered wooden doorframe. The day we moved in, I hit my shoulder against it and ended up with a splinter. I’d been laughing about something with Holly, and then sharp wood pressed deep under my skin.
“Remy bit someone,” he says. I can feel his eyes studying my half-turned face. “She’s a rescue, and she has a history of bites. I had to go to court, and they mandated that she see a vet behaviorist and trainer. I did the first part, and they have her on anxiety meds, which will maybe help. But I need to do the training. And if we can’t document improvement . . .”
His voice trails off, but I don’t need him to finish. I already know how this goes. I’ve seen it before.
Ninety days. He has ninety days to prove that she can be trusted. Or euthanasia. That’s what the court told him.
Of course, they have it all wrong. It’s not about us trusting her. It’s whether she’ll choose to trust us again after whatever made her stop.
I glance back over his shoulder. Those ears, cocked forward above the dashboard, they break my heart. She’s waiting for him. The Nathan I remember was too busy for dogs. Too focused on everything he planned to achieve. But here he is, with a rescue who has decided he’s worth waiting for.
I bite my lower lip. “Your vet must have given you referrals,” I say.
“They were booked out for a month. And the other ones I called wouldn’t take her. They say she’s hopeless.” His jaw clenches. “But, Alex . . . I’ve seen what you can do.”
“You saw an edited video. If they’re telling you she’s a lost cause—”
“We used to say that lost causes were an excuse.”
Our first real conversation. The one that once it started, it felt like it would never stop.
My breath stutters on the memory.
It seems possible, in this moment, that he remembers just as much as I do.
“I know I shouldn’t be here, okay,” he says. “I know that. But Remy is a wonderful dog. And no one else will help her. Whatever you think of me, and honestly, whatever you think of you . . . none of that matters. You need to try. You can do this.”
It’s all classic Nathan: unapologetic and determined. Nathan’s not used to people saying no, especially when it comes to “doing the right thing.” He can be an ass—too cocky, with expectations that are too high—but he’s a genuinely good guy. And he’s never had much patience for people who don’t step up.
It was one of the first things I loved about him.
It was also one of the things that I hated.
“Nathan—”
“Please,” he cuts in. His voice hitches, and I see it now: the dark circles under his eyes, the tightness of his expression. I used to know him once. There was a time when he let me further in than anyone, and I can tell that he is scared. He’s scared for her.
Remorse crowds my stomach because, back then, I could have helped him. But I am not the girl he remembers, and I’m not whoever he thinks he saw online. “I can’t,” I say. “I’m sorry. I really am.”
He looks like he’s about to argue. I expect him to argue. But then, it’s as if he deflates in front of me. His whole chest sinks inward. It’s not a look I’ve ever seen on him. Or one that I like.
“Yeah, no, I get it,” he says.
“I’m not what she needs,” I mumble.
“Sure, okay. I’m sorry for showing up like this.” It’s awkward now. His voice is clipped, and he’s running his hands through his hair like he does in those rare moments when he’s uncomfortable. I don’t have to check to know the back pieces will stick up.
“Listen, leave your number,” I say. “I know a lot of trainers. I’ll find her someone, okay?”
He nods. “Yeah, okay, sure. Thank you.” I can tell he wants to leave. I can tell I am a disappointment. And maybe it’s my imagination, but I get the feeling that it hurts him. Being here. Seeing me.
I think it hurts him, too.
I left my phone upstairs, so he pulls a pen from his suit pocket and a piece of paper from his bag and jots down his number. The promised rain starts as he turns to go, water brushing against my cheeks, and I duck inside the entryway, the paper clenched tightly in my fist. As I watch him jog back to his car, I wonder about the suit. I wonder what he does for work, what kind of man he turned into. I find myself hoping that he got the life he’d planned.
He drives away, and I unstick my feet. I drift back upstairs, past the bright-yellow welcome doormat Holly bought, and collapse on our coach. My mind is strangely quiet, and I let my eyes wander our small place. Everything about it is bright and fun and filled with Holly’s energy: colorful, mismatched place mats; a half a dozen of those cheesy quote signs scattered across the walls; and an array of weird glass owl figurines that Holly collects. They catch the light, making everything twinkle.
I pull out my phone, scrolling past a missed call from my sister to a text message from Lois.
A lovely sounding boy called about his dog. He seemed a bit desperate but was so polite. Be nice!!
I shake my head. Lois is not the first person to be easily charmed by Nathan.
I am going to connect him to a good trainer. No more referrals, please!
I see the response bubbles pop up from her immediately. And then disappear. She starts again, then deletes whatever she wrote. The gentle thud of rain starts to pound outside the window.
My phone buzzes.
I just want you to be happy, honey.
I stare at the screen lit up against my hand. I ignore the sudden tightness of my jaw. I read the words again.
I just want you to be happy.
It’s such a seemingly innocuous statement. A level of genericness that begs an equally generic response. And I want to type back something funny, something simple, but I’m blinking back water that has nothing to do with the rain.
I should be happy. My life is perfectly fine. And wanting more than fine feels like an obnoxious privilege. Too embarrassing to say out loud. Especially when there’s stuff that I could do to improve my life. Books I could read. Skills I could learn. I know there’s stuff I’m supposed to be doing. Just like I know there’s a person I’m supposed to be becoming.
Except, when I think about that person, she’s just as alien as she was when I graduated from college. And I’m not sure how to change that. I’m not sure how to explain that between work and all the daily stuff in my life that is really not that hard, that I don’t know how to become. How the being takes up all the energy that should go toward the becoming.
I didn’t think I would end up this way. I used to want to be different. I used to want to be more like the girl Nathan remembers. I look down at my hands—at the piece of paper still threaded between my fingers, with a number and a name—and a splash of longing bubbles up delicately in my chest. I turn on Netflix, and I find an old sitcom filled with people in their thirties. And as the rain picks up speed outside, I take a careful breath around the bubble. I tell myself I still have time.
Please enjoy this special guest post from author Sherri L. Dodd
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When I began writing the Murder, Tea, and Crystals Trilogy, I wanted the story to be authentic, and realized that I would need to reach beyond my own insufficient knowledge of modern-day paganism. Luckily, I had met a couple of witches at my local crystal shop and had recently hosted a Halloween party where the tarot reader informed me that she, too, was a witch. Three to share, and the latter gave me a taste of the lifestyle. Not wanting to go alone, I invited her to attend a Samhain event with me. Her response was, “Oh no. I don’t go to those things because everyone is always trying to out-witch each other.”
So, I found with today’s witchcraft movement. Like the Christian denomination, to be a witch is a very general term. When you say someone is Christian, you know they believe in one God, and Jesus as the son of God sacrificed himself for mankind. Voila—neatly wrapped in a nutshell. But fine-tuning leads to disputes, such as Catholics believe that Mary was a virgin, 7th Day Adventists hold Saturday as the Sabbath, and the Christian Scientist enforces healing through prayer, alone. Look at the holy wars which have shown everyone thinks it’s their way or the highway. If you think that is chaotic, try putting Neo-Paganism into a tidy catchall box.
First, there are many core belief systems—Celtic, Greek, Norse, and Roman Pantheons, to name a few. A witch can worship anyone from Hekate to Brigid to Saturn to your favorite Marvel character; he, that carries a big thick hammer. Further, sometimes you worship more than just one God or Goddess. You can worship two, three, or ten. Occasionally the many different deities are from the same source—in Hindu’s case, Brahman. That means, one witch may worship Kali, yet, the witch worshiping Ganesh is tapping into the same Hindu divine power. Finally, the priests of the Salem Trials probably roll in their tombs knowing that some Christians consider themselves witches through their ability to heal or manifest. This, I know, because my mother has shared that when she was a teen, my devout Baptist grandmother proclaimed herself “a witch for Christ.”
To me, this is all quite fascinating. I have studied different religions and philosophies since my early twenties, so witchcraft falls aptly into the subject. BUT, for some reason—feminist witches blame the oppressive patriarchy—witchcraft remains taboo. Even today, if you put a book entitled Green Witchcraft II on your coffee table or a copy of Modern Witchcraft on your nightstand, your housecleaner may start rumors that you worship the devil or are a nutcase who believes in magick. Either way, I have found that to be a misrepresentation of the today’s modern witchcraft.
Another challenge when writing about witchcraft is the reverence factor. While I respectfully pursue this venture, I believe, as with all measures of spirituality, I can only graze another person’s truth when writing about core belief systems. No matter what is written, some will agree, and some will want to write their congressman about the spread of false information. Luckily, being a redhead since long before it was cute, I have learned to ignore what others think of me or what I write, and this includes my thorough study of witchcraft. I laugh off the derision. Actually, now, I cackle.
Book Summary
At the age of eight, Arista Kelly was frantically swept up by her parents and whisked off to an isolated town in the California redwoods. Two days later, her parents were gone.
Now at the age of twenty-three, she has settled quite nicely into an eclectic lifestyle, much like her great aunt, and guardian since childhood, Bethie. She enjoys the use of herbs and crystals to help her commune with the energy and nature around her and finds pleasure in the company of her beloved pet, Royal. Usually quite satisfied with her mundane life high in the Santa Cruz Mountains, life becomes unsettling when a new recurring vision of an ominous tattoo as well as increased activity from the ghostly presence within her own cottage invade her once-harmonious existence.
But life in this mountain sanctuary takes an even darker turn when the body of Arista’s former classmate is found in the nearby river. As other young young women fall prey to a suspected serial killer, Arista realizes that the terror is coming to her.
The Review
This was such a compelling, gripping murder-mystery-meets-witchy-supernatural-horror YA thriller. The natural fusion of genres was so well done in this novel, and the visceral imagery between the gorgeous Santa Cruz mountains and the chilling murders that drive this narrative forward, all come together to create a stunning blend of romance/fantasy meets YA supernatural occult horror read that is intense and inviting all at once.
The heart of the narrative is really the character dynamics. Arista is a compelling protagonist, taking the reader on a personal journey of growth as she goes from a studious, harmonious witch connected to the natural world around her to a strong, powerful young woman who is thrust into a shocking mystery and uncovers new abilities and secrets she never thought possible. The small-town setting becomes a character in itself, adding depth to the unfolding mystery and significantly elevating the tension and atmosphere with each chapter.
The Verdict
Thrilling, compelling, and entertaining, author Sherri L. Dodd’s “Murder Under Redwood Moon” is a must-read novel. The twists and turns this story takes, the slew of suspects that keep the reader engaged as the plot unravels, and the monster at the end of the book are all revealed. The compelling character dynamics will keep readers on the edge of their seats and eager for the next entry in the series. If you haven’t yet, be sure to grab your copy today!
Rating: 10/10
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About the Author
Sherri was raised in southeast Texas. Walking barefoot most days and catching crawdads as they swam the creek beds, she had a love for all things free and natural. Her childhood ran rampant with talk of ghosts, demons, and backcountry folklore. This inspired her first short story for sale about a poisonous flower that shot toxins onto children as they smelled it. Her classmate bought it for all the change in his pocket. It was not long after that her mother packed the two of them up and headed to the central coast of California. She has ping-ponged throughout the area ever since.
Her first real step into writing was the non-fiction fitness book, Mom Looks Great – The Fitness Program for Moms published in 2005, and maintaining its accompanying blog. Now, transmuting the grief of her father’s passing, she has branched into Fiction, specifically the genre of Paranormal Thriller with generous dashes of Magick Realism! Her Murder, Tea & Crystals Trilogy released book one – Murder Under Redwood Moon – in March 2024. Book two – Moonset on Desert Sands – released in March 2025, and the final book in the series – Hummingbird Moonrise – became #1 New Release in Occult Supernatural on Amazon in October 2025!
Join us as we celebrate the launch of the the first book in Sherri Dodd’s Murder, Tea & Crystals trilogy: Murder Under the Redwood Moon. Read an interview with the author and enter to win the whole trilogy. Two winners!
I received a free copy of this book in exchange for a fair and honest review. All opinions are my own.
A man must deliver a herd of goats across the ocean to survivors of the atomic bombs in Japan after WWII in author Shirley Miller Kamada’s “Zachary: A Seagoing Cowboy.”
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The Synopsis
Zachary Whitlock knows sheep. He knows farming and knows what it’s like to have his best friend forced into an internment camp for Japanese Americans. What he does not know much about is goats and traveling by sea on cargo ships, yet he makes a decision to go with a group of volunteers to Japan to help deliver a herd of more than two hundred goats, many of which are pregnant, to survivors of the U.S. bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
The Review
This was such a powerful and unique coming-of-age story. Exploring a rarely looked at point in history, the book’s narrative follows a young man who witnessed a lot growing up, from the start of WWII to his good friends and neighbors being imprisoned in an internment camp after Pearl Harbor, and finally the aftermath of the two atomic bombs that destroyed parts of Japan. The author expertly weaves descriptive imagery to perfectly showcase the harsh sea voyage and the care these goats receive, all while exploring the more emotional core of the historical events surrounding the protagonist.
The story’s larger themes came to life in a fast-paced narrative that captivated the reader. The way the story explores the harsh realities of war, from internment camps and the loss so many Americans felt after WWII, fueling these actions, to the horrors of the bombs on the people of Japan, this story really gave YA readers a lot to discuss. The examination of faith and how it shapes our approach to situations where we want to do the right thing, and, of course, the higher cost of nuclear war, kept the reader invested as the narrative itself became more personal and emotionally driven.
The Verdict
Engaging, thoughtfully written, and memorable, author Shirley Miller Kamada’s “Zachary: A Seagoing Cowboy” is a must-read coming-of-age YA historical fiction read. The balance the author found in storytelling, bouncing back and forth between the protagonist’s life on his family farm and the trip to Japan, and the artful, majestic imagery the author’s detailed writing brought to life, will keep readers invested in this fantastic story. If you haven’t yet, be sure to grab your copy today!
Rating: 10/10
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About the Author
Shirley Miller Kamada grew up on a farm in northeastern Colorado. She has been an educator in Oregon, Idaho, and Washington, a bookstore-espresso café owner in Centralia, Washington, and director of a learning center in Olympia, Washington. Her much-loved first novel, NO QUIET WATER, was a Kirkus recommended title and a finalist for several awards. When not writing, she enjoys casting a fly rod, particularly from the dock at her home on Moses Lake in Central Washington, which she shares with her husband and two spoiled pups.
Join us at the Muffin as we celebrate the launch of Zachary: A Seagoing Cowboy by Shirley Miller Kamada. We interview the author and give you a chance to win a copy of the book.
Stop by Chelsie’s blog for Shirley Miller Kamada’s guest post on learning that her grandfather helped build the internment camp at Minidoka in southern Idaho.
Zachary Whitlock knows sheep. He knows farming and knows what it’s like to have his best friend forced into an internment camp for Japanese Americans. What he does not know much about is goats and traveling by sea on cargo ships, yet he makes a decision to go with a group of volunteers to Japan to help deliver a herd of more than two hundred goats, many of which are pregnant, to survivors of the U.S. bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
Shirley Miller Kamada grew up on a farm in northeastern Colorado. She has been an educator in Oregon, Idaho, and Washington, a bookstore-espresso café owner in Centralia, Washington, and director of a learning center in Olympia, Washington. Her much-loved first novel, NO QUIET WATER, was a Kirkus recommended title and a finalist for several awards. When not writing, she enjoys casting a fly rod, particularly from the dock at her home on Moses Lake in Central Washington, which she shares with her husband and two spoiled pups.
Join us at the Muffin as we celebrate the launch of Zachary: A Seagoing Cowboy by Shirley Miller Kamada. We interview the author and give you a chance to win a copy of the book.
Stop by Chelsie’s blog for Shirley Miller Kamada’s guest post on learning that her grandfather helped build the internment camp at Minidoka in southern Idaho.
Early spring, 1948. An American Friends Service Committee meeting was in progress in our house. Several items of business were being discussed by a team of five members, who sometimes arrived with their children and occasionally a dachshund named Parker.
I sat in our big leaf maple tree, properly termed genus acer macrophyllum, which my older brother Jacob once said was planted as a memorial, although for what or whom, I don’t know. With my back against its trunk, and my feet wedged into the crooks of its limbs, I’d long felt I was a part of that tree. Behind my ear a pencil, on my lap a clipboard and my trigonometry assignment. I could work on assignments and keep an eye on the lambs out in the pasture.
Trigonometry is the key to any number of pursuits. Medicine. Engineering. Agricultural science. It was offered at Bainbridge High during the senior year, but I wanted to challenge it. I had enough credits to graduate early, except for a math course, and math was my strong suit.
High school. I felt like I was just marking time, and I wanted to be finished with it.
Then what? I had a part-time job with the island’s newspaper, first as a paper boy. (Of course, not all paper boys are boys. When we were eighth graders, my friend Reyna had a paper route.) Later, I took over what my employers called “the high school beat” and Young Farmers
16 ZACHARY
news. But I was nearly seventeen, and I wanted more. Maybe university? Maybe travel? I wanted to expand my horizons, as the phrase goes.
So, I went to the bank, took money from my account, purchased a money order, and mailed it to the American School of Chicago, Illinois. Fully accredited. Trigonometry was tough. And I liked that. It was fun.
From the pasture I heard a quiet mewling. A tiny woolly being, born early and wobble-legged still, was getting some sun and fresh air and an introduction to the big, wide world. I knew the lamb was fine for a while longer. I could continue working and return the lambs to the loafing shed a bit later.
Twigs snapped, footsteps through the grass. “Hello.”
Standing below was a friend of my parents, Mr. Floyd Schmoe. A Quaker. A conscientious objector. Almost a legend.
My brother Jacob was, too. Not a legend, but a conscientious objector. Because he would not carry a gun, some people called him a conchie during the war. That’s rude.
Mr. Floyd Schmoe would not fight against the Central Powers in World War I. Violence all around. He would not kill. In Europe he worked with the Red Cross. Later, in Poland, he helped refugees find shelter, food, medical supplies.
He also worked for the Park Service at Mount Rainier as a naturalist and taught at the university in Seattle. Same as my parents, he and Mrs. Schmoe are American Friends Service Committee Observers. For the cause of fairness. Justice. They make it their business to visit places where people are being harmed for no fault of their own, but out of envy, prejudice, or greed, and they write about it.
“Room up there for one more?” Mr. Schmoe reached for a nearby branch. Long and lean, he levered himself up. “I’m interrupting you.”
“It’s okay. I’m stuck.” I tapped the clipboard with my pencil.
“You’ll figure it out. I asked after you, whether you were off to college.
Your mother said it would be a while. You’re a bit young still, she said.” “These are my trig calculations. I’m studying trigonometry by
correspondence, through American Schools.”
SHIRLEY MILLER KAMADA 17
“American Schools? I’ve heard of that. Illinois, right? Trigonometry is usually taught in the senior year, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir. But graduation? I want to get a jump on it. I feel ready to be done.”
“What courses do you still need, in order to do that?” “Just this—trigonometry.”
“I see! Well, your mother sent me, said I’d probably find you here, and she’s about to serve crumb cake.”
Lambs called from the pasture. “Nice flock.”
“Thank you, sir. They’re Lincolns.”
He braced to swing down. “I’ll be heading inside.”
“You can go back in through the window if you like.”
He grinned. “Thanks, that’s okay. I’ll tell your mother you’ll be in soon.” Leaving my clipboard in the tree, I got the lambs, bleating all the way, into the loafing shed. After climbing back up to retrieve my clipboard, I went in through the window and put away my math lesson. A sweet smell drifted through the hall door. Crumb cake.
One good thing about hosting a Friends Service Committee meeting is the food. Salads and desserts. Easy to pack in a car, handy to eat from a plate on the arm of a chair. Or on a lap. Mother has always kept linen napkins edged in her hand-crocheted lace for those occasions. No one expected me to sit through meetings, but sometimes it was interesting.
Pausing on the top step, I brushed grass and bits of leaves off my pantlegs, then retied a shoe lace. Mr. Schmoe’s voice carried up the stairs. He was telling committee members about a project, delivering donated farm animals to families in Japan who had lost their homes and livelihoods because of the war. I heard, “Bombs. Innocent victims of conflict. Hundreds of thousands on the edge of starvation.” I heard, “Goats. Cargo ship. Japan.” One of the Peace Churches was organizing voyages and supervising volunteers to care for the animals. Finding volunteers—he called them Cowboys, and friendly laughter followed—was not easy. Goats aren’t as familiar as horses and cows, the more typical farm animals. No way around it, caring for livestock is hard work.
18 ZACHARY
The conversation quieted then, and I wasn’t much interested in less exciting news.
As I sat there on the stairs, the seed was planted. It sprouted and grew like bindweed. I could not get it out of my head. Mr. Floyd Schmoe was going to Japan. By ship. With goats.
For Mr. Schmoe, this was a way to aid suffering people and, also, to be permitted to visit Japan, since the country was under occupation by the Allied Forces and closed to all but a few civilians. After getting the goats to their destinations, Mr. Schmoe planned to talk with people whose advice he needed to get started on a project he felt passionate about. Building houses for those made homeless when the atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima.
A feeling rushed through me. Shaken to my bones. The voyage, the animal care, helping families in need. I wanted to be part of that. All of it
As a member of the Young Farmers Club, I’d helped transport sheep to livestock judging competitions. YFC members worked together to pen and care for the sheep, sometimes for three days duration. Goats couldn’t be much different than sheep. I was sixteen going on seventeen. A couple hundred goats on a cargo ship to Japan? What could go wrong?
This was important, and I could do it. I knew I could. But how?
Downstairs, I enjoyed the cake and hot chocolate Mother had made for the younger guests and me. Later, I helped straighten the front room, as always, and on the floor, under the end table beside the couch, I found a pamphlet describing the Heifer Project. On the front was a drawing of cattle walking up a ramp onto a ship. A cargo ship, I thought. Tucked inside the pamphlet were several pages of questions and instructions. An application! Breathless, I found my favorite pen and went to my writing table. The questions seemed straight forward and reasonable. In answer to, “Do you possess any special skills that would be of value to the project,” I wrote, “I have cared for our family’s flock of sheep, which are ruminants, as are goats, since I could walk.”
SHIRLEY MILLER KAMADA 19
20 ZACHARY
Giving “General Delivery,” as my return address, I signed and dated the application, slipped the pages into an envelope, licked the flap, and ran my thumb, twice, along the closing.
On Monday, when the school day was done, I took the application to the post office, bought and applied a stamp, and dropped the envelope into the slot. Just before I walked out the door, the postmaster called, “Hello, young Mr. Whitlock. Say hello to your folks for me.” I turned, lifted my hand and nodded, then went out to my bicycle. My stomach felt strange for a moment, but I pedaled toward home, and that feeling passed.
I’ve thought about this a lot because it’s become a common question I get. Why do I write short stories? I remember reading short stories in high school and college. I liked the idea of taking a moment in time and really focusing on it. That’s something short stories do well. You can really focus on one moment and make the most of it.
To me, it made a lot of sense to master the short story form before attempting to write a longer work, such as a novel. I’m not sure that is the best way to approach writing, or if it’s even recommended, but that’s how I approached it. I wouldn’t say I’ve mastered short stories, but I’ve definitely written a lot of them now. I’ve had a handful published individually in literary magazines.
After putting together this short story collection, which is interconnected and themed, I realized that perhaps I could handle the intricacy and challenge of a full novel. I finally felt like taking that on. That’s what I’m working on now.
That’s the path I’ve taken, but every writer I know has their own journey into writing and publishing. And if there’s anything I’ve learned from all the writing books, courses and podcasts, it’s that every writer has a different path into writing. Some study it in college and go on to get MFAs, others just secretly write in their free time, never really expecting to see the light of day. Others go the journalism route. A lot of people start with a novel.
I was told that a short story collection would be hard to sell, especially as a first book. I was disappointed, but determined to try. With the help of a writing coach and editor, I eventually found a small, independent publisher who was interested in publishing it, so I celebrated that win and was over the moon to have my collection out in the world.
If I had to do it over again, I’d do the same thing. I’d write my short stories, create a collection and then work on a novel, like I am now. I’m too early in my career to decide how successful it’s been overall, but it’s all I know and what I’ve done. And taking on any writing project is no small feat, so celebrate your writing and your path and don’t let anyone tell you you’re doing it wrong.
Book Summary
Let Birds Fly by Rhea Thomas is a magical realism short story collection where the extraordinary sparks everyday lives toward transformation. Connected by Ripple Media, each of the fifteen characters navigates personal struggles, such as an impossible itch, a mercurial third eye, and hallucinating coffee. They discover hidden truths, purpose, or power. With whimsy and emotional depth, these stories explore identity, passion, and self-discovery through moments of enchantment that crack open ordinary reality. Let these tales remind you: sometimes, the most magical thing is becoming who you were always meant to be.
Rhea Thomas lives in Austin, Texas where she works as a program manager in the digital media world. Her short stories have been published in multiple publications, including, most recently, The Fictional Café, Toasted Cheese and Does It Have Pockets. She spends her free time hoarding books, walking her stubborn Labrador retriever, playing games with her sons, kayaking and swimming in rivers, searching for mysteries and writing short stories that explore magical moments in the mundane. Her first book, a collection of short stories, is due out in August 2025, and she’s currently working on a literary mystery novel.
Join us at the Muffin as we celebrate the launch of Let Birds Fly by Rhea Thomas. We interview the author and give you a chance to win a copy of the book.
I received a free copy of this book in exchange for a fair and honest review. All opinions are my own.
Author Rhea Thomas shares 15 short stories of magical realism in the collection “Let Birds Fly.”
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The Synopsis
Let Birds Fly by Rhea Thomas is a magical realism short story collection where the extraordinary sparks everyday lives toward transformation. Connected by Ripple Media, each of the fifteen characters navigates personal struggles, such as an impossible itch, a mercurial third eye, and hallucinating coffee. They discover hidden truths, purpose, or power. With whimsy and emotional depth, these stories explore identity, passion, and self-discovery through moments of enchantment that crack open ordinary reality. Let these tales remind you: sometimes, the most magical thing is becoming who you were always meant to be.
The Review
This was a unique and surreal collection of short stories. While each story could stand on its own, the underlying connective factor of the Office setting, with Ripple Media playing a role in each of these stories and the characters’ lives, was a great twist, allowing readers to channel their own workplace environments into the narratives. The vivid imagery in these stories and the strong character development the author achieves in such short stories are incredible, especially in one of my personal favorites, The Third Eye.
The satirical and magical nature of these stories, as well as the wise and almost lyrical style of writing, made this story shine brightly. The practically metaphysical nature of this collection speaks to a hidden layer of reality as we know it, with each tale striking at topics like corporate struggles for workers and the grief we feel losing a family member in a way that feels relatable and engaging.
The Verdict
Thought-provoking, satirical, and engaging, author Rhea Thomas’s “Let Birds Fly” is a must-read collection of short stories. The twists and turns each story takes, the unique nature of the self-contained stories within a larger umbrella tale, and the powerful imagery that these stories conjure up will stay with readers long after the book ends. If you haven’t yet, be sure to grab your copy today!
Rating: 10/10
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About the Author
Rhea Thomas lives in Austin, Texas where she works as a program manager in the digital media world. Her short stories have been published in multiple publications, including, most recently, The Fictional Café, Toasted Cheese and Does It Have Pockets. She spends her free time hoarding books, walking her stubborn Labrador retriever, playing games with her sons, kayaking and swimming in rivers, searching for mysteries and writing short stories that explore magical moments in the mundane. Her first book, a collection of short stories, is due out in August 2025, and she’s currently working on a literary mystery novel.
Join us at the Muffin as we celebrate the launch of Let Birds Fly by Rhea Thomas. We interview the author and give you a chance to win a copy of the book.
Back at his desk, Beto took his first cautious sip and almost groaned out loud. It tasted fucking incredible. There was a richness to it that slid across his tongue in a velvety caress with a tinge of orange, with little spicy, almost peppery, sparks exploding in its wake. He gently ran his finger over his tongue to make sure it was, well, still normal-feeling. It was tingling, not unpleasantly. He took another sip and had the same experience, although slightly less surprising, since he knew to expect it, but no less amazing. Each subsequent sip produced the same effect. This coffee was incredible. It was a tongue-gasm. And in between these sips, something interesting was happening. Beto’s super-organized email inbox, which had lots of folders and labels, was turning into a rainbow, with different subjects taking on different colors. He looked around and saw rainbows on other people’s screens, so he shook his head and went back to work. Must be some weird new update.
From To The Fairest:
About an hour later, hearing a knock on her front door, she opened it without checking, assuming it was her food delivery, and found a goddess standing on her welcome mat. Tall, with olive skin, shiny black hair falling down her back and gray eyes, the woman wore a silver breastplate and had an owl on her shoulder.
“I am Athena, daughter of Zeus and goddess of wisdom and war.”
Sophia stared for a second and then burst out laughing. “Nice one. Did Lucy send you?”
“Lucy? No, I’m here because of the Golden Apple.”
Sophia put her hands on her hips. “Uh-huh, and how did you know I have it?”
Athena opened her mouth to reply, but Sophia continued, “Let me guess, you’re here to promise me wealth if I give it to you?”
Athena narrowed her eyes. “Did someone tell you I was coming? Did they beat me here?” She tried to peer past Sophia into the apartment.
“There’s no one here. Wait, who is they? Who is coming?” Sophia asked.
“Aphrodite and Hera, of course.” She turned around to look behind her as if they might be there already.
From A Fearsome Thing:
Dixon Murray started his morning with an omelet, strong coffee and murder, and he was rather particular about the order. A hearty breakfast followed by crime was his preferred start to every day, if he was completely honest with himself, although, the murder part was the new addition he was trying to make a habit.
He made the omelet himself with three eggs, slightly beaten, low-fat milk, shredded pepper jack cheese, chopped organic green onions and bell peppers, and one sliced avocado. He preferred his coffee black and strong, and he liked to sit down with both the coffee and the omelet at the wooden desk in his small home office to contemplate murder. He wasn’t picky about the method of murder; stabbing, strangling, poison or guns, anything and everything was on the table. The more complicated, the more involved stages of planning, the more satisfying it was. Dixon wanted more than anything to be a mystery novelist. But, as the adult son of an actual celebrated mystery novelist, he knew just how high the bar was and what his chances were of writing something, well, publishable.
I received a free copy of this book in exchange for a fair and honest review. All opinions are my own.
A woman struggles with the actions that haunt her from a past life in author Amy S. Cutler’s “To Have and to Hold, To Love and to Kill: An Agreement of Souls.”
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The Synopsis
In her past life, after causing the death of a little boy, Nikki was so devastated that her soul mate promised to murder her in their next life, to make her pay for what she had done. With no knowledge of this, Nikki lives for years as an addict, down on her luck, until she is rescued by Ken, who helps her with all aspects of her recovery. With the help of a few new friends and a cat named Destiny, Nikki turns her life around. What she doesn’t know is that someone out there is destined to kill her, and he is watching, his passion for killing her growing stronger each day.
The question is: Can an agreement made between two souls be broken, and how far will one soul go to keep a promise made in a desperate attempt to save the other?
The Review
What a powerful and gripping paranormal and metaphysical fantasy read. The author did an incredible job of balancing the spiritual and karmic aspects of the narrative with the more grounded and emotional character arcs. The opening chapter was a gut punch for readers, revealing the devastating consequences of a single terrible decision. The struggles Nikki went through in this story, and the powerful imagery and atmosphere, were brilliantly illustrated through the author’s writing style and tone.
The heart of this book lies in its rich character arcs and mystery. The idea of karma and past lives was thoughtfully explored in this narrative, and the mystery of who from Nikki’s past life became part of her current life and what role they played was incredibly well developed. The tension and atmospheric nature of the plot, along with the dynamic between Nikki and several characters, were compelling, offering readers emotional depth and thought-provoking insights into the human soul and what it means to be human.
The Verdict
Fast-paced, emotionally investing, and memorable, author Amy S. Cutler’s “To Have and to Hold, To Love and to Kill: An Agreement of Souls” is a must-read metaphysical and paranormal fantasy novel. The twists and turns, the shocking revelations, and the heartfelt, heartbreaking final chapters will stay with readers long after the story ends. If you haven’t yet, be sure to grab your copy today!
Rating: 10/10
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About the Author
Amy Sampson-Cutler, author of “To Have and to Hold, to Love and to Kill: An Agreement of Souls” and “A Shadow of Love,” is a writer who earned her master’s degree in creative writing from Goddard College. Her work can be found in Slut Vomit: An Anthology of Sex Work, Tales to Terrify, WOW! Women on Writing, The Pitkin Review and more. She is the Executive Manager at Mount Peter Ski Area, where she grew up skiing in the winter and dreaming up stories in the summer. Her favorite days are spent knocking around story ideas with her husband. She lives in the Hudson Valley with her husband, son, and a ridiculous amount of furry family members.
She can be contacted through AmysHippieHut.com. Also follow her on:
Join us as we celebrate the launch of To Have and to Hold, to Love and to Kill by Amy Sampson-Cutler. We interview the author and give you a chance to win a copy of the book.
I received a free copy of this book in exchange for a fair and honest review. All opinions are my own.
Author Ekta R. Gary shares the unique moments that lead up to or occur between the iconic stories of fairy tales in the book “The Witch’s Apprentice and Other Stories.”
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The Synopsis
Have you ever wondered why Jack and Jill needed that pail of water in the first place? Or how Sleeping Beauty managed to prick her finger despite a royal order to destroy every spindle in the kingdom?
Fairy tales and nursery rhymes have given us some of the most iconic characters and images in storytelling; think Cinderella’s glass slipper or Jack’s oversized beanstalk. But what about the in-between moments? The ones that never made it to the page?
In this enchanting micro-collection of short stories, award-winning author Ekta R. Garg explores the untold scenes between the lines of some of our most loved tales. Find out what the Wicked Witch of the East was doing in the road before Dorothy’s house fell on her. Learn where Goldilocks came from. Meet the conmen who convinced the emperor he had new clothes and more.
Rediscover the wit, heart, and magic of the classics, and see them as you’ve never seen them before in The Witch’s Apprentice and Other Stories.
This was such a fantastic collection of fairy tale short stories. Although a short read, the collection does an incredible job of creating powerful characters that are both familiar and unique at the same time, such as the Princess found in The Beauty Before She Sleeps. The rich imagery in each story feels both bright and visceral, and each tale expertly weaves together substantial emotional depth for these characters, much like the Witch and her apprentice and their familial connection in The Witch’s Apprentice.
What made these stories so unique was how they were found in the moments people rarely think of when it comes to iconic stories. From exploring how the Wicked Witch of the East ended up under Dorothy’s house to why both Jack and Jill needed a pail of water to begin with, these stories are a love letter to both fan fiction and fairy tales overall. The satire and wit that the dialogue brought to life were an outstanding balance to the self-reflection and introspective themes that these stories wove into their fabric.
The Verdict
Thoughtful, compelling, and entertaining, author Ekta R. Garg’s “The Witch’s Apprentice and Other Stories” is a must-read collection of short stories. The twists and turns of each story, along with their unique takes, dynamic characters, and memorable themes, will keep readers enthralled and eager for more. If you haven’t yet, be sure to grab your copy today!
Rating: 10/10
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About the Author
A Reviewer, Editor, Author, and Dreamer of stories and books, Ekta has worked in niche publishing since 2005—she’s written and edited about everything from healthcare to home improvement to Hindi films! Ekta judges writing contests, hosts writing workshops, and podcasts about great books and how to write them. She’s currently the Content Coordinator of Neighbors of SW Champaign, a hyper-local magazine focusing on and lifting up the Champaign, Illinois, community. Ekta’s award-winning holiday novella, The Truth About Elves, and her award-winning fairy tale for grown-ups, In the Heart of the Linden Wood, are available from Atmosphere Press.
Join us as we celebrate the launch of The Witch’s Apprentice and Other Stories by Ekta Garg. Read an interview with the author and enter for a chance to win a copy of the book.
Visit Julie’s blog again for a guest post by author Ekta Garg on how to choose the theme of your book…or let it choose you. You can also read her review of The Witch’s Apprentice and Other Stories.
Visit Katherine’s blog for her review of The Witch’s Apprentice and Other Stories by Ekta Garg. You can also check out her response to our tour-themed prompt on what she hasn’t seen in a fairy tale that we wish we saw more of.
