Music to My Ears

"Al Riske has packed so much emotional punch in this 217-page slice-of-life novel [Sabrina's Window] that I'm still thinking about the people that inhabit the pages ... Reading it was much like hearing a piece of music. I know I'll read it again, and re-discover the nuances of something beautiful."
 — Katherine Adams, Goodreads

Thanks, Katherine!

First review of Sabrina's Window

Skipping to the part I like best ...

"Sabrina's Window is a pure pleasure to read. Al Riske does an excellent job of creating colorful, realistic characters. The story is brought to life while the author blends the story into the beautiful Taos scenery. Doing so gives the novel a very unique flavor and I highly recommend it."
 — Paige Lovitt, in the Seattle Post-Intelligencer

You can read the full review here. It's quite insightful, actually.

Antiphony

Antiphony is, in many ways, an awe-inspiring novel. It was, I think, written in awe. Awe of science and reason. Awe of intuition and faith. Awe of the one and the many, unity and diversity. 

Writer Chris Katsaropoulos has a way of delving deeply into what seem like small moments–the whole novel takes place in just three or four days–and capturing all their nuances and vibrating tension.

Throughout Antiphony, the protagonist (a physicist researching string theory) experiences dreams and visions that fill pages the way a flash flood fills a ravine–a torrent of words flowing into the space between the margins and pressing onward to the next page and the next.

It makes me wonder how he did it.

Christmas, remembered

This is me and my big brother, Harry, with our mom behind us and our sisters all around.

This is how he once was and always wanted to be.

In the years since Harry's death I've come to realize just how hard he tried to keep alive the boy inside.

He was a Scout Master and  skateboard maestro to the end.

God hug you, my brother. I'm grateful for everything you taught me.

(The stuffed animals are from our bigger brother, Rudi, who's probably the one taking the picture. I'm grateful to you, too, Rudi, for a Christmas to remember and so much more.)

The Fear Factor

Dick Cheney has a memoir. We have an anthology. Here's a little sample of what you'll find in D*cked:

My name is Dick and I'm afraid all the time.

I can't stop worrying.

I worry so much I think I might explode.

I worry about America losing its power. I worry about those oil-rich nomads giving this country a giant wedgie the way the cool kids in high school did to me back in the day.

Back when I was a nerd and not the leader of the free world.

Well, de facto leader.

You think W was ever in charge? Fuck you.

Now I'm an ex, but not a has-been. Not if I have anything to say about it. And I do. I still got plenty to say.

I talk when I get nervous. Always have. And right now I'm terrified.

They don't understand what's about to happen.

And it won't be my fault. They will have only themselves to blame ...

I hear those late-night comics making fun of the way I talk, making me sound like the Penguin in the old Batman TV show. Well, that was a great show, and if you don't think so, you must be some kind of elitist snob, so shove it.

They think they're so cool. They think they can give me a virtual wedgie and just walk away—laugh all the way to the bank. I got news for them. Nobody but nobody pulls my underpants up my crack. Not anymore they don't. Virtual or otherwise.

They're the ones. Oh, yeah. They're the ones who need to live in fear.

Live in fear like I do. Like I always have. Always having to look over my shoulder.

I cannot be held responsible, I'm telling you now.

Tell them! Tell them for me that they'd better be on the alert whenever they bend over. I get one glimpse of Jockey white, one glimpse of BVD elastic, and I'm doing it, Doc.

They've pushed me too far this time.

Do any of those we-don't-torture softies ever worry, like I do, that there is going to be a whole series of attacks all across this land? Do they really think they can choose NOT to live in fear? Ha!

The new Veep thinks he's got the terrorists on the run, thinks he's reduced the threat of attack. He hasn't. He just increased it. And Jon "smarty pants" Stewart with his Daily Show saying my pronouncements have never been right—about anything. What a wiseacre. Always playing clips of me making predictions that haven't come true. Well, I know I'm right this time.

I know I'm right, because I will attack. I will go nuclear.

Oh, yeah! You'd better believe it, Doc. I will go nuclear on their asses.

Atomic wedgies all around!

Then we'll see how they like it.

I'm not kidding. This is war!

Jesus for President

What would Jesus say if he were running for office?

Silly question, I know. Jesus would never run for office.

Remember how people tried to get him into a debate about taxes? He wouldn't let himself be sucked in.

"Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's," he said, "and render unto God the things that are God's."

In other words, Jesus had other priorities, higher priorities.

I think he understood that religion and politics don't mix.

Religion is supposed to be pure; politics is, at best, messy, pragmatic, and full of compromises.

That's how it works.

I'm really, really tired of candidates who call themselves Christians yet bear no resemblance to the man they are supposed to be emulating.

They don't share his compassion or his humility, much less his priorities.

Santa Margherita, September 2002

We awoke in darkness.
Not a sliver of light anywhere.
Eyes open, pure black.
There was just the sound of the rain and a light wind,
water from the roof splattering on the stone terrace
outside the glass doors of our Villa Gnocchi bedroom.
Then, boom!
Thunder like we'd never heard before.
Thunder loud enough to make our bodies twitch
and our eyes pop open.
The rain came louder, too, followed by more thunder.
Again, and again, and again.
Then flashes of lightening.
At first I was able to count to nine
between lightning flash
and thunder clap.
Then zero.
Joanne's body tensed in my arms.
Finally the storm subsided.
Did it really last for hours?
I lay awake wondering when the dawn would come.
Eventually a little light peeked through the curtains.
It was our first time
in Italy.