More Than The Madness: A Memoir by John Kaniecki
Published by Dreaming Big Publications
Reviewed by Kara M
 
ABOUT THE BOOK
 
This book gives readers a glimpse into the life of someone living with bipolar disorder. It’s not a clinical book filled with facts and figures, but a book of humanity. 

Spanning childhood to early adult, through stories of abuse, being bullied, experimentation with drugs and alcohol, inpatient stays on psych wards, a night in jail, his college days in the fraternity, hitchhiking across America, and his time in a third world country, John gives the reader a personal and up-close look into his life as a manic depressive. The stories are sad, shocking, and at times funny as he shares his antics while at his most manic and delusional.
 
Throughout his journey, John also struggles with his faith in God. More than the Madness is a testament of one man’s journey to grow closer to God while gaining a better understanding of himself. 

John wrote his story to help educate others on mental illness and remove some of the stigma associated with it. It is his hope that readers will get to know the person behind the diagnosis; take away the labels and meet someone's son, friend, and husband. See that there is More Than the Madness.
 
MY REVIEW
 
4/5
 
More Than The Madness was an emotional insight on a mental illness that effects those who have it in different ways. Bipolar disorder is a mental illness I’m familiar with, as it has affected people I love. It’s often hard to understand the chemical imbalance without having it yourself, and I think Kaniecki did a beautiful job of just telling his story and how it affected him. The simple way Kaniecki tells readers about growing up reinforces the reality that is mental illness: it can affect anyone.
 
Sometimes the story jumped around a lot, but I wasn’t too concerned since life lessons can happen nonlinear. The memoir not only told the story of the author, but also the people in his life. I really loved all the connections Kaniecki brought into the story. The mixture of influences in his life really made readers understand how different everyone is, but how they can impact your lives in significant ways no matter what the chemicals in their brains are doing. The memoir also covers what it was like to be in a psychiatric hospital, and how they’re not all the same. I think this work says a lot about how people should view mental illness and how those with mental illness can be understood.  
 
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
 
John Kaniecki is an author and poet. His works has been published in over eighty outlets. He was born in Brooklyn, New York and grew up in Pompton Plains, New Jersey. He attended Steven's Institute of Technology for two years before dropping out. At that time John became a Christian and a member of the Church of Christ. Also John began to seriously suffer from bipolar disorder. This mental illness would adversely affect John. As such the topic is dealt with in his writing. In particular in his book of memoirs "More Than The Madness". Also the experience is poetically explored in the book "Murmurings Of A Mad Man". John's shining achievement is his poetry book "Poet To The Poor,Poems Of Hope For The Bottom One Percent." This book deals with historical figures and events along with people from John's own life. True to John's poetic philosophy the book is written with poems that deliver a clear message. Rhyming and rhythm are prominent. John's book "Sunset Shadows" is a book of classically written sonnets dealing with dying and death in a spiritual and wholesome way. "A Day's Weather" completes John's present poetry collection which is a depiction of his days as a neophyte poet. This early work is a wholesome and quaint collection. 
 
John has a science fiction anthology called Words of the Future. This book is interesting, unique and exciting. John presently has two horror books out, "Scarecrow, Scarecrow" and "Satan's Siren". These two books are part of a series following the main character Anne McFry. 
 
John presently lives in Montclair with his wife Sylvia. John is a volunteer minister at the Church of Christ at Chancellor Avenue which is located in the south ward of Newark New Jersey. John is also a full time caregiver for his wife. Expect more exciting stuff from John soon.
 
Amazon Product Page
 
DISCLAIMER: I received a copy of this book for free in exchange for writing a review. I was not obligated to give a positive review, and all thoughts are my own.
 

The Storm
by Aaron Hwang

Asher just wanted to be dry. It had been who knew how many days, and he just wanted to sit on land that didn’t rock, wear clothes that weren’t damp, and talk to someone who wasn’t himself. Instead, he sighed and poured another cup of water back into the sea.

The ocean was too damn big. Really it just was. It was like a continent all its own, a forgotten shadow country, unobtrusively vaster than all the nations of the world combined.  On maps, it was just a void space, an emptiness – something to look down on from an airplane as you left it behind. But it was there. Blueness wider than the imagination, and at the center of it all was Asher’s orange dot.

This dot was Asher’s life raft. It was a dinky thing, nothing more than an orange tent mounted on an inner tube, a contraption which was, against all appearances, sea-worthy.

Well, things could always be worse, Asher thought to himself as he fiddled with dials and buttons on his unresponsive radio. In the distance, Asher saw dark clouds casting shadows of rain approaching like huge beasts on spindly lightning legs. A tremor ran through his body, and, at first, he thought it was fear, until he felt the grin spreading on his face. No- not fear, not just fear. The sea shuddered too, like a giant drum, a heartbeat of rise and fall.

The storm clouds lumbered on, great and ponderous, calling to each other with groans of thunder. Asher breathed deep as the wind whipped the orange canopy of his raft into a frenzy, and the clouds’ dark shadows passed over him. He emerged from his tent-like structure, and clung to the canvas as it flapped, wanting to feel that wind against his skin, needing to feel the lash of the rain.

It came down hard, like marbles, and Asher hung from the slick side of his canopy, holding his mouth open, until he could gargle rainwater with a triumphant flourish. He looked up at the distant black underbellies of rolling clouds, and he was a mouse at the feet of elephants, a minnow overtaken by a pod of whales.

The thunder boomed and Asher whooped back to the sky.  The rain came down, and drenched him, and he laughed. He knew he would probably be dead soon- but until then he was going to be alive.

Then he saw the boat. At first, he thought it was a trick of his eyes, an apparition of white in the rain. But then he recognized the sharp sides of a cruise liner, marble and ponderous, emerging silently from the curtains of rain.

Asher made a strangled noise and dropped to the canopy, rain slick hands fumbling for the zipper. He struggled to fight his way past the snarled plastic teeth. Signal flare. Signal flare.

There! He lunged for it, but the storm shook the raft like a bug, hurling objects around in a dizzy flurry. Asher splashed to the plastic floor, blindly grasping fingers around something that felt like a tube.

He slashed his way back, beating aside the canopy, and breaching into storm. The cruise liner was passing away now, grey rain curtains closing as quietly as they had opened. Asher looked down and cursed himself, he’d meant to grab the parachute flare, but this handheld one, this would have to do.

The rain bit at his eyes as the sea tossed him about, trying to knock him into its maw. He fumbled with the cap, and the wind tore it from his hand. Asher grit his teeth until they hurt and struck the flare against his belt loop instead. Nothing happened, and water had begun to coat the flare in a hateful film. He struck it again, and nothing happened. He screamed and struck it again, and the flare burst with red light, like a giant match. He hollered and whooped and raised it over his head.
​
But the cruise liner passed on, as insensate as an iceberg. The storm swallowed it, and then, it was gone.
Edited by Kara Mercer

The Hokey Pokey Pirates by Peyton King
Dreaming Big Publications
Reviewed by Ariel B
 
ABOUT THE BOOK
Who would've thought that going outside to jump on the trampoline would lead to an exciting high seas adventure? That's exactly what happened to Charlie and Lexie when they went out to play while their mom was cooking supper. Hokey Pokey Pirates is a story written by a child for children, using her own bond with her brothers to teach the importance of family bonding time in an imaginative and fun way.


MY REVIEW

Rating: 5/5
I absolutely loved this book!  It is short, sweet, and to the point.  It captured and retained my attention immediately.  What I really enjoyed about the book was the simplicity of it.  Peyton King, the teenage author behind this book, captures the simplicity of being a child.  This book brought back my own memories of playing outside with my brother and jumping on a trampoline.  Don’t even get me started on the hokey pokey dance!  The most important part of this book stems from the main characters’ imaginations that seem to be so in sync with each other.  What King brings up is that family bond, especially between siblings.  I think she understands that concept perfectly, thus making this imaginative story feel so real.  This is a book that children and their parents will enjoy.  The book’s message is a simple, yet important one that families can appreciate.  It may even inspire children to play outside with their friends and family instead of using their cell phones.  I tip my hat to the young, talented author of this book.  Peyton King is going to become a successful children’s author before she is even 18!  I look forward to reading more of her work in the future.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Peyton King was given a classroom assignment at the age of nine to write a story. She wrote about the games she liked to play with her brothers on the trampoline in their backyard. At the age of 15 she rediscovered that old story. Peyton hopes to be an inspiration to other youth who want to pursue their dreams in the creative arts.
https://www.amazon.com/Hokey-Pokey-Pirates-Peyton-King/dp/151424862X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1498667352&sr=8-1&keywords=hokey+pokey+pirates

DISCLAIMER: I received a copy of this book for free in exchange for writing a review. I was not obligated to give a positive review, and all thoughts are my own.
 
 

Service Goat by Piers Anthony
Published by Dreaming Big Publications
 
Review by Kara M
 
ABOUT THE BOOK
 
Orphaned and blind seven-year-old Callie has a service animal – a goat with extraordinary powers.


Ben Hemoth is a down-on-his luck news reporter facing prison. Needing to save his job and his reputation, he teams up with Venus, a young seductress caught up with a teenage drug gang. 


When a mysterious letter arrives detailing a top-secret investigative operation, Ben and Venus think they’ve found their chance for redemption. The mission? Investigate a goat.


In exchange for an extravagant paycheck, Ben and Venus must piece together the wild rumors swirling around Callie, her supernatural goat, and a possible UFO visit. 

Piers Anthony’s Service Goat is an extraordinary tale rich with adventure, extraterrestrial visitors, secrecy, dangerous governmental operations, and the classic hints of mischief that readers have come to expect and love from the New York Times bestselling author of the Xanth series. 
 
MY REVIEW
 
3/5
 
This book was very interesting to say the least. The storyline was so creative, which made it a great page turner. Anthony writes in a very attention-getting, no nonsense way that was fun to keep reading. I was so intrigued by the wild plot. I’m not usually into a lot of science fiction-y books, but the lack of complicated jargon and scientific overload helped keep my interest since I wasn’t bombarded by words I didn’t know.
 
There were a few things keeping it from being a 5, however. While the book was a quick read, I felt it was kind of fast paced. There were a lot of moments that I would have loved to be further explained, or moments between characters further elaborated to build some relationships. Maybe some more of Callie’s thoughts.
 
The book does have some sexual content (nothing graphically described) that I wasn’t bothered by. However, I was bothered by one of the characters, Venus, being overly sexualized, especially by someone older than her. A principal of a grade school admits to fantasizing about her when she was in eighth grade and the comment (which I found pretty gross) was overlooked by everyone else who was present.
 
Despite the pacing and the one creepy comment, the rest of the novel was an interesting one that is hard to explain unless you read it for yourself. And you should read it for yourself.
 
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
 
Piers Anthony is one of the world's most popular fantasy authors, and a New York Times bestseller twenty-one times over. His Xanth novels have been read and loved by millions of readers around the world, and he daily receives hundreds of letters from his devoted fans. In addition to the Xanth series, Anthony is the author of many other best-selling works. Piers Anthony lives in Inverness, Florida.
 
Amazon Page
 
DISCLAIMER: I received a copy of this book for free in exchange for writing a review. I was not obligated to give a positive review, and all thoughts are my own.
 

Angel Fish

by Aaron Hwang

Today, Parson’s goldfish died. I know I’ve never mentioned the goldfish much before, but… now she’s dead. Her name was Abigail.

I don’t really get how kids can fall so in love with goldfish. They’re not pets. Not really. They’re furniture. Decoration. Goldfish don’t play with you like dogs, or even ignore you like cats. They just float around and... and I don’t know.

I never told Parson that of course. Because he really does love that fish, or did, I guess I should say. Sometimes I’d walk by his room and hear him talking to her, telling her about his day, and asking her how hers was, you know. Whatever it is a fish would do with its day. I know you wouldn’t approve, but I listened outside his door once, and he talked, just a one-sided conversation, just monologuing, for fifteen minutes. I don’t know if he’s ever talked to me for fifteen minutes. I figure there’s no harm in it, in monologuing, I mean. He’s only five. It’s like an imaginary friend. He’s young enough to have an imaginary friend, right?

Only now she’ll be extra imaginary I guess, because, you know, she died today. I mean, she died in the night probably, I don’t know. See, I don’t know how long it was before he called me in to look at her. You know how Parson is. Maybe he could have just been sitting there talking to her for who knows how long, before he recognized something was… something was… you know.

So, he asked me what was wrong with her, and I put my hand in the water and she didn’t move, and I touched her and she didn’t move. She was also, you know, mostly upside down, which is usually not such a good sign. So, I told Parson she was dead, and he said, “I know.” But then he asked, “But why isn’t she swimming? Why is she upside down?”

I didn’t know what to say, except that that’s what dead is. He then asked, “But she’ll still be my pet, right?” Then, I- I just- I didn’t know what to say. I should have made something up, like, “She’s been stuck in a bowl all her life, but now we’ll put her in the toilet, or the ground, or something, and then she can be free. She’ll be everywhere at once, and you’ll be able to take her wherever you want, on the playground, or to school, and you’ll never even have to worry about carrying her bowl.” But I didn’t say that. I didn’t want to say something that I made up. What would it mean if I just made something like that up? What if he believed me?

So instead I just said, “We’ll get you a new fish.” Then he started to cry.

I just… I just wanted to let you know that I messed up today. You would have done this right, but I’m not you. This is hard for me. I don’t know how you made it look easy. It’s so hard. It’s not just sprinkling flakes in a bowl and dribbling iodine every now and then and  I couldn’t even do that.

And I can’t… I just wish…

I…

I should go now. Parson’s class is showing off their art projects today and I’ve already missed so many of his- I shouldn’t…

I’ll visit again soon, I promise.
​
I love you.

 
Edited by Ariel Barreras
 
 
 
 

Poet to the Poor by John Kaniecki
Dreaming Big Publications
Reviewed by Ariel B
 
ABOUT THE BOOK
Poet to the Poor is a collection of poetry written for the bottom one percent. This work draws from historical figures and everyday people from John's life, creating a powerful poetic testimony. In revolutionary fashion John defies both the politics of the day and the modern style of poetry. The poems are written in a wide variety of styles, and rhyming is prominent. Passion and purpose abounds in these words. With over forty of the poems previously published, this work constitutes John's best, including the award winning poem "Tea with Joe Hill". If you want something to inspire you to change the world, this book is a must. Take a journey into the lives of the bottom one percent. The poor.

MY REVIEW
Rating: 4/5
Kaniecki looks to inspire others to look at the forgotten one percent of this country and see them as human beings.  Each poem in this collection tells the story of a person living in poverty.  Kaniecki successfully puts a human face on the bottom one percent.  He does so without judgement or getting to political.  He comes off as an observer that intends to inspire others to help these people. From a poetic aspect, the poems are great.  Normally, I am not too interested in poetry, but these poems are effective in reaching the goal to inspire.  Kaniecki writes his poems with excellent rhyme schemes and an overall concise form that do not drag the reader on for too long.  Overall, this is a great book for people who want to not look at statistics about the poor, but want to understand the poor.  Readers will benefit from learning just a few stories about some of the poor in this country.  This is an excellent companion piece for other books on poverty and makes an even better inspiration to others to act.  If the reader can learn anything from this collection of poems, it is that we are all in this fight together.     

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
John Kaniecki is a member of the Revolutionary Poet's Brigade and Secretary for Rhyming Poet's International. John volunteers as a missionary in the inner city of Newark, New Jersey, for the Church of Christ at Chancellor Avenue. John is active in the antiwar movement. In particular John is a strong advocate of the rights of indigenous people. He has two previously published books. A poetry book entitled Murmurings of a Mad Man by eLectio Publishing and a science fiction story collection entitled Words of the Future published by Witty Bard Publishing.
https://www.amazon.com/Poet-Poor-Poetry-Bottom-Percent/dp/1517658071/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1499090866&sr=8-1&keywords=poet+to+the+poor

DISCLAIMER: I received a copy of this book for free in exchange for writing a review. I was not obligated to give a positive review, and all thoughts are my own.
 

Depression
Anita Stafford
 
I’ve read a lot of books about depression. I have a degree in a mental health field, and I have worked to help depressed individuals. Knowledgeable about depression? Yes, but I didn’t gain insight into how a depressed person thinks and feels until it happened to me.
​
I denied my depression for a long time. I was too proud to admit anything was wrong, because, after all, I was the counselor. The way I felt caused me to be embarrassed. I was ashamed. I had the same feelings all depressed people do. I felt worthless.

I didn’t become depressed all at once. At first I felt tired, as if life was dragging me down. But it was a kind of tired that rest didn’t help. Rest was hard to come by, though. I had trouble sleeping. I’d lie awake unable to sleep, then what little sleep I got was interrupted by waking up much too early.

I talked to my doctor about my physical complaints, and she recognized the problem right away. She suggested I see a therapist. I told her no thanks, I’d be fine.

As time went on, my energy left me. I found it harder and harder to smile. I felt weak, and my feet turned to lead. I had to grab the rail and pull myself up the stairs at work. Listening was difficult because I couldn’t concentrate. I no longer took an interest in dressing well. My clothing became a repetitious black or gray. I started to withdraw from friends. I found excuses to skip church, but then I felt guilty because I didn’t go.

The day came when getting out of bed was almost impossible, but I didn’t want to stay in bed, either. What I wanted to do was to crawl under the bed and stay there. I wanted to be where it was very dark and quiet.

I cried.

I knew I could not continue this way. I remembered my doctor’s words. Feeling beaten and downcast, I went to see a therapist.

The therapist wanted to know why I had not come sooner. So I told her how I was not supposed to need help. I told her how embarrassing it was for me to be there now. I told her I felt ashamed I could not get better on my own. She listened. She was compassionate. She helped.

I was diagnosed with a bout of major depression. It took medication and a year of therapy to be well again. I’m grateful to have my life. I almost let it slip away, all because of embarrassment and shame. I was afraid someone would see the counselor sitting out front in the waiting room, now a patient. I was afraid of being judged as weak. I wasn’t thinking clearly when I was depressed. I know how serious depression is, and I know it needs treatment, yet at the time my judgement was clouded. Depression can happen to anyone.

Afterward, when I was back to my functioning self, I realized the grip depression has on a person. Thoughts are out of whack. The body is not working right. Even though I had adequate knowledge about depression, I had difficulty with the concept of asking for help when I needed it. The decision to ask for help prevented my life from going any deeper in a downward spiral. Both my smile and my strength have returned. Depression knocked me down, but not out.

Now when I encounter a depressed person, I feel that I have both knowledge and understanding of the condition. I understand much more about how hard it is for a depressed person to ask for and accept help. A depressed person needs a helping hand. If you are depressed, please get help. If someone you love is depressed, please encourage them to go for help.
 
Bio: Anita Stafford enjoys writing for both children and adults. She makes her home in the peaceful rolling hills of northern Arkansas, and she is a wife and the mother of a son and two daughters. Anita has worked both as a third grade teacher and a school counselor in public schools. She is also a Licensed Professional Counselor. Anita enjoys collecting cookbooks and baking.

Website: www.anitastafford.com
Twitter: @staffordanita
FB: https://www.facebook.com/anitastaffordauthor/
Instagram: staffordanita

​At Dawn in the Forest

When the dogwoods bloom
pink and white blossoms create  
canopies of joy.


Donal Mahoney

Under My Skin
by Allison Grayhurst

In this month
slumbering onward,
I feel your kick 
saying that 'yes' a change is
coming - one so strong it will
open many doors along side it.
I press my hand against my 
belly and wish for you a healthy world 
of open spaces and unwavering affection.
I have no fear of the boy you will be.
I have darkness in me I cannot shake,
but that has no hold -
for it has always been love
that has carried me along.



Allison Grayhurst is a member of the League of Canadian Poets. Three times nominated for Sundress Publications “Best of the Net” 2015, she has over 1075 poems published in over 425 international journals. She has sixteen published books of poetry, seven collections and nine chapbooks. She lives in Toronto with her family. She is a vegan. She also sculpts, working with clay; www.allisongrayhurst.com 

​Love and Slaughter


Sheep are by a goat while
cattle are like swine, prodded, yet
cattle go by hammer while
swine are by the hind leg hung
then swung about to spigot.
Quicker, infinitely cleaner, is
the hacksaw of sweet Susan's laughter.


Donal Mahoney