The Murder of Secretary Judd Cane: Adventure on Capitol Hill Series, Volume 2 by Celine Rose Mariotti, published by Dreaming Big Publications
Reviewed by London Koffler
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About the Book:
            Murder stalks the House of Representatives as Congressman Michael Rhodes is accused of murdering Secretary Cane.

My Review: 3/5
            The Murder of Secretary Judd Cane is an engaging and realistic addition to the Adventure on Capitol Hill series. While I can’t say I know a lot about or have a great love for politics, I appreciated what appear to be well-researched details about the House of Representatives and the legislative process. It was a quick and easy read, and despite its focus on politics, the promise of a resolution to the murder mystery kept me reading. I liked how each character’s background and political affiliation were discussed while the character was being introduced. This created a clear idea of each person’s motives from their very first appearances and allowed me to make predictions about who the murderer was.

            I would give The Murder of Secretary Judd Cane a three out of five rating. I liked the story overall and it held my interest; however, there was little action. Although I didn’t mind it, I wondered why such in-depth discussions of a healthcare bill would be included. Similarly, there were an abundance of characters, so I kept mistaking some for others. There was some action leading up to a twist ending, but it was brief. I was left with questions, but I assume they will be answered in the coming book(s).

            I would recommend The Murder of Secretary Judd Cane primarily to fans of political, crime, or mystery novels. However, despite my lack of interest in politics I was still entertained by this novel, so I think others with different interests would be too. I did enjoy this volume and am interested and invested enough that I would read its sequel.
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.

About the Author:
            Born in Derby, CT, and a lifelong resident of Shelton, CT. Celine is a graduate of Sacred Heart University in Fairfield, CT where she majored in Business Administration with a minor in English. Since a child, she always loved to write.
 
https://www.amazon.com/Murder-Secretary-Judd-Adventures-Capitol-ebook/dp/B0785JNYP3/ref=sr_1_fkmr0_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1518221035&sr=8-1-fkmr0&keywords=the+murder+of+secretary+judd+crane
 
 
 

By Emily Chance
I was in school one day and there was a substitute teacher in my class. For the sake of anonymity, I will refer to him as Mr. John. Mr. John was usually cool, but there was always something about him that made me uncomfortable. When he hands out the assignment for the classes he substitutes for, he brings us into conversations, then by the end of each class, Mr. John leaves a note saying how loud everyone is and how nothing got done in class even though it was him starting it.
It was one of those days where everything was going wrong and I wasn’t in the mood for Mr. John to set the class up for failure, so I ignored him until I completed my assignment. I finished with about ten minutes remaining in the school day. Seeing I was done, Mr. John decided to drag me into a conversation. He asked me what I did over break.
“I was working,” I responded.
“Where do you work?” He asked, curious. He was towering over me, with his bald head shining in the fluorescent light.
“I work at the newspaper.”
“Why would you work at a place based on a dying art?” He asked with contempt in his voice.
I waited a bit before answering him back, trying to find the words to explain, “With this job opportunity, I will be further ahead than those graduating college for what I want to do.”
“What do you want to do?”
“I want to be a book editor.”
“You’re working at the newspaper so you can go into another dying art? To a job that a computer can do?”
At that point, I had no response to his questions. Not because I agreed, but because his questions were so shockingly rude and inaccurate, I didn’t know how to make him understand. Now I do. Computers don’t feel. They don’t read for context. They can’t tell what you’re thinking or what you want the audience to feel. They simply don’t have the coding for being human (yet). Book editors can edit printed books, e-books, blog posts, anything they want. They can find the words to describe something so perfectly, that when someone reads the work that the editor helped shape, the reader feels something only that author was able to write and that editor was able to capture. Something so deep it’s indescribable. Editors have power. In a way, they are the gods of literature.
When a computer or a machine can do that instead of saying “you have a misspelled word” or “you have the wrong punctuation” or even giving a wrong instruction on how to fix something, then I will agree that computers can do most of the job.
However, a computer cannot feel. It only has as much knowledge as we do. Therefore, no matter how much coding we use to improve the intelligence of a machine, it is only that; a machine, and a tool. No matter how much I wanted to explain this to Mr. John, I didn't have the words. How could I ever argue with someone who doesn't have a valid point?
 
Edited by: Laurel Copes
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Christians...
​By Emily Chance
            I spent four years of high school in a small town surrounded by, as much as I love them, Christian hillbillies. However, it never ceases to amaze me how someone can just drop their best friend in a heartbeat and call themselves “Christians.” My best friend, let’s call her Sam, was dropped by our other friend, who we shall call Mara. No reason, no explanation, just dropped her and stopped talking to us. Sam and Mara were friends for a long twelve and a half years, since kindergarten. Mara was raised in a good, Christian family with good morals and had the motto of not judging anyone because it “wasn’t her job.” Mara’s father is the pastor of the church in town and is a respectable man.
Because of Mara’s family being Christians, they always let the seniors in school borrow their church to hold meetings to figure out Project Graduation funds and activities. Senior meetings were held once a month. This month happened to be held one week after Mara dropped Sam and me. Sam was unable to make this meeting and our best guy friend was having truck problems and canceled last minute.
When I made the short walk from the church parking lot into the basement of the church, where the meetings were held, I was greeted by the cold glares and hateful stares of Mara and her mother. I also noticed Mara glaring at me, then smiling condescendingly and looking down at her phone, no doubt texting her friend about me.
Mara used to be the only one I talked to when I went to those meetings, and now she didn’t care about me at all. I sat close to a couple of girls I occasionally say hello to at school. I was unsure of myself and I was near tears when Mara’s dad, the pastor of the church, smiled a genuine smile at me and asked if I was alright. I just smiled back and said “hi.”
His kind reaction to me was met with cold glares and hateful words by his wife and daughter. It’s kind of funny to realize that the first human being I met that I would genuinely consider as “good” without any motive or judgement whatsoever is the father of my greatest enemy. Everyone in the town considers themselves “Christian,” but with Christians like that, it’s no wonder why so many people in this world are atheists.
Many people would not be at all surprised to hear that a pastor of a church was kind, but in a small town, things get around, rumors begin, and hatred spreads like wildfire. In a small town, everyone has a past and everyone has a motive or a mean streak, except for that man.
With friends like Mara, who needs enemies? Especially if they consider themselves good, Christian people then turn around and stab someone they knew and loved for over twelve years. With role models like Mara’s father, who needs the negativity of the Maras in the world? The differences between these two Christians will never cease to amaze me, and I’ve seen a lot in the short time I’ve been alive.
 
Edited by London Koffler

Polishing the Fragments, John Kaniecki, Dreaming Big Publications, reviewed by Rachel Menkhus
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ABOUT THE BOOK: In a collection based in self-exploration and realization, Kaniecki takes on issues of mental illness, abuse, and religious actualization. Kaniecki's usage of imagery and theme express a relatable yet unique story of discovery, failure, and hope. The reader is taken on a journey through childhood experiences, growing pains, finding love and Christ, and living with the aftermath of mental illness. This hard look at mental health offers a critique of the current system while expressing hope for a brighter future.

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.

MY REVIEW: (3 1/2 out of 5) Starting off this book of poetry I was unsure how I was going to feel about it. I am not the biggest fan of verse or poetry and often find it hard to focus on the authors intended meaning or message. In other words, I want to know exactly what the author is referring to in the poem and often, poets create multiple meanings or purposively muddle their meaning. In Kaniecki’s book Polishing the Fragments, it’s not hard to know what he means and what struggles he has faced reading his poems. Each of the 132 poems felt like a new story each bringing the reader closer to whatever mystery the author wants his readers to uncover.  I have to say, there are a few poems that were so vivid and relatable that I found myself mouthing certain verses over again as to memorize them.  Kaniecki uses his own faith to find his way through the mental illness he faces, and his journey is as encouraging as it is desperate. Now, I would not necessarily go back and read the book again and I know that is just my own bias against poetry, but I am certainly glad that I was able to at least once. I would recommend this book to anyone I know who may be facing any of the same issues such as gambling addiction, or depression. Overall, this book was a surprisingly easy read and an enjoyable one.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: John Kaniecki was born in Brooklyn, New York. Though having no memories of life there, John is proud to be called a Native New Yorker. John was raised in Pequanock Township, New Jersey. At age twenty John was baptized and became a member of the Church of Christ. Presently John resides in Montclair, NJ and lives with his wife of over twelve years Sylvia. The happy couple attend the Church of Christ at Chancellor Avenue in Newark, NJ. John is very active in outreach and teaching as part of the leadership of the congregation.

By London Koffler
            It’s okay to not have it all together. This is a concept I have been struggling with for years, but it has been weighing me down a lot more recently. Following my college graduation this past May, I was hit hard by the harsh reality of the “real world.” Not to brag, but my college career has been very successful. Just in the previous few months I have been granted a couple awards, asked to present at a couple conferences, and finished by graduating Magna Cum Laude. I emerged triumphant from this experience and naively expected my post graduate to be just as prosperous. I immediately and enthusiastically began applying for jobs, only to find that I was a small fish in a large pond filled with bigger, more experienced fish. I became overwhelmed. Why was I not hearing back from potential employers? Was there something wrong with me? I felt like my perfectly planned future was falling apart.
            And then there were the unavoidable, infuriating questions posed at family functions like, “What have you been doing since graduation?” How was I supposed to explain I was in the middle of having a quarter-life crisis? I felt like no one else understood my situation, as if everyone else had plans with their jobs, housing, and finances.
            After enduring several months of quiet, concealed anxiety, I finally had a heart-to-heart discussion with my closest friends about our lives after college. To my relief, I realized they were in the same situation. No one wanted to admit it, but we had all been struggling with the harsh transition to adulthood. Surprisingly, no one suspected that the others had been struggling. We had all just put up a convincing façade for the benefit of the others. It was comforting to know that we were not alone. While we may not have discovered the magic answer for all our problems, we realized we must have a strong support system to keep us on the right path. It’s okay to not have it all together. No one does. But we can all try our best.
Edited by Rachel Menkhus
 
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Title: Stars
Author: Sawyer Ricard
 
He’d punched Bobby Jacobs today. 
He wasn’t supposed to. He knew that. He knew it was Wrong. He knew it was Wrong even before his Momma had come to get him from school, all sighs and disappointment, speaking soft words as he clung to her waitress apron that always smelled like milkshakes and cigarettes. He knew he wasn’t supposed to. 
He knew even as they caught the bus back to their house, their small shack in South Dakota. The little lean to with its crumbling mailbox and creaky screen door, the old iron protesting the movement of both grubby, little hands and big, dirty ones, ones that slammed it against the peeling wood. 
He knew as he mounted the old stairs, heading for his room with its frayed quilt knitted by Ms. Thompson two Christmases ago after Daddy had figured out his logging job was more important than Momma.  
He knew a lot was Wrong then. 
He was smart though. He knew that Bobby wasn’t supposed to call his Daddy a “Good for Nothin’”, a “Lazy bum” or anything that made the other eight year olds gasp and cover their mouths, eyes wide with terror at being caught by teacher Mrs. Harrison. His Daddy might still come back. He didn’t need to hear those words. So he’d swung. 
Not hard enough to hurt. He knew it hadn’t hurt even as he sat on the bed, ratty sneakers brushing the ground as he listened to Momma getting ready to go back to work. Bobby was tough. He himself wasn’t. A little hit from the quiet kid at the back of the class wouldn’t hurt. But Bobby had cried anyway. Just enough to get him in trouble. He’d seen the kid’s look when he was pulled away, teacher’s grip on his wrist as tight as it would be on the ruler for swats later. He’d been smiling. 
No, he knew it hadn’t hurt, and he knew it was Wrong. But it was worth it. 
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, how the sun had set through the dirty window. But soon it was too dark for him to see the neighbor’s old pine, and too quiet for him to hear much beyond his own sniffling. So he just pushed off the bed even though Momma had said not to. She said that a lot lately, with her tired eyes and tired voice. He should be good, he should. But. But. But. 
He just crawled halfway under the bed, shirt pulling up rough against his ribs as little fingers wrapped around the old book. This was Wrong too. The book had been in the trash at school, about to be thrown away. He’d seen the stars on the front, not the ragged edges or the ripped cover. He knew it was Wrong, that he’d be in trouble if he found out. But he had to. 
Pulling the book out and tucking it under his arm, he headed towards his window and pushed it open, climbing out onto the flat part of the roof. This was his favorite place in the whole world, for sure it was. He spent most of his time out here if he wasn’t at the church or the restaurant waiting on Mommy. He wasn’t even in his room, with its printouts of the sky from the library in town where he had the wondrous thing they called the internet on the computer. They didn’t have a computer. Bobby had said stuff about that too but he’d forgotten by now. 
Instead he just squinted through thick glasses and fumbled with an old flashlight, secondhand much like everything else in his house. Owned by someone else, given by nice people at Christmas and his birthday. Someone had said pity once but he didn’t know what that meant. Momma’s face hadn’t been happy so maybe it wasn’t good. Maybe it was Wrong too. He was careful not to use that word. 
But for now, it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that maybe he’d have no supper that night, that maybe tomorrow he’d have to go to detention at recess and not play. All that mattered was his book full of words he couldn’t say. He’d tried to look some up at school but his teacher had said he should look at other books, that the ones he struggled with were for grown-ups. But the kid books didn’t have what he wanted. 
He found the page he’d been on, finger on the picture and breathing harsh against the cool fall wind. It would snow soon and then he couldn’t see the stars. He had to learn their names before then. Stars were happy, stars were fun to learn. He had to learn and show Momma that there was still something to be happy about. That even if she came home smelling like fried food and smoke, that even though she hadn’t smiled in the longest time, that there was a reason to not be so sad anymore. He looked up, looking for the same picture his hand still touched. 
There. In all the Wrong, there was the Right. The star was there, exactly where it should be.
“S…Sirius.”
 
Edited by: Anna Grace Dulaney
 
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McDonald's Mishap
By Emily Chance
There is one thing I just don’t understand. There are over six billion people in the world and we all have problems; pasts and demons, literal and metaphorical. However, there is always one person who will stop what they’re doing, look up at someone else, and try to lower their self-esteem.
All the pain and all the hurt we go through puts a toll on us. It only takes one comment to ruin someone’s day. To push them over the edge and make them break down.
While I don’t believe in sucking up, being two-faced, or trying to protect someone like they’re a fine china, I also don’t believe that someone should emotionally maim another.
Just the other day, I went on a choir trip with my school. One of the underclassmen walked up to a man who just graduated high school and accomplished being the manager at McDonald's. When the underclassman walked up to the manager, he made the comment, “Why would you dress up for a minimum wage job?” This was a man who previously told the superintendent that he hated high school because he was bullied the entire time. The answer to this question, of course, is that you should try your hardest to be the best you can be. No matter what the situation is. The kid in question was made to apologize. As we left, the kid just said, “I regret nothing. I shouldn’t have had to apologize to that a**hole.”
The point is, we are all people. We all have feelings. We have all been though stuff in our lives. Just put away your god complex and open your eyes to the beauty around. If you look at someone long enough, you’ll find a quality that, while you might not love it, you’ll at least respect it. And of course we look different. Everyone is different. There is no specific quality someone should have to make them “perfect.” Such a term does not exist because the human race is far too varied.
Edited by London Koffler