So, “Happy Friday the 13th!” Ha!
It’s that time again, friends! Time for another rip roarin- edition of Big Kitty Litter Box in the Sky Awards. Cuz, holy Meow Mix! (Note: We received complimentary copies of these titles via Reedsy/Discovery in exchange for honest reviews.)
Here’s the short list of qualifications for a Big Kitty Litter Box in the Sky award:
- A pointless slog to the Middle of Nowhere littered with unsympathetic cardboard characters we don’t know, don’t want to know, and could care less about.
- Poor writing littered with spelling and grammatical errors and typos.
- Brittle, wilted writing that’s as inspiring as overcooked cabbage. Or week-old sushi.
- Political polemics disguised as fiction.
- Badly overwritten, tedious and mundane. Dull as a box of rocks and twice as dense.
- Does not enrich, enlighten, educate or inspire in any way.
- Gratuitous violence and/or profanity.
- A snoozefest.
Cuz ya know Mom and me, we like to be helpful. As in, save you some time. By avoiding lousy snoozers that make fish wrap look delish. Like, we already did the fish wrap thing. So you don’t have to. You’re welcome.
So here, without further ado, is our BKLBITS Awards, Part IV:
By Bryan Howard
Genre: Can’t make up its mind.
Talk about a Perfect Dud.
You know it’s gonna be awful when the author can’t get his own title right. And this hunka junk proves the point. It’s listed as “The Perfect Storm” in the Thriller/Suspense genre. Open the book and the title morphs into “The Perfect Storms: An Inspirational Story.” It’s all downhill from there. And incoherent to boot. Barf.
By Assia Lau’ren
Genre: “Poetry” (sort of)
Pull up a chair for a heaping helping of Venom Stew in this remarkably rancorous, myopic rant on steroids. It’s Exhibit A in why Venting Your Spleen does not a decent publication make. Remarkably sanctimonious and vituperative, the writing is brittle and as dull as a blunt spoon, giving this tumble down Wah-Wah Lane a whole new meaning to the phrase “Toxic Waste Dump.”
I gave it a 2.0 on Reedsy. That was a gift. Cuz it really belongs in the sub-zero cellar. Oh, boo-hoo.
By Ella Grava
If you don’t mind “slow as molasses in January,” dive right in. Otherwise, don’t bother.
By Who Cares?
Genre: Did I mention “who cares”?
This “Christian fiction” book is why we have editors, folks. And this clunker could use a truckload. About the best thing to be said about this novel wannabe is that it’s littered with remarkably wooden and one-dimensional characters straight out of central casting.
By Cintia Alfonso Fior
Genre: Middle Grade Fantasy
Oh, look. Another political polemic disguised as “Middle Grade Fantasy.” So predictable. Pass the Sominex.
By: We Soooo Don’t Care
Just when we thought we’d seen it all, this Mondo-Bizarreo thingy flies in from The Twilight Zone.
The book blurb alleges a “Humor/Comedy” about an “Indiana Jones clone” cat who takes readers on “a rollicking ride through his journey from the cruel alleys of Pittsburg to his cushified life in the rich guppified suburps.” (sic). What shows up instead are the somnambulant musings of a 62 year-old Canadian surgeon. And way Too. Much. Information about the E.R.
7. New City
By Patrick Girondi
Dude. That Chicago stockyards are gross and disgusting thing? Upton Sinclair beat ya to it. Did it a whole lot better, too. DNFed this one. Cuz, Barf.
By No one to take seriously…
Note to self: Don’t touch any story where “God” winds up sounding like the Wah-Wah “adult” from Peanuts. Note to author: 20,000 words does not a “short story” make, Bub. But then, neither does this meandering mass of vacuity. Bye!