book-review – Andrew Careaga

‘Bad Intentions’ cover reveal

Crime fiction anthology inspired by the music of Warren Zevon due out July 7.

Earlier this week, the fine folks at Literary Garage revealed the cover artwork for Bad Intentions, an anthology of crime fiction inspired by “the gritty wit, sharp edges, and outlaw spirit” of the late Warren Zevon. As I mentioned here in April, I have a short story appearing in this anthology. There are fifteen stories in all, and having received and read an advance copy of the book, I can say with confidence that each story, in its own distinctive way, is exquisitely Zevon-esque (Zevonian?) in voice, subject matter, and delivery. It comes out July 7, just in time for your summer reading.

Friday Five: Cowboy Jamboree’s Adam Van Winkle, author of ‘Count the Dust’

‘The idea became intriguing for me: write a play to be read.’

Radio plays have been around for a century or more, practically since the advent of radio. They thrived during the 1930s, ’40s, and ’50s–an era sometimes called the Golden Age of Radio. In his latest novel, Count the Dust (LEFTOVER Books, December 2025), writer and literary magazine editor Adam Van Winkle taps into that approach to create a distinctive story designed for radio but equally enjoyable as a good read.

Count the Dust is set in a nameless small town in southern Oklahoma or north Texas. It’s modeled after the place where Adam grew up, Texoma, but, as he writes, it could be any of the “many small Oklahoma and Texas towns I’ve been in and through that center around a filling station on a state highway.” It’s a murder mystery, told over two time periods–1967, the year of the murder, and 1997–as well as a story of “the persistence of offspring in unideal circumstances.”

“These places, like places I grew up in and around, with little money, little resources, drugs, guns, violence, strained marriages and poisonous relationships, they still find a way to produce progeny. People still meet through the circumstance of life, new people still get born.”

Thoughts on ‘Tacoma,’ by Aaron Burch (with excerpts)

A quick and quirky bit of autofiction infused with magical realism

If you’re looking for a lively, quick, and quirky read suffused with a good dose of modern magical realism, Aaron Burch‘s latest novel, Tacoma, might be the book for you.

In Tacoma, Burch mixes magical elements into this autofictional/speculative account of a modern-day quest for … something. I think Burch leaves that to the reader to decide, so I’ll refrain from making any definitive pronouncements here.

Read two excerpts from Tacoma.

On the surface, the story is about a couple who decide to “take a break from life” one summer and housesit in a luxurious mansion in Aaron’s hometown of Tacoma, Washington. The protagonist (whose name is Aaron) describes the place as “Beautiful mid-century modern, recently remodeled, state-of-the-art everything. A Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous episode devoted to a Frank Lloyd Wright house built in a waking life dream set in 21st century Pacific Northwest.”

A boring realist’s thoughts on keeping it real

Why verisimilitude matters in all forms of fiction (with examples)

Note: If you don’t want to wade through this entire post, feel free to go directly to the examples near the end of this post. – AC

I was reviewing some early chapters of a work in progress recently when I discovered a problem with the text that–while perhaps insignificant to the overarching plot–could ruin the story’s credibility and my credibility as a writer if I didn’t fix it.

The novel is set in the early 1980s, and music plays a significant role in it. In one early chapter, I reference a song that, when I was writing the chapter, I was certain was ubiquitous on FM radio during the time frame of this portion of the novel. But as often happens when I rely on my increasingly foggy memory, I did not remember correctly.

Tom Robbins and the flexibility to endure

When I got the news yesterday that novelist Tom Robbins died last weekend (at age 92; how could he have been that old?), my memory swooped like the long-extinct Kauaʻi ʻōʻō back, back, back to 1981 or ’82 or so, when I first encountered Robbins’ writings in the form of his novel Still Life With Woodpecker.

A journalism student at the time and steeped in the dreary, staid, humorless learnings of newswriting, I read Still Life as a guilty pleasure. (I’m grateful to my girlfriend at the time who lent me her copy of this book, the perfect antidote to my gloomy, humorless J-school student outlook.) The way Robbins played with the language — even when he was over the top with it, which was often — enthralled me, and for a long time, throughout my college years and beyond, I tried on his writing style to see how it would fit.