THE REVIEW
ALM No.95, November 2026
SHORT STORIES
He perched in front of his laptop trying to figure out how to pimp himself out to get a book review on Kirkus. He’d been here before with other books but could never bring himself to pay the four hundred plus bucks. The publication reviewed “traditional” books but charged for those that were “self-published.” He thought of them both in quotation marks as, to him, published is published. The crew at Kirkus, however, did not. So now he schemed on how he could get his newly released trilogy reviewed. And hopefully, with fingers crossed, a fantastic review.
Quickly, he logged into all his social media accounts. For weeks he had been giving hints and clues to his followers, well…friends, about his “ground-breaking” space opera trilogy that combined the essence of Star Wars with Douglas Adams and a pinch of Monty Python thrown in for some hysterical “chaos.” Now that all three books were out, he checked on a regular basis any comments from any of his contacts that might’ve shelled out the cash to read his books. He had a couple from his mother offering encouragement and the promise to get together soon to have a chat. A couple of college friends from eons past took the time to hit the thumbs up icon. But not quotes that he could use out on Amazon. He could make those up if need be. He’d done it before but certainly didn’t want to do it with his trilogy.
These new books of his were the books. He’d been writing most of his adult life starting out in high school and then refining his “voice” in college and then in grad school. He knew immediately he had things to say from a certain perspective that few out there would understand. Millions of words later and he wrote his epic, his magnum opus. His space trilogy had the stamp of greatness all over it. And he knew full well he couldn’t brand it that way. If only someone out there in the ether would give a quote with that word in it.
His last two books were not the successes he hoped they would be. One, a book set in Oklahoma, mirroring his own hometown there from years ago, showcased the oncoming rapture and how it affected everyone in this small town. He traveled back to his home state for a mini book-signing tour which brought him into contact with old friends but that was about all. The other book, with twenty short interlocking short stories, highlighted different stages of his life. What better subject for a book than himself? He didn’t believe that out of arrogance, only a firm belief that his life didn’t reflect everyone else’s experiences, thus he became his own subject.
Each of these books had a couple of reviews on Amazon. He needed two thousand more, but he hadn’t cracked that one yet. He knew he could write. He had been making money out of writing for a local publication here in upstate Washington for some years now. It spotlighted businesses in the area, schools, and the arts. He’d even been the editor a couple of years. So, yes, he knew how to pen words to the page that people would read. He just needed his big break to become the author that he fancied himself being. No arrogance, no pride, just how things were.
He added a new post to each of his social media accounts proclaiming that all three books were now published and everyone needed to grab their copies fast. He used several exclamation points. That always helped. He needed hype and right now he was it.
When he started the book, for that is how he imagined it in the beginning, he ripped off over eighty thousand words in a matter of weeks and still hadn’t reached an ending. He realized that he needed to expand his vision. A two-book story morphed into a trilogy before he could turn around. Two years he invested in his best work to date. Thousands upon thousands of words. So may words. In fact, that was one of his critiques with the first book. A reader left a review on Amazon moaning about “all the words.” He nearly threw his laptop across the room when he read it. Of course there were!
For one of his posts that day, he made subtle Star Wars references to entice his reading public. Since seeing the movie as a kid, it had been his cornerstone. The flagship of every work centered upon this life-changing event. Ages ago, he wrote a loving novel to his time living with several other college guys in a three-story home they dubbed “the big house.” He made Star Wars similes and metaphors on every page of that book. He meant it as a tribute to that time in his life. Probably the happiest time of his years here on this earth. He reflected deeply in those pages about every one of those guys and what they meant to him.
Now why hadn’t any of them left a review for his books online?
And how could he ever get a review with Kirkus without having to shell out coin of the realm?
He saw himself, like everyone else on the planet, as the hero on his own journey. He understood that about himself and everyone else in his life. And all people, for that matter. His type of hero poured out words on the screen and eventually, hopefully, fingers crossed, onto the page. Writers wielded power and authority in a way that very few actually understood. He comprehended it a long time ago when he reviewed movies for the college paper back in Oklahoma. He wrote under a nom de plume for those articles as a way of escaping his own mediocre name.
Dubbed “Richard” with his surname, Oakwood, he found little to like in his moniker. In college, his friends in the theatre department started calling him “Oak,” as he outlawed being identified as “Dick.” He could handle the “Oak” nickname and even “Oak-y.” It eventually morphed into “Okay,” which left a bad taste in his mouth but he couldn’t anything to change. He took it good-naturedly and dished out his own carefully selected nicknames for his buddies.
“Are you serious about this writing thing, man?” his friend Kevin asked him one day while hanging out in his rent house near campus.
“Absolutely,” he said with full conviction. “I am going to be a Jedi of the written word.” Kevin rolled his eyes at the movie reference. He didn’t care. More than anything else in his life, the films gave him his moral compass, such as it was.
“Like books and stuff?”
“And movies and T.V. shows and everything else in between,” he said. “And you know what, Kevin? It’s not going to be some dipping of the toes into dilettantism that we see in theatre all the time, especially with the local community theatre here in town,” he remarked. He sat back onto the cushions on his couch and got ready to lecture. And Kevin always listened. Good, faithful Kevin. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned here in college, is that amateurism in anything, anything at all, is the worst. I’m not going to do that. I will never be accused of being a dabbler, or a non-professional. That isn’t going to be me. And I’m getting to the point in my training here at college to where I don’t have much patience for anyone who isn’t serious, ethical, and committed to their thing, whatever that is. And for those of us in the arts, even more so. And as God as my witness, I’ll be one of the best out there.”
Kevin smirked.
“What?”
“I thought you didn’t believe in God?”
He rolled his eyes. “Just an expression, Kev.”
And after that, he recalled they made plans to order a pizza and re-watch The Empire Strikes Back, which was his favorite of the trilogy – the only trilogy in the franchise that truly mattered.
He glazed over as he stared at the screen of his laptop. When was the last time he talked to Kevin? He couldn’t remember. He got the inspiration, though, of asking him for an online review for one of his books. Kevin would do that, no problem.
Typing away on his Facebook page, he pontificated about the world of the published author. He crossed his fingers that this would drum up more interest and sell more copies of his book trilogy. Not only did he spend months writing, but he also worked up cover art using an A.I. program, beefed up his author page, and spent weeks developing a marketing plan. And through every step of it, he was a professional. He could never be accused of being a dilettante. He worked his whole life to be a pro.
Gone were the days being dragged around from house to house in his hometown in Oklahoma by his God-fearing, Jehovah’s Witness parents to give away copies of The Watchtower and declare his faith in front of total strangers. It, too, wreaked of amateurism. Dressed in white, button-up shirt, with tie, and polished shoes, he saw his buffoonery reflected at him from those they tried to convert. When his church met, they boasted about their obedience to the Lord. They sang about their love for their fellow human beings. And they planned more excursions into their community and adjoining towns to spread their message. He couldn’t handle the humiliation of it anymore.
At sixteen, he resigned from the church, renounced the existence of God, and declared himself to be the angriest atheist around. At this, he would excel at as well. Once in college, he took every chance to proclaim his new belief system in hopes of converting someone away from following “He who did not exist,” as he liked to dub God. He made fun of Christians any chance he got. He did it in the form of ribbing and gentle teasing, or at least he thought it was gentle, but his message spread around campus. “Okay” didn’t fool around with any religion other than his own, so back off.
He relished his years working on his undergrad. Being an ace at math, he double majored in it and theatre. Being on stage gave him the chance to break the chains of being an amateur. Going onto a prestigious grad school in drama further strengthened his knowledge, skills, and techniques in the theatrical arts. Feeling confident, he moved to Los Angeles and spent the next several years being an extra. He preferred “background actor.” Right before he left to move back to Oklahoma, he dubbed himself a “background artist.”
And no one in California called him “Okay.” He made sure of that.
His wife popped her head into the office. “Hey, you,” she purred. “I’m about to head out to the farmer’s market. You want to come?”
He reached over and grabbed her by the hand. He kissed the back of it. “I’m finishing up some posts to try and drum up some interest in my books.”
“How’s it going?”
He growled like Chewbacca. “It’s fine. I’m more interested in getting a review from Kirkus but that costs money. And I don’t want to shell out for it.”
She sat on his lap. “What if it got a good review? Then what?”
He chuckled softly into her ear. “Then it would, hopefully, get some traction and sell some copies, get into the hands of a movie producer, and would be made into the next big thing.”
She chose not to respond with a lighthearted chuckle as if those things never happened because she knew that deep down he believed it could happen. She didn’t want him to think she mocked it in any way. “Then shell out the money,” she said.
“I just think it would be legit if I did,” he whined.
She patted him on the back. She looked at the time on her phone. “You’ll figure it out,” she said. “You’re a pretty smart fella,” she teased.
“I’ll have you know I’m much more than that,” he said before planting one on her lips. She kissed him back.
“I won’t be long. My list is short this time.”
“Be safe.”
“Never!” she proclaimed with a smile and skipped out of the room.
His gaze lingered after her. She made him, almost, believe that there was an all-powerful God in the universe. He thanked the luck that he’d been given.
His first wife, a crush from his college days in Oklahoma, brought out all the heart and feelings and warmth and love inside of him. He truly believed in fate sending her his way. They had a great two years and then it went south in a hurry. She became irritable. He lost his temper more and more with the pressures of his schooling. The fights turned into battles which morphed into a war. One that he could not win. He hated to quit anything but he threw in the towel. Within a couple of years, he’d been married and divorced.
He wrote about it in great detail on his online blog. He needed the world to know his side of the story. The side that really mattered.
Wife number two waltzed into his life, and nearly literally, as he met her at a dance. They quickly fell in love, he proposed, they got hitched and he moved up north where she already owned a house. She was his Leia in a world of Jabbas. It wasn’t his best metaphor but it worked. They fell into a routine, vowing to stay childless, and save up and travel the world.
This, too, made his online musings page. People needed to know about his life and his interpretation of it. He knew it could only be of service to those who knew him. And those that didn’t, for that matter.
With his second wife, his anxious mind settled down. He could get up in the morning without thinking the end had come. In fact, he backed off from his bombastic atheistic attitude and slid into agnosticism. It seemed like the logical choice. Naturally, he decided to tackle parts of the Bible that stayed with him from his Jehovah’s Witness days. But with a twist. His take on holy writ would be through the eyes of an agnostic. Who’d done that? He wrote it in a hurry and had it self-published online. It wouldn’t give Matthew Henry a run for his money but that didn’t matter. His voice is what counted. The commentary meant something.
And now he toyed with the idea of paying for a review from Kirkus. The publication had heavy duty cred and he could rely on that for his book’s visibility. The industry respected it as it had a good rep for being fair and impartial. In his heart of hearts, he thought he could bank on them loving his book. If they didn’t, however, the feedback could suggest improvements. A positive review could be used in all marketing and promotional materials, which could mean having the review published on their website.
He had worked so long on this that he didn’t want any outsider, legit or otherwise, making him question his ability to tell a story. He knew he could do that. And, on top of that, he considered himself a pro at it. He didn’t dabble. No one could accuse him of being a tyro. He refused to let anyone label him a novice. Since his teens he drove himself further, deeper, and longer into everything he set his mind to doing. Knocking on all those doors as a Jehovah’s Witness taught him fierce tenacity. If he could approach a complete stranger about taking a copy of The Watchtower, then he could tackle anything in this world.
The sun settled low outside of his office window. He pondered every word and page of the trilogy that meant so much to him. Like every writer out there, he knew this to be his best work to date…until the next one, that is. But for now, he took pride in knowing that he had produced one of the most unique tales ever put down. He let the sunshine warm his face as he contemplated getting that magical review that could change his life.
If he thought about it too much, he would get down about it. He analyzed everything too much. Everyone that he knew told him that eventually. His wife didn’t seem to mind until he’d gone over something for the hundredth time. She would distract him onto something else whenever he did that.
His greatest cheerleader, outside of his family, was a pal from college when he slaved away at his double major of theatre and math. Shawn kept a junky car and a junky house filled with every collectable imaginable. None of that mattered. He had the heart of saint, if he believed in those, and he didn’t. Every time he visited Oklahoma, he went to see Shawn first. Shawn would take him to all the old haunts and restaurants that helped bind their friendship all those decades ago. If he needed anything, Shawn would make it happen. And most of all, he gave the sweetest words of encouragement. Every book he ever had printed, he sent copies to his buddy.
He would get him to go online and write a review as well. Sure, Kirkus carried the prestige that he craved, but his friend would write the words that truly mattered. The ones from his heart. And right now, he needed that to see this through. He didn’t want all those months of writing and re-writing and editing to go for naught.
He could hear Shawn now: “It’s okay, Okay,” he would joke. “You’re one of the smartest people I know and one of the most talented. I’ve seen you act up a storm on stage and make it look like it was easy. I’ve read all your stuff and am blown away by your talent and ability. You can do this, man. You can do anything. I’ve watched you do it.”
A tired-out speech full of cliches, sure, but from the purest of motives. They were lifelong friends and that’s how you talked to each other. And he needed, and expected, to hear those things from him every time he picked up the phone and called him. He made a note to do just that later that night.
With all his social media updated, and needing to rest his eyes, he got up and wandered into the kitchen. He grabbed a bag of chips and flopped on the couch. While he waited for his wife to get back, he would watch the first Star Wars movie. A big part of him always identified with Luke. He could feel his mood change. If he brooded to much, it would turn into a pout about his trilogy. He needed to stay positive. He needed to keep his chin up. But if these books didn’t sell many copies, he would dive into a deep and dark depression. He needed cruddy chips and a space opera to keep his head above water.
He fumbled with the remote, found his online copy through Amazon, and punched the play button. It would take him outside of himself for a while. He needed that. The weariness of the afternoon weighed on him. He got tired easily from fretting about someone loving his work.
The highlights of his adult life played in his mind. He rummaged through bits of parties he had attended, plays he acted in, and those he directed, friendships he sacrificed along the way, the marriage he put on the altar and left behind, and scores of other moments that caused him to close his eyes and catch his breath.
All those people he met along the way who in some way contributed to where he was right at that moment.
And none of them could ever accuse him of not being a pro.
Bret Jones is a former Professor of Performing Arts at Wichita State University and author of Stage Blood and Listener in the Dark from Cozy Cat Press. His short stories have appeared in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, in anthologies, and Adelaide Literary Magazine. He has five published plays and has written, directed, and produced over twenty-five films that have appeared in film festivals around the world. He lives in Goddard, Kansas with his wife and family.
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