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Averaging 4.9 stars out of 5 on Amazon.
A few reviews:
"I was mostly on the edge of my seat - the action doesn't stop, but there is so much wit, love, and just plain fabulous life in this story, I loved it all the way through. Andrew Joyce is the real deal, and an awesome storyteller in his own right, right up there with Mr Twain." -- Jo Robinson, Feed My Reads
". . . it took me a couple of head shakes to be able to accept Huck and Tom as late middle-aged lawmen come adventurers but this book really made it believable. Fans of adventure and edge of your seat thrillers can't do better than this book. It's a superb read and very well written and one that will take the reader on an epic adventure with a beloved literary character who has grown up." -- All Things Books
"In each of his books, Andrew Joyce uses the setting as almost another character. We see the "Wild West" growing up, getting tamed by settlers, farmers, the railroad. We see Alaska just starting to face those same challenges. Despite its bare bones approach to sensory descriptions, the spare prose and dialog convey the overwhelming and impersonal power, beauty, and threat of the country as Molly and Huck make their way. if westerns as a genre are about seizing control of our own fate--the ultimate American-defining trope--then Huck Finn and Molly Lee's story is as American as a western could possibly be. Certainly, I think it deserves every one of those five stars."-- Barb Taub, Writing & Coffee
There are many antagonists in Resolution. Here are three of the more prominent: 1) Murderers, 2) Wolves, and 3) the most dangerous—the extreme Yukon cold when it’s seventy degrees below zero.
Murderers:
Huck, tiring of the conversation, picked up the bottle and filled his and Molly’s glasses. Jass’ was still full. “Alright, Mister Knight, how do you plan on doing it? Take us out back and shoot us?
“I must say you are taking this like a gentleman. No crying or begging for mercy?”
“Would I get any?”
“Any what?”
“Mercy.”
“Most likely not.”
Huck looked at Molly and nodded.
She stood with such force that she knocked her chair backwards and it started to fall. She had her gun out and in her hand before the chair hit the floor. The scraping noise of the chair as Molly stood turned the men’s attention from the gold to the table. It was the last act of their lives. Molly had a bullet into each one of them before they knew they were dead.
Wolves:
The two-legs are just ahead. The three females fan out to attack on the left—to drive the two-legs to the rear, where the males await. The pup, in happy anticipation, watches and learns the way of the hunter.
* * * * *
“Here, Molly, take the pistol! Jass! Get back-to-back with Molly and get ready with one of your crutches. You may have to use it as a club.”
Bright was itching to fly into the grayness and have at the interlopers, but Huck ordered him to stay put. So far, the dog had done as he had been told. Just then, a wolf shot out of the fog and snapped its jaws an inch from Huck’s arm. Bright did not wait for permission. He was off the mark and had his jaws clamped on the wolf’s neck before Huck could react. The wolf was bigger and stronger than Bright and easily shook him off. Then it started to melt back into the icy mist, but before it was completely swallowed up by the frozen vapor, another wolf attacked. It snarled and snapped at Molly, but did not go in for the kill.
Molly couldn’t get off a shot because she was afraid of hitting Huck or Bright. Huck went to her side, handed her the rifle, and took the Colt. But before he could use it, the wolves were gone.
“Why didn’t they finish us off?” stammered Molly.
“They’re trying to drive us back a ways. The rest of the pack must be back there. But we’re gonna fool ’em. We ain’t movin’,” answered Huck.
The Cold:
Huck was quite a sight. Black scabs from frostbite dotted his face. And in other places, the flesh was purple where the skin was just beginning to die. His brows and beard were covered in a fine white frost.
He had no idea how many miles he had covered since leaving Molly and Jass. But he did know that he wasn’t going to cover many more. He wasn’t even sure how many days he’d been gone from them. He was as played out as a man could be and still be alive. He was starved, frozen, and so tired that it took all his will not to lie down in the snow and just give up.
On his next step, he stumbled and fell headlong into the waiting and beguiling arms of The White Death.
What ever happened to those little boys, Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer? They grew up that’s what. In the spring of 1860, General Beauregard fired on Fort Sumter and the now twenty-four year old boys can’t wait to sign up to fight the Yankees.
In the first battle of the war Tom is wounded and Huck brings him back to Missouri. But along the way they run into trouble and Huck ends up saving the life of a sixteen-year old Yankee soldier who deserts and travels to Missouri with the boys.
Once in Missouri the Yankee, whose name is Jed, leaves for California. A month later Huck and Tom set out for San Francisco where Tom hopes to catch a ship headed for China. Huck goes along to keep Tom company, but plans on returning to Missouri when Tom sails.
Jed never makes it to California, Tom sets sail but never reaches China and Huck never sees Missouri again. Twelve years later they come together in the town of Redemption Colorado to fight a greedy rancher and his army of hired guns.
They are not boys anymore. They are now men doing what men have to do. Huck is now a famous lawman, Tom a widower and Jed is the infamous Laramie Kid, a notorious gunfighter.
REDEMPTION is an incredible sequel to HUCKLEBERRY FINN, intertwined stories that take place between 1860 and 1873. They are stories of growth and learning, stories of change as told through the reminiscences of a sixty-year old Huck Finn. They are also adventure stories that dovetail together for the climax.
* Check out Redemption (which currently has 50 reviews with an average rating of 4.6 stars!)
Andrew Joyce lives on a boat in Fort Lauderdale, Florida with his dog Danny.
Andrew Joyce, Keep Calm & Answer These 25 Questions
1. Do you consider yourself a logophile? If so, have you always been? I love words and knowing where they come from.
2. What is your favorite color? I like all colors. I don’t discriminate.
3. Where were you born? Where did you grow up? Born and reared in Miami, Florida
4. What is your favorite football team? I don’t follow sports.
5. Who is your favorite author? John Steinbeck
6. What is your favorite book? Grapes of Wrath
7. What do you do when you are not writing? Read
8. Do you have a day job as well? No . . . I make my living writing.
9. Do you have any advice for aspiring authors? #1 Write and #2 be true to your vision (that is unless all your reviews are one star. Then you might want to rethink your vision).
10. Is being a writer a curse or a gift? Being a writer is the best thing ever … until you get to the editing process.
11. Where do you write? On my boat.
12. Do you prefer silence or some noise while you write? I must have quiet!
13. What do you typically drink while writing? Vodka
14. What challenges have you had in regards to your writing life? Finding an agent – that took two years – and editing. Don’t get me wrong, I think every word I write is pure genius, but after reading them for the fifteenth time … well …
15. When did you first start and when did you finish your book? Depends on what book we’re talking about. My current book REDEMPTION took two months to write, it just flowed. But then, seven months later, I was still trying to perfect it in the editing stage.
16. If your book is made into a movie, which actors/actresses do you envision playing the parts? My agent has placed REDEMPTION with a Hollywood producer and things might work out. To your question: Matthew McConaughey as Huck and Leonardo Decaprio as Tom.
17. What does your protagonist think of you? Would he/she want to hang out with you? He doesn’t think of me at all. And no one wants to hang out with me, not even my dog.
18. How do you market your book? What avenues work best? Contacting book bloggers and begging for reviews. BookBub worked really well for me.
19. What has been the toughest criticism so far? Actually, I don’t mind criticism. One thing that did kind of get to me was when I asked for a review, and the person accused me of sending her spam. She gave me one star without reading my book just to teach me a lesson.
20. What has been the best compliment? These two excerpts from professional reviewers:
“What I loved about this book were the admirable morals and values of the main characters, they each had a real down to earth, genuine, true ‘good’ heroic nature about them. Witnessing their characters mature, grow and develop throughout the story was inspiring.”
AND:
“Through page after page, I read with amazement on how this could not be considered a companion to the Twain’s 1876 and 1884′s respective works. In a nutshell, they work together as a trilogy to complete the saga, from the imagination of two tremendous writers. Well done Mr. Joyce!” (Both full reviews are on Amazon)
21. Is anything in your book based on real life experiences or purely all imagination? The subtext is all from my experiences and limited knowledge. The story itself is all imagination.
22. How did you come up with the title? I reckon I have Mark Twain to thank for that.
23. Will there be a sequel? My agent wants one, but I’m working on something else at the moment.
24. What project are you working on now? A historical novel about the true story of the largest mass execution in the history of the United States.
25. What question did I leave out that you’d like to answer? You didn’t ask for my phone number. Whenever I speak with a beautiful woman, I always get a little insulted when she doesn’t ask for my phone number. By the way, it’s; 1-800-555-Huck. (jk)
When the night has come and the city is dark, that is the time that I leave my cabin. That is the time I go searchin’ for you. I look into the honky-tonks and I walk the streets knowing that one night I will find you.
You have long black hair that flows over your shoulders. Your eyes are gray, you have curves that I did not think a woman could ever have. I know everything about you except your name. Is it Diane? Is it Nadine? Or is it Aphrodite? You are my goddess of love.
When the night has gone and the light in the east tells me I must stop my quest, I go back to my cabin and think of you.
I saw you five months ago walking with a man. You went into Jimbo’s honky-tonk, and I followed. I sat at the bar and watched you. As I looked on, I fell in love. I fell in love with your smile and with your laugh. I fell in love with your beauty. From that moment on, I was yours. You just don’t know it yet. I should have followed you then, but I couldn’t move. I thought you’d be back soon, but haven’t seen you since. However, that is all right.
I dream of you while I sleep the day away. I know that if I am to find you it will only be in the dark of night where I first saw you. I’m searchin’ for you baby, and one day I will find you.
I just flew in from Missouri. I was up there promoting my book. It’s kind of hard to promote something that is only virtual. But more on that later. I had something profound happen to me while I was there and I would like to tell you about it.
I went to Mark Twain’s home state to start my “book tour” because my book REDEMPTION: The Further Adventures of Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer is kind of a sequel to his two books. Although in my book, Huck and Tom are grown men. The way I decided to play it was to have business cards printed up. On the front is my book cover in full color and on the back are links on where to buy it.
My plan was to go to bookstores, make nice with the owner or manager and be allowed to pass out my cards to their customers. If they didn’t warm up to my sparkling personality and they told me to hit the road, well, then I’d stand outside the store and hand my cards to people as they came out.
The first two bookstores I went to were more than happy to allow me my pitiful little promotion. The third store was a little different. I was told to hit the pavement or the cops would be called.
It was 1:30 in the afternoon and I was hungry (I hadn’t eaten lunch yet), but my Irish was up, so I stood outside the store ready to pass out my first card when I saw a man sitting in a car across the street. Figuring I’d start with him, I crossed over.
Leaning down to the window, I held out the card and said, “This is my book. If you are interested, you can order it online.” The man smiled at me and took the card. It was then that I noticed the little girl in the seat next to him. She couldn’t have been more than ten years old.
Then the damndest thing happened. The man started to laugh. Softly at first, but the laugh grew into a full belly laugh as he held my card in his hand and looked at it.
I was already pissed off because of what I went through with the asshole manager of the bookstore across the street, so I snatched the card out of his hand. I started to walk off, but being of Irish decent, I turned and said, “I put my heart and soul into that goddamn book and I don’t appreciate you laughing at it!”
The guy immediately stopped laughing and said, “No offense sir, but I don’t own a computer. My little girl and I are living out of this car and we haven’t eaten in a day. I think a book is way down on the list of things I need in my life.”
I froze where I was. It took a few ticks of the clock, but I felt ashamed. I had money to spend on a fool’s mission to fly to another state, pay for a motel room and eat out in restaurants just to sell a book that would never, in its best day, help or change the world.
I walked back to the car, smiled and held out my hand. "The name’s Andrew Joyce, and I’m sorry. It’s my Irish temper. It gets me in more trouble than not." We shook hands and he told me his name was Chris. Then he introduced me to his daughter. Her name was Melanie. Chris called her Mel.
At that point, there was nothing else for me to do, but invite them to have lunch with me. They were hungry and I was hungry, though not as hungry as they were.
Chris hesitated for a moment; I could tell he had his pride, but he looked over to his daughter and said to me, “Mel and I would be proud to have lunch with a famous author like you.” I shook my head and told him I was far from that.
We settled in at a diner down the street. This is where the profound comes in. It’s a cliché, but it broke my heart to see how thin the little girl was. And Chris wasn’t much better off. It also broke my heart to see Mel look at the waitress as she passed our booth with her tray stacked with food. Mel’s eyes followed her until . . . until her father nudged her and gave her a look. A look that silently said, “Be cool.”
As I watched them eat the first food they had in a day, Chris told me his story.
Chris was a pipefitter. He had his own shop and was doing pretty well for himself and his family until about three years ago. Then his wife suddenly took sick and died. Mel was only seven at the time. Chris did the best he could. In one sense, he was lucky. He was his own boss, so he could come and go as he pleased.
On school days, he would pick Mel up after school and take her to his shop where she would do her homework in the office. When she was done, she was allowed to watch some television. He did not want her to be a latchkey kid.
Because of the economy, his business fell by the wayside. Finally, he had to admit defeat and close his shop. Eight months ago, the bank foreclosed on his house. They had been living out of his car ever since.
He told me he occasionally got day work by hanging out with the Mexicans at Home Depot, but because of his age, he was seldom selected to ride in the back of the pickup. Another factor might have been that he had a little girl by his side. Chris was not about to let Mel out of his sight. At least not until she was older.
That was his story.
We finished eating, and as we walked back to his car, I told him because I’m a writer, I could tell his story. Maybe that would get him job offers or at least a place to live.
“I appreciate it Andrew, but I don’t want it broadcast around the shape that I am in. If I can make it, I’ll make it on my own. Mel and I sure do thank you for the meal. And when I get back into the clover, I’ll buy your book.”
That just about made me cry. I knelt on one knee before Mel and said, “”You are the prettiest little girl that I have ever seen. And I know a prince that would just love you. And someday he will find you.”
We walked another block and came to an ATM. I took out the max, and handed the $400.00 to Chris. At first, he refused my inadequate gift. But I told him, it was not for him. It was for Mel. Before he could say anything else, I walked off.
As I sit here in my comfortable boat with air conditioning. With food. I am dry when it rains and I eat when I am hungry. I think of Chris and Mel. The only thing I want in this world now . . . is for Chris (and Mel) to be well-off enough to buy my book. Not for me . . . for them.
Note: Because of Chris' and Mel's wish for anonymity, I did not use their real names.
Next week, I fly to California to try to sell some books. Ya ‘all will receive my dispatches as I feel fit to send them.
Andrew Joyce, REDEMPTION: The Further Adventures of Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer
If I were to take on a project such as this, I would first want to consult a psychologist to have myself tested for sanity. To think, a renowned and time-tested series such as the "Tom Sawyer" books could be expanded, would lead me to believe I had lost all my marbles. But what I think has happened with 'Redemption', is Andrew Joyce has successfully channeled the spirit of Mark Twain into the twentieth-century. Through page after page, I read with amazement on how this could not be considered a companion to the Twain's 1876 and 1884's respective works. In a nutshell, they work together as a trilogy to complete the saga, from the imagination of two tremendous writers. Well done Mr. Joyce! -- Glen Marcus
From REDEMPTION: The Further Adventures of Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer
The next morning we were up, ate a cold breakfast and were on the trail before the sun made its way over the horizon.
Their tracks were easy to follow; there was only one trail up the mountain. About ten o’clock the hairs on the back of my neck stood up and did a little dance. They were bristling something awful. Jed was in the lead and I called for him to hold up. When I got up to him, I slid from my horse and told him to do the same.
We drank from our canteens and filled our hats so that the horses could have a drink. We were getting low on water, but there were many streams in the mountains so we had no fear on that count. But I did have a fear on another count; I felt someone was watching us.
Jed agreed and said that the trail we were on was the perfect place for an ambush. I asked him how they would do it. He said if it was him running things, he’d leave a man behind to get us on the trail and then meet up with the other two later.
“Well Jed, there’s nothing for it but to go on. We’re the law in Redemption. If we let these geezers get away with robbing our bank and killing our citizens, then every no-good saddle tramp in the territory will be comin’ there and tryin’ their hand at bank robbery or anything else they thought they could get away with.”
“Reckon that you’re right,” said Jed, “I’ll take point.”
“Sorry Jed, I’m marshal and that’s my job. But if they get me, you keep going. You don’t have to bring them back if they’re dead, only if they surrender. But either way, bring their guns and horses back, sell ‘em and give the money to Missus Baxter. I reckon she could use it now with her husband gone.”
With nothing else to say, we got back on our horses. Jed tied the mule’s lead-line to the horn of his saddle so as to keep his hands free. With our Winchesters out and lying across the bows of our saddles, we proceeded on.
We hadn’t gone far when a bullet smashed into a boulder I was riding by, splashing up bits of rock. A second later, I heard the sound of the shot. That meant that whoever shot at us was a ways off.
We both hit the ground at the same time and smacked our horse on their rumps to get them going and get them out of the line of fire. Seeing as how the mule was tethered to Jed’s horse, he wisely followed along.
We were lying among some boulders and Jed asked me where I reckoned the shooter was.
“He’s gotta be ‘bout two hundred yards up that slope,” I said pointing off to the left. “It’s a good thing the sun was to our backs. I think it must have got in his eyes, elsewise he’s a lousy shot.”
Jed was smiling as he checked his Colts to make sure they were loaded. They were always loaded. I think it was just a nervous habit with him. I had me a Smith and Wesson Schofield I had picked up a year back. Our guns, including the Winchesters, all took .45 cartridges, which made things a mite easier.
When Jed had his guns back in their holsters he said, “Alright Huck, how we gonna play this? You wanna charge up the hill at the sonavabitches or do it Indian style and come up from behind ‘em?”
“Well Jed, there was only the one shot, so I reckon you called it when you said they’d leave one man behind to finish us off. They must have seen there were only two of us around the fire last night. Probably figured one man in ambush could take care of a couple of jaspers like us. But I don’t like the idea of chargin’ up the hill. One of us is bound to take a bullet or two. No, instead you stay and keep him busy with your Winchester. I’ll circle round and get above him. I’m gonna stand now and draw his fire, you see where the muzzle flash comes from.”
Jed grabbed my arm and said, “That ain’t too smart Huck.”
“Don’t worry. We know he’s not a good shot and I’ll move fast and give him a very little target. You just see where the shot comes from.”
When I was back down among the rocks, Jed pointed out where our friend was. I nodded and told him that he should count to three hundred because that’s when I expected to be behind and above him. “Then hold your fire because it might be me you hit and that would be kinda embarrassin’ for both of us.”
I got up to where I wanted to be just before I hit three hundred, and I saw our man. His horse knew I was there before he did. When his horse whinnied, the man spun around in a panic. He didn’t see me, so I had the chance to take him alive. “Throw down your gun and put your hands up if you wanna see the sun come up tomorrow,” I yelled down to him.
But as Jed said, these weren’t the brightest boys in the choir. He did a half turn and fired where he thought my voice came from. I sighed and shot him just above the heart and a little to the center. I was aiming for his heart, but he moved on me. He was now on his knees and raising his gun for another shot. I knew he was as good as dead and I didn’t want to put another bullet into him if I didn’t have to. I wanted to let him say his last words, and maybe give him a little water.
“You’re shot bad partner and you’re gonna die, but do you wanna die alone? Throw down your gun and I’ll come to you.” He must have been hurting pretty bad because he dropped the gun and fell over backwards. I walked down and kicked his gun a little farther away from his hand. Then I called to Jed and told him to bring up a canteen.
While I waited for Jed, I knelt down on one knee and asked him his name. But he wasn’t talking; he turned his head away. I could tell he was in bad pain and he was breathing rough. It made me wish I had killed him outright to spare him that. He was young, about Jed’s age.
Jed walked up and handed me the canteen without saying anything. Losing blood makes you thirsty and when he saw the canteen, he ran his tongue over his lips. I uncorked it, raised his head a little and put it to his lips. After he drank his fill, I saw a red froth coming from his mouth. That meant he was shot in the lungs or at least one of them.
I eased his head back down and asked him his name.
“It’s Samuel,” he said.
“Well Samuel, you got any kin folk we can contact for you?”
He told me there was no one that cared a hoot if he lived or died. Then he tried to smile, but couldn’t quite make it and said, “Maybe a whore down Sonora way, if she’s still alive.”
I smiled at him and asked, “Who were the men with you, and where are they headed?”
“I cain’t peach on my friends mister.”
So I asked him if he was the one who shot Baxter.
“No, there was to be no shootin’. But that Frank, he’s a crazy one. When he shot that man, Ben and me couldn’t believe it.” Then Samuel asked if he could have some more water. But before I could get the cork out of the canteen, he died.
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