Great Mystery & More! Willa Goodheart by Edward C. Patterson Hearkens Back in Time - A Personal Favorite

 Some things touch my soul and pepper sweet my words.”*

“Relationships are like spider webs. Weave them, weave them. Cut them, snap them. Then, in the first strong wind, they blow away.”*

...“Well, I can nurse your mother in my digs, but the landlady’s an old orthodox Jew and doesn’t care for goyim, if you know what I mean? “ Willa did. Jessica McVie, who disliked anyone less than three-quarters Scottish and one-hundred percent Christian, regarded herself as tolerant. But most people who claim tolerance for diverse folk generally are intolerant. “That wouldn’t work out,” Willa said. “What would work is to move her back to Larkin Street. I can take the spare room and be in attendance around the clock. I said it before and I’ll say it again; you’d save a heap of money, as would I, if you set me up there to take care of my own.” Granny raised her beer, and then took a swig. “That would be best for all.” Willa recognized the worst scenario. Her mother would be home, but everyone’s nerves would fray; and Willa’s chore load would increase. Now she knew why they had made a bee-line to the Cow Hollow Noodle Shop. Granny wanted to discuss bringing the whole situation home — literally. “We could discuss it more,” Willa said. “And I’ll broach it with Dad and the boys.” 

Change the subject, Willa thought. Change the subject before the next swig of beer. “But I’m curious.” “Curiosity killed the cat, dearie.” “Well, I’m not dying to know, but it would be helpful. About the ring.” “The Heritage Ring?” Granny asked. “It would be terrible if they stole it. I’d bring them to court if it went missing.” “That would be a shame.” “It’s not a shame to right a wrong?” “No, I meant, it would be a shame if it went missing.” “Oh. Yes.” “I know the ring has the family crest on it . . .” “Proud family crest, that of the McVie,” Granny said. “Represents the union of two ancient highland families — The Macbeths and the Beatons. That’s how the name came about.” “I don’t understand.” “It used to be MacBea, long before any of us were alive. But it made its way through the centuries as McVie, thanks to our English relatives.” She smirked, and then swigged again. “Now you don’t want me to tell you the whole family history, do you?” Willa had heard bits from her mother and a smidgeon from Granny, but if it would keep the subject off the convalescence arrangements, she would listen to the entire history of Scotland. 

Besides, the Gyoza arrived — a dash in the conversation. “Actually, Granny, if it explains why it’s called the Heritage Ring, I’d welcome the chit-chat.” “More than chit-chat, dearie,” Granny said. “When we say Macbeth, we mean the Macbeth.”Willa shuddered. The only Macbeth she recalled was Shakespeare’s fictitious character, head deep in murder and mayhem — more myth and legend than ancestral history. “I thought it a stage invention,” Willa remarked; and then she remembered her High School English class. “Mrs. Bertinelli told us Shakespeare used a book by Hollingsworth for the Macbeth chronicle; and that Hollingsworth’s Histories is a supposition.” “Are you going to believe some Guinea school teacher’s words about Scottish history over your granny’s?” “Well, of course not.” “Good. Now, I’m not saying Mr. Shakespeare’s Macbeth was a true model for our ancestor. Willy the Bard was English, after all. But you’re descended from kings. Unfortunately, those kings had a downward spiral, their fortunes depleted after many wars and . . . you know how that goes. And the family married into a mixed-breed Shropshire bunch called the Beatons. Now, these Beatons were respectable chemists. They called them alchemists in those days. I’m sure most drugs used today the Beatons invented one way or another. So, when they crossed the pond as the McVie, they were handy with concoctions.” Granny took another swig. Quite handy, indeed, Willa thought “And the ring?” 

“Oh, that’s a West Coast invention, dearie. It’s not that old, and its significance lies in membership. Not so much now.” “I don’t understand.” “Your Grandfather Wilton was a member of the Heritage Society, also known as the Heritage Society of Clans and True Bloods. Although I must say, none of us are really True bloods. Not me, although I’m close; and certainly not your Grandfather.” Granny set her beer aside, forked up a Gyoza, shunning the chopsticks, and sucked it down. Then, she crossed herself, much to Willa’s surprise. “I’m a God fearing woman,” Granny said. “So I never understood the ins and outs of that strange society.” She sniffed the stale air. “Your grandfather was young when I met him and young when I lost him. We knew each other for ten years, but married two years before his passing.” Willa knew this much; and that he was just nineteen and had a daughter on the way when that fatal meeting with the cable car happened; but she knew little else about the man. “He had that ring crafted by a chinky Chinaman down on Grant. Wilton brought a drawing of the McVie crest to the chink, and...well, those people can copy most anything. Why he scratched it on whalebone is beyond me, but your grandfather was hell bent on it. And he needed that ring as a sign he belonged to the Heritage gang.” “Gang?” “Well, you might call it a gang. They weren’t thugs, but they met in secret and exchanged whoppers, I suppose. Women aren’t allowed.” “Aren’t? They’re still around?” “I suppose so. They haven’t crossed my path since the incident.” She crossed herself again. “You do know your grandfather may not have had an accident.” 

Willa had heard this before. “You think this Heritage Society had something to do with it?” “Murder, you’re thinking. No. They were mild-mannered men and, as I said, True bloods. But my Wilton was a brooder. He liked the Society because they dressed up in robes and chanted old hymns and explored old books. 

Now, the McVie, being from chemist stock, contributed on that score. But beyond this hobby, the Heritage Society encouraged my man to brood even more. He pondered life like a smithy pounds his anvil. But Wilton was never strong steel.” “What are you saying, Granny?” “Not much of anything, but since you work on the crisis lines, you know the signs of a man considering . . .” “Suicide?” Granny crossed herself again, and Willa knew why her grandfather was almost a true blood. “I can’t be sure. I’ll never be sure. But the possibility is distinct.” 

“I don’t think so,” Willa said. “How can you know?” “Well, I know one of his friends; and he’s told me my grandfather was lively, and not a brooder.” “Who told you that?” “Oh. Don’t put too much stock in Conlon.” “Was he a member of that Society? ” Granny laughed. “Joe’s a dreamer. In fact, your grandfather was a dreamer. But Joe was always quick with a passionate phrase and an over-the-top response. They were friends. In fact Joe knew him longer than I had. But Conlon was . . . well, went on to better things, but was anything but respectable. Anything but . . .”

~~~

Edward C. Patterson, also author of The Jade Owl, went into an entirely different path when he wrote Willa Goodheart. In fact, when I first started reading, I thought it was going to be chick lit, as we first meet Willa at her place of business where she has just been promoted to be an assistant to the assistant to the Marketing Director of Fidelity Fiscus, a collection firm.

Thing was that Willa didn't have a job description for her new job, but soon found... She would be doing what her boss was supposed to... You know, back when bosses were mean and you wanted to murder them...or they tried to get closer to you? Well, Willa got the latter attention the second day she was in her new position, and quickly moved to leave his office!

But soon, bits and pieces start to happen that pulled Willa into a murder investigation! And the twists and turns moved faster and faster... as Willa wondered whether she had a stalker, when she kept seeing a guy on a bike like a messenger would ride... While she was handling travel arrangements for her boss's boss, while she would leave the office and then come back wrinkled and her hair messed... Meanwhile on the floor where she used to work as a collector, one of her friends had been moved into a small room, but was threatening suing them for age discrimination...or, better yet, starting to tell all the secrets that he knew after working so many years...

Willa seems to be a key player in all that is happening, but she can't figure out why... An envelope is found  with the name of the dead man... Then she starts getting calls at her volunteer location... And, to top it off, one of the officers on the case has taken an interest in her and arranged an evening time when he promised to share information with her about the case, and he proceeds to drink too much and told her much more than she should have known!

The author has thus far provided the reader with the background, characters involved; and, then chooses to create Part II when Willa and her new lover, take on the amateur detective role. But that wasn't enough for this author, he throws in a mysterious bicycle  messenger who she begins to call her stalker, but actually is something far more "scifi--the spooky kind..." and, of course, romance of both the good and bad kind!

So we now start looking at those who have been murdered--yes more than 3...but then we get the explanation that this seems not to be a serial killer, at least according to the detectives on the case, who, for better or worse, soon learn that Willa Goodheart is smack in the middle of all of this, and so do not totally shut her out of the investigation. I fell in love with the book as Part II begins... Because he added a playlist beginning with pointing out it was the age of Aquarius, of free love, flower children and those who were gay began to come out, even if it was within tightly controlled meeting places... 

So, during the evening when Willa met with Detective Schultz, he took her to the restaurant which was owned by his brother. The evening ended with Larry and Willa, recognizing an immediate attraction. And Willa taking the initiative, realizing it had been a decade since she even dated!  You'll have fun as these two people ultimately come together and decide to solve the mystery... Larry had even stolen his brother's badge one night when he was so drunk that Larry had to drive him home... Now, he was quite willing to flash that badge as they started through their own deep investigation! Let's go along with them, shall we?

“My tiny hands barely reach the octave. I can manage Chopin, but Rachmaninoff would be an Olympic hurdle.” The author didn't specific a specific composition for this author...so I chose one of my favorites!

In the getting to know each other phase, Larry found that Willa was a pianist, but learned early that her small hands presented a problem in octaves...but since she really wasn't that passionate about playing, she slowly moved toward getting a job--which really got her into this entire mess...

Willa was pulled in because she picked up an envelope that had the name of the latest victim. Willa and her friend Jose spent their lunchtime talking about either the cruel boss or Jose's lover. He was openly gay, so Willa really wasn't surprised when he was there at The Painted Lips... Willa was astonished with Larry's being a restaurateur that he was able to get in many places and, indeed, knew exactly the person they would need to talk to. Along the way, I was picking up the many clues that the author provided and was fairly certain I knew how the plot would proceed...but that doesn't mean all readers will notice...So, before we go on, I highly recommend this book for plot, characters, genre/jumping and a fantastic playlist! Now, if you readers who don't dwell on the music that accompanies scenes, you can always just skip listening, OK? 'Cause I'm just having fun...!

Willa comes from a musical family, but only her brother is a professional who plays the oboe... Visit their home and it will be the sound in the background on most visits... I've liked Dvorak for many years, but also enjoyed compositions in the minor key, which this particular piece is... So what happened? Well a brilliant member of the local symphony was one of those killed... By the way, the search for the weapon used, which turned out to be the key "tell" for its being done by the same person, was the only way, at first, that the police detectives knew it was a singular villain...

Finding a symphony program which had been for a children's summer concert wasn't exactly significant, except for where that program had been found! After a full day of intense investigations by Willa and Larry, Willa went straight home...to bed...to dream... The total dream scene was fantastic!

The rain sound increased as she drifted into a dark place — a noisy crowded place held captive by a disco ball. Faces. Dozens of faces passed before her through the polka dot lights. She recognized some — Jose, Henry, Larry, Chatty, Simone; but others danced, passing by her — Granny McVie, Freddie, Lavinia and The Lash.

When the weight of law enforcement presses innocence, an uncorrupted path is difficult to discern. When a signature binds you to silence and yet your lips speak; and trust compels you to reveal new evidence and yet your fists ball in secrecy, the mind drifts to alternatives — retreating to a faraway land or seeking a name change or changing hair color. Such ideas crossed Willa’s mind as she wrestled with the chain of new facts, suppositions and evidence.*

To deliver bits of  twine to bumblers would defeat the purpose. Willa slowly realized she wanted control — a strange desire considering she had been the controlled by everyone and everything in her life. In lieu of hopping a train to Mexico and growing a mustache, Willa settled down at Larkin Street for an evening with her family.*

Taking in her family entire, Willa realized the world had a shared stress. Every noggin on the planet set out on a personal road of pitfalls and celebrations; and not always coinciding to everyone’s likes. Knowing this settled Willa’s nerves. She was in the company of endless worlds, each to their own orbit — each with specific terrains — desolate or crowded according to their ability to draw or repel. Each hiding or shouting on their personal cycle, looping, lost in a boundless sea simultaneously calm or tempestuous.*

When Mindy appeared dancing a threesome with Sonny and Alice, Willa shuddered. The music had transformed from a disco beat to the sound of a banjo

with a lazy oboe descant soaring over the strum, a jaunty theme accentuated by the herky-jerky moves of dancers. Suddenly, the aroma of Chamomile overpowered the place, shrouding the dance floor in fog.

“I deliver these unto you,” he said. Willa tried to speak, but couldn’t. She meant to take the stack, but wouldn’t. She knew what these were — invitations from death.. “Take these,” the messenger repeated. “Take them, and the weight shall be lifted. Your fog will evaporate.” Willa refused to accept.

“Sis, you know the Mahler is tricky. Mendelssohn is far easier.” Then, Freddie’s face changed to Kentwood Schulhoffer’s, who grinned sardonically. As he shook his head, the jeweler’s mug transformed into . . . into the Old Grandmother’s, who lifted Old Friend Cane toward Willa, and then pointed. “You cannot stand still in the same place forever, girl,” the old woman snapped. “Not when the rain calls your name and rallies you to action...”

“The rain comes to us all,” Simone said. “Each drop contains a memory, which sings to us, recalling the tender moments, the sad moments, and times we only remember when the song sighs over our souls. My people know this — both Jewish and gay. I hear the lowing of Shabbat shalom and the lullabies under the boardwalk. The drops recall pogroms and bashings, chicken soup and broken hearts.” She turned toward Willa. “You cannot stand still in the same place forever, girl; not when the rain calls your name and rallies you to action.”*

And during that dream, Willa started putting all of the pieces that had been gathered from the Police Detectives, through Larry and her investigations, which, admittedly, they had chosen not to share since they had the desire to actually solve the case... Waking, Willa found herself moving toward the one instrument that she could play, and started playing one of the most beautiful of Chopin's pieces, in my opinion... And, as she played, one by one of her family picked up the instrument that they played and joined Willa, as if they were all in the past, playing together on a nightly basis, laughing...loving...happily... sharing, perhaps, the most enjoyable times that had routinely occurred during past years!

As she fell into the music’s groove, it captured her conscience, setting the stress to rest — not a flight, but a hibernation, sure to return again. The piece called to an evening sea under an ebbing tide, the whistling of night birds at a mental distance. Willa rocked as she played, a rhythm worth capturing — a sound which went beyond the room, the card game, and even the garden’s mulch. She didn’t care if the sonorous ripples disturbed her family, hoping the piece evoked reconciliation. Suddenly, a hand stilled her playing. Willa looked down, spotting the Heritage Ring. Quickly, she glanced into her mother’s brightening eyes. with invigorated passion. Willa gazed from her mother’s fingers to her mother’s focused eyes. How a mind malfunctioning at one level could perform such keyboard wonders escaped explanation, unless music was housed in a separate compartment walled securely from the night soul. Willa couldn’t tell, but she heard the others stir, amazed and delighted.*

Once finished, Willa realized that her mother had come to sit beside her, and when Wilma sat down playing one of the most difficult pieces that she had ever played in the past... The family, stunned, because Wilma had short-term amnesia and often forgot what was happening at any given time, but this was the past, and she willingly opened her heart and mind to what her family offered to her...

Suddenly, Freddie led the next selection as he played the main melody while his mother complemented each note as if they were both playing at the symphony for hundreds of people... Only to be bested when Wilma once again took center stage with a honky tonk song by Robert Foster! What fun! With Granny taking the vocal... Come on! Sing along with her, because the words are right there in the book! 

We are now, as readers, completely involved in the book! So much so, that Willa and all involved were totally caught off guard when The End quickly drew closer!

Wow! I have just spent hours putting this together, finding the music playing it as I continued to talk about the story... And yet, the sting of what happened lingers... From the heights of glory as those who truly enjoy the classics, as well as any other music genre, we are faced with the reality of that time... Was it truly just from history? Or, did the author use the historical framework to point out that, for whatever reason, the murder and mayhem continues in America--perhaps, even more so... in 2019 when it was published.

This author is a wonderful storyteller. In fact, some books, like this one, allows the reader to simply let the book write its own review... You will see that I was already invested from the first page, reckoning back to when women faced discrimination in offices and other work areas... But, after acknowledging and spotlighting, the main character showed that we women do not have to accept the sexual overtures of others, even if they are bosses!

Characters include those who are thirsty for power, those who have been forced by the outside world to keep their lives secret, and those who reached the point, that they couldn't take the hate within or spewed into their lives... And chose violence as what they perceived to be their only option--Perhaps, since it continues, it has been citizens in America who have caused those harmful feelings? Surely the author expected us to ponder how we treat our "neighbors..."

I have added this to my personal list of favorites... Do check it out!

GABixlerReviews

I fell on the grass, lying on my back, looking at the sky through the filigree of trees. Then I rolled over watching a ladybird climbing a single blade of grass. Now, I wasn’t a genius or by any means extraordinary, but for a moment the entire world was caught in that blade of grass. All other leaves faded. It was the only thing I saw. I’ll never forget it. Couldn’t put a name on it or broadcast it to the world. But I’ve never forgotten how I viewed things on that day. It was . . . a day of discovery. Yes, that’s what it was, and I believe I’ve seen my life through that lens ever since — a single blade of grass on a day of deep discovery.” As Larry continued to chomp on his mystical lettuce leaf, Willa had an urge to leap across the table and grab this man and plant a kiss smack on the dressing drips. She imagined the ladybird on the blade of grass and somehow it liberated her from the spaghetti pot, the swirl of Nob Hill and, yes . . . even the eleventh floor of Fidelity Fiscus. She felt her hands stretching for the octave.*

And, if you haven't heard enough, stay while I listen to one of my favorite composers and post! Have a good night and God Bless Us All...

*These are quotes or scenes that I found simply beautiful in the telling... Shared to be read purely at your discretion.

Epic Novel, The Jade Owl, by Edward C. Patterson, begins Series!

From ancient times, in folklore, the owl has been noted in various ways. For most of us we have learned that the owl is wise, although the facts may not support that assumption...

 

But only Edward C. Paterson tells us the tale of a unique, powerful and deadly symbol--The Jade Owl!

In fact, the first book begins an epic series that is bound to be of interest to lovers of historical fiction, those who study the Chinese culture... as well as those who enjoy fantasy/scifi centered on cultural issues... My own interest started when I was working on campus and attended a student Chinese cultural dance program... I loved the traditional dress for women in particular, as well as, since then, the architectural beauty of their buildings.  So much so, that I went on to use oriental decor for my bedroom for many years...and now have it spread throughout my cabin and into my garden landscape.

While never digging into much

actual history, I found Patterson's first novel, epic, at just under 600 pages,  a wonderful learning experience, quite intriguing and delightful... A fantasy based upon folklore regarding owls, with a strong scifi horror emphasis... I loved it! It's added to my personal favorites for 2018!

"The old grandmother?" Rowden asked.

"Ao-ling--the matriarch." Nick must have expected Rowden to react, maybe a jaw drop, but Rowden just looked across Simone with the pale glance of a man suffering from too much motion over too many potholes. "You've never heard of her? Nick asked.

"No. But she must be important to be honored in the pronoun mystical."

Nick laughed. His bright smile reckoned him like his old self...

Nick approached the old woman. He bowed.

"Xiao Ao-ling, you have called and I have come. My friends are here, This is my partner, Simon and..."

"Please Nicholas Battle," Ao-ling said. Her hand raised like a leaf in a breeze. "I know who you take to your bed." She smiled at simon, a dim smile filled with many broken teeth, but teeth as white as ice, evidence of the many years they drew rice and noodles past the sums. "I also know the pupils of your father. I know of this Professor Gray. I am glad you have an escort of friends and lovers in this world of mistrust and shadows, but I called you because you have found it, and keep it safe, from Win-t'o's clutches. That gladdens me." 
She flexed her shoulders, sighing with a hollow wind that washed the room with her ancient breath. "Bird and Box will be joined again. John Battle's son shall do it. He shall. Hao. Hen hao.

Nick kissed Ao-ling's hand as it stretched above the cane. Rowden, fully taken by her regal demeanor, fell in line to do the same, but it was not expected. She stopped the ceremonial, waving her hands to either side of the ke-ting.

"Please all. Sit. Be comfortable." She touched Audrey's hand. "Ao-ti, call for tea and some sesame cake. I do appreciate the filial piety, but be comfortable all. Sit.

Rowden found a floor cushion, while Simone and Nick tucked into the love seat. Ao-ling adjusted her petite bottom on her throne. She regarded Rowden, her deeply lined face, a billboard to five score in years at least, reflected more events than a history book.

"So, Professor Gray," she said. "I have heard your name on John Battle's lips many times. He hoped one day you would enjoin his work."

Rowden balanced himself on the cushion. "I'm afraid I disappointed him," he said. "I sometimes wish I had pursued his work."

"You pursue it now." It was a pronouncement Rowden hadn't considered. "The Jade Owl is his work. It is found and now to be restored. It will reveal her greatest secret."

~~~

I took about a week to read this book--there was so much to follow and absorb, that I didn't want to miss anything. While Professor Rowden Gray would be considered the main character, he was not intended to be the hero, per se. Professor Gray had gone for an important curator interview which seemed to be fairly secure. He had resigned his teaching job and packed up... Only to be told that the position had not been funded and there was no job!

Professor Gray had once sat at the feet of John Battle, known to be a great expert in Chinese history. Not so coincidentally, it seemed, the Professor had stumbled into meeting a young man, Nick, when he was still highly agitated on what had been done to him--he didn't really want to go back to teaching, but he did need to have some type of position.

Rowden later learned that Nick was one of the sons of John Battle... In fact, most of the intrigue evolves out of the seeming coincidences that came one after the other...The "treasure hunt" effect of, say, The Da Vinci Code, et.al., where clues are found...is replaced with what seems to be previously ordained. People have been waiting for the Owl to be found, both villains who want it for their own purposes, and those knowing the power must be restrained in only one way. Readers travel along with the small group who have been selected to fulfill the destiny of, specifically, Nick, John Battle's son...and take the owl to be once again joined with the Empress... I'll not go into that thread of the story. because it is so entwined. not to reveal the primary focus.

A minor topic includes the lives of those gay men who both travel with the group and meet along the way. It is a heartwarming tale that allows readers to intimately see and empathize with the bias still faced by many with a different sexual orientation. Simon/Simone is an adorable character that I found fascinating in her/his reactions to traveling with his partner, Nick. 

Rowden has two different types of encounters with women, as a result of being who he was and where he was in particular. All of the characters, in fact, add a special flair to what is definitely not an adventure story. The cultural implications of the desires, long-dead empress, have long been felt as her power continues to live after her death...or is she dead? 

The scenes when the Owl is "more than" a statue are thrilling in their creativity as well as placed within the various cultural buildings that are explored as they travel on their journey. I checked a few of the site locations named and found they were fictional, so I have not spent too much time on specific locations--let's just say that I thoroughly enjoyed how each step was guided from one point to another...

She kissed him on the cheek. He hugged her and took a larger liberty beneath her nose, which she apparently did not discourage as she let his lips repose there twice. "Will you be okay?" she asked.
Rowden smiled. "I'm in freaking John Battle Memorial Hall, standing beside the Joy of Finches. Now, that's a restorative."
...A wave of sadness engulfed him despite his restoration declaration. He returned his attention to the Joy of Finches, his eyes studying the contour of every beak, eye, and swirl. How he wished he could don latex and explore each contour of his lovely object with his scientific hand. It beckoned him, a power within, calling from an ancient, withered Imperial heart. As he stared, his imagination played a game. A outline of that haunting bird--a deep velveteen green wavering in a fluorescent glow. He blinked. It was gone...
Rowden abruptly turned, but there was no one. Nothing. Just the lingering scene of lavender. He cocked his head, looking for reflections in the black marble floor.
...He took another longing glance at the Joy of Finches--the Empress Wu's great treasure. "You all lose!" he muttered. He turned away wondering why he could think of nothing now but the aroma of lavender...

...Suddenly, the Jade Owl hooted.
"Holy shit." Rowden gazed at the emerald glow. He thought he saw wing movement. Ears twitching. He also felt a tremor in the floor, a foot massage vibration, or some amusement part fun house effect. He held Nick's shoulder. The display case rumbled.
"Earthquake?" He winced. It would just be his luck to travel to California in time for the Big One.
"No. It's the Box," Nick said. Nick's face blossomed. No terror here...

~~~  

"The bird was stolen, but now is returned to its place in the Wind Cave guarding our great ancestor's tomb, watched over by the spirits and the winds of Huai-ya. Such a journey do I tell sourced from Ch'en Po-yen's notebooks--the journey of the tiger in the dragon garden, Ch-un-ch'eng's madness, the Bell echoer, Mao Sheng's bane."
--from The Diary of The Jade Owl--Xiao Ch'eng

The book is long...take your time and sink into the past when a famed Empress wanted only one thing...to never die... Highly recommended!

GABixlerReviews

Author Edward C. Patterson has been writing novels, short fiction, poetry and drama his entire life, always seeking the emotional core of any story he tells. He has currently 38 published books. He is known for spinning magical and fantasy yarns grounded in history and favors epic tales revealed in books series. His flagship works are The Jade Owl Legacy Series, The Southern Swallow Series, The Farn Trilogy and the Nick Firestone Mysteries. 

In many of Patterson's novels, he combines an imaginative touch with his life long devotion to China and its history, having earned an MA in Chinese History from Brooklyn College with further postgraduate work at Columbia University. This background is the cornerstone for The Jade Owl Legacy, The Southern Swallow Series and Master Wu's Bride, works drawing on Sung and Ming Dynasty History and Culture. History has played a major part in the coming of age tale Little Vin at Dreamland.

Patterson's military experience is reflected in such works as Surviving an American Gulag, The Road to Grafenwoehr and Pacific Crimson - Forget Me Not. His gay life-way and work in diversity is reflected in his novellas No Irish Need Apply, Cutting the Cheese, Bobby's Trace and Mother Asphodel; and in larger works - Turning Idolater and Look Away Silence.

A native of Brooklyn, NY, Patterson has spent over five decades as a soldier in the corporate world gaining insight into the human condition. He won the Year 2000 New Jersey Minority Achiever Award for his work in corporate diversity and is a proud U S Army Veteran of the Vietnam Era. Blending world travel experiences with a passion for story telling, Patterson's adventures continue as he works to permeate his reader's souls from an indelible wellspring. 

His novel No Irish Need Apply was named Book of the Month for June 2009 by Booz Allen Hamilton's Diversity Reading Organization. His Novel The Jade Owl was a finalist for The 2009 Rainbow Awards.

He is the proud founder of Operation eBook Drop which, in its heyday, distributed over a million eBooks to deployed Armed Forces members from over 2,000 independent authors. He has guest blogged extensively and has appeared on the Bobby Ozuna - Soul of Humanity Show. He is also proud of his Cherokee heritage, knows seven languages (including Cherokee) and is a contributing member of the ACLU.

"The little voice from between the lines can become a lion's roar, one listener at a time."