Reviews
for
Their First Hunt
So not fair! But a clap on the shoulder for your ingenuity, Edd-ster...,
July 10, 2006
The word "hunt" is emblematic of all things gruesome, gory, and repellent,
though I assure you -- my dear Review Readers -- that Edd Voss attempts to steer
clear of sort of thing in his cute little "Shorty Short," THEIR FIRST HUNT.
After having read two of Voss' works now, I'm going to coin a term which perhaps
Edd's not heard of himself previously described. Voss is a "scenarist" writer,
adept at supplying his readers with slice-of-life portraits depicting cherished
moments in time with grandkids, families, soldiers, guts and glory, on the road
again or off.
While his interludes last for just a wee number of pages, they remain with you
long after your read -- what might otherwise be perceived as JUST an eleven-page
thingamabob is in essence much "longer" with the subsequent thinking you'll do
over your steaming bowl of corn pone, or while you much through that next
quesedilla or that chi-chi plate of polenta. While I admire the Edd-ster's skill
is slicing his tangy narrative onion thinner and thinner which each successive
take -- Writer as Knife -- this is, as I've already mentioned, now the *second*
Edd Voss yarn I've covered in which I felt somewhat short-changed at the station
-- creatively, but of course -- by his truncating his stories so prematurely.
As for his writing, save for the occasional typo (trial/trail), yeah sure, Voss
definitely *has* the skills, Frank. It's become painfully clear (now with me as
his reviewer and de facto editor) that if Edd has just a wee bit more time to
let his mind roam like a purple puma, he'd manage to write something huge and
satisfying -- Edd's proverbial "Big One" with Freedom Fries -- in more US
consumerist terms.
The haunting question remains -- da, da, daaaaaaaa! -- and I shall put this out
to him now: why so quick, Edd? Why so short? You drive lorries by day, but are
you masquerading as the Flash by nightfall, saving the city from all the
dastardly shysters who aim to throttle it?
I only awarded four stars for this little country-style nipper because I love
tales about litt'uns. Edd self-describes as such a gracious grand-dad. I gather
that all of us can identify magnetically with a grandfather who dotes on his
grandkids, pure and simple, with offers of hot cocoa and a loving smack on the
backside, like baseball players will sometimes do (have you seen that on the
tube?).
I'd love to one day bestow upon him the mark of five.
That, I believe, will only come once Eddy has a chance to pen something of a
much more impactful length. Release your inner-Stephen King, Edd. Do it for the
sake of your writerly soul! Or have it eat you from within at your own peril.
Ahhhhhhh!
For now, this is the best I can say for a writer whom I feel has the requisite
talent, but without the prolific output needed to break through the wordy
clutter which pervades the marketplace.
Would that about be an accurate statement, Mr. Voss? :-)
The perfect tale, July 16, 2006
As with all that Edd Voss writes this one surprises you. Written beautifully
with warmth and feeling. "Their First Hunt" is a great suspenseful read for
young and old alike. I will not describe the story for fear of giving away a
surprise ending. A most welcomed one indeed.
A most enjoyable short story that everyone can enjoy.
Anne Lebrecht
Warm Tennies Front a Hidden Hearth. Ready to Serve.,
December 21, 2006
The arrangement of the tennis shoe collection designed onto the cover of this
Amazon Short was pictorial genius, giving graphical justice to the warmth of the
early morning vigil of THEIR FIRST HUNT. Once I had seen the design on that
"cover," the shoes (accompanied by the photo of Voss's warm, fuzzy face)
continued calling to me until I clicked on the "buy now."
In agreement with other reviews, I admit that the ending surprised me, too,
though I expected something akin to the hunt's resolution. The unexpected twist
was carried by the way Voss arranged each word to his final effect of an
excellent closing scene.
By opening the story with thoughtful, early morning Winter routines, Voss set a
mood of quiet preparation for going out into a dark morning before sunrise. The
awareness was keen of soon leaving the snuggled-in cocoon of bed comforters;
knowing the shortness of the pause with the steam of coffee, and milk over
cereal; knowing through each clock-tick that the hearth would, in minutes, have
been left behind.
What would replace that warmth with any type of satisfaction? Necessity? What
would maintain the fire for another day and another night, with food for body
and soul?
Voss honors words to his purpose: >> Since I grew up without my grandparents it
is important to me to give them great memories of their childhood adventures
with Nana and Papa. Three blond heads wrapped warmly in knit caps go bouncing
out the front door .... Davia, Lexie, and Travis whisper excitedly to each other
as I watch their breath coming out in plumes of steam. Their conversation ranges
from all of the normal concerns of the younger kids to the anticipation of what
was to come with the sunrise. <<
As with any hunt, there is more to the "process" than sighting the prey: >> At
the county road we stop to take a few moments to gaze at the stars overhead that
seem to be near enough for us to reach out and touch them.... While pouring each
one of my grandchildren a cup of hot chocolate (from a thermos; they're outside
now) I warn them that from now on we have to be even quieter than before. We
take off our gloves and warm our hands on our cups of steaming liquid.... From
time to time, as the sun slowly climbs higher in the sky, I sight in on the
point where the game trail meets the water, checking to see.... I have to remind
myself that the kids are there, because they are being so quiet. <<
The placement of perfect word twists throughout didn't dawn until the first
shot, the dynamics of which I re-read several times. HUNT was not only a warm
sharing between a man and his grandchildren, it was an effective mood piece. The
feeling of willingly accepted quiet-in-the-cold was soothing and welcome, warm,
too, as I repeat that word, accompanied by a few cliches, for the umpteenth
time. Some words don't have a quick "second" for a stand-in; no others come up
to the feeling required.
So excuse me while my heart smiles at how the end of this one sent a certain
feeling backward through each word in the story. Now I can look at that set of
tennis shoes and know "who goes there" ... when, where, how, and why.
Linda Shelnutt
