Drunk on the Moon Paul D. Brazill

I have never done this with a review, I mean this is supposed to be my thoughts and feelings on a what I think of someone’s written work. BUT, yesterday I read a review, a five star review on Amazon that someone put up about Paul D. Brazill’s “Drunk on the Moon”.  It is so amazing I just felt I had to show this to you instead of just popping the link in here, it is probably one of the most complete reviews I think I have ever read on there. Just intense as well as complimentary, here it is in its entirety:

Les Edgerton, Ft. Wayne, IN

“Yowza. I just bought Paul D. Brazill's newest offering, DRUNK ON THE MOON, a couple of hours ago and read it all the way through, my mouth agape on every single page.

There are writers one reads for plot, for story, for strong characterization, for brilliant description, for brilliant dialog, for... all kinds of things. I read Mr. Brazill for all of those and more, but the thing I always look for in his work and am always amply rewarded is his writing. To wit, the way he turns a phrase, creates original-diginal language and so much "gooder" than any other writer I know. He's the only writer I know who makes his work hard to read on a Kindle. Why? Because on just about every page I keep dropping it when I can't help myself and clap my hands in delight.

Here's just a few of the gems that are sprinkled liberally on almost every single page:

Nausea curdles away inside you.

...the migraine bright bathroom...

The oil slick of night...

Detective Ivan Walker flew in out of the storm like a murder of crows...

Suddenly, a sickly stew of screams and howls clung to the wind and drifted down to my car.

The moonlight oozed across The City's dank cobblestones like quicksilver...

Days bled into weeks, which hemorrhaged into months, until the winter crept up and smothered the whiskey coloured autumn days with darkness.

Outside, a sharp sliver of moon garroted the coal black sky.

The winter moon hung fat and gibbous...

Dark dreams lapped at the shore of my sleep until I awoke drowning in sweat.

On the stage, partially clad young women slid around like spaghetti on an alcoholic's plate.

He rolled the `r' in grim like it was a chainsaw starting up.

* * *

I mean--who writes like that! Nobody. Nobody but Paul D. Brazill. As a writer, whenever I read one of his stories I feel like the pig who fell into a vat of sour cream. Brazill isn't just a writer; he's a poet and you can take any of his stories and write a master's thesis on just the language employed.

As Emily Dickenson said about the very best of writing: It takes the top of my head off.

If you're a writer, read Brazill at your peril. He'll make you want to take your typewriter and go home and learn plumbing. Or just blow your brains out...

If you're just a reader who loves brilliant writing, go right ahead. Be prepared to keep yelling out to your roommate, "Hey! You've got to read this!"

Over and over...”

I have no other words but ,wow!