Wednesday, January 9, 2013
Sunday, January 6, 2013
Fall In Love With Me
For a unknown indie author, I have many friends and colleagues to thank for a tremendous 2012. My debut novella, Fables of the Reconstruction, has been recognized by so many. Reviewers have called the book "A whole new genre." "Original" "Hypnotic" "An allegory" and said "Move over vampires, zombies are the next big thing."
In December, Fables of the Reconstruction, moved into the Top 50 internationally on the Horror/Occult charts on Amazon.com. Sales remain steady and yes, I have so many of you to thank. Following are a few of the awards/nominations my little monsters garnered:
Goodreads Rankings & Awards:
#1 Best Unknown but must be Known
#1 Not Your Normal Zombie Book
#1 Help Me Pick My Next Read
#1 Good Books and Good Book Covers
#1 Best Indie Books of 2012
Goodreads Nominee:
Indie Books - Paranormal Fiction (Top 5)
Kindle Book Reviews Best Indie Books of 2012 (Top 10)
Best Female Writers of Zombie Fiction (Top 10)
Best Books of 2012 (Top 50)
Books That Should Be Made Into Movies
Not only did Fables of the Reconstruction exceed all expectations, my first short story The Legend, the first in a series of experimental vignettes called Tales from a New Amsterdam traveled to #15 internationally on Amazon.
Expats Post (ExpatsPost.com) Dean Walker and MZ, also gave me free rein over a music blog beginning in December 2012. The blog has allowed me to work with up and coming musical talent such as Dax Lion, Kismet Ryding and Celly Black. I have also been fortunate enough to connect with Athens GA legends, the powerhouse supergroup Supercluster featuring the legendary alternative rock icon Vanessa Briscoe Hay, the English Chanteuse Barb Jungr and Nashville's Americana rocker Donna Frost and blog on their very well respected careers.Look for exciting future blogs on more amazing musical artists in the next few months.
My personal blog, Exile on Peachtree Street, has been a revelation to me. Not only do I release a few personal insights but I have hosted such exciting new authors as Miranda Stork, Livia Ellis, Elodie Parkes, Laura DeLuca, Jonathan Dunne, Steve Christie, Nic Taylor, ER Pierce, Kenneth Weene and GL Giles. Sommer Marsden and Lucy Felthouse, two powerhouses in the world of erotica have joined me in exile. There again, many talented authors and poets are scheduled to join me in upcoming blogs throughout 2013, so watch this space.
This year is shaping itself to bring more literary exposure. Looks for another release in Tales from a New Amsterdam soon. On March 1, no less than Oxford American Literary (oxfordamerican.org) will host the cover reveal for book 2 in the Fables series: Reconstruction of the Fables. Then, on March 21, 2013, look for the highly anticipated anthology from Moon Rose Publishing, A Celtic Tapestry, which will include my short story, Magic in Memphis.
So, I leave you today with many thanks to you all and many positive vibes for 2013. And, instead of a Stones song, I leave you an Iggy Pop song. Fall in Love with Me. Why not? Everyone else has.
Friday, January 4, 2013
Friday, December 28, 2012
Saturday, December 22, 2012
Christmas Puzzle by Kenneth Weene
Hello everyone. Today the author Kenneth Weene has joined me in exile. Kenneth, the man who gave us the quote, "The journey of a thousand miles starts with a single frustration". Yes, Kenneth has written a very special story for us today called Christmas Puzzle. Thank you for joining me today Kenneth! Everyone enjoy and have a very Merry Christmas!
The cold, wet night was made more
miserable by the reflection of Christmas lights in the puddles. The blare of
carols echoed flatly off buildings. The racket of harried cab drivers filled
the streets.
Matt Desmond was interviewing
witnesses. Their stories were the same, not so much the same as would raise a
flag, not as if they had been practiced. It was like putting a jigsaw puzzle
together. Pieces fit; and when they did, the picture got clearer.
Matt Desmond liked puzzles.
Twenty-three years on the force, the last fifteen and a half working homicide,
and that was what he liked about his job—the puzzles.
He had loved doing puzzles with
Sally. They would spread the pieces in the middle of the living room floor
while Jaquie groused about the mess and his teaching their only kid to be as
big a slob as he.
“Daddy, when I grow up, I’m going
to marry you,” Sally would peep.
Matt would laugh and say, “I love
you, too, Sally-Sweet.”
He had shared her tea parties and
gone to her school assemblies and games. Not a lot of fathers did, especially
not fathers who were also cops; but Matt and Sally were different.
And they talked—about everything.
He never told her she was too young, too little. When she asked, he shared
cases: Maybe he shouldn’t have, but Sally never seemed upset. They were just
puzzles, and she loved puzzles.
Then without warning, those days
were gone. Sally was gone. That was a puzzle Matt had never solved. Neither had
the entire New York City police department.
“Maybe somebody’s got her in Mexico
or Haiti or one of them other countries?” Morrison’s comment had not been
helpful. What the hell could the light of his life be doing in some other
country, some other world? Matt had thought of drugs and whorehouses and wept.
The girl whose body was splayed on
the road—bones broken and her body contorted—appeared to be about the same age
as Sally, as she had been—fourteen-fifteen?
Matt hated days like this, days
that reminded him.
Dumb
kids.
“Just exactly what happened?” he
asked the next one, a young guy who was scarcely bundled against the cold.
“Dunno. Didn’t see.”
“Your friend dies and you ‘dunno?’”
Matt tried to mimic the boy’s tone. He took note of the piercings; for Matt
they were just another offense.
Nose,
both ears—not even the same size holes, chin, left eyebrow, and that big thing
in his tongue. What the hell is the matter with them?
“That’s right, Chief. I dunno. See
I was in the can taking a dump. I mean you wouldn’t want me going out here.”
Matt grimaced. “Over there,” he commanded
pointing in the direction of the kids he had already questioned.
The next was a girl, maybe a bit
older than the dead girl maybe not. Thin, dull-eyed, long hair needing a wash.
Something insubstantial about her.
“Who the hell’s Ralph?” she
responded to his first question.
Matt pointed to the piercing-pocked
youngster he had just questioned.
“Oh, Slim Jim, he was in the john.
Missed it all.”
“What was he doing in the john?”
Even as he asked, Matt regretted the question.
The girl didn’t crack a smile.
“Taking a crap.”
“You call him Slim Jim?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Cause he eats them, Slim Jims. You
don’t want to be around him when he farts.” Her tone stayed flat, her face
unchanged.
“So, tell me about the accident.”
“What accident?”
“Your friend, she’s dead.”
“Not my friend.”
“But you were here.”
“Duh. Yeah, we were all here.”
“What happened?”
“We was car surfing, she wanted to
try, she slipped. End of story. End of her.”
“What’s her name?” So far nobody
had known.
“Don’t know. Never seen her before.
That’s how it happens.”
“How what happens?”
It was gnawing at Matt: the absence
of caring, of involvement. Not a tear, not a smile, not even a grimace. He
glanced over at “Slim Jim.” The boy was staring at him. They all were. They weren’t
talking, not the way kids should, not the way Matt expected.
“How we join up. People drift in.
People drift out. Some stay. Them that stay got names; the rest don’t.”
“Everybody has a name.” One name
kept repeating itself in Matt’s head, “Sally, Sally.” He would never give up
loving her, wanting to find her. That was what had ended their marriage. Jaquie
had had enough. Matt figured any sane woman would have. No, it wasn’t that I missed her so much. I did. I do. But I can’t put
it together. I got to figure—
“Sure,” the girl responded, “we all
got the names our Moms and Dads gave us, but those aren’t our names, not once
we’re here.”
“And you don’t know her name?”
“Nah. Not here long enough.”
“What about you?” Matt asked. “You
got a name?”
“Sure. They call me Homer.”
“Homer? Why’s that?”
“’Cause I tell the stories.”
“What stories?”
“’Bout the first ones.”
“The first ones?”
“Yeah, the first ones.”
Uncomfortable, Matt did something
he often did, something of which he was usually unaware. He pulled out his wallet
and flipped it open to the photograph, the one he always carried. The one that
gave him a moment of—not peace, but respite. Yeah, it gave him relief.
Sally and him at Coney Island. That
had been the summer before. They had ridden the Cyclone and eaten hotdogs, and
laughed. He had felt good, young, alive. Father-daughter time. Then she had
told him about Harris, her first love, her first lover. Matt had taken it well,
only threatened to kill the bastard twice, cut off his balls—well that was a
few times.
But they had laughed. At the end,
they had laughed and asked one of the Japanese tourists to take their picture.
That had been outside the House of Horrors. “Monsters, Zombies, Vampires,” the
loudspeaker had proclaimed in tinny loudness. And Sally held the orange-rag dog
he had won throwing rings at soda bottles.
“I hope your mother won’t be too
jealous,” he had said; and they had laughed some more.
Coney Island: that had been her
choice. Not Great Adventure or a water park. Sally loved New York. Matt figured
that came from him, certainly not from Jaquie. His ex had remarried and moved
to Atlanta. What the hell was in Atlanta?
Then Sally was gone, disappeared.
Matt had found Harris, just a kid who had a new girlfriend. No leads. Nothing.
“Where’d you get that?” Homer
demanded, breaking into Matt’s reverie. Her voice was louder, but it contained
no hint of emotion.
“You know her?”
“Sure. That’s Her.”
Matt stood dumb.
The girl reached out for his
wallet. Matt handed it over.
“That’s Her,” she repeated.
“Who?”
“Mrs. Drac. You know, Her?”
“That’s my daughter. Do you know—”?
He had no time to finish. The girl
had wrapped her arms around him. With strength that belied her slight frame,
she pulled him to her and sank her teeth into his neck.
Then Matt understood. He thought of
weeping, but his feelings had died. At least his Sally hadn’t forgotten. She
had sent for him. It would be a good Christmas. That much he finally
understood.
Monday, December 17, 2012
Tales from a New Amsterdam - The Legend
THE LEGEND
The first in my experimental series, Tales from a New Amsterdam.
A short story of love and Cherokee Magic in a Heavy Metal world of the 1980s.
Available FREE via Kindle.Fun lunch reading. Download it today.
Saturday, December 15, 2012
Respectable - Nic Taylor
Hello everyone. We are going into a new realm of authors today. This is the continuation of my Respectable authors. Dare I say it? We're going undercover with crime, political thrillers and who knows what we will find eventually.This series began in November with a visit from crime novelist Steve Christie as he discussed the best-seller, Good Deed.
Today we welcome Nic Taylor to Exile on Peachtree Street. Nic is from England and
has just released his first novel, A Plague of Dissent which is based
in the United Kingdom. This is a book full of political corruption, corporate
greed and illicit sex, something Americans know absolutely nothing about, so he
will be explaining it to us.
Welcome to Exile on Peachtree Street, Nic. How are you?
Can you tell us a little about yourself?
Hello
Hunter, thanks for having me here today. I grew up in Penzance, Cornwall, England.
I have taught diving and escorted dive parties to remote locations throughout
the South China Sea, the Indian Ocean and the Indonesian archipelago. I have designed
the odd hotel or two in the Maldives and Thailand and expanded my photographic
repertoire to become one of the foremost photographers in that region.
I
eventually diversified into the motion picture industry to eventually shoot
several short films and documentaries including Burning Earth for the Discovery
Channel. I spent many weeks camped out in the burning jungles of Borneo and
hung out of helicopters with a camera on my shoulder.
Two things have changed my life, the first my marriage and children. The second is
my awakening to environmental issues. In
Plymouth, UK I have joined forces with Plymouth University to continue with my
environmental research and work towards a PhD.
I
spend time equally divided between my research, the Plymstock Oaks Rugby Club, and I run several projects including coaching rugby.
I
have worked as a photographer, cameraman and scientist and now I am trying to
concentrate on my writing.
What inspired you to write A Plague of Dissent?
I
guess the main answer to that question would be anger. Over the past few years
I have been getting increasingly angrier with both the government and the main
stream media. That probably seems an odd combination, you’ve read my book
Hunter, so will understand, but for those that haven’t, for many years they
have been working together for each other’s mutual advantage.
I
will cite a specific example of how our present Prime Minister (Cameron)
employed a News International editor as his PR man. The same editor that is now
being charged with corruption along with one of Cameron’s best friends Rebecca
Brookes another former Murdoch editor. This and a government that has
completely lost touch with its populous, that is driving the country even
deeper into a depression and making the rich richer and the poor poorer - those
were the original drivers for my book.
Is this the first book you've written?
It
is yes, although over the years I have sketched out a few ideas but never had
the confidence to pursue them.
How did you develop your novel?
As I
mentioned before the original driver came from what was occurring around me and
I felt I needed to say something. This I could have done through a blog but I
choose a different route.
I
decided to wrap up the message I wanted to get across into an entertaining
story, obviously it was going to contain a great deal of intrigue so it
naturally became a thriller. I took the scenario of greed, corruption, strikes
and riots that I saw around me and asked the question. What would happen if
these events where used by others to further their own aims? A situation we
have seen a lot of in the Middle East recently, into this I introduced the main
protagonists and let the story develop from there, some of which is based upon
my own experiences. I didn’t want to write just a thriller, so the plot
contains a love story with lots of sex and moments of humour, I hope.
What is the message you want readers to take away from
your novel?
Although
I believe in freedom of speech, being a writer I think it would be very hard
not to, I am of the opinion that the media who hold a great deal of influence
and therefore power over many of their readers and need to use this power with
restraint and a conscience . I also wanted the reader to think about of
corruption that is happening in today’s society particularly amongst those that
are supposed to represent us.
How do you believe A Plague of Dissent will translate
to an American audience?
Good
question and I don’t really know, you’ve read it and I think enjoyed it, so
there should be no reason why the general American audience shouldn’t. There is
as much corruption and personnel greed there as there is here and as Dianne
Harman said in her review of my book “I am married to a man who has been in the
highest echelons of California politics for years and I will tell you that, sad
as it is, his insight into politics has merit”
Do you have any future novels planned?
A
Plague of Dissent is
just being published and I am presently working on two sequels, Gaia’s Warriors and another with a
working title of Revenge.
Thank you for joining me today in exile, Nic. How can
readers connect with
you?
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