Monthly Archives: November 2014

Guest Post – Author Tegon Maus

BobHello all – and welcome to those who just started following.

 

I’m delighted to have with me today author Tegon Maus, author of science fiction novels The Eve Project Series and Bob, his latest release. He’s on a blog tour until the 5th of December, talking about Bob, and there’s a great giveaway which you can enter with this link:

http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/8b9ec5be93/

Take it away, Tegon…

 

 

 

Genetics… who knew ??

My father was born and raised in Hawaii, coming state side at the tender age of 19. Now, you would think that with a DNA pedigree like that I would be a bronze God of phenomenal stature, square shouldered, long wavy hair, rippling with muscle, endowed with the natural ability to swim like a dolphin… unfortunately as it turns out, my mother was born and raised in Oklahoma. So as you might well imagine, I was in the wrong line the day they handed out the bronze God genes.

Growing up, because I had a good many Polynesian relatives that where always at my parents house, I was exposed to a very large variety of exotic foods. Seaweed, urchins, squid, abalone and all manner of shelled and swimming creatures made their way to our table to float in a myriad of delectable sauces.

That said I am clearly a meat and potato kind of a guy… I blame my mother.

As fate would have it my wife, Dearheart, was also born in Oklahoma and brought here to Southern California, just as I was, at a very young age. Logic would suggest that two people brought up within a few miles of one another would have many of the same taste were food was concerned… I was in the wrong line on that day as well.

My wife and I have been together for 45 years. What I didn’t know then was a young bride’s ability in the kitchen is strongly linked with her relationship to her mother. In the house my wife grew up in she and her siblings knew dinner was almost ready when her mother asked, at the top of her lungs… “Where’s my car keys?”

In the beginning, we ate ­a lot of cinnamon toast in bed, watched tv and ordered pizza; life was loose, free, and clothing was always optional. Once we discovered we were pregnant everything changed; cinnamon toast became a thing of the past. We were determined to be good people.

In an effort to be a good mother, not to mention to gain higher favor with mine, Dearheart spent the next three years trying to recreate my culinary past. To that end, she gave us food poisoning several times and set fire to the stove… twice and suddenly pizza with cinnamon toast wasn’t so bad after all.

Like I said… I’m a meat and potato kind of guy… I blame my mother.

 

 

 

Excerpt #3 **********************

“Bob?” I began, pointing toward the dark, stooped figure of Fred threading his way through the underbrush.

“Is Fred’s way… live to close too nuclear plant. What Bob going to do?” he said, holding up both hands in defeat.

I had no idea what to say to that.

Bob, following Fred’s lead, pulled a black ski mask over his face, before handing me a baseball cap.

“What’s this?” I asked totally expecting a ski mask, turning the cap over in my hands.

“Beginner’s hat. Maybe, next time, for you,” he smirked.

I’d been ribbed before, and I can take it almost as good as I can give it but this… from Bob? Damn aggravating.

I tripped along in the dark, getting my feet tangled on every stick, every root, every obstacle that stuck up out of the ground as I trailed behind him.

He, unlike Fred, seemed to be more than comfortable in the woods as well as the dark. Fred walked slightly ahead, darting from tree to tree as if hiding himself from some unseen observer.

Bob and I simply stood in place, waiting for him to wave us on as he dashed to the next tree or rock outcropping.

After what seemed like forever and more scratches and bruises than I had acquired in a lifetime, we found the house.

Fred, his back pressed against a sizable rock as if he were keeping it in place, held his position a dozen yards ahead of us. He waved frantically, signaling for us to get down and we obeyed.

A moment later headlights swept over where we had stood. The sound of tires grinding through the dirt filled the air.

“Shit,” I breathed to myself. I hadn’t expected this to be easy. It never had been in the past, but with Bob and Fred leading the way, we were screwed.

Fred scampered to his next position, waving us on to the rock he had just left behind when he felt the coast was clear.

It took us another fifteen minutes to cross the distance from where we first saw the house to physically touching the building.

I had to admit, my heart pounded hard in my chest, certain we were about to be caught as Fred pulled himself up to peer into a window.

“Clear,” Fred whispered and we crept around the corner.

There were no cars, no trucks, no men with guns to be seen anywhere. Fred had hit it on the mark. For all outward appearances no one was home.

We continued to follow Fred as he made his way to a back door. Slowly, silently, he eased himself onto the porch kneeling before the door, slipping a hand into his shirt pocket.

Removing two small, shiny tools from its folds, he went to work on the knob.

Faster than I could say “is belt” Fred worked the lock, turning the knob. The door opened slightly.

We held a collective breath, waiting for the sound of an alarm.

“Clear,” Fred whispered softly as he allowed the door to open fully. Crouched, almost on all fours, he scooted inside, closing the door behind him.

Unfathomable amounts of time seemed to slip by with each heartbeat as Bob and I stood outside in the dark and waited.

My anxiety, a mere seed in the pit of my stomach, had begun to run away with me. My palms grew sweaty.

“Is nice,” Bob offered, leaning against the building, pushing both hands into his pockets.

“What?” I asked with disbelief.

“Is nice. Bob always busy… go here, go there. Wife always – when take wife to dinner? When go to opera? When take wife to see sister? When have time for wife? When Bob take out trash?”

“We just broke and entered. We can go to jail for this.”

“Is nice, out with friends. That’s all Bob say.”

Before I could formulate an answer the door eased opened again.

“We’re alone,” Fred said.

Bob and I slipped in, closing the door behind us. We now stood in the mud room off the kitchen.

No more than six by five it held a built-in bench on one of the paneled walls, with a coat rack filling the opposite. The oversized tile floor continued throughout the kitchen as well.

The dim glow of a night light traced the edges of the granite topped cabinets and dining table. On the opposite side of the room was an opening to the hallway.

My attention was drawn by the sound of someone going through one of the cabinets.

“Fred,” I whispered hoarsely, looking about the room for him.

“Da,” he responded, popping up from under one of the cabinets, a large frying pan and matching lid in his hands.

“What the hell are you doing?” I asked angrily.

He began to speak in Russian as Bob patted him down, removing a stainless steel sauce pan from under his shirt.

Bob said nothing beyond a couple of quick snaps of his fingers before pointing to me.

Fred’s arms went limp again as his hands went to his pocket, retrieving a fifty, handing it reluctantly to me.

“You should be ashamed,” I admonished, happily snapping the money right out of his hand.

We moved through the kitchen to the hall and to the door that someone had used to spy on us.

At that moment, the sound of a toilet flushing reached us from somewhere upstairs.

Like little kids, all three of us dove for the door, rushing inside. On the other side the floor vanished, becoming little more than a small landing with stairs trailing into the darkness.

 

Blurb :

The first time I heard it, I thought nothing of it at all… nothing. I’ve been in the newspaper game for more than twenty-seven years and that kind of experience gave a guy an edge but even that didn’t prepare me.

I’d been beaten, shot at, even stabbed a couple of times over the years but I always got the story… always. But this one… this one was big… too big perhaps… Maybe we were ready, maybe not. Either way, it wasn’t my call.

None of which filled me with the fear, the trepidation… the anguish of five little words that still haunted me today…

“Is okay. I have cousin.”

 

3 - The Eve Project - The Cordovian Effect by Tegon Maus - 200

Author Bio:

I was raised pretty much the same as everyone else… devoted mother, strict father and all the imaginary friends I could conjure. Not that I wasn’t friendly, I just wasn’t “people orientated”. Maybe I lived in my head way more than I should have, maybe not. I liked machines more than people, at least I did until I met my wife.
The first thing I can remember writing was for her. For the life of me I can’t remember what it was about… something about dust bunnies under the bed and monsters in my closet. It must have been pretty good because she married me shortly after that. I spent a good number of years after inventing games and prototypes for a variety of ideas before I got back to writing.
It wasn’t a deliberate conscious thought, it was more of a stepping stone. My wife and I had joined a dream interpret group and we were encouraged to write down our dreams as they occurred. “Be as detailed as you can,” we were told.
I was thrilled. If there is one thing I enjoy it’s making people believe me and I like to exaggerate. Not a big exaggeration or an outright lie mine you, just a little step out of sync, just enough so you couldn’t be sure if it were true or not. When I write, I always write with the effort of “it could happen” very much in mind and nothing, I guarantee you, nothing, makes me happier.

 

Website: http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Maus_Tegon/index.htm

 

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Tegon-Maus/150255051766767

 

Twitter: https://twitter.com/TegonMaus

 

http://www.pinterest.com/tegon

http://www.linkedin.com/pub/tegon-maus/62/606/931

http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5808023.Tegon_Maus

http://www.shelfari.com/o1514811662

 

http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Maus_Tegon/index.htm

http://www.amazon.com/Tegon-Maus/e/B009PFZILW

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/c/tegon-maus

 

tourbutton_bob

 

 

Writing Poems

Wrote two poems this weekend – one on Friday, one on Saturday, with two different views of the writing life….

 

 

 

 

 

Happiness is, Today

 

 

An hour to kill accompanied by

A beer and slice of Spanish omelette

Before a sunlit window,

With a notepad and a nice pen,

And a world within one’s head.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Writing Life

 

 

Writing requires a time machine

Left on pause, or absence of another:

Together, time is taken from being or growing;

For all its claims, writing is not life.

 

 

 

Cyclists, Motorists and Pedestrians – can’t we all just get along?

I had originally written this as a rant – well, not exactly, but a vociferous defense of cycling.

But what would be the point of that? The anti-cyclists would just write it off as another cyclist going off on motorists, but not willing to stop for a red light.

And they’d be kinda right. I do want to defend cycling, but more than that, I want to defend a kind of city where motorists and cyclists and pedestrians can actually make the current situation better – not get along, necessarily – but get to where they want to go without slowing down everyone else in the process.

I really want to plead for common sense from everyone, and who knows, maybe a little understanding, and generosity, especially from pedestrians.

Traffic is a complex problem in our cities. I’ve lived in four cities for a significant period of time – Dublin, Madrid, Boston and Pamplona. I have commuted by bike in three. Madrid has a good metro system and a shitty road system that made buying a bike just not worth it. My commute was too far to cycle, and cycling for pleasure was something you did far away from Madrid, unless you were a kid learning how to ride a bike on the parade ground of El Retiro. Besides, dragging my bike to my 9th floor flat every day would have been a pain, even when the lift worked.

What I have seen in my approximately 40 years walking, 30 years on a bike and 20 driving a car, is that most people are impatient, in a rush, and often fucking spiteful – as well as generally distracted and unaware of their surroundings. Sure, they’re not all these things at once, but the number of courteous people who are paying attention on the road and who aren’t jealous of others getting ahead of them are fairly few.

And you know what? Most of them are on bikes.cycling

Yes, I am defending bikes – had to happen!

But seriously. Cyclists get a bad rap for being dangerous little bastards who delight in breaking the law. In reality, they’re the best of the road users, and the only reason people rant off at them is pure fucking envy.

Sure, they break the law. But they don’t endanger anyone – least not themselves – in doing so.

Usually.

There are always some assholes, but there aren’t more arseholes sitting on saddles than walking, or shuffling, or sitting in diver seats.

When some motorist fumes that a cyclist has just broken a red light, he (usually a he, so I’m not going to waste my time writing “or she” every few minutes here.) doesn’t give a fuck about the world order coming apart at the seams (take a look at the politicians “running” the place, if you want that – sorry, my mistake, that’s all part of the current world order as carefully fucking designed) he’s just pissed that he can’t do the same, and get on to his destination, instead of sitting like a prat with this big engine running and wasting petrol.

Let’s be honest.

Red lights are a pain in the hole.

A real fucking blight on the existence of any road user.

But they’re there.

Why?

Because of the cars.

Yes, that’s right. The bloke fuming in the car is the reason we have red lights. So suck it up, my man!

Of course, it’s not his fault – it’s all the other fuckers who are on the road along with him.

We can all (us old folk) remember when there just weren’t that many traffic lights. They weren’t necessary. Now they pop up all over the place and ever decreasing distances from one another, and it is not because there are more bikes on the streets.

I’d like to see fewer, just like I’d like the street lights to be turned off at night like they used to, and cars that travel at night run off electricity, like the old milk delivery floats used to, so we can all sleep in silence. But is that going to happen soon? Well, you never know.

Prolific traffic lights are a fact of modern life, but if we want to reduce them, then we have to increase the number of bikes, and that means not giving bikers such a hard time.

 

Bikers have it worse than everyone, despite being the envy of most. They’re the forgotten ones.

And they know this because cyclists are also sometimes pedestrians and motorists, so they see how it is for all three sets. Most motorists, though, are not cyclists, the same for pedestrians.

Yes, bike paths are starting to spread through the cities, too, but partly this is to get cyclists off the roads. Some motorists think that since cyclists have their own paths, they should stay the hell off the roads. However, most cycle paths are just no good for cycling on, and seem to be added as an afterthought half the time. Certainly, those who design them have not been cycling to work for years, or have ever visualised anyone cycling along those roads. They criss-cross from one side of the road to the other, making the cyclists go out of their way (and have to cross the street after yielding to traffic) for no apparent reason – other than to fit in some extra car parking spaces along one side, it seems. In some cases, cycle paths are mere painted lines on the footpath, and I’ve seen a few that would suppose cyclists can go through trees and bus stops like phantoms. I’ve never seen a cycle path that didn’t pool rainwater worse than the pedestrian path beside it – god forbid someone should think of that when steam-rolling it.

In assessing cycle paths, we have to be conscious of the fact that there are two types of cyclists – those who are getting on a bike for the first time ever, or in years, and those who never got off theirs from the days before cycle paths. For the former group, paths are good because they make cyclists feel safe. For the latter, they can be useful, in some situations – usually going uphill slowly – but a pain in the arse most of the time, if, that is, they are to be used exactly as designed. As I just said, they’re designed badly.

The prime directive of cycling is maintain momentum, given that we want to get where we are going quickly, but cycling is slow (relatively speaking) and hard fucking work. So stopping, for anything, is avoided at all costs. If I have a hill, and I see a junction coming up, then I don’t want to be on the cycle path, because they’re designed to have to yield to cars – perhaps for a practical reason, but frankly fuck that. I’ll stick to the road and keep my right of way. Cycle paths are built as if cyclists are as slow pedestrians, but we’re sometimes as fast as cars, and gradient needs to be taken into account. If not, we’ll ignore the path and use the road.

While it seems like I’m way too pro-cyclist, here, bear in mind that for every prick like me on a bike, there’s one less prick (or sedate motorist) behind a steering wheel.

When a cyclist breaks a red light and scoots on down the road, he is not blocking the junction, while if he were a driver, he’d be another car in front, that the motorist would have to wait to pull off before he could press the accelerator when that interminable fucking traffic light eventually does change colour.

You’d imagine that there would be no conflict at all when the cars are taken out of the equation, but you’d be wrong. In Pamplona, many bike paths are simply white lines painted on the path – they’re wide paths. This means cyclists are supposed to be up there with pedestrians. Likewise, in the centre there’s a large section that is basically pedestrianised. In these zones, pedestrians are increasingly becoming irate with cyclists, too. I often read complaining letters in the local press about the cyclists, going too fast and frightening the bejaysus out of pensioners.

But the reason isn’t simply because cyclists are more aggressive than they used to be. Rather, pedestrians are increasingly less aware of the world around them. They are lost in their own world, their own thoughts, listening to music or talking on the phone, staring not at the screen of a phone instead of looking to see if they’re about to walk into a lamp post.

When a cyclist passes them by, perfectly safely, they are often startled because they didn’t see it coming. Instead of berating themselves for being inattentive, they curse the cyclist for going so fast they didn’t see them coming. Pedestrians think they’re in a park instead of a street, that nobody else is trying to go around them, that walking 4 abreast across the street is perfectly okay, and that walking out of a shop door does not require one to look left or right, or even walk out front ways, when backwards is better to say goodbye to the shopkeeper.

In this situation, the cyclist is the one who is paying attention, who is watching the entire street, calculating the distances, the speeds, the likelihood of unexpected movements, when a shop window catches some old lady’s eye and she makes a bee-line across the street without wondering if the person behind her (walking or cycling) will have to pull up short to avoid hitting her.

Cyclists know their responsibilities, and they only hit a pedestrian when the pedestrian really does something off the wall out of the blue. And then, it usually amounts to the pedestrian tripping over out stationary front wheel and apologising for not looking where he was going.

But our responsibilities do not extend to not giving someone a fright.

Whether because we have to screech to a halt – and many bike breaks are pretty squeaky – or go past at a short distance because the other pedestrians (walking 4 abreast) squeeze us in, and the pedestrian is staring at a text message, it’s not our fault someone is startled. This doesn’t mean we’re going to fast, or are assholes.

Yeah, it did turn out to be a rant… Sorry! But since cyclists are the minority, they need to voice their concerns.

 

So, back to my we can all get along speech.

We can only get along if people wake up. If people are aware of others, they will see the bike coming and know it’s not going to hit them. Eye contact with a cyclist is just as important as with a car before stepping onto a pedestrian crossing. Yet, fewer people bother to do the latter nowadays. They toddle across the road without looking up from their phone at all. I know it’s the motorist’s responsibility to stop, and when I drive, my foot hovers over the brake at zebra crossings – not for the old geezers too stupid to look up, but for the kids who might run out. Likewise on a bike, if there are kids, I slow to walking pace, because they are unpredictable and it’s not their fault.

There is a tendency to heft responsibilities on to others and keep rights for ourselves. While in a car, I give up my right to break lights and frighten pedestrians into waiting for me to pass before crossing, but as a pedestrian (or a cyclist), I have no problem double-checking that the car sees me (it’s saved my bacon many times) and I also have no problem stopping and waiting until a couple of cars go by before crossing, even though I don’t have to. There’s no problem with momentum on foot, I can wait twenty seconds, and if the traffic flows a little better, then everything will improve.

But I don’t see many others doing the same.

I know that waiting for a cross-walk signal can be a pain, and I jaywalk when I am not in the company of kids, but even jaywalking has deteriorated.

People nowadays step out onto the street without looking first, assuming that the first few feet of asphalt is not used by cars. Usually it’s not – but why not glance first, just in case. It is used by cyclists, but who thinks about them?

Crossing the street has become, for some people, especially the old and infirm, who should be the only ones waiting for the traffic light, akin to stealing second base – get as far out as you can and then “sprint.” They often have to scuttle back to the sidewalk from a good two metres out when a car does come along that needs that extra space on the side, or a cyclist decides he’s not going to put his ass out in the fast lane just to avoid the clowns – actually, he will, but sometimes it will mean going behind them, so far out are they.

Who knew old age pensioners were in such a fucking rush all of a sudden?

I saw one old codger in the middle of a junction, standing in front of a stopped truck, trying to look around it to see if he could cross the rest of the street or if traffic was coming up the moving lanes. It was hard, not only because he was hunchbacked, but because he was pushing his one-year-old grandson in front of him in a stroller. There were 20 seconds left to wait for the green man. And they complain about the youth of today…

In summary, if cars would go a little slower, cyclists could go back on the streets, there will be fewer cars, fewer traffic lights and people will get home sooner in the end. If pedestrians lift their eyes from their phones, they’ll see that cyclists are not trying to kill them, and that there are other pedestrians around who’d like to walk a little faster, just so they can stop at the edge of the road and wait those few seconds to cross safely.

The solution to our coming traffic and car emissions problems is the bike. Rewilding our world will also mean rewilding ourselves – and getting on a bike, even in the rain, is a great way to do that. Get on the saddle and see the world from the cycling point of view – it’s a great view!

Blog Radio show coming up on Monday 10th

Going to be on blog talk radio again this Monday evening (10pm GMT – mid afternoon US times) with Sharon Black, talking about our books from an Irish angle. Tune in if you can, or afterwards the same link will take you to the podcast to listen at your leisure – or while you’re doing the laundry, etc…


www.blogtalkradio.com/rrradio/2014/11/10/rrr-dellanis-tea-time

poems post Halloween

 

Here are a few poems, as promised a few days ago. The first is one I wrote for halloween this year and the others are some Haikus from August and September.

(added a couple of visuals for the first poem – the kids are blurred out: one on the right is not my kid, so she’s more erased…)

 

After Halloween

 witches2

Halloween didn’t intrude

Past the witches with their brooms

Whirling toys around the rooms.

 

And we arose somewhat sober at dawn.

post halloween

 

 

Freedom

 

Cycling through city –

The cars, once sold:

A promise of freedom.

 

 

 

 

Cornflowers

 

August cornflowers

Watching always

The buzzard on the post

 

 

 

Vultures

 

Circling vultures

Await not a death,

But the humans to disperse.

 

 

 

Guest Post – Jaz Hartfield

Today I have the pleasure of introducing a new Author at Tirgearr Publishing, Jaz Hartfield, who’s got his first novella out now.

It’s an erotic romance, part of the exciting City Nights series that Tirgearr are putting out, so be ready for some heat in the extract below!

Take it away, Jaz!

One Night in Amsterdam by Jaz Hartfield - sm banner

 

 

I’m very excited about the release of ‘One Night In Amsterdam’. Whilst I’ve had some short stories in anthologies and magazines, this is my first big publication. It’s also my first foray into erotic romance, which has been a very interesting journey. I heard that Tirgearr were open to submissions for their ‘City Nights’ erotic romance series, and I’ve always loved a challenge.

I had an idea based on hen and stag parties in Amsterdam. I’ve been on such weekends and I know the mayhem that can be caused on such trips. The red-light district in Amsterdam is a complete free-for-all. You name it and it’s probably on show or in a shop window somewhere. The Banana Bar and the Sex Museum, plus other places mentioned in the book are all real. I remember enjoying the crazy lads’ weekend – getting drunk, watching dodgy shows and so on (I’ll leave the rest to your imaginations). But by the end I just wanted to go home and do normal things like washing up and drink a hot cup of tea! See, I know how to party.

I began to wonder if romance could occur in such a place of debauchery, and that is the beginning of ‘One Night in Amsterdam’. In terms of romance, the book also questions where love and sex overlap. Where does love begin and lust end ? It’s an age old question, but here is a modern version of that narrative.

I wrote the novel, putting in what I thought was lots of hot and explicit sex, only to be told by my editor that it needed much more! So here it is. Will you be brave enough to spend ‘One Night in Amsterdam’?

 

One Night in Amsterdam by Jaz Hartfield - 1800HR

Blurb for ‘One Night in Amsterdam’:

Chloe organizes Jo’s hen weekend in Amsterdam, glad to get away from the usual boring or married men that she sleeps with. Perhaps she’ll meet some cool guys up for a bit of fun. If not, at least she’ll make sure her best friend gets very drunk while they all party in style.
Dean is getting married to Tamsin, but having serious doubts. His mates take him to Amsterdam for one last weekend of debauchery before settling down for the rest of his life. But is Tamsin the right woman for him?
When Chloe and Dean meet in Amsterdam’s red-light district, they are immediately attracted to each other. Dean tries to justify one last fling before marrying Tamsin. Chloe feels bad about having sex with someone else’s intended. Yet, a night of amazing sex is exactly what both of them want. So, why shouldn’t they just enjoy one night of fantastic, guilt-free sex?

 

 

 

Extract from ‘One Night in Amsterdam’:

Stepping forward with a sigh, Chloe pulled her pink sweatshirt up to her neck, pushed her fingertips under the wire of her bra and tugged upwards. Her boobs fell free and bounced in the cool air.

A huge cheer erupted. That was when she saw all the mobile phones pointing in her direction, and she wondered which dodgy sites she’d be starring on tomorrow. She could only hope her family, friends and colleagues didn’t subscribe to them.

“Satisfied?” she asked Lars who stared open-mouthed. “Thirty Euros, yeah?”

Lars put his hand down his trousers and stepped closer to her, his tongue now waggling lasciviously, and closing in on her right nipple. Chloe deftly replaced her bra and sweatshirt just in time.

“I’m not a bloody prostitute, you perv. Don’t touch me unless you want your gonads shoved up your throat.”

Lars stepped back and removed his hand from his trousers. The crowd around began to disperse.

“Thirty, right?”

“Didn’t we say forty?” Lars replied, holding out his hand – the same one he’d just taken out of his underpants.

“Pay up, Chlo,” Di said with a sneer. “You’re in charge of the dosh.”

They all looked at her. She took out her purse and pressed her last three ten Euro notes into his hand. “You should be paying me after what I did.”

To her horror, he took her hand and thrust his card into it. “I would like to fuck you. Call me.”

“Piss off, creep.” Chloe handed it straight to Di, whose face lit up. Lars scowled but immediately shrugged it off.

“Follow me.”

He led them a hundred metres or so up the street until they reached another brightly lit building, this time with a giant pink elephant in lights on the facade. Underneath it said ‘Theatre Casa Rosso’ in red neon lettering. Lars muttered something to the bouncer who nodded and beckoned them in.

“Tequila slammers all round. Get ‘em in Chloe.” Di pulled a face at Chloe, who tutted and nodded. She got out her credit card.

“Take your seats ladies. We bring drinks to you.” He took the credit card. “I keep tab open for you.”

“Thanks Chloe. You’re the best,” Jo said, stroking her arm.

“Enjoy the show.”

They went through into the auditorium and found seats in the second to last row. It looked like any civic theatre with stalls and a circle. The only real difference was that on stage a longhaired man was thrusting doggy style behind a blonde woman on all fours.

Chloe nearly dropped her drink. The couple looked bored as they spun slowly round on a turntable, so the audience could view the spectacle from different angles. The naked couple kept changing positions, displaying mindboggling gymnastic agility. He had an enormous dick with a cock-ring glinting on it. She seemed to like him entering her from behind and orally. They just kept changing from one position to another, him thrusting endlessly and never appearing to ever climax. The five girls giggled and nudged each other.

“How does he keep going like that?” Di spluttered. “Most blokes I’ve been with only last two minutes, max. Now he’s a real man.”

JazH005

 

 

Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/citynightsamsterdam?ref=hl

 

Tirgearr Website: http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Hartfield_Jaz/one-night-in-amsterdam.htm

 

Amazon US: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00OJZW3BQ/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00OJZW3BQ&linkCode=as2&tag=tirgeapubli09-20&linkId=ELGEUARJMUS4YTWH

 

Amazon UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B00OJZW3BQ

 

Seeking Beta Readers….

Hi folks.

Sorry I’ve been a bit absent in recent days – just had to power through a second draft of my newest novel that was in rough shape after the first draft. That’s done, now, though, so I will be posting a few poems soon, and I have a guest on Tuesday, but in the meantime, I’m looking for beta readers….

That’s beta readers, not better readers – though I am looking for some of those, too! Only kidding. But what the hell is a beta reader, you ask.

It was a new term to me, too, not so long ago and I’m not sure I really understand it all that well, so to give you a clearer idea and to get it straight in my own mind, here are the advantages and disadvantages of being a Beta reader for someone – particularly me.

I will start with the disadvantages, though that’s not the way an opinion piece should be – I want to make sure everyone is on board with the thing, so while I want to convince, I don’t want to sell you a used car here.

 

Advantages:

  1. You get the book NOW – before even my publisher sees it.
  2. You get it before the public and you get it for FREE
  3. You get to tell me what’s good and what sucks. And you get to call me out on my grammatical errors!
  4. You get to shape – if only a little bit – what the final edit will look like.
  5. You get my thanks, and an acknowledgment in the book, if and when it’s published. And it will be eventually, even if I have to do it myself: but I’m sure it won’t come to that!

 

Disadvantages:

  1. You have to read it. All. Now. And get back to me in a matter of weeks. No “Yeah, no, I haven’t gotten round to it yet – been up to my eyeballs.” It’s now or never – sorry, I mean now or buy the book and read it at your complete leisure!
  2. You have to read the book in its unfinished, unpolished, imperfect state. Sure, you can read it again – lots of folks read book twice or more, and yes, I’ll spot you a free polished copy, so you can spot the differences, see where you made a difference.
  3. You can’t tell anyone about the book. You can say, I’m reading David J. O’Brien’s new novel. It’s not out yet.” But when someone says, “Oh? What’s it about?” you cannot reply: Nothing, nada, nout can come out of your mouth about it. Not a word: no, “Ah, it’s about dragons, but that’s all I can say.” Not even vague shit, like when some asks you to “Just say yes or no” and makes random guesses.

You can only say what I am going to tell you about it right now, so that you have some kind of idea what type of book you’re signing up to read.

It’s set in Scotland in the present day – say between 2012 and 2014. It’s not about dragons. And it’s got biology, and romance of course: there’s kissing, but not heavy sex (just in case that’s a dealbreaker for some:-) ).

 

So if you think you’d like to do me the favour – and, really, at the end of the day, there are 5 advantages over just 3 disadvantages… then drop me a line however you want – comment here, davidjmobrienauthor@ gmail.com or at my facebook page – like button is across the screen on the right…