It’s been a while since I published a new novel.
I hope to have a YA set in Ireland out in the new year.
Meanwhile, some news: I’ll shortly be getting my copyright back on the five novels published with Tirgearr Publishing.
Once I do, I will do my best to get them back up for sale on Amazon, first as Ebooks. I am considering publishing them in print as well, and I have to admit I am in two minds – if you have an ebook, then it’s best to just download them. But if not… well, I hope there are folks out there who’d love to read them in print… I will get back to you on that. If anyone wants to comment either way, feel free.
As we see the fall of Twitter, and the fact of Meta failing and the Facebook basically falling also into disuse by at least a large proportion of folks in my friends lists, I am thinking of where to actually connect to readers and friends, apart from just here.
It’s true that the life of a writer is always hard, and getting readers to pick up our books never easy. The social media space has made it possible for some of us to sell some of our work.
And yet, at the same time, the whole selling scape is not often our favourite space. I personally rarely go on Facebook now – and I am one of the few people on the planet who legitimately need such a space to stay in touch with all the lovely people I’ve come to know over the years in my real life travels round the world. I feel the threads tying us together getting slacker, though, thinner. And in some respects this is inevitable, It would happen faster without the internet, but eventually it will happen anyway, as the years stretch on and we all get older.
In other respects, writing is something I will do regardless of who reads the work, and I will do it (am doing it because of constraints of real life) in my own time, despite the marketing mantra of getting new books out in front of folks’ eyes and having series to pull them in.
If anyone reads my poems you’ll see that it is out in the real world of Nature that I am happiest, and the writing comes when I am not there, from ideas I get while I am.
Those writings will come, as long as I live, and if the history of art has taught us anything, it’s that fame and life are not necessarily concurrent. We can only enjoy the work, and worry about everything else after. Nor is financial return any indication of merit.
I will continue to post my blogposts to Facebook, but you’ll not find me there much otherwise, so if you want to get in touch the best is to comment on these posts here on WordPress, and to write me at davidjmobrienauthor@gmail.com
For when Twitter dies, I have joined Mastedon, and I here’s my page for anyone to follow: @David_J_OBrien@mastodon.ie
Meanwhile, here’s a poem I wrote a few years back. I think I might have posted it before, but it came to mind while writing this.
Enjoy
Threads
As we walk our world, we weave
A kind of tapestry about us:
Threads spread out, linking our lives
With those we meet.
.
Wonderful, a wheel of whirling strands
Swirling about us like glinting gossamer
Whipped on morning breeze across sunlit fields;
The thoughts and talks and memories
Shared and cared for across continents
Over centuries.
.
But ultimately bitter-sweet,
For they inevitably wear thin over time,
We often fail to keep all attended to
To stop them breaking,
Trailing, frail, forgotten in the tangle,
And even the strongest spun silk can snap:
Stretched taut across landscapes,
When we walk too far.
.
Those we best attend to, too,
Weaken, and fade to invisibility
Eventually, severed, taken from us
When their own weaver leaves this ether.
.
How long will our own cloth survive,
When we’re not here to hold it?
As those that know us no longer
Hold memory of what we told them,
About our many connections, never
Mind our own names, and actions,
Faint after just a generation.
.
No wonder some strive to stencil
Their names in stone set into cathedrals,
Or indelibly upon a novel, poem or play
Which will carry on without us
When we’ve gone upon our way.
I’m being hosted on Romance Readers Club today, with an excerpt of my second novel, Five Days on Ballyboy Beach.
you can leave comments on the excerpt at the website.
Here’s the link…
Hi all,
As you know, I’ve pledged to give 10% of my royalties from both Leaving the Pack and Five Days on Ballyboy Beach to WWF, the World Wildilfe Fund.
I’ve been giving to WWF for ten years now, and I hope that as sales for my books (the ones in the future will also have similar pledges) increase, so will my donation. At the moment, since I am only starting out in the world of novelist, I am not nearly at the stage where even 100% of royalties cover 10% of my donation, but the plan is that will change as I publish more books (an erotic novella out in Jan under a pseudonym and a YA out next spring/summer with Muse It Up!), all going well!
Anyway, this time of year is when my membership comes due, so I thought I’d post the receipts (with the number of dollars written as X and the transaction numbers deleted to maintain my privacy) to show that I am making good on the pledge.
So, now, before I paste it in, go and tell your friends to buy a book which will help a good cause, or better yet, go and donate to said cause yourself if you can!
David
shopper@worldpay.com
To
Me
Today at 3:16 AM
| Transaction ConfirmationPlease retain for your records |
Thank you
Your transaction has been processed by WorldPay, on behalf of WWF – World Wide Fund for Nature (World Wildlife Fund).
::: This is to confirm :::
Transaction details:
Transaction for the value of: USD X
Description: Payment 11 of FuturePay agreement ID _____________
From: WWF – World Wide Fund for Nature (World Wildlife Fund)
Merchant’s cart ID: newmember,Dr. David O’Brien,optedin,19/March/1974
Authorisation Date/Time: 24/Oct/2014 01:16:06
WorldPay’s transaction ID: 1________
This is not a tax receipt.
::: Questions? :::
Email Monika Kull at mkull@wwfint.org, and attach this email receipt.
::: WorldPay Says :::
Enquiries
This confirmation only indicates that your transaction has been processed successfully. It does not indicate that your order has been accepted. It is the responsibility of WWF – World Wide Fund for Nature (World Wildlife Fund) to confirm that your order has been accepted, and to deliver any goods or services you have ordered.
If you have any questions about your order, please email WWF – World Wide Fund for Nature (World Wildlife Fund) at: mkull@wwfint.org, with the transaction details listed above.
Thank you for shopping with WWF – World Wide Fund for Nature (World Wildlife Fund).
Monika Kull
To
Me
Today at 9:37 AM
Dear David,
Many, many thanks for renewing your annual contributions to WWF by updating your credit card details with WorldPay, our online processor ! I just received your generous payment of USD X for 2014.
Your regular and long-lasting support of our work to protect nature and wildlife is much appreciated !
With my best wishes
E-mail: | 1196 Gland, Switzerland | WWF International | | Development Monika Kull mkull@wwfint.org
The friend zone is often talked about in movies (often a bit silly in my opinion) but what I want to talk about is why someone would leave the friend zone – and it’s something people can only do together. Pat McDermott kindly invited me to ponder this on her blog, Across the Plain of Shining Books.
http://acrosstheplainofshiningbooks.blogspot.com.es/2014/09/david-obrien-five-days-on-ballyboy.html
I’ve been invited to guest blog on Mary T Bradford’s website today to mark the launch of Five Days on Ballyboy Beach. I’m talking about character names, especially the “hero’s”…
Here’s the link:
http://marytbradford-author.blogspot.ie/2014/09/new-novel-from-david-j-obrien.html
Hey everybody,
As you most probably already know, today my second novel, Five Days on Ballyboy Beach is out!
To celebrate, I am being interviewed on the Heart of Fiction blog, and for everyone who wants to have a chance to win a free copy all you need to do is leave your name and email address in the comments (you can comment, too!).
http://heartoffiction.blogspot.com/2014/09/david-j-obrien-five-days-on-ballyboy.html
I’ll be hosted on a few other blogs during the week where you can read bits and pieces of what it’s all about (don’t want to give away too much, as it’s that kind of book you just have to get into and see where it takes you – hence the cover image ) and some excerpts…
Hope you enjoy!
David
I have pdf and mobi copies of Five Days on Ballyboy Beach ready for those who kindly reviewed Leaving the Pack for me. I will be sending them out over the next day or so. Anyone who would like to read and review Five Days on Ballyboy Beach (in a timely fashion, please!) can get in touch with me by leaving a comment or on davidjmobrienauthor@gmail.com
Also, if you want to take your time, but would like to get your copy sorted out, this link will take you to buttons to Amazon UK and US where you can preorder it and it will arrive in your inbox directly on the 19th!
http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/OBrien_David/five-days-on-ballyboy-beach.htm
This is the cover of my second novel, published 19th September 2014 – I don’t want to reveal too much about what the plot is – best to just follow the path and see where it ends up…
Available now at Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk and lots of other places via the book’s Tirgearr Publishing webpage.
You can read some of the reviews on the Tirgearr page, or here on this website:
Interview on Across the Plains of Shining Books Blog
An interview on Pat McDermott’s blog, Across the Plains of Shining Books today. (What a great name for a blog! and great questions)
Welcome to “A Summer for Love Blog-Hop!”
First of all, I need to let you know that there are….
GRAND PRIZES
(6) $50 Amazon or B&N Gift Cards
Comment with your name and email to be entered into the Grand Prize drawing. Comments without name and email will not be counted. Commenting on each and every stop will increase your chances of winning.
Winners for the (6) Grand Prizes will be drawn and announced on THE ROMANCE TROUPE blog by June 10th.
Find a list of all stops here!
http://www.theromancetroupe.com/p/a-summer-for-love-blog-hop.html
And, if you comment below on this post, you will be in a draw to with a copy of my own latest paranormal romance, Leaving the Pack!
“Summer love” seems like a phrase so well joined it’s a sin to separate them: like “ice cold”; “lightening fast”; “white hot;” yet with a hint, perhaps, of transience.
In the three novels I’ve written so far where characters fall in love, all have fallen during summer. My next novel, Five Days on Ballyboy Beach (just accepted for publication with Tirgearr Publishing!), is basically the story of a young man realizing he’s falling in love with his best friend over the course of a summer camping holiday.
The heat and sunshine, the cool drinks, the scant clothing and tanned skin (unless you’re Irish!) all make for thoughts of love and lust to come bubbling up from within one’s body.
Sometimes summer is wet, though, with thunderstorms and downpours. The following scene takes place during one such downpour, and afterwards, when the evening sun makes the puddles steam. It’s an excerpt from the recently published Leaving the Pack, when the two main characters are still getting to know one another and have arranged to meet by the beach:
The rain started as Susan made her way to the coast that evening. The clouds, building up all day and brooding darkly above the mountains, swept over the city and sea on a fierce, sudden wind out of the north, bringing the night with them. A number of enormous bolts, shooting down out of the black mass to the buildings and into the boiling water, followed by thunder to make men flinch and dogs cower, were the prelude to a downpour of seemingly biblical proportions. The water gullied down the streets, bringing the traffic to an almost complete halt. The bus crawled along for another half an hour, the driver’s foot forever on the brake as the cars in front continually stopped. Susan felt herself get irritated. She was going to be very late meeting Paul. It would have been quicker to walk, but the rain outside would have drenched her instantly. The very force of the drops would have plastered her light jacket to her skin and the water rebounding off the ground and puddles would have saturated the rest of her body. In some places, where the accumulated litter and rubbish of the city had clogged the drains, there were veritable ponds to cross and even the cars had to take runs at them. She took deep breaths and told herself it was fashionable for a lady to be late.
Visiting her mother had been good. She had recognized Susan and they’d had a pleasant conversation. The lights in the elder woman’s eyes appeared distant however, as if she were talking from a different epoch, but nevertheless, just as she was going, Susan told her about Paul. Her mother had seemed pleased, but told her she was a bit young to be going out with boys, she’d plenty of time for that and should be studying hard. Susan had smiled and agreed, wondering at the same time if the relationship was really serious and deciding that it was too early to know.
The bar – a wide, low-roofed room with some tables around the edges and a view out over the water – was heaving. The rain had driven the masses from the beach and half of them seemed to have taken refuge here. They would be trapped there in their shorts and t-shirts, miniskirts and beach tops until the rain ceased or at least eased and the floods abated. When she walked into the bar, however, she saw Paul immediately. He didn’t notice her arrive, and for a few seconds she just watched him from the doorway: standing quite alone in the centre of the room where there were fewer people. It didn’t seem to bother him at all. He didn’t look out of place, like you sometimes see people and would have said to your friends: ‘Hey, look at the loner,’ if you’d been back in your teens. It was as if nobody knew he was really there: a mere observer, a step back from the rest of the bar; just standing there watching everyone with an enigmatic smile on his face, as if he’d seen all this before, was appreciating a play for the second time.
To her, however, it was impossible not to notice him. She would have been less surprised to see him in same spot telling jokes or relating a story to an enraptured audience. His aura seemed to fill the air around him, swelling his being until it was the kernel of the room, the core around which everything else revolved.
As she looked at him, she felt that this was a man who could do anything he had a mind to do, who was strong enough to make a decision and stick to it in the face of any opposition. He knew his mind and was not afraid to go with how he saw things, despite what others might think, could take seemingly impossible things and make them his own. It had been a long time since she had known a man like that, and she had often wondered if she would ever encounter another.
Paul turned suddenly towards her and caught her eye smiling broadly. It almost seemed as if he had known she was there all the time, and she was a little taken aback; her gut clenched the way it had when they had first met. She grinned back, then went over and embraced him.
“Sorry I’m so late. What a nightmare!”
“No problem. I was just doing a little people-watching.”
“So I see – you look quite the anthropologist watching a tribal dance.”
He laughed and nodded. “Not far off, not far off.”
They got some drinks and sat down in a quiet corner where a young couple had just left to brave the rain, bored and whining kids in tow. Susan noticed that Paul was carrying a small rucksack. She wondered what he had it for, but decided to wait and find out rather than ask directly. A part of her hoped it was an overnight bag, for she longed to spend the night with him again. The tiny piece or her which took offence at his presumptuousness was silenced by the rest, remembering that she had invited him into her house, and had done it just once.
“How was your mother?” asked Paul.
Susan shrugged slightly before nodding. “Good. She recognized me, and we had a good chat.”
“That sounds great. Did you tell her you met the man of your dreams?”
Susan smiled softly. She was not sure why, but she decided to lie, not really ready to reveal how much she believed that herself. “I didn’t. I’m not sure how old she thought I was, so I didn’t want to upset her.”
Paul didn’t reply, but took her hand and squeezed it softly.
She felt bad then. A panicked thought shot through her mind that he could see through her childish deception, but there was nothing in his expression to suggest that. She smiled more brightly at him, brushing his face with her hand. “I told the nurse, though, and she was delighted.”
Paul laughed and moved his hand to her knee, which he squeezed harder. “Was she now?” he asked as he kissed her on the lips.
They had some more drinks, while outside the torrent subsided. The clouds dispersed, quickly whipped south by the strong wind and the last rays of the day broke through. Once the rain ceased, the bar emptied as the tourists made for their hotels to change and spend the hours of darkness in the restaurants and clubs nearer the city centre. Susan and Paul also left, walking the promenade that separated the beach from the coast road. It was a balmy evening, the dying sun making an effort to evaporate the puddles of standing water, raising the humidity again. They strolled towards Chawni Point, jutting into the sea between them and the river, just another couple among many others doing likewise. The clouds had retreated to the horizon where they hung red across the sky as the glowing sun set, like galloping horses on the edge of a plain, circling some compelling predator. Soon after, the lamps along the sea wall came on and they kept walking as the moon rose above the clouds and poured its argent life across the ocean.
When they reached the Point, they continued walking around it and stopped at a pub that faced the sea on the eastern tip. The bar was a favorite of both strollers and bikers, which made a strange but agreeable blend. Susan came here now and then herself, and it was as full as it always was. They took their drinks outside and sat on the sea wall in the mild evening breeze, gazing at the waning silver disc reflected across the oily water. The satellite seemed to seep life directly into Paul’s eyes, so brightly did they glow in the gloom. The hot passion of before had not returned, and she wondered if it would disappear with the moon each month. However, it was replaced with something else, something more precious to her for being less tangible. She felt that her life would be like the night sky without the resplendence of that satellite, should Paul retreat his presence. She would be without meaning, without life, were he to suddenly disappear. The thought gave her a slight surge of fear, but that fear gave way to something else as she recognized it for what it was: love; the worry that someone she needed would not need her in return. Her heart soared tentatively in this private revelation, glad it had at last encountered this mysterious sensation, but amazed at its abruptness, its sudden evolution. She felt an urge to reveal it then and there, to make her declaration of love in the pearly luminescence, above the vermeil waves, but quelled it cruelly. Reluctant to show her vulnerability, despite its potential luxury, she had not gotten to this pearl-drenched headland by falling at anyone’s feet and would walk away from it as proud as she had arrived, arm in arm with the man whose very skin seeped steel. She would carry her concern untended until ready to tell him the true depth of her feelings and presumed it was an anxiety shared by all, a trepidation that never quite left. Susan wondered if the moon depended upon the night as much as the night depended on the moon, in the infinite dance of the earth and its satellite, and she felt the silver light fill her own being, not directly, but through his luminous eyes. After midnight, they continued westwards past the southern part of the harbor, in which most of the smaller private crafts were moored, and back into the city, where they caught a taxi back to her flat once more.
There is another excerpt of this novel on my author page at Tirgearr Publishing and you can find others dotted around the blog tour I did in May, the links to which are down below on this website.
Don’t forget to leave a quick comment (with your name and email included) to be in the draw for a free copy…(you have to scroll right down to the bottom of this page.)
David JM O'Brien 