Librarything

I joined Librarything, they give you the option of describing your book with a haiku. Here’s what I wrote for Online Cupid:

She is the woman 
Of his dreams. He is the man  
Of her worst nightmares. 

Granted, it’s not a real haiku, but it does, somewhat, sum up their relationship.

You can find it here.

Genre Genie

I read a question on Twitter a few minutes ago: What genre do you write in? I have no idea what genre I write in. Broadly speaking I write thrillers, but answering that question made me wonder if that’s true.

Years ago I decided to make my fortune in the movies, so I wrote a screenplay that was a masterpiece of character and story. In a nutshell: a has-been movie star puts himself up as the prize in a competition to try and revive his career. High-jink ensue. The script was called The Big Time. I had access to an agent in LA, and sent off both the script and a prose version of the same story. A couple of weeks later I got a rejection email, which was actually full of useful advice, so, cool!

I applied the advice to the next script and sent that off. Word came back this was something that could be take to a studio. Brilliant! I had it made! Bruce Willis would star in the movie and I could retire to a tropical island and develop an interest in some obscure form of something obscure. Before that could happen, the agent fell out with the person who had put me in touch and my movie became something obscure.

A couple of years later Win a Date with Tad Hamilton came out, I nearly threw up. This does not necessarily mean my scrip was stolen. I got the idea from Tony Curtis, who had been a prize in a competition, and had to go and live with a family for, I think, two weeks.

To salvage something from the situation, I started to turn my action script into a novel. I would sell the movie rights, Bruce Willis would star, and I would retire to a tropical island…

I set to work, before I had finished the first draft I was bored. Rather than throw it out, I decided to play with the form and I ended up with something I liked. The book is The Company of Thieves, and aside from the main story, there’s a parallel story, and many asides exploring the history of minor characters because I wondered how they ended up where they are in the world of the book.

Before I decided to self-publish, I went the traditional route and collected my rejection slips.

In the five years or so since I did publish I’ve sold about ten copies. The strongest response I’ve had was second-hand. Someone started to read it and their initial reaction was, ‘What the fuck is this?’ They threw the book aside, but then couldn’t get it out of their head and had to give it another go; on the second reading they couldn’t put it down.

As I say, that news came to me through someone else.

I just wish they guy who read it had put that on Amazon.

If you would like your very own copy of that very story, you can get it here: paperback; ebook.

The Bridge

This bridge is in Boyle, Co. Roscommon. It crosses the river from what used to be the Royal Hotel carpark to the alley leading to Military Road, and King House, which was once an army barracks. When I was growing up here, the barracks was said to be haunted by a Green Lady, (why, oh why couldn’t she have been a Red Lady? Chris DeBurg, that’s why not!). I remember my father, who was in the army, telling me of all the times he walked through it at night looking for her, and not a ghost in sight.

I don’t know anything about the woman in the photo, perhaps one day, if enough people share this post, she’ll be famous and have her own range of toiletries.

Meanwhile, King House is now a tourist attraction and cultural centre.

You can find more information here.

Introducing Clarence Houlihan

Clarence has a dream: to escape the world of contract killing and start a little musical theatre, for kids, so they can make something of themselves. Every job he does is money in the bank, food on the table. If he had to, Clarence could lay his hands on two million dollars, all earned.

ebook available here.

Russian Book Deal, (Maybe, Baby!)

She’s the woman of his dreams. He’s the man of her nightmares.

Online Cupid ebook cover

A publisher in Russia has expressed interest in a couple of my books, but they want to read a synopsis first. I’ve never had to write a synopsis for one of my books before, not as easy as I expected, probably as a result of me overthinking it. Anyway, this is what I wrote for Online Cupid:

When Rose Healy kissed her daughter goodbye, and left for work, she thought it was a day like any other. But Rose never arrived at her office.

She came to, shackled to a chair, in a room without windows, at the mercy of a man who insists they met on a dating website. He was looking for love and thought he had found it in her.

He had only to buy an upgrade, a paid subscription to the site, in order to contact her. When he did, he never heard from her again. Now he wants to know why.

Rose insists she knows nothing about it; she’s not part of any dating site. But he has her personal information, and pictures of her in the nude.

Is Rose telling the truth? If she is, then who sent her pictures to this man, and why?

As the interrogation continues, a battle of wits ensues, with the balance of power shifting between captive and captor as Rose tries to find a way to get home to her daughter.

Ps. This does not mean I’ll be voting for Trump! I know I don’t actually have a vote, but I suspect that won’t stop a lot of people voting for him! Didn’t that happen with a previous President? Or am I thinking of a cartoon?

It will be interesting to see how things progress. I’m told that if I’m not careful I could be cancelled; that the book has enough triggers to make Gandhi go on a killing spree!

Online Cupid is available here.

Work in Progress

I thought it was about time I shared some of the work in progress. This is from chapter 10.

John opened the sitting room door to find Fats Waller on TV, singing about the spider and the fly. Mary, asleep on the couch, snored along. John stood in the doorway, watching her; feeling all of the life they had shared. He had seen her sleeping many times; he had seen her sick, happy, sad, fat; he held her hair back while she puked morning sickness into the toilet. But watching her this morning he was overwhelmed with joy that she was his; that even when they fought, and in the early days there had been many fights, fights where she had thrown him out, fights where he had thrown her out; even through that, there had been the quick knowledge of love, not showy but constant, and he marvelled now at how rich that love had made them.