Mark Wilson's Blog, page 14
January 25, 2013
Haggis Cures Depression?
It’s felt like depression’s reared its ugly head once more this last couple Of weeks. Wanting to cry, knackered all the time and feeling like nothing’s being accomplished. Futility with no exit.
On this occasion, though it’s just the all consuming, in a bubble, exhaustion of having a newborn at home.
Add in work being particularly hard at the moment and publishing a book this week, and you have a perfect storm of fatigue that makes you nod off mid-conversation.
Being a new parent again is not unlike deepest depression but one big gummy smile lifts your heart more than a good dose of citalopram ever could.
Tonight a wee haggis, neeps and tatties dinner on Burn’s Night made me feel very happy, warm and happy with my lot in life.
Happy Burns Night.
you can buy my new novel Naebody’s Hero here
Filed under: life, literature, personal, popular culture, writing Tagged: haggis, Mark Wilson, mental health, Naebody's Hero
January 9, 2013
The final blurb
The final product description for my upcoming second novel Naebody’s Hero, coming very soon:
Copyright Mark Wilson 2013
Abandoned by his parents as a child, Rob Hamilton has developed an unshakeable sense of right and wrong. He also has some very special gifts. If he can stop hiding from them and get his life together he may just be the greatest hero the world will never know.
Arif Ali is an English teenager from Battersea, London who is now living and studying in Pakistan. Arif is about to become a prized asset of Al-Qaeda. He and Rob will form an unlikely friendship that will alter one of the most notorious days in American history.
Kim is an American intelligence agent from Ann Arbor, Michigan. She heads up the agency’s anti-terrorist response, is an obsessive workaholic and is relentless in the pursuit of justice. Kim could be the worst enemy the friends have, or their greatest ally.
Set in Scotland, England, Pakistan, Afghanistan, France and the United States; Naebody’s Hero is a fast-paced global thriller spanning four decades, reaching its climax on one horrific day in September, 2001.
POWER DOESN’T ALWAYS CORRUPT
The exciting new novel from Mark Wilson, Author of Bobby’s Boy
Filed under: books, life, literature, personal, popular culture, writing Tagged: Books, Mark Wilson, superheroes, superman
December 30, 2012
Sneak Preview – Nae’body’s Hero, Chapter 23
The following is a pre-edit excerpt from Mark Wilson’s second novel “Nae’body’s Hero”; due for publication in late February 2013. Copyright Mark Wilson 2013
Kim has tracked down someone she’s been looking for for two decades:
Chapter 23
Kim
Kim, back in her spot on the roof took aim at the first of the three agents/bums huddled around their fire. It was kind of them to huddle so close together, it made her task so much simpler. She looked down the sights, took a breath and squeezed the trigger three times rapidly. The three darts found their marks and the men lay huddled once more on the ground this time, their disguise looking more convincing than ever. The darts should put them out for eight hours or so. It was seven and a half hours longer than she needed.
Kim pulled her black baseball cap down low, slung the rifle strap over her chest and descended the fire escape. A final check of the perimeter and she was ready to move in. Drawing her pistol, Kim stepped inside the unlocked entrance to the firehouse. She followed procedure and entered the rooms one at a time, silently checking each one and working her way to the room on the second floor. Kim encountered no one. The guys outside seemed to be the entire guard detail. This wasn’t unusual but she had expected to find someone inside the building. Perhaps an interrogator. Reaching the door without incident Kim wiped the sweat from her eyes with the back of her gloved hand then slipped the same hand into her small satchel, producing a flexible-fibre camera. Slipping the camera under the door she viewed the inside of the room on the little monitor.
Clearly once the firehouse’s bunk room, it was now empty except for one bed and some medical monitors. Strapped to the bed was a person, restrained in a fashion which suggested a highly dangerous individual. His head was covered with a dirty white cotton bag. This guy’s being lined up for some serious questioning. Almost the instant Kim wondered why the person on the cot wasn’t moving she noticed the mask protruding under the bag and the line to a canister with a name she didn’t recognise. They’re keeping him sedated.
Content that the room was empty save for her target; Kim took a few seconds to compose herself and try to slow her thumping heart. It didn’t work. This is it. Kim entered the room slowly, carefully, confirming that it’s restrained and sedated occupant was the only person present. Kim raised her gun; aiming at the bag-covered head she approached the sleeping man. Finally.
Kim approached him, pressed the gun to his temple through the bag, cocked the gun and whispered to him like a lover. “Goodbye you sick son of a bitch”. Kim Baker said a silent prayer of thanks and began squeezing the trigger.
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Mark Wilson’s Debut novel Bobby’s Boy is available now on kindle and as a paperback:
UK:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Bobbys-Boy-ebook/dp/B007SGTHVC/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1356892513&sr=8-1
US:
Filed under: book review, books, literature, media, personal, popular culture, writing Tagged: action/adventure, crime, ebook, ebook promo, indie author, kindle promo, literature, Mark Wilson, Nae'Body's Hero preview, Scottish fiction, superhero, thriller, writing
December 4, 2012
Meet the Cast
I’m in the final 20 percent or so home stretch of my second novel Nae’body’s Hero and thought I’d give you a wee look at the characters. I love when they do this at the start of Star Wars novels, they call it their “Dramatis Personae”.
If it’s good enough for Lucas/Walt, It’s good enough for me:
Nae’body’s Hero
Dramtis Personae
Rob Hamilton, Gifted Scotsman and hero.
Arif Ali, English-Pakistani and double agent.
Kim Baker, Lead agent in CTA and badass.
Frank and Mary McCallum, Rob’s foster-parents.
Cara Hamilton, Rob’s twin sister and school teacher.
Mike O’Donnell, Homeland Security.
Mr Bendini, Mike’s boss.
Jack Foley, CTA agent.
Azam and Mimi Ali, Arif’s parents.
Latif Ali, Arif’s cousin.
Zulifkar Raheem, Handsome terrorist. Member of a fledgling Al Qaeda.
Frank McCallum Jr, Government worker.
Special guests:
Tom Kinsella, Rob’s childhood best friend.
Paddy Carroll, Infant
Osama Bin Laden, Al Qaeda leader and architect of 911 attack.
Nae’body’s Hero, coming early 2013.
You can read my debut novel Bobby’s Boy here:
Working cover for Nae’body’s Hero
Filed under: books, life, literature, media, popular culture, writing Tagged: Bobby's Boy, Books, E-publishing, ebook, indie author, Kindle, kindle promo, Mark Wilson, Nae'Body's Hero preview, Paddy's Daddy
Book Review- Weegie Tarot By Colette Brown
Weegie Tarot? C’mon.
Never been a fan of Weegie-isms or Tarot.
I find that programmes like Rab C Nesbitt and films like The Angel’s Share are invariably written by some middle-class writer sitting quaffing £150 bottles of wine and reminiscing or romanticising about “the Glesgae beanter” represented on screen as a dumbed-down “We’re one of ye” ode to a section of society which I’m sure seems funny in its harshness and hardness to the wine-quaffer but is scandalously misrepresented. I’ve always hated the “Mary-doll” on camera, Morningside off approach of the “we’re just like you”, even though we’re mocking you brigade.
Also, I have no interest at all in fortune-telling, Tarot or any other mystical stuff.
Thus I was a bit sceptical of a book titled Weegie Tarot. The only reason I read this book is because the author and I chat from time to time on social networks and she’s a lovely woman.
Thankfully Colette’s warmth, wit, love of the people and intelligence are demonstrated wonderfully in this book. Colette has dragged up old memories and new ideas and painted pictures of them with such wonderfully descriptive words, effortlessly melding a very real sense of Glasgow and its people with the world of Tarot. She uses her words skilfully and concisely, poking fun at, showing the strength and the weaknesses of; but always displaying the warmth and heart of her characters.
Colette has managed to avoid the usual Scottish-isms that usually annoy me in Scottish books. She’s kept her narrative Scottish in tone, without alienating her non-Scottish readers. This is not easy to pull off, just ask Irvine Welsh.
I read this in one sitting and I suppose the best thing I can say is that I loved it, and I think other people should read it; Scottish or not, Mystical or not; you won’t regret it.
Looking forward to other fictional offerings from Colette in future.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Weegie-Tarot-...
Filed under: book review, books, literature, media, popular culture, Reviews Tagged: clairvoyant, Glasgow, humour, Scottish fiction, Tarot
November 16, 2012
Sneak Preview – Nae’body’s Hero- Meet Frank
Having just passed Chapter 38 on my upcoming novel I thought I’d preview a little more of the book. In the following excerpt we meet Frank McCallum, My main character Rob’s foster-father and all round great-guy. That’s wi I called him after the real Frank.
Here’s a preview from Chapter 4:
The following is copyrighted to Mark Wilson 2012
Two hours was plenty of time to complete the tasks he’d done this morning. They might take Mr McCallum all day, but he was a fit and healthy sixty five years old to Rob’s even more sprightly fourteen years. Besides, Rob had sprouted and filled out in the few years he’d worked the farm, standing well over six feet of broad and lean muscle. It was just another characteristic that set him apart and isolated him from his peers at the local school.
Physical tasks around the farm were so easy for him that it was laughable and helped him feel good about himself as he saw it as a small way to repay the love that the McCallums had shown him.
Rob had come to live with the McCallums, Frank and Mary, just over three years ago after being circulated through a couple of care homes and one foster family. The small, self-sustaining farm was near the city of Durham and felt like another world when compared to his memories of Bellshill. This was a good thing so far as Rob was concerned. He’d much rather never to set foot in his hometown again if he had any say in the matter. Frank and Mary had officially retired in their mid-fifties but as an ex-marine and a former teacher, Frank and his wife found it difficult to accept the slow pace of retiral and had bought the farm to keep them busy. They’d also been fostering kids on shirt-term placements for a few years before taking in Rob on a more or less indefinite basis. Mr and Mrs McCallum were wonderful and Rob was very grateful to have been found by such a patient, open and loving couple.
Cara had also been fortunate to be placed with a fairly wealthy family in Edinburgh. The Graham’s were lovely people and Cara loved living with them. The only problem was that the twins almost never had the opportunity to see each other. Weekly phone calls (always on a Thursday at seven o’clock), was the best that they could manage at present. The few hundred miles of A1 that separated them may as well have been a million miles, but Rob knew that time would pass and bring independence, a driving license a job and money. Cara and he would be together again soon enough and in the meantime they had both landed on their feet with the families they’d been accepted into.
Rob sighed as he watched the sun come up and thought again about whether or not he should talk to Mr McCallum about his fantasies. If anyone could help him it’d be Frank but it was too big a worry. What if the McCallums decided he was a loony and asked him to leave? No….he’d figure it out alone. Rob heard the cockerel crow which meant the Mr McCallum would be awake shortly. “Beat you again Lester” He laughed to himself and started the short work back to the farmhouse.
“So, you’ve been doing my work again have you, lad?” Mr McCallum asked in his thick Geordie accent, trying to sound angry.
Rob loved the local accent as it sounded like a more musical version of his own to his ears. “Aye, sorry Mr McCallum, you’ll just have to find something else to do with the day.”
Frank lowered his little rectangular reading glassed and shot Rob a disapproving look. “I’m perfectly capable you know, son. Ah’ don’t need you doing everything for me.”
“Ok Mister McCallum” Rob told him. “I’ll make sure you’ve plenty left to do tomorrow morning.”
“Aye, right, son” Frank didn’t believe a word…Don’t you sleep?…..And call me Frank for Christ sake.”
Rob smiled at the older man’s fake outrage, stuffed the last of his third bacon roll into his mouth, picked up his bag and headed for the door.
Mary who’d been sitting laughing began clearing plates, but Rob about-turned and took them from her along with all the others on the table. Smiling at Rob she told him, “Thanks, son. Have a good day at school.”
“Aye, try to actually talk to some kids today, eh?” Frank added with a grin.
Rob slung his backpack over one shoulder and headed out the door, “Aye, ok I’ll do that. Love you both, bye.”
“Love you too, son.” Both McCallums chimed.
Mary headed to the sink to begin cleaning the dishes, squeezing Frank’s shoulder as she passed. “Great laddie that one. When do you think he’ll tell wae’ what’s bothering him?”
Franks grunted in agreement as he finished the last of his coffee. “He’ll tell us when he needs to Mary. He knows we’re here for him.”
Mary watched Rob’s back disappear down the driveway from the window. “Hmmm. Suppose so. He’s deep thinker that boy.”
Frank pulling his boots on replied “He’s grand Mary, don’t worry about him.”
School was the usual exercise in patience for Rob it had always been. Even at his old school in Bellshill, surrounded by people he’d known his whole life and with his best friend at his side, Rob was the eternal outsider in his heart. Here in this Durham Secondary school full of kids he couldn’t begin to relate to, he’d retreated into himself more than ever. He’d become mister grey in the school’s corridors, unnoticed by most despite his huge stature. He was quite happy to drift through the days taking what he could from the day’s lessons and keeping to himself on the fringes of the various peer groups.
When he’d first arrived at the school, the kids had been friendly enough, inviting him along to sit with them or join them at rugby or football, but you can only turn down invitations so many times before they’d stop asking. His status as a foster kid, his size and his accent were all enough to set him apart, to make him different in an age group where being different, standing out, was the last thing you wanted; add those to his tendency to isolate himself and it didn’t add up to many friends. This suited Rob fine, he was content to be mister grey, mister unnoticed by the other kids. These days they left the big, weird kid foster-kid alone to sit on the stairs and read his books.
On this particular day Rob was quite happy to be at school instead of on the farm as the McCallum’s grown-up son, Frank Jnr was visiting. Over the years Rob had learned to stay out of Young Frank’s way and always made a point of being busy when he knew the man would visit.
Young Frank was in his late thirties and a government worker of some sort. Rob wasn’t really sure what he did for a living but guessed it was nothing good, probably a tax or debt collector. Whilst his parents were the warmest and most generous people Rob had known in his short life, young Frank was surly, rude, bad tempered and mean to his parents and to Rob.
He made a habit of making snide remarks to Rob whenever they were alone and flat-out ignoring the boy when the elder McCallums were present. It was an odd feeling seeing the obvious malice and anger on a younger version of Mr McCallum’s face which itself was always so peaceful and kind. Young Frank always dressed in the same brown tweed three-piece suit and chewed vicious-smelling eucalyptus sweets continuously. The sickly-sweet smell lingered in the farmhouse along with a very obvious downturn in the mood of the house’s occupants long after young Frank’s visits ended.
On Frank’s most recent visit to the farm he’d had a massive argument with his parents in the living room. Rob listened from the staircase in the dark hallway outside. He did not like the man one bit but was most hurt by the disdain he showed the elderly McCallums. He was positively cruel to them and they were too nice to be treated by that by anyone, let alone their own son.
Needing a drink of water, Rob had crept through the darkness of the hallway towards the kitchen, but timed his trip badly as young Frank came crashing through the living room door just as Rob approached. Frank shoved him violently out of his way, Rob jumping most of the way in fright at Frank’s sudden appearance. Frank, who had continued barrelling towards the front door, stopped suddenly as something occurred to him then turned and walked menacingly towards Rob.
Reaching the boy he said quietly to him. “You’re the one whose parents left in the middle of the night.”
It wasn’t a question and Rob didn’t give a reply, he just looked at his own feet.
“Yeah, you’re that one. Smart people your parents. Obviously saw what a waste of space you are. Just a stray really, aren’t you?”
Rob’s eye’s misted but he wouldn’t give Frank what he wanted. To make him cry. Instead he just lifted his head to glare at the older man.
Young Frank nodded towards the living room. “Those two old duffers will see through you too eventually you know. Nobody needs a kid like you hanging around. Bad luck, that’s what your type always brings.”
Young Frank turned and walked towards the front door again, tossing one final remark over his shoulder as he left. “I expect you’ll be gone by my next visit.”
Rob went to bed that night mind racing. He knew that Frank was using his insecurities against him, that he’d just set out to upset him. It didn’t matter though, how many times he told himself that, the little voice inside him, the part that hated himself whispered to Rob that every word was true. The McCallums would ask him to go soon.
Rob had asked Mr McCallum after the encounter what he’d done to annoy young Frank. “It’s not you he’s angry at, son, It’s me. I wasn’t always a terrific father to Frank.”
Rob didn’t push for more. He could see that Mr McCallum was upset, so he decided to stay out of young Frank’s way whenever he was on the farm and give him one less target.
In a hurry to spend some time fishing with Mr McCallum, Rob took a shortcut home to the farm, after school had ended for the day, through Neville’s farm and Moses’ field. As he made his way to the edge of the bull’s enclosure he saw Frank’s tractor parked in his own field. Frank had a tool bag and was fixing the old water pump that supplied the cattle’s trough near the edge of the field nearest his own farmhouse. Lifting his head Mr McCallum noticed Rob heading his way and gave him a wave before turning back to the pump. Rob waved back and then stopped dead. The gate leading to the McCallum’s field was open. Broken off the weak hinges he’d spotted earlier it now lay in the mud covered in footprints. Moses.
Still walking towards the gate Rob scanned the McCallum’s field. He spotted Moses, still looking pretty steamed, behind a little knoll off to Mr McCallum’s rear and to his left. Rob wasn’t particularly worried at first. Frank would hear the bull coming from a good distance and get himself to safety. It was as he thought this that Rob noticed two things.
The tractor’s engine, right beside Mr McCallum, was still noisily idling away, drowning the noise of Moses hoofs. Worse, Moses had decided that Frank was a good outlet for his pent up frustrations and was hurtling towards the old man in a charge at high speed and Frank was oblivious.
Nae’body’s Hero is almost complete and wil be available by February 2013.
You can by my debut novel “Bobby’s Boy” on paperback or Kindle here:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Bobbys-Boy-ebook/dp/B007SGTHVC/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1353085510&sr=8-1
Filed under: books, literature, media, news, personal, popular culture, writing Tagged: Bobby's Boy, Books, E-publishing, ebook, ebook promo, indie author, Kindle, literature, Mark Wilson, Nae'Body's Hero preview, Paddy's Daddy, preview, writing
October 26, 2012
Sneak Preview: Nae’bodys Hero
The following excerpt is copyrighted and the property of Mark Wilson and is extracted from the upcoming novel Nae’body’s Hero:
chapter 6
Kim took a breath, found the calmness in her that always rose in these situations and looked down the sights. She forced her voice to show the calm that had begun to creep from her centre and out along to her outstretched gun hand. The small shake in the hand disappeared. “Let her go!” she almost whispered to the man. All she got in response was a short and very descriptive obscenity.
The man, who had been using a fifteen year old school girl as a shield, pulled her closer still by tightening the arm slung over her shoulder and across her chest, bringing her closer to himself. He’d been doing a damn good job of shielding himself. “I like this one. She’s just my type. I think I’ll keep her.”
Kim continued to move with him as he tried to back away and pivot out of range. She had to step over two other bodies. His earlier victims were classmates of his current playmate. There was a perimeter of tactical agents with sniper-rifles set up but Kim had ordered them to stand down. This guy was too good and far too committed to his cause, whatever the hell he thought that was. The first scope he saw glinting at him and he’d execute the girl. He’d come there to die and to take as many bystanders as he could with him.
Kim’s team had done their research and followed the intelligence all the way from a little outhouse on a farm in Michigan to an attempt to detonate a bomb in a government office building in New York City. After they’d discovered the device this guy had sprang out shot two kids who were still being evacuated and grabbed a hostage. He was threatening to blow himself up.
Kim watched him from behind her sights, circling, moving, and always keeping six feet from him. He was young, maybe twenty, not too bright, but dangerous. The bodies on the hot tarmac attested to that. The kid (and he really was a kid to Kim’s eyes) was instinctively using his human shield to perfection. Kim scanned him. His body, what she could see; his face, his gun. He was getting scared. He’d made his choices. He’d shoot soon.
“Just let the pretty girl go, son. There’s still a way out of this for you.”
More obscenities and pretty inventive ones at that.
Kim breathed out slowly and whispered silently to herself. “Suit yourself.”
Focusing through her sites, she watched a small area around the size of a silver dollar bob rhythmically in and out from the cover of the young shield’s left shoulder. Female agents in her organisation rarely achieved Kim’s rank. They had to work twice as hard as their male counterparts to be taken half as seriously in the role. As a result, the women in her agency were often twice as effective, and much more dangerous, than the men. This was true of female terrorists also.
Few agents would take the shot Kim was being presented with. The angle and elevation were all wrong and the kid was just too good at using his shield. Most agents, male or female, just wouldn’t take this shot. Thanks to obsessively long and painful hours on the shooting range, Kim was more confident in her shooting skills than most agents. She waited, caught the rhythm and squeezed. Headshot.
But only just.
Kim moved straight to the screaming girl, wrapped an arm around her, in a fashion not dissimilar to the gunman, and kept her gun-hand pointed at the downed kid. She kicked the pistol free of his hand and lifted and rolled him over with her foot. “Clear.”
Kim left with her arms around the kid….the one she hadn’t shot and killed, as her team flooded the area.
“Good work, Boss.” Foley offered as Kim and the girl passed him.
“Yeah..Brilliant.” Kim offered without looking at him.
A week passed during which time Kim travelled to her family home in Ann Arbor. The CTA demanded that all agents take two weeks leave and attend therapy sessions after a killing in the field. Kim hadn’t exactly had a relaxing break so far, choosing instead to dredge through a forest worth of reports on The Demon’s activities in Afghanistan over the last few years. It seemed that he had continued to set up and run training camps throughout the region. He’d been very effective in recruiting disenfranchised, angry and radicalised Muslims into his training camps. The endgame was unclear; no one had yet to find any proof of what the purpose of the camps graduates would be, or their target. There was no choice but to wait.
The US government was distracted at present by domestic acts like the one Kim had ended the previous week, and that was the right thing, but Kim kept a close watch on The Demon knowing that eventually her government’s priorities would be forced to shift and she’d have her chance to hunt him. Kim’s world was very black and white. You hurt people and my job is to stop you. She didn’t appreciate weeks like this one and the shades of grey it had brought.
Kim had been drinking scotch for the last hour or so, from her dad’s supply which still lay in the basement and trying to erase the kid’s face from her mind’s eye. The boy (and he was just a boy) she’d killed. The strong taste was as much a punishment as a pleasure to her unaccustomed palate but she kept drinking as he shifted her focus from The Demon to last week’s incident. The kid, Joey Scoggins, had been part of a group who believed that the US government were diminishing their rights to bear arms and invading their privacy. It seemed crazy to Kim that groups like these had started to spring up throughout the States, but that disbelief didn’t dilute the danger that they presented. Quite how they were protecting American’s rights by killing Americans (government workers or otherwise) was beyond Kim’s understanding, but she didn’t really need to understand their motives to catch them, just their methods. As ever, the weak and the young were the most common conscripts into these makeshift armies.
She drank some more, thinking of the nineteen year-old Joey, who would be eternally nineteen as her Scott was eternally an infant. He had been as much a victim as a perpetrator; as much prey as predator, but Kim knew better than most that sometimes, even those who it would be easy to pity needed to be stopped.
……………………….
When Kim was a kid, around ten, her dad had been having a problem with the small chicken coop he’d kept out back. For three consecutive mornings he’d arrived at the caged henhouse bucket in hand to feed the little group. Each morning he’d found another hen missing and a trail of blood leading to different holes dug under the fence. On the third night, the old man had sat on the back porch the whole evening guarding the coop. inevitably for a man as hard-working as Jesse had been; her dad had dozed off in his rocking chair in the early hours. Waking too late to stop another chicken being taken her dad did witness the butt of a familiar dog leave their yard.
The next morning with Kim riding shotgun Jesse had driven the short journey to a little house with an oak tree ten blocks away.
“Stay here sweetie” he’d told her as he left and headed for the little house. Kim switched on the radio and relaxed back into her seat, tapping her toes against the dash in time to the music and waited for her dad. Elvis was singing “Hound Dog, much to Kim’s delight.
Ten minutes later Kim heard raised voices coming her way. She moved across the large single unit front seat of the car and pressed he face up to the driver’s side window, cranking it down an inch to listen in.
“I can’t trust that you’ll keep that dog locked up. You told me it wouldn’t happen again after last time, Henry. The dog has to go.”
“I know Jesse.” The other man admitted. “I know that once they start killing they’ve got to be……dealt with, but he was Annie’s dog, y’know?”
Jesse Baker reached out and placed a hand on Henry’s shoulder. “I know that buddy but what if it’d been Kim or another kid? The dog’s got a taste for blood now.”
Henry hung his head a little then looked up again at Jesse. “I can’t Jesse.”
“It’s ok Henry, I’ll do it. Go on inside.”
Jesse returned to his car to find a freshly planted Kim back in her own seat pretending to listen to the radio. He slid into the driver’s seat.
“Kim, I need to do something for Henry here. I want you to stay in the car, turn the radio real loud and wait for me, ok?”
“Sure daddy, but…..”
“No buts honey. Stay here.”
Jesse turned the volume way up on the radio, forcing more crackles than music through the old radio. He kissed Kim on the forehead and got his shotgun from the trunk. Heading around the back yard of Henry’s house, Jesse disappeared behind an old oak. Kim thought for around three second then followed after him hoping that the music from the car’s radio would cover any sound she made crunching down Henry’s driveway.
Giggling at her own cleverness, Kim peeked around the corner of Henry’s house into his back yard, just in time to see her father raise his shotgun, point it towards a large German Alsatian tied to a fence post and blow its head off.
Three hours later Kim was still sobbing but had calmed down significantly since she’d seen the dog shot. Sitting in bed with her knees bent and arms wrapped around her shins she heard her father approach the door.
“Is it ok if I come in darlin’?”
Kim blew her nose before answering. “Yes daddy.”
Jesse stuck his head in through the door and had a quick glance at his daughter before fully entering the room. Taking a seat beside her on the little pink bed Jesse took Kim’s hand.
“I’m sorry daddy.”
“You’ve nothing to apologise for darlin’. It’s daddy’s fault. I shoulda’ taken you home first.”
Kim’s face saddened a little. “But….Why did you have to shoot that dog at all daddy? It was only a few chickens.”
Jesse stroked his stubbled chin and considered his response.
“Kim, when an animal kills, it gets to like it and it’ll keep right on killing until somebody stops it.”
“But they were just chickens daddy.”
Jesse used a finger to tuck some stray hair behind Kim’s ear, and then cupped her cheek with his hand. “They always move onto other animals darlin’ and sometimes even begin to attack people. They become predators. I couldn’t have an animal like that visiting our yard.”
Kim’s lip quivered a little but her father could see acceptance beginning to show on her tear-stained face.
“Ok daddy……..but what about people?”
Jesse tilted his head quizzically to the side as if to listen better. “People who hurt other people you mean?”
Kim nodded.
Jesse didn’t really want to answer but he’d sworn to always treat his children with respect and to be honest with them.
“Yeah, honey…..Sometimes bad people need to be taken care of too; but only the really bad ones and only to stop them hurting others. It’s flat-out wrong to kill other people but sometimes, when they become predatory like that dog, there’s no other way of preventing more hurt.”
Jesse kissed his daughter goodnight, tucked her tightly into her little bed and re-joined his wife downstairs.
“How’s she doing Jesse?”
“She seems fine….I expect we’ll see her in the night.”
“Bad dreams?”
“I can’t see how she wouldn’t have, baby. If she wakes up, she can sleep in our bed for the rest of the night.
Jesse had been wrong about that. Kim didn’t stir once that night as a result of the day’s events, or any other night. She slept peacefully, safe in the knowledge that bad people got punished for hurting good people and that her daddy was a good man.
…………………….
Kim finished the last of the Scotch in her glass and raised her glass to Jesses photograph above the fireplace. “Thanks dad.”
Like most nights she slept very little that night, there were just too many people who needed to be stopped from hurting others; too many predators. It was her job to balance the scales and she was god at it but when the predator was a kid like Joey Scoggins her neat black and white world became a little less monochrome and a little too grey.
END OF EXCERPT
Mark Wilson’s debut novel Bobby’s Boy is available on Amazon.
Filed under: book review, books, literature, popular culture, writing Tagged: Books, Mark Wilson, new author, previews
September 12, 2012
Book Review – Tears in Tripoli by Paul A Rice
After reading Parallel – The Awakening by Paul A Rice, I really didn’t see how he could top the book. I had my reservations also when I noticed the tagline to Tears in Tripoli “A Jake Collins Novel” thinking “Oh Christ, not another book written and intended as a series.” I always find books written as a trilogy (or whatever) short of pace, character development and any real action; the authors seem to hold back on their initial books to save the really big scenes and reveals for the last act.
I’m glad to say, once more, that Paul has surprised and delighted me with the standard of his writing. This annoyingly talented writer has taken everything that made Parallel great, the dialogue, the pace, great characterisation, really engaging and descriptive action scenes, and most of all a heart at its core, and amped them all for this book. Jake Collins is a hero in every sense of the word. Flawed and weak; strong and determined. A fighter in every sense of the word.
In the past I’ve avoided this genre like the plague, but after following Paul’s work for two books now, I’m a convert. When the writing’s this good, there’s no avoiding genre outside your comfort zone. Paul has plenty left to offer in terms of stories for JC and at the rate this guy’s writing is progressing the next book is shaping up to be something a little bit more special again…
How annoying is that?
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Tears-Tripoli...
Filed under: book review, books, literature, media, popular culture, Reviews, writing Tagged: Book review, Mark Wilson, Tears in tripoli
Book Review – The Other Side by Terry Tyler
Well.To say that this book was a surprise to me is a massive understatement. In all honesty I almost never read this genre of book and rarely read female authors, (Anne Rice and Herper Lee aside..)a sad state of affairs I know. In this case though, I pulled on my big-boy pants and indulged my feminine side a wee bit for two reasons.
Firstly, I have the odd tweet and FB chat with Terry and she’s braw. Secondly, I liked the Sliding Doors/alternate reality/ mess about with time feel the blurb conveyed (I’m a sucker for stories with what ifs and weird running order.
With The Other Side I got way more than I expected. Well fleshed-out characters who properly developed (in reverse?) as their stories were revealed and interwoven at the skill-full hands of Terry. How she kept this story straight in her head whilst producing it is testament to her creativity, her patience and her logistic talents.
Each character was believable and engaging for me, which I find isn’t always the case for many authors who can barrel through pre-set story markers and forget to realistically describe how their characters change from state A to state B.
Off the back off Terry’s book I’ll be exploring more of her back catalogue and will welcome the new books at my disposal now I’ve broken through the “female authors don’t entertain me” mental block.
Simply; if you like clever, flowing, funny and very human story-telling, in any genre this book will surprise and entertain you as it did me. Give it a go.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Other-Sid...
Filed under: book review, literature, media, popular culture, Reviews, writing Tagged: Book review, Mark Wilson, Review, terry Tyler
Double Dexter – Book Review
This book was a mixed bag for me. I picked it up, read two chapters, gave up. Lather, rinse repeat; for six months.
I think that I had two main problems which initially prevented me from getting into and enjoying Double Dexter.
Firstly, the previous two books in the series had let me down a little. They’d lost something that had been present in the first two and is consistent throughout the TV series. Dark humour? Irreverence? Teeth.
Weirdly-written narratives and histories from the viewpoint of the Dark Passenger just didn’t ring true with the previous books or really interest me. The idea of the Dark passenger as a separate and self-aware entity that can come and go when it takes a wee huff really put me off. If we use Pinocchio as an analogy for Dex becoming more human, then this Dark passenger would be the equivalent of the anti-Jiminy Cricket. Pish
Dex was becoming a little too far-fetched, (good-hearted serial killer, yeah I know), a little too forced with the inclusion also of Dark Passengers for the kids. What next? Some wee granny gets a shite haircut and in a dark fury of failed blue-rinse vengeance develops her own Passenger, going on to hunt poorly-skilled barbers? More pish.
Secondly, the opening chapters were truly awful.
I can’t help but compare the books to the TV show. It’s strange that the TV show writers have managed such character development and good consistent writing, keeping the characters true to themselves but exposing layers each series, forcing constant progression of the characters but not against type. Lindsay fails in this throughout the books and his characters rarely grow or are interesting.
Book-Masouka is a device to move Dex from A to B and in virtual anonymity in the books, as is Book-Batista. This is in stark and shameful contrast to the TV- Masouka who is fantastically twisted and funny and the wonderfully human TV-Angel.
Book-Rita is like some Stepford automaton and far from the ballsy TV Rita, now sadly gone. Book-Deb is a big stereotype in shitkicker boots. All dykey overtures and aggressiveness replacing assertiveness. Mr Lindsay, women can be strong characters without being; 1)Submissive or 2) testosterone transfusions receiving ball-busters.
Perhaps Doakes is his only improvement over TV. TV-Doakes (bloody fantastic) is long gone. Book-Doakes is more malevolent and menacing than ever.
Lindsay did, I’m pleased to say, pick up pace as he got into his stride and rediscovered Dexter’s menace, humour and intensity. It felt like he rediscovered his affection for who Dexter was when first introduced to the world. Essentially Lindsay had stopped giving us preternatural explanations for the Dex’s Passenger and got back to placing Dexter the predator at the heart of a good story.
Whilst I never really felt that Dex was being stretched by his new adversary, I enjoyed seeing Dexter on the hunt, like old times again.
Get past the opening chapters and this book’s a welcome return to form.
Filed under: book review, literature, media, personal, popular culture, Reviews, television, writing Tagged: Dexter books, Dexter TV, double dexter. Books or tv?
