Music The Peramangk Brought To Me.

Imagine...a young girl, born of poverty, of sorrow. Her life is one of struggle, of pain. She lives with little thought to tomorrow. Yet she smiles - for she has a gift. A special gift. And on a cold and wintry night, she will raise up her violin and look out from a stage and she will play this hymn. 

Will this gift set her free?

Close your eyes...

DFA.

I'm Going To Give You My 99 Cents.

I have been giving some thought to the whole 99 cent eBook issue, which has been discussed around the various writing communities. I have been involved in some discussion recently about the issue and I think it's worthy of an opinion from me, as a published author.

I am, admittedly, ambivalent about the notion of this price point.

When I wrote my novel, The Hambledown Dream, I gave little thought to the eBook marketplace and I came into the market having little concept of pricing. I quickly discovered the trend towards pricing works at 99 cents and my initial thought was 'Is this for real?' I poured my heart and my soul into my novel and the market is going to expect me to price it at less than a buck?

Fortunately for me, my publisher Michelle Halket at ireadiwrite and I discussed this at length and we were both loathe to release the novel digitally at such a low price point.

99 cents, whilst being attractive for getting large sales numbers, I believe it runs the risk of cheapening the eBook marketplace as a whole. If you've worked hard and diligently to produce a work that you're proud of, then you have every right to set a price that gives you the maximum potential for reward.

The 99 cent price point actually damages this notion. When I see an eBook listed at any one of the major retailers I instantly equate them to the old dime novels my grandfather used to buy - you know the ones? The western novels that you could (and probably still can) pick up for a couple of bucks off the newsagents shelf. Whilst mildly entertaining, most of these titles were pretty much throwaway reads, lacking in quality and literary merit. It's a shame, because I have picked a number of 99 cent titles and have found them to be excellent works of literature. 

If you have written a solid piece of literature, and I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that I regard my novel The Hambledown Dream as a solid piece of literature, then you are doing yourself a disservice by pricing it at 99 cents. It cheapens your brand and by extension your name. It is hard enough in the digital environment, where independent authors are constantly subject to criticism that unfairly compares them on a lower rung to traditionally published authors, without further diluting the quality of works by pricing them so low. Now, there are exceptions to this rule and I think of one right off the bat - the novelette.

Typically, the novelette has a word count of around 15,000 words - significantly less than a standard novel. I think that there is justification in setting the price point lower - even as low as 99 cents - just as long as it's clear the product you are selling is in fact, a novelette. The distinction between products needs to be clear enough so that confusion and by extension arguments can't be allowed to run away. Also, there are occasional promotional opportunities that come up for authors whereby setting the price of a book at a special price of 99 cents for a limited time is acceptable and can assist in raising your profile in the marketplace. I recently participated in such a promotion and it was certainly valuable in attracting readers to my work.  But this has a limited shelf life and I wouldn't encourage authors to do this for an extended period of time.

I don't buy the argument that because the book is not a physical entity then people shouldn't expect to have to pay higher price for it. Sure, it might not have the tactile presence of a paperback or hardcover object - but what you as the reader holds in your hand via your electronic device is a literary experience equal to - perhaps greater than - any other literary experience available. There is an inherent value in this that should not be understated. The medium through which we experience a work is, in my view, irrelevant. That said, I am shrewd enough to realize that the marketplace, at present, does have its own tipping point in terms of what consumers are willing to pay. But they should pay a decent price for a literary work.

I would like to see authors price their works higher across the board. If authors, collectively priced their works higher then I do think the market would cope. There is a high saturation of users out there and I think they would accept a higher base price. I mean, you pay at least $3 for a good cup of coffee don't you - and that cup gives you what - maybe a 5 or 10 minute experience?

My ambivalence on the issue of the 99 cent price point has evolved over time from observing the market and talking with others about there own thoughts on the subject. I think that the marketplace needs to accept high price points from authors who are passionate about their work and believe it stands equally alongside both printed literature and literature produced through the traditional publishing houses. 

I therefore, don't encourage the pricing of literary works in the digital format at 99 cents.


DFA.

A First Look - Relatively Honest by Molly Ringle.

This is a red letter day to make me smile. Friend & fellow author Molly Ringle has announced her latest release, Relatively Honest for ireadiwrite Publishing. 


THE GUFF: Eighteen year-old womaniser Daniel Revelstoke leaves his native London to study at the University of Oregon, dreaming of seducing one American girl after another. But he soon meets a new kind of woman in classmate Julie French. Her cleverness and resistance land Daniel in love for the first time in his life, to his deep confusion.


However, Julie's long-distance boyfriend and a bizarre family secret stand in Daniel's way to winning her. Since he can't quit obsessing over her, he decides to hide a few truths in order to draw closer to her, hoping that maybe she'll return his love and, when she finds out his devious path, forgive him. It's a gamble, but all's fair in love and college.

THE AUTHOR: For those who know Molly, her whimsical style - which I loved so much in her previous release What Scotland Taught Me - is engaging & infectious. She is a master of rich characterization, sharp, funny and tender dialogue and intelligent plot construction that encourages you to live and breath her stories rather than just passively observe them. 


Relatively Honest will deliver more of Molly's trademark vivaciousness, wit & whimsy and I'm sure it will be a success in a very short time. If there is a Kindle purchase you must make this year, make it Relatively Honest.


DFA.

Hear Me - Retrospectively.

In mid 2010, I sat down at my computer with a hope in my heart and a glass of the good stuff next to me, to record an audio book version of my novel "The Hambledown Dream". My intention was to release it onto the web as a way of enticing potential readers into the world that I had created, in the hope that they would run out afterwards and by the book itself. 


Recently, I made a passing mention to the audio book on my Twitter feed and I instantly got messages of interest from the 'verse as it were. "You made an audio book???" 


So, as a way of rewarding those who might still be interested and for those who love the sound of my accent ;) I would like to present the complete audio book sampler comprising the first quarter of "The Hambledown Dream" here for your listening pleasure once more. 


Download it, spread the word about it, give it a listen and tell me what you think and, most importantly, if you like it enough - consider purchasing the novel and treating yourself to the entire story. 


Part One.


Part Two.


Part Three. 


For now, I'm off on holiday for a week or so and I'll be planning a couple of great author features for when I return. Stay tuned.



DFA. 

What Do I Do Now? The Darker Side of An Author

The art of writing...the joy of words...of putting them together...the satisfaction of typing the final page of a manuscript...the excitement of being publisher...the pride of holding the first copy of the book that you wrote in your hand...


It's all bullshit.


Wait. No. Scratch that...


It's only all bullshit when what comes afterwards turns to poo and sullies all those positive feelings that a writer and author should feel on the journey towards becoming a published author. 


When my novel was published in 2010 through the wonderful ireadiwrite Publishing house, I was - as you can imagine - understandably ecstatic. It was the culmination of a life long dream to become a published author and I will forever be grateful for the opportunity Michelle Halket and the team in Vancouver gave.


When it became apparent that my novel would be going into print, we discussed how we would get the book down to Australia and we were able to set up quite a good mechanism for achieving that. I set up my own distribution company, Hambledown Road Imprints, and I became the distribution executive for the Asia/Pacific region. 


This is just a fancy way of saying that I took up the responsibility of pounding the pavement, taking my book to book stores as far and as wide as I could to garner interest, form relationships and, ultimately, get the book on to the shelves. This is the ultimate prestige for an author - one that we spend most of our life dreaming of.  


But, make no mistake, this was hard work. 


I had to become a salesman, become articulate in-so-far as learning the language of the book trade as well as develop a professional 'persona' that would allow me to 'sell' my book. I had to become an astute business person in order to strike agreements and arrange promotional events. I also had to set up a business operation that would allow me to track stock, keep in touch with book stores who had agreed to take on my novel, prepare invoices and send them out as the sales reports came in. 


Initially, I enjoyed all this very much and I felt that I was making much of this new enterprise. I was, in my view, yielding success. 


Along the way, however, I began to encounter a darker side to the whole business of selling books. 


I would send invoices out to stores based on their sales reports back to me and ask for a 30 day turn around which, to my mind and my observations of business operations, seemed entirely appropriate. I'd set up reminders on my calendar in order to remind myself when invoices were due to be paid and I ticked them off one by one as transactions were completed. 


I recounted an experience last year in a previous blog post where a particular store I had struck an agreement with avoided paying an significant account after several friendly reminders, a couple of phone calls from myself and a visit in person to the store. They threw up all sorts of excuses to me as to why they hadn't paid the account on time and engaged in serial avoidance in order to delay the account even further. 


That experience degenerated into my having to threaten legal action, if the store did not pay the account within 7 days and I had to terminate my relationship with that store. That whole experience heralded my entry into the darker side. I lost a lot of sleep over it. It affected my relationships with my family and it soured all of those good feelings I described at the top of the page. 


I am now experiencing similar difficulties with two more stores who, as I write this, have not paid accounts I sent out to them in May this year. We are now at the end of July. Letters I've sent are not being responded to, emails I send go unanswered, phone calls I make are either blown off or given the "I'll get back to you on that" 


I don't understand how it is that these book stores - in fact any business - can operate like this. The two book stores are stores that I have previously held in high regard. I have visited them many times over the years and I've bought books from them. They have good reputations. I approached these book stores on that basis because they are stores I wanted to see my book in. 


They are fucking with me and I know they are fucking with me. 


There are certain mannerisms that you can pick up in phone conversations that scream obfuscation. Non committal answers to simple questions like - "When can I expect you to pay the account sir?", "Will you confirm you've received the account by telephone with me?"


My bullshit-ometer has turned way up to 10 now and my tolerance for these people is stretching to breaking point. It is also spoiling my pride in being a published author. 


But it is also making one other thing clear to me. 


Throughout this year, news services have run with stories of the collapse of big book stores like Borders both in America and Australia. This has been blamed in part on the rise of on line retailers like Amazon and the advent of the ebook. I think it has more to do with the failure of supposedly sound corporate entities and their shitful business practices. I know this from experience. I struggled for nearly a year to receive payment from the parent company of Borders Australia who again, sold a significant number of my novel from their shelves. As a lone Australian author and CEO of a start-up book distribution house, there was little hope of me extracting monies from them any sooner than I eventually did. Again, the experience left me frustrated and discouraged.


But it has also lead me to question the need for me to continue forming the kinds of bricks and mortar relationships with entities that are, from my vantage point, in trouble. If book stores enter into formal arrangements with authors that include signed documentary agreements and then they fail to live up to the spirit of those original agreements, then what the fuck am I doing with my time? I think my future as an author will ultimately be determined in a greater marketplace anyway - where the most important relationship will be that between the author and the reader directly. Frankly, the middleman sucks. 


There is no real moral to this story. I think I've given you an insight for you to determine your own moral here. 


I would just say that if you are in business, the one piece of advice I would impart to you as a fellow businessman...


Pay your fucking bills.

DFA.

Minding Spot Gives 5 Stars To The Hambledown Dream

This past weekend, books reviewer Wendy from "The Minding Spot" posted her five star review of The Hambledown Dream over at her site. To celebrate her review, I've teamed up with Wendy to offer readers the chance to win a "signed" digital copy of my novel for the device of their choice. 

To win, alls you have to do is click through (below) to Wendy's site, read the review and post a comment of your own there to be in the running. The competition is open until midnight Wednesday (May 4th) and I'll be announcing the winner both there and here on Friday the 6th. 

Wendy is a great connoisseur of literature and an ardent supporter of independent authors and publishers. Her site is well worth a visit.

DFA.

2.0

Something (hopefully) big is happening with my novel "The Hambledown Dream" this week. 

I'm pleased to be announcing the launch of a redesigned version of my debut novel for ireadiwrite Publishing. And first up - before we go any further - please enjoy the International Release Trailer for the new version.



After a great deal of consideration and discussion over the past couple of months, my publisher and I have decided to redesign the cover art for The Hambledown Dream. Now, I kind of regard myself as a little superstitious. I enjoy sailing and one of the greatest superstitions surrounding sailing is the re-naming of a boat after it has been refurbished or repainted. Historically, it has been considered bad luck to change the name of a boat. 

And, initially, I felt the same way about the novel. I thought of all the horrible things that could happen as a result of doing something I considered to be rather drastic. But after I had my mini-meltdown, I began to look at things through a fresh set of eyes.

The reasons for doing so are fairly simple. When I originally conceived the cover art for the original release of the novel last year, I was really drawn to the simple motif of the rosemary and mint bouquet that features in the story at a fairly critical moment. There is a beauty about the bouquet on the sand and says much about the love story of The Hambledown Dream. However, in discussing the cover and it's impact, we felt that it might be too obscure for the uninitiated audience. Though it is a prominent theme in the story, it is not the central theme. So Michelle and I sat down and began re imagining the cover art in a quest to find something that really typifies the core elements of the story of The Hambledown Dream.


Certainly the guitar was a most important consideration as it is at the heart of both Andy DeVries and Denny Banister's journey. I also wanted to find an image that best represented the duality of Andy and Denny's persona's. An exhaustive search led me to a singular image of a young man sitting in a field of poppies cradling a guitar in his arms as he looks towards the setting sun. From the moment I found that image, I knew it was the right one. It says much about the two young men who embark on a powerful journey towards redemption and salvation in The Hambledown Dream. There is a musical quality to the image - not just.because of the guitar - and there is a romantic quality in the flowers that populate the field, the sun light that falls across the young man's face.


Combined with the bolder color scheme that highlights the title and author text, the result is a more powerful and impactful piece. We are really very proud if the final result.

The other consideration for the novel is the attention to (or lack thereof on my part), the digital market. As an author, one of the greatest satisfactions is being able to hold the print version of you very own book in your hands. However, the growth of eBooks over the past year has outstripped that of print books. To not focus attention of that section of the market just doesn't make sense to me so I am embarking on a concerted effort to promote The Hambledown Dream in the digital market place.


So, having re imagined the presentation of The Hambledown Dream, both ireadiwrite Publishing and myself are pleased to announce the release of this 2nd Edition of the digital edition of the novel. To celebrate, the first fifty copies of the novel have been digitally "signed" by me and are available to purchase today, directly from Dean from Australia Dot Com (See Top Right Of Page). In addition to this, I completed a really enjoyable interview this past week with wonderfully supportive fellow author and Bookanista Carolina Valdez Miller. I'd like to invite you to visit her at Carol In Print and check out both the interview and her take on my novel. I also sat down with books editor Paige Crutcher of America's Examiner Newspaper to chat about The Hambledown Dream and the writing journey.

So this wonderful ride with ireadiwrite Publishing continues - both with this new edition of The Hambledown Dream and the current project I am working on. It's just too good a ride not to be on.

DFA.

The Fourteenth Year.

I can still vividly remember the first day I met him.

My wife and I - then young lovers - were spending one of those particularly romantic days together, when we were first courting. We had just moved in together and were out and about shopping for things to make our home "ours". It was an extremely carefree and gushy time so bare with me here. We saw everything through rose colored glasses. We couldn't stop kissing or smooching and I don't think we spent many moments not holding hands. It was young love writ large.

I don't think we had actually discussed the idea of "expanding" our little household, although it had come up casually in conversation in one form or another at different times. So full of limerance as we were, when the opportunity presented itself, it was an opportunity that was too cute to pass up.

We were in the shopping mall, armed with homeware purchases and grocery items, strolling towards the exit, when we heard him. It was unmistakable - a loud, high pitched "yap, yap, yapping" My then serioso looked at me with those eyes that said "Awwwww!"

The pet store was just ahead of us, a small store front that was a kind of 'blink-you'll-miss-it' affair. That was where the yapping was coming from. At the time, I was the more reluctant of the two of us. I mean, we had just moved in together and were still finding our feet with one another. But I couldn't resist her eyes. They were one of her most attractive features.

I was lead towards the the pet store and inside, it was a cramped space, occupied mostly by bird cages and fish tanks. I remember looking around for the cat and dog cages, thinking 'are we in the right place?' But the yapping started up once more and I knew, we couldn't be any place else.

So we find our way to the very back of the store and found the source of the noise.

There on a wall occupied by cages of cats and dogs and other mammals, at eye level, was one particular puppy. It could only have been him.

He was six weeks old. He was born in June. A small bundle of black and white fur, with mottled socks on his front legs and overtly tall, pointed ears. His eyes were huge, almost too big for his face. And, as we approached the glass he instantly stopped his ultimate fighting contest with the ball of newspaper, sat down on his hind legs, wagged his tail furiously and looked straight at us. He yapped twice then got up, turned his rear end to the glass and promptly shat on it, a liquid stream of poo that made me flinch reflexively. My rose colored glasses cracked a little.

I noticed then that his enclosure was kinda filthy with poo and under normal circumstances I probably would have baulked right away. But this observation was almost completely usurped by the fact that the puppy occupying the enclosure was so damned cute. Even though we hadn't even made a decision yet, I knew we weren't going to be leaving the store without him.

He was six weeks old. He was a cross breed, a mixture of Border Collie and that quintessentially Australian cattle dog - the Blue Heeler. We were told he had been born in a litter of pups from the Southern Vailes of South Australia, down among the wine barrels of the McLaren Vale Wine Region.

My then serioso was sold on him the moment she laid eyes on him. I, although a little concerned about the amount of shit he had produced in those first few minutes, was reassured after the pet shop owner told me that he had just finished a course of routine antibiotics which was the cause of his "squirts".

Cut forward to us driving home from the mall. We'd purchased a bottle of Bleasedale Caberbet Sauvignon to celebrate...it seemed appropriate.

...On my serioso's lap, was a large cardboard box. The pup lay sleeping inside, evidently worn out after the whole ultimate fighting thing and the subsequent liberation from the two feet by four feet enclosure. Though we had no idea of the concept, we felt complete. Niether of us could take our eyes off the box. We were hoping he would wake up so we could interact with him.

"What shall we name him?" my serioso asked.

We ran through a bunch of names, from the usual, dumb pet names to the more sensible ones. None of them seemed to 'fit' however. This little pup seemed to possess something special - something different. He wasn't an average pooch at all. As we mulled it over, the pup awoke to the sound of our voices and popped his head out of the top of the box, yawning generously.

My serioso gave him a loving soft nose rub.

"What do you think of Sam?" I suggested, thinking that he looked noble enough to be a Sam.

"Hmmm" my serioso mused, a note of hesitation running through her voice.

"Okay..." I continued. "How about...Simon?"

We both looked at our new puppy. There was a moment of quiet between us, then my serioso nodded.

"Simon...that's it. Simon"

It fit.

Simon from then on, has become an inextricable part of my life. I regard him as, quite possibly, my best friend. We have grown up together, an unshakeable bond has grown between us.

Simon has been there during the best parts of my life - when my serioso and I were married. I actually wanted him to wear a golden bow tie and be a part of the wedding but I was talked out of it - probably for the best. The morning walks my wife and I used to go on religiously when we lived in Adelaide Hills - Simon was there. I'm sure he woulda put his own leash on if he could. I mean, he would actually bring it to us so we could put it on him. Whenevee the very word 'Walk' was uttered he would bolt straight for the leash, hanging on a hook outside. And he wouldn't so much walk along with us as he would attempt to pull our arms out of our sockets. Thank god we could let him off occasionally. Simon was particularly spoilt - by myself. He always got one of the sofas to himself and especially loved our movie nights, especially when we got our first home theater. He is an avowed Star Wars fan - like his 'daddy' - although I think he secretly leans a little more towards the works of Tarrantino, especially recently. Simon loves popcorn - MAJORLY - and we would usually end up surrendering at least half of a bowl of hot buttered heaven to him alone. He loved the drives and the day trips we used to go on and he always had his favored position in the back seat. No one would dare get in the way of his spot on the back seat. When my wife and I moved to the city, to our new house, he didn't once fret or struggle with adjusting to the new environment. He is and always has been adaptable.

A number of times, Simon has flirted with disaster. Chewing the cords of my Playstation controllers aside, Simon once brought down some loose house bricks on one of his front paws in an attempt to get through the side gate and he did a pretty decent job of breaking it. For weeks after, he sported a bright blue plaster which he wore, reluctantly. He hobbled around like a senior citizen and made it known that blue is definitely not his color. But the paw healed and he didn't suffer any long term after effects as a result of his injury. We once brought him home from the kennel we used to favor after an overseas holiday to find a really nasty hole in his equivalent of his groin. The wound must have been sustained from him being impaled by something sharp and it became badly infected. Subsequently, Simon became very ill and it was touch and go for some time. Again, he pulled through as if nothing had happened. We never took him back to that kennel.

Simon has also been there during the worst parts of my life - my darkest hours. When my marriage broke down and I was, literally, totally alone in this city that is far from the place where I grew up, Simon was my confidant, my one unwavering support, my only friend. He was with me when I had to move all of my furniture out of the house and into a shed that would become my home for 6 months while I built a new house. There were many of those trips at really odd hours to move my life out and Simon subtly moved from the back seat upto the front passenger seat to keep me company. For a time, my wife and I had joint custody of Simon and we made an honest attempt at sharing him. But it was doing us no good. In the ensuing train wreck that inevitably happens with a marriage breakdown, I feared I would lose Simon. And I was prepared to give him up too if it meant that he would be settled and happy. Fortunately (and I was to be forever grateful for this) my wife decided to surrender him to me.

For a time it was just Simon and me. And we were comfortable - if a little homeless. I battled depression - severe depression - and Simon was there to help me pick up the pieces. Much to my shame he did a lot of picking up after me but never once did he turn away. Eventually, I met someone new and with Emily came new love and new possibilities. The house was built - back in the Adelaide Hills that we both loved so much. Simon was kitted out with a brand new kennel and our new life began. There were new places to explore, new roads to walk and new air to breathe. 

With the passing of years, I sometimes wondered how long would Simon be around for. I mean, I know dogs have a different lifespan to humans and inevitably, I knew time would catch up to Simon. But I was amazed - constantly - watching him as he passed through his tenth and eleventh and twelfth years of life effortlessly. He witnessed the birth of our first child and took to Xavier without difficulty at all. In fact, he seemed tailor made for children. When Lucy was born, Simon seemed to be just as excited when we brought her home as Xavy was. He has watched them both grow and they have have grown to love him as a part of the family. Simon has slowed down somewhat. Arthritis has collected in his hips and it's made things a little more challenging for him to do, but it hasn't prevented him from enjoying an active life and playing with the children in the garden.

Simon has given so much joy but perhaps the most rewarding thing Simon has given me was the basis for an in-story characterization of him in my novel "The Hambledown Dream". During the months I spent writing the novel, Simon was with me a lot of time, sitting on the floor of my little den, snoring away as I wrote on rainy afternoons or out on the patio with a glass of wine and the bird song to keep us company when the sun was shining. It was somewhat inevitable that I would feature him in the story. I didn't count on his role being such a popular one. People who have read the novel have told me how much they loved Simon's appearence in it and how they loved his contribution to the emotional finale. He really is that wonderful character. He has such personality and a wisdom that he conveys through his eyes and his big smile.

Last week, we received some fairly shattering news.

For the past couple of months, Simon has been visibly struggling with walking and, initially, we thought it was an exacerbation of his arthritis. It's been really distressing for him - given that he has been such an active dog - and it's been distressing for us, not really.knowing what to do to make it better for him. Things however, took an alarming turn a couple of weeks ago when, as if from no-where, a large lump developed on his hind leg which seemed to irritate the hell out of him. Alarms bells went off and we promptly took him to the vet for an examination.

Simon has been diagnosed with cancer.

Without going into the specifics of the type of cancer that he has - it's a particularly nasty one - we've been told that the prognosis is poor and that his remaining time here with us is uncertain. Painful as the decision was, we've decided that treatment is not an option. There are too many risks for an older dog like Simon and the outcome would most likely be the same. For now, we've opted to treat him conservatively - to clear up the infection in his leg, manage the tumor, treat his arthritis with steroids and make him as comfortable as possible.

Our little family has been rocked to it's core. Xavier has some basic idea of the significance of the diagnosis, while Lucy is far too young to comprehend it. Both Emily and I are struggling to comprehend it ourselves. Suffice to say we are devastated.

For now, the steroids have actually helped Simon a lot and he has regained some of that characteristic spark that so endears him to everyone. He seems more comfortable and moves much more easily. Just today, he was playing soccer with Xavy and I in the garden and he was mixing it up quite skilfully - if a little gingerly. He hasn't lost his appetite and still eats like a horse - the steroids no doubt have helped that. So long as he has that kind of quality of life, then I am happy. 

He will celebrate his fourteenth year of life on June the 26th this year. I don't know yet, if he will make it to that date. After much discussion, anguish, soul searching and tears I've decided that once his quality of life deteriorates significantly, then I will make that one final journey to the vet with him.

Simon has made an indelible mark on my life for a full third of my life. I can't imagine how my life would have been without him in it. I can't imagine how life will be once he is gone.

Simon is my friend.

DFA.

Molly Taught Me Some Wonderful Things.

What Scotland Taught Me by Molly Ringle

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

A number of years ago, I traveled through South East Asia and at the time, it seemed that everyone of my age was reading "The Beach". It was required reading, particularly among the back packers and the bohemians on the Islands of Koh Samui and Phuket. I read that book like everyone else and it occupies a special place in my library as much for the memories of my traveling as the book itself - which I stress I enjoyed immensely.

In that same vein, I firmly believe that Molly Ringle's "What Scotland Taught Me" should be added to that list of 'the book' that every care free young traveler, about to embark on a journey of discovery in the UK, should have on their device or in their travel bag.

From the Author's description we find fresh out of high school, student Eva Sonneborn heading to Scotland with her best friends: scholarly, sarcastic Laurence; gorgeous, ghost-seeing Amber; and responsible, sweet Shannon. They plan to spend the next six months in Edinburgh, enjoying an adventure-filled work-abroad journey before parting ways for college.

But when Eva meets Gil, a local bartender, she figures a little innocent flirting won't hurt her relationship with Tony, her ever-faithful boyfriend back home. But just when things turn less innocent with Gil, the trip starts throwing curveballs at not only her but her friends too. By the end of the trip, they've all fallen in love, sometimes with the wrong people - and with consequences that may tear their friendship apart forever...

What Scotland Taught Me typifies the modern 20 something life experience writ large and features the classic must have locale in Edinburgh. The story immediately transports the reader, putting one into the very environment of Edinburgh and you can instantly imagine the sounds and the smells and the romance of the city as though you were actually there. Ringle's writing style has a musicality about it and she sets up scenes and places with a deft hand that has a touch of artistry about it. The core characters too, are all well fleshed out. They are attractive, appealing and their individual journeys unfold in a satisfying way. There is nothing contrived in this story - the interactions are real, scenes visually satisfying the conversations are imbued with Molly's intelligent voice. You experience each of the characters to the point where they become your friends.

What Scotland Taught Me is a coming of age story that is fresh, romantic and it has a soul. This should be at the top of your list for your Kindle device.

View all my reviews at Goodreads.

DFA. 

Purchase "The Hambledown Dream" Direct from the Author.

For a limited time, my break out debut novel "The Hambledown Dream" is available to readers, directly from my official site - right here.

And for a limited time I am shipping my novel direct to you - anywhere in the world - completely free. Included with each order is a limited edition Hambledown bookmark which I have included as a little keep sake that I hope you will enjoy.

The Hambledown Dream is a wonderfully lyrical and moving journey of two young men who are brought together in the most unusual circumstances. 

Australian, Denny Banister had the world at his feet; a successful career, a passion for the guitar and he is in love with Sonya – his best friend and soul mate. Tragically, Denny is struck down with inoperable cancer & he is destined to die.

Meanwhile, Andy DeVries has almost nothing; he is alienated from his family, he moves through a dangerous Chicago underworld dealing in drugs, battling addiction & now he’s gone and overdosed - jeopardizing the only thing that matters to him; a place at a prestigious Conservatory for classical guitar.

Having been snatched from the abyss Andy recovers, but he is plagued by dreams - memories of a love he has never felt, and a life he's never lived. Driven by the need for redemption and by the love for a woman he's never met, Andy begins a quest to find her, knowing her only by the memories of a stranger and the dreams of a place called Hambledown...

 

I don't mind saying that The "Dream" would make a lovely Christmas read. It has music, love, drama and it's just a little hot in places. So act now to secure your copy of my first novel which has captured hearts and minds all over the world. Click through the "Add to Cart" button in the top left hand side bar to pay securely, via PayPal.

For additional payment options, please contact me directly (refer to the Contact page on this site).

DFA.

Internal Voices Rule - Lily: The Quest For Reason by LM DeWalt

I'm not in the habit of reviewing books. In fact I'm not really sure what the protocol is for reviewing books. Does one have to be terminally cynical and completely wedded to the technical aspects of a story? Should one offer up a critique of the story based upon plot, characterization and mood? I dunno. 

I have just finished up the following book that I'm going to talk about. I felt that it was right to say a few words about - because it was so damned good! So, as a reader (as much as I am a writer) I'm going to have a go at giving you a review and we'll see if it - my reviewing - is any good.

Lily (The Quest For Reason) by fellow ireadiwrite author LM DeWalt is an intoxicating read. From the synopsis we find that Lily is a lonely vampire desperate for love and a normal existence. When she finally finds someone she can love and a group of vampires she can call family, her long lost maker comes back to claim her. To save the ones she loves, Lily must face, and possibly destroy, the one who stole her choices and her very life.

I came to Lily intrigued by the synopsis of Lily as a solitary figure but colored somewhat by my "is this going to be similar to 'a certain vampire franchise'?" I've enjoyed reading within the genre in the past - have been a fan of Anne Rice, I admit to watching & enjoying "Buffy" and "Angel" and I thought that "The Lost Boys" was a kick arse piece of cinema back in the day. I am - and I apologize in advance for this - less enamored with the whole "Twilight" franchise.

What I discovered in Lily, however was a completely unique interpretation of a vampire with a 'heart'...so to speak. And I was totally tuned into Lily's inner "voice" - this was one of the things I liked most about the book. I commented whilst reading Lily that I was totally taken with Lily's internal conflict borne of vulnerability. I was moved by her loneliness and her desire to connect with others and was suitably disturbed by the animal nature of what she is - a vampire.

LM DeWalt, Author of "Lily - The Quest For Reason"

LM DeWalt has crafted a wonderfully rich tableaux in the journey of Lily which is really quite stunning. Her settings were vivid, the conversations convincing and 'real' and the love story at the core of Lily is bewitching which, like the previous reviewer said - will have you on your feet cheering for this wonderful soul.

LM DeWalt is a Peruvian American who has been living in the US for 30 years. She works as a teacher of ESL, Spanish, French, and accent reduction and is also an interpreter and translator and runs creative writing groups. She is currently attending teacher's college. She has written for several Spanish language newspapers but her dream was always to write novels. Her love of vampires started when she was seven years old and saw Bella Lugosi's Dracula.

She currently resides in Northeastern Pennsylvania, where it's way too cold, with her husband, three teenage sons and two cats.

Lily is written with such care that it is easy to see that this was a story very close to LM DeWalt's heart. I am additionally blown away by the fact that Lily is available not only in English but also in Spanish.

Cover art for the Spanish version.

Read Lily, Loved Lily, Read Lily!

DFA.

Dymocks, West Lakes. A Small Gathering of "Dreamers"

Last Thursday evening, I brought "The Hambledown Dream" to Dymocks Book Sellers of West Lakes in South Australia for an evening of book signing and discussion about the story, the characters and the music that characterizes much of my first published novel. 

It was a small gathering by comparison to my other appearances but no less enjoyable. I regard meeting readers as the single most important thing to do as an author. I appreciate that one thing above all others.

Anyway, here is a collection of images from that evening at West Lakes.

Store window display prepared by Lynette Spry of Dymocks, West Lakes.

 The Hambledown Dream on the shelves, in front and behind.

 

 This is always a nice thing to see.

Meeting with Nat. A new reader of the "Dream".

Meeting with Emma, a big supporter of the "Dream".

DFA.

The Rasor's Edge Revisited - Now In Print!!

My good friend and fellow ireadiwrite Publishing alum, John Rasor has announced that his very-tongue-in-cheek retrospective of the TV series phenomenon Lost - How Lost Got Lost - has finally made it's long awaited leap to the printed page. 

I covered John's book back in July in the lead-up to it's digital release and I am so pleased that "How Lost Got Lost" is now available in print.

I wrote then that John first came to notice with his debut novel  "Roadkill", a deliciously sinister tome of a serial killer with a severe case of road rage who patrols the streets of L.A. and the highways of Southern California running down drivers who are using their cell phones while driving. His rage extends from the tragic death of his wife and unborn child in a similar but unrelated incident. "Roadkill" had me thinking of Denzel Washington's "Man On Fire" and more recently, the Liam Neeson actioner "Taken" in which an insatiable desire for revenge feeds the protagonist. I have to confess that I have a predilection for these types of stories.

In the aftermath of what many regard as the greatest "What the Fuck??" ending of a major television series ever, John has sat down, driven by the need to understand, and has penned what could be the definitive tonic to aid all those Lost fans who are still picking themselves up off of the floor. "How Lost Got Lost" is one Lost fan's labor of love, a soliloquy of pent up frustration laid bare. John Rasor examines the Lost phenomenon in a blisteringly funny narrative that is choc full of valuable insights and measured consideration that seeks to answer that one burning question - W.T.F?

John writes with an unbridled enthusiasm and a genuine love for the series. Though I haven't been a huge devotee of the series Lost, John's ability to speak to the lay person is such that you probably didn't need to be a fan. Since I have come to know John, I have been particularly impressed with his almost encyclopedic knowledge of episodic television and his zest for pop culture which transcends almost all barriers.

Check out John's site where you will find all the necessary links to purchase, what I regard as a landmark publication. John's site is fast becoming a totally engrossing repository of everything great about pop culture vultures. I also encourage you to check out John's interview with Jason of the Brink of Sanity Show where he discusses the book in depth as well as other adventures in TV culture.

John is a great orator and someone who I like a lot.

DFA.

An Evening With The Hambledown Dreamer.

Poster for Dean's upcoming in store signing and evening at Dymocks/West Lakes, South Australia on October 28th at 6.30PM.

(Refer to the Events page for further details).

DFA.

The Regenesis Cluster - A Short Story

As still as a mill pond. A surface, mirror smooth, reflecting light and darkness in equal measure so perfectly that it was impossible to tell where the horizon was. It was perfection, this stillness...


It was deathly quiet on the body of water. If there was any sound to be heard at all, it was - perhaps - a distant, disembodied roar of the Earth as it rotated on it's axis, the kind of sound that one can only hear when there is absolute silence. There was not a breath of wind to disrupt the surface of the ocean, thus the moonless, star lit night reflected perfectly off it, creating an illusion of infinite space. Every now and then, streaks of light streamed across the sky - meteors hitting the upper atmosphere - creating an impromptu light show of incredible intensity and brevity.


Nearby was a coast line. Rocky cliffs curved around in a wide bay that flanked the body of water, creating a sanctuary from the open sea. Towering sequoia stood upon the bluff overlooking the sea, as though in wait for the arrival of dawn. The chill night air was close to freezing, influenced in part by the air currents coming off the dense, forested, snow capped mountains inland. Atop the coastal cliffs, a ribbon of bitumen hugged the land mass, in places precariously close to the edge of the granite cliffs. It wound down in an arc identical to the coast to open out parallel to a strip beach front that was steep and surfaced with crushed shells and pebbles rather than sand.

It was perfect in it's solitude. In the depths of the night the sea, it seemed, slept.


The sea held onto it's secrets.


Below the surface, the inky blackness enveloped everything. Here, again, was a world in suspended animation - where nothingness dictated everything. There was no movement, no sound, no current, no light. It was suffocating in more ways than one.


And then from the nothingness - a flash of silver in the gloom, a submerged equivalent of a meteor streaking across the sky above. A lone bottle nosed dolphin coalesced out of the gloom, undulating languidly as it explored this region of water close to the shore. It's sleek body captured a mysterious light source that seemed to come from no-where and reflected off it's silvery gray flank. It was a mature specimen, an adult male, with a smattering of territorial spots adorning it's dorsum. To the trained eye, one could surmise that this dolphin had returned it's own waters. Indeed, the mammal had spent long months in the open sea, had traveled thousands of miles after having become lost from his pod. He was desperately lonely, pining for his own kind. So it was with a great sense of relief that he had found his way back to this stretch of coast where he had been born. He could sense his number somewhere close by.


The dolphin slowed to a stop and floated a few feet below the surface for several minutes as though in a state of suspended animation. The mammal was thoroughly exhausted and he allowed himself a few moments of pause now that he knew he was close to home. The turbulent water the dolphin had stirred up behind him and around him as he braked dissipated until the stillness returned. He drifted upward as though curious about the surface and what lay there. In the background of the brilliant star field above, the dolphin's black form stood prominent - like a shadow of Pisces.


Mere millimeters from from the meniscus, the dolphin gave an almost imperceptible flick of it's fins, holding fast before he could break the surface of the water. He wasn't yet in need of air. He began to descend once more.


In the stillness of the water he drifted down...down...so slowly and so slightly that his aerodynamics did not disturb the water around him. The dolphin closed it's eyes, relaxing into the cradle of the sea, tempted to keep falling into the blackness, so tired was he.


From somewhere far below a single bubble rose, closing in like a tiny missile on the mammal. A perfectly formed, spherical pocket of air unmolested by current or debris, ascended through the darkness, it's jewel like surface similarly capturing that mysterious light source from...somewhere..., in the same manner as the dolphin's body had.


The dolphins perfectly attuned biological sonar, that was designed to pick up on the most insignificant contact failed to detect the miniscule current disturbance from the bubble as it rose upward, ever upward towards it.


The bubble made contact with the underside of the dolphin, spreading out as it impacted silently, it's form compressed as flat as a pancake until it split in two like the nucleus of a cell. In that instant, the dolphin's eyes snapped open. As the two separate parts of the bubble rippled up both of it's flanks, the dolphin was startled by the disembodied sound of a guttural scream - a human scream - a scream of anguish that seemed to emanate from inside the air bubble itself.


As one half of the original air bubble broke free from of the hydrostatic grip of the dolphin's body, it passed before the dolphin's eye. His pupil focused on the undulating pocket of air.


Time slowed to a crawl...


A face, a human face - a man's face, his features contorted into a mask of horror screamed into the darkness around him from inside the bubble.


The dolphin flinched, panicked at what he had just witnessed. The moment was so fleeting, the moving image disappeared from his field of view so quickly, the mammal was disoriented...which only fed into his now heightened state of anxiety.


He flicked his body upward, breaking free of the darkened depths and surfaced, a large gout of water issuing forth from his blow hole. The dolphin hovered there for several minutes, the adrenaline coursing through him still, until he felt calm return. The silence of the night above soothed him.


As the dolphin drifted, his now attuned sonar suddenly alerted him to a new contact rising from below - two contacts this time.


Curiosity replaced his previously startled anxiety and the mammal hooked himself over and dove beneath the surface, honing in on the two new bogeys...




Download the entire article from the "Articles & Short Stories" Section of the Site.

DFA.