W900 by Tom McNulty Book Tour and Giveaway :)
W900
by Tom McNulty
Genre: Literary Fiction
Hovis Monk had been deceived. Perhaps he always had been. His comfortable life in the Snowdonian bubble, provided by The Blue Yonder Mining Company, was ending.
As his world implodes Hovis spins into a realm of inner and outer realities, chance occurrences, memories, music, luck and laughter.
This story describes the reunion of Hovis with his old Paisley Underground band, a little known group called The Festers, and his struggles with a very special Flame Red Time Trialing Onesey…..
He looked down
at this morsel and silently wondered how was he going to fit his
rather manly, middle aged frame, which had certainly seen better
days, into this second skin as the Chameleons song, Second Skin,
began playing in his mind. Mentally he was holding
on to what had once been, ‘Hovis Monk, 28, freshly promoted, going
places kind of guy, etc ...’ That very same
guy was standing here right now, wondering just what trials and
tribulations he was going to have to go through with the Great One’s
Onesey, just so he could look a complete idiot at the end of his
lesson in un-natural contortion? Before him lay
this Flame Red, Second Skin, that did indeed seem to have some amount
of elasticity but still, a good deal of imagination, or delusion,
would be required when it came to the actual moment of truth. He held
up the onesey against himself to fully ascertain the dimensional
ambiguity. His heart sank and he put the onesey back down on the
table. This was going to require a little thought, before he did
anything. Firstly,
he had an inordinate amount of difficulty in deciding whether you
climbed into it, or started by putting the top part of the infernal
thing on, like a cardigan. Either option seemed impossible to Hovis
as he picked it up again and laid it easily, on one of his thighs. "Well,
one thing's for sure," he muttered to himself. "It won't
fit over your weekday clothes," he casually sucked his stomach
in, as though pretending he was thinner was going to make something
happen. When nothing did, he and the onesey made their way into the
bedroom.
I began writing these existential stories because they
needed air and because I was sick to death of people being lauded for writing
trivial rubbish. It’s easy to write nice, acceptable TV bookclub bodice
rippers, a lot harder to tell the truth.
My stories scrape the scrotum of life's existence and laugh
at despair. There is no room in my books for any Goo Goo Muck, just
straight up Rock n Roll.
So read at your peril…
$25 Amazon
Comments
Post a Comment