Please, Please Buy My Novel — Part Dix

July 19, 2023

Instead of a crazy-as-shit, frightful as doo-doo political/environmental/cultural cut-n-paste post this late afternoon Wednesday, I’m going for something near-ludicrous with another petition/plea once again for you few readers of this blog to please, please buy my novel, “Brown-Eyed Girl With A Cold Corona,” self-published last year by Outskirts Press — I generally do one of these about once a month.

The book’s Amazon/Kindle page is here.
My author’s page at Outskirts is here.

A reader assessment:

(Reviewed in the United States ?? on October 11, 2022)

Not since the Time Travelers Wife has a story tugged at my heart, f*** with my head, and left me so chilled, haunted and thoroughly impressed. A vivid, romantic and ultimately chilling debut, I sincerely hope this author doesn’t stop here. A new, genre bending talent has been unleashed and I personally can’t wait to see what he comes up with next.

I’m not very good with self promotion. A bad character flaw if you want to sell books.
As an interest, from the novel’s back cover:

Life can sometimes alter course in a finger snap. One second existence seems normal, the next, an out-of-step leap beyond the imagination. A night bar-hopping during Spring break on the California coast shifts from the typical to peculiar and strange in scant moments.
As if out of thin air, she was suddenly sitting close, leaning inward at the little table, her face directly at him. Large, brown eyes intimate and captivating, demanding full attention. The bar’s loud, swirling noise of music and muffled chatter seemed to have quickly vanished into shadow.
Easily, he closed off everything with total focus only on those liquid-brown eyes. In minutes, he fell completely head-over-heels in love, gobsmacked like a virgin little boy.

However, in just a brief, single tick when he’d once glanced away, she vanished. So astonishingly quick the episode, he never got a name or a telephone number. And other people had seen her in the bar, so she was real. Or was she? Such is the beginning.

In an ensuing couple of days, he tumbles like Alice down the rabbit hole. He’s no virgin little boy, but middle-aged and fighting the loose tendrils of a mid-life crisis — divorce, children (for instance, he occasionally smokes pot with his 15-year-old daughter), intense guilt about everything, and booze, all combined for close-call disaster. Yet petty compared to the wondrously-haunting hallucinations he encounters created off that one night with the young woman,

An illusory mystery revealing a murder, though, in an abnormal sequence.

In context:

Hey, did I mention the Amazon/Kindle order page is here?

The first book petition/plea is here, and the one from last month here.
My original post on being published is here (March 12, 2022).

Thank-you much…

Best-seller, or not, once again here we are…

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