Here's a great book to check out

http://tinyurl.com/43a5mt8

 Beyond The Surgeon's Touch

By Gloria Teague

Ami was three years old when her mother’s killer attempted to murder her, too. Man, alone, couldn’t have saved her. It was a battle fought by doctors, nurses and miraculous intervention. Beyond the Surgeon's Touch is filled with stories based on actual events that have been witnessed and recorded by the staff of emergency rooms and surgical suites, even in their own lives. These accounts prove that medical personnel are, after all, just human and they pray for divine assistance, too, when trying to save a life. Sometimes those pleas are answered. These stories illustrate that miracles can, and do, happen to average people more often than you may realize.

The Guardian of Route 66

A few years ago -- quite a few actually -- while attending classes at what was then called Central State university, located in Edmond, Oklahoma, I had an unusual experience.

Actually it happened after class during the drive home. I was married and had a fulltime job, which left me attending night classes to continue my education. The duration of class was three hours, starting at 6:00 PM and letting out at 9:00. Since I was already out of class and on the way, the incident occurred between 9:20 and 9:30 PM. At the time, I was driving an old MG, which had a few annoying if not dangerous idiosyncrasies. One of the treacherous traits was a faulty light switch, which, on occasion, would cause the lights to go out.Toggling the switch in rapid succession brought them back on.

The trip home consisted of an eighteen mile drive, originating on East Second Street in Edmond. It was there, at the point where Second Street curves into Highway 66 that it happened. Just as I was about to enter the curve, I saw a man dressed in a robe, like that of an ancient Greek or Roman, and he was walking alongside the highway. That's when the lights went out. At the time, there were no houses, buildings or even streetlights located in the area, so when the lights went out, they went out. I was plunged into total darkness. My immediate concern was that, without being able to see where I was going, I ran the risk of running over the unusual pedestrian. I began to jab the dashboard until I found the light switch then continued to toggle the switch. Seconds later, when the lights came back on, I'd traveled a distance of about 300 feet, somehow successfully maneuvering the curve.

Fear shot through me as I brought the MG to a stop. No other cars were on the road and I saw no one in front of me. I quickly turned the car around. I had neither heard nor felt anything hit the vehicle, but I wanted to make sure that I had not hurt or possibly even killed the pedestrian. I saw no one. I went past the curve then turned around and drove through again. After that, I parked on the shoulder where the incident had occurred and got out of the car and searched the area. I found nothing. Later I would examine the car and find no damage.

As I continued the drive home, details of the event played through my head, and I began to wonder if perhaps I'd seen an angel, who'd brought me to an alert status, helping me to make the curve on Route 66 when the lights went out.

This is a true story. I'd love to hear about your experiences. If you have something you'd like to share, please leave a comment, or email me at bob@bobavey.com. You can remain anonymous if you wish.

Strange Dreams and Free Books

I haven't forgotten the purpose of this blog. I'm just trying to get my footing. I promise more good and unusual stories to come. In the meantime, let me relate an unusual dream to you. I have quite a few of those.

My wife and I are walking along a dirt road in the country. There is no one else around and no cars or other traffic, just the two of us. A few minutes into our journey, I see a dead bear cub lying in the ditch. I show my wife and we both feel very sad. As we continue our journey, it begins to get dark and I tell my wife that we need to find a place to sleep for the night. We come to an old abandoned house and decide to go inside and stay the night there. As we walk into the yard, we start to see dead baby bears everywhere. The grief we feel is great but it is soon replaced by fear of the mother bear. I know that when the mama bear shows up she will think that my wife and I had something to do with the devestation, which we did not. At this point I wake up.

Please feel free to comment about your own dreams. Or send me your dream in an email to bob@bobavey.com and I'll publish it in the blog.

I'm also offering a free paperback copy of either Twisted Perception, or Beneath a Buried House. All I ask in return is a review of the book posted on amazon.com or Barnes&Noble.com. If interested, please email me at bob@bobavey.com

Hurry this is a short limited time offer.

Thanks

Twisted Perception - First serialized post.

Chapter One

A car horn interrupted the driver’s thoughts, and he realized his mind had been elsewhere, reliving a despairing moment, an ugly slice of time in which he’d killed a friend. A tear formed in his eye and rolled down his cheek.

 He hoped the night would not hold any more surprises. Enough had already gone wrong. He hesitated, and when he pulled onto the road the reflection of the street lamps off the wet pavement reminded him of a carnival midway, and he fancied being transported to another world where things would not be as they were: life dependent on death.

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and cursed the troublesome mist that swirled through the air. He could discern no rain falling, though the moisture seemed to be everywhere, a monsoon of molecular proportions emanating from the fabric of the world it coated. His lack of concentration didn’t surprise him. He didn’t want to be there, driving around town on such a night. The windshield wipers cleared his field of vision, and when he saw the place where he’d found her before, some bar along 31^st Street, he slowed the car and pulled in. His actions were not prescient, or even fantastic. He knew where to look. She frequented such places.

He heard a rattling noise and realized it was his ring clattering against the steering wheel as his hands shook. He wanted to blame it on the wine, but he knew better. The drinking had not intoxicated him to the point of being even remotely prepared for the task ahead of him. Beads of sweat ran down his back at the thought of it. There was no getting around what he had to do. She’d come back. And people ought to stay dead when they’re put that way.

He thought of Papa. Times like this perpetuated his essence, and he imagined his name—though he didn’t speak it, and he did not for a moment pretend to assume his presence. That would be tantamount to disrespect, and disrespecting Papa was not a good idea. He rolled down the car window, letting the cold mist pepper his face as he leaned back in the seat, and waited.

I'll post more next week. To purchase novel visit:

http://www.amazon.com/Twisted-Perception-Detective-Mystery-ebook/dp/B004C43H32/ref=ntt_at_ep_edition_2_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2

Histories Mysteries

During the vernal equinox, as well as the autumnal, the sun sets in the middle of twelve earthen mounds that stretch across the grassy plains a few miles northeast of Spiro, Oklahoma. Similar events transpire during the summer and winter solstices, which leaves the sun casting its evening light along the northern and southern areas of the mounds, respectively. Like most Native American cultures, the people who occupied the area were heavily influenced by the movements of celestial bodies across the sky. It has even been suggested that the Spiro people were the remnants of the Mayan civilization, which seems to have crumbled around 900 AD.

It is believed that the Spiro Mounds grouping was a part of the Southeastern Ceremonial Complex, also known as the Southern Death Cult, an empire that stretched from the Gulf Coast to the Great Lakes and from the Rocky Mountains to the East Coast, encompassing sixty tribes and thirty language groups. Popular theory has it that the Death Cult social organization developed independently of Mesoamerican cultures, such as the Aztec. However, artifacts unearthed from Spiro and other sites suggest the Spiro people were in contact with cultures from Mexico. It’s no stretch of the imagination to suspect that something more than trade goods was exchanged. Afterall, the term Southern Death Cult came about due to the multitude of bones and skulls associated with the sites. Could they have been the victims of human sacrifice?

An obsidian blade, which has been well documented as having come from Mexico was recovered from Craig Mound in 1935, and a mysterious character named Walter Guinn Cooper, who, when asked about the artifact during an interview by Dr. James Cherry, had this to say about it: “There was this fellow. I can’t recall his name, but he was a professor and he was interested in this stuff. He bought one of those, long, thin, well you’d probably call it a knife. It wasn’t flint. I don’t know what it was.”

The professor was probably Dr. Robert Bell, and it sounds as if Mr. Cooper was referring to more than one obsidian knife. Add this together, and throw in a seven-hundred year old curse and you get the inspiration for my third novel, Footprints of a Dancer, which I hope to have released soon.

The mounds in Spiro, which are visited by thousands of tourists, are not real, in a manner of speaking. The destruction of the mounds began in 1933 when the Pocola Mining Company obtained a lease and began digging to recover salable artifacts. Later, from 1936 to 1941 the mounds were completely leveled during excavations by the University of Oklahoma. The complex was reconstructed in the 1970’s.

The Pocola diggers reported that they heard a hissing sound when the cedar tomb walls of the King’s Chamber were breached. It was probably the air rushing in to fill the 700 year old vacuum. But who knows? Perhaps it was the cry of Quetzalcoatl, the plumed serpent, or even worse, that of his brother, the god of sin and misery.

Getting Personal

Welcome to my new blog and to what could be called the first real blog post of my career. I say this because I did have a blog once, a publication – and I use the term loosely being that publication means to Make Public and I have no knowledge of anyone ever actually having read the work – that I’ve long since abandoned because it turned out to be nothing more than a rehash of my newsletters, a lighthearted account of life on the road for an author. I can promise you with utmost sincerity that this blog will not follow in the footsteps of its predecessor. As to which path it might take, I am certain only that it will not be the most likely, the most traveled. I desire to learn about, and to explore that which is unusual. I hope you will join me on the journey.

Let me explain the twofold impetus behind this new endeavor. The joy of reading bloomed inside of me at an early age. However, the book, which captivated my imagination, causing me not only to want to read but to write as well, was a book of fantasy, titled A Wrinkle in Time, written by Madeleine L’Engle. After that, if the book didn’t have an element of fantasy about it, or something extraordinary, it just couldn’t hold my attention. Not surprisingly, the genre heavily influenced my early writing efforts. My reading preferences still lean in that direction. However, my two published novels, Twisted Perception and Beneath a Buried House, while no one has described either as being ordinary, contain no elements of fantasy. With my third book, I hope to change that.

As indicated, the inspiration for change involves more than getting back to my literary roots. The balance of the formula is better demonstrated through the relation of a personal experience. This should also reveal what I hope to be an important component of the blog, the sharing of personal stories and experiences.
When I was young, around the age of nine or ten, I dreamed of being in a forest where a comforting, golden hue enveloped the landscape, including the sky and the trees and everything that could be seen. The peace and contentment that I felt there, something that escapes description, convinced me, even as a child that I was caught up in something, which was on a deeper level than an ordinary dream. But it didn’t end there. Soon, I emerged from the forest where I began walking along a roadway. I was completely alone on the roadway, but as I continued the journey I encountered pockets of people, whom I recognized as friends and family. Each group seemed to be having a good time and without exception they called to me, trying to convince me to join them. I knew that I should not do that. My mission was to stay on the road, and that’s what I did. The last group of people included my mom and dad. They, too, tried to convince me to step off of the roadway. I found this very disturbing, and it was at this point that I woke up.

Please keep in mind that I did not come from a religious family. We went to church maybe three or four times during my entire childhood. Sadly, this unfortunate condition was also the norm for my aunts and uncles on both sides. I had a few friends who went to church, but none talked of it. In short, At least in my young mind, I had no one to turn to. I carried the dream around with me for a few weeks, and when I finally decided that I had to tell someone, I settled on my sister. After listening to my experience, she stared at me for a few seconds and then said, “You’re going to die.”

My sister is a story in herself, but I won’t go into that. She wasn’t being silly or sarcastic. Looking back, I’m pretty sure that hearing such words come from her little brother’s mouth probably caused her a few sleepless nights.
I finally decided to pray about it. I don’t recommend making demands of the Lord, but remember I was just a child. In the prayer, I asked God if He was trying to speak to me and that if He was to please give me a sign. I even gave Him the sign to use. You see, there was this girl who rode the same school bus as I. I was deeply in love with her, but I knew she hadn’t a clue that I even existed. I asked God to make her my girlfriend because I knew that only a miracle could do that.

The next day, I’d actually forgotten about it, so I bounded onto the bus as usual. However, when she called out to me and asked me to sit beside her, the smile that stretched across my face could have reached into the next county. Here’s the kicker: That girl had never spoken to me before that day, and she never spoke to me again afterward. The next day was business as usual, like nothing had ever happened.
I’ll let you draw your own conclusions. For me, it was pretty rock-solid. As fate would have it, though, as I grew older and life called out to me, I stepped off that roadway. I will forever regret taking those wayward steps, but all is not lost. It never is. Recently, life’s journey has caused me to rethink my position. I’ve asked Jesus to come back into my life.

Well there you have it. Before this, only a handful of people had ever heard that story. Now back to my fiction. What I hope to do with it from this point forward is to season the plot with thoughtful fantasy and weave into the fabric the power of faith. I hope I can successfully pull it off.
Most importantly, I hope that reader participation will become an important part of this blog. Please feel free to leave a comment, send an email, or forward a guest blog post. I want to hear your stories. I’m intrigued by stories of faith, but all things interest me, especially the unusual, the unexplained and the bizarre.

Next week I’ll touch on The Southern Death Cult of the Spiro Mounds, some of the inspiration behind, Footprints of a Dancer, the third book in the Detective Elliot series.

Please check out the link: http://www.amazon.com/Beneath-Buried-House-Detective-ebook/dp/B003SE7J6I/ref=pd_sim_kinc_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2

Trying to get this blog going again

Hello, everyone. I have a real post to enter once I get this blog working.

Twisted Writing

A few Saturdays back, I was sitting in the middle of a shopping mall, behind a skirted table, which had been positioned beside the mall’s showcase attraction: a beautiful but rather noisy fountain. I practically had to shout at potential book buyers, which would have been uncomfortable, had there been any.

However, I did manage to convince – perhaps coerce would be more descriptive – a few passers by to break their stride and pause momentarily at my table, even if more than a few of them stopped only for the free candy with which I tempted them. Never offer chocolate to a mall walker. They’ll take it every time. At least a half dozen or so succumbed to my pleadings, however, only a few of them should be mentioned: a man who wore a hooded sweatshirt that was the color of tomato juice, and a grease-stained ball cap, a lady who’d just started a diet program, and an unusual gentleman dressed in a southern Civil War military uniform. Now this guy was unnerving. Sporting a three-day growth of beard and a big grey mustache, he never spoke, just nodded, and with the realistic uniform, complete with boots, hat and suspenders, he really looked the part. When he finally walked away, I could have sworn dust, puffed around his footfalls. But let’s get back to the lady. Being in the business of selling my books for more than a year now, I’ve heard a plethora of excuses, or reasons as to why one could not, at the time, buy one. However this lady’s originality must be commended. She kindly picked up one of the books, flipped it over and read the back cover, then placed it softly back on the table. Afterward she smiled and told me that she’d love to have one of my books, but she’d been to a doctor who had put her on a diet, and the medicine he’d given her had left her allergic to many things with which she’d never before had a problem, and one of them was the pages of books.

If you would like to own an autographed copy of my mystery novel, Twisted Perception, send me an email at bob@bobavey.com and let me know how to personalize it and where to ship it. Oh, yeah, include a check for $17.00. I'll pay the shipping. If you would like to read a sample of the book, go to my website at http://www.bobavey.com where you can read chapter one.


http://www.bobavey.com

bob@bobavey.com

Even more Twisted

Hello, everyone.

As a result of my hobbies, I’m familiar with many Oklahoma towns, but lately, being busy with this and occupied with that, I’d almost forgotten how special these national treasures are. However, with many of the book signings and speaking engagements I’ve experienced lately being situated in rural communities, my appreciation for small-town life has been reignited. How could you not love library meetings where the main topics, shying away from things like drugs, terrorism, and drive-by shootings, lean more toward more pleasant undertakings like frog jumping contests, turtle races, and ice cream socials: Things for the children.

Getting back to a more serious note, let me share with you some of what I’ve experienced while manning booths at some of the craft fairs across Oklahoma. It seems that wherever I go people who share an interest in writing stop by to talk about such. Normally this is an enjoyable affair. However, depending on the individuals involved, things like this can get uncomfortable. On one of my outings, a young man strolled up and asked me if I wrote poetry. I had, I told him, in my early years, but had since abandoned such notions, having fallen in love with fiction. I can only speculate that, being filled with excitement, he only heard the first part of my sentence – that portion leaning toward the affirmative – for he produced a spiral notebook, which seemed to appear from nowhere, sort of like Felix the Cat’s bag of tricks, from which he commenced reading various verses he had penned. I listened politely, however, while this was going down, potential business walked on, passing me by – a man wearing blue denim overalls with no shirt beneath, a lady with a tattoo on her leg that seriously resembled an open wound, a girl carrying a rock in one hand and a corn dog in the other, a boy with a monkey on his back that was clutching a large potato, and finally a lady, who actually ignored my guest and stopped. She’d just purchased a turkey leg, and she wanted to trade it for a book. I was hungry. I almost went for it. I could go on, but I won’t.

http://www.bobavey.com
bob@bobavey.com

Just Twisted

While attending the OWFI conference at the Embassy Suites in Oklahoma City, I went to the vending machine on my floor to get a soft drink. In a dark corner, I found a Pepsi machine, but as I fed my dollar into the slot, I noticed the machine was filled with Coke products: I could tell this by the selection labels. I stabbed the button designated for regular Coke and a twenty-ounce bottle fell into the tray below. There was only one problem. I couldn’t get the bottle out of the slot: It was too large. I don’t know what the other customers did. Perhaps I was the first to try the cross-genre cola experiment. You know what they say: you can’t roller skate in a buffalo heard, and you can’t put a Coke in a Pepsi machine.

Again in Oklahoma City, I was attending the Oklahoma Book Festival where I met an old friend. I also saw something unusual… perhaps bizarre would be more descriptive. It was a dog that only had two legs, the back ones, which it walked on quite handily. The dog didn’t hop like one might expect in such a situation, but it actually walked, like some forgotten humanoid species, or an alien from another world.

Back in Tulsa, I saw an old Camaro parked alongside the road. It had two flat tires and an inscription written across the rear window. It read: Just married. Off to a bad start I’d say.

My family and I had heard of this new restaurant called – I better not put the real name here – so we decided to give it a try. I knew something wasn’t quite right when I saw the décor. I’m not sure how to describe it. Let’s just say they were trying for the mix-and-match look and overachieved their efforts with stellar proportions. Being led into a dining area that might have been better suited for an automobile repair shop, we were seated beside a large white-painted buffet. The doors of the buffet were open, showing not only bottles of catsup and mustard, but also blue signs taped inside the doors that read: Please keep doors closed. But the fun was just beginning. We had just ordered from a one-page, plastic-coated menu when one of the employees began to walk through the area. If you can imagine a vendor at a baseball game, hawking his wares, only with a lot less enthusiasm – I mean a lot less; we’re talking just this side of manic depressive – then you’ll get a pretty good idea of how it went. I can’t say that I blame the poor guy. He had to walk around the restaurant announcing “fried okra” to the backdrop of Country music, Merle Haggard no less, wailing, “We don’t smoke marijuana in Muskogee.” I still have nightmares about it.

Twisted Book Tour

Hello, everyone. Beginning October 14th I start my Hastings tour, signing books across Oklahoma, Arkansas, Missouri, and Kansas. Please check my website at http://www.bobavey.com for details.

Later that day, I saw an old car with its headliner hanging loose. There was a child in the backseat, having to hold the material with his hands to keep it from covering his head. The car had a bumper sticker on it that read: If you’re not appalled, you’re not paying attention. Pretty appropriate, wouldn’t you say?

Two weeks earlier, I was aboard a giant cigar with wings, flying to Tucson Arizona for a book fair in Sierra Vista. About halfway into the flight, a man fought his way through the narrow isle to the front of the aircraft where he began to struggle with the bathroom door. I was beginning to feel embarrassed for the poor soul before he finally got it open. To make matters worse, a sign, positioned so that everyone in the cabin could see it, announced in bright red letters that the necessary room was occupied.

Quite a bit of time passed, but then strange noises ensued, and the light began to blink, phasing between dormant and occupied. I figured, being that the guy had trouble getting in, that he was likewise experiencing a difficult go at getting out. I could actually hear him thrashing around in there. The guy finally busted out, his hair sticking up, a frazzled look on his face as he approached a flight attendant. Seconds later, the flight attendant keyed the intercom and announced that the light in the lavatory was malfunctioning. She asked that we refrain from using the facility, but added that if it got to the point to where you had to go, to please see her and she would loan you a flashlight.

More to come.

Here we go again

Hello Everyone.

Early in the month of April, I pulled to the curbside and parked along Sixth Street in Muskogee, Oklahoma, checking the map to see if I was in the right location, number thirty-eight of eighty-nine entrants, right behind Miss Keetoowah. I’d discovered a couple days earlier that my sister-in-law had signed me up for the annual Azalea Festival and Parade, and my wife, Kathi, and I hastily put together some pretty decent signs and taped them to the sides of my already somewhat decorated little car.

I stowed the map in its manila folder then climbed out of the car and leaned against it, waiting for parade time. I was starting to relax when I saw two men dressed as old-west marshals, guns slung low on their hips, walking toward me, and a burning sensation ran through my stomach. I didn’t know if a person could be shot for using a parade for personal gain, but I suspected I was about to find out.

As it turned out, the parade marshals were friendly – just curious about the signs on my car. I handed each of them a bookmark. With the ice broken, we began to talk and a few minutes later one of them said, “You’re not going to believe this, but I just saw the craziest thing. A few moments ago, a lady came driving up in a grey car with no decorations. I told her she couldn’t park on the parade route, but she jumped out of her car holding a handmade sign in one hand and a bottle of glue in the other.” He paused and nodded, as if I’d already ascertained the punch line. “That’s right,” he continued, “she glued that sign to her car right there in front of me. Just squirted that stuff all over the door and smashed the paper sign onto it. She was entry number twenty-one.”

After that, he said good-bye and walked away, laughing. He didn’t have to tell me who had done such a thing. I already knew, even before I saw my sister-in-law, driving her grey Saturn with number twenty-one proudly displayed in the windshield.

Please visit my website at http://www.bobavey.com. There you can read chapter one of my mystery novel, Twisted Pereption, and register for a free autographed copy. Talk to you later.

Bob Avey

Pagan Research

For my next mystery novel, Beneath a Buried House, the second in the Kenny Elliot series, I plan to have the killer try to hang the murders on a pagan religious group. The killer is not religious, one way or the other. It's just a diversion he uses to throw the cops off his trail. I do, however, want to get the facts dealing with pagan religion right. So if anyone out there has any info, or could direct me to some good info, I would greatly appreciate it. I might even name a character after the one who gives me the best source. Thanks.

Bob

http://www.bobavey.com

bob@bobavey.com


When the appointed time finally arrived – after I’d waited in the bookstore parking lot, checked out the few shops in the area, and helped a struggling shopkeeper put up a canvass sign in near hurricane winds – I proudly waltzed into the bookstore and announced my presence. “Yes,” the lady in the store said. “We kind of figured the person in the car with a four-foot picture of his book on it must have been you.”

Well, with my near-celebrity status, I was kindly shown to my author’s quarters, a table, and I use the term loosely, in the back of the store where I pre-empted the coffee urns, both regular and decaf, for their spot; a strategic placement, located before the rear exit along a narrow hallway created by a bookshelf that housed books on alien abduction and the coffee table itself. In such a confined area, one had to put forth effort not to see the coffee on their way out of the store.

It might have been amusing, had it not been me sitting there, watching the customers raise the art of overachievement to unprecedented levels as they invented ways of getting through the narrow space between my table and the exit while pretending to peruse the UFO shelf, edging by in a near crablike manner, trying to avoid making eye contact with that strange man sitting where the coffee used to be; that being me.

And those were the customers that did show up. Never have I been in a library as quiet and bereft of human spirit as this, the patrons floating through like disembodied ghosts, completely unable to interact with the living. Even the stoic store employees, who, out of shear boredom, had resorted to dusting the shelves, commented on the store’s lack of traffic.

Paul Phillips from North London won the autographed book giveaway for the first quarter of 2006. Congratulations Paul.

Stay tuned. There’s more to come.

You have permission to reprint, forward, or use the contents of this newsletter in your newsletter or e-zine. The only requirement is the inclusion of the following footer:

This article was written by Bob Avey, author of, Twisted Perception. http://www.bobavey.com.

Resistance is futile, but what the heck

Hello, everyone... or no one as it seems to be. Anyway still looking for Pagan Info.

email bob@bobavey.com
http://www.bobavey.com

During another episode of book-signing wars, not knowing how long it would take to get to this particular city, I arrived somewhat early. Luckily a shopping mall was just across the street, so I whipped into the parking lot – because that is what one has to do to make the tight turn and avoid being rear-ended – and began to search for a parking spot. The traffic was atrocious. Finding an empty parking spot proved to be a challenge, but after several revolutions around the colossal lot I managed to grab one, receiving a through-the-glass lecture from an angry shopper in a Honda as payment.

I entered the mall intending to grab lunch, but found the food court even busier than the parking lot, so I walked around the mall until I felt conspicuous – I was really early – then went back to the car to pass the time. This was not a good idea. Other cars, which were looking for a spot, kept hovering around me, like buzzards circling a fresh kill. Finally, when the cars had stacked up three-deep on both sides, the drivers having given up circling, deciding there chances of getting a spot were better by participating in the intimidation ritual of the only guy in the lot still sitting in his car, I gave up and backed out. Why didn’t I just walk across the street to the bookstore? Let’s just say the street wasn’t designed for speeds under fifty miles per hour, let alone pedestrian traffic.

TwistedMystery

TwistedMystery

Pagan Research

Hello, everyone. For my new book, I'm looking for information related to pagan gods and goddesses. If anyone has any information, I'd appreciate hearing from you. Just email me at bob@bobavey.com

http://www.bobavey.com

I have some exciting news. I’ve renegotiated the rights to Twisted Perception, and I now have a new publisher. The book is being re-released by Deadly Niche Press, an imprint of AWOC Books, http://www.awocbooks.com and should be available under the new imprint by the time you receive this newsletter. Several people contacted me, saying they had tried to get the book, but found that it was unavailable. The distribution problems that caused this have now been resolved. The book can now be found in, or ordered from any bookstore, both on and offline. (ISBN: 0-937660-31-0) http://www.bobavey.com

On one of my recent excursions, I found myself driving along an old two-lane highway. Somehow I managed to get between a massive truck, carrying what looked like the next space shuttle, and it’s escort, which was complete with flapping flags, flashing lights, and a sign proclaiming; wide load. Okay, so I passed the big truck but couldn’t muster enough power from my mighty Neon to get around the escort in time to beat the oncoming traffic. There has to be a law against this, driving in the forbidden zone, violating the symbiotic relationship of tiny, flashing trucks and their slow-moving hosts. This situation lasted much longer than it should have. To make matters worse, the ostentatious escort slowly began to pick up speed. I guess my being on his tail made him nervous. I couldn’t help it. I was late for an appointment. You can probably guess what happened next. Soon my escort and I had left the wide-loaded behemoth behind. I was now the wide load. I got a lot of funny looks before I finally managed to get around that silly little truck.

I'm Back

http://www.bobavey.com

All right, I can’t resist. Last month, I’d arrived early for a reading I was to give at one of Tulsa’s libraries. It was cold outside, and I was sitting in my car, sipping on a cola. After a few pulls on the straw, however, the cup seemed to run dry. I shook it. There was plenty left, just a lot of ice in the way. No problem. I’d just shove the straw up and down a little to loosen things up. This is not a procedure that I’d recommend. I managed to shake things up, but in the process I poked a large hole in the bottom of the Styrofoam cup, and of course the contents, that being ice and diluted cola, dumped out, falling onto the first thing below it, that being me. Have you ever seen what a watered-down cola stain looks like on freshly laundered kakis? Let me tell you, it isn’t pretty. Not one to fall apart in the midst of danger, I dashed into the library and found the restroom. As luck would have it, the restroom was equipped with one of those wall-mounted blow-dryer things. Somehow I managed to get the wet portion of my pants up high enough to do a pretty good job of alleviating the stain. In fact, you had to look pretty close to tell anything had happened. I hoped no one would do that. A few minutes later, I was in a room with a bunch of wonderful ladies who called themselves, The Mystery Readers Roundtable. I read from my book and had a great time.

My publisher submitted my book to the Oklahoma Center for the Book for the Oklahoma Book Awards. Wish me luck. On January 14, 2006 I’ll be signing books at the Full Circle Bookstore in Oklahoma City from 3:00 to 5:00 p.m.; February 15, I have a cable TV interview in Arlington, TX. It’s called Metroplex Today, with Comcast Cable, but I don’t know the channel or anything; March 18, I’ll be speaking at the Oklahoma Mystery Writers, a writing Club that meets one month in Tulsa, and one month in Oklahoma City; and on March 25, I’ll be at the High Desert Crimes Book Fair in Sierra Vista, AZ.

You have permission to reprint this newsletter, forward to anyone who might be interested, or use in your newsletter or e-zine. The only requirement is the inclusion of the following footer:

The contents of this newsletter were written by Bob Avey, author of Twisted Perception. http://www.bobavey.com.

DVC and a bagel makes 3

I don't know about you, but I'm really getting tired of The Da Vinci Code, and all of the items spawned by the craze. Today I was standing in line at a grocery store, and there it was; on the cover of a magazine on the rack: Lose weight with the Da Vinci Code Diet. Discover the secret hidden in the pages of DVC for destroying fat.

For my next novel, I'm researching the dark side of paganism and dark Pagan Gods. If anyone out there has any good information on it, I'd like to hear from you. I might even put you in the novel, if the info is good enough. Contact me at bob@bobavey.com

A few times a day, while I’m at my day job, I walk the stairs for exercise. There are six flights with the last two, leading to the roof, existing for maintenance purposes. Not long ago I was involved in one of my little treks when I came upon a pair of shoes sticking out of the darkness of the final flight. The lights aren’t used there unless it’s maintenance time. And the shoes were not on the ground, as if someone was standing in them, but were upright as though the owner was lying down. As I drew closer, I saw that legs were indeed attached to the shoes. For a brief moment, I was panic stricken, wondering if I’d come upon a dead body. But it was just a person, a lady, sitting on the floor in the dark with her back against the cinder block wall. I didn’t ask. I just said, hello, and turned around and walked quickly away. I don’t know what she was wearing, but I’d bet it didn’t look very good after sitting on that dirty cement floor.

On the road... continued

This was around Christmas time. I'll get caught up one of these days.


With it being a new year, I thought I’d shake things up a bit and shift the emphasis from the perils of yours truly and meander across a few recent casual observations.

I’ve noticed a significant increase in the shiny-Christmas-deer-ornament population in the last few years. Not to be outdone, the subdivision where I live jumped on the bandwagon and acquired several of these artificial animals and placed them strategically near the entrances to the sub. I suspect the homeowners association acquired the lot at a bargain price, perhaps picking them up at a garage sale, for the little sparkling darlings looked a little off from the start – at least the ones stationed near the entrance that I use most often.

Not being merely statues, these blinking beauties laid claim to a rather awkward form of movement: the doe, being the hungrier of the two, would raise her head then lower it to the ground where she would munch a couple bites of grass before starting the process over again; the buck’s head rotated in constant vigil. These were no run of the mill plastic venison. As time passed, however, the pair’s motor skills began to deteriorate. By the time Christmas was near, it was almost painful to watch the poor deer in their gallant maintenance of their routine. The doe’s head, now stuck in the lowered position, could no longer reach a height of more than a couple inches, though she kept trying, which gave her the appearance of sadness, while the buck, having developed a rare neural disorder, twitched spastically. It wasn’t pretty.

Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, disaster struck. I believe it was the day after Christmas when I drove by to see the buck lying on his back, his four legs sticking in the air. But that wasn’t all. Perhaps someone could no longer take the ugly bump and grind of the mechanical pair and decided to take matters into their own hands. Not only was the buck on his back, but he’d also been decapitated, his twitching head writhing beside him. This alone would have been hard to take, but the sight of the buck’s heartbroken mate, weeping by his side, was just too much.

Read chapter one of Twisted Perception at http://www.bobavey.com

By the way, you have permission to reprint, or use the contents of this blog, or any part thereof. The only restriction is the inclusion of my name and website with the material. Thanks,

Bob Avey

Hello, everyone. If you would like to register for a free copy of Twisted Perception, please go to my website at http://www.bobavey.com.

That doesn’t sound so bad you say? Okay I’ll quickly throw in the good stuff. During the two-week period that acted as the end of July, the air conditioner in my house decided to quit working on the hottest day in Oklahoma history and all the people who attend to such matters were already doing so and couldn’t get to my house for two days. Don’t ask. My mother decided to pay us a visit, and while she was here the a/c did its disappearing act, we went outside to sit on the porch swing, and the darned contraption fell, giving me and mom quite a scare, not to mention spilling hot coffee on my mom. I had to run to the drug store and get some burn medication. To top all that off, my wife caught some sort of viral bronchial infection and gave it to me and my poor mom.

Did I mention things got better? Since then, I’ve had several wonderful radio interviews with hosts that actually read my book and loved it, and numerous successful book signings at bookstores around Broken Arrow and Tulsa. Okay I’ll mention a couple. If you are ever in Broken Arrow and want to peruse the shelves of a good bookstore, go to The Book Place at 101st and Elm. While in Tulsa, you will want to visit Steve’s Books and Magazines, an absolutely wonderful bookstore that’s been in operation since the 1950’s.

Coming up in the near future, I will be conducting a free on-line tele-seminar on September 28 at 7:00 PM Central Time. If you want to learn about writing mysteries, or know of someone who does, go to http://www.bookgrapevine.com. On the right side of the screen, there will be a link with my name on it. Click on this and register. You will get directions on what to do. Everything is free.

On September 30 through October 2, I’ll be at the Great Manhattan Mystery Conclave in Manhattan Kansas; October 11 at 1:00 PM I’ll be doing a radio interview with KTFK 1340 AM in Sand Springs, OK; October 13 from 1:00 to 3:00 PM, I’ll be giving a program and signing books at the Newcastle Library in Newcastle, OK; and October 28 through 30, I’ll be at the Cape Fear Crime Festival in Wilmington, North Carolina.

Until next time…