I
AM PLEASED TO WELCOME AUTHOR
David
Tienter
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
TITLE: Hidden
Death
RELEASE DATE:
January 20, 2017
AUTHOR: David
Tienter
PAGE COUNT: 186
ISBN: 978-1542537384
IMPRINT: Black Hawk
KEYWORDS: death,
murder, suspense, thriller, killer, mystery, adventure
CATEGORIES:
Suspense/Thriller
ONE LINER:
Life has always
been quiet in the small rural town of Tindale. But there is a hidden evil
beginning to show its strength and malice.
SYNOPSIS:
Life has always
been quiet in the small rural town of Tindale. But there is a hidden evil
beginning to show its strength and malice. One secret is revealed and soon the
death toll mounts.
Matt Smith must
uncover the secret ring of criminals to stop the killing and to keep all he
knows and loves safe.
This is the third
in the Matt Smith Mystery series.
AUTHOR BIO:
David is a former U.S. Navy Corpsman who spent time attached to the
Marine Corps. He earned a Bachelor's degree from Northwestern College and
Master's degree from Western Illinois University. He currently resides in Port
St. Lucie, Florida, with his wife and three dogs.
BANTER
– STUFF ABOUT YOU
Q: Are you a
morning person, or a midnight candle burner?
A: I write late at night, on my patio, listening
to the sounds of the pool and the warm summer breezes blowing off the ocean. No phone, no electronics, I like battling the
empty sheet of paper alone listening to nature.
Q: Tell me one
thing about each of the four seasons you like. It can be anything.
A: Winter =I love winter. Sitting on the patio, I call my friends up
north during a snow storm or when the temperature dips to three degrees below
bitter. It a great time to tell them
about my golf score the day before.
Spring =My trees all blossom and there is a special freshness
to the air that seems energize everyone.
Summer =I travel by RV during the
summer. My wife and I visit the places
I’m writing about and helps give my novels more authenticity. I love the mountains and the deserts. And that building over there, that’s the
building Doc. Holliday had his first dental office.
Fall = All the notes and memories of
summer are arranged on my table. It’s
time to start the brain working to make my characters come to life. Harry could be just starting the Appalachian
Trail, and I have to warn everyone he is coming.
Q: When you think
of a garden, do you picture vegetables or flowers?
A: I am a flower
guy. Love my orchids and spend several
hours tending their needs daily. They
are stubborn and fussy, but the blossoms, when they do arrive make life seem so
wonderful.
Q: Bedtime,
relaxing so you can sleep sounds. Is your preference, white noise, TV, soft
music, ocean waves, forest or meadow sounds, babbling brook, or something else?
A: My
night time relaxing mode is strange. I
have collected the works of the Battling Bickersons. The dialogue between Francis Langford and Don
Ameche is so fast and funny that that it clears my mind. John and Blanche are fabulous.
BOOKS
– ABOUT THE CRAFT
Q: Do you always
know how a story will end when you begin writing it?
A: I have
everything well planned and I believe I know how it will all end. Then the characters begin to rebel and force
strange actions with incredible results.
In my last book, one character pulled out two teeth and had tiger tusks
implanted. I guess I’m just a poor
parent who lets his creations run wild.
Q: Have your
characters ever taken the story in a different direction than you had
originally planned? Do you have a for instance, for us?
A: Yes, my characters are out of control. Matt Smith, in Hidden Death, is a professional gambler who gets pulled into
rescuing a pit bull he had bet on. By
Novels end, he was rescuing dogs and abandoned children. The heartless crusty old loner turns into
pretty nice guy with a great lady.
Q: Generally
speaking, is your work based on real life experience? If it's not would you
want it to be?
A: Most of my
work has been based on things that have happened to me. Of course, I need to exaggerate and expand
everything, but if it doesn’t read realistically, the reader will see through
the spider webs.
Q: Do you like to
read the genre that you write?
A:I write
mysteries, thrillers, westerns and sci/fi.
I love them all.
An avid reader
even as a child, I still read at least two books daily, and one of my best
friends owns a comic store. I love
letting my imagination run wild and where else does anyone ever get the total
satisfaction experienced when a fan tells you how much he loves your work
BOOKS
- NOW LETS PROMOTE – STRUT YOUR STUFF
Q: What are you
working on now? Would you like to share anything about it?
A:I am trying to
write a sci/fi novel. I had so much fun
making stuff up that the first 20,000 words practically jumped onto the page.
Q: Do you have a
new book coming out soon? Tell us about it.
A: INVASION EARTH will be sent to my Publisher
this week. Everything is finished except
for some art work.
Q: How can we
find you? Do you have a web page, FaceBook page or any buy links?
A:
Yes, I do.
AUTHOR LINKS:
Excerpt:
At times, the big empty closes in too hard on me. The pressure pushes in as self is squeezed out, tiny ethereal pieces of Matt drift off into the mist. Through the years I’ve learned what helps me battle back against it, and now I’m surrounded by shelves of books with their cumulative wisdom and electronic distracters with their moronic life sucking issue. Still, tonight nothing helps and my overriding thought is: I’ve got nothing down on anything. I’m dying in here with all of life out there. Action. I need action on something. I’m forced to move from soft overstuffed to hard bar stool.
It’s the overpowering pain of my reality crashing hard against a stone wall, built by the knowledge of man over the last 5000 years. I feel I have read every book, weighed every argument, but the lines all stretch to the same tedious ending, an argument which I cannot solve, and I cannot snap those lines or even stretch them a tad without destroying some of my tenuous grip on life. No matter the cost, my empty needs a bet down now. It has become overpowering. Fuck it, fuck it, I got to go. Three long months I’ve held it in control, and for three months it’s been building power. Enough, I absolutely know I can dodge one more bullet. I slip on my shoes, throw on a jacket, and I’m off to my local bar.
The Blue Bayou is the place I usually go. Great name for a dark, dumpy bar with no jukebox, that smells of rancid sweat and stale beer. The main thing that keeps it open is the in-house bookie. Commuters contribute to some to its upkeep between five and seven. They stop in for a quick two dollar pop of whiskey with a short glass of beer, to keep them fired for the ride home. After that, it’s drunks, panhandlers who got ahead a couple of bucks, gamblers, and assorted strange losers who make up the lower layer of society in downtown Chicago. It has a stained wooden, beat-up bar, about ten yards long. A yellowing, cracked mirror covers the wall behind the bar. There are three cheesy little tables, each with four wooden chairs and fifteen stools, covered with cracked green plastic, pushed tight against the bar.
On the stool next to me tonight sits Ottis, a man who has solved his problems , slipped his burden, and found a way to say that which has to be said, without the disapproval of the world. He screams, grimaces, mouths, and whispers the deepest secrets of his being to his drink. The first couple of times I saw him, he freaked me out; now he’s kind of a fixture.
He seems startled when I ask, “How’s things tonight, Ottis?” He jerks back, eyes wide. Looks at me without comprehension, then regains his composure, turns, and again pours forth his silent lament to his as yet untouched drink. I’ve watched Ottis over the last five years and have never heard a sound issue from his lips to another person nor have I ever seen him finish a drink.
When Larry comes over, I order three shots of gin, three bottles of beer, and tell Larry to put a K on the Knicks tonight. Larry turns to look at the very large black man sitting at the right end of the bar.
“You been gone some time now, Matt. You sure you want to start the merry-go-round again?”
“Damn, T-Bo, you turning social worker? You know I always pay.”
“Take it,” nods T-Bo to Larry. “Some people learn hard. Just be in to pay up tomorrow, by two.”
“Pay up by two, pay up by two. You ever think about learning a new song?”
“Don’t be jacking your jaws at me, Matt. Best remember this be b’iness, we not friends.”
Gambler’s rule number one: don’t piss off your bookie. I turn back to my drinks, line them up neatly in a soldierly formation. I used to order scotch shots but scotch seems too ruggedly masculine of a drink, and it leaves no hangover in the morning. With no suffering later, this would indeed be a totally futile voyage into self-destruction. After all, we have to pay something for the sins we have.
It’s the overpowering pain of my reality crashing hard against a stone wall, built by the knowledge of man over the last 5000 years. I feel I have read every book, weighed every argument, but the lines all stretch to the same tedious ending, an argument which I cannot solve, and I cannot snap those lines or even stretch them a tad without destroying some of my tenuous grip on life. No matter the cost, my empty needs a bet down now. It has become overpowering. Fuck it, fuck it, I got to go. Three long months I’ve held it in control, and for three months it’s been building power. Enough, I absolutely know I can dodge one more bullet. I slip on my shoes, throw on a jacket, and I’m off to my local bar.
The Blue Bayou is the place I usually go. Great name for a dark, dumpy bar with no jukebox, that smells of rancid sweat and stale beer. The main thing that keeps it open is the in-house bookie. Commuters contribute to some to its upkeep between five and seven. They stop in for a quick two dollar pop of whiskey with a short glass of beer, to keep them fired for the ride home. After that, it’s drunks, panhandlers who got ahead a couple of bucks, gamblers, and assorted strange losers who make up the lower layer of society in downtown Chicago. It has a stained wooden, beat-up bar, about ten yards long. A yellowing, cracked mirror covers the wall behind the bar. There are three cheesy little tables, each with four wooden chairs and fifteen stools, covered with cracked green plastic, pushed tight against the bar.
On the stool next to me tonight sits Ottis, a man who has solved his problems , slipped his burden, and found a way to say that which has to be said, without the disapproval of the world. He screams, grimaces, mouths, and whispers the deepest secrets of his being to his drink. The first couple of times I saw him, he freaked me out; now he’s kind of a fixture.
He seems startled when I ask, “How’s things tonight, Ottis?” He jerks back, eyes wide. Looks at me without comprehension, then regains his composure, turns, and again pours forth his silent lament to his as yet untouched drink. I’ve watched Ottis over the last five years and have never heard a sound issue from his lips to another person nor have I ever seen him finish a drink.
When Larry comes over, I order three shots of gin, three bottles of beer, and tell Larry to put a K on the Knicks tonight. Larry turns to look at the very large black man sitting at the right end of the bar.
“You been gone some time now, Matt. You sure you want to start the merry-go-round again?”
“Damn, T-Bo, you turning social worker? You know I always pay.”
“Take it,” nods T-Bo to Larry. “Some people learn hard. Just be in to pay up tomorrow, by two.”
“Pay up by two, pay up by two. You ever think about learning a new song?”
“Don’t be jacking your jaws at me, Matt. Best remember this be b’iness, we not friends.”
Gambler’s rule number one: don’t piss off your bookie. I turn back to my drinks, line them up neatly in a soldierly formation. I used to order scotch shots but scotch seems too ruggedly masculine of a drink, and it leaves no hangover in the morning. With no suffering later, this would indeed be a totally futile voyage into self-destruction. After all, we have to pay something for the sins we have.
BUY LINKS:
AMAZON US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01N5QNM7R AMAZON UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01N5QNM7R
AMAZON CA: https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B01N5QNM7R
CREATESPACE: https://www.createspace.com/6860393
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