Friday, June 9, 2017

David Tienter ~ an interview and his novel ~ Hidden Death

David Tienter

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TITLE: Hidden Death
RELEASE DATE: January 20, 2017
AUTHOR: David Tienter
ISBN: 978-1542537384
IMPRINT: Black Hawk

KEYWORDS: death, murder, suspense, thriller, killer, mystery, adventure

CATEGORIES: Suspense/Thriller

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.

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.

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.


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.


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


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.


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.


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