The Launch

An excerpt from the paperback launch of T E Taylor’s Revolution Day on Monday.

Tim's Blog

Well, the launch of the paperback of Revolution Day on Monday went quite well in the end after a bit of a chaotic start.

I’d prepared a slide show, with pictures of a bunch of historical dictators whose lives and careers inspired my fictional character Carlos Almanzor, but the person who was supposed to be sorting the projector didn’t turn up. In my introduction, I had to tell people to imagine a picture of Colonel Gaddafi or whoever instead.  But at least this got me a few laughs, and the readings seemed to go down very well – with the considerable help of my wife Rosa and friends Mary and Sue, who shared between them the excerpts that were in the voice of Carlos’ estranged wife Juanita.  There were lots of questions afterwards, and I sold quite a few books.  My hosts, the Friends of Holmfirth Library and Tourist Information Centre, laid on plenty of wine and other…

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Dictators in History: Muammar Gaddafi

Colonel Gaddafi – whose fall helped inspire T E Taylor’s novel Revolution Day

Tim's Blog

In anticipation of the launch of the paperback edition of Revolution Day on 24 April (7.30 pm in Holmfirth Library – the e-book is also available today only for 99p/99c) – I thought it was time to do another in my occasional series of posts discussing the careers of historical dictators and comparing them to Carlos Almanzor, the ageing dictator in my novel. Today I’m looking at Libya’s Colonel Gaddafi, whose fall, together with that of other dictators during the ‘Arab Spring’ was a major influence on the novel.

Gaddafi was born in 1942 in Sirte to a poor Bedouin family. In 1963 he entered the Libyan Royal Military Academy and later spent 9 months in Britain during his training. As he rose through the ranks he founded the clandestine Free Officers movement, influenced by the Arab Nationalism of Gamal Abdel Nasser in neighbouring Egypt.

In 1969 the Free Officers took advantage of the…

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Horror Bites Challenge #6

Lizzie Koch

IMG_3526.jpg (2448×3264)Josh raked a frustrated hand through his hair, watching Felicity shovel in a handful of chocolates. “You lose the weight, feel good then stuff your face. Will anything stop you?”

     She rolled her eyes. It was worth going the whole week without, just to taste the delectable little spheres of chocolate as they melted in her mouth, titillating her tastebuds. Closing her eyes she leant back on the sofa and let out a small moan. Josh slammed the door behind him.

    The following week, sitting on the sofa with her bag of chocolates ready, Felicity studied the coffee table. There was something different.

  Josh stood against the doorframe, eyeing Felicity. “My treat as an apology.”

   “What are these?” She pointed to the transparent spheres nestled on top of darker ones.

    He shrugged. “Came with the jar. I thought if I buried your chocolate underneath, it would take you…

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The Right Way to Write?

Kathy Sharp

Is there a ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ way to write a novel? Some people say there is. Well, a lot of people say there is. And one of the things we are told is that we should write the whole first draft without stopping to edit. At all. The received wisdom here is that you need to ‘tell yourself the story’ – that pausing to edit as you go along is fruitless, since you may have to change the beginning of the tale anyway. I can perfectly see the logic of this approach. It adds a helpful elasticity to the writing process, which, goodness knows, is difficult enough however you go about it. Write the whole story, then go back and attend to the tidying and titivating of plot and prose. Makes perfect sense. It just doesn’t work for me.

The voice of duty says, “Do as you’re told. Everybody else…

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The Long Way Back

Here’s a little ghost story from T E Taylor

Tim's Blog

I’ve been flipping back through my notebooks, looking for pieces that might be worth sharing on this blog. Here’s a little ghost story I wrote a while back at Slaithwaite Writers. Hope you enjoy it ….

I didn’t sense a change at first. There was a closing, then immediately an opening of eyes. I was in the same room, surrounded by the same people. I felt, if anything, much better: fresh, free from pain, unburdened of the toils of my body.

“I think I’m on the mend,” I told them – or tried to. Their faces made no response to my voice. Their eyes did not look at mine, but downwards. I followed their gaze to a motionless body – MY body. The eyes were still closed.

“He’s gone,” the doctor said. My mother began to weep – a tortured, despairing howl that filled the room. I tried to reassure her:…

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