…SPECIAL PROMOTION… LOWER PRICE…
To encourage sales and to gain customer reviews (which are crucial for success) I have discounted Playing Out: Swings and Roundabouts to the lowest price possible.
Kind regards PDL.
Books Store Links:
http://amzn.to/2aQhcaV (usa kindle)
amzn.to/2aQnuo4 (uk kindle)
Also here is a couple of adverts.
My intentions when writing Paulyanna International Rent-boy were to share the somewhat unorthodox adventures of the main character, Paul.
I wanted to deliver an authentic voice, to reshuffle the mindset of a mainstream audience. To lay bare a known yet often misunderstood existence. To raise a qualified voice that has experienced the prejudices and assumptions of society. A soul that has walked the miles.
Dwelling on the past serves no purpose, yet it would be remiss not to outline childhood events that have left their mark on Paul’s psyche. Inadvertently I have reenforced some stereotypes because real life tends to. It is no revelation to discover the neglected and misused in the gutter. To witness uneducated waifs straying along pathways of intoxicants. The percentage of sexually abused amongst street walkers is somewhere in the high 90s. Paul’s story is typical in that sense.
Yet Paul is an ordinary individual, with goals and aspirations no different to yours. A place to call home, financial security and to be loved.
Whilst writing I attempted to develop the character’s personality as events influence his growth. Sculpting a finished product worthy of the public’s admiration rather than its scorn. To present a slut with guts, and half a brain. To reveal the guarded emotions locked behind those glazed expressions.
There are many worldwide locations portrayed along the lines of an alternative tourist guide. Hence the tongue-in-cheek title, Paulyanna International Rent-boy a morph of international playboy. Topical events, name dropping and historical facts are sprinkled within to add flavour and to cement, by association the existence Paul in the real world.
Before reaching his final destination you will witness flaws galore and ridiculous predicaments. You will not see contrition. No embellishments and very little heart-string manipulation. There are a quite a few running themes amongst the pages, optimism, faith, music, travel, love, writing and vomiting. 😉
I truly expect many of you will enjoy this refreshingly honest life-journal.
Thank you for your interest, kind regards PDL.
HERE ARE BOOKSTORE LINKS…
Paulyanna International Rent-boy is a first person account of an impetuous working-class young lad with aspirations.
Thought I’d brave another sample share… It is very much a work in progress (So.. go easy on it.) It hasn’t seen an editor.
Carole and Paul approach the door with apprehension, afraid one of her teenage sons will answer it and chase them away like beggars. It has never happened, yet the fear is always present. As they creep along her gravel driveway they huddled together like worried primates. A debate as to whom should press the door-bell, initiates a Hokey Cokey dance. In, out, in, out they step about the front door porch. Today it is Carole who is first to shake off her qualms and the inevitable happens. Ding-dong the doorbell song echoes it’s hollow tune. Waiting patiently for a moment they guess that perhaps she hasn’t heard it, so try again. Speculating that maybe Mrs McGaveridge is outside in the back garden hanging out her laundry. This convinces them to press a third and then a forth time. With no response the dejected pair decide to try again later. Paul suggests that they wait over the nearby Rec, a playground area beside the graveyard. The Rec is limited when it comes to entertaining children. It has no swings, no slide and no see-saw. It does have two concrete playground tunnels. One reeks of urine the other is strewn with fleshy pages of top-shelf magazines and glass from broken bottles. The jungle-gym climbing frame does manage to occupy the pair for almost ten minutes as they swing about apelike. Moving on, they look ridiculously awkward ambling about the play area. Both hoping their twisted gait of crossed fingers, arms, legs and eyes though not quite toes will bring them some good luck. It isn’t long before these monkeying antics lead them to a crumbling corner of the playground’s surrounding wall. With assistance from a sturdy branch, they hoist themselves up, over and into the graveyard.
Careful not to tread on anybody’s grave they weave around the enormous stone crosses and statues, peering up into the eyes of winged angels hoping to witness them blink. They read the headstones of beloved wives, fathers, daughters and sons. Discover tiny new-born graves and old moss covered relics. Some are so ancient it is difficult to decipher the faded markings.
“Arr… look, this one’s got no flowers” Carole gazes down to an empty vessel on a neglected grave.
“Yeah… and that one there’s got loads” Paul points to a well maintained plot with potted plants and green glass fragments. Sympathy strikes them both and they begin a redistribution of what Paul interprets as wealth.
“No… you must only share the plastic ones.” Paul informs his sister as she reaches out to a fresh bloom.
“Yeah, cause them ones last longer doe they?” Carole adds.
“No…It ay stealin’ cause them only plastic and we’m just moving um.” This makes perfect sense to Paul who guesses that God would also agree that these faded flowers have long served their purpose and therefore it is all right to share. They continue the mission with a sense righteous holiness, selecting, thanking and placing the blooms with words of endearment upon lonely resting places. Carole spies a sunken grave, cracked open with a gaping hole. The broken headstone bearing their own family name. Freaked out they run from the graveyard with muted terror. Only when they are back beyond the broken wall do they release their gasps. Emitting something between a laugh and a scream they nervously hug one another. Carole suggests that perhaps it belongs to their real dad and at home sits an impostor. Properly spooked a seed of doubt takes root.
Below is a sample of my work in progress, please be kind. It hasn’t seen an editor.
Yuletide, a magical event full of miracles that temporarily wash-away Paul’s hardships in it’s yearly ebb and flow. Christmas gifts, his reward for saying his prayers every night. So significant to him that he measures the passing of his childhood from one festive season to the next. Paul absolutely loathes boxing day. To the disappointed child, that still didn’t receive an etch-a-sketch, counting the days till next Christmas seems like the equivalent of waiting two lifetimes. Presently that wait is almost over, plus the fee to attend this year’s school party has been waived and Paul lines up between Stuart and Bobby eager to enter the school dining hall. Under instruction to remain calm and quiet the class troop along in single file.
Stretching the width of the hall, three rows of trestle tables, one for each class has been laid out with coloured napkins and Christmas crackers, paper plates and plastic glasses. Interspersed all the way along the table’s centre, resembling large coloured lightbulbs, glass jugs of orange squash and lemon cordial further brighten the merry scene. It is a weak façade this calm. Hushed whispers soon bubble into boisterous babble about cake. Paul’s stomach groans and his mouth waters at the very thought of it. Greedy eyes bulge in search of delights not yet placed on the tables. Paul can hardly contain himself. Breaking ranks some children surge forward and a melee to secure places next to specific friends ensues. Bobby, Stuart and Paul sit alongside one another.
Delivering their array of delectable delights, the remaining surface of the table is soon covered. A parade of jolly dinner-ladies, festively bedecked with tinsel bowers and themed aprons, convey plate after plate of party foods. Mini-sausages skewered on cocktail-sticks in one hand and chunks of pineapple with cheese in the other. Bowls of salted crisps and trays of sausage rolls. The flow continues. They proceed to lay down various platters of sandwiches, egg and cress, meat paste, boiled ham and cheddar cheese. The ravenous kids begin to fidget, Paul more than most. Lastly, but by no means least the cupcakes arrive. Sponge fancies in paper cases decorated with ivory icing and multicoloured sprinkles, diamond sugared jellies and chocolate drop smarties. Barring the watercress and potato crisps there’s not a vegetable in sight.
With napkins spread across on their knees Bobby, Stuart and Paul, as well as a few others, on the advice of older siblings, swipe more than they can possibly eat. Concealing their hoard on laps beneath the table. Some plates are emptied before grace has been said and at the furthest end of the table Martin Murphy, is loudly chastised for being a greedy selfish child. This provokes a teetering mass of crumbling cakes to be returned in haste. Prayers are recited by the newly ordained Canon Westward from St. Jude’s church and following an enthusiastic Amen, crackers are pulled, tissue-paper hats rustle and rip, and the feasting begins. Paul furtively reloads his napkin with goodies to take home. As time progresses he scoffs a few sandwiches, a good portion of crisps and lots and lots of cakes. He also polishes off two bowls of lime jelly. Bloated and slightly nauseous, Christmas for Paul has most definitely begun.
By the time spring had arrived Christmas, as well as most of the toys were a distant memory. Carole’s space-hopper was the first casualty. It found a piece of broken glass and hissed itself flat. Various key pieces vanished from Jason’s Mousetrap game, the glass marbles from his Ker-Plunk found various holes in the floorboards or were lost when playing for keeps in playground marble competitions.
Darren somehow misplaced the bucket and eventually the spring from his Buckaroo mule. The only gift survivor was Mark’s record player stroke sideboard, which was set up in the living room. Carole and Paul made a makeshift stage behind the curtains in the recess of the bay window. It wasn’t a very impressive stage, in fact it was barely big enough for the both of them. An old kitchen worktop found underneath the Pigeon Pen raised off the floor using house-bricks.
They would pop on The Best Of Top of the Pops ’71 then dash behind the curtains. When the music sounded, they swiped open the drapes. With a dramatic whoosh the metal wheels slid along the curtain-rails and with a questionable flourish the two of them elbowed and sang along to songs like, Knock Three Times and one of their favourites, Chirpy Chirpy Cheep Cheep. The irony of singing where’s your momma gone was not lost on the motherless children who seemed to relish teasing one another as they wiggled their hips and wagged their fingers.
(1st draft of my work in progress) I remember desperately searching the house looking for this album, I must have been around 6 at the time. I wanted to hear I’m still waiting by Diana Ross.
Diana Ross gets a whole chapter in my first book. http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_1?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=Paulyanna
Today Paulyanna International Rent-boy got it’s first ONE STAR review. Now I’m saying nothing *cough cough* PHOBIC, each to their own I suppose and I’m sure Paulyanna doesn’t suit everyone.
I could be bitter BUT I’m not, I’m quite chuffed really. I was in good company, William Shakespeare & Stephen Fry.
My book was included in a list of around 250… (I’m still NOT moaning)
I Am Malala: The Girl Who Stood Up for Education and Was Shot by the Taliban
In the Land of Invisible Women: A Female Doctor’s Journey in the Saudi Kingdom
Gay Men, Lesbians and the Law
Were also on the list…
There is consistent theme to all these 1 star ratings this (?erm?) added to their Goodreads account. I did have a good chuckle checking out the list… Why Homosexual marriage is wrong: got five stars. 😉
Anyway I decided to switch it around… Any Publicity and all that. So any sale I get I can claim as a direct result.
Oppps almost forgot, I also got a real 5 star review on Amazon. 🙂
HERE ARE BOOKSTORE LINKS…
Barney highly recommends Paulyanna International Rent-boy where the word NAME can be found many times.