Free Kindle copy of The Man Who Sold His Son

The Man Who Sold His Son is Free on kindle from 30th June – 4th July, 2014. You can find Mark and his books (including the Lanarkshire Strays series) at Amazon UK and Amazon US

The following excerpt is from The Man Who Sold His Son by Mark Wilson. Copyright, 2014 Paddy’s Daddy Publishing Ltd

Garth felt an impulse rack his little body, sending another spasm of intense pain through his neurones. He felt the pain travel along his chest and down his spine. Unable to respond to it, the ten-year old merely observed as it travelled to his toes and left as quickly as it had come. He felt a pang of regret as it left him. He experienced so little of anything physically these days; these spikes of intense pain were becoming old and welcome friends. They reminded him he still existed. The only other things that tied him to the world were the voices he heard. People moving around his bed, talking, discussing him. Wondering aloud if he could hear them. He certainly couldn’t respond.

Doctors, nurses, his father; they discussed his future, or lack of it. They argued over treatment, whether to continue or if the time had come to turn off the motors and pumps that kept his lings inflating and his blood circulating. Part of him wished they would. Part of him was ready to go somewhere else. Not yet, though. He had his voice to cling to. His father’s voice.

 

I think it’s time to consider the removal of the viral particles from his spinal fluid.”

“That’s a very risky option at this stage. He’s unlikely to live through the procedure.”

“He’s not living now. This isn’t life. He hasn’t breathed alone in months. There are no detectable traces of brain activity. It’s over; it’s time to switch these machines off… With a sample of the virus, directly from his spinal fluid, we could make huge progress in understanding this virus. Maybe prevent what’s happened to Garth from happening to anyone else.”

“I still think that if we can give him more time, we should.”

“He’s been this way for eighteen months. I’m sorry to be so blunt, but Garth’s condition is unlikely to change. This is a totally unique, totally new virus we’re dealing with. It has properties we’ve never seen before in a pathogen of this type.”

“I know. I just wish there’s more we could do, other than keep him comfortable.”

“This young man’s contribution will change the lives of millions, maybe billions. This is the right thing.”

 

Garth Listened to them, smiling to himself. It’ll be over soon. At least I’ll get to help other kids. Other people. He took his mind elsewhere, to happier times, years before, when Mum was still alive. Before her illness, before dad lost himself in his work and put Garth into a boarding school. Garth watched images of his mother and father flashing across his mind’s-eye. Happy smiles, hot chocolate, racing through long grass in meadows filled with summer flowers and love. His family.

Would mum be waiting for him? Would his dad be alright alone, or would his son’s passing make him even more detached, more fixated on his business. He couldn’t know.

 

He was being moved along a corridor. The lights overhead flashed through his eyelids. Suddenly the gurney stopped and the metallic sounds of surgery began. A mask was pressed to his mouth. He tasted rubber and unfamiliar gasses. Garth focused on the voices again.

 

“How long until he goes under?”

“Seconds. He’s probably under already. If you’ve anything to say, do it now. He won’t hear you, but if you don’t, you’ll regret saying nothing to him before he’s totally gone.”

 

Garth felt a warm fluid flow over him. All pain was gone. He could move again, he could think again. He was free of the dulling effect of the morphine. He was free, period. As he moved into his mother’s arms he heard his father’s voice whispering into the ear of what used to be his body.

 

“You’re going to make me a lot of money. Goodbye, Son.”

 

————————–

 

 

“I’m terribly sorry, Mr Ennis. He’s gone.”

“Right. Get me that sample, Doctor. I’ve got work to do.”

 

The veteran surgeon pushed back his dislike for the man beside him and made the incision into Garth Ennis’ spine. Ten minutes later he watched, sickened, as the businessman’s eyes brightened when he handed him the small vial of spinal fluid.

“He could’ve had another few months, you know.”

Ennis held the vial of his son’s fluid up to the light and stared into it.

“My son’s contributed more to medicine with this sample than you have in your entire little career, Doctor. This…” Ennis held the vial up for him. “This, will change the world.”

The surgeon bored holes into Ennis with his eyes. He’d made allowances for Ennis, these last few months. He’d ignored the man’s clinical manner, his coldness towards the comatose boy. At times it had felt like he’d been protecting the boy from his own father. Since succumbing to the virus, this new virus, and slipping into his vegetative state, Garth had lain in the same bed, in the same room, in his care. Garth’s father visited every day, but said nothing to the boy. He didn’t kiss or hold him. He barely looked at the boy’s face. Gavin Ennis would just sit there for hours, tapping away at his handheld computer; working. Making plans for the genome of the virus that was killing his son.

The surgeon made excuses for Ennis’ demeanour. He knew the family history well. Ennis’ wife had died from meningitis three years back. His small business was in trouble. Having created synthetic gametes that nobody wanted, Ennis Company looked to be going into liquidation. Simply, no-one wanted to have children conceived using synthetic sperm. Ennis had expected single, career women who’d left it too late or couldn’t find a partner to jump at the chance. Or married gay couples, but there just wasn’t the interest. People had chosen to use the DNA of a stranger or relative rather than Ennis’, lab creations.

The man was on his knees. Dead wife so young, his son dying so very young. The surgeon had found plenty of reasons to excuse Ennis’ behaviour, until now. The callousness of Ennis’ actions today clawed at the surgeon’s conscience. He felt a fool for having made allowances for this man, who had effectively used his dead son for profit.

Injecting all the venom he could muster into his voice, the surgeon spat out,

“You sold out your son to get it. I hope it was worth it.”

Ennis had already turned and begun to walk towards the exit.

The surgeon headed in the opposite direction, his next task, the disposal of little Garth Ennis’ remains.

 

End of Excerpt

The Man Who Sold His Son is Free on kindle from 30th June – 4th July, 2014. You can find Mark and his books (including the Lanarkshire Strays series) at Amazon UK and Amazon US

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The Man Who Sold His Son – Foreword by Ryan Bracha

My fifth novel, The Man Who Sold His Son is part of the Lanarkshire Strays series and will be available on June 30th, 2014. With the upcoming release in mind I figured that I’d make a pest of myself by asking my favourite Indie-author for his input in the form of a foreword. Enjoy

FOREWORD:

I love reading. I love reading Mark Wilson’s books. I hate Mark Wilson. I’ll tell you why.

He struts confidently around various genres that I just wouldn’t ever pick up, he casts his dirty little spell over them, and he leaves me wondering how the hell he managed to make me enjoy them. But enjoy them I do, and I hate him for it. dEaDINBURGH, for example, a Young Adult tale of the undead terrorising a city. He builds his outlandish and bizarre world that- for me -will never be a likely reality, but by simply creating sturdy and believable relationships, and without pandering to convention, he turns it into something completely different. Or Naebody’s Hero, a superhero story, that focuses not on the talents and powers that his protagonist has, but on how it hinders his ability to form and keep meaningful relationships. And this, The Man Who Sold His Son, an intricate and educated piece of speculative fiction set forty years from now, about how a virus has all but killed off male fertility. About how synthetic sperm is the chosen method of fertilising women’s eggs. About how people not borne of this method are cast out of conventional society simply for being free thinkers. And about how, after a chance encounter, a man must become the sole guinea pig for a global corporation run by a man who, indeed, sold his son, so that he can save his own.
But guess what? It’s all just another extremely well thought out back drop for Mark Wilson to create another series of incredibly powerful relationships, and emotional set pieces, and it works a treat.

​Wilson’s standout strength in all of his books is his capacity for painting the raw and true emotion that runs between two people who love each other. Whether it’s between two naïve and young people first branching out into the world of dating, or if it’s the love between two best friends who, no matter how bad things get, will always be there for one another. He does it faultlessly. What he does best of all, however, is the paternal bond between male relatives, and The Man Who Sold His Son gives him the ideal foil to do just that, in abundance.

​From the intimate and tender moments between Alex and his son Tommy as their connection grows in the midst of Alex’ wife’s addiction to mind bending substances, to Tommy’s natural love of his great grandfather, Tom, the protagonist from Wilson’s debut novel Bobby’s Boy. Not only does he create, and maintain these relationships, but he takes it up another level when he masterfully sets these against the cold and heartless character, Gavin Ennis, who in the very first few pages chooses to switch off his son’s life support machine in the pursuit of his fortune.

​So again, I’ll tell you. I hate Mark Wilson. I hate his stupid face, and I hate his stupid bald head. But most of all, I hate that he manages to turn round my opinions of the genres he chooses to write with fantastic aplomb every single time. ​
​- Ryan Bracha, June 2014

You can find Ryan and his books at Amazon, US and UK

The Man Who Sold His Son is due for publication by Paddy’s Daddy Publishing on June 30th, 2014
You can find Mark Wilson and his books at Amazon, US and UK

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Five free books from the PDP Catalogue

Grab yourself five FREE kindle books from Paddy’s Daddy Publishing’s catalogue. On promotion from 20th November 2013 until the 22nd November 2013. We hope you enjoy the novels and consider leaving reviews once you’ve completed them.

Amazon US:

Amazon UK:

Amazon Ca:

Amazon Au:

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The Banjo String Snapped but The Band Played On by Ryan Bracha – Review

Ryan never fails to entertain and inspire.

I always look forward to new story from Ryan Bracha. Very few new and even fewer Indie-writers have the imagination Bracha possesses or the guts to tell a story uncompromisingly. Most new writers find a preferred writing style (narrative, viewpoint etc) and stick with it; Ryan has absolutely no fear and uses many engaging writng styles. John Niven is a standout at this as were Chris Brookmyre and Irvine Welsh early in their careers. Ryan has a very Scottish feel to his writing, in that the characters and situations he creates are invariably entertaining, challenging, complex often brutally exposed and often funny as hell.

Awaiting a Bracha publication is comparable to what Monday mornings (new release day, pre-downloads) were like for a long-term music fan. I don’t get quite the same satisfaction ‘ripping open’ a Bracha book as I did flicking through 45s and later CDs, but it’s close enough to that excitement for now.

With The Banjo String Snapped But The Band Played On, Ryan continues his series of short-stories and his run of form. Whilst I preferred Bracha’s previous book, Baron Catastrophe and The King of Jackals, I found plenty in this book to entertain and engage with.
Ryan’s writing is experimental, he takes chances and is developing with each story, but I had trouble connecting with this particular tale. This is no fault of the author, his prose is as fresh and gripping as ever; but rather as the reader, I found the multiple changes of viewpoint difficult to follow, mainly because I’m a bit simple at times.

I’m docking Bracha a single rating star for one main reason.

I desperately wanted and perhaps expected the main characters to be the actual Jesus, Superman etc and was gutted that they were merely some mates on a Stag-do. I suspect this says more about me than it does about Ryan’s book, but it’s my review and I wanted the real Jesus, so four stars it is.

With the quality of Ryan’s writing he only has himself to blame; he continuously readjusts the readers expectation of his books, each brings something different than the last, and I wanted more from this. Despite my own personal preferences, this is a very good read; smart, vapid and concise writing at its best, but next time give me more Messiah.

Ryan is an affiliate author with Paddy’s Daddy Publishing
Banjo is free on Amazon on 26/6/2013

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Music and Stories

For me, music has been a constant soundtrack to my life. Key events, loved ones, hard times and great times all have a song or album as a soundtrack. Books and movies are no exception.

Little wonder that my own debut novel was so driven and influenced by the music pof the times it’s set in and passes through.

Here are the three songs I chose for each “Act” of the book and why:

In part one I quoted Huey Lewsi and the News “The power of love” :

“Make a bad one good.

Make a wrong one right.

The power of love will keep you home at night.”

Partly because I love the track but mostly because the era that part one of Bobby’s Boy is set in is encapsulated so well in the memories that this song envokes. All the good stuff and all the bad are brought to the fore of my mind’s eye in the openeing 5 seconds of this song. The quote also evokes the love I wanted Tommy to encounter and be changed by

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-NMph943tsw

The second act of the book was introduced with the quote

 

“Oh I would never give up and go home,

 beaten and broken.

 No, I don’t know who I am anymore,

But I’ll keep on chasing those rainbows.”

 

from “The Only Enemy that Ever Mattered” by the wonderful Hopeless Heroic. At this stage of the book, tommy was departing on the trip of his life, but he was every bit as much running from his past as he ws barrrelling towards his future.

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eau7ojfX7_E

The last song I used was intended to show the wish to start all over again. Tommy’s been fantasising for so long, and he now lives in a world once more he wishes wasn’t real , but is. The video is a perfect fit also.

Coldplay – “The Scientist”

“Nobody said it was easy.

No-one ever said it would be this hard.

Oh, take me back to the start.”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EqWLpTKBFcU

Bobby’s Boy is on FREE PROMO until tomorrow

 

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Bobbys-Boy-ebook/dp/B007SGTHVC/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1347132445&sr=8-2

 

 

I

Positive Scots

Scots, for me, have become the whipping boys of the literature and film-making worlds in their seeming determination to present us with unintelligent, violent, and predictably inaccurate stereotypes of the people of my nation.

The British, generally, suffer in this regard but whilst the English stereotype in Hollywood is the evergreen, upper-class accented, moustache-twirling villain and/or cheeky chappy cockney, rarely is an English character presented as we would find the ordinary hard-working men and women of the midlands and Northern England for example, or the Welsh.
Only the Irish seem to have lucked into a more light hearted, twinkly-eyed, everyone’s best drinking buddy type of stereotype. Still hugely misrepresentative of their people though (mostly).

Whilst most Brits are represented in a ridiculous way, I do feel that Scots suffer most of all from the public perception which the media seems determined to portray us as. Almost invariably whenever Scots appear in books, TV or films they are presented as violent, usually drunk, often drug addicts, and incoherently stupid. It appears that the media’s view of Scots is of a nation perpetually in the pub/football stadium/ high/drunk/aggressive/loud, unintelligible and most of all, thick.

Very few forms of entertainment present us with a positive Scots’ role model, and the worst offenders are produced here in Scotland.

While we do have Inspector Rebus played brilliantly by Ken Stott, Amy Pond, great character, James Bond, an intelligent and proactive super-spy, Jack Parlabane, funny, human and clever (Brookmyre), we’re also victim to the “We’re just one of you” brigade of Scottish TV and actors like Elaine C Smith, with her Morningside accent for the interviews, and her Clyde side “Mary-Doll” for the plebs.
Even the brilliant Peter Mullen’s NEDS, focuses on this thug minority, albeit in an insightful and skilled manner.

I find it difficult to believe also that Hollywood can’t cast a Scottish actor in main roles when tackling very Scottish projects. Instead we get an Australian William Wallace, an Irish Rob Roy, never once a Scottish “Scotty” in Star Trek, a French Christophe Lambert Playing a Scottish Immortal in Highlander beside a Scottish Sean Connery playing a Spaniard.
Are Scots really so untalented that we can’t be used to represent our own nation. Pixar’s “Brave” appears to have taken a huge step in the right direction in this regard with it’s genuinely all-Scottish, very talented cast.

Its very difficult to pinpoint a good, honest portrayal of a Scotsman these days who isn’t a junky, a wee NED, talks through his/her nose or has anything positive or intelligent, or human to say. A character who reflects the ordinary people of his/her country would be a start.
The people of Scotland that I know are warm, good people. They’re clever (even the uneducated ones folks), they’re vital, funny as hell, resilient, hardy, and rough sometimes yes, but among the most decent people worldwide.

Let’s see some of that on the screen or in books. Lets see some truly gutsy, interesting Scottish characters in our media and ditch the Shortbread tin or smackhead/NED image we’re tarred with. Characters like Jack and Victor and all their entourage in Still Game who revel Scotland’s heart in their genuine characterisation of its people.
People like our handicapped superstar golfer in John Niven’s wonderful “The Amateurs”. Some real characters with real and current difficulties and victories like the ones that John Mackenzie gave us throughout his career, but most especially in “Just another Saturday”.
People who learn, make mistakes, change, care, and laugh and cry throughout their lives.
Proper story telling. Proper characterisation.

This is exactly what I need to see more of and why I populate my books with such characters. Flawed, funny, wilful, interesting. Just like peoples of all countries contain. People with something to say, with a story to tell, imperfect people with the capacity for goodness and badness. People with heart..

Ken loach can stick his “Angel’s Share” and its cheeky chappy, criminal wee NEDS-come-good up his arse. Social commentary for unemployed and disenfranchised youth? Maybe but representative of the majority of Scotland youth or its people generally.Absoultely not.
Buy Bobby’s Boy on kindle for 85p

Hamsters on the wheel

Everyone remembers the Tom Hanks movie “Big”, right. Little kid finds a “Zoltar Speaks” machine at the carnival, makes a wish to be “Big”, wish granted” appears on a wee card, and he wakes up the next morning an adult. Gets everything he wants, great job testing toys, a wee dance on a floor piano with his boss, a girlfriend, status, wealth, but goes back to the simple life of being a kid.

Tom And Robert Loggia, doing Chopstix

Great movie and indicative of a time when kids thought everything would be fine if they were a bit older, able to make their own choices and forge their own paths in life. Anything seemed possible when we were 13 years old. So what stopped us chasing those dreams?

Why didn’t we tread the untried path instead of playing it safe, getting that job, going to university, or slipping into roles we never would have wanted as kids? Financial responsibilities maybe? Just didn’t know how?

A Lack of opportunity or encouragement, I mean who growing up in Bellshill in the 90s knew a writer or artist or musician or even a student who wasn’t treated like a lazy pig? Who knew anyone really, who did something they loved instead of just working a job they detested to keep a house to feed the family and wake knackered every morning to repeat it all over again.

I’m not knocking the working man or woman, he/she’s a total hero, but there’s so many of us approaching 30 or 40 or 50 who just gave in to life and went with it, completely forgetting all our early dreams for life. If little Josh (the kid in Big) thought for a second that adult life would be one of such percieved burdens and limited choices, theres absolutely no way he’d have wished to be “BIG”.He’d have run like a bastard from that Zoltan dude.

Keep on trucking Hamster

As we get older all too many of us have convinced ourselves that we’ve become trapped in a cycle of responsibility and repetitive duties. We’ve subsequently have forgotten the goals we had as children.

We all felt that we were someone special once. We all KNEW that we would do something important, or fun, or special or plain BIG with our lives at some point. Life, time, work, illness, responsibility, disillusionment, and disappointment slowly robbed us of our desire to reach our goals. Worse, we helped in the process and strive to keep the next generation in their place too.

Screw that. I say, let’s dream Big again. Let’s find the “I will,You can, I want to” attitudes we used to take so much for granted. Can you imagine our 13 year old selves reaction at seeing us today?

I’m sure mine’s would have been: “Hey, Fannybaws! Get up, do something, he’/she’s done it so can you. Screw the X-Factor. Screw stuffing your face and getting fat, Screw feeling like you have no control or have lived your life by 35 years old, shift your arse, I want more than this!” ( In between wanks of course).

We’re well fed prisoners, buying stuff that means nothing, taking comfort in calories flat-screen TVs, Playstations and shelves full of fuckin DVDs. Jailing ourselves in our wee private kingdoms, and ignoring the world outside and our own potential, dreams and wishes for fear of losing our grubby possessions. Blamimg terrorisms, security, illegal Immigrants, status or eduction for not being who we should be or having what we deserve.

We’ve let ourselves down and settled for far less than we are capable of. We all do it. Worship at the celebrity cult, “Oooh Beyonce has broken a big toenail”, while people the world over, shit, in our own streets, ignore each other and pretend that their lives are fine when they’re a stunted version of everything you ever dreamed.

Ask that teen version of you what he/she would want to change What did you want to do, to be, to have, to see or experience? What in the name of hell is stopping you? Don’t use kids, lack of money, responsibilities, illness, or depression as an excuse to not do what you know in your heart you should be. If you’re determined, you’ll make the time, find the resources, and enrich everyone’s life around you as a result. You deserve that life, we all do.

I’ve watched good friends, with admiration and pride, completely change their lives in recent years, taken a gamble, ditched jobs they hate, and achieved things they never thought they would. In other words, got off that hamster wheel and made bold changes in their lives, taken strides in directions they chose.

Some Hopeful Teens

All of us can follow that example, keep your lives, but enrich them, and be who you know yourself to truly be in your heart. Write that book, song or movie. Take that trip. Build that house, get that job, emigrate, write, do a marathon. Whatever it was you wished for at 13 for when you were “Big”. Go get it.

I’ll leave you with some quotes from the fantastic Mr Tyler Durden and two very fitting songs:

“We’re consumers. We are by-products of a lifestyle obsession. Murder, crime, poverty, these things don’t concern me. What concerns me are celebrity magazines, television with 500 channels, some guy’s name on my underwear. Rogaine, Viagra, Olestra.”

“Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don’t need. We’re the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War’s a spiritual war . . . our Great Depression is our lives. We’ve all been raised on television to believe that one day we’d all be millionaires and movie gods and rock stars. But we won’t. And we’re slowly learning that fact. And we’re very, very pissed off.”

Unified Zombie Nation:

Fluorescent Adolescent: