Winter Blogfest: Tegon Maus

This post is part of Long and Short Reviews’ Winter Blogfest. Leave a comment for a chance to win .

Christmas the Way I Remember It

I remember every Christmas was the same… dozens of people at my parents house standing around talking… just talking.

The table was always festive and beyond gorgous, set with a prestine stack of plates and a mound of siverware. My mom always had it covered with a mountain of food… glazed ham, roast beef, turkey… all the cookies, pies, cakes you could ever hope to eat and no one touched a thing… not a single potato chip. No music, no alcohol, no one even sat down… they just stood around and just talked.

By 2:00 in the afternoon, my grandfather closed the store and made his way to my parent’s house.

When he came in… no one spoke, no one moved. Grandpa always sat in the same chair… no other when he came to the house. At the moment he sat down my mother would hand him a beer.

Every year was the same… he took it… took a sip and said ‘Merry Christmas’ raising the bottle.  At that moment the room exploded into music, dancing, laughter and cheerful voices, food and drink… all at the same instant… a gala that would last well into night.

Now it was Christmas… Grandpa said so.

After 27 years as a newspaper man, Peter Anderson’s career is slipping away, at least it was, until he stumbled upon the story of a lifetime. Sent to do a fluff piece about lights in the night sky over Arizona, he discovers far more than he ever expected when he comes upon a mysterious young woman held prisoner in a basement. After helping her to escape, she disappears before he can learn the truth about who she is or where she came from. His search for her leads him back to the lights in the sky and leaves him with more questions than answers. The only thing he knows for certain . . . the only thing he can count on are the two words offered repeatedly by his friend and guide . . . “IS BELT.”

 

About the Author:

I was raised pretty much the same as everyone else… devoted mother, strict father and all the imaginary friends I could conjure. Not that I wasn’t friendly, I just wasn’t “people orientated”. Maybe I lived in my head way more than I should have, maybe not. I liked machines more than people at least I did until I met my wife.

The first thing I can remember writing was for her. For the life of me I can’t remember what it was about… something about dust bunnies under the bed and monsters in my closet. It must have been pretty good because she married me shortly after that. I spent a good number of years after inventing games and prototypes for a variety of ideas before I got back to writing.

It wasn’t a deliberate conscious thought it was more of a stepping-stone. My wife and I had joined a dream interpret group and we were encouraged to write down our dreams as they occurred. “Be as detailed as you can,” we were told.

I was thrilled. If there is one thing I enjoy it’s making people believe me and I like to exaggerate. Not a big exaggeration or an out-right lie mine you, just a little step out of sync, just enough so you couldn’t be sure if it were true or not. If I can make people think “it could happen,” even for a moment, then I have them and nothing makes me happier. When I write, I always write with the effort of “it could happen” very much in mind and nothing, I guarantee you, nothing, makes me happier.

Buy the book at Amazon.

BOB by Tegon Maus – Exclusive Excerpt and Giveaway


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Tegon will be awarding a $25 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

After 27 years as a newspaper man, Peter Anderson’s career is slipping away, at least it was, until he stumbled upon the story of a lifetime. Sent to do a fluff piece about lights in the night sky over Arizona, he discovers far more than he ever expected when he comes upon a mysterious young woman held prisoner in a basement. After helping her to escape, she disappears before he can learn the truth about who she is or where she came from. His search for her leads him back to the lights in the sky and leaves him with more questions than answers. The only thing he knows for certain . . . the only thing he can count on are the two words offered repeatedly by his friend and guide . . . “IS BELT.”

Enjoy an exclusive excerpt:

Her scream filled the air, sending chills up my spine, as the table disintegrated under Bob’s weight.

My mind raced as I tried to decide what to do. I was looking for a spot to jump in between the two titans.

Suddenly, Fred reappeared from nowhere, lunging headlong, throwing himself at Carl with no self-regard. He was a lunatic, screaming, punching, scratching, biting all at the same time.

Carl brushed him away, striving to reach the woman scrambling on the floor, trying to get up.

No time like now. I jumped on his back, riding him like a child on his father’s back.

Somehow, she was free of the table but still impaled. She grabbed the spike in her left hand, pulling at it. Her skin stretched with the effort, clinging to the metal. Finally succeeding, she clutched it like a dagger. Getting to her feet, she lunged for Carl.

With shocking swiftness, she plunged the spike into his chest.

It was Carl’s turn to scream and he did… a howling snarl of a growl that curled my toes.

“You should have killed me when you had the chance,” the woman said through clenched teeth, trying to force the spike deeper with her weight.

“Fucking bitch,” Carl shouted, backhanding her, sending her to the floor again.

He seized the spike, yanking it from his body, throwing it at her; the woman, having gotten to her feet, removed the second nail and braced for another assault on Carl, her hands bleeding freely.

About the Author:

I was raised pretty much the same as everyone else… devoted mother, strict father and all the imaginary friends I could conjure. Not that I wasn’t friendly, I just wasn’t “people orientated”. Maybe I lived in my head way more than I should have, maybe not. I liked machines more than people, at least I did until I met my wife.

The first thing I can remember writing was for her. For the life of me I can’t remember what it was about… something about dust bunnies under the bed and monsters in my closet. It must have been pretty good because she married me shortly after that. I spent a good number of years after inventing games and prototypes for a variety of ideas before I got back to writing.

It wasn’t a deliberate conscious thought, it was more of a stepping stone. My wife and I had joined a dream interpret group and we were encouraged to write down our dreams as they occurred. “Be as detailed as you can,” we were told.

I was thrilled. If there is one thing I enjoy it’s making people believe me and I like to exaggerate. Not a big exaggeration or an outright lie mine you, just a little step out of sync, just enough so you couldn’t be sure if it were true or not. When I write, I always write with the effort of “it could happen” very much in mind and nothing, I guarantee you, nothing, makes me happier.

Buy the book at Amazon or Barnes and Noble.

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Machines of the Little People by Tegon Maus – Spotlight and Giveaway


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Tegon Maus will be awarding a $25 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the rest of the stops on the tour.

When Ben Harris’ sister passes away, her husband, Roger Keswick, is mysteriously absent from her funeral. It’s not until 6 months later that Ben is pulled back in to Roger’s life, only to find that he’s moved on. His new wife may be called Jessica, but she’s the spitting image of Ben’s sister. Things escalate when Roger claims there’s a factory under his house run by little people called the Katoy.

Enjoy an excerpt:

“What was the problem, Roger? Why are they here?” I asked, still trying to figure out what had happened to make him call the cops.

The officer shifted uncomfortably, staring at the ground but said nothing.

“Roger? Why are they here?” I asked, pulling him by the arm, turning him to face me.

“I heard voices under the house,” he said flatly. It was clear his mind was struggling with it.

“What?” I couldn’t believe my ears.

“I heard voices under the house,” he repeated, giving me a stern look.

The officer kicked at the ground as if waiting for me to give him permission to leave.

“Roger,” I began…

“They were talking about me. Three of them. I could hear them shushing each other. But, Ben… I heard them.” His voice held a level of desperation. His face twisted, his eyes begging me to believe him. “Benjamin. I swear to you… I heard them.” His voice, little more than a whisper, quivered.

Before I could react the harsh crackle of the officers walkie-talkie burst to life.

“Ten four,” he said into his shoulder. His eyes, clearly serious, shot to me.

“Thank you, Officer.” I barely got the words out of my mouth and he was marching toward the gate.

I turned to follow him but Roger made a beeline in the opposite direction.

“Benjamin, come over here. They’ve just begun working. Come on. I don’t know how long it will last. Hurry,” he called excitedly, running back and forth.

About the Author:

I was raised pretty much the same as everyone else… devoted mother, strict father and all the imaginary friends I could conjure. Not that I wasn’t friendly, I just wasn’t “people orientated”. Maybe I lived in my head way more than I should have, maybe not. I liked machines more than people, at least I did until I met my wife.

The first thing I can remember writing was for her. For the life of me I can’t remember what it was about… something about dust bunnies under the bed and monsters in my closet. It must have been pretty good because she married me shortly after that. I spent a good number of years after inventing games and prototypes for a variety of ideas before I got back to writing.

It wasn’t a deliberate conscious thought it was more of a stepping stone. My wife and I had joined a dream interpret group and we were encouraged to write down our dreams as they occurred. “Be as detailed as you can,” we were told.

I was thrilled. If there is one thing I enjoy it’s making people believe me and I like to exaggerate. Not a big exaggeration or an outright lie mine you, just a little step out of sync, just enough so you couldn’t be sure if it were true or not. When I write, I always write with the effort of “it could happen” very much in mind and nothing, I guarantee you, nothing, makes me happier.

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Amazon Author Page | Goodreads | Shelfari | LinkedIn | Pinterest

Buy the book at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, or Tirgearr Publishing.

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#LASR_Anniv Machines of the Little People by Tegon Maus

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Enter the rafflecopter at the end of this post for a chance to win a $100 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC + other prizes!

Machines of the Little PeopleBen Harris’s sister died of cervical cancer more than three years ago… his best friend and her husband, Roger Keswick, disappeared the day before the funeral. For the next six months everyone from the local police to the Department of Defense searched for him but to no avail… it was as if he had simply fallen off the face of the planet only to reappear at work as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

Then by the purest of coincidences Ben finds himself pulled back into Roger’s life only to discover he has remarried… to Jessica… a woman the looks, sounds and acts just like his dead sister. To complicate things Roger is insistent his home, his car, his life is infested with tiny elf like creatures he calls the Katoy. He claims they run massive machines under his house and watch his every move… every move that is until Jessica is found bludgeoned to death in his living room and Roger is nowhere to found . . . again.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: I was raised pretty much the same as everyone else… devoted mother, strict father and all the imaginary friends I could conjure. Not that I wasn’t friendly, I just wasn’t ʺpeople orientatedʺ. Maybe I lived in my head way more than I should have, maybe not. I liked machines more than people, at least I did until I met my wife.

The first thing I can remember writing was for her. For the life of me I can’t remember what it was about… something about dust bunnies under the bed and monsters in my closet. It must have been pretty good because she married me shortly after that. I spent a good number of years after inventing games and prototypes for a variety of ideas before I got back to writing.

It wasn’t a deliberate conscious thought it was more of a stepping stone. My wife and I had joined a dream interpret group and we were encouraged to write down our dreams as they occurred. ʺBe as detailed as you can,ʺ we were told.

I was thrilled. If there is one thing I enjoy it’s making people believe me and I like to exaggerate. Not a big exaggeration or an outright lie mine you, just a little step out of sync, just enough so you couldn’t be sure if it were true or not. When I write, I always write with the effort of ʺit could happenʺ very much in mind and nothing, I guarantee you, nothing, makes me happier.

http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Maus_Tegon/index.htm
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Tegon-Maus/150255051766767
https://twitter.com/TegonMaus
http://www.amazon.com/Machines-Little-People-Project-book-ebook/dp/B00JU2VOGS/

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