Tuesday, October 23, 2012

The BRIDGE - A Spartan Warrior redeems himself

The tale of a disgraced Spartan warrior hero and his redemption.
Set in ancient Greece a warrior is banished from Sparta, this short story details his journey to a new life with new values.

For the reader in you.
Why did I write The Bridge? Short stories are hard for me to write. Usually whenever I try to write a short story the damn things take on a life of their own and end up far too long.
When I write I simply start with a concept or idea. For example The Bridge started out with a question. How would an act of cowardice in another age be viewed by our modern society?
 I sat down thought of a time in history and began to write. The story, like nearly all my writing, played like a movie in my head and I wrote it down as I watched it.
Of course it has been edited by myself, my wife and Christine my publisher but essentially the story is as written. This how I write, even for full length novels. I have no plans, almost no structure, and only stop when I need to Google something.
This short story was written in an afternoon and one evening session. I have written more and would be interested to know if you would like to see this short story evolve into a full length novel.
I have only a short high school education and I am an atrocious speller at times. From telling completely made-up stories to my children at bedtimes, some which went on for many nights; I am always amazed how my writing tells itself and I just seem to be the stenographer.
Are other writers the same?
If you would like to comment regarding reading more about my Spartan warrior or about how you write, please use the comments box below.

Saturday, July 28, 2012

New Cover & Title Seeking Angel - Do you like it?

  • Detective Bull Protettore seeks Angel, missing; believed to be in the company of a secretive bi-sexual Dominatrix.
  • Discover how she is the clue which leads Bull and his partner Tommy to the serial killer who is terrorizing NYC.
  • Bull and Tommy are in a race against time to unravel the twisted ropes of the truth to exact justice and revenge.

'I truly enjoyed reading this book mainly because the characters weren't perfect. They all had their own little quirks and issues that made them seem so real. It actually felt like they could walk off the page and shake your hand. I would definitely recommend this book to my friends.' Amazon 5* Review

'I started to read, figuring that I'd read for about half an hour and found that I couldn't put this book down. The words come alive on the page.' Amazon 5* Review

'This was a great read! It proceeded at a good clip, had a twisty plot and an interesting cast of characters.'Amazon 5* Review

Hello everyone, above the new blurb and Front and Back covers for Seeking Angel, formerly  entitled Demon's Coven. 
Thank you so much to everyone who gave feedback on the former cover, we have listened to you and this is the result.
Thanks also to Nils Danemann, our new cover designer - who has made us this awesome new cover - featuring Angel, the Spike and the background mysterious and interesting.
Read Seeking Angel and you will enjoy a well paced read, a devious plot with lots of characters all woven together in a masterful way. Best of all your heart will be pounding and your mouth laughing at some of the antics that A J's characters get up to. 
Excellent summer reading for your e reader on the beach - and a winter awaken-er for the southern hemisphere. 

Sunday, March 25, 2012

Seeking Angel Synopsis

You like to hold a real paper book in your hand - don't you?
Seeking Angel is now launched as a print book on Create Space.

 : The setting is New York City. Horrific murders are being perpetrated. A group of dominatrix and their BDSM scene are under suspicion. This thriller – mystery filled with unexpected comedy follows two broken–ass detectives. Bull is bent on avenging his lost love. Tommy is fighting his hatred of human beings. they join forces to track down a vicious killer who seemed to possess superhuman abilities.

From one 5* Amazon review-
"Seeking Angel grabs you and doesn't let go! I started to read, figuring that I'd read for about a half hour and found that I could put this book down. The words come alive on the page. The detailed information regarding the alternative BDSM lifestyle was amazing. The characters were real. There was nothing that I read that I judged to be contrived or written for shock value alone. I wanted more with each passing page. This author understands police procedure, the BDSM lifestyle and has a knack as a storyteller: something that I find lacking in many authors."

Sunday, March 18, 2012

“It’s beginning,” the slave answered. “I have the first one.”

Chapter Two Seeking Angel by A J Burton
Simone fumbled through her purse searching for cigarettes. She would have preferred a joint, but she knew it was best to keep her wits about her when working. In a couple of hours the joint at the bottom of her bag would help her relax, but only after the last customer was off the streets.
Stained fingers found cigarettes and lighter among the contents of her purse. A yellow flame flared. Her lungs drew in the smoke; Simone felt the nicotine enter her blood stream helping her focus.
It had been a slow night. Only two clients, both cheapskates wanting hand relief, which had made her total take for the evening a disappointing sixty dollars. She often wondered why these sorts of clients even bothered. Why they simply didn’t do themselves and save their money was beyond her.
I’m twenty five; she thought sadly, five years on the street seemed like a decade. She could see no end to it since she had no more cash now than when she had started. Simone was like many girls who worked the area. She’d become lazy, slovenly - a drug addict, who slipped easily into a seedy lifestyle as a working girl. She pulled her tight purple tank top down over her large breasts: her man magnets.
Under her long black wig, her own hair was cropped short. The wig was her disguise. However flimsy, it gave her the confidence to walk the same neighbourhood during the day hopefully unrecognized by former clients.
She usually stood by the alleyway between two businesses, a dry-cleaners and a television repair store, both of which had closed for the day. Street lighting was adequate to show prospective clients what was on offer.
The wind was cold and she cursed herself for not wearing something warmer. This small patch of the neighbourhood was now hers and hers alone. C’mon, c’mon, anyone, fat, bald, old or young, she thought.
Sometimes she did her business in the alleyway. Mostly she went in the client’s cars. She wouldn’t get into any car until she’d been paid and checked the client visually for any signs of aggression. Heavily intoxicated or drugged-up clients she told directly to go elsewhere, though her so-called rules literally went out the window if the client managed to produce good old American green backs in sufficient quantity.
Simone finished the cigarette and flicked the glowing stub into the street. She didn’t notice a black van parked a hundred yards down the road, its lights out. The van stayed there for a few minutes. It was very late, two a.m. if she had bothered to check her wristwatch. Plastic bags, blown by the wind floated across and down the deserted street.
 The van’s motor coughed into life, its V8 motor was barely audible, due to the double mufflers specially installed by its owner. It cruised quietly to a stop opposite Simone, the motor quietly idling. Thrusting out her breasts, she tried to peer into the blacked out windows of the cab, not seeing a black figure slide out from the rear of the van. Simone tapped on the passenger window.
“I can’t see in, baby! Roll down the window so you can see what I’ve got.” She jiggled her breasts from side to side even rubbed them on the glass. “C’mon baby, you know you want me.”
From behind, a leather-encased arm completely encircled her neck, pulling her backwards. Simone tried to lash out, scream. Her efforts were choked off as strong muscles squeezed. The inside of the forearm exerted pressure on the main artery on the side of her neck, shutting off the blood supply to the brain. The pain was incredible. Simone struggled violently as the pounding in her brain grew into hot stabbing needles. The attacker squatted, turned his hip into the small of her back lifting her off the ground. Twisting and writhing, Simone’s own weight began to choke her. Finally her struggles weakened and she blacked out as she was carried backwards.
Tossed into the back of the van her limp body landed heavily onto a vinyl mattress. Simone began to come around but was dazed and confused. She did not have the strength to fight back as a ball gag was forced into her mouth. Then she felt herself flipped onto her stomach, her hands forced behind her and strapped with plastic ties. Both ankles were tied in a similar fashion. Within seconds, Simone was completely helpless, neither able to cry out nor move.
As the blood once again began to flow she quickly regained full consciousness but was so terrified she failed to struggle at all. Her attacker produced a large body bag and began slipping her into it. Simone’s fear turned into abject horror. Now instinct took over and she began to thrash about violently. Got to get out, oh my God! Someone please help me! But this screaming was done in silence, despairing, pathetic and all to no avail. The gag did its work; the plastic ties rendered her struggles ineffectual.
She watched helplessly as the darkness closed in with an ominous zipping sound. Imprinted in her memory was the face of the leather-hooded man, then the darkness became total, the smell of vinyl filling her nostrils. Lying in the back of the van she fainted as paralyzing terror overwhelmed her. She never felt the van move off.
As the van drove past the next intersection, a motorcycle pulled out and followed it at a discreet distance. The van drove a few miles before stopping. The slave removed his gloves. He reached over, opened the glove compartment, and took out a cell phone. Dialling a memorized number, he waited patiently while the phone rang at the other end. A female voice answered. Her voice was a soft whisper, as if she had just awoken.
“Yes?” said the voice.
“It’s beginning,” the slave answered. “I have the first one.”
There was a short pause. The slave could hear the sharp intake of breath as she absorbed the implications of this news.
“Let the terror begin. It is your time now.” she said, “You have been extremely patient. What you are about to do will bring you honour at the gathering when we have finished our mission. I will meet you at the temple.”
 “In death we guide the souls we take.” The soft voice spoke the first line of a mantra they had both learned long ago.
“Yes mistress,” he replied. “Our sacrifice your thirst will slake.”
The phone went dead and the van started up again and drove off into the night trailed at a discreet distance by the motorcyclist.

Buy Seeking Angel now

Friday, January 6, 2012

New York’s Finest the Global Warming debate

Tommy was killing time until his shift ended, typing with an enthusiasm that bordered on dereliction of duty and at the speed of someone with chronic arthritis. Every few seconds he glanced at his wristwatch in the forlorn hope that time would somehow speed leap the mechanism so he could leave.
The sound of the squad room door opening and shutting broke the tedium as his partner Detective Bull Protettore, walked in.
“What’s happening Bull?” said Tommy his fingers leaving the keyboard like it was infected with the plague.
“Nothing much, same ole, same ole, did you get the note about conserving paper from the captain?”
“Yep!  I would have wiped my ass with it and saved some bog paper if it wasn’t such poor quality. I have had it with this we gotta go green shit!"  said Tommy spinning around in his office chair. "Man made global warming is the biggest load of crap since the Y2K bug, bird flu, mad cow disease, and I never had sex with that woman. Not to mention a hundred other things the fuckwit scientists have claimed they have almost discovered, so they can suck on the titty of UN Funding for a few more years!”.
“Well the world’s climate seems to be changing according to the news reports,” said Bull sitting down and logging onto his computer. “According to scientific reports, winters are going to get warmer and summers hotter, with more droughts.”
“Yeah like the incredible fucking heat wave of December, January of 2010. I got a hernia and a slipped disk from shoveling all that fucking sunshine off my car for two months. Didn’t some over paid, dipshit of a scientist tell us snow will become something our children won’t remember?”
“According to 97% of the world’s climate scientists the world is warming and man is causing it. After all they are experts in the field. Those are high numbers Tommy”
“Well whoopee shit, Bull! 100% of Christian priests think Jesus is the son of God, and 100% of Muslims believe Muhammad is a prophet of God. Those are even better numbers. But one or both must be wrong. How many priests would still have a job if they went around saying God isn’t true and Jesus was just a misunderstood carpenter?" Tommy drew breath before continuing his tirade. "Hey Bull you ever see a list of names of those 97% of climate scientists? Does a list of 'em even exist? I mean those hysterical bed wetter’s wouldn’t have a job if they didn’t at least pretend their theories were even close to the truth.” Tommy threw up his hands.
“Your fucked up logic has a curious way of screwing up my arguments,” said Bull scratching his head.
“I tell you Bull their predictions are just that: guess work, forecasts, speculation and what ifs! Look how those greenie, tree hugging, sandal wearing, dope smoking pricks convinced governments to build those useless wind powered generators. They are either shutting them down because there is no wind, or because there is too much wind. When they are spinning, they are mowing down the birdlife like fucking gigantic Gatling guns. Now we have those Chevy volts; how un-American are those retarded pieces of worthless crap. You would be better off driving to work on a ride on lawn tractor and at 90% less cost." Tommy pounded his hapless keyboard.
“So I guess you don’t believe in manmade global warming then?” said Bull sarcastically. “Do you want a beer? It’s nearly time to quit.”
“Beer, now there is a subject worth spending research money on! Hey doesn’t beer have CO2 in it?” Tommy stood and reached for his jacket.
“Yeah I guess so,” said Bull also standing, logging his machine off.
“Well saw my legs off and call me stumpy. Let’s go save the planet one bottle at a time.”

Tuesday, January 3, 2012

The New Year for Bull Protettore - Drunk and disorderly

Bull Protettore is the hero of Seeking Angel by A J Burton which has seven 5 star reviews at Amazon.com
This is one of A J Burton's memories - the policeman's perspective.

New Year's Eve changed for me after I became a policeman.
As a young guy I did all the things you do in the wildness of youth: drank too much, smoked too much, fell over and woke up saying. "What a night! If only I could remember what happened? Sure by asking friends I could build up a foggy account of what may have happened but was it fact or fiction? I couldn't say.
For ten years as a policeman I could expect any New Years Eve leave to be cancelled. Single policemen were sent to the traditionally wild holiday resorts while we married men filled the breaches at home.
I often saw funny things and laughed watching drunks making total asses of themselves and recalling my own mis-spent youth. However holidays were also times when people died and were maimed in car accidents, fights, and drunken domestic squabbles. For ten years as a police officer I was totally sober and working hard. I never got to celebrate the New Year coming in.
I remember the drunkest man I ever saw still standing one New Year's Eve. The sergeant ordered me to carry out a sobriety test as Mr Jones was drunk in charge of a motor vehicle. I did my best to test the fellow, I made him try to walk a straight line in the constable's room at the police station. I should have used another room as the man lurched to one side and his head crashed into one of the square cubbyholes where we kept our files.
How his head managed to enter this cubbyhole with the accuracy of a sniper's bullet was amazing. What was even more astounding was that once his head was in the cubbyhole I could not get it out, despite pulling on his shoulders.
The drunk screamed out. "I have gone blind, help me!"
The sergeant came in to check all was well and saw Mr Jones bent at the hips with his head in the cubbyhole. Standing behind him pulling on his body I appeared to be performing some sort of unnatural act upon him.
"I can't get him out." I explained.
Together we managed to drag his head out at great cost to Mr Jones. The sergeant maintained his head had fitted into the cubbyhole so it should be safe to yank it out.
My drunk fellow then proceeded to vomit on the floor, slipped in it and fell face first into the mess. Now if I had written a comedy script about the incident it could not have been funnier and Mr Jones provided my New Year's Eve comedy for free.
After those years on the police I seemed to lose the zest for celebrating New Years Eve somehow. Was it because I became a cynic and regarded the whole celebration as a pain in the ass? Probably.
This year for the first time in many years, all my four sons are in the country at the same time and this will be the happiest New Year's Eve of all.
Birthdays, Christmas, New Years Eve are they worth more than daily celebrating the biggest gift of all?  
To me the simple daily act of living life is truly the greatest celebration of all!

Bull Protettore is the hero of Seeking Angel which has seven 5 star reviews at Amazon.com