BLOG TOUR

Cuttin’ Heads

Aldo Evans is a desperate man. Fired from his job and deeply in debt, he struggles to balance a broken family life with his passion for music.

Luce Figura is a troubled woman. A rhythmic perfectionist, she is haunted by childhood trauma and scorned by her religiously devout mother.

Ross McArthur is a wiseass. Orphaned as an infant and raised by the state, his interests include game shows, home-grown weed, occasional violence and the bass guitar.

They are Public Alibi. A rock n’ roll band going nowhere fast.

When the sharp-suited, smooth talking producer Gappa Bale offers them a once in a lifetime chance to make their dreams come true, they are caught up in a maelstrom of fame, obsession, music and murder.

Soon, Aldo, Luce and Ross must ask themselves: is it really better to burn out than to fade away?

Purchase from Amazon UK - https://www.amazon.co.uk/Cuttin-Heads-D-Watson-ebook/dp/B07CG8DN4V/

Author Bio –

Prizewinning author D.A. Watson spent several years working in bars, restaurants and call centres before going back to university with the half-arsed plan of becoming a music teacher. Halfway through his degree at the University of Glasgow, he discovered he was actually better at writing, and unleashed his debut novel, In the Devil's Name, on an unsuspecting public in the summer of 2012. Plans of a career in education left firmly in the dust, he later gained his masters degree in Creative Writing from the University of Stirling.

He has since published two more novels, The Wolves of Langabhat and Cuttin’ Heads, a handful of non-fiction pieces, several short stories including Durty Diana, which was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2016, and the Burns parody Tam O' Shatner, which in 2017 came runner up in the Dunedin Robert Burns Poetry Competition, and was a competition winner at the Falkirk Storytelling Festival.

He lives with his family in Western Scotland.

"The Christoper Brookmyre of horror. Readers will be very very afraid."
- Louise Welsh, bestselling author of the Plague Times trilogy

Exclusive extract for Cheekypee Reads and Reviews

Cuttin’ Heads – Chapter 1

In this opening chapter, we meet Aldo Evans, guitarist and lead vocalist with Inverclyde rock trio Public Alibi. Here, just hours after buying a new guitar on store credit, Aldo’s just been fired from his job as a telemarketer, and the panic’s starting to set it.

He knows it’s not Deso’s fault. He knew fine well that he could get bagged for skipping survey questions, no matter how ridiculous they were, and like the standard recorded message said, all calls were recorded for training and quality purposes. Such had been his downfall. As Deso had said, he’d been pulled up for it before, and he’d been warned it was a sackable offence. Aldo figures that despite the inevitable upshot, he actually wanted to be fired, and who could blame him, really? Spending nine hours a day making market research cold calls for minimum wage had to be about a step above being an equine fluffer in a horse porn movie in terms of job satisfaction. Still though, as bad as the job with Data Location was, it was money in the bank at the end of the month. A laughable amount, a pittance in all honestly, but still enough to survive on.

He walks over to his tiny work cubicle, takes his ID badge from around his neck and places it on the desk next to the keyboard. He briefly considers leaving a parting message as a flashing screen saver. Something like FUCK YOU AND THIS BRAIN NUMBING SOUL DESTROYING LOW PAYING DIGNITY STRIPPING EXCUSE FOR A JOB! Or maybe he could drop his breeks and take a big steaming shite on the desk.

Instead, he shrugs into his battered leather jacket, picks up the padded gig bag containing his expensive and unpaid for new guitar, and heads for the door. The Les Paul Studio Pro features a weight relief chambered mahogany body, and only weighs around six pounds in total, but at that moment, it’s the monetary measure of pounds Aldo feels on his shoulder; the thousand pounds he owes for the instrument, and now has no way of paying.

As he makes his way across the call centre floor toward the exit, he’s aware of several of his now ex-colleagues watching him leave with mixed expressions of curiosity, sympathy and bovine disinterest. He rolls his eyes and tips a little blasé salute to no one in particular, forcing a bemused smile onto his lips, trying to be all cool and dignified.

I don’t need this. I’m better than this. This is great. No more itchy, uncomfortable headset. No more stupid survey lists. No more getting called all sorts by the poor bastards on the other end of the phone for interrupting their dinner with my questions about their favoured brand of washing up liquid.

But all the while that black panic balloon is squeezing the air from his lungs. Familiar feelings of shame, embarrassment and failure boil and bubble in his guts.

You’ve fucked up, ya dick. Again. What you gonnae do now, eh? No job. No money. No qualifications except three Highers and an HND in Music, which is worth the grand total of hee-haw in terms of employability. What’s that make it now? Fired or quit from your last three call centre jobs? Bravo, son. Bra-fuckin-vo. You da man. You’re on fire. When you going to grow the fuck up?

Aldo literally doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Crying seems more likely.

Now, on the street outside the glass-walled offices of Data Location, Aldo stands in a daze, trying to order his thoughts and come to terms with his new state of unemployment. He turns his head left and right, looking up and down a rainy Sauchiehall Street as if expecting someone to come running up, lucrative contract of employment in hand, offering him a new job right off the bat.

That doesn’t happen of course, and he can only stand there in the drizzle of Glasgow city centre, a wet, jobless chump, while a bustling river of umbrella wielding humanity flows around him, heedless of his distress, going about their own business, living their own lives. He wants to grab hold of random strangers and yell at them, Don’t you know what’s just happened? I’m fucked! Fucked I tells ya!

He feels an unreasonable surge of anger and jealousy toward the uncaring passers-by, most of whom seem to be carrying plastic bags emblazoned with high-street logos. Everywhere he looks, people are sporting carrier bags from HMV, Schuh, New Look, M&S. It’s like they’re mocking him.

Take a swatch at all this snazzy expensive gear I just bought, ya penniless fanny! It’s great being able to purchase Dr Dre Beats headphones with my wages, it really is. Looks like it’s Tesco Value beans on Tesco Value toast for dinner for you, though, Aldo, and oh yeah, you can forget about taking Dylan to that Frozen stage show when you see him at the weekend, like you promised him you would.

Guilt like something rotten sticking in his throat, Aldo breathes deeply, closing his eyes, trying to slow and silence the hard knocking of his heart in his chest, which sounds all too much like an implacable debt collector resolutely pounding on his front door. A debt collector with his ex-girlfriend’s face.

Right, keep the heid. Break it down into manageable chunks. Adapt and overcome. Get somewhere quiet and work it out.

He opens his eyes and sees Squinty Ginty’s, the pub across the street. It’s just gone two pm, and the bar should be relatively quiet now the lunchtime crowds have gone back to work. A quick check of the change in his pocket confirms he has just enough for a pint. Probably not the wisest expense given the circumstances, but fuck it. Fuck it directly in the nose. A quick swally is just the ticket to get his thoughts in order while he plans his next move.

Aldo Evans squares his shoulders and makes his way across the busy pedestrian precinct, gamely resisting the urge to flying kick one slow moving old lady blethering into an iPhone as she makes her way up the crowded street.

Social Media Links –

https://www.facebook.com/dave.watson.books/

https://twitter.com/davewatsonbooks

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5612424.D_A_Watson

Giveaway – Win a signed copy of Cuttin’ Heads

*Terms and Conditions –Please enter using the Rafflecopter box below.  The winner will be selected at random via Rafflecopter from all valid entries and will be notified by Twitter and/or email. If no response is received within 7 days then I reserve the right to select an alternative winner. Open to all entrants aged 18 or over.  Any personal data given as part of the competition entry is used for this purpose only and will not be shared with third parties, with the exception of the winners’ information. This will passed to the giveaway organiser and used only for fulfilment of the prize, after which time I will delete the data.  I am not responsible for despatch or delivery of the prize.

http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/33c6949491/?