Thursday, 2 July 2015

It's Revolution Day by Tim Taylor!

Happy Thursday everyone.

The sky is blue and there's the promise of a good day ahead - just perfect for finding a nice shady spot to do some great reading.

I'm delighted to welcome back my friend, Tim E. Taylor, from Crooked Cat Publishing. He's visiting to share his new novel Revolution Day. I love its fiery cover!
I thoroughly enjoyed reading Tim's debut novel Zeus of Ithome and I'm looking forward to getting stuck into this new one. I'll pass over to Tim to give us a few details and then we can enjoy the short extract he's sharing with us...

Hello, Nancy! Thank you for inviting me onto your blog to talk about my novel, Revolution Day, published on Tuesday 30 June by Crooked Cat.
            Revolution Day, my second novel, follows a year in the life of Latin American dictator, Carlos Almanzor (my first, Zeus of Ithome, is a historical novel set in ancient Greece). Now in his seventies, Carlos is feeling his age and seeing enemies around every corner. And with good reason: his Vice-President, Manuel Jimenez, though outwardly loyal, is burning with frustration at his subordinate position. 
            Carlos’ estranged and imprisoned wife Juanita is writing a memoir in which she recalls the revolution that brought him to power and how, once a liberal idealist, he changed over time into an autocrat and embraced repression as the means of sustaining his position.
            When Manuel’s attempts to increase his profile are met with humiliating rejection, he resolves to take action. As he moves to undermine Carlos’s position and make his own bid for power, Juanita will eventually find herself an unwitting participant in his plans.

In this excerpt, Juanita recalls an incident early in Carlos’ premiership, following a reception for some  Russian military advisers. The aftermath of this event was the beginning of his long descent towards autocracy and repression. 

‘We walked down the steps, sharing inconsequential conversation with the ambassador and his wife, and a protocol officer beckoned us towards the first Rolls-Royce. Carlos shook his head, and turned to the ambassador.
            “You are our honoured friends and guests today; it is only right that you should have pride of place.”
            So the ambassador, his wife, and the Russian general who was the boss of the advisers went in the first car, and Carlos, Angel and I in the second. Of the preceding conversations my only memory is of thinking that the ambassador’s wife was badly dressed and had nothing of interest to say. But my mind has preserved every detail of what happened next. I remember slumping in the seat, relieved that I did not have to make chit chat for a while. I remember looking at the red leather seats of the car and noticing that they were slightly faded. I remember putting my head back to relax and becoming aware that there were hundreds of faces peering at me from the side of the road. I remember starting to wave at them, having realised that I still had to put on some kind of an act, and feeling at once irritated, amused and flattered. I remember thinking how ponderous the convoy’s progress was, and wondering whether I would have to keep waving all the way. I remember hearing an untidy rattle of sharp bangs, and watching the people stop waving and turn their heads. I remember turning my own head, then seeing a man pointing a long tube at the car in front of us. I remember a bright flash (oddly, I don’t recall hearing a bang), and pieces of bodywork leaping into the air like scraps of paper caught by the wind. And I remember being thrown into the seat in front and onto the floor, as our driver stamped first upon the brake and then the accelerator and threw the Rolls-Royce into a violent turn. I have no memory of screaming, though people tell me I was hysterical. Then it is all a blank, until we have arrived somehow at the palace, and I am sitting in a leather armchair and people are comforting me and offering me things to drink. I remember thinking that the leather was the same colour as in the Rolls-Royce.’

If your readers are intrigued, they can find out more on my website and Facebook author page.  Many thanks once again for hosting me, Nancy.  I hope your own novels are doing well!

A bit about Tim...
Tim Taylor was born in 1960 in Burslem, Stoke-on-Trent, UK.
He grew up just outside the city in Brown Edge, then at the age of 11 moved to Longsdon, near Leek.  Tim went to Newcastle-under-Lyme High School, then studied Classics at Pembroke College, Oxford. After graduating he moved to London and spent a couple of years playing guitar in a rock band. When it became clear that he was never going to be a rock star, he sadly knuckled down and joined the Civil Service, where he did a wide range of jobs before leaving in 2011 to spend more time writing.  While still in the Civil Service Tim studied part time for a PhD in Philosophy at Birkbeck, University of London, achieving it in 2007.
            Tim married Rosa Vella in 1994 and their daughter Helen was born in 1997. In 2001 they moved to Meltham, near Huddersfield, and have lived there ever since. Tim now divides his time between creative writing, academic research and part-time teaching and other work for Leeds and Huddersfield Universities.
            Tim’s first novel, Zeus of Ithome (a finalist in the Chaucer Awards for historical fiction), was published by Crooked Cat in November 2013; his second, Revolution Day in June 2015.  He has also published a non-fiction book, Knowing What is Good For You (Palgrave Macmillan 2012), on the philosophy of well-being. As well as novels, Tim writes poetry and the occasional short story.  He also plays electric and acoustic guitar and a little piano, and likes to walk up hills.
You'll find Tim at these places:

Buy Revolution Day from: 

Thanks for visiting, today, Tim. I wish you huge success with Revolution Day and with all the rest of your writing. My kindle is newly stocked with yet another Crooked Cat Publishing novel so I'm going to get through my garden tasks quickly and have a break when my grandson eventually takes his daily nap. (The fact that he naps for only about 20 minutes a day has some bearing on the fact that my leisure reading, and indeed my writing progress, is so incredibly slow just now.  Insert smiley face here! )


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