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Posts Tagged ‘J.B. McCauley

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How much of the book is realistic?

All of it. It is very earthy and represents that world of gangsters, drugs, murder and hate in a very realistic manner. Don’t read it if you are easily offended or sensitive. It is what it is. If people truly believe that the world of The King of Sunday Morning does not exist then they live in Never Neverland.

Have you included a lot of your life experiences, even friends, in the plot?

My life experiences yes. My friends no.

How important do you think villains are in a story?

Essential. Every story needs a ying and a yang. There must be balance. Without it the story is skewed with unrealistic expectations.

What are your goals as a writer?

To be read.

Do you have to travel much concerning your book(s)?

Not any more

Excerpt – How Did I Get Here?

He heard the question and knew he didn’t want to answer it. He knew it had been coming. One day he knew she would ask it. How could she share so much and he so little? It wasn’t a question of sharing his love. That was unquestionable. It was sharing his past.

He knew everything about her. The childhood scar on her arm was a badge of honour bestowed upon her as she tried to climb out of her bedroom window in a ridiculous attempt to have a sneaky cigarette. At the age of thirteen, her ears had been stapled to her head to prevent her looking like the FA Cup. She had drunk two bottles of very expensive Grange on her 21st birthday. Her father had been livid. She hadn’t cared.

She only knew of his life in Australia. Of his broken marriage. Of his descent into a depression that he had barely recovered from. She only knew snippets of his life in Europe. His dysfunctional family barely communicated with him. Out of sight, out of mind.

He had met her only three months after the marriage had broken down. She had been very wary of this. Concerned that she was the rebound. But he had assured her that the marriage had been over for some time. The only thing that had kept them together was his proud devotion to his morals and the promises he had made in the sight of God.

He went on the rampage after she walked out. Free from the humdrum marriage that had caged him, he had reverted to type and partied the house down. He was a huge flirt, had an engaging smile and a sense of humour to die for but what had excited her was that all he cared about was having a good time. Life was a party and he was a veteran of both.

She knew he had lived in Portugal and France. She knew he had been on the road to deejaying stardom. That he ran a nightclub. That his club had been on the lips of everyone on the backpacker circuit. She had heard that from others. Apparently his club was the one that you just had to experience. No luxuries. No fancy stuff. It was what it was. The place where you could listen and dance to the latest tunes from London with absolutely no interference from security or anyone else. Drugs were consumed openly and no behaviour was considered taboo.

He was the first English DJ to play house music in Paris. He had worked in Val D’Isere during the French Winter Olympics but beyond that, nothing. He didn’t want her to know. His life was his to know and it was better that way.

She looked at him again. She raised herself onto her elbow and gazed onto his face. His eyes were closed and his lips pursed. She saw a tear form in his duct and snake down the right side of his face towards his ear.

He raised an arm to his face and wiped away the tear. He turned his head towards her and opened his eyes.

“Lizzy, do you really want to know?”

“Yes honey”


“Because if I am going to spend the rest of my life with you, I need to know”.

Tray flinched at this. He had known she loved him but this was new. The rest of his life in exchange for the history of it. She put her left hand on his chest. She smiled at him. Moved her hand to his face, held it softly then bent down and kissed him.

She pulled back.

“Its not how I got here baby. It’s why I stayed away”.

“Well then, why did you stay away?”

He looked at her. She said nothing. Waiting for an answer. He closed his eyes. Swallowed. He opened them again.

“Cos I can’t go back!”

King of Sunday Morning

The King of Sunday Morning is a geezer. Not in the traditional sense of the word as in old man. This geezer is a face, a wannabe, a top notch bloke. He is the greatest DJ that never was. He should have been. Could have been. Would have been. Now becoming a has-been.

Tray McCarthy was born into privilege but with the genetic coding of London’s violent East End. Having broken the underworld’s sacred honour code, it is only his family’s gangland connections that save him. But in return for his life, he must deny that which he has ever known or ever will be and runs to Australia where he is forced to live an inconsequential life.

But trouble never strays far from Tray McCarthy and eventually his past and present collide to put everyone he has ever loved in danger. He must now make a stand and fight against those that are set to destroy him and play their game according to his rules.

Set against the subterfuge and violence of the international drugs trade, The King of Sunday Morning is the tale of what can go wrong when you make bad decisions. Tray McCarthy has made some of the worst. He must now save those he holds dear but in the process gets trapped deeper and deeper into a world where he doesn’t belong.

“I want three pump-action shotguns, about twelve sticks of dynamite and a blowtorch”


Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre – Thriller, Action, Suspense, Gangster, Crime, Music

Rating – PG-18

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