J.T. Adam
Wednesday, 23 January 2013
Reviews
More reviews of my book 'Fourth to the Right' can be viewed via the link:
Fourth to the Right
Please feel more than free to add reviews and comments on my book.
Many thanks,
j.T. Adam
Saturday, 19 January 2013
Amazon Kindle
I have had some very positive early feedback on Amazon kindle from buyers.
To read the reviews go to:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Fourth-to-the-Right-ebook
I welcome all feedback and reviews. I am very grateful to all those who have commented thus far both on Amazon and on my blogs.
Thank you all so very much.
To read the reviews go to:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Fourth-to-the-Right-ebook
I welcome all feedback and reviews. I am very grateful to all those who have commented thus far both on Amazon and on my blogs.
Thank you all so very much.
Tuesday, 18 December 2012
Come and get it!
The eBook of 'Fourth to the Right' is now available to buy on kindle for a promotional price of 99p!
Making it the perfect treat for Christmas travelers,
as well as being a lovely opportunity for a sit down read as a family.
Don't dilly dally though, as the special price is only in place for the festive season!
For hard copies of the book email me direct at teddyadam79@gmail.com
Hope you all enjoy reading the book as much as I enjoyed writing it.
All the best!
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Thursday, 13 December 2012
Fourth to the Right teaser taster
Look there... To your right, not that far right... That
bench. Not the one with the missing plank, next one over; with the peeling
paint, fourth one from the end gate. Yeah, that’s the one... See it? Look at
it... I mean really look, see the rotten planks of wood along its length, the
peeling black paint on its old metal frame, smell its old mossy smell combined
with the stale smells left by drunken late night fools. Look carefully and you
might still be able to make out the faded brass plaque that’s dedicated to some
long forgotten Victorian couple.
That’s where it started. My life.
It was that very bench where my Mum and Dad first met. It’s
where they sat on their first date, where my Mum’s waters broke when she had my
brother. And it’s where my Dad would take me every weekend, every single
weekend without fail, come rain or shine. Dad would take me to sit and watch
the children play. The bench was ideally situated for a perfect view of both
the children’s play area and the games field. Trees lined the long patch of
grass that stretched behind the path that the bench stood on, they would shower
their leaves on us in autumn, and their soft petals in spring. In the summer
they would shade us and in the winter they would stretch over us like
protective hands. Not anymore. Nothing in this park is as I remember it to be.
I remember when the grass used to shine bright green and smell so sweet, when
the play area actually looked like a play area for kids, not these modern
gymnasium-like frames which look better suited in the Tate. I remember when the
picnic benches that fill the small space of grass between the play area and the
bandstand were a healthy brown and full of chattering families. Now
everything’s old, broken and unkempt, forgotten by the passing crowds, faded
into the dullness of a hollow estate. No one uses the bandstand anymore; it was
torn down two years ago and replaced with a circular patch of earth that’s
meant to host flowers but instead just hosts lager cans and chip shop wrappers.
I remember when the shops behind the bandstand used to be
brightly painted, with colourful posters and adverts in their windows. And when
the shadows caused by the tall, sky-high tenement buildings were kept at bay,
so that when I was sat on that bench with my Dad I could almost forget that we
were in the middle of nothing. Our own piece of the countryside in the middle
of waste.
That was such a long time ago, back when my life was simple
and didn’t need to make sense. When I questioned everything and yet nothing.
That was when Dad lived with us.
I was five when Dad left.
Mum worked as a
receptionist in the local surgery. It was a good job and she liked it very
much. She liked talking with all the people who passed by her desk each day,
watching the generations amble through the surgery doors, mothers with their
daughters and grand-daughters, fathers with their sons and grand-sons. She felt
privileged in her job, privileged with the trust that people had in her to
manage such delicate and private personal details. Dad did something to do with
building: but he’d told me once that he’d always wanted to work in a school. He
never did, he’d said because he couldn’t afford to go to college for the
qualifications needed. So he grafted hard instead, following in his father’s trade.
He worked away during the week, somewhere in the city, too far to commute to
every day. He would stay at his brothers’ during the week and come home Friday
night with a bag of fish and chips from Henry’s behind the bandstand. Then we’d
all sit as a family at the tiny kitchen table: Mum, Dad, Tommy and me. We lived
in a small two bed flat on the twelfth floor of The Gandhi building, one of ten
high-rise flats to litter the skyline of our broken-down community. I had the
bigger bedroom; it was purple and green with two single beds in it. One of
these was Mum’s. During the week she’d sleep in there with me. But, on
weekends, she and Dad would sleep in the living room on the sofa bed. Tommy had
the tiny room in the corner all to himself, I wasn’t allowed in there. He had a
sign on his door that said ‘No girls allowed!’, he would get very upset if I
ever ignored it. Which, of course, I did from time to time. He had a bunk bed
with messy sheets and clothes all over the floor. On his walls were posters of
people dressed in raggedy shirts, with long, untamed hair, playing guitars or
drums. Tommy was eight years older than me; he would play football with his
friends in the park’s games field at the weekend. He had so many friends back
then. Everyone liked him, just as everyone liked Mum and Dad. Every Saturday
night Dad would meet up with a bunch of his friends down at The Old Hand pub
behind the bandstand. And every other night or so Mum would have gaggles of
giggling friends over, filling up the living room and laughing louder with
every fresh glass of wine. Life was so busy then, so full of people and
laughter and fun. Before Dad left.
One week Dad went to work on the Monday morning as usual but
didn’t return on the Friday. We had none of Henry’s fish and chips that night.
Instead we had a knock on the door from two yellow clad police officers who
spoke to Mum in my bedroom. Mum stayed in bed all that weekend and wouldn’t
answer mine or Tommy’s questions until the Sunday when she sat us down
separately, me at the tiny kitchen table and Tommy in his out-of-bounds
bedroom, and told us that Dad wasn’t coming home. Ever. She never explained
why, she just told us he’d left us.
After
that life changed dramatically...
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Thursday, 6 December 2012
The Story of Teddy Adam
I have a book expected to come out next year.
A preview of my other book is available on:
www.teddyadam.blogspot.co.uk
In addition, a preview of the story 'Fourth to the Right' will be available on this blog from late next week.
Remember my blogs are a space for you, the readers, to give me direct feedback on my works. Feedback is both welcomed and encouraged - I look forward to hearing your views.
Hope you enjoy.
A preview of my other book is available on:
www.teddyadam.blogspot.co.uk
In addition, a preview of the story 'Fourth to the Right' will be available on this blog from late next week.
Remember my blogs are a space for you, the readers, to give me direct feedback on my works. Feedback is both welcomed and encouraged - I look forward to hearing your views.
Hope you enjoy.
Labels:
Adam,
Best Book,
Book,
Child,
Family,
Happiness,
Happy,
Hope,
inspirational,
J T Adam,
Kids,
Life,
Love,
Sad,
Short Story,
Story,
Story book,
Teddy Adam,
Teddy Adam Story,
Together
Wednesday, 5 December 2012
Fourth to the Right
Growing up is never easy. For some it’s even harder.
This narrative short story leads readers through the traumatic
childhood of one young child, as they deal with the loss of their father,
addiction in their mother and the addition of younger siblings. This story
shows how one young child, who has faced nothing but hardship and horrors,
could turn a daily hell into something beautiful.
An inspiring tale which proves that no matter your start in
life, the future is what you make of it.
Labels:
Adam,
Best Book,
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Family,
Happiness,
Happy,
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inspirational,
J T Adam,
Kids,
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Love,
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Sad,
Story,
Story book,
Teddy Adam,
Teddy Adam Story,
Together
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