Book Bob Avey

Bob has given programs across the country and is available for your group or association. His specialty is mystery, but he can present programs on a variety of writing, or reading related subjects. Please contact at

Kindles to the left of me, Nooks to the right, here I am stuck in the middle with… The times they are a changing. Some new devices are obsolete as soon as they reach the public. Kind of like overused author, marketing ploys.

Not long ago, I packed up my little red Neon, happily anticipating my part in overpopulating just such an event, and hit the road, on my way to a book festival. As I pulled out of the parking lot of a convenience store, dining on a sausage biscuit and a cappuccino, my typical entourage began to appear. Is it possible for someone to develop an imagination leak and have pieces of it seep out to become real? Einstein might well have developed a theory on that. A man wearing a black leather jacket drove past me on a pink scooter. I mean come on. Not even Arnold Schwarzenegger could pull off looking macho on such a ride. To make matters worse, he was brushing his teeth, with a real toothbrush. Don’t ask. It only gets better. An elderly lady, punching the air, like a boxer in training, ran alongside of him. I mean, whose she going to fight? Hmm… Do I see a Mike Tyson tune up on the horizon?

A couple miles down the road, the two-wheel escapades continued. A ninja flew past me on a bicycle. Do ninjas even ride bicycles? Seems like it might be some sort of code violation. Whatever it was, it was peddling fast - doesn’t say much for the power of my Neon, does it - and I can’t say that I blame the rider. Being pursued by a Roman gladiator - I could tell by his plumed helmet - piloting a Harley Davidson would light a fire under me as well. Actually the Harley rider more resembled the Bugs Bunny cartoon space creature, but a frightening prospect in its own right.

Okay, for the first time I’ll admit it. All of the above didn’t happen in the same day… But individually each event did transpire. I’m not making it up.

Let me apologize for the Dark-and-Stormy approach, but as I stepped into the building hosting the event the wind began to blow, howling like souls lost in the hallways of Purgatory, circulating around cracks in an overhead door, which covered an opening large enough to drive a bus through. As if that wasn’t bad enough, each time the pitiful moaning ceased the beleaguered spirits would resort to pounding their ethereal fists against the garage door, hoping, I guess, that some uninformed author might set them free.

The festival unfolded with comparable maligned hoopla. If it hadn’t been for the white card that showed my name, sitting precariously atop a battered table, I might have thought I’d made a wrong turn and ended up at the monthly meeting for the Eastern Oklahoma followers of unidentified flying objects. A lady at one of the tables wore a low-cut blouse, which prompted her to paste her name tag onto her… well, her skin. Then the guy occupying the booth next to mine, whose shirt hadn’t a prayer of achieving its goal of covering the bloke’s stomach, leaned over and said, “I was one of the few soldiers to be kicked out of Vietnam on a mental disability discharge.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Not really. Does that bother you?”
“How kind of you to ask. Would you mind taking one of the other tables?”
“Glad to see you have a sense of humor,” he said. “But I’ve made up for it. I’ve been studying the Giza pyramids for years, and I’ve cracked the code.”
“Do tell.”
“Can’t. It’s a secret. But I’ve written a book and I’ve laid the answer between the lines. Had to. Editors, you know.”

Now there’s a marketing strategy that I haven’t tried. And now for something different:

A group of thrilled historians claim to have discovered the site of King Arthur's storied "Round Table" at an ancient Roman amphitheater in Chester, England. But the discovery is a further indication that the "Round Table" was not a mere piece of furniture, but a massive wooden and stone structure that could seat some 1,000 people. The historians believe that noblemen of Camelot sat in the front row of the circular meeting place, with lower ranked subjects on stone benches in an outer circle.

By signing up for my newsletter, Carol from Pawnee, OK won the book drawing this month. Congratulations Carol. I hope you enjoy Twisted Perception.

Not much going on this month. I’ve been busy trying to finish Footprints of a Dancer, the 3rd book in the Detective Elliot series. I know. But I’m on page 273. Now for the rewrite.

On September 18, I’ll be at the Chisholm Trail Book Festival in Duncan, OK.

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I also give programs for writing groups, reading groups, or any group that's interested. If you belong to a club which needs program speakers, keep me in mind.

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This article was written by Bob Avey, author of Twisted Perception and Beneath a Buried House.


ORDER BENEATH A BURIED HOUSE from Amazon, Barnes and Noble or AWOC Books.

ORDER TWISTED PERCEPTION from Amazon, Barnes & Noble or AWOC Books.