Every once in a while we read a book that profoundly affects the way we perceive our lives. A New Dawn in Deer Isle is one of those rare books.

A common man of modest means, world-weary George McLast decides to forget all his problems and take the trip he and his beloved wife had only dreamed about before she passed away three years earlier. Despite all the unnerving feelings he’s been getting in his chest, his son’s disapproval, and his precarious financial situation, he sets out across America following the same route John Steinbeck took in 1959 with his pet poodle, Charley. And as the legendary author wanted to do back then, George hopes to reacquaint himself with his country and its people.

But everything doesn’t work out as planned. Along the way George encounters far more than he had bargained for. And so will readers. During his many adventures and mishaps you’ll feel like you’re right alongside him, in the passenger seat of his old van. And you will not only read his words you’ll learn from them as well.


FINAL Deer Isle Cover

What’s Tom Been Up To?

Although I’m certainly not of Stephen King fame, I do have quite a few reader friends out there who from time to time want to know what I’m working on. So today I thought I’d put up a short update.

I’ve always been a one-book-at-a-time author, but somehow I now have four potential books in the works. That’s not including the horror novella I was working on with my wife, Blanche, but have temporarily abandoned.

What I have my sights focused on now is a novel that might ultimately be titled The Roar of a December Lion, The December Lion Roars, or maybe even Like Steinbeck and Charley. No matter what I call it, though, it’s the story of a sixty-six-year-old man, who like John Steinbeck in his non-fiction book Travels with Charley, sets out to drive across America for two reasons. One is that his heart has been acting up and he doesn’t know how much time he’s got left. The other reason is that despite all the negative changes he’s seen over the years, he still has this urge to go out there and become reacquainted with his country and its people. So, against the worry-filled wishes of his family, the aging widower says chuck it all; puts a mattress in the back of his old van; equips it with a camping stove and everything else he’ll need; then sets out on the road trip he and his deceased wife had dreamed about for years but could never afford. And wow, I’m at the hallway point in the story, and it’s turning out to be one wild and woolly journey.

Two of the other three books I have in the works are also novels. One is about a well-to-do executive who loses everything, including his family, and finds himself living on the streets of West Palm Beach, Florida. Bad as that experience is though, he isn’t living in “the rough” for very long before he gets a huge break. He’s taken under the wing of a street-savvy homeless man the local “houseless” people call “The Prophet.” An imposing figure at six-and-a-half-feet tall, The Prophet is an ex-professional basketball star that has long been wanted by the law for assaulting a man—an off duty cop, who was unmercifully beating up his wife in a garage. The main character’s hope is that someday his estranged wife, and their daughter, will have him back. The only other thing keeping him going is his plan B. He and The Prophet are trying to put together enough money to buy a used mobile home and set it up in a hidden, desolate, jungle-like area down in the Florida Keys.

The third novel I’ve started is the sequel to my already published, A Second Chance in Paradise.

The fourth book is a memoir and I have been adding a little to it from time to time. Although it’s about my coming-of-age years—when I was growing up in New York with my mentally-ill mother, I just might extend it into the years that followed.

So that’s it, gals and guys. That’s what Tom’s working on. And believe me, he is working.


A boomer’s look back at sometime magical years

July 24, 2015
Boomer Cafe

What do some of us baby boomers do for our Second Act? A lot of us write. And at least one of us, Tom Winton of Dahlonega, Georgia, has done quite well at it. He had his first novel published only five years ago when he was 62, and now has six under his belt; all have become bestsellers on Amazon. The latest is “Beyond Nostalgia,” which takes place back in those sometimes magical years of the 1960s and 70s. Funny thing is, Tom didn’t always want to be a writer.

Although I completed my first “novel attempt” more than fifteen years ago, I’ve only been socializing with other writers on Facebook, Twitter, and all the rest for three years now. But over the course of that time, I have been fortunate enough to befriend (and learn from) hundreds of authors from all over the world. I’m deeply indebted to many of those folks and to others I’ve met on writer’s communities such as Authonomy and YouWriteOn.

Writer Tom Winton

During the course of my everyday contacts with writers, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard folks say things like, “I’ve been writing stories since I was six years old,” or, “I wrote my first novel when I was just seventeen,” or “I wanted to be an author ever since I read Flaubert’s Madame Bovary in high school.”

Well, for me it was different. While in some ways I wish I had started scrawling words when I was six or sixteen, I can’t honestly say that I did.

Nevertheless, by the time I was in my mid-forties, I had done quite a bit of reading. And there were fleeting moments when I entertained thoughts of writing something myself. The problem was that I thought I was too busy— too busy “living life” to bother sitting down and writing about it.

Yes, I thought it would be really cool to be like Hemingway, write in the mornings, fish in the afternoons, and party at night with a bunch of famous and infamous friends. I wanted to be a writer but didn’t want to pay the piper. I wasn’t ready to stand for hours and scrawl stories on lined yellow pads like old Hem did. Heck, I wasn’t even ready to sit on my tail and do it either. But I sure dreamed about getting the respect and attention that accomplished authors so often do.

Ernest Hemingway

Then one day I woke up.

After years of never having less than six books lying on the carpet alongside my recliner, I finally thought, Oh, hell . . . I can do this writing thing! I can do it better than most authors I’ve read. I know I can do better. How hard can it be to describe a green hill in Africa, or a southern plantation gone kaput in Georgia? Ha . . . lemme go get a pad. I’ll whip something up right now.

Boy . . . was I wrong!

I went and got a spiral notebook, then plopped right back into my easy chair to begin my great American novel. What did I accomplish that first sitting? Nada, as in, not a thing. I had no idea where to begin. My next attempt was just as fruitless, so was the next, and the next, and every other attempt I made for two straight years. If I wasn’t out fishing, working, running around somewhere, or reading, I’d be in that soft mauve chair agonizing over what a flunky I was with a pen.

I lived on Florida’s Gulf Coast at that time but somehow, after moving across the state to the east coast those two years later, I found myself on a quiet beach with that damned notebook again. I thought if I took a folding chair with me and sat out there on the sand, I just might finally get something down on paper.

And I did. I don’t remember how much I wrote that day, but I started my first novel. Why was I finally able to come up with something that I thought was halfway decent? Did my muse float in on a wave along with all the brown seaweed on that beach? Had my inspiration surfaced ten miles out in the Gulfstream and blown in on the easterly wind? I doubt it.

I think what happened was that I finally had a story somewhat worked out in my mind. I had a beginning, a middle, and an end. And that’s all I needed. Well, almost all I needed.

Sure, the rough plot I had worked out in my head helped give me confidence, but so did something else. I did exactly what Ernest Hemingway told aspiring writers time and time again: “All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence you know.” And I did.

Starting a new novel still isn’t easy for me. None of the writing process is. But in my mind, there aren’t many things in this mad, maddening world more rewarding than a productive morning at the keyboard. And I’m awfully glad that I learned what writing one true sentence can lead to.

In the past four years I’ve had six novels published. I’ve had two different publishers but parted ways with both. Now all my books are self-published and will continue to be. That is, until the “big six” publishers have a desperate, frenetic bidding war over them. Ha! Talk about a classic example of a writer’s imagination running wild!


If ever there has been a story to give voice to the joy and pain of love, it’s Forever Three.

For far too long author and nice guy Dean Cassidy has lived with the misfortune of loving two women at once. Over and over his heart has been stretched, wrenched, twisted, and bruised in an emotional tug-of-war.

Dean has loved his wife, Maddy, since long before they took their vows, but after 22 years, he still can’t shake the memory of his childhood sweetheart, Theresa Wayman. And now things are getting worse. Suddenly, the torturous triangle is closing in on him like a three-sided vice.

Day after day Dean is pummeled by a dizzying, soul-numbing succession of guilt, joy, tragedy and uncertainty. He’s all but lost the will to go on. Nevertheless, the human spirit does not destruct easily. It is resilient and tenacious. And as close to going down as Dean is, he’s determined to keep swinging until the very end. The question is will it be enough?


Today’s Key West

Today’s Key West – Is it Too Funky for Ernest Hemingway?

Hemingway House and Museum

Today’s Key West – The Hemingway House and Museum

By Tom Winton

You’ve got to wonder what Ernest Hemingway would think of the island he called home for 10 years if he were to return today. Well, guess what! He did return. I just saw him yesterday. No, I’m not kidding. I saw him down at Sloppy Joe’s Saloon on Duval Street yesterday afternoon. Not only that, but he was with his good buddy and founder of the bar Joe Russell.

Sure, I know that Papa has been dead since 1961 and is buried in Ketchum, Idaho. I also know that Joe Russell checked out twenty years before him, in 1941. And that he’s buried in the Key West Cemetery, just a hop, skip, and a stagger from his old bar. But believe me, none of that matters. I saw them I tell you.

Sloppy Joe’s

It was around 4:30. Sloppy Joe’s was packed as always, and I was sitting at the bar talking to my buddy Fernando. He mixes libations there, so our conversation was in snippets. As he bounced back and forth between me and the customers he was serving, we talked about getting together to do a little tarpon fishing this coming Saturday. We were just about to set a time when he had to skedaddle again to fix drinks for two drop-dead gorgeous school teachers he’d told me were from Massachusetts. The band had just cranked up again after taking a break, and the lead singer was belting out the lyrics to Cheeseburger in Paradise so loud you could have heard them four blocks down Greene Street. I swung around in my stool to check out the high-spirited tourists dancing in front of the band stand, but something in the back corner of the bar caught my eye.

Now, keep in mind that I was only two beers deep at the time. Okay, so maybe it was three or four. I’m not sure, but I was fine I tell you. Anyhoo, standing side by side, in front of the wall with all the old fishing rods and pictures of Hemingway hanging on it, was none other than the literary legend and his longtime sidekick, Joe. I’m 100% sure of it. The only thing is the both of them were kind of transparent. I could see all their features, the drinks in their hands, the sea captain’s hat tilted back on Joe Russell’s head, the rope holding up Hem’s Bermuda shorts, but I could also see the pictures directly behind them.

With my eyes popping out of my head I immediately picked up my bottle of Corona and eased my way over to them.

Deep in a conversation, looking out at the dancers just like I had been, neither of them seemed to notice me. Stealthily, I pulled a chair out from a table just to their left, parked myself, and leaned my head to the side. I could just barely hear them over all the ruckus.

“Son of a gun Hem,” I heard the onetime bootlegger say, “I just can’t get over all this! What the hell has happened to this town…to my place?”

“I don’t know, Josie, looks to me like the island has been invaded by a bunch of Martians.”

“Yeah, check out that guy over there…the chubby middle-aged joker dancing with that sweet young redhead. What the heck’s that thing he’s got wrapped around his waist? Looks like a belt, but that ain’t no buckle on the front of it.”

“I have no idea, compadre,” Hem said, “The thing puts me to mind of the fighting belts we used to wear when fishing for sailfish. The only difference is the thing on the front of his certainly isn’t a cup like we used to stick the butt ends of our fishing rod into. Looks like a small binocular case jiggling out there.”

“Man…things sure have sure changed around here.” Russell then said, rolling his eyes around his old establishment.

“Yes, the only improvement I can see is all these fine looking ladies.”

“Yeah, and it seems half of them are wearing tee shirts or tank tops with the name of the bar and your mug shot on the front of them. What’s with that? How come my picture ain’t on ‘em?”

“Eat your heart out, old buddy.” Hem came back, with a wide grin on his face.


Right about then a tall, dapper looking guy in a Panama hat and white linen suit strode into the spacious open-air barroom. Acting as if he owned the place, a blonde under one arm (who looked like a high-end model) and his other arm seemingly dragging behind him, he had a smile that would make Clark Gable jealous.

Joe Russell did a double take when he saw them then said, “Well roll out the red carpet! Who the heck does this guy think he is, King Farouk?”

“Forget what he looks like,” the white-haired Ernest said, “what’s that he’s dragging behind him?”

It was one of those luggages with an expandable handle…a very small one.

Crinkling up his forehead real tight beneath the black bill of his hat, Joe said, “You mean he can’t carry that thing? It’s only the size of a knapsack for crying out loud. What’s he need wheels for?“

Looking totally disgusted at this point, Hem said, “That’s it! Let’s get out of here. I’ve seen enough. Big strapping guy like him can’t carry a dinky suit case. I don’t know what’s happened to men since we left.”

“You can say that again. I’m damn glad I rounded my last curve when I did.”

With that the two men double-timed it around the dance floor and out one of the wide doorways onto the street. Not a soul had rolled an eye at either of them. I was sure then I was the only one who could see them, and I wasn’t about to let them out of my sight.

Tailing Hemingway

After following them out into the bright Florida sunshine, I tailed them as they weaved through and around the onslaught of humanity parading along the wide sidewalks of Duval Street. Block after block I remained just steps behind them but, with their backs to me, I couldn’t hear much of what they said. Tee shirt shops, bars and more bars, gaudy gift shops and restaurants, we passed dozens of them before Hem turned his head towards Joe and I heard him say, “My God! What a circus this place has become.”

Then all three of us spotted a lanky bald guy scurrying across the street through all the slow moving traffic.

“Would ya look at this one?” Joe said. “Not a hair on his head and he’s got a lawnmower tattooed on the side of it.”

“I see it. Can you imagine that?”

They both cracked up laughing but as soon as they calmed down again Hem said, “We’ve got to get the hell out of here, Josie. We’re coming up on Ohio Street, let’s turn there and go to my place.”

That’s exactly what they did. And when we arrived at the Hemingway House/Museum the iron gate in the middle of the tall brick wall out front was locked. The place had already closed for the day.

Ernest Hemingway just stood there for a moment. As he gazed affectionately at his old home through the bars, I couldn’t help thinking how he looked like a man who’d just been reunited with a long lost lover.

A silent moment passed before Joe, standing wordlessly alongside his friend, seeing the sadness in his eyes, tried to console him by saying, “Damn, why’d the have to go and turn the place into a museum?”

Ernest turned to look at him then, and the melancholic look on his face suddenly vanished. Instantly replacing it with the wide devilish grin of a very satisfied prankster he said, “Oh hell Josie, I don’t mind that at all. Did you know that some of the visitors who’ve come here claimed they’ve heard my footsteps upstairs when there was nobody up there?”

“No, I‘ve never heard anything about that up in the big bar in the sky.”

“Yes sir, that’s what some folks say down here. And there have been others who have taken it a step further. Some of them swear they’ve heard the keys of my old Royal typewriter being tapped when no one was upstairs in the studio.”

“You’re kiddin’?” Joe came back. “Ain’t it downright ridiculous the way some people let their minds run away with them? How could anybody believe such hokey….”

“Guess what, buddy,” Ernest interrupted, putting his arm over Joe’s shoulder, “It ain’t hokey!”

For a short second Joe just looked at Hem with a questioning look on his face. Then it sunk in.

“You son of a gun!” he blurted out. “You are one evil amigo!”

He then slung his arm over Hemingway’s shoulder and the two old friends burst out laughing.

I couldn’t help but to feel left out when, with their hearty laughter continuing to echo up and down Whitehead Street, the two ghostly figures drifted right through the bars of that iron gate and made their way toward the front door.


Author Tom Winton

Said to be a man who writes with his pen dipped in his soul, bestselling author Tom Winton has been listed as one of Amazon’s Top 100 “Most Popular Authors” in both Literary Fiction and in Mystery, Thriller, and Suspense.

Born in New York City, he has done everything from working on a railroad gang in the Colorado Rockies to driving a taxicab in Manhattan. He’s been a mailman, a salesman, an entrepreneur and more. Now living in Florida with his wife Blanche and their ill-tempered but lovable Jack Russell terrier Ginger, Tom is working on his sixth book.

Tom’s bestselling novels have been likened to such classics as Catcher in the Rye, To Kill a Mockingbirdand more. His titles are Beyond Nostalgia, The Last American Martyr, Four Days with Hemingway’s Ghost, Within a Man’s HeartA Second Chance in Paradise, and a short story collection, The Voice of Willie Morgan. Three Romances From a Man’s Heart is the title of his newly released box set.


Examiner’s Review!

Tom Winton is the new Ernest Hemingway–From the 1/8/2014

A Second Chance in Paradise is similar to Earnest Hemmingway's "Old Man and the Sea".

A Second Chance in Paradise by Tom Winton

Tom Winton must be channeling the spirit of Ernest Hemingway. If you liked “The Old Man and the Sea”, you’ll love “A Second Chance in Paradise”. Like Winton’s previous book, “Four Days With Hemingway’s Ghost” this novel has a lot in common with old Papa’s titles. It’s about a “wounded warrior”. It takes place in the Florida Keys. There’s a lot of fishing, ocean storms, and battles of several kinds that pit man against nature. When the hero, Sonny, lands a 165 pound fish, the description is so vivid that you’ll swear you’ve suffered line cuts on your own hands, and you’ll wonder why your back hurts.

Sonny Raines is a furniture salesman in New York. After telling his boss off, and quitting his job, he comes home to find out his wife, Wendy, is having an affair. He packs his bags into his old van and heads for Florida to start a new life. He settles into a small town just outside Key West where he meets good common people who also have battle scars like his own. He finds a new job, makes a new life, and falls in love again. But while he is at it, he gets pulled into a dispute about a real estate developer, protected mango trees, and a threat to the new life he’s learned to love.

If you’re a fan of Hemingway’s scarred heroes, and you want to read a six-star future best seller, here you go. If you are a budding author who wants to study the work of a master, well, this is how it’s done, son.

Agents and editors will blog and write articles about the “rules” of writing, and point to techniques that no author should even think of sending in. It is a rare and talented writer who can get away with breaking those rules. One of those rules is that a writer should never say “little did he know”. Another rule is that background information should be delivered in small doses. Too much background at one time is known as an “information dump.” As a rule, background should not exceed more than a page at a time.

In this story, Winton successfully uses the “I didn’t know this at the time, but…” ploy, and follows it with pages of background that cover Julie’s engagement to her former fiancée, a car accident, and a resulting handicap. It’s done so smoothly that the reader doesn’t even notice the rules are being broken. After reading that chapter, I had to stop and consider the feat this author pulled off. I read the chapter again, just to admire the beauty and skill of the way it was written.

The love scene is also excellently portrayed. While written from a man’s point of view, using tasteful language and descriptions, the scene comes off the way a woman wants it. It’s not just climactic, but tender and loving at the same time, giving, not taking, passionate, yet tender. Wendy was a complete fool to ever let Sonny go.

The action scenes are also tastefully described, yet make you gouge the edges of your Kindle and squirm in your seat. These scenes prove that, with skill, a writer doesn’t need to resort to guts to make a book gut wrenching.

The only thing that could possibly improve the story would be if Sonny realized that being sterile is a sort of handicap, too. That would have motivated the ending better, but even without that insight, the ending will make you say “aaaaaaaah” and you’ll be tempted to read it again and again.



When darkness falls the Florida Keys come alive with romance and high-powered suspense.  Best Seller, A SECOND CHANCE IN PARADISE, will take you to that land of swaying palms and warm, gentle breezes.

Long Island salesman Sonny Raines has had it. He’s sick and tired of living in a world where wrong always wins over right. Then, on his thirty-ninth birthday, when he loses his job and comes home to the most devastating shock of his life, that’s it. He’s dropping out.

With nothing left to lose, and little in his pocket, Sonny chucks it all and drives his aging van fifteen-hundred miles to the lower reaches of the Florida Keys. All he wants is to get over his recent losses and simplify his hectic life, and that’s exactly what he thinks he’s doing when he settles on a paradisiacal speck of an island known as Wrecker’s Key. While surrounded by the warm aquamarine waters of two tropical oceans, he not only falls in love with the key but also establishes a close bond with the free-spirited locals who call it home.

But all isn’t blue skies, swaying palms, and coconut oil on Wrecker’s Key. There’s trouble wafting in the warm breezes that caress the island. Although Sonny certainly isn’t looking for romance, he finds himself falling for his next door neighbor. Ex-model Julie Albright just may be the kindest, most beautiful woman to ever grace his eyes, but there’s a snag. She has a small physical flaw that, no matter how hard he tries, Sonny can’t overlook. And his feelings are no secret to Julie. She can read them, and they weigh as heavy on her heart as they do on his. Then things get even worse. One night, under the cover of darkness, danger drifts up the deep, silent currents from the lower keys—serious danger—life and death danger. And Sonny Raines finds himself right in the middle of it.

(Click on above book picture to purchase.)

An Interview with Lucy Pireel

Official Release Day – A Second Chance in Paradise by Tom Winton

I’m honoured to be the blog that Tom Winton’s has chosen to showcase his new release. So I won’t waste any time but get right to the point and present

Second Chance Ebook
A Second Chance in Paradise

Long Island salesman Sonny Raines has had it. He’s sick and tired of living in a world where wrong always wins over right. Then, on his thirty-ninth birthday, when he loses his job and comes home to the most devastating shock of his life, that’s it. He’s dropping out.

With nothing left to lose, and little in his pocket, Sonny chucks it all and drives his aging van fifteen-hundred miles to the lower reaches of the Florida Keys. All he wants is to get over his recent losses and simplify his hectic life, and that’s exactly what he thinks he’s doing when he settles on a paradisiacal speck of an island known as Wrecker’s Key. While surrounded by the warm aquamarine waters of two tropical oceans, he not only falls in love with the key but also establishes a close bond with the free-spirited locals who call it home.

But all isn’t blue skies, swaying palms, and coconut oil on Wrecker’s Key. There’s trouble wafting in the warm breezes that caress the island. Although Sonny certainly isn’t looking for romance, he finds himself falling for his next door neighbor. Ex-model Julie Albright just may be the kindest, most beautiful woman to ever grace his eyes, but there’s a snag. She has a small physical flaw that, no matter how hard he tries, Sonny can’t overlook. And his feelings are no secret to Julie. She can read them, and they weigh as heavy on her heart as they do on his. Then things get even worse. One night, under the cover of darkness, danger drifts up the deep, silent currents from the lower keys—serious danger—life and death danger. And Sonny Raines finds himself right in the middle of it.

And if that wasn’t enough, I have an excerpt for you to make you want even more! Believe me after reading the following bit, you will click one of the links below and get your copy of the book. :-)

“As soon as I stepped outside I broke into a trot. Passing all the rest of the trailers first then heading up the same narrow road I followed Julie home on the night before, all I could do was think about how she must be reacting right then. I envisioned her staying in her bed alone, thinking. I could see quiet tears making their way down her cheeks. We may have only known each other for twenty-four hours but the mutual attraction we felt – both mental and physical, was undeniable. And it was deep. I knew for sure she really liked me, but there was a lot I didn’t know about Julie Alright.
I had no idea she hadn’t had a semblance of interest in any man since her modeling days ended sixteen years earlier in New York City. Nor did I know that back then she was engaged to Mark Richardson, a very promising young attorney. Mark was about to become the youngest partner ever at Dalrymple, Stockton and Stockton, one of New York’s most prestigious law firms. Julie and Mark had been dating for two years, and they had a big wedding planned for that fall. The ceremony was to be held in St. Patrick’s Cathedral, followed by a reception at the Waldorf Astoria. Money was no problem for Mark’s parents and they insisted on buying the grandest wedding available. His father, J. Walter Richardson of Scarsdale and Palm Beach, just happened to be the sole heir of the “American Grains” breakfast cereal fortune.
At that time Julie was one of the big up-and-comers in the modeling world. As a matter of fact, she was just about to cross the threshold to cover-girl fame. But it never happened. One June morning, when she was on her way to the biggest shoot of her career, her sunny future eclipsed totally, and in an instant.
Sitting in the back seat of a Checker cab, she was headed uptown to the world-renowned Clairidge Studios where she was to pose for an upcoming cover of Vogue Magazine. The sun was beginning to shine, but Madison Avenue was still slick from a late morning rain. Julie, who was sitting behind the driver, cranked down the window and held her left hand out in the breeze, drying her freshly applied nail polish. Then, just as the cab was crossing the intersection at 44th street, another cab, heading east, didn’t bother to stop for the red light. The driver of the at fault cab, one Eloi Hernandez, was so toasted on coke he didn’t even notice the light had turned red. Thoughts of stopping never entered his hopped-up mind until after he’d sped into the intersection – and slammed broadside into Julie’s cab. The impact to the driver’s door was so forceful that her driver’s neck snapped so far sideways it literally cracked. The two vehicles then skidded, smacking sideways into each other, crushing four of Julie’s fingers in the process.The driver of Julie’s cab, a Greek immigrant from Astoria Queens, whose name she never learned, was dead by the time the ambulances reached the scene. Julie was rushed to Mt. Sinai Hospital where a team of three plastic surgeons performed micro-surgery in an attempt to re-attach her fingers. Her middle and index fingers were salvaged and the nerves regenerated in due time, but her pinky and ring finger were so badly mashed there was no possible way of saving them. Eloi Hernandez did a short stint on Riker’s Island; the Greek was buried out in Queens by his family; and Julie’s potential international fame never materialized. On top of all that, when Mark Richardson found out Julie had lost two fingers, he decided that just maybe he wasn’t ready for marriage after all. After knotting the loose ends of her life together the best Julie could, she returned to Ft. Lauderdale with lost dreams and a broken heart.”
Buy your copy from AMAZON
Read more from this author on Wattpad
006Hello Tom, and thank you for choosing me to host this release day. To give the few who don’t know you a peek of the man behind the author I have a few questions for you.
Sweet or savoury? Hmmm…that would depend on what kind of mood my stomach was in.
Coffee or tea? Coffee for sure! Usually I do decaf, but on occasion I take a walk on the wild side and go for the high-octane stuff.
Chocolate or cookies? That’s a no-brainer. I’d rather eat dark chocolate than breath.
Favourite dish? I’ve got quite a few, but a seafood platter with piping hot shrimp, scallops, fish, and all that kind of good stuff is right near the top of both my favourite and favorite list. Sorry, Lucy, couldn’t pass up the opportunity to throw a bit of humor in there.
No worries, it made me chuckle too, but that dish … Oh, boy, I could do with one of those too.
Mountains or sea? I’ve spent many thousands of hours fishing in the Atlantic Ocean and the Gulf of Mexico—days and nights, but now I’ll take the mountains in a heartbeat. Recently I lived in Maine’s North Woods for five years, and I yearn to move back up there. I absolutely loved living in the woods alone with just my wife, dog, and all the critters.
Staying or moving? I think my answer to the preceding question also answers this one perfectly.
Organised or go with the flow? Unfortunately, I’d have to say organized, for the time being. I hate routine and regimentation, but in this busy, busy writing life there are a lot of things that we must get done. If you can’t organize your time you’re going to leave a lot of strings untied, and that can really hurt an author’s progress.
Just don’t forget to let loose every now and then.


Interview on The eReader Cafe



Author Interview with Tom Winton

Author Interview with Tom Winton

Good Sunday to you! Today we have the fortune of sitting down with Multi-genre author, Tom Winton. Let’s kick-off this exciting interview with The eReader Cafe’s signature first question: 

Coffee or Tea?

I’ll take coffee, please, just a bit of cream. I’ve got to have it when I write or do anything else in the mornings. Usually I go with decaf but every now and then I take a walk on the wild side and go with the high-test.

Tell us a little about yourself. Where are you from and when did you start writing?

I was born in Manhattan and for the most part grew up in Queens, New York. I didn’t start writing until I was forty-five. I tried to begin earlier, but for two full years all I could do was stare at the first blank page of a Spiral notebook. When I finally got going (on a part-time basis), it took me two-and-a half years to complete my first novel, Beyond Nostalgia.

You’ve written several highly rated novels in multiple genres, and most recently a contemporary novelette: Within a Man’s Heart. Tell us about your books and what inspires you to write.

I was first inspired to write after I’d been reading seriously for about ten years. At the time I always had about a half-dozen books at the ready, alongside my recliner. But there was a problem. I couldn’t finish reading many of them. While some folks feel they have to finish every book they start, I’m not that way. I’ve got a short attention span, and if a book doesn’t hold me from the get go, I’ll quickly move on to another.

That’s what inspired me to put my pen to paper. I believed I could write fluff-less stories. My goal was to write entire books without a single paragraph that would allow readers to yawn. And that’s what I still try to do. For example, descriptions of people and places are often very humdrum and can slow down a story’s flow. So, to me, descriptions are the real challenges. Those are the parts of a story I really grapple with. Honestly, there have been times when I’ve spent three or four hours working on a single paragraph.

As for my books, I’ve been very fortunate with them. All, except my brand new novella, have been multi-list Amazon Bestsellers—several times each. And seventy percent of their combined reviews are five stars

Beyond Nostalgia is the poignant story of a man who has the misfortune of finding love too early in life, squandering it, and then mourning its loss for twenty-four years.

The Last American Martyr is about an unemployed doorman who writes a book about the unfair spread of wealth in America. Two years later, after the book becomes an international bestseller, the unlikely candidate is awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature. But all is not roses. Once he returns home from Stockholm with the prize, he soon learns that a powerful, elitist clique has it in for him. With no other choice, he and his wife flee their longtime home and drive all over America in an RV, hoping to find peace and anonymity.

In my third novel, Four days with Hemingway’s Ghost, Hemingway aficionado Jack Phelan slips into a four-day coma after an accident and finds himself in Key West—spending time with Ernest Hemingway himself—learning more about his hero than he ever could have imagined

And lastly, my new novella Within a Man’s Heart is the story of a New York Sales executive who, four years after the death of his young wife, moves to a small rural New Hampshire town with hopes of finding peace and solace. But it doesn’t happen so quickly. He’s not there fifteen minutes before he finds out he’s in for a lot more than he’d bargained for.

Describe your writing process. When and where do you write?

I work at a small desk in a corner of my living room and like to write in the early mornings, before any clutter has chance to accumulate in my mind.

What do you do in your spare time when you are not your writing?

I’m up every morning before the sun and almost always go for a drive at dawn. After that I spend most of my time writing, marketing my books, participating in my social network, and posting on my Facebook group “Tom Winton Authors Helping Authors.” To clear my mind I hit a local gym three days a week and often take long walks.

Do you have any favorite books or authors?

That’s a tough call but right off the top of my head I have to say The Prince of TidesTravels with Charley, and Stephen King’s On Writing. I’ve read each of them more than once.

What are you reading now?

Nothing at the moment, but I am getting ready to give King’s On Writing another whirl. I think it’s a must read for all authors. Every other book I’ve ever read about the writing process has been about as enjoyable as reading a big-city phone directory. Not this memoir/how to. King’s book is a keeper.

What advice would you give to aspiring writers?

Ernest Hemingway used to tell aspiring writers “Write just one sentence; the truest sentence you know.” Great advice! You get that one sentence right, and you’ll have no problem going on from there. Now, if a new writer is at the point where she or he has finished their first book, I strongly recommend joining an online writer’s community. Random House’s YouWriteOn is a very good one, as is the Harper Collins Authonomy site.

Are you planning on writing another book in the near future?

Yes, of course. I’ve already started one. I’m about five thousand words into a memoir about the hair-raising experiences I’ve had while dealing with my mentally ill mother for decades.

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