Hi all.

 

First of all I want to thank Site Admin for allowing me to promote my novel on here. Cheers guys.

 

So what the fcuk am I waffling about?

 

A long while ago I decided to write a novel, not any old shit, a novel about Bolton Wanderers. The result is 'The Wanderer'. It is a fictional action adventure story, set in post nuclear Britain.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The book will go live in thirteen days and will cost ?5.80 a copy. It will hopefully also be sold from the Reebok Superstore and local bookshops in the near future.

 

Anyone interested can order their copy from Authorhouse here:

 

http://www.authorhouse.co.uk/BookStore/Ite...okid~44567.aspx

 

 

Just to give you an idea of what the book is about, I've posted the Prologue to it below (please note that this has come from my personal manuscript before it was sent for proof-reading, so any mistakes you see will not appear in the book)

 

 

 

 

 

Prologue

 

 

Bolton - a now desolate place in a wasteland were the once large and prosperous town flourished. The town of Bolton had always been known as a place of growing stature and reputation that had become the target of ridicule and rumour from the capital, which had taken the up and coming town as a threat to their dominance over all. For years it had been Manchester, Newcastle and Birmingham that the south saw as southern enemy number one two and three, but they had taken their eyes off the surrounding towns, which were able to grow and build their own status to the point that the then mighty south had to succumb to a town in the northwest that without remorse continually dealt black eye after black eye to not only the mighty south but tiny Bolton?s big brother, Manchester.

 

This was never made more evident then in the year 2010 when after a once proud and successful football club went beyond realistic limit and dared to challenge the might and financially overriding fashion lased clubs that dominated the heights of the English Premier league. Their crowning jewel came in 2020 when after being turned down for manager of the national team, Dan Harrison led his team of misfits, has been?s and never will be?s to the Premiership title. This not only give the mighty capital a black eye, but cauliflower ears, and two broken legs. It was a euphoria that was to be short lived. Bolton Wanderers were to become to last team ever to win the Premier league.

 

On the 3rd of March 2008, the Worlds worst nightmare came to pass. No one knows which country fired first, but within 24 hours sixty percent of the world?s population human, animal, bird and fish had been wiped from the Earth forever. A year later that number was to raise to eighty seven percent after much had succumbed to radiation poisoning, starvation, survival domination and disease. The human spirit was not to be beaten though, much of the world being uninhabitable led the world?s population of human and creature to one country, the one country that seamed to be least affected, Britain.

By an incredible twist of fate, Britain had avoided any direct nuclear attack due to a malfunction in it?s nuclear mainframe, Britain was unable to launce a nuclear weapon of any kind and was left helpless. What seamed to be their curse soon became their saviour as ninety percent of the world?s nuclear powers were set on computer automated nuclear launch against any country launching a nuclear strike, and as Britain had not launched an attack it was left out of the apocalyptic fray the planet Earth was never to recover from.

 

As for the few other countries that survived the initial attack, their apparent luck was soon to run out as they strongly depended on the desert rubble that was once a great nation, either for aid or their economy. Because of this, these countries very quickly imploded due to civil unrest and rebellion. Inexperienced and unprepared governments were over powered and changed on regular basis sending each country into kismet of the worst kind. Within ten years every civilian, mutant, radiate or norm had one dream, one aim, one target. To make it into the one country still deemed civilised due to an experienced government that had initialised marshal law and

upheld it during even the darkest of times. It was also the only country with working electricity and even a working TV and radio station on public viewing for the Uplanders.

 

Uplanders, were the people left behind by the then government to fend for themselves. The other ?chosen people? having fled to the four vault cities fifty kilometres underground. In this country, the one surviving civilisation capable of civil humanity, people had three things to look forward to other then natural fornication, the governments weekly rationing allowance, a black clad government soldier arriving at their dwelling to inform them that they had been accepted for employment by the government giving them the ability to earn kama (money) supplying them a little freedom to buy the few other pleasantries that the Pre Nuclear generation had taken for granted without so much as a second thought. Tinned food products, filtered water, alcohol, beds and above all a good deal of security as most ?employees? would be moved into the capital or the other main cities were law and order were still strongly evident.

 

Employees of great stature and wealth in the cities could even afford the luxury of a working television set, were the one constant government governed channel ran concurrently with it?s radio station. Any other Uplander unable to afford these luxuries were given the option of gathering around the few gigantic screens scattered around the cities to watch government censored television, mostly consisting of news, weather, advisory programs and any taped programming that survived the holocaust and it?s aftermath. Yet once a week, on a Saturday afternoon, hundreds of thousands of people would surround these mammoth screens to watch one two hour period of government information that was neither repetitive nor old. Football had survived the holocaust.

 

Though employment was the civil way to make money, it wasn?t the only way. The streets was littered with underworld elements waiting on the inevitable, no matter what the situation, human greed or need would always create a world of luxury for the underhanded. Though whore management, unlicensed casinos and protection racketeering were good and progressive incomes for the mob. None of these could hold a candle to game day. What ever had been salvaged, stolen, bought or owned would be up for gambling trade in exchange for Kama, and at the end of the day the more Kama a person and family had the more chance that person or family had of

gaining government employment, creating a vicious circle of crime, the government

in the capital has no necessitates as to how people gain Kama, but the more they have the more their standing and consideration for government employment raises. Neither the less, Saturday afternoons between 1500hrs and 1700hrs was as near to unison as the nation would ever see.

 

For most people the big screen would be as close to their hero?s as they would ever get. If you want to watch a match you would need Kama and as most didn?t have employment what little they had would be used for gambling on the matches, on quite a few occasions they would be betting on whether they ate the following day. So at 1500hrs it was as though a giant pendulum had begun to swing to and fro across Britain as a nation stood in hypnosis.

On a far hill overlooking the giant screen of Manchester stood a boy no older then seventeen. He was of slim build with a pale completion. He wore a scraggy pair of trainers that looked as though they would fall off his feet at any second, knee length baggy jeans, an old and dirtied shirt that showed evidence of once being white, on it?s top left breast was the insignia of a once great team. On his head lay a dark blue baseball cap curved at the front which hid much of his shoulder length blonde hair. Swung over his shoulder was an old black sack with what looked like a jacket of sorts hanging from the top, but from a hole at the bottom of the bag came the biggest evidence as to this boy?s identity, sticking out like trout out of a fisherman?s net was half a football boot, old and worn with a missing stud on it?s upper left.

 

This boy was a footballer, but what made that seam so unlikely was his build and stature. He was slim, young and fresh of face the last thing a person would ever think of finding on a post nuclear football pitch. Yet in his young light blue eyes lay a fiery glow, a look of unfaltering determination. This boy had a dream, a dream he had had since seeing his father die on the football pitch. Taking his last look at the blood crazed screaming populous below; the kid slowly turned north, breathed a deep sigh, and headed for the town of Bolton. Unbeknown to him, Daxter along with fifteen other ?misfits?, ?has been?s? and ?never will be?s? were weeks away from dealing the biggest black eye in history.

 

 

 

If anyone wants any further information, please don't hesitate to PM me.

 

Many thanks.

you can get it here

 

http://www.authorhouse.co.uk/BookStore/Boo...rm=the+wanderer

 

if yer that way inclined

Edited October 15, 200718 yr by Casino