Thursday, July 9, 2015

BOB by Tegon Maus: Interview with Excerpt


Welcome!  Thanks for answering a few questions.  Who are your books published with?  Tirgearr Publishing

How do you describe your writing style?  Odd and / or quirky and very funny

Plotter or Pantser? Why?  I write by the seat of my pants… I think it’s the best way to tell a story so it feels more natural less contrived… and I like to be surprised by it as it goes along.

What was the scariest moment of your life? I was working in Corona… a small town in Southern Calif. A young man… 20 years my junior suddenly appeared in the yard charging toward me as I stood outside cleaning my tools.  In his hand a pistol…  as he pointed it at me we began to fight over its possession.  I fought to take it away from him and he with his hands wrapped tightly around mine forced the gun under my chin and pulled the trigger. The sound of the hammer… the loud click of steel on steel shook me to the core and in that brief moment I let go. The weapon had misfired and my assailant now bludgeoned me over the head with it, sending me to the ground; bleeding profusely.  He ran inside the house and I pushed myself up to give chase.  Inside one of my men was painting the baseboards; he stood to see what was going on when the gun man reached him.  As he turned, the madman stuck the gun in his face and pulled the trigger… twice, throwing him limply aside. I chased him to the back of the house where he confronted another of my people… as I came through the door he turned to look at me placing the gun in my workers face and pulled the trigger again and again and again… throwing him aside to run out the back door to the swimming pool. There the last man on duty with me that day turned to meet the intruder. The gunman shoved his gun in his face and pulled the trigger… four more times. 
     Only now did we realize that when the madman struck me over the head, the cylinder swung open emptying all the bullets out on the ground.  Our attacker immediately disappeared over the back fence…  it took the police less than 2 minutes to arrive and another 5 to hunt him down and take him into custody.   My people were fine I was fine but it took a little over a year for it to no longer have an effect on me.

If you were to write a series of novels, what would it be about? I have written a series called THE EVE PROJECT.  It’s a soft Sci-Fi story.   It’s about a man who’s sister has died of cancer… his best friend and her husband sets things in motion to bring her back as an android. The story is about love and how far are we willing to go… where do we draw the line?? How far is too far?? The story is about the ramifications of what he has done and the price involved to make her live again.

As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?  I wanted to build robots. As I grew older I settled on being the guy who built hand, arms and legs for amputees.

What are your favorite TV shows? Bones, Big Bang, America has Talent, Graham Norton, Star Trek’s next Generation, Ancient Aliens

What songs are most played on your Ipod?  Don’t own one but I do have 30 or 40 songs on my phone. I love 45 seconds, Lords -  Royals and Budapest by George whatever his last name is.

What is your favorite meal? Yellow #3… it’s how my wife and I identify it.   Fried chicken, chicken rice roni and corn !      

What would you consider to be the best book you have ever
read? Anything by E.E.Doc Smith. The man was a genius. He wrote about galactic heroes a a huge scale… and that was in 1938 – 39.  I would count myself lucky to hold his coat while he tied his shoes.

What are the most important attributes for remaining sane as a writer?  I think sanity is highly over rated.

What hobbies do you actively pursue?  I garden… flowers, fruits and vegetables

What would we find under your bed? Dust bunnies and monsters… not necessarily in that order.

What makes you happy?  My wife…  When she laughs at something I’ve written.

Describe what it’s like to be an author in three words. Great, simply Great

Say your publisher has offered to fly you anywhere in the world to do research on an upcoming book, where would you most likely want to go?  Nowhere…. I like to sleep in my own bed.

Do you have a favorite quote, quip, or saying? What is it?  I tell my wife almost every day.  Be good… if you can’t be good be funny.

by Tegon Maus


The first time I heard it, I thought nothing of it at all... nothing. I've been in the newspaper game for more than twenty-seven years and that kind of experience gave a guy an edge but even that didn't prepare me.
I'd been beaten, shot at, even stabbed a couple of times over the years but I always got the story... always. But this one... this one was big... too big perhaps... Maybe we were ready, maybe not. Either way, it wasn't my call.
None of which filled me with the fear, the trepidation... the anguish of five little words that still haunted me today...
"Is okay. I have cousin."


"Bob?" I began, pointing toward the dark, stooped figure of Fred threading his way through the underbrush.

"Is Fred's way... live to close too nuclear plant.  What Bob going to do?" he said, holding up both hands in defeat.

I had no idea what to say to that.

Bob, following Fred's lead, pulled a black ski mask over his face, before handing me a baseball cap.

"What's this?" I asked totally expecting a ski mask, turning the cap over in my hands.

"Beginner’s hat.  Maybe, next time, for you," he smirked.

I'd been ribbed before, and I can take it almost as good as I can give it but this... from Bob?  Damn aggravating.

I tripped along in the dark, getting my feet tangled on every stick, every root, every obstacle that stuck up out of the ground as I trailed behind him.

He, unlike Fred, seemed to be more than comfortable in the woods as well as the dark.  Fred walked slightly ahead, darting from tree to tree as if hiding himself from some unseen observer.

Bob and I simply stood in place, waiting for him to wave us on as he dashed to the next tree or rock outcropping.

After what seemed like forever and more scratches and bruises than I had acquired in a lifetime, we found the house.

Fred, his back pressed against a sizable rock as if he were keeping it in place, held his position a dozen yards ahead of us.  He waved frantically, signaling for us to get down and we obeyed.

A moment later headlights swept over where we had stood.  The sound of tires grinding through the dirt filled the air.

"Shit," I breathed to myself.  I hadn't expected this to be easy.  It never had been in the past, but with Bob and Fred leading the way, we were screwed.

Fred scampered to his next position, waving us on to the rock he had just left behind when he felt the coast was clear.

It took us another fifteen minutes to cross the distance from where we first saw the house to physically touching the building.

I had to admit, my heart pounded hard in my chest, certain we were about to be caught as Fred pulled himself up to peer into a window.

"Clear," Fred whispered and we crept around the corner.

There were no cars, no trucks, no men with guns to be seen anywhere.  Fred had hit it on the mark.  For all outward appearances no one was home.

We continued to follow Fred as he made his way to a back door.  Slowly, silently, he eased himself onto the porch kneeling before the door, slipping a hand into his shirt pocket. 

Removing two small, shiny tools from its folds, he went to work on the knob.

Faster than I could say "is belt" Fred worked the lock, turning the knob.  The door opened slightly.

We held a collective breath, waiting for the sound of an alarm.

"Clear," Fred whispered softly as he allowed the door to open fully.  Crouched, almost on all fours, he scooted inside, closing the door behind him.

 Unfathomable amounts of time seemed to slip by with each heartbeat as Bob and I stood outside in the dark and waited.

My anxiety, a mere seed in the pit of my stomach, had begun to run away with me.  My palms grew sweaty.

"Is nice," Bob offered, leaning against the building, pushing both hands into his pockets.

"What?"  I asked with disbelief.

"Is nice.  Bob always busy... go here, go there.  Wife always - when take wife to dinner?  When go to opera?  When take wife to see sister?  When have time for wife?  When Bob take out trash?"  

"We just broke and entered.  We can go to jail for this."

"Is nice, out with friends.  That's all Bob say."

Before I could formulate an answer the door eased opened again.

"We're alone," Fred said.

Bob and I slipped in, closing the door behind us.  We now stood in the mud room off the kitchen.

No more than six by five it held a built-in bench on one of the paneled walls, with a coat rack filling the opposite.  The oversized tile floor continued throughout the kitchen as well.

The dim glow of a night light traced the edges of the granite topped cabinets and dining table.  On the opposite side of the room was an opening to the hallway.

My attention was drawn by the sound of someone going through one of the cabinets.

"Fred," I whispered hoarsely, looking about the room for him.

"Da," he responded, popping up from under one of the cabinets, a large frying pan and matching lid in his hands.

"What the hell are you doing?" I asked angrily.

He began to speak in Russian as Bob patted him down, removing a stainless steel sauce pan from under his shirt.

Bob said nothing beyond a couple of quick snaps of his fingers before pointing to me.

Fred's arms went limp again as his hands went to his pocket, retrieving a fifty, handing it reluctantly to me.

"You should be ashamed," I admonished, happily snapping the money right out of his hand.

We moved through the kitchen to the hall and to the door that someone had used to spy on us.

At that moment, the sound of a toilet flushing reached us from somewhere upstairs.

Like little kids, all three of us dove for the door, rushing inside.  On the other side the floor vanished, becoming little more than a small landing with stairs trailing into the darkness.

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

I was raised pretty much the same as everyone else... devoted mother, strict father and all the imaginary friends I could conjure. Not that I wasn't friendly, I just wasn't "people orientated". Maybe I lived in my head way more than I should have, maybe not. I liked machines more than people, at least I did until I met my wife.

The first thing I can remember writing was for her. For the life of me I can't remember what it was about... something about dust bunnies under the bed and monsters in my closet. It must have been pretty good because she married me shortly after that. I spent a good number of years after inventing games and prototypes for a variety of ideas before I got back to writing.

It wasn't a deliberate conscious thought, it was more of a stepping stone. My wife and I had joined a dream interpret group and we were encouraged to write down our dreams as they occurred. "Be as detailed as you can," we were told.

I was thrilled. If there is one thing I enjoy it's making people believe me and I like to exaggerate. Not a big exaggeration or an outright lie mine you, just a little step out of sync, just enough so you couldn't be sure if it were true or not.  When I write, I always write with the effort of "it could happen" very much in mind and nothing, I guarantee you, nothing, makes me happier.


Tegon Maus will be awarding a $25 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour, and a $25 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn host.

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