The Three Sisters #Excerpt by Bryan Taylor #AmReading #Satire #Religion

Shakespeare was Theodora’s favorite playwright, and she persisted in requesting that we visit the Folger Shakespeare Library. Eventually, I agreed to go to Washington, D.C. with her. A fellow participant at one of our platonic orgies had suggested that we visit Victor Virga while we were in D.C. because he was looking for people like us who would work at his new place of business. Until then capitalism had failed to recognize my unique talents, and consequently, I had been forced to live a less than luxurious life. I wanted the life of a poor, suffering artist to be a cliché, not a reality.

Victor had just opened up the Kennedy Center for the Performing Parts a few months before, and he was having only moderate success. Victor had held numerous jobs with various companies before then, but had rarely stayed with one for more than a few years because he didn’t follow the rules like he should have. Verily, here was a man after my own heart. He had gotten tired of working for others and this time was running his own business. Victor’s forte was in being able to sniff out a market, create a product or service, and provide that famous American managerial know-how to turn a profit.

He knew plenty of people from the upper crusts of society, one happy consequence of going to the right schools, and of getting fired too many times, and he was determined to use this knowledge to his advantage. Victor was corporate handsome, not model handsome, and was slim, both because he kept in shape and because he was constantly, frenetically moving around. He was headstrong with a temper, something I could easily identify with. When he was angry, he could launch into a tolutiloquent tirade that would tax anyone’s tolerance of him. He seemed to edit words out of his sentences so as not to waste time. Like the Russians, he found definite and indefinite articles to be a waste of time and rarely used them, but other than that, this capitalist had little in common with his communistic counterparts.

Some people thought Victor worshipped Mammon as others worshipped Christ, but to Victor money was just a way of keeping score. He thrived on the whole process of competition and the creative destruction that drove it. Victor knew where to build, whom to hire, how to lure the elites in, and what the elites really wanted.

Victor’s inspiration for the Kennedy Center came from one of his visits to the Bohemian Grove in upstate California which he had been invited to through his contacts in the government and in the motion picture industry. His idea was to create a year-round Bohemian Grove, though with women available, where the elites could gather. “Great nations of past had cultured demi-mondes for the rich—Japan, France, Rome. Sign of high cultural achievement. Why shouldn’t we?” Victor asked Theodora and me.

To get ideas for my artistic creations, I asked myself, what did Washingtonians want from life? Why were they in the nation’s capital? What services could we provide that would draw them in like lemmings? A visitor only has to be in Washington for a few minutes and see the marble and stone Cathedrals of Government Power that the politolatrous Bureaucrats built to themselves to realize that most of Washington’s automatons probably think God is just another taxpayer to serve them. It was quite obvious to me why there was no official Patron Saint of Government Workers.

After spending a month in the capital, the answer to my Marketing 101 questions seemed obvious. Washingtonians are a bunch of cultured, egotistical, lumpen-elitist snobs who live in their own dream world completely divorced from the rest of the country. Everything they do had to show that they The Bureaucrats are superior to the poor miserable souls in the rest of the country who only exist to pay for their masters’ existence. To ensure this, the government provides cultural events galore for its workers. One need only visit the city and see all the galleries, theaters, orchestras, ballets, and other centers of artistic creation, happily supported by government grants, to discover how true this is.

What is the essential nature of a Washingtonian? (God, I’m beginning to sound like Aquinas). Whether they are politicians, members of the military, businessmen, foreign diplomats, reporters or lobbyists, Washingtonians want power. They want to be at the center of action where they can control and manipulate their chosen area of political interference

The Kennedy Center as created as a mollitious Mecca for millionaires and politicians where all their dreams could come true. We created an ersatz cultural milieu at the Kennedy Center for the Performing Parts so visitors could escape their dull bureaucratic lives and the pressures of daily power plays to live in the aristocratic world they knew they deserved. Who in Washington wouldn’t want to bethink themselves a member of royalty served by artists who could provide mental and sexual stimulation? Money created a world of fantasy that had never existed, but which the customers wanted to believe in. Thus the Kennedy Center, which never received any money from the National Endowment for the Arts, took on those inveterate values of good taste, elegance, and culture that were the secrets of its success.

The officials and bureaucrats in Washington wanted to change the world, and I wanted to change them. At last I had the forum I needed to convert Washington to my Weltanshauung. As I saw it, in America, there was a revolving door of power between Washington, Wall Street and the Ivy League academics. Influence one and you influence them all.

Nuns just want to have fun! But when three former Catholic nuns have too much fun and get in trouble with the law, they become nuns on the run.

Driving back to Washington D.C. where they work at the Kennedy Center for the Performing Parts, the three sisters are arrested in Tennessee. After defeating the local deputy in strip poker, they escape from jail, and are pursued by the zealous Detective Schmuck Hole, who has personally offered a $10,000 reward for their capture on The 700 Club. Little do they know that when the three sisters visit the Washington Monument, their lives will change forever.

Set in 1979, The Three Sisters is a sacrilegious satire that skewers not only organized religion, but the government, the media, intellectuals, corporate greed and every other part of the establishment. Maybe not the greatest story ever told, but possibly the funniest.

Buy @ Amazon

Genre – Humor, Satire, Catholicism, Politics

Rating – R

More details about the author

Connect with Bryan Taylor on Facebook

Website www.threesistersnovel.com

The Road to Key West Series by Michael Reisig #AmReading #Humor #Adventure

 The place wasn’t quite as packed as The Bull and Whistle, but there was a good crowd gathering in the back around a long, narrow table. It had a fluorescent light above it, with a notice that read:

Touch a crab during a race, 

get “The Hook” for 10 minutes

(And you buy all runners a drink)

I noticed that in one corner of the bar there was a huge gaff hook attached about six feet up the wall, and there, sure enough, was a guy dangling by his collar. I took another look around and realized the clientele was distinctly different from the last bar. There were a lot of burly-looking bikers, and biker chicks with that hard sensuousness that says I can suck the chrome off a handle bar, but when I’m finished with you, I’ll sacrifice you to the god of Harleys. I felt like I should instantly go get a tattoo and come back later. Actually, I was on my way out when Will grabbed me. “Crab races, man! Let’s watch the crab races!” He was already stumbling in that direction.

A race was just about to begin and all the “runners” (guys and girls with crabs—wait, let me clarify that—all the guys and girls who had entered crabs in the race, regardless of their present hygienic afflictions) were gathered around the track. Will was almost to the table when he stepped on a piece of discarded lime and stumbled into a long-haired girl in a saffron halter top and white bellbottoms. Her crab went flying, hit the ground, and Will stepped squarely on it. There was a crackling, squishy sound, followed by a collective gasp and the room went totally quiet. The only sound was the jukebox in the back, playing a Creedence Clearwater Revival tune.

I see the bad moon rising.

I see trouble on the way…

Someone in the background whispered, “That was Little Mike’s crab.”

I thought, No, that was the cute little girl’s crab, and besides, if it’s Little Mike’s he’ll just have to accept an apology.  Suddenly, the men’s room door swung open and all eyes riveted on it. Silhouetted in the doorway was this little guy in Dockers and a T-shirt, curly hair, somewhat frightened eyes.  Ahhh, Little Mike. I’ll take care of this.

I see earthquakes and lightnin’

I see bad times today…

All of a sudden, a huge hand from behind the door swatted the little fellow in the back of the head, knocking him halfway across the bar. Then this “thing” stepped out—much like a shaved gorilla on steroids—hair pulled tight and braided in a long pigtail down his back, one really fierce-looking eye (the other gazing upward, glazed, and indifferent—very spooky), ice pick acne, dressed in blue jeans, chains, and tattoos, roughly six and a half feet tall.

The crowd opened up, the little girl put her hands together. “I didn’t do it, Mike!” She swung around fiercely, and pointed at Will, who held the broken remnants of his future. “He did it! He knocked Little Charlie out of my hand and stepped on him!”

Don’t go around tonight

Well, it’s bound to take your life…

I thought, Oh my God, the damned thing had a name! Sweet Lord, we’re in trouble—or Will’s in trouble, which made me feel guilty, but better. Will, being a sensible, intelligent person, did the only thing he could; he began pleading for his life, babbling about buying Little Mike a new crab, several new, larger crabs, or a new Harley, then lapsing into “Please don’t hurt me! I loved Little Charlie!”—then back to a new crab with a tattoo of his choice, or a dog—a dog would be good. Suddenly I found my feet moving toward them. I don’t know why. I was telling them to stop, but they just weren’t listening. Little Mike picked up a pool cue with no intention of playing billiards, and I was suddenly facing him, standing in front of Will.

The Road to Key West is an adventurous/humorous sojourn that cavorts its way through the 1970s Caribbean, from Key West and the Bahamas, to Cuba and Central America.

In August of 1971, Kansas Stamps and Will Bell set out to become nothing more than commercial divers in the Florida Keys, but adventure, or misadventure, seems to dog them at every turn. They encounter a parade of bizarre characters, from part-time pirates and heartless larcenists, to Voodoo bokors, a wacky Jamaican soothsayer, and a handful of drug smugglers. Adding even more flavor to this Caribbean brew is a complicated romance, a lost Spanish treasure, and a pre antediluvian artifact created by a distant congregation who truly understood the term, “pyramid power.”
Pour yourself a margarita, sit back, and slide into the ‘70s for a while as you follow Kansas and Will through this cocktail of madcap adventures – on The Road To Key West.

IF YOU ENJOY THIS NOVEL BE SURE TO READ THE SEQUEL, "BACK ON THE ROAD TO KEY WEST" (To be released in late August or early September, 2013)

"Jimmy Buffett should set this tropical tale to music! The best Key West stories can only be written by those who have lived here, and Reisig expertly captures the steamy, seedy, beautiful allure of the islands. “The Road to Key West” takes readers on a hysterical journey through the humidity and humanity that only exists in the lower latitudes. And much like the Keys in the 1970s, it’s a hell of a trip.
—Mandy Bolen, The Key West Citizen

"The Road to Key West" combines the dry cleverness of Lewis Grizzard, the wit of Dave Barry, and Reisig's impeccable sense of timing. It's an action-packed, romantic, charming, hilarious take on the ‘70s and its generation. A must-read!
—John Archibald, Ouachita Life Magazine

Buy Now @ Amazon

From the best-selling author of “The Road To Key West” comes a sequel guaranteed to take the reader even higher – another rollicking, hilarious Caribbean adventure that will have you ripping at the pages and laughing out loud.

“Back On The Road To Key West” reintroduces the somewhat reluctant adventurers Kansas Stamps and Will Bell, casting them into one bizarre situation after another while capturing the true flavor and feel of Key West and the Caribbean in the early 1980s.

An ancient map and a lost pirate treasure, a larcenous Bahamian scoundrel and his gang of cutthroats, a wild and crazy journey into South America in search of a magical antediluvian device, and perilous/hilarious encounters with outlandish villains and zany friends will keep you locked to your seat and giggling maniacally. (Not to mention headhunters, smugglers, and beautiful women with poisonous pet spiders.) You’ll also welcome back Rufus, the wacky, mystical Jamaican Rastaman, and be captivated by another “complicated romance” as Kansas and Will struggle with finding and keeping “the girls of their dreams.”

So pour yourself a margarita, and get comfortable. You’re in for another rousing medley of madcap adventures in paradise, with “Back On The Road To Key West.”
IF YOU ENJOY THIS BOOK BE SURE TO GET THE THIRD IN MICHAEL’S SERIES; “ALONG THE ROAD TO KEY WEST”!
______________________________________________________

EDITORIAL REVIEWS

Michael Reisig takes us back once again to the Key West I wish I had known – and that others wish they remembered more clearly. Kansas and Will are back in “Back on the Road to Key West,” with their trademark penchant for sultry sarcasm and sun-drenched excitement. Once again Reisig captures the character of the Keys in a way that proves he’s been here – and perhaps done that. No one wraps us in humidity and surrounds us with saltwater like this guy, whose tales of the tropics draw us constantly back to their welcoming, yet provocative shores. -- Mandy Miles, The Key West Citizen

Having lived in Key West in the late '70's and early '80's, at a time when Mel Fisher still hunted the Atocha, shrimp boats filled the harbors, and ‘square grouper’ were still an abundant species, Michael Reisig's Back on the Road to Key West, transports me back in time. Will Bell and Kansas Stamps face an assortment of ruthless antagonists and chase adventure with the abandon of the era, and whether you lived it or not, don't miss the chance to now. Vivid imagery, strong prose and an exciting plot make this trip with the boys worth taking. Enjoy the ride!"
-- John H. Cunningham, author of the Buck Reilly Adventure Series

Stumbling their way in and out of trouble and fortune, Kansas Stamps and Will Bell continue to be the idols of what every true Parrot Head imagines real life in The Keys would be -- full of spontaneous adventure. What a great read!
– Bryan Crews, former president, Tampa Parrot Head Club

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WHAT IF YOU DISCOVERED A DEVICE THAT MADE PEOPLE TELL THE TRUTH?
Fast-paced humor-adventure with wacky pilots, quirky con men, bold women, mad villains, and a gadget to die for…

In the third book of Michael Reisig’s captivating series, Florida Keys adventurers Kansas Stamps and
Will Bell find their lives turned upside down when they discover a truth device hidden in the temple of an ancient civilization. Enthralled by the virtue (and entertainment value) of personally dispensing truth and justice with this unique tool, they take it all a step too far and discover that everyone wants what they have.

Seasoned with outrageous humor and sultry romances, Along The Road To Key West carries you through one wild adventure after another. This time, Kansas and Will are forced to wrest veracity and lies from con artists, divine hustlers, and political power brokers while trying to stay one step ahead of a persistent assembly of very bad guys with guns.

In the process, from Key West, into the Caribbean, and back to America’s heartland, our inadvertent heroes gather a bizarre collage of friends and enemies – from a whacked-out, one-eyed pilot, and a mystical Rastaman, to a ruthless problem-solver for a prominent religious sect, a zany flimflamming sociopath, and a Cuban intelligence agent. In the end, it all comes down to a frantic gamble – to save far more than the truth. So pour yourself a margarita and settle back. You’re in for a high intensity Caribbean carnival ride!

NOTE: Much of this book was originally published as a novel of mine called, “The Truthmaker.” But with the growing popularity of my “Road To Key West” series, I decided to rewrite it and publish it as “Along The Road To Key West.” – Michael Reisig

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Genre - Caribbean Humor, Adventure

Rating – PG

More details about the author

Connect with Michael Reisig through Facebook

Jesse James & the Secret Legend of Captain Coytus by @AlexMueck #Excerpt #Historical

Chapter 64

“Do I get a pay raise?” asked the Captain.

“Huh?” said Aberdeen as he lay in bed.

Jimmy spoon-fed him spotted dick, which seemed all the more funny with the picture the Captain took of Aberdeen, Jimmy, and Miss Mosley.

“You told me you never sold more than fifty papers in a week. The paper came out yesterday. We sold all forty original copies, printed one hundred more, and they’re all gone. Your circulation is up like an erection.”

Aberdeen jerked his side to side and moaned. “How? Most of this town is so broke they can’t even afford a deformed slave.”

The Captain leaned against the wall. “The credit goes to you, sir. At first I was mad you changed my questions and found your revisions to be silly with all due respect, but you insisted.”

Aberdeen’s head levitated from the pillow. “This better be one of your jokes.”

He waved the charge away with his hand. “Sir, you sold more papers on Saturday than any newspaper in the state. I am attributing the success to you. If you want me to take all the credit, then yes, you should give me a raise.”

“What questions?”

He pulled a sheet from his pocket. “Ninety-eight percent of the voters said Moses was right to lead his people from slavery.”

“Why would I even care to ask something so ridiculous?”

“Beats me. My question was, ‘Holy Moses, did you know God threatened to kill Moses’s son because the boy hadn’t yet been circumcised?’ I always wondered why a bit of skin mattered so much to God and wanted to know if others did as well. You took my idea and went on a different tangent.”

“What else did I ask?”

“Fifty-eight percent of voters believe there was no difference between black or white chess pieces.”

“Of course there’s no difference, despite what 42 percent of the mental midgets say.”

“I originally asked about the difference between white and black women’s chests, but you refined the question to the game of chess.”

Aberdeen frowned and waved him to continue.

“The public was evenly split on whether a white wolf was better than a black wolf.”

Aberdeen rolled his eyes. “Please tell me this is a joke. The question is doggone dumb.”

“My original question asked men if they liked a blonde girl with black fur—a wolf in sheep’s clothing?”

Jimmy suppressed a grin and fumbled the spoon, and spotted dick spilled onto the bed sheet.

The Captain said, “Sixty-seven percent believe blonde-haired people are superior to those with dark hair. The original was, ‘Do men prefer blondes?’”

Aberdeen wagged a finger. “I warned you about pulling my leg.”

He pushed off the wall and playfully tugged at Aberdeen’s leg. “That’s pulling your leg, but all joshing aside, these questions were yours, sir. Right, Jimmy?”

Aberdeen fixed his gaze upon Jimmy, who tried to look busy and oblivious to the conversation.

“Jimmy, you know how I feel about liars. Well?”

“Master, I will do every chore you ask, but you know better than to ask my opinion.”

“Of course I don’t want your opinion, boy,” scolded Aberdeen. “I want verification, not a viewpoint.”

“Master, please do not sell me to a less gracious master than you, but what this man says is true. You said lots of things that did not make sense.”

Aberdeen gazed at his slave crossly, but the larger man didn’t flinch. Then he looked back to the Captain. “What else did we ask?”

“You loved the next question and did not change it at all. Fifty-one percent said they liked the French better than the Negroes.”

Aberdeen’s lips curled, and he tapped his chin. “That is a good question.”

“The next question, a conundrum you claimed to ponder. Forty percent said the raped, mixed-race baby should be a slave. Seven percent said the child should be a free citizen, however 53 percent liked your idea about part-time slavery.”

“I have never pondered such nonsense in my life,” declared Aberdeen with disdain.

The Captain folded his hands in prayer. “My honor stands on General Stonewall Jackson’s grave.”

The injured man coughed like he’d inhaled bad tobacco. “At this rate, the general’s grave must have rolled halfway to China.”

“Yeah, maybe the Stonewall name is apropos, and he’s resting against the Great Wall.” His grin did not lessen Aberdeen’s frown. “The next question was also an original. Eighty-four residents answered that the dumbest white man is smarter than the smartest black man.”

This brightened the dimwit. “There’s hope for this town, yet. It all comes down to education. All white men are inherently more intelligent than Negroes. You can train a dog to do a few tricks, but it’s still a canine.”

Jimmy let more of the spotted dick drip.

“The final question was only a light alteration. Since most blacks worship the same God as white folk, I asked if both races are equal in God’s eyes. You simplified that to, ‘Would Jesus be proslavery?’ Eighty-six percent envision Jesus as the sky’s plantation owner, with Negro slaves picking cotton from the clouds.”

Aberdeen nodded. “Like the gentleman I am, Jesus would be a civilized master.”

The spotted dick dribbled downward, again. Plop, plop, plop.

“Speaking of Jesus, your idea about offering a reward to those who expose whites who engage in the sin of interracial sex was a stroke of genius.”

Aberdeen’s right eye dropped. “Doctor Tristan is a quack. He likely drugged me with a toxic tonic.”

“You seemed so keen on this idea, sir. In fact, you insisted.”

“Now that I think about, it is a lovely idea. We’ll publically humiliate the traitors who trespass on decency with perverse bestial acts.”

The rest of the spotted dick came down like a waterfall. “Oh, my God,” Jimmy said. “Sorry, Master. Let me clean this mess up.”

“You bungling buffoon! These sheets were imported from Egypt.”

“Perhaps I’m to blame, sir. With the increased demand for your newspaper, Jimmy had to work overtime to print all the extra copies. So I made your meal today. My apologies; the spotted dick is more flaccid than usual. You like it nice and firm.”

“True. Anything else you want to tell me?”

The Captain stuck his finger in the crease of a dimple. “Oh, yeah. I hope the vase on the mantel was not worth much.”

Aberdeen’s eyes bulged like a wet binding. “What? My grandfather bought that in Florence! The true worth is immeasurable when the sentimental value is calculated. What happened?”

The Captain shrugged with a sheepish grin. “In celebration of our newspaper’s success, I drank a little too much. I became nauseous and panicked with thoughts of fouling the furniture. So—”

“You vomited in my vase? That’s disgusting. Alas, surely Jimmy can wash it out.”

“Yeah, well, it gets worse.”

“Worse?”

“I went to clean the vase myself, when I was suddenly overcome by an emergency urine call.”

“You washed out my grandfather’s vase with piss?”

“I suppose I did. But tragedy struck when my penis got stuck. The fluted top allowed easier entry than exit. When I finally freed willy, I dropped the vase, and it shattered in pieces.”

Aberdeen’s hands found the top of his head as though he held his brain back from shooting like a cannon ball.

“Wait a minute. I’ve dabbled with pottery before and did my best to fix your vase.” He dashed from the room. He heard Aberdeen muttering as he returned with the vase over his head as he entered the bedroom. “See?”

The ceramic was crudely glazed together. Extra clay bonded various fracture points like mountain chains on a topographical map. Candlelight could be seen through small holes left by missing pieces. “I can improve upon this,” he boasted. “When I’m done, it will appear as a work of great antiquity. No one quibbles over the cracks in Michelangelo’s Creation of Adam.”

Aberdeen banged his head up and down on his pillow but stopped to look at the vase again and thrashed about more. He pulled the sheet over his head. “Leave!”

The Captain and Jimmy shared a smile.

“Okay, you need your rest,” the Captain said. “We can discuss my pay raise later.”

The bed sheet rustled furiously like a cadaver returned to life.

"“A historical fiction comedy that packs
as much heart as humor.”
—Michael Dadich, award-winning author of The Silver Sphere

When a Harvard history professor receives a thesis paper titled Jesse James and the Secret Legend of Captain Coytus, from Ulysses Hercules Baxter—an underwhelming student—he assumes the paper must be a prank. He has never read such maniacal balderdash in his life. But after he calls a meeting with the student, Professor Gladstone is dismayed when Baxter declares the work is his own. As he takes a very unwilling Professor Gladstone back in time via his thesis, Baxter’s grade hangs in the balance as he attempts to prove his theory.

It is 1864 as philanderer and crusader Captain Coytus embarks on a mission to avenge his father’s death and infiltrates the Confederate Bushwacker posse looking for the man responsible, Jesse Woodson James. Accompanied by the woman of his dreams, Coytus soon finds himself temporarily appointed to be the sheriff of Booneville and commissions his less-than-loyal deputy to help him carry out his plan.

But when tragedy strikes, the Captain is forced to change his immature ways and redefine his lofty mission—more or less."

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre - Humor, Historical Fiction

Rating – R

More details about the author

Connect with Alex Mueck on Facebook & Twitter

#Author Bryan Taylor & How He Feels About #SelfPub

If you could live anywhere in the world where would it be?

It would be where I live now, in southern California.  The weather can’t be beat, and Southern California has the best theater in the country, both through small and large theaters.  I live where I would want to live.

Tell us about your family?

I am an only child.  This gave me more time to read, and I took advantage of it. My parents got divorced when I was twelve, and I ended up living with my dad.  He always pushed me to be successful and always supported me in what I did, so that helped.  Also, he was a preacher, and both my grandparents were preachers, and that is where my religious rebellion comes from. I have never married and have no children.

How do you write – lap top, pen, paper, in bed, at a desk?

I always write on my lap top.  Sometimes I will print out what I have written and write on the paper to reinsert into the electronic version since there are things you can see on paper you can’t see on the computer, but 90% of the time it is on the lap top.

Every writer has their own idea of what a successful career in writing is, what does success in writing look like to you?

It would be getting people to read my novel and knowing that my book is recognized as the funniest book about nuns ever written.

It is vital to get exposure and target the right readers for your writing, tell us about your marketing campaign?

The main marketing is through social media.  I have a website to promote the book, www.threesistersnovel.com. The website includes not only information about the book and characters, but a blog and new short stories.  I have Facebook and Pinterest pages where I put up cartoons and other visuals relating to nuns.  I have put together three virtual book tours, and I have done a Goodreads Giveaway.  I encourage people to read my blogs, visit my Facebook page, and tell others about The Three Sisters.  For someone like me who has a full-time job, this works since I wouldn’t be able to take off the time for a physical book tour, assuming I would want to endure one.  The problem is this doesn’t get me in physical contact with people.  That is the best way to sell a book, but doing everything virtually, unfortunately, precludes that.

Tell us about your new book? What’s it about and why did you write it?

Nuns just want to have fun! But when three former Catholic nuns have too much fun and get in trouble with the law, they become nuns on the run.

Driving back to Washington D.C. where they work at the Kennedy Center for the Performing Parts, the three sisters are arrested in Tennessee. After defeating the local deputy in strip poker, they escape from jail, and are pursued by the zealous Detective Schmuck Hole, who has personally offered a $10,000 reward for their capture on the 700 Club. Little do they know that when the three sisters visit the Washington Monument, their lives will change forever.

Set in 1979, The Three Sisters is a humorous, adult satire that skewers not only organized religion, but the government, the media, intellectuals, corporate greed and every other part of the establishment. Maybe not the greatest story ever told, but possibly the funniest.

How often do you write? And when do you write?

I try to write every week.  I write blogs both for the company I work for as well as to promote my novel, The Three Sisters.  Since the two types of blogs are completely different, I schedule different times for each.  My writing on financial data and the stock market is done during the day and during the week.  My writing for The Three Sisters and related fictional subjects is done either in the evenings, or more likely, on the weekends.

What do you hope people will take away from your writing? How will your words make them feel?

I hope my readers will find my book funny.  I hope they will be drawn into the book and be able to associate with my three nuns and feel what they feel. I hope it will also get them to think about religion and politics and the other subjects of the novel.

What movie do you love to watch?

There are hundreds I love to watch, mainly movies from the 1930s, The Wizard of Oz, Screwball comedies like The Awful Truth or Bringing Up Baby, pre-code Warner Brothers films.  You just can’t beat the classics.

How do you feel about social media websites such as Facebook and Twitter? Are they a good thing?

I’m not much of a Facebook person.  I mainly put up cartoons and other visuals on Facebook, but only do so periodically.  I am not a Twitter person.  I don’t see why anyone cares what other people say in 140 characters or less.

How do you feel about self-publishing?

Since I self-published my book, I obviously support it.  Self-publishing enabled me to get my book published the way I knew it needed to be published.  Self-publishing gets a bad name because of the bad content that is out there.  I downloaded a book from Smashbooks last week that was not edited and virtually illegible.  That gives self-publishing a bad name.  Nevertheless, if you don’t know someone on the inside track of mainstream publishing, or you aren’t already a celebrity, publishing mainstream is virtually impossible.  For this reason, I’m glad self-publishing is a viable alternative.

Nuns just want to have fun! But when three former Catholic nuns have too much fun and get in trouble with the law, they become nuns on the run.

Driving back to Washington D.C. where they work at the Kennedy Center for the Performing Parts, the three sisters are arrested in Tennessee. After defeating the local deputy in strip poker, they escape from jail, and are pursued by the zealous Detective Schmuck Hole, who has personally offered a $10,000 reward for their capture on The 700 Club. Little do they know that when the three sisters visit the Washington Monument, their lives will change forever.

Set in 1979, The Three Sisters is a sacrilegious satire that skewers not only organized religion, but the government, the media, intellectuals, corporate greed and every other part of the establishment. Maybe not the greatest story ever told, but possibly the funniest.

Buy @ Amazon

Genre – Humor, Satire, Catholicism, Politics

Rating – R

More details about the author

Connect with Bryan Taylor on Facebook

Website www.threesistersnovel.com