Aug 20, 2014

eto 2 Available From The Welsh American Bookstore




BUY HERE  eto 2 available now ( August 29th 2014 ) ONLY $6.00 ( £4.00 approx )

  • In This Edition

Fiction by: Lloyd Jones, Cynan Jones, Bel Roberts, Gaynor Madoc Leonard, Richard Rhys Jones, John Good, Meurig Jones, Philip Evans, Stuart Keir, Ian Denning, Lesley Coburn, Sheila Lewis, Paul Worthington and Matthew Rhys.

Poems by: Robert Nisbet, Julie Samways

The second issue of eto, an anthology of fiction and verse by Welsh and Welsh American authors is now available for purchase. This edition includes contributions from established authors and newcomers making their print debut.

There is a particular emphasis on fresh talent from the Rhondda valley in south Wales with stories and poems by five new writers from the region. The edition available from this page is the direct digital edition and will download to your computer in .pdf format.



A FEW SELECTED EXCERPTS

From The Left Eye by Richard Rhys Jones

There was something to be said about having a granddad who owned a thriving pub. A considerable amount of admiration was to be gained by the fact the senior member of your family was also a local celebrity; and Granddad Owen really lived up to his reputation.

Six foot tall and built like a bull, in his youth Philip Owen used to tour the boxing booths of north Wales for pocket money, and was renowned for his fierce right hook and anvil-like chin. A veteran of Flanders and ex army heavyweight champion, the sturdy sixty two year old still held a lot of sway in the town, and it was this very influence that brought everyone to his pub.

“The Moon Inn” was smaller than its direct competitor over the road, “The White Lion”, but packed to the gills every weekend with Owen’s cronies, as his daughter, Maud used to call them. The, “cronies” were the friends from his youth; men who’d shared the wild times with Owen, and still lived in the town of Penarfon. Now in their late fifties, early sixties, they were a loud, boozy bunch who had ruled the town since they could work. They’d earned their wages and made their muscle in the quarry that provided the main source of income for the town besides tourists, so the “Moon” was their domain, and woe betides any callow youth who tried playing the big man in Owen’s pub.

From Hydrophobia by Bel Roberts

The Marco Polo reached Manaus, capital of the Amazonas state, a thousand miles from the sea. We witnessed ‘the meeting of the waters’ (two rivers, one greycoloured and the other yellow, which maintain their separate identities even when they join), then we sailed back in glorious sunshine via Ile du Diable, or Devil’s Island, (I can’t understand why anyone would want to escape from there) calling at Grenada, St Vincent and the Grenadines, Antigua, St Lucia and Barbados. We left the West Indies (full of dope-frenzied, quarrelsome natives) knowing that we faced five unbroken days at sea, before calling briefly into Horta in the Azores, Portugal and finally berthing at Tilbury (full of dope-frenzied, quarrelsome natives). On the four-hour car journey back to Wales, it rained solidly, by that I mean liquidly, and continued to rain for the rest of the subsequent summer and autumn. I had no grounds for complaint – in fact, I had no grounds ̶ all washed away by floods. Hurrah! No digging and weeding next year. Perhaps the tide was turning in my favour.

From Chariots Of Fire: Taxi Edition by Philip Evans

The distant sounds of speeding cars practising their hand-brake turns took on a new meaning as a single headlamp flicked on and the sound of an approaching engine suddenly startled the former athlete. The former- boy racer was staring down the headlight of another boy racer as it approached at lightening speed. Like a Jack Rabbit he froze as the Close Encounter with the speeding light seemed imminent. He could make out the shape of a Canary Wharf Yellow second-hand London Taxi rapidly approaching. Instinctively, he leapt some six feet in the air just before impact with the vehicle. The cab roof passed some three inches below the air-borne Jackson , luckily missing him narrowly. However, the CB antennae stung him hard even through his protective Lycra Designer suit.


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