G Thomas Gill

G. Thomas Gill

Welcome to my website.  Here you will find samples of my poetry and a snippet of DOG ISLAND, a suspense novel that writhes its way through Florida like a python through the Everglades.  Browse around, and feel free to contact me at gtg1130@gmail.com.  Looking forward to hearing from you!  You can also visit my blog at www.gthomasgill.blogspot.com
DOG ISLAND is the tale of a man caught up in a situation that quickly spirals out of control.  How he responds and how it changes not only his life but his outlook on life is the essence of the story.

If you would like to purchase a copy in either paperbook, Kindle, or Nook versions, click on either the link to Amazon or Barnes and Noble.  Thank you.

Cornelius Graham is more than meets the eye, he’s more than even he could know.  But it’s well hidden until a boat, laden with death and deception, runs ashore on the beach in front of his house.  That boat shatters his idyllic world and plunges him into chaos where death is just seconds away.

Here is the beginning of his story......

     I went to the beach that night to escape the house.  I had suffered loss.  Irrevocable, gut-wrenching, emotion ripping loss.  But beneath the aching shards a part of me was relieved, glad even, for all bitterness and resentment could finally be put aside.  And yet there was this lingering pain, as if an arthritic finger had been severed.

     Then the sound of a far-off engine caught my attention.  At first, it was so faint the noise barely registered but it grew louder until I lifted my head from my scribbling to locate the source of the intrusion.  Islanders knew each other’s boats by sight and sound but this one was a stranger.  “Hope he knows how shallow the water is along here,” I grumbled.  All I needed was a stranded boat to drag off one of the sandbars that flanked this end of the island.

     Yet here she came.  The engine growl grew more intense and I still couldn’t make her out through the gathering gloom.  Only a damn fool would run at dusk with no lights.  A dim shape flickered in the unfocused darkness and the contours of the boat began to materialize.  Her bow rode well out of the water and her wake boiled with twin plumes of angry white froth.  If the idiot at the helm didn’t change course she would hit the beach in just a few seconds.  The idiot didn’t change course.

     Without so much as a twitch in either direction, the boat plowed into the shore.  The sand hissed beneath the twin hulls as I scrambled out of the way.  She scraped to a halt right on the spot where I’d been sitting.  Idiot pilot ruined a perfectly fine mope.

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