AUDIO BOOK - TWO FEET - THE SOUND OF THE HAGGIS (PREVIEW)

TWO FEET - FREE KINDLE DOWNLOAD

An inspirational journey.

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TAGLINE;

After the abrupt disappearance of his father, young Mark finds solace in an unconventional upbringing within a close-knit South African community during the 1960s in this unique coming-of-age novella.

BRIEF SYNOPSIS;

Under the vast African sky, a young boy is forced to come to terms with a whole new reality. Abandoned by his father, his new playground is the open plains, and his new family, a deeply-rooted local community with some seemingly unorthodox ways—among them, Swazi warrior Mabuza, and stern, religious Afrikaner Meneer Gerber. But Mark soon finds that this unconventional upbringing might be exactly what he needs to fill the emptiness created by his life-altering loss. While he imagines his father fighting for his life in a distant hospital, the boy learns to find solace and hope through the wisdom and traditions of his new community—including important lessons about life, overcoming obstacles, and how to walk with bare feet.  With equal parts insight, emotion, and humour, Two Feet takes a candid look at the realities of family life, while evoking the adventure and curiosity of childhood.

The Swazi warrior Mabuza once said that if there are holes in the road you often travel, stop and fill them in, for this will help the man travelling behind you. And if anyone knows about navigating potholes, its young Mark —victim of a broken home, abruptly abandoned by his father, and struggling to deal with the loss. But under the guidance and protection of Mabuza, and others in his South African community, Mark learns to find solace and dream his way toward a brighter future—while adjusting to some unorthodox teaching methods along the way. Adventurous and inspiring, this film urges viewers to reflect on the concepts of childhood, family, and community.

AUTHOR’S BIO:

Mark was born in South Africa. He lived in Swaziland in the 1960's and returned there in the 70's. His unconventional life has led him to many parts of the world. He backpacked through Eastern Africa, the Middle East, Europe and Scandinavia ( a period that was the basis of his first screenplay and directorial début ) finally ending up in Washington D.C. working in the Australian Embassy. There he was smitten by the film bug and returned to South Africa where television production was in its heyday. Mark is now a recognised film director and lives in the United Kingdom. He is married, and has one daughter.

He is the author of The Bone Traders, a post apocalyptic story and Two Feet, a novella of his unconventional upbringing in Southern Africa in the 1960's.

YOUTUBE LINK FOR AUDIO READING OF CHAPTER ONE BY MILES ANDERSON

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=emM80i4FNh4

TWO FEET IS SELF- PUBLISHED ON AMAZON BOTH AS A PAPERBACK AND AS A KINDLE DOWNLOAD. 

The Bone Traders - when Apple is a much desired fruit, not a...?

Was Google another word for a gaggle of geese?

She had a doll and it was called Katherine. It was the only child she had known. 

...after the solar storm, when the clue to your future was left like stale marrow in the bones of the dead, it took one, gifted man, to ensure that tomorrow was for living and not dying.

Listen to Mark Roper's audio sample of THE BONE TRADERS -- available on +Amazon.com as an audio book, paperback or as a Kindle download. 

AUDIO BOOK - A BOY. HIS IMAGINATION. HIS REALITY.

A BOY. HIS IMAGINATION. HIS REALITY.

Can a boy, lost and floundering, use his imagination to win over the harsh reality of being abandoned by his father? And if so, what are the consequences? Does reality have the ability to rear its poisonous head like a taunted Cobra? Or will it negotiate?

This is what the readers are saying about Roper's imaginative novella, TWO FEET:

The way he describes his mother makes me bite my lip, leave the couch to take a long walk on the heath.
Between his memories, his imagination and the dust, he walks and talks with his mentor, his companion. Was he real? Actually, I don't even want to know. He's just very good to have around. So is the novella.
I am waiting for Part 2.

...the proof is in the pudding. Listen to the sample, or, read the novella.

 

Read more of Roper Books

Sticks and Stones -- TWO FEET - on the road.

STICKS AND STONES

LISTEN AS YOU READ -- IT ADDS TO THE ATMOSPHERE !!!!!!!!!!!!!

 Music by JALUKA and Johnny Clegg.

My sticks are ready.

I am ready to fight.

Mabuza is not happy. He is angry. I know this because he has been tugging at the grey pebbles of hair on the left side of his head like a dog scratches at a tenacious flea. He avoids my eyes when I look at him, especially when I am busy polishing my “donga”, my dlala ‘nduku, my playing sticks.

There are two sticks. One is longer than the other. The longest I will grip in my left hand to parry the blows and the shorter will be in my right for attacking. Both sticks I have chopped from the Wild Olive tree. I have soaked them in cooking fat that I have stolen from the kitchen. This, and many hours of sunbathing have helped harden the wood.

I am fighting Galpin. He is one of the many sons of the Induna (Chief) that lives across the Matsapa River. There was no throwing down of the gauntlet, no challenge. It is just an accepted ritual. We are both of age. It is our time.

He pointed at me. I pointed at him. We shook hands, and that was it. We will fight behind the General Dealer Store.

I think Galpin will probably go for my knees first. I have seen him fight before. Or he will feint a move to the left as the right stick goes for the side of my head.

I am prepared for this. I have stolen a dishcloth from the kitchen. This I will wrap around my head like a bandanna for protection. It is the norm. Galpin, will, of course, wear a traditional bandanna of local cloth. It will be embroidered with either a lion or a fleet-footed antelope.

My bandanna is embroidered with the word “Sunlight” which is a well known brand of soap.

I have been practising down at the dam, away from the eyes of the brood. My target has been imaginary, or I have taken to beating at the clumps of reeds that grow down there. I parry and thrust, sink low on my haunches, stab and defend. My enemy, in return, showers me with soft seeds that glisten like flakes of gold in the sunlight.

I have consequently made an enemy of the Cape weaver birds that are in the process of nesting amongst the reeds. I try to think of their angry tirade as applause.

“This is the game of children.”

“No. This is the game of warriors!”

“Pah!” Scoffs Mabuza, followed by a lump of phlegm to the ground. “There are better ways to be a warrior.”

“Like what?”

Mabuza taps the side of his head twice.

And with that, Mabuza went back to stabbing the garden fork into a weed infested flower bed and I am suddenly, briefly, wondering what you, Dying Father, would be telling me at this juncture of my life. The moment is fleeting. More of a spasm, then it has gone and shelved itself away amongst the other odds and sods that have briefly, over time, asked for reasons and advice, and then crept away scorned.

I think of decorating my sticks. Perhaps with a few coils of copper wire, like the great warriors of King Chaka’s people.

“Are you now a maiden?”

I am rebuked.

I trundle away to the dam in search of applause from the cape Weaver birds.

There are no noises of the night on the night before the fight. There are none only because I do not sleep. My calf muscles are taut as I lie on my bed, cramping with a nervousness that first began as something heavy in my stomach. A squirming something, not unlike that wriggly bastard worm, that is sometimes warm, sometimes cold. I think it is what they call fear.

Hurry dawn’s light.

My sticks are ready.

Watch me, Meneer Gerber.

I am to be a man, Dying Father.

I am The Sunlight Boy. 

I pedal away from the house as it sleeps. I have managed to put my two sticks down the back of my shirt. I am a Samurai on a bicycle, off to defend what? This I do not know. It is a tradition. So that must be it. This is my rite.

I take the tar road to the General Dealer store. The road is void of traffic. There is cow shit on the rise, and I dodge it. The tarmac shimmers like a snake’s skin in the dawn’s light. A slight mist envelops the pineapple fields to the left and right. The plants stand aloof and sharp. It is a hostile plant for reasons only Nature must know.

I ride the road and avoid the potholes.

Mabuza stands at the turn-off to the General Dealer. I see him from a distance, and I ease off on the pedals. He stands where the red dust meets the tarmac, where the old meets the new. His chest is bare. He wears a loincloth, his tin cup attached to a riempie (thong) of leather about his waist. He holds, loosely, a knobkerrie (wooden club) in his hand. As I approach him, he nods once and breaks into his customary trot to cross the road.

We say nothing.

I pedal after him, his warrior gait light, and he barely rustles the red sand beneath his naked feet from its slumber.

The tailor with the milky eye is setting up his sewing machine on the porch of the store. There is not much activity yet. The Store is still closed. A hen with a clutch of chicks works the soil close to the wall where I park the bicycle. The hen fluffs her feathers and the chicks respond like sharks to offal. I remove my sticks from under my shirt and from my trouser pocket I pull out my Sunlight bandana.

I think of the reeds and the angry Weaver birds as I wrap the dish cloth around my head. I fold in the corners. I bounce a stick off my scalp. Numb and dumb.

Mabuza is watching, but he is not.

Behind the General Dealer Store where the grass is well trodden, Galpin stands with a small group of people. I recognise some of them from the kraal. His father, the Induna will referee. That was already decided.

There is only Mabuza behind me, and he is yet to speak to anyone.

Galpin and I square-off. There is no ritual or celebration. It is straightforward.  He attacks and I parry; the Wild Olive wood in my hand shuddering on contact and sending electric shivers down my arm.

He feints left and the next second I am on my knees. The pain comes later. It is a quick blow to the area behind my right knee. I stand up.

....and will the Sunlight Boy win? On his road to adulthood...read Mark Roper's inspiring novella to discover the consequences on +Amazon.com 

http://www.amazon.com/Two-Feet-Haggis-Mark-Roper-ebook/dp/B00UVUQRH4/

The sound of the Haggis

Does a Haggis make a sound? Does a Haggis even have a sound? 

It does in Mark Roper's inspiring novella, TWO FEET -- it throbs and pants with agonising breaths; it curdles and farts; it resembles the guts, the insides, the organs of a dying man...Mark's father -- but, perhaps, his imagination has become too vivid?
Read and or listen for yourself as to how a young boy's vision of a departed father begins to mould into an untold landscape.
Available on +Amazon.com and +Audible

http://youtu.be/emM80i4FNh4

A free audio sample of the Haggis