An organized crime prosecutor takes his son for an idyllic cruise on the family sailboat. Then pirates attack. A killer storm hits. And then - that rumor about hit men hunting Doorman? It's true.
The weather could not be more perfect: emerald waters, soft winds, unexpectedly warm days on these last few weeks before fall. Organized crime prosecutor Joe Doorman has brought his son David on a cruise to wrestle some quality time out of his impossibly busy schedule. But then disasters strike one after another.
Pirates appear out of the night. They force their way aboard, pistol-whipping Doorman and taking him hostage. While the pirates loot the boat, Doorman manages to sneak his son off the boat before he turns to fight for his life. Against two to one odds, disarmed against gun-toting opponents, he stands little chance, but at least David is out of danger.
Then a freak storm hits area. Suddenly, gale-force winds, killer waves and torrents of rain capsize the sailboat struggling beneath a continuous barrage of lightning strikes. Pirates and hostage confront a desperate struggle for survival against overwhelming forces.
Unknown to all, a mob boss has dispatched contractors to find Doorman and kill him. The storm batters the killers, too, but their hunt is relentless. Now even if Doorman and David survive the storm, even if the pirates don’t turn murderous, at the end of the storm, they will find the hit men waiting.
My name is T. Seamus Farley, but call me “Seamus.”
My earliest memory is of my debut as a storyteller. It happened one night in the room I shared with my big brother. He was seven, two years older than I.
My brother’s voice was shaky with fear of the dark.
--Seamus! Seamus! Tell me a story!
So, I did. That was the precise moment I became a storyteller.
I didn’t know then that answering the call would become a lifelong calling. I tried to avoid my fate with other work: waiter, bureaucrat, short-order cook, trial lawyer, data entry clerk, director of investigators and trial lawyers. But no matter where I was or what I was doing, stories always found me and demanded my attention. I tried other hobbies, building stringed instruments, fly fishing, sailing ... but nothing kept the stories at bay.
So here I am: T. Seamus Farley, still telling stories.
My wife and I live in the Southeastern United States. We are proud partners in a long and happy marriage. We are also proud parents of two fine young men, both writers, both of whom have chosen remarkable partners. Our home isn’t empty, however. The Farley household is ruled by a Golden Doodle and a Standard Poodle and guarded by the spirit of a Beagle who will always be The Best Dog Ever.
I welcome your thoughts about my work.
Please email me at seamusfarley.readers@gmail.com.
Do not send me story ideas.
The current climate of intellectual property law and the virulence of litigation require that I take measures to preserve my intellectual property rights and yours. I will delete or destroy any unsolicited story ideas or manuscripts sent to me. I won’t ever solicit them and I make a rule of not even looking at them.
I can’t honor requests for advice on the business of writing.
I regret that I am unable to help you find an editor, a ghostwriter, an agent, a publisher, or a writing coach.
As for advice about becoming a writer. It’s actually pretty easy. You do it the same way you would become the King of the Britons:
Step boldly up to the sword in the stone, wrap your hand around the hilt, and pull.
If you can’t pull the sword out of the stone at first go, try again. And again. And again. Do it continuously. Indefatigably. Fearlessly. Keep doing it until the magic happens.
In the process, you’ll become a writer.
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