Review- Omega Dog

Crammed with thrills at every turn Tim Steven’s hero, “Joe Venn” begins his adventure in a down-trodden corner of the city. Framed on a murder wrap, he didn’t commit. A charge enforced by Corcoran, Head of a Government Black-Op’s Department by way of incentive. Leaving “Joe Venn,” no-choice but to work for Corcoran’s Department.

Joe though is no stranger to living on his wits, and getting-free of a Rock and a Hard Place is nothing new to him. Trusting his intuition Venn visits Professor Lomax’s Apartment. The chief research scientist on the Zylurin Trials! Further discoveries lead Joe to Beth Colby’s Apartment. Beth is a nurse who works at the same hospital as Professor Lomax. But later, they discover she too has a connection to the Zylurin Trials, that puts her life in danger.

Marcus Royale serves as the conventional “contract killer,” both ruthless and determined in his efforts to complete his contracts. Fortunately Beth, was quick enough to make the connection; her “suspicions are aroused” as people she knows die unexpectedly, or she reads of their deaths in the paper. However “Tim Stevens” ability to sympathise with each characters point of view see’s Venn, portrayed as the nemesis when he arrives at Beth Colby’s Apartment. Just in time to see Beth, escaping the clutches of Marcus Royale and into the arms of a “questionable” Police Department!

The story then becomes a cat-and-mouse chase, as Venn evades Contract Killers from New York to Massachusetts. Stopping only to break Beth free, from the “hands of the Police.” Joe Venn then continues his search for clues as to the whereabouts of Professor Lomax, who he believes is the key to clear his name. In these restricted circumstance a romance ensues between Joe and Beth.

Written in the first and third person, the changing perspectives provide both author and audience alike, with endless opportunities to live in the ever-changing and relentless world of Joe Venn, and the underworld that surrounds him. These contrasting perspectives enjoy both the ruthless convictions of the criminal mind-set, and the refined intentions of the “so-called professional.” As Joe Venn battles to overcome his own demons, while resorting to tactics that are outside the boundaries of society norms, in an effort to overcome the restrictions that are placed upon him by the criminal underworld.

Like many concepts in this novel the unwavering and fearless of Joe Venn, and the ruthlessness and cunning of the villains that are employed in his pursuit, know no limits, and leave the reader never sure what to expect next!

“Tim Stevens” knowledge of medical terminology and attention to detail in later chapters, contribute to a style of writing that maintains a professional objectivity, that is a perfect fit for the genre.  Although the omniscient view- points can be a little predictable at times, Tim Stevens makes-up for any foreseeable circumstances with ample twists-and-turns that defines him as a master- story teller, and takes “Joe Venn” on an exhilarating adventure to clear his name!

This review was completed by Thomas Cooney author of “A Suggestion of Angels” also available on


An Impartial Observation

I was just thinking “how is it that some people “and by some people I mean famous and powerful people” got to be that way in the first place?”

I mean how come they always seem to make it when they’re young; or from a point in time that was before you knew them, to which the door has now been firmly closed.

In other words, they set out ages ago with an idea in their head. And because they were determined, or lucky they achieved it! Or maybe, someone out there just opened a door, and they just walked through.

But for everyone else, there seems to be zero opportunity at the bottom of the pile. And the people who made it, one or two places above you in the food chain, walk all over you. Showing disregard for who you are, and what you’ve been through. And disregard for something more important too. The responsibility, we have to one another as human beings, that makes us human. “Respect!”

No-one’s given a second chance. Corporate England just turned its back on poor people, and the courtesy they deserve. And the Government said “that’s O.K.”

I wander if a civil servant, has ever had to wait an entire day, because they missed the opportunity to correspond on their computer in the morning. Of if they will ever reduce the qué to less then fifteen minutes; or an acceptable queuing time in the Citizens Advice Bureau. The only place in the city that ordinary citizens can go to seek representation, when they have a problem. And that I have never “known anyone”, wait for less than two hours.

Just Some Guy Talking to Himself

The light, although dimmed formed a blue cloud as it reflected from the walls of the room. He reached over and flicked the light switch. The bedroom door creaked, as it ground on its hinges. Bob was on the sofa sleeping. Sometimes, Bill wished he would find a place of his own. But what could he do? After what happened to his parents! “What choice did he have?” Thoughtfully, without trying to make a noise, he reached for his pen and pad of scrap. And began to write…

Bob moved restlessly. The sun which he could see, masked by clouds on the horizon, had turned red when Bill looked up from his work. He didn’t move from his seat on the bed. But continued to capture the beats and throwaway comments, that made the words and music to his songs; that were playing in his head.

He noticed as his gaze switched between the horizon and his friend, that Bob was nodding his head, in time with the songs that had not yet been written. Because they had never been played. Apart from in Bills head!
Then Bob lifted his head from the eiderdown, slung over him and said,

“What are you doin?”

“I’ve just got a couple of things I have to say? Bill replied.

“Scrap, or notes?” Bob asked.

“Scrap and notes.” Bill replied.

“Do they rhyme?” He asked.

“Mostly?” Bill said.

“Are they, … do they mean anything?” Bob asked


“Just reach to folk’s. Make your words count.” Bob said.

“Yeah,” Bill replied, and carried on writing. Thankful for his friends advice.

Weeks went by, maybe months. Bill continued to write. Then one day, by intuition, Bill reached for his guitar… The passage of time from his first day of practice, until the day he was satisfied, seemed no-longer then the one before. Something like a long shift at work! Or one of those shifts where they ask you to do Over- Time! But as with his writing, Bill took months to learn the guitar… But typical of Bill, he stuck at it. Un-till he was able to play. And Bob moved out.

By a strange coincidence, after Bob had left, a band formed.

Bill was the front man. The lead singer, and one of the three lead guitarist. There was another singer or two aswell, waiting in the shadows, for their chance on stage, and a waiting list to join the band.

There were no roadie’s yet. They did the acoustics, themselves.

They’d played maybe two or three venue’s, when they got the town hall. It was actually an outdoor stage. But the biggest stage, for miles around.

The sun was behind the roof of the stadium, but it shone all the way to the fields on the horizon. Bill felt the contention of excitement in his stomach. Soon the ground beneath would be filled, with fans. The small following he had collected while playing venue’s around the local area. The field in-front of him would be crammed, shoulder to shoulder. He was sure. And there would be an agitated ruckus, that bopped in time with the songs; in the front row. There would be no seats. He strummed down on the Guitar, from the top to the bottom string. “Summn’t deep,” a wave of sound penetrated the acoustics. Then he pulled a pad of scrap from his pocket. And wrestled his pen to the floor.

He’d been working on a song for the occasion, for the past six weeks. The band could strum the chord’s to the beat; he knew they could. It was coming together. “He’d known about it” since he booked the event! It made him happy. He wanted to be known. His reputation to stretch beyond his art! “Was that a lyric!”  Suddenly he felt a pang in his stomach. And pressure on his abdomen. If he didn’t pull a rhyming couplet, the show would flop! “Gott’a reach the stars’” Another lyric!

He scribbled mindlessly on the page “words and musical notes.” But nothing made sense. It just looked like, “Scrap and Note’s”

“Where did he get that from?” He looked at the other band members, who like him were tuning their guitars. Then he remembered, an aphrodisiac he had taken some time ago.

“A conversation with Bob, while scrawling on a pad with a pen that absorbed his thoughts.”

I know I got to stretch’

I got to reach the stars.

Just reach out.

Make your words count

Scrap and Notes,

Musical Notes,

Just Shout it out,

I know I got to stretch…

I got to reach to the stars.. .

Just reach out.

Words and Notes…

Make your words Count

Else you won’t make no difference at allllllll

“Bob” just some guy he used to bunk with, before anyone had heard of him! Bob who moved out ages ago. Bob who always had “helpful tips” on his song writing. Bob who always knew what to say!

Chris Moyles

I usually listen to the Radio, that really was the catalyst for my decision to make this post. “I just think, even thought it’s almost three years since he left, I thought Chris Moyles was Brilliant, when he was on-the-air.” The way him and Ash could just grab you away, from whatever you were doing, so all you wanted to do was listen to that show. It’s such a shame, I have not been able to discover where they are now!
But I still remember that show. And now I’ve got my own Blog, I get a chance to say, “How brilliant Chris and Ash were.” But that’s the thing about having your own Blog. It’s about the only place you get to “Chat about what’s in your “ed,” wivout’ someone av’in a go at you.” Which brings me to my final point: Chris Moyles (and Ash) were Brilliant.

The End


In Ireland, in Dublin in the centre of the city, opposite the Irish American University there is a marble statue or two. With figures, like armless manikins on the top. Under the manikins, the musing’s of Oscar wild are engraved into the stone.
One that I particularly remember is, “Whenever people agree with me I always feel I must be wrong.” I found this amusing. And there are many other quotes like it. But like many other “Literary Genius’s,” he never seems’ to question society as a whole. His work never asks “Why ordinary people never get to do the things they like?” Or “why no-one seems to find the time, or trouble to show them; or to even care.”


Once Upon-a-Time ….

It seems like a long time ago now, but I remember it as if it was yesterday …
“ I’d read in the local paper, “ the Post” that David Hasslehoff was in town. I was taking a college course at my local Learn Direct, in the town centre when that was still open.”
“ At 10 O’clock when it was time for my break, I thought I’ll just step outside and see what I can find out!”

The “Hoff” was there. And so was Kit … the worlds first talking car.
These are the pictures;




To be Printed on my Tombstone. “Why can you do Nothing but Judge me?” Don’t worry too much about the size of the lettering of my name.