Truly original and captivating, author Robert K. Swisher Jr. novels raise the bar of writing with his distinctive and highly original stories, verging on a brand new genre. He has an ability to create unusual but believable characters and deliver a highly entertaining read, with hidden depths. Enjoy!

Robert K. Swisher Jr.
4.8 Stars (28 Reviews)
Genre: Metaphysical | Fantasy

Part fantasy, part real – A dramatic and heart felt story about a diverse group of residents in an old folks home, who, feeling useless and abandoned, form an action group, and with the aid of an adult with the mind of an eight year old they learn all things are possible – even the ability to fly. A journey of hope and forgiveness.

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How Bridge McCoy Learned To Say I Love You
Robert K. Swisher Jr.
4.9 Stars (22 Reviews)
Genre: Humor & Satire | Literary Fiction

An off center love story about a man who walks two steps forward and one backward, hates change, and after his wife leaves him because he is a lousy writer and will never be able to buy her gold and diamonds, moves to Lost City, an obscure art town, and opens a gallery called WHY AM I HERE, vowing he will never fall in love again. But, as life goes, he tumbles head over heels for Vivian, owner of a coffee house named the WAKE UP OR DIE, but when he tries to tell her I love you all he can stammer is, “I, I, I, Lo, Lo, Lo,” and he starts choking like there is a meatball stuck in his throat. A zany look at modern life with a cast of not so normal characters – a blind painter, a lady that believes there is a rock of rocks that will enlighten mankind, people that are paranoid because there is only six billion years until the sun devours the earth, two hundred dogs that are tired of organic dog treats, a woman that is so happy bubbles trail behind her, a man with sixteen girlfriends, and many many more. A love story that will leave you with a smile and a warm feeling in your heart and shaking your head saying, “I have never read a novel like this one.”

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A Bucket Full Of Lies (Book 1) (Bob Roosevelt Mystery Series Book 1)
Robert Swisher
4.4 Stars (42 Reviews)
Genre: Humor & Entertainment | Contemporary Fiction

For the tattooed lady on the corner of 4th – you’re right honey – ain’t nothin’ good about humidity except corn

Sam was standing by his car door smiling proudly as I pulled in behind him.He hadn’t bothered to open the triple garage.I couldn’t see the neighbors’ house for the trees but I could hear the sound of a running river and the neighing of horses.I shut off the engine and got out.“You looking for a gardener?” I asked, flabbergasted.

“No, he isn’t, but he had better be looking for an undertaker,” my Guardian Angel yelled in a way I knew he was not kidding.I darted toward Sam, hoping to knock him to the ground, but before I reached him a shot belched from the trees.The bullet entered the right side of Sam’s head.For a brief moment there was a look of bewilderment in his eyes and then acceptance, as if getting killed was a relief.As Sam’s body slid down the side of the new Lincoln, leaving a trail of blood on the shiny white paint, I knew I should have listened to my Guardian Angel.

“I told you, I told you,” my Guardian Angel screeched.

There was another shot.The bullet sang a death song as it buzzed over my head.I sprawled on top of Sam, which was about as smart as trying to stop a runaway train with my hand, since Sam was as dead as dead can be.

After a few moments and no more shots, I quickly checked Sam’s pants pockets and took a key from his front right pocket.In his shirt pocket was a folded up piece of paper.I stuffed both the key and the piece of paper into my Levi’s pocket.

The next thing I knew, a very attractive lady was standing over Sam and screaming.“Oh Sam!!Why?Why?”

I grabbed her hand and yanked her to the ground.I didn’t know who she was or how she got here so fast, but in the instant it took to yank her down I noticed the fine female form molded into one of the briefest string bikini’s I had ever seen.People will tell you being close to death can heighten your senses.That may or may not be true, but the lady was gorgeous and the bikini she was wearing wasn’t made to leave many tan lines.The lady started bawling.There was nothing I could do to help the woman.I am a stranger to women.I am not a stranger to death.I learned one thing in the war, there is no guarantee about this life thing – the reaper takes you when he wants.

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Trout Fishing For Bodies (Book 2) (Bob Roosevelt Mystery Series Book 2)
Robert Swisher
4.8 Stars (8 Reviews)
Genre: Humor & Entertainment | Mystery, Thriller & Suspense

poor little trout fish – bring on the butter and skillet, but please, developers, leave the river alone.

“ Roosevelt, please,” my Guardian Angel pleaded, putting his hands together like he was praying.“ Let me warn you one more time. I don’ t feel good about this. I have no doubt trout fishing is going to cause you nothing but grief.”

For a brief moment I hesitated, my Guardian Angel pleading was completely out of character, but warning or no warning I am going trout fishing.

My Guardian Angel followed behind me shaking his head and muttering. The only words I could pick out were ‘ stupid’ and ‘ brain dead’.

At the head of the trail that runs beside the stream I stopped. Beside the trail were four freshly cut pine boughs stacked on top of each other – each about three feet long. Seeing them puzzled me and for an instant made me feel paranoid.

“ It is really getting bad when tree branches start bothering you,” my Guardian Angel said.“ You old hippies didn’ t inhale pine needles did you?”

I have had paranoid attacks in my life, but this one is ridiculous.

I came around a small bend in the river and there was a pool over ten feet wide and twenty feet long. The water was so deep I couldn’ t see the bottom of the stream. A thick stand of red alders grew on the far side of the pool. There was no way there wasn’ t a trout waiting anxiously for my wooly worm in the deep swirling water. A skittish water spider darted away from me as I cast my wooly worm. My Guardian Angel leaned back against a tree with a worried look on his face – either that or he had an attack of gas.

Cast after cast invaded the pool with no trout. I decided to add weight to my line to sink the wooly worm deeper into the water. I attached two small lead split shot to the leader and plunked the wooly worm back into the water. It hadn’ t drifted more than two feet when suddenly my line stopped. I pulled back with enough force I could have set the hook in a shark’ s jaw. The rod bowed fiercely, but there was no thrashing on the end of the line, disappointedly, only the steady pull of a snag. I don’ t think fried snag would taste good unless I was a vegetarian and into soggy tree bark. Although, in some places, soggy tree bark might cost $18.95 for a lunch special – especially if the soggy tree bark was soaked in high mountain, sparkling, stream water, and served by a girl who didn’ t shave her legs or under her armpits.

“ Cut the line and let’ s get out of here,” my Guardian Angel yelled and took several quick steps back toward camp.

For some reason, the cheap fly that had been made in India was important to me, and instead of breaking the line, I put my hand around the snag and pulled with all my might. If I could get the snag up and out of the water, I could see what I would have to do to get my fly. The first thing I saw coming out of the gloom of the water sent shivers down my spine. It was not a tree limb, but a hand, a woman’ s hand, with long slim fingers, painted red nails, a diamond ring, and a gold and diamond tennis bracelet. The naked body bobbed inches below the surface as I held onto the arm, my wooly worm was embedded in the crook of her left elbow. The face, opened eyed, gazed vacantly at me in bewilderment, as the long blond hair curled around her head like golden seaweed. I know the lady did not drown. There was a small hole in her temple – the type caused by a bullet.

“ Oh Roosevelt,” my Guardian Angel moaned, burying his face in his hands.“ I tried to warn you. But no, will you ever listen to me, what am I, just another pretty face?”

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Conversations with the Golf God
Robert K Swisher Jr.
4.9 Stars (10 Reviews)
Genre: Sports | Humor & Satire

Every day around the world golfers wonder if the Golf God is real and how much he impacts the game. This book answers many age old questions. Yes, the Golf God is real! He appeared to local golfer Shanks one day, dancing on a bar at The Fleece Muni Golf Course and told Shanks he had been chosen to be his disciple. “Why have I been chosen?” Shanks asked, bewildered.”Because you are the worst putter I have ever seen and to continue to play the game you have to be filled with devotion,” answered the Golf God righteously.

The Golf God also informed Shanks he had been assigned the task to write the Golf Gods’ legacy. In between beer, cigarettes, and pizza the Golf God told Shanks the real history of golf, explained the fine points of throwing a club, what golf terms really mean, why we play the game, and a few tips about putting, while Shanks shared several stories about real life golfers at the Golf God’s request – the kind who take your hard earned cash and lie about their handicaps. Grab a slice of pizza, have a beer, maybe a smoke, then sit back and feel like you are in the room enjoying the conversations between Shanks and the Golf God!

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