An excerpt from A Billion Sharp Pieces by David Looby @bernia_books @DLooby1977

My guest today on What Cathy Read Next is author David Looby. David’s debut novel A Billion Sharp Pieces was published in paperback by Ybernia on 22nd December 2025.

David describes A Billion Sharp Pieces as ‘a work of psychosexual fiction’, ‘an hypnotic thriller’ and ‘a heartbreaking coming-of-age story set against a backdrop of hedonism, humour and the surface history shared by two young Irishmen whose lives overlap in an intoxicating city of beauty.’

A Billion Sharp Pieces is available to purchase now direct from Ybernia or from Bookshop.org. [Disclosure: If you buy books linked to our site, we may earn a commission from Bookshop.org, whose fees support independent bookshops]

To get a flavour of the book, you can read an excerpt from A Billion Sharp Pieces below.

About the Book

On a sun-drenched beach in northern Spain, Todd McCarthy sees an old college friend – a friend with whom he shares a troubled past.

The life he has forged for himself – with his partner Jade – is suddenly upended as their paths cross once more.

A Billion Sharp Pieces asks how far someone can be pushed before they crack and what does it take for Todd to realise there are only two choices: living or dying.

Find A Billion Sharp Pieces on Goodreads

Excerpt from A Billion Sharp Pieces by David Looby

After a short flight and train journey, with a stop at the border, they arrived in a paradisial wonderland. 

That first night, as Todd swayed catching on to Jade’s fingers, the magic of the old town, of this paradise by the ocean, took hold. She watched him walk ahead of her, buzzing to be in a new place, left hand in his pocket, his right hand skimming invisible stones in excitement as he spoke about his dreams of emigrating to Canada with her.

Church bells told them it was 7 o’clock. The narrow streets, with their filigreed balconies complete with pink flowers, were bursting with tourists and life.

With his jangly walk made worse by his flip flops Todd tripped on the cobblestones of the old town square, stubbing his big toe – he let out a girlish scream, before straightening himself up and coughing manly. Jade snorted a laugh, and they linked fingers again and walked into a bar through a smart, red brick arch.

The pub smelled of oily fish, bread and beer; its counters heaving with pintxos and overhung with meaty legs of jamón. Neatly framed black and white pictures of local fishermen lined the walls.

Nudging his way to the bar, Todd pointed to a selection of crusty toasted bread temptations topped with a variety of meats and cheeses. He ordered two ciders, which were poured from a height by a smiling, rotund barman.

‘You English?’

‘No, Irish, from Dublin, you know Dublin?’ Todd said amid the noise, feeling stupid.

Pivoting on the spot, he handed Jade a plate overburdened with food and elbowed forward as he extricated himself from the scrum surrounding him at the bar counter. They tucked into the pintxos: salty anchovies, battered salted cod, green peppers, jamón, and cheese. They filled a space at the corner of an archway leading to a large dining area out the back.

Afterwards Jade flicked her eyes, indicating she needed a smoke.

They stepped outside into the saline-rich seaside night air and wandered the streets. ‘It all feels so cinematic, like George Clooney and his wife, what’s her name, can’t believe he has a wife, how didn’t he pick me,’ Jade said, distractedly.

They came upon a square, with steps leading up to a viewing area beside a church in the heart of the old part of town. 

Brilliant sunset rays fell upon it.

The Basílica de Santa María del Coro stood like a vision; its golden sandstone reflecting the sunlight. Built with a very large, vaulted niche, it rose up from a narrow street of shuttered windows and hanging flower baskets. Its tortured figure of San Sebastián and the papal symbols, as well as the shield of the city which crowns this glorious building, were all striking.

Rubbing his eyes, Todd felt giddy, grateful and elated all at once. Some surfers in garish shorts and tank tops walked past with their sun blonde locks blowing in the breeze, and he suddenly felt better about how he was dressed.

They walked in the opposite direction down to the wide, half-mile long promenade that backs Zurriola beach, and the coastline bookended by the Urgull and Igeldo hills.

Todd and Jade took a deep breath simultaneously, before breaking into laughter.

They walked past the church and turned up a side street, which led to a hill with several bars.

‘Pub crawl!’ Todd declared, with a wildness in his voice, letting Jade know they were in for a blow-out. She exhaled and rolled her eyes, knowing she could keep up with him, though she was hoping for more romance than that.

They stepped into a pub with a semi-circular bar counter stretching the length of the room. The barman served them two glasses of beer, thinner glasses than they were used to, and the holiday feels kicked in again. They moved from bar to bar, as if in a dream, before reaching the top of the hill, where a classy café with white curtains and red and black decor, all burnished wood and booths, drew them in for a coffee and churros.

Sitting in one of the leather-backed booths side by side, Todd and Jade kissed their first holiday kiss and laughed at the unselfconscious joy of the moment; Jade tilted her hat over her eyes in embarrassment as a Spanish man looked over, smiling.

After their strong coffee, they flopped down the hilly street, passed some expensive-looking boutiques and a jeweller’s and arrived at their hostel.

They barely made a sound as they walked past the common room, with its colourful bean bags, pool table and bar, tables set up for the morning’s continental breakfast. 

Todd opened the door, extravagantly waving Jade in, before giving her a gentle pat on the buttocks to signal his intentions.

Afterwards, in the dark of the bedroom, Todd heard a drunk muttering something angrily under the balcony. He should be happy, should feel whole, with his girlfriend, best friend, lying naked beside him under the bed cover, but there was something in the way. Lying on the pillow, his hands behind his head, he stared up at the fan as Jade snored gently beside him. Tears blurred his vision. He had never felt so alone, so lost.

Then, the image came to him; the night in the toilet, that drunken night in Limerick, when – while at the urinal – Jack had pressed his cock up against his ass, before pissing on him. He had then laughed and fallen backwards, struggling with his pants.

The warm, strange sensation on his leg; the laugh; the whiskey and coke breath; the shove forward against the urinal; more piss; deeper shame. The shock of helplessness.

Todd’s eyes narrowed, his pupils flared. He thought of what he’d do to Jack if he tried doing that shit again. It was a feeling of pure hatred he couldn’t fight, couldn’t expunge from his soul. Each time it floored him. Everything about him was pooled in one spot, shattered into a billion sharp pieces. A blackness came over the room.  Everything was wrong, every future light extinguished. 

The past – like a physical presence in the room – weighed upon him.

About the Author

David Looby is a debut author with a passion for telling compelling, emotionally powerful stories which challenge, entertain and enlighten. With a background in journalism and communications, David studied English at University College Cork and Creative Writing at LeMoyne College, Syracuse, New York. He worked in journalism for 22 years – earning awards for his court and news reporting – prior to moving to a role in communications.

In A Billion Sharp Pieces he brings a fresh perspective to the contemporary psychological thriller genre, capturing the emotionally fraught ‘wilderness years’ of college life and young adulthood for a troubled man growing up in Ireland. His debut novel takes readers on an unforgettable journey, while exploring the complexity of human emotions and relationships in this heartbreaking, comical and lyrical novel.

Connect with David
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An excerpt from Baked Tapes by Bob Christenson

My guest today on What Cathy Read Next is author Bob Christenson. Bob’s debut novel Baked Tapes was published by Mint Condish Publishing on 30th December 2025 and is available to purchase in hardback or paperback.

Bob describes Baked Tapes as ‘a story of obsession, regret, and love. Think: the setting of High Fidelity but the thoughtfulness of Plainsong‘ and reckons it will resonate with musicians, writers, and ‘anyone who has carried a private project through years of doubt, wondering if the result was worth the cost’.

You can read an excerpt from Baked Tapes below.

About the Book

Time has a way of warping everything it touches — songs, friendships, and especially love.

For Lyle Bass, the remnants of his past still live on a reel of tape he can’t stop replaying. But recordings carry more than sound; they carry what’s been lost, what’s been forgotten, and what can never be repaired.

Spanning decades of creation and collapse, Baked Tapes is a meditation on memory, regret, and the ghosts that live on in the things we try to preserve. Nostalgic, haunting, and quietly redemptive, it’s the story of how our lives keep playing long after the recording stops.

Find Baked Tapes on Goodreads

Excerpt from Baked Tapes by Bob Christenson

The recording session was going surprisingly well. It wasn’t even midnight yet and they already had two songs recorded. Mark was drinking Gatorade instead of beer and Jack was sitting on a stool — concentrating on his fretboard — instead of standing and spinning in circles, which was how he normally played his basslines. Lyle was a compassionate dictator. They took plenty of snack breaks and he made sure the guys were liking what they heard during playback.

“One more song, guys. Then you’re done,” Lyle said during a break in the control room.

“I gotta give it to you, Fish. This was a great idea,” Mark admitted. “I wasn’t sold at first. I thought it was going to be an uptight, very non-rock-n-roll disaster. But we’re moving right along. Record it live, allow you to capture my raw drumming genius, mix it quick, and get it out to the masses. That’s the best way.”

Lyle nodded. “For once, I completely agree with you, Mark. The faster you move on a project like this, the more magic it has. Now we’ve got one more. Let’s nail it down.”

Mark picked up his half-empty Gatorade bottle and went through the door to the live room, Jack followed right behind.

After a few minutes of getting re-adjusted, Lyle pushed down the talkback button — his voice crackled into his bandmate’s headphones. “OK, fellas. Let’s make it count.” He hit “Record” on the multitrack’s remote. “We’re rolling.”

Mark counted them in with four stick-clicks and they were off and running. It was sounding good, but as the band neared the second verse, Lyle was distracted by something out of the corner of his eye.

There it was again.

Something kept flashing past that little window in the hallway door. He hoped it wasn’t Professor Cooke, coming to tell them about a noise complaint of some kind. He ignored it and tried to keep playing.

As they neared the end of the song he caught sight of something that completely derailed him. Two large brown eyes, looking through a pair of thick black-framed glasses, were peering through the window. They were staring right at him. As soon as he realized what he saw they were gone.

Determined to make it to the end of the song, he stared straight ahead — trying to re-connect with the guys in the other room. But then he saw it again. He looked longer and the window framed a bit more of a face this time. There was a bird’s nest of curly hair piled above the black glasses and a pair of red lips below. It was definitely a girl and she was definitely interested in what they were doing. He started to daydream about going into the hall after this take to play rock star. Then he heard a frustrated scream pouring through the control room speakers.

It was Mark, sounding like he was just stabbed in the leg with a rusty fork.

“FIIIIISH. Man! What are you DOING?! We’re supposed to do the turn-around one more time before the last chorus. We almost had it, first take! I was on fire, dude, and you screwed it up. Quick, let’s run it again before I lose it.”

Lyle had forgotten they were even playing when Mark started to read him the riot act. He really needed to concentrate. Don’t look over there. Pay attention to the song. Just one more.

And then, of course, he looked again. But the face was gone.

“OK, guys, sorry — that one was on me. Let’s try again.” He got the multitrack back to the beginning of the song and pushed the record button again, then the talkback mic.

“Rolling.”

This time there were no distractions and they nailed the take.

The guys burst through the control room, all hi-fives and smiles. Mark, wiping sweat from his neck with a Ninja Turtles beach towel, grabbed Lyle by the shoulders and shook him mercilessly. He was yelling now.

“That was it, Fish. That was the two minutes and thirty-three seconds that will make me the most famous drummer in the world!”

Jack laughed a little, looked over at Mark, and just couldn’t help himself.

“Sellout.”

Mark smiled and gave him the finger.

With the instrument recording done, Lyle needed to cut his lead vocal tracks. He wanted to do them without anyone watching so he sent the guys out to buy some beer. He’d let them drink while he recorded vocals and started the mix.

“I’ll go, but you’re buying,” reasoned Mark.

“But I got us the studio time. Don’t you think you could buy the beer this time?” Lyle pleaded.

“OK, OK. We’ll compromise. Jack will buy the beer.”

Mark laughed, put Jack in a headlock and dragged him into the hallway.

Over the next hour, Lyle sang, screamed and growled into a microphone while standing in the control room. During each take, he was constantly keeping tabs on that window to the hallway, but never saw the face reappear. Then, just as he was about to sing the very last chorus he saw movement outside. He hit “Stop” and decided he was going to get up the nerve to open the door and invite this mystery girl into the control room. Maybe she wanted to hang out while they mixed.

A shadow fell over the door and he saw the unmistakable texture of skin through the window. But it wasn’t the smooth, makeup-caked skin he had seen earlier. It was uneven and pimpled.

The door suddenly swung open and he was treated to the sight of Mark’s bare butt, shorts pulled down around his knees and Jack bent over in hysterics in the hallway behind him.

“Brought you something, Fish!” Mark yelled as he shook his backside at Lyle.

Despite the fact that he was being interrupted by the opposite of what he expected to see, Lyle started to laugh. He just couldn’t resist. He forced a straight face again, and angrily yelled, “You idiots! I ordered beer. Not rear!”

They all fell down from laughing so hard.

Over the next three hours they mixed their first demo to a quarter-inch reel of analog tape.

But all Lyle could think about was the girl in the thick black glasses.

About the Author

Bob Christenson has been making music since the early ‘90s, recording and mixing indie records in his home studio. By day, he works as a web developer. By night, you can find him sipping cocktails and spinning vinyl in his home tiki bar. 

He lives in the suburbs of Detroit, Michigan. His second novel is a story revolving around a small town tiki bar in the 1940’s. It’s called Twin Palms and will arrive in late 2026.

Connect with Bob
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