The 10 short stories that make up Jog On Fat Barry symbolize the mishmash of difficulty that face people trying to muddle through an increasingly complex world, and each one of them comes entwined with odd and curious characters crossing seamlessly from one story to the next. Cotter's diction is both brutal and blunt; it will cause offence to some readers, but the text is also vividly rich with a vernacular seldom heard. There is nothing Disneyfied in the narratives. They do not end happily. Still, for readers who are able to stomach veracity without it having to be sugarcoated, each story resides in a place that is candid and sincere. True, murder and deception are commonplace, and liberty is, all too often, sacrificed for little more than simple honour, but redemption abounds in Cotter's scenarios, and his stories offer an emancipation of sorts to characters shackled by man's indifference to his fellow man. The sordid streets of New York, LA, and London are the backdrop for these tales of crime amidst broken lives where the lost and forlorn battle to better their lot. It is a wake-up call to people who have their heads buried in the sand, and a sad reminder that the fish will always rot from the head downwards.
About the Author: Kevin Cotter was born in San Francisco to Irish/Italian parents who had married for love but separated when he was seven. In 1968, he, his mother, brother, and sisters left the States for England, moving to Hampstead, in London. It was there that Cotter entered a world that would permanently influence his life and writing: a lawless wonderland, hectic and chaotic, with abandoned houses and warehouses, crumbling cemeteries, and shops that kept their doors unlocked in the evening while the staff cashed up. He could ride the bus for tuppence, steal a bottle of Gold top milk off someone's doorstep, work for 35 pence an hour supplemented with an additional 50 taken out of the till when the boss wasn't looking. School was a cigarette under the stairs by faulty radiators, or sitting in rooms playing three-card brag. He left when he was sixteen and signed on the dole, receiving £16 a week. After countless dead-end jobs, he worked as a porter on the emergency ward of the Royal Free Hospital before joining the US Navy on the Delayed Entry Program. Six months later, he deserted. He then enrolled in college, but deserted that too. The only thing left to do was join the advertising business, which he did by driving production trucks and Make-Up & Hair vehicles to various locations throughout Greater London and the Home Counties. Cotter slowly worked his way up the ladder until he was actually producing adverts himself. Secure at last, Cotter married, but not long afterwards, he divorced his wife, quit the ad business, and started to write. Writing kept him sane, barely. In 2007, he decided to go to school in the United States, and in December 2010, at the age of 50, he graduated from San Francisco State University cum laude with a B.A. in English Literature. He had intended to go on and complete an M.A., but terminal brain cancer diagnosed in 2011 put a stop to that. He battles daily with various psychotropic drugs to fend off seizures and behavioral changes, but maintains that the best things in life are family, being an uncle, and Chelsea Football Club.