So my name’s Robert J. Halliwell and I am rotten at stuff like this!
I suppose like most people who wind up writing books, I’ve loved reading for about as long as I can remember. There’s something so magical about being able to crack open what is effectively a bundle of dried wood pulp and ink and open a portal to any time, place or event in the world— and of course worlds and places that don’t exist at all.
I always had a bit of a knack for creative writing in one form or another it seems, or at least that’s what teachers said about me during parent teacher interviews. I didn’t really wind up doing much with it outside of reading, writing little short stories here and there and minoring in English in university. I told myself that wanting to be an author is a bit like saying you want to be an astronaut when you’re a kid. Cute, technically not impossible, but exceedingly unlikely.
Then about a year and a half ago I was going through a period where I knew I was going to have a rough time of it for at least five months. I needed something to do to pass the time and thought “Hey. . .that might be enough time to write a book,” and just sort of went with it.
Eight months, countless edits and one fantastic narrator later and my debut The Ties That Bind was born. It’s a sort of. . .lightly speculative YA coming of age that deals with platonic love, loss and the bonds we make and maintain with people. I also threw in a feelings-based magic system and a bit of a modern day portal fantasy, because why not?
In terms of a debut novel I think it’s pretty good and the numbers at least somewhat back that up. I broke the curse of less than 100 sales at least!
One book definitely didn’t feel like enough, and I got thinking of what I wanted to write next. Ties dealt a lot with platonic love, and I kept thinking of all the different kinds of love out there and landed on what is probably the most obvious choice: Romantic love.
After some initial brainstorm and drafting, my two idiot sons took shape. A shy, maybe-not-totally-neurotypical Canadian named A.J., and a well-meaning but overexcited ball of Irish sunshine named Bren.
As a pantser I wasn’t fully sure what all was going to happen in the pages between the major plot points I had acting as waypoints in my head. Plot lines were cut, a character who was never planned came to life and became one of my favourites, and in the end I wound up with a book that made me tear up so many times. Happy tears, sad tears, and of course, some out of frustration, because as much as I love writing, it’s not all sunshine and puppydogs.
I suppose I should end with a little bit of a pitch:
My goal when writing And Then He Pressed Play was to make just one person A.) Tear up at least once and B.) Kick their feet under the covers, clutch the book to their chest and giggle like a lunatic. From the feedback I’ve gotten, I’ve done just that for wayyy more than one person.
So many of us in the 2slgbtqia+ community didn’t get the usual trappings that are supposed to come with the high school experience. I didn’t let it be a straight shot. My boys had their fair share of hardships in book one, but they also got what a lot of us dreamed of back then. They met, became friends, felt their feelings bloom into something more and got to embrace them. They got to hold hands and kiss and be sweet and silly and goofy and yes, sometimes lusty in that way where you just can’t keep your hands off each other.
If any of that sounds appealing to you, I’m sure you’ll love And Then He Pressed Play: Track One. And if you read it and want more, don’t worry, Track Two is already in the works.
Book Title: And Then He Pressed Play: Track One
Author: Robert J. Halliwell
Publisher: Triple Scale Publishing
Cover Artist: Harrold-Vincent Villanueva (BAKA.RASU)
Release Date: February 28, 2026
Tense/POV: Past tense, third person limited, dual POV
Genres: YA coming of age, MM Contemporary
Tropes: Fish out of water, Shy-Sunshine, Idiots in love, exchange student
Themes: Found family, bisexual awakening, first love
Heat Rating: 1-1.5 flames
Length: 338 pages, 80 000 words
It is part 1 of a duology. It has a HFN ending with some heartbreak mixed in since the exchange program ends.
Buy Links
Amazon | Website | Kobo | B&N | Indigo
Blurb
It’s 2006 and Sixteen-year-old A.J. Walker is openly gay, painfully Canadian, and very much out of his depth. He’s wanted to do his school’s exchange program for years, but now that he’s landed at an all-boys school in Glenbridge Ireland—an ocean away from Moose Jaw Saskatchewan—he’s starting to question his decisions. Armed with nothing more than his trusty Discman and an accent that makes him stand out, A.J. has one goal: get through the Irish school year.
Born and raised in Glenbridge, Bren O’Shea has never known how to sit still or keep quiet. He’s also never known a day without laughter. Even when things get bad, Bren always knows how to get a smile out of someone, whether they asked him or not. His mam always says he needs to think before he acts, but as long as his heart’s in the right place, what’s the harm in a bit of impulse?
Glenbridge is the sort of town where everyone knows everyone—and unfortunately for A.J. once someone thinks they know you, it’s hard to change their mind.
After a rocky start that ends in disaster, Bren and A.J. need to decide if it’s worth reaching out to someone who’s so different from you—especially when one of you has to leave in June.
Save me!
The chorus to “Bring Me to Life” rang in A.J.’s ears as he leaned against the damp, moss-covered wall at the far end of Glenbridge Secondary School. Even though the volume on his whirring Discman was cranked to the highest setting, it wasn’t enough to drown out the absolute bedlam that roiled around him. He’d thought his eleven years of attending school had shown him all the shades of feral guys came in, but standing to face the churning sea of testosterone before him, those years of experience all but melted away.
He couldn’t say for sure whether it was the fact Glenbridge had no girls to act as a buffer, or if his new classmates just didn’t come with volume knobs. Whatever the reason, he was doubting the wisdom of signing up for the exchange program with each passing second.
The main attraction stood at the end of the yard farthest from his wall. At least twenty guys, ranging throughout all the grades by the looks of them, were playing some sort of game A.J. had never seen before. Everyone carried strips of wood that looked like a cross between stubby hockey sticks and baseball bats. As far as he could tell, the goal was to balance, hit, or otherwise carry the baseball-sized ball from one end of the field to the other and get it past the goalie, all while being as loud as possible.
Separate from this unknown sport, groups of students stood in clusters throughout the yard. This wasn’t much different from what he was used to at first glance, but on closer inspection, each group was in a state of constant motion. Guys were speaking with their hands, elbowing their friends or slapping each other on the back with every other word. They seemed to communicate exclusively by shouting, with accents that A.J. had trouble understanding—even without the music thudding in his skull.
There didn’t seem to be another quiet person for him to approach. Not one other guy off on his own, reading a book, listening to music, or acting like they hadn’t downed about five cans of Monster.
A.J. rolled his shoulders, and the fabric of his uniform bit into his neck. He’d thought by making sure his clothes were in pristine condition before setting out that morning, he was applying a layer of camouflage. A uniform made things easier—or at least it should have.
To his dismay, it looked like everyone else had shredded the handout without looking at it. Shirts were rumpled, sleeves were rolled up, and despite the leaflet’s mention of neutral footwear, he spotted more than a few pairs of brightly coloured Nikes milling about.
In the brief lull between songs, his eyes fell on one of the worst offenders of this near-universal breach of dress code. Flame-bright hair stuck out at every angle across his head, like he’d rolled out of bed and walked straight out the door. His blue and silver striped tie was so loose the knot thudded against his sternum whenever he was in motion—which seemed to be his default setting.
He laughed as he peeled back the top of a yogurt lid and flung it with a casual flick towards one of his friends. It landed with a good stick on the boy’s breast pocket—right over the school crest.
A.J. was wondering how hard the first boy was going to get punched when the second one’s lip twitched. He grabbed hold of the lid and, with surprising dexterity considering the size of him, flung it back at the first boy. It landed between his eyes with a splat that A.J. thought he heard above his music. The rest of the group exploded with laughter as the redhead peeled the lid off, still wearing his crooked smile.
Without warning, the yogurt-covered boy turned from his group to toss the lid towards a nearby trash can. A.J.’s eyes darted away and came to rest on a patch of clover. Had the other boy seen him staring? Classes hadn’t even started yet, and he was already acting like a friendless loser.
He was a friendless loser.
His fingers found the dial of his Discman again, yearning to crank the volume up past its limits.
He’d all but decided to cut his losses and head inside early when he heard it. The sound of a muffled voice, far too close to be there by accident.
Shit.
A.J. let his eyes linger on the clover before dragging his gaze upward. Sure enough, there stood the boy from before.
A stray streak of pinkish yogurt clung to his fire-spun eyebrows where the lid had landed. Tiny beads of moisture glistened on his pale skin, shining among the freckles spread across the bridge of his sharp nose. It was impossible to tell whether it was sweat or not. If A.J. had learned one thing about Ireland in the two weeks he’d been there, it was that the humidity never dropped below chicken noodle soup.
A.J. fumbled with the dial while the other boy’s head tilted to the side, like he was trying to figure out the plot of a show he’d dropped into mid-season. With his music humming instead of roaring, A.J. shifted his gaze to meet the boy’s hazel eyes.
Robert J. Halliwell was born in the magical land of Canada during the age of butterfly clips and jelly sandals. He spent his formative years watching spooky movies and being jealous of Belle’s library from Beauty and the Beast. Many people don’t know Robert is married to an American Cyborg or that he’s secretly in possession of the two cutest cats in the world. He can often be found playing Dungeons and Dragons, knitting, or struggling to keep his garden alive.
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