A novel about friendship, buried secrets, and the price of uncovering the truth.
Welcome
Every town has stories beneath its streets.
Some are buried beneath abandoned mines.
Others beneath baseball fields, family tables, and memories that refuse to disappear.
Bespoke is where I share those stories.
Featured Book
Seven Hills
A novel by Brent Taylor
In the fictional mining town of Jasper, Oklahoma, three childhood friends come of age beneath the shadow of the Seven Hills—towering remnants of a mining boom that brought prosperity to their community while leaving scars that will outlast them all.
Grace Ryan, Percy Walker, and Clay Boyd share a childhood shaped by baseball, friendship, faith, and the rhythms of small-town life. But as they grow older, Jasper begins to change. The mines that once sustained the town have left behind poisoned streams, buried dangers, and questions few people are willing to ask.
When Grace returns home from college, she sees Jasper differently. What once seemed permanent is disappearing, and the truths hidden beneath the town’s familiar landscape become harder to ignore. Percy dreams of becoming a writer and searching for a life beyond Jasper, while Clay remains deeply rooted to the place and its people.
As their paths diverge, each must decide what loyalty means—to one another, to the past, and to a hometown that has given them both belonging and loss.
Seven Hills is a story of friendship, memory, courage, and the complicated love we carry for the places that made us. It asks whether the past can ever truly be buried—and what happens when someone finally begins to dig.
Books for Sale
Seven Hills will be Available to purchase October 2026
Stories
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For those wondering how I am, I’m better. The warm February weather helps. There’s also a certain kind of magic in a Margherita pizza, especially when savored al fresco under the slanting rays of a winter sun—my wife Karen’s happiest place. Karen and I are simple folk; she was born in the projects of Trenton,…
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I remember walking the halls of my old grade school in my early twenties when I was busily fulfilling the truth of George Bernard Shaw’s old saw, “Youth is wasted on the young.” The halls had mysteriously shrunk but the place still smelled of pine-scented cleaner on polished linoleum. They tore the school down in…
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I write when I am well. Shall I not write when I am not? You know it’s serious when the medical staff asks you twenty times to state your name and birthday within the framework of thirty minutes. I consider changing my answer, either name or birthday or both, to see if my diagnosis and…
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The remains of my Father-in-law were scattered to the four winds from atop Bowman’s Hill Tower on the Pennsylvania side of the Delaware River. Thomas Mason’s children loved this family getaway place near the spot where George Washington crossed over to Trenton, New Jersey on Christmas night in 1776. George Washington became our first President…
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I’ve been hanging out at the office with Emery, my 10-month-old granddaughter. She comes to work with her mom. Emery makes me laugh, and I make her giggle. She is a lousy employee; she sleeps a lot and doesn’t get much work done. On warm, sunny days, we walk around the pond next to our…
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There’s an old saying spun different ways but the essence is, “If you aren’t an insurrectionist at eighteen, you have no heart. And if you aren’t a flag-waving patriot at thirty-five, you have no brain.” This seems truer as time goes by. In my youth, as the Star-Spangled Banner was played at sporting events, I…
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There is a pickleball tournament in my hometown of Bartlesville, OK this weekend. Over 200 players are here to play pickleball. But that is not all. We also catch up on our lives, share pictures of children and grandchildren, discuss knee injuries and joint pain, experience the thrill of victory and the lessons of defeat,…
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“I’m just a guy, man, who writes songs,” John Lennon once exclaimed, to a neurotic American man who flew to England to visit with Lennon about his songwriting. It turns out that this crazy man believed that Lennon’s songs were written exclusively about him. Any sensible person knows that this is vanity. But great songwriting grabs…
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“We are coming to Salt Lake City!” I have been telling Steve and Suzan that for years. I finally followed through with a visit to SLC. According to Steve Osborn, I am his longest tenured friend going back to 1967. We were watching the Sooners last night just like we did on New Years Eve…
Bespoke 