The Fine Line Between Genius and Insanity

Bloodletter 3 day Giveaway!

2011-07-28T00:00:00.001+08:00

We have been blessed by Angel Haze with her 3 day giveaway. Kindly visit https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/66683 and use the coupon code ZH78U to get the book for free

Bloodletter:

Thou shalt not kill.

A contradictory message written in blood at the scene of a young woman?s murder. Within days, another body surfaces with a similar calling card and, to Detective Ramon Faust and Criminalist Kelly Garret, it?s clear a deadly game is underfoot.

As the rash of horrific crimes continue, a phone call unearths a shocking revelation: Nakeita isn?t the first city the elusive killer has left his mark. The Bloodletter, as dubbed by the media, has played his deadly game before.

Delving deep into the most terrifying case of Kelly?s career, threatening phone calls and flashbacks of a forgotten near-death experience challenge her sanity and the lives of everyone she loves.

Bloodletter is available on Amazon and Smashwords for $0.99.
US Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00563FA88
UK Amazon: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00563FA88
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/66683

About the Author:
I'm a Canadian author who is an avid reader of fantasy, thriller, and mystery novels. I write both fantasy and thriller novels. My free time is spent dancing, fitness training with P90x, watching movies and Game of Thrones. Legacies of Talimura: War of the Witch is co-authored by my husband, Slade Sewell. Slade grew up as an only child, and, therefore, developed an active imagination. His free time is devoted to the three things he loves most: hockey, Romance of the Three Kingdoms, and RPG games.

Connect with us on:

Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/AngelHaze7
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Angel-Haze/112457508837831

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4949334.Angel_Haze

Website: http://www.angelhaze.com

Shadow Cat Excerpt

2011-07-27T00:00:00.001+08:00

I wish to introduce to everyone a very interesting excerpt of the book, Shadow Cat, by Reena Jacobs.

For those who wish to get more information on the book, visit

Reena Jacobs - Author of Lots of Words
www.reenajacobs.com
www.reenajacobs.com/bloghttp://twitter.com/ReenaJacobs

Placing one paw on the trail, Berani committed herself and stalked at an unhurried pace despite the desire to sprint. She caught sight of the human lying haphazardly over a fallen tree. Crouched low, she fought the slight vertigo which overcame her at the grisly sight floating above the hapless human.

A penanggalan-the jinjang's minion-the cause of so many illnesses and deaths amongst her people. From the neck, a stringy mass of veins drooped and suspended disemboweled organs. The lungs deflated, and a vapor drifted from its nose, saturating the air with a vinegary stench. A long proboscis-like tongue slithered from its mouth and undulated like a snake as it lapped the back of the human's head with a revolting slurp.

Berani drew back her lips, and low rumble formed in her belly, growing louder as it traveled closer to her throat. She opened her mouth, and the roar vibrated through the air. Animals startled from their tree perches and crash through the branches to the ground.

A hush overtook the forest as the penanggalan swiveled to Berani. A visage of breathtaking splendor and femininity faced her. Ruby lips stood in bold contrast against skin so milky white and pale, spider veins shone beneath the translucency. The red eyes glowed like a torch in the darkness-the soulless pits a mockery against the beauty.

The bodiless atrocity levitated higher. The long black hair whipped about, catching the wind to keep the creature aloft. Its features distorted as it opened a mouth full of jagged sharp teeth and released an ear-piercing scream which sliced the night.

Berani folded her ears flat against her skull, trying to block the damaging sound. Even so, the muted screech echoed in her head.

The creature rushed her with a hiss, its maws carnivorous, and hair streaming behind like a trail of black smoke. Stooping low, Berani braced for the attack...

Excerpt and Giveaway by Angel Haze

2011-07-19T13:23:00.000+08:00

We have a grand 3 day giveaway for Angel Haze's amazing book, War of the Witch, which can be found at https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/70412 with the code NR44B

More on the book

Debonair, a witch from the Unspoken Lands, has meddled in the forbidden practice of magic and created an army of nightmarish proportions. When sixteen-year-old Astanyx and his two best friends return from a hunting trip to find their small town of Polca reduced to smoke and ash, they find themselves thrust into battle for which they haven't been trained.

With the help of his comrades, including an esteemed warrior, one of the last great wizards and a princess they've sworn to protect, Astanyx must fight to unite the kingdoms of the humans, dwarves and elves. He must ask forbidden questions that no one wants to answer, questions about Talimura's dark history. As Debonair's brutal warriors lay siege to the kingdoms, Astanyx is driven to pursue a fateful quest for a blade powerful enough to defeat the malevolent witch before she destroys the three kingdoms and unleashes and unspeakable ancient evil.
Here's an amazing excerpt to get your appetite warmed up for what's in store inside

Legacies of Talimura: War of the Witch

Chapter 1:

Smoke and Ash

You’re surrounded, Astanyx thought as he waited silently behind a bush, his hands steady,
pulling back the string on his short bow. Barclay was positioned twenty feet to his left and
Ramza to his right, each armed and ready, waiting for the opportune moment.
Sweat beaded on his brow from the late afternoon sun, but Astanyx made no attempt to wipe
it away. A single wrong move and it would all be over. The forest gave them cover, but it gave
their prey cover as well. None of the sixteen-year-olds had a shot, so they waited.
The horacle was hidden behind a tree. It was bigger game than they would normally take on
but, once they had come across it, Barclay had insisted upon hunting it, refusing to back down.
He claimed that stumbling upon a horacle—a distracted horacle—was too fine of an opportunity
to pass up. They had had little luck hunting in the forest that day and Barclay refused to return
to the village—return to his father—with little more than a few rabbits. Astanyx couldn’t allow
his friend to foolishly attempt to take it down without help, and so he and Ramza had agreed.
Patiently, they held their positions.
Every few seconds, the tips of the horacle's horns poked out from behind the side of the great
tree, greedy growls becoming muffled as it tore its fangs into the flesh of a rabbit.
It pushed the mutilated rabbit forward with its nose, exposing the beast’s head. Ravenously,
it continued to tear its meal apart, wolfing it down as if it hadn’t eaten in weeks. The shine and
thickness of the horacle's fur and thick muscular frame told him otherwise. It was merely in the
horacle’s nature to be gluttonous and ferocious.
Slowly, it stepped forward, unaware that with each passing second, it was creating an
opening for a shot.
The three boys waited with their bows. A few more seconds and Astanyx would have a shot.
His body was still as he stared at the horacle with unblinking eyes.
Snarls and growls continued to escape the beast as it exposed its midsection.
One more second. . . .
A twig snapped, breaking the silence, giving away one of the hunters’ positions. Astanyx’s
heart skipped a beat as the horacle’s head shot up, baring its teeth, clenching its three-inch claws.
The horacle's nostril flared as it caught Astanyx's scent. Their eyes met and the roles of hunter
and hunted instantly became reversed.
He stared with wide eyes as the fiery-eyed beast, blood dripping from its jaws and muscles
rippling, began to charge toward him. Stiffness spread over him like a plague, beginning with his
feet as it worked its way up. Astanyx managed one shot just as the hundred-pound beast leapt for
him.
His arrow pierced the beast between its eyes just as Barclay's arrow struck the horacle's side.
The beast released a ghastly shriek as it drew back in agony before it collapsing to the forest
floor, a few feet away from Astanyx. He let out a breath, momentarily fixed on the horacle.
Barclay jumped from his hiding spot, dagger in hand, and sliced the horacle’s throat. He
laughed and turned to Astanyx. “See? What did I tell you?”

Astanyx narrowed his eyes, his lips parting slightly as he slowly looked up in disbelief. He
could hardly suppress the wave of emotions as he watched Barclay nonchalantly wipe the blood
from his blade. Shaking his head, Astanyx turned to Ramza who rolled his eyes, both aware they
had encountered an unnecessary close call.
Barclay cut down a branch from the great tree, one that would be strong enough to carry the
horacle back to the village.
As they tied the horacle’s feet to the branch, Astanyx turned to Barclay, unable to hold his
tongue any longer. “I don’t see why you had to take it on. We came out to hunt rabbits. It’s
foolish to hunt a hunter just for food.”
“For Shiva’s sake, you could have opted out.”
“Don’t use the goddess’ name in vain,” said Astanyx. “Besides, I wouldn’t allow you to do it
on your own.”
“I could have handled it. I killed it, didn’t I?” Barclay said with a smirk.
“We killed it,” Astanyx corrected him.
“Quit your bickering,” Ramza said. “Let’s just bring it to the village. We are already late.
They’ll be expecting us to return about now.”
Given the circumstances, Astanyx would have preferred it to be Ramza on the other side
of the branch and not Barclay, but he said nothing as they headed east through the dense
forest, across the creek and up a hill. They had ventured farther than they had intended and had
consequently delayed their return trip to the village by a few hours.
Though he tried to focus on the trail ahead, more than once Astanyx almost threw Barclay
to the ground as he tripped over roots that could have easily been missed. Nonetheless, his
gaze remained fixed on the beast. Even in death, the power and ferocity of the animal did
not diminish. Every few seconds, he caught himself staring at it, watching for any signs of
movement, half-expecting it to merely be unconscious and suddenly awaken and attack.
The image of the horacle as it charged at him, eyes burning with fury, blood dripping from
its jaws, about to make him its next meal, flashed before Astanyx. What if their arrows had
missed? What if two arrows hadn’t been enough? He shuddered, shaking his head of these
thoughts. They hadn’t missed.
Even as the beast hung lifelessly from the pole, he wasn’t used to being this close to a
predator and a horacle, nonetheless. Squirrels and rabbits were his main catch. His glance went
from Barclay to the beast and back to Barclay who was walking proudly ahead.
Astanyx growled. “You could have got us all killed, and for what?”
Barclay looked back over his shoulder and scoffed. “I never miss.”
“There’s a first for everything.”
“Lay off it. Our fathers will be proud.”
“Our fathers would be proud of anything we brought home.”
“Speak for yourself,” Barclay muttered. Then, as if realizing he’d spoken aloud, he
confidently added, “This separates the men from the boys.”
Astanyx rolled his eyes. “There is a fine line between bravery and foolishness.”
“Ramza?” Barclay called out. “Please tell me that you at least side with me.”
Five paces ahead, Ramza slowly turned, momentarily catching Astanyx’s gaze before
turning to Barclay. “It was a close call. Astanyx has every right to be angry. Remember, it was
him who the horacle charged at. If that had been me, I’d be in need of new trousers.”
“If he hadn’t of stepped on that twig, the horacle would’ve been dead before it even noticed
we were there,” Barclay said.

Astanyx opened his mouth but Ramza spoke first. “I believe that was my mistake.” Barclay
was silent, not knowing where to go with the conversation. “I will say this, though. The horacle
will make a fine addition to the feast and,” Ramza said with a smile, “the ladies will be quite
impressed as we stroll into the village with this on our shoulders.”
The grin on Barclay’s face matched that of Ramza’s. “How I love Shiva’s Festival.” He
laughed. “I believe Claire will be the lady of the night.”
“The chief’s daughter,” Ramza said nodding. “Her beauty surpasses even the most delicate
flower.”
“Is she not a few years older than us?” Astanyx asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” Barclay snapped.
“I believe she’s interested in—” Immediately, Astanyx regretted ever opening his mouth.
Barclay’s eyes burned with anger. “There’s always something with you, isn’t there? Nothing
is ever good enough.”
“That’s not what I said,” Astanyx said.
“It’s the horacle, isn’t it? You just can’t let it go.”
Attached to the pole, Astanyx had no choice but to listen as Barclay reamed into him.
This wasn’t the first time that Barclay’s brash actions had resulted in a near miss. He’d
always seemed on a mission to prove himself. However, his efforts had more than doubled in the
last few months as the year marked his sixteenth birthday.
Ramza had apparently grown tired of his friends’ bickering and was now several yards
ahead. Astanyx found himself wishing he were by his side to mediate the situation and lighten
the mood. Ramza, with his walking stick in hand, was nearing the top of the hill which Astanyx
and Barclay had only begun to climb.
For a few minutes, he disappeared out of sight. Suddenly, he reappeared at the top of the
hill and came barrelling down the hill. “The village!” he cried. “The village! Something’s
happened!”
“What?” Barclay and Astanyx asked.
They immediately dropped the horacle as they sprinted up the hill. Astanyx’s heart was
racing, fists clenched, arms pumping, anxious to see for himself.
“What happened?” he yelled to Ramza who was almost at the top of the hill. “What did you
see?”
Ramza kept running, not so much as glancing over his shoulder.
“Ramza!” Astanyx yelled again, but his friend was too far ahead.
How long had they been gone, he wondered. What could have happened in that short amount
of time?
Suddenly, Astanyx caught a hint of smoke and then, as both he and Barclay reached the top
of the hill, they stopped short, dropping their jaws. Over the tree tops, thick clouds of smoke
hovered over the village of Polca.
We shouldn’t have left! We shouldn’t have stayed out for so long! Astanyx thought
frantically as he raced down the hill, tumbling over his own feet.
As they neared Polca, Astanyx could smell the smoke clearly. The whole town was ablaze.
“What happened? Who did this?” Astanyx cried, nearly out of breath. There was no
response.
He coughed, inhaling smoke and the stench of burnt flesh. What few buildings hadn't already
burned to the ground were collapsing. The fire had spread across the entire village. Little was left
but burnt and burning buildings, smoke and ashes floating in the wind.

“What do we do?” Ramza asked.
His mind was spinning. “Search for survivors!” Astanyx shouted, numbness and nausea
threatening to overcome him. It wouldn’t help him save anyone . . . if there was anyone left to
be saved. He shook his head of the thought and focused on finding his family and any other
survivors.
Shaking, he ran through the village past burning buildings, and dodging falling objects. He
searched for his father—for anyone—but there was no sign of life. Blood and burnt wood stained
the ground. Garlands and trinkets made in preparation for the Shiva Festival had been scattered
and destroyed. Arrows stuck out of the earth. Soldiers had been here. Someone had come and
destroyed Polca.
Again and again, Astanyx called out to his father, his only family, but there was no response.
The smoke grew thicker, stinging his eyes as tears began to well up as the heat of the fire
licked his skin.
As he turned the next corner, he gasped. Surrounding the center town well, the dead had
been decapitated, their heads staked around a fire to invoke terror. Those who hadn’t been staked
had been piled up and burned. He stood, tense, his body shaking as he watched the flickering
flames. Slowly, he scanned the burnt and blackened faces of those mounted on stakes. He was
able to recognize only a few of them—eyes wide, mouths agape—while others were burned or
mutilated beyond recognition. A single tear ran down his cheek as he prayed that his father was
not among the poor souls.
He was about to turn away when he noticed, at the base of the fire pit, an odd-looking skull
with tusks.
A loud crack startled him and he turned to see Farmer Wilton’s house collapse a few feet
away. The walls hit the ground, momentarily breathing life to the blanket of ash beneath it. The
ash wisped across his face. His shaky hand slowly wiped it away.
Soon, there would be nothing left of Polca. Sadness and confusion enveloped him,
scrambling his mind. They were all dead. There was nothing left. Even the livestock was
missing.
He kept running, anxious to see if his father had survived the attack. Since their house was
at the far end of the village, perhaps that distance was enough to keep him out of harm’s way.
Astanyx swallowed hard. His father would never cower in the hours while the town was under
attack. He would have fought to the death to protect their home.
Suddenly, Astanyx heard what sounded like a wheeze. He gasped. A survivor! Although, he
dreaded the thought of abandoning his search for his father, he couldn’t ignore someone in need
of help.
Astanyx ran in the direction of the sound, anxious, eyes darting in every direction and he
found Thomas, the local blacksmith, trapped under some wood. A building had collapsed with
him inside. His face was blackened with soot and smeared with blood. Astanyx tried to lift the
piece of wood from Thomas’ chest but it was too heavy.
Thomas was shaking, his skin ashen as he gasped for breath.
“What happened?”
Thomas opened his mouth to speak but no words came out.
“What happened?” Astanyx anxiously asked again.
“A-all . . . d-dead,” Thomas said softly enough that Astanyx was unsure if he had heard him
correctly. “All . . . dead.”
“What happened?”

“They burned their dead and . . . staked ours.” Thomas wheezed. His chest fell
heavily. “Those they didn’t kill . . . they enslaved.”
“Who did this?”
Thomas didn’t respond. He seemed weak, moments away from his last breath.
“Who did this?” Astanyx repeated, but Thomas had stopped shaking and his eyes had rolled
back into his head.
“No!” he cried, shaking Thomas slightly, hoping there was still life in him, but he remained
still. “I need to know!” He lowered his head, balling his fists.
“Astanyx!” a voice called out from behind him.
It was Ramza, with Barclay at his side. Their eyes were wide, stricken with horror.
“Did you find them?” Astanyx asked.
They slowly nodded, sadness swelling in their eyes. No further words were exchanged. None
needed to be. Their expressions revealed their heartbreaking news. Ramza and Barclay’s families
were dead, gone with the rest of the town.
The three of them searched the remainder of the town like zombies, mouths agape, trembling
with the revelation of each new horror.
“Father!” Astanyx called once they reached the far side of town where he and his father
lived. Despite the odds, he refused to believe his father was among the slain.
Suddenly, a shiver ran up his spine. Through the crackling flames, he saw remnants of what
used to be his home. He swallowed, clenching his fists at his sides, and stared at the pile of
rubble. All that he had ever known had been destroyed. His mind went numb.
He lowered his head.
Then, he heard something—a muffled sound that could have been human or merely a gust
of wind. He stood motionlessly, straining to hear over the wind and crackling flames. As he was
about to dismiss it, he heard it again. A voice! Someone was alive. His breath caught in his throat
as he attempted to pinpoint where the sound was coming from. He zigzagged along the road,
following the call.
“Where are you?” he called.
“Over here.” The voice was close.
“Where?” He frantically searched the road and the fallen buildings.
“I’m here,” the voice said. It was closer but weaker, seemingly coming from his right.
Astanyx turned and saw a pile of rubble. He tore through it in search of the survivor, Ramza
and Barclay following suit.
“Where are you? Where are you?”
“Astanyx,” the voice said. “Is that you?”
His eyes widened at the mentioning of his name, at the familiar voice. Fear and anxiety
rushed through him as he lifted a board to see his father’s face. “Father!” he cried.
He turned to his friends. “Help me get this off of him!”
The three boys carefully lifted the board that had fallen onto his father and tossed it to the
side. His father was lying on his back, his clothes blackened by ash, gashes across his arms and a
broken arrow protruding from his stomach. He was breathing heavily, with little strength left in
him.
“Father.”
Ramza and Barclay both knelt at his side.
“Let me help you,” Astanyx said as he reached for the arrow.
His father shook his head and winced in pain. “Astanyx, my son. You . . . must . . .” His

voiced trailed off.
“What, Father?”
His father cleared his throat. “You must go to . . . Windham. . . . Warn the . . . King.”
“But, Father—”
“Tell him it . . . it—” Suddenly, his father was gasping for breath, grimacing as he clutched
his stomach, every breath causing him immense pain.
Astanyx fought to keep his emotions from spilling over. “What, Father? What do I tell him?”
His father’s eyes closed and his breathing slowed. Astanyx shook uncontrollably, his mouth
dry and his muscles tensed, believing for a moment that he had lost him. Ramza placed a hand on
his friend’s shoulder. Then, his father opened his eyes. Astanyx let out a breath.
His father winced and took a deep breath. “I did my best to take some of them down. They
weren’t soldiers. . . . They were monsters.”

I am a Canadian author who is an avid reader of fantasy, thriller, and mystery novels. I write both fantasy and thriller novels. My free time is spent dancing, fitness training with P90X, watching movies and Game of Thrones. Legacies of Talimura: War of the Witch is co-authored by my husband Slade Sewell. Slade grew up as an only child, and, therefore, developed an active imagination. His free time is devoted to the three things he loves most: hockey, Romance of the Three Kingdoms, and RPG games.

US AMAZON: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005965A64
UK AMAZON: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B005965A64
SMASHWORDS: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/70412

Connect with:

Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/AngelHaze7
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Angel-Haze/112457508837831
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4949334.AngelHaze
Website: http://www.angelhaze.com

An interview with C.A. Kunz

2011-07-13T19:28:00.000+08:00

1. Tell us more about yourself

Carol- I am half English and half American. I was born in the United Kingdom, 54 years ago. I saw my first ghost at the young age of 8 and have had several paranormal experiences since. I have two grown children who have gone out into the world on their own, and three four-legged ones still living at home. I’ve been married for 35 years to my husband Bob, who is also one of the main illustrators for our series. My life could make for interesting reading, so unbelievable, that if I did write it down nobody would probably believe me. I have been writing with my son, Adam, for just over two years now, and this wonderfully enjoyable experience has brought us closer together.

Adam- I was born in New Port News, Virginia and have traveled coast to coast with my parents, living in several places due to my dad being in the military. Growing up, I was a huge fan of creature features and books about things that go bump in the night. When I’m not busy writing, I enjoy my job at a certain theme park here in Orlando, Florida as a décor consultant. This job brings me face to face with all sorts of nightmarish creatures, especially when I decorate the haunted houses for the park’s annual Halloween event.

2. Tell us more about the book you are promoting?

Carol and Adam- The Childe is a coming of age story with a supernatural twist about our main character, Cat Colvin. Along with the normal stresses of starting her freshman year at Astoria high school, she also has to deal with a mean spirited teacher, catty girls, and a Goth clique that seems to take an instant dislike to her. To make matters worse, unbeknownst to her, she is also metamorphosing into a Childe.

3. How does this book describe you? How does it express your thoughts?

Carol and Adam- Well, we both share the love of the paranormal and things that go ‘bump’ in the night. We also wanted to do something a little different (not necessarily original) than most YA books nowadays, and have a ‘happy family’ scenario, of which both of us were lucky enough to have while growing up. We also wanted to show that life doesn’t always go the way you would like it to, and sometimes you have to adapt to certain situations to make the outcome better.

4. What similarities do you find between yourself and the protagonist?

Carol- Cat is a strong female and person in general. I feel I too am a strong person. I’ve led a very challenging life, and know that I have to learn my life lessons, but sometimes I wish I could just have a break (like I’m sure everyone does). She is also a great and loyal friend, which is what I have always tried to be (heck no one is perfect). Also, Cat is red-headed, left-handed and doesn’t tan, a saying that I use to describe myself. Adam wrote the chapter describing her, and he always laughs when I describe myself, so he made Cat have attributes like mine.

5. What about you do you see in the antagonist?

Carol and Adam- We all have our dark sides, and we’re no exception. We’d never deliberately hurt someone, but we do get angry just like everyone else. Unlike our antagonist though, who embraces their evil nature, we’d never act on our dark side. And no, just in case you’re wondering, Carol doesn’t have a ‘redheaded’ temper that all redheads have mistakenly been saddled with.

6. What music most appropriately suits your book?

Carol and Adam- Funny that you mention that. Adam has a friend (an engineer and aspiring musician), Lee Wilson, who is putting together a companion soundtrack for our book. Volume one of the soundtrack spans the first two books in The Childe series, and will contain 11 full length songs. The songs have full lyrics and were inspired by the words of the novels. They span several genres from pop, rock, r&b, punk, classical, and country. The Childe companion soundtrack will be available soon.

7. What values do you wish to impart through your book?

Carol and Adam- The value of true friendship. People that will stand by you no matter what. We’ve moved around a great deal in our lives, losing track of friends along the way, and now realize how much we yearn for long lasting true friendship. In this day and age, with the world becoming a little crazier every day, it’s nice to have someone to count on when you need them. We’re proud of how we’ve displayed this in our book.

Links:

Find us on Goodreads @: http://bit.ly/majh5D

Find us on Facebook @: www.facebook.com/thechilde (book page) and www.facebook.com/cakunz11 (author page)

Find us on Twitter: @AuthorCAKunz

Our blog/website (that is under construction at the moment): www.cakunz.blogspot.com

The Childe (Book One in The Childe Series) is available at these locations:

Amazon.com: http://amzn.to/jJiRly (Paperback edition)

                     http://amzn.to/lPm919 (Kindle edition)

Amazon.co.uk: http://amzn.to/kX9qjx (Paperback edition)

                       http://amzn.to/kTp6V2 (Kindle edition)

Barnes and Noble.com: http://bit.ly/li59yI (Nook edition)

                                    http://bit.ly/kke47q (Paperback edition)

An Interview with Angel Haze

2011-07-09T08:16:00.000+08:00

1. Tell us more about yourself.

I'm a Canadian author who is an avid reader of fantasy, thriller, and mystery novels. I
write both fantasy and thriller novels. My free time is spent dancing, fitness training with
P90x, watching movies and Game of Thrones. Legacies of Talimura: War of the Witch is
co-authored by my husband, Slade Sewell. Slade grew up as an only child, and, therefore,
developed an active imagination. His free time is devoted to the three things he loves
most: hockey, Romance of the Three Kingdoms, and RPG games.

2. Tell us more about the book you are promoting?

War of the Witch is a YA fantasy. It is the first of the Legacies of Talimura series. Here's
the blurb:

Debonair, a witch from the Unspoken Lands, has meddled in the forbidden practice of
magic and created an army of nightmarish proportions. When sixteen-year-old Astanyx
and his two best friends return from a hunting trip to find their small town of Polca
reduced to smoke and ash, they find themselves thrust into a battle for which they haven’t
been trained.

With the help of his comrades, including an esteemed warrior, one of the last great
wizards and a princess they’ve sworn to protect, Astanyx must fight to unite the
kingdoms of the humans, dwarves and elves. He must ask forbidden questions that no
one wants to answer, questions about Talimura’s dark history. As Debonair’s brutal
warriors lay siege to the kingdoms, Astanyx is driven to pursue a fateful quest for a blade
powerful enough to defeat the malevolent witch before she destroys the three kingdoms
and unleashes an unspeakable ancient evil.

3. How does this book describe you? How does it express your thoughts?

I write to entertain, but also to empty my mind. I couldn’t even imagine not writing. If I
didn’t have an outlet, I wouldn’t know what to do with my ideas. You’d probably hear
a few pings and see a few screws shoot across the room. But, don’t worry, it’s just me
going a little crazy. . . . Hmm. On second thought, maybe you should worry. J

4. What similarities do you find between yourself and your protagonist?

Like our hero, Astanyx, my husband, Slade, is a warrior who is not afraid to stand up
and fight or ask forbidden questions. I’m not the warrior my husband is. Far from it
actually. As much as I want to do what’s right, put me up against an orc or hellfang, and
I’d probably die. LOL.

5. What about you do you see in the antagonist?

Slade: Like Debonair, Slade wants world domination. He has an admiration for all
conquers. Debonair is just doing it for the wrong reasons.

Angel: To execute her plan for world domination, Debonair displays patience, initiative,
and strategy. She knows what she wants and goes after it. In that way, I am like
Debonair. I’m nowhere near as bold, but if I’m truly passionate about something I will
fight against all odds to achieve it. Like Debonair, some of my decisions can be a little
hasty and I often overlook a few red flags and that’s when things can backfire.

6. What music most appropriately suits your book?

That’s a good question. War of the Witch is actually the first book Slade hasn’t created
a soundtrack for. It would definitely include a lot of rock music and songs that express
confidence, courage, and heart.

7. What values do you wish to impart through your book?

Two major themes in War of the Witch are the challenge of making the transition from
childhood to adulthood and racial unity. As sixteen-year-old Astanyx loses his home,
his family and everything he’s ever known to the wrath of an army, he and his comrades
must travel across Talimura to unite the races of humans, dwarves, and elves. Only
by standing together will they have a chance against Debonair’s army of nightmarish
creatures.

Thanks for having me Haresh!

Legacies of Talimura: War of the Witch is available at Amazon and Smashwords for
$0.99.

US Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005965A64

UK Amazon: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B005965A64

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/70412

Connect with us on:

Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/AngelHaze7
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Angel-Haze/112457508837831
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4949334.Angel_Haze
Website: http://www.angelhaze.com

An Interview with Lenore Wolfe

2011-07-07T09:47:00.000+08:00

1. Tell us more about yourself

I have lived through some pretty amazing things. I am learning how to believe in myself, and those around me again. Mainly, I thought I would recognize evil in someone, if I saw it, but that's a story I may write on another day:)

2. Tell us more about the book you are promoting?

Mira is the next in line, as a Jaguar Witch, to be passed an ancient medallion. She must cross into the Land of Fae and track down a powerful sorcerer who has killed her in lifetime after lifetime, to find her way to the stone. The sorcerer will do anything to keep her from finding the stone, which is the heart of Mother Earth and has been hidden in the Land of the Fae since the fall of Atlantis. He stands to lose everything by her finding the stone. Four immortal men have been with her in each of her past lives. They work to succeed in this lifetime, where they have failed in others. They work hard so that they will not lose her, again, to the sorcerer.

3. How does this book describe you? How does it express your thoughts?

I believe in a full-blown spirit world we cannot see. I believe we have forgotten how to see, because we've forgotten how to believe. Children can see, until we convince them not to believe. So the Doorway to the Triquetra is a story of 'what if' all the old folk tales existed for a reason. What if, what so many swear they've seen, things that shouldn't exist, by modern standards, we find our ancestors were right, and these things do truly exist. 'What if' there are answers hidden deep inside each of us that explain the true meaning of life. Would we be ready to hear the answers?

4. What similarities do you find between yourself and the protagonist?

She's independent and feisty. And I grew up with independent, feisty women. My great-grandmother was an old pioneer woman who was a midwife in Montana, without a father because he was off, half the time, somewhere else. And without her husband because he went off somewhere too. She was proud, powerful, and all the adults were afraid of her. I was intrigued by her:)

5. What about you do you see in the antagonist?

There may be a piece of me who believes a world without chaos would be a boring world indeed. I was raised a Jehovah's Witness, so I grew up hearing that Armageddon was going to come, and then, we would live in perfect peace, and we, ourselves, would become perfect. But I believe that all things must have balance. Without dark, there would be no meaning to light. Without it, how could you define the light? You cannot live in balance if you have too much yin--or yang. Everything must live in balance. It is the law of nature.

So, although I was always deeply spiritual, I grew up in conflict within myself. I was born and raised a Witness, but the things I had been taught conflicted with the things I knew, deep inside.

6. What music most appropriately suits your book?

Chanting. I think of ancient chanting when I think of my book.

7. What values do you wish to impart through your book?

I once took a class about abnormal psych. I listened to each of the students proclaim to believe in some religion. At the end of the seminar, he told a story about a young woman who claimed to have been harassed by the Christian devil. He asked each of the students what they would have done with her. They each said they would have locked her up.

If I could impart a value, it would be to decide what you truly believe and make that a vital force within you, not something you feel disconnected from and give lip service to. If you believe in God and what it says in the bible, then why would you disbelieve this young woman?

Lenore Wolfe
www.lenorewolfe.com
http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4368571.Lenore_Wolfe
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Lenore-Wolfe/150224925046188?ref=ts
http://twitter.com/lenorewolfe

Triquetra Press Publications:
http://triquetrapresspublications.com
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Triquetra-Press-Publications/166567646726550
http://twitter.com/triquetrapress

By Lenore Wolfe
Dark Warrior: To Tame a Wild Hawk
http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/43163
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Dark-Warrior-To-Tame-a-Wild-Hawk/184994794871684?ref=ts

http://twitter.com/#!/darkwarriorhawk

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/lenore-wolfe?store=bookhttp://www.amazon.com/Dark-Warrior-Dark-Cloth-ebook/dp/B004OL2J82/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1309900403&sr=8-1
Doorway of the Triquetra

https://twitter.com/#!/DrwyofTriquetra

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Doorway-of-the-Triquetra/180491168672145?ref=ts

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/66334

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/paranormal-doorway-to-the-triquetra-lenore-wolfe/1031510256?ean=2940012944023&itm=1&usri=lenore%2bwolfe

http://www.amazon.com/Doorway-Triquetra-Children-Atlantis-ebook/dp/B0055OGW8U/ref=tag_dpp_lp_edpp_ttl_in

The Fallen One to be released August 19, 2011
Solstice Fire to be released October 31, 2011
Her Broken Wings Could Fly to be released 2012

Also powered by Triquetra Press Publications:
http://Talkaboutauthors.com
http://Heartsoffireromance.com
http://Paranormaleromance.com
http://magicallandofbooks.com
http://warriorsheartnovels.com
http://magickallandofbooks.com

Other sites:
www.safechildsolutions.com
www.thefemininezone.com
www.goddesscove.com

An interview with Reena Jacobs

2011-07-06T09:53:00.001+08:00

Today we're blessed to be given time by a notable author, Reena Jacobs, on her book, Shadow Cats.

1. Tell us more about yourself

I absolutely love grilled steak. I've gone through phases where I've eaten steak on a daily basis, and I've still not grown tired of it. The day I look at grilled steak and say I can't do this anymore is the day the world comes to an end. Seriously. Steak is totally my thing.

2. Tell us more about the book you are promoting?

Shadow Cat--the first book in the Striped Ones series--heavily based in Malaysian folklore. Shaman, wehr-tigers, and penanggalan demons! Oh my! A blurb anyone?

Eric Randall's plan is simple-fix the mess his researchers have created in Malaysia, experience the pleasures the country has to offer, and return to the comforts of America. All it takes is one beautiful aborigine, and Eric finds himself stranded in a world of Malaysian myths and legends.

A novice shaman amongst her people, Berani is free and independent. Yet all is not well in her homeland. Demons prey on her people, pushing them to extinction. When a strange speaking man invades her forest, she has one more worry to add to her already troubled life. Attraction or no, she will fight Eric tooth and claw to maintain her freedom. But will she destroy herself in the process?

If Berani wishes to save her family... if Eric wishes to reclaim his old life, they must stand together against the threats of encroaching wehr-tigers and bloodsucking demons... or perish.

3. How does this book describe you? How does it express your thoughts?

Tough questions. Hmm... My love affair with Shadow Cat... I'm not so sure it does describe me. However, readers will find aspects of my personality in some of the main characters (Berani, Eric, and Bryan).

4. What similarities do you find between yourself and the protagonist?

Eric and Berani, Berani and Eric. I'm probably more similar to Berani than Eric. I understand her need to stand strong when threatened and her need to resist being controlled yet wanting to give up control at the same time.

5. What about you do you see in the antagonist?

In terms of the external antagonist, we have a bodiless demon (the penanggalan). Yikes! I can't say I identify with the demons in the novel. Although, I have some times when I lose my head and go ballistic, so my husband might point out a few similarities.

6. What music most appropriately suits your book?

This might seem odd, but I can't concentrate with music playing in the background. It's a huge distraction for me. I find myself concentrating on the lyrics, singing, and sometimes even dancing instead of writing. Shadow Cat was written in almost complete solitude and quiet, so I've never really thought about Shadow Cat in terms of music. I will say that I was on a Phantom of the Opera soundtrack kick at the time. Perhaps the dark, edgy, excitement of Andrew Lloyd Webber would suit Shadow Cat.

7. What values do you wish to impart through your book?

I didn't write Shadow Cat with the intent to impart values. However, the novel does promote the conservation of our natural resources in the rainforest. Also, my works tend to have a strong female theme. Though women are typically weaker physically, I like to show women as strong in spirit.

Reena Jacobs is just your typical writer who loves to see her words in print. As an avid reader, she's known to hoard books and begs her husband regularly for "just one more purchase." Her home life is filled with days chasing her preschooler and nights harassing her husband. Between it all, she squeezes in time for writing and growling at the dog. You can find Reena on Ramblings of an Amateur Writer, Amazon, Goodreads, Barnes & Nobles, Smashwords, and Twitter.

Book Preview

2011-01-10T15:51:00.000+08:00

New book out

2010-12-16T12:23:00.002+08:00

Mangrove Tour Part 3

2010-11-23T11:46:00.000+08:00

Mangrove Tour Part 1

2010-11-23T11:13:00.000+08:00

6 Hour Drive

2010-11-19T11:07:00.002+08:00

“Just one right turn 2 blocks after, see the little laundry shop, make a left, and three stores after, there’s where it is”, reply of a slightly confused, middle aged convenience store owner inside the Gas station. Wherever this guy is going, driving for 6 hours does not seem to make any sense for his destination. None whatsoever.

And there stands our main character, thankful, as he proceeds to his car. A Japanese mid-size, he has a decent job. And now, he feels a strange twist inside his stomach, a knot that might look like if a boyscout were to go through your intestines and knot it around to something that would hold the base tent to the nail strong enough to withstand a small storm, or falling apples, whichever is the most imminent incident.

What drove our main character, who, by the way, if Gordon, for those who is thinking of his name, to drive six hours to a place I have not yet disclosed? Here’s a hint. “In an argument between a husband and his wife, there are two sides of a story, the woman, and her mother. Yours did not matter”. Yes, his mother-in-law has arrived, and has reached boiling point, 5 days of tolerating two loud women and Mexican take-outs. Gordon is looking for something to mend his mind off and cool him down.

“Women, like life, are only beautiful when they’re mysterious, for it is in the innate nature of man to try to discover, in frustration sometimes, and understand the underlying cause of a woman being illogical, just like life. Once discovered, life, like a woman, is something you just go along by, and hope to coexist in utmost peace, for as long as it can hold.”

Further to the discovery, “The only illogical point in life, seems to be women and Japanese VCR players, aside from Microsoft error screens. Take them out and life is actually simple and logical, like a stable machine”.

It might have been noticed that Gordon is an intellectual, he is, and a quiet man with stomach problems at that. At this point in time, he is not after going to the toilet or the doctor, which is not as significant as what his main issue is. He wants peace.

From being a complete Atheist, he has pondered his curiosity to Buddhism, which offers one thing that got him curious, peace. And the peace he is seeking for, is 6 hours drive away.

He did not realize there was a temple a block away from his house.

He did now that he got to the temple and explained himself to the person at the lobby.

That did piss him off.

But for the strangest part, aside from causing greenhouse effects on his carseat, he did find peace driving 6 hours to the Buddhist temple. Asked what got him curious, in the middle of the whole argument, his TV was still on, and he saw some quiet monks who seem content.

While driving though, he has always thought that they might have been happy and peaceful because they weren’t married to women.

But it is this frustration with two loud women that brought him this generality, as he can believe, for others seem to still be happily married, but he does suspect that his mother-in-law might have been majorly involved in some kind of conspiracy involving irritating straight men into becoming homosexuals. Anything is possible.

How did he end up with his wife? How did he end up not meeting hers and her mother in law’s expectations of him when they don’t meet his? What were they looking for in a man that he wasn’t? That is the more important question.

Once the romance died off, which was two days after the wedding, all’s hell.

And here is Gordon, in front of the temple, sweaty and confused. He does not know if he is sweaty because he is confused, or because of the Mexican food. But he does realize that he has to decide, now that he has traveled six hours.

And maybe that was his problem all along, to decide, to conclude, to justify and set his foot down. This might be what he needs to do all this time after all.

He decided to go in the temple, make the first left, and use the toilet. He then thanks the usher in the lobby and heads home with a good sigh of relief. Therapy and reflection did come to him after all, had he known all about the temple near his house, this might have been a different story altogether. But you know what, like life, he did get the intended lesson, and this might have been the story best to suit his needs at the time.

I am back to blogging

2010-04-11T22:48:00.002+08:00

Expect more articles put up here soon

Lord Shiva

2008-11-08T13:06:00.000+08:00

Learn Belly Dancing

2008-05-23T13:06:00.002+08:00

For the Love of Light

2008-02-02T15:28:00.000+08:00

Mark Sebastian has that blank gaze in his eyes. This gaze he has is as if he is on a hypnotic trance on something interesting, and that there is a sudden detachment from his external senses. He is breathing, but he isn't moving, just on that blank gaze to the front. This gaze makes him look comatose, or more obsessed to that item he is staring at, but definitely not with diarrhea, as people with diarrhea cannot stay still, hoping that by not staying still they will not have to go immediately. This is something so interesting and hypnotic he cannot help it but ignore the use of any external sense.

This hypnotic trance that happens to us due to a fixation over something we find utterly interesting has given everyone an embarrassing story. These stories can be humorous, and downright stupid, which makes it humorous in the first place. The most common trance would be a person's fixation over someone he or she is highly attracted to. When someone is highly attracted or attached to someone or something to the point of getting hypnotized, they would react in a manner that would only result in failure on their side. They lose their senses and rationality. This situation is far worse than finishing a bottle of cheap rum. Mark is intrigued on what many of us might not find so interesting, it is a shadow puppet show being done in a little rural village in Thailand. This is the country where the tone and pronunciation of words sound sweet, to the point where it sounds a little to feminine. Thai men should not be put in certain jails if they want to keep their manliness.

Mark is a tourist, who have seen shadows ever since he was born. He has also played shadow puppets in his house with a flashlight. The best he came up with is a dog with really pointed ears. These are the same animals we can only conjure up with anyway, there was once an Indian puppet master who came up with more things out of shadows using both his hands. Mark cannot do any of that.

And now he is staring and reflecting on how the farther the light throws the shadow to, does the shadow grow exponentially larger than the object. How an object perceived to be large in size, in reality, is something very small.

The discovery of how light can generally cause a confusion in the size of anything or anyone was during the dark ages, where whenever cavemen went back to their cave the cave wall would reflect a larger than life shadow of a small squirrel. The image of a killer squirrel has terrified cavemen every night, until one night, when one brave caveman decided to go after the squirrel, who, in reality, did not want to go out, but was pushed out of the cave, for farting a very nasty smell. It was this time that the caveman found the squirrel, bashed its little head, and came back to the cave a hero. The reality of the killer squirrel was discovered the instant everyone decided to go out of the cave and look at the dead killer squirrel, and realize it was no larger than the regular morning squirrel. The heroic caveman had to spend the night outside.

And there is was, in front of him, the memories of childhood, the story teller who he cannot understand, and the puppet show, mesmerized by a flood of thoughts and yet calm and peace.

Would it ever be possible to be flooded with thoughts and yet be quiet and tranquil at the same time? Mark is so overwhelmed his system shut out the external sense, and only kept the gave, and the reflection, on how what we always see might be totally different behind the curtain, on how we mostly live on illusions and belief, when the reality behind something so complex can be so simple. This and the idea that you can have several characters played by one person, this little multi-tasking that makes us believe there are different people out there when there is only one person behind everyone. This froze Mark.

Also, at this point, Mark is supposed to embarrass himself. This is what we are all waiting to happen to him because of that blank stare. Unless you forgot the whole point of the story, and got fixated with what Mark was thinking as well.

Mark accidentally stroke a transvestite's breast as he moved his arm, to which the transvestite found delight, and to which made Mark apologize and subconsciously feel disgusted. After all, Mark, like all straight men, are not entirely comfortable with transvestites, and will have to accept that it will take time for everyone to readily accept them.

The shadow story would not be relevant, as no one really paid attention to it, but it did carry an amazing storyline, and value, if only we decided to focus on that rather than getting distracted with Mark.

My Favorite Songs

2006-10-23T19:58:00.000+08:00

Six Hour Drive

2006-10-08T02:00:00.001+08:00

2006-09-20T13:16:00.001+08:00

Technorati Profile

Reaching For The Sky

2006-09-18T13:32:00.002+08:00

A once more popular phrase, “Looking for intelligent life in outer space? We still cannot find any intelligent life here on Earth!” always lived in the philosophy of Derek Schmidt, a tired, bureaucrat going to his research building and answering wide eyed college student dreams with brochure-worded questions on what are the plans for the space program and how far has the research gone for the extra terrestrials. Like anyone working for the government, he knew diplomacy enough to be promoted into a spokesperson for a space program research who has no real plans of flying a space ship out in the sky, but to only fulfill every employees’ dream in that office, to keep getting their paycheck every 15 days until they retire, where they will get their pension.
It will be difficult to know what Derek really wants to say in his mind, as he keeps his false smile and sense of humor to answering our interviews, he seems to know how to evade all other questions, or make things vague, like a religious leader. But he knows something, and while he might not know much about what is their space program really doing, he has something in his mind he must have been keeping there, along with what all the other scientists think.
All it actually took was getting him out of the office, like a good friend, and two glasses of beer, he’s off to talking.
Apparently, the space program has only gone as far as making paper and aluminum wrap renditions of a space ship, they filled the bottom part of the space ship with enough fireworks to send the space ship a good 3 miles into the air, and placed the first creature to be sent to space, a hamster, on the cockpit. 20 seconds after, when the fireworks bought from
Chinatownstarted to show its colors, was just wonderful colors in the morning sky, just like the 4th of July. The spaceship was definitely obliterated, and the hamster fell disgustingly dead into a cake of a 7 year old’s outdoor birthday party. While this scared the kids, the adults ended up wondering where in the world did a blown up hamster come from, out the sky.
But more than the several attempts of shooting creatures from firework rockets, and the Lego model of “a more flexible way of making a spaceship” idea, was the ongoing philosophy found in a man who was once a wide eyed college student wanting to go to the moon, now, 20 years later, not seeing that happening apparently his whole life.
“What is the definition of intelligent beings anyway? We are not that intelligent, we are governed, like animals, in a more complex form of instinct, living off our need to survive and keep all the body organs happy. What would intelligence be, then?” Derek, like many rational scientists, do not seem to believe in free will. “In the infinite vastness of the universe, there had to be a more advanced group of beings somewhere, who also have a sky, and being more advanced, shot off themselves instead of hamsters into orbit, to visit other beings as well. But if the other creatures are not as intelligent, would they be visited? Is it possible, that in their search of intelligent being they have decided to skip our world as we are not as intelligent as we thought we are? Would we do the same?”
“What if they don’t have a sky to look up to? Or they never did look up? Would they ever wonder what is beyond their planet? What lies out there? Or do they ever care? WHY HASN’T ANYONE VISITED US? More confusingly, why are Americans the only ones who are seemingly being abducted and prodded in the anus all the time?”
He has been a rather frustrated scientist, who has spent his whole life dedicated to raising his family, his only remaining purpose, with his dream not becoming a reality after all.
The drive home was rather usual, just like every drive. It is a little more wary to look up the sky, as you don’t know what may fall on your face. But irregardless, when something would fall on you, it will fall on you, and you will still have to look up and wonder, like an idiot, on where it came from, without considering to properly go take shelter and watch from a safe distance, that it might fall again. But it is our hard drive on curiosity that has evolved us after all, the stupidity of going beyond our instinct to try to seek protection, and instead dream and wonder on what is out there, that has evolved us to who we are.
And it just makes us wonder, what was the hamster thinking a few seconds before the rocket blew up? Being miles from the Earth, looking into the sky.

Analyzing a Psychiatrist

2006-09-18T13:32:00.001+08:00

“Ever been put in that scenario where you stare at the mirror and imagine a horrifying figure behind you while you brush your teeth? This scenario of the person looking at you just as soon as you spit the toothpaste and look back up the mirror, the image floats for 2 seconds and goes away. You imagine this just after you have watched a movie with a similar situation. If this image happens frequently enough, the next image you see in the mirror might either actually be real, because you channeled it, or you have thought about it so frequently it actually blurred the line between imagination and reality.”
This is one of the many strange and uncalled for discussions Dr. Grusse talks about whenever he is with a client. As a psychologist, he lets the client sit down and relax on the chair, he does the usual query but starts interrupting with disturbing ideas just before the patient will start discussing the problem.
Complaints have been filed against the doctor as more 10 year olds get disturbed more than what they deserve. Imagine finding a child trying to get over his parent’s divorce only to be given bigger issues on what will happen to him once all the world’s oil gets used up. Or the incident of a person scared of flying to learn that there have been incidents of plane debris falling over residential areas, which is to gain a higher chance of occurring with more chances of plane hijacking and bombing, now that many countries are fighting each other.
These patients don’t need to know all these problems, but for some strange reason, Dr. Grusse feels the same way himself. He feels no need to hear fears, anxieties, and troubling stories, as it is, according to him, giving him a headache and GERT.
Dr. Grusse has been a sort of a psychiatrist in his youth, listening to the problems in the world. They may not necessarily come from friends or family directly, but from the news, side comments and stories, and other useless venues where problems are floating around in the air like a cold virus. You will just catch it and it will disappoint.
With the idea that he can make a living listening to problems and trying to resolve them, Dr. Grusse becomes a psychiatrist, but not so far after he gets his office did he start losing interest in other people’s problems, and instead contaminate everyone else’s mind with what he thinks.
It is hard to just sit in one place and listen to people crying, sobbing, and complaining. It seems like, some day, the toilet cleaner wants to crap in a toilet bowl where someone will clean it instead, or the street sweeper throwing away his trash on the road without a care. When it comes to the dirty work, it is a thankless job, and can hardly be artistic or appreciated.
Imagine having to be an emotional wastebasket. Taking in bucketfuls of tissues filled with problems and anxieties. At some point, it gets filled up, and needs to unload.
And that seems to be the case of Dr. Grusse, now sitting alone in the bar with a drink, quietly staring at the crowd, and looking at his drink.
“What is in your mind?” asked the bartender, one of the many unlicensed emotional wastebaskets, handing out street advice to any drunk who pays the drink.
“Quite frankly my friend”, smiled Dr. Grusse, “I look around in more skepticism in this room than you do, and wonder if the next man in this room has had one of the worst day in his life, and foregoes logic and decides to let it all vent out by shooting around. Quite frankly, they would like to shoot bottles first, which are behind you. Knowing that the shooter is drunk, he will have a very bad shot, and guess who would be a bigger target? You would also have very little time to move if this person has just pulled out the gun and go for it. If you ask me, all I can say is, how lucky are you today?”

On Journalists

2006-09-18T13:30:00.000+08:00

There goes another tired journalist wandering off in his room in circles. This is the fifth pencil he has broken, the second ream of paper he has crumpled and thrown to the trash can, as he stares back again and again on his notepad and his computer. He has done his investigative reporting and gathered enough data to prove his point, in a very factual basis. The only difficulty, though, is making it interesting for his readers to read.
He has already seen this happen, facts or boring subjects further made boring by the writer or the speaker. The greatest challenge now lies on how can a journalist make his article, however boring the facts may sound, become interesting. You see it happen everywhere in sports like golf and cricket. These men bring excitement to what a majority of the people find as a boring game. Every stroke, ball, spin or anything else has an emotion and a critic to match it along, and they have to keep their listeners glued to the radio for the next ball, the next spin. They bring in as much excitement as a promise or a near miss. “It is, it is, allllllmmoooooosssssttttt there”. This actually sounds familiar in a lot of situations. You get all hyped up or you are always shown that you have a better chance the next time around. You have it in betting in casinos, politicians voted into power, watching sports, and also in writing.
It is an art, and there are practically an innumerable amount of articles or books that are both educational and interesting. People have already fought through in anger over the fact that they were deceived into actually learning something. There does not seem to be any sense on them gaining additional knowledge, but they do seem keen on not knowing further in the first place.
This would go for women who would rather not know if their husbands have an affair, or people who would rather not have heard of new diseases in connection to their vices. There are some things better left unsaid.
But this journalist of ours has interesting stories. He has traveled through mountains, and hills, he has seen the most wonderful horizons and ventured through different cultures. He has faced countless near-death experiences through political turmoil or plainly some slippery road surface or being stuck in a car while in
India. He has had the most amazing travel.
But he does not know how to make his article, which is mainly focused on different animal mating calls and fornication procedures, be interesting to read over watching it in Discovery channel. This book has to hit well in the market if he wants to have another project later on.
But ideas can come, and he used the most universal idea of them all, make it a story. Tell everyone of how he got to places he had to go, and then describe what happened there.
It was still boring.
So here was a better idea, relate what is seen out there to how human beings are, that should definitely hit the spot.
And it does, it was known to be effective and has been used somewhere quite popular, educational channels.
So he ends up leaving the office a little earlier to get himself some coffee in a nearby café. He sits there and watches the world, waiting for some inspiration. A lady tries to hide her flatulence in her best way possible, but ends up making a noise, much like that of a duck mating call. Voila, inspiration, hit it to what is interesting in human beings, the popular being that through stupidity.
On why stupidity seems popular, the journalist cannot figure out, but he does suspect that it has a large role in it being so silly it becomes entertaining, or that it would occasionally be nice to know there’s someone else who has it worse than us, it makes us better off, a more desirable species over that guy in the book, just like in nature.
And so he ventured back to his office, excited and inspired to write his book, only to realize though, that he has forgotten his keys inside the office, so it seems like he might as well go home and sleep over it, get it done the next day. And the next day comes, as he ventures towards the office, he looks forward to human stupidity, for some strange reason, while we are all supposedly looking at improving and evolving the entire planet, we will always have the tendency to look forward for a sort of devolution among others, to somewhat ensure that we are better off, or are getting better than the rest, if you cannot go up higher anymore, just hope that others are slowly sinking in quicksand, that way, you’re a little more fortunate. Then again, that is but a natural instinct. And we might as well let this journalist friend of ours choose to think the way he is thinking, it amuses us, and will continue to amuse us, as he discovers that the human race is not a separate tree from the other animals, but rather, a branch on the animal kingdom tree (that was a cheesy way to end this little story here, but who really cares).

10 Minute Story

2006-09-18T13:29:00.000+08:00

Trailing through this nice little village with a video camera brings us forth to a little house that is currently the most interesting thing to see here so far. There actually is a birthday party and the kids had their games and balloons, there were cakes, hotdogs, and whatever food kiddie birthday parties would offer. As far as it looks, this is another ordinary and happy birthday party, except for the fact that the clown looks sweaty and his hands trembling beyond grief. This is not his first time to go perform a birthday party, but the story here is slightly more complicated.
It was already reported to the clown the little “issue” the birthday boy currently has. The issue is, he and his friends just realized that there is no such thing as Santa Claus around 5 days ago, and that never mixes well with kids for quite some time. The discovery apparently happened when the child told his dad that he saw mommy kissing Santa Claus, aside from him pinching her ass. This of course, made the father laugh, as he was the Claus in disguise, but he did not say anything to the child, who later presumed that mommy kissing strangers is ok after all. And thus, he might as well report that his mom has also kissed the milk man, the post man, and the dad’s brother, who visits 30 minutes after he leaves for work. This would, of course, upset the father who later had a bitter argument with the mother, which, in the process, got the mother so angry as to take revenge to the child and blurt out that Santa Claus was played by dad, who is now living elsewhere as he refuses to live with the same “kiss-all-bitch” in one house. The mother, feeling guilty, though, threw a birthday party for the child to make up for all of the stress a 5 year old should not have in the first place, this plan took place 5 days ago. Now, the same level of stress focused its potency on the clown’s hand.
Turning our story away from here, we are reminded of a similar story somewhere not so far away, when a dentist also had hands this shaky while he was about to perform a tooth drilling operation on a middle aged and nervous woman. He just had to get one more espresso than the recommended dosage to stay awake. 5 espressos can actually screw you up in the head.
The same head which is malleable, like plastic, it evolves, like all brains out there, it learns to put more importance on what it knows well, and further depth on what is familiar. What is familiar is something that has happened frequently, the frequency gives the brain an assumed confidence, that based on all previous trends, the consequence remains constant. A person who fears snakes, but is slowly being taught, through slow but increasing pace, to approach the snake, and then touch it, and then carry it, and then play with it, will lose his fear in time, but it requires repetition and imprinting of a new data or information in a more constant and magnified manner. This is the main reason why advertisements are being repetitive, and that phrases are created, it sticks in the mind, and puts priority over everything else. The brain loves habit, because it knows the outcome, it loves monotony due to its predictability, thus ensuring you are still alive after performing the said task.
What does this have to do with the above story? Nothing, but you can just imagine how many visits that middle aged woman will need to the dentist after seeing a dentist with a shaky hand, nor will the story of the dentist who had 10 espressos and drilled a lawyers tooth, who is now very much fearful of lawyers the way the lawyer is fearful of the drill, but the lawyer will always be willing to take another chance, after all, he did make a good month’s fortune suing the dentist.
As for the clown, he screwed up the balloon animal which looks more like a snake trapped in a knot desperately trying to look like a dog, and TV shows have already shown all the tricks on how those illusionary magic worked. This is just not their day.
What else is there to say about their day? As far as it goes, the only person happy in this entire story is the lawyer, and not everyone seems to be in favor of the ending, but that is how life works after all, it might not work out as you wish, but it is rather interesting and educational.

One Fine Day in the Market

2006-09-18T13:27:00.000+08:00

Through a pyramid glass
Goes the sunlight
And its reflection, the rainbow
A spread of colors…
And to see that in it is an infinite array
Of colors in gradients, colors invisible to our eyes…
To see the comedy in divine grace
To the blessed goes the glory
To the blessed goes the glory
And the line reverberates on and on, as an old frail man plays on a necklace of wooden bead on the table, making shapes of anything, out of sheer boredom. He looks over the crowd of passers.
To the blessed goes the glory
And through the crowd stands out a thin, young man, curious, but passive, his slight pause throughout the crowd got the attention of hawkers and fortune tellers, just like our dear friend above.
To the blessed goes the glory
“Have your fortunes read, my friend, fame and riches might actually be in your way!”, replied our fortune teller character. The thin man smiles and stares away in disinterest. The old man, in knowledge of his craft, tries to convince, “To understand the future is to prepare the present for a better plan, and to prevent whatever ill might happen my friend, come now and sit.”, and the thin man smiled, replies in through the synchrony of the old man’s mind “To the blessed goes the glory”, smiles and looks away.
The old man, surprised at this, walked towards the thin man, in curiosity he seek to discover how did the thin man read the old man’s mind, in synchrony to what he said. Before he can reply, the thin man merely smiled and said. “To the blessed goes the glory, my dear friend, and in its very mystery, the future of self is but irrelevant to that of the future of the infinite. The strangest story can only be discovered and kept, it is then given to others the details on how to discover this story, for the journey in itself to discovery is part of the story, and as the journey gets closer, the story gets complete, upon which once discovered, all you can do is smile.”
“For the story is but mere humor, to which all you can do is smile, in its simplicity and the journey one has to travel to understand the logic behind can only be the reason we all remain curious. They who have discovered the story are smiling, and are still smiling, understanding the whole logic behind. You will find some of them anywhere and everywhere, even in mental asylums.
To the blessed goes the glory
And then walked away the thin, smiling man, towards the bus he was waiting for. The old man goes back to his chair and plays with the wooden beads necklace, in its next shape he discovered the story, and in its story he smiled. To the blessed goes the glory.

Another Alien Sighting

2006-09-18T13:26:00.000+08:00

Subject 9542: Mr. Roland M. King. Claimed to have seen an alien in his backyard fixing up the yard before interrogating him in their spaceship. Apparently did a bad job in the cornfield with the rake and left some strange mess (known as crop circles). Subject due for interview on verification of sighting and complete description. Subject is a Protestant church member with no traces of hallucinogens in blood and urine tests. MRI scan is also clean but there are chances of some slight disturbance as his location lacks any entertainment. Client is seen to have been watching programs on Extra Terrestrials and might have a good chance of influencing him into perverting a possible dream into a reality. A further probe will be conducted.
With an excerpt from a report above, this would definitely not be the first time Dr. Smith has to interview another person claiming to have sightings of the third dimension. Facing the field of Mr. King, a regular farmer with an old TV, Dr. Smith takes Mr. King to the dining room and conducts the interview. Everyone in the house is now told to keep out. Being that Mr. King is a farmer with an old TV that breaks down once in a while, he would tend to have a lot of children.
“Mr. King, you claim to have seen an alien in your front yard”
“I have, as what I have reported”
“And he was cleaning your yard?”
“He wants to hide the evidence”
“From?”
“People like you I guess”
“But what happened to the cornfields?”
“They messed it up, I guess they’re not good at fixing cornfields”
“Describe this alien to me” in a more bored voice, Dr. Smith feels this is one of those days again.
“He’s got some weird upside down egg shaped head. Tall and rather skinny, he seems to have some slight difficulty holding up his head with our gravity being different and all”
“Let me guess, he is green with large eyes?”
“Nope. He’s got those slanted Chinese eyes and his color looked like Mahogany”
“Have you kept the lid of that can open for a long time?”, inquired Dr. Smith, looking at a can of varnish on the side of the dining room. Mahogany colored aliens is rather the first time he has heard it.
“No Doc, I am not dreamin’ stuff up. He was real and I can tell you he was smart and all, like a computer. He was just curious with all this summer stuff we do and all. I had to defend why we all like to go to the beach”.
“And why was he curious about us going to the beach?”, now in a more curious tone. Dr. Smith is waiting for a story to laugh about. This can prove, in a way, that in some circumstance a farm boy will come up with some tall story with redneck words that would blow off the cover. Mr. King now narrates.
“He saw me, and waved his hands. I waved back and this alien approaches me. He holds my hand and looks up to this little bright light in the sky. I just saw things change in front of me. In one second. I was up in some space craft in a room with a window facing Earth. It was a little worrying and all as I thought he was going to get one of those alien whatnot and stick it up my behind. There was a chair and I was asked to sit down. In front of me was a figure and he started asking me
- Mr. King, are you comfortable? May we assist you with anything?
- I am all fine, but what is all this stuff about?
- We just have a few unsettling queries Mr. King. We’re pondering over your Earthly rituals.
- What rituals? I am a Protestant, all others are weird to me too
- Not religious rituals Mr. King, we have answers to that. We have already talked to the Dalai Lama, the Pope, and all others. They don’t seem pleased to be here though, and some of them seem to have lost their faith once they came up here. Odd enough, they all seem to cover their anuses for fear of us doing some tests. Rest assured, we don’t spend our time or be curious about putting things inside anuses. Your humanoid counterparts seem to have a strange fetish over anuses and found it rather interesting to talk about it. We suspect they were invented by a group of army or prison personnel. Who else would have such an interest. We are interested in your so called vacation, Mr. King. Kindly explain to me why your fellows find it amusing to pack a wicker basket with cooked food that will be brought along to what is called a beach. We cannot comprehend why would they want to go through congested roads for hours, scour different places for parking, and find a small area in this beach. What could be so amusing about covering oneself or musing over silicon chip raw material also known as sand, in the dreaded heat that causes regrettable skin peeling, or having to spend on sun block and consume topically and stay under the sun. They try to build a non-habitable sand castle near water that will wash it off, try to write something in the same place. And frolic in liquid not suitable for human consumption. This liquid, known as water, is also the same liquid where humans and sea creatures relieve waste in. This would also be the same liquid being mixed with incompatible foreign objects such as fuel from boats and such. What is to be gained from all this but a false mental illusion of peace and relaxation. Mr. King, does anyone in your planet have any logical explanation for such irrational choice of behavior? Doesn’t all the above defy what should be considered filth, crowd, hassle, and noise? Couldn’t there be anything more productive?
- Mr. alien, sir, I am just a farmer and everyday I watch my cornfields grow. I might not be the best person to answer but this is the best I can say. Being away from the daily chores with people you enjoy being with can help make life worth living. Working like a horse, as our phrase, would tend to make things stressful. More than fulfilling our purpose, we also want to appreciate the most basic and primal of everything, and that would be nature’s grand creation. While sand is indeed raw material for glass and computer chips, it also can serve a therapeutic and calming purpose when rubbed around the body. The waste products of animals, which makes the sea salty, can also be good for the skin. Moving around the cool waters in the midst of the summer heat gives two extremes we all enjoy to play with. The sense of relief does help a person’s body to relax better and let go of stress. Building sand castles and writing on sand expresses ones creativity and distracts the mind from everyday work. We tend to focus on creating something and the immediate sense of achievement can help a person’s mind feel the happiness of fulfillment, even for a short time. It is a mentally therapeutic venue, an excuse from stress. Sometimes you have to change your environment to forget work. As anything that reminds of work can burn a person out. This little recharging activity helps a person feel refreshed and work even further. How can we go the extra mile if we’re too tired to walk? We have to sit, relax, and gain some energy before we can run again. And this is a very important function for everyone.
- Thank you for your comment Mr. King, we will take note of that and review other comments. Thank you for your time”
“And then I was zapped back into my front yard as if nothing happened. I swear doc, I defended beach vacation”
Dr. Smith found the story impressive, from a farmer, this was a very logical outlay of words and reason. At one point, who knows, Mr. King might have actually met a mahogany colored alien with Chinese eyes who want to get an opinion from a farmer. Then again, why would aliens want to know what a farmer thinks, given that his formal education has been limited. But let us not forget that watching that cornfield grow can give someone enough time to reflect and ponder on ideas. Being too busy to reflect can sometimes lead us to become blunt. These aliens, if they do exist, did make a wise choice after all.
“Thank you Mr. King for your time, we will keep you posted”
Subject has been interviewed and needed report has been made, possibility of hallucination from varnish being called for consideration and possibility for sighting. While the farmer’s story seems too logical and advanced for his education, subject still has the very ability, like other humans, to dwell into broader fields of life and philosophy. More investigation might have to be conducted to prove or disprove sightings.