My new book is out! I will be doing a book signing and you can buy a signed copy at Living Hope Church on McMillan in Meridian on Saturday, October 21, from 9 – 4. I will also have all my other books available for purchase. Just look for the crazy woman dressed as a fairy. 🙂

Amazon.com : utopia abandoned Under “books” on Amazon

I’m about two-thirds of the way through writing the second book and could use some help coming up with names for carnivorous alien birds, as well as a title for the alien cave dwellers that Andor and Faron will encounter on the surface of the Earth in the 23rd century.

Would love to hear any suggestions you might have. You can send them to plainjump@msn.com

As a thank you for reading this post, I’m pasting a section of the description of Agartha, an underground alien city, from the second book.

The city of Agartha from Chapter 9:

We remove our headlamps and place them next to his lantern. The air is humid but cool, so I drop my pack from my shoulder to shrug into my dirty cloak. Then I stuff my headlamp into my bag. Andor does the same. We sling our packs over our shoulders and follow Alistair beyond the rocks.

“Welcome to Agartha.” My uncle sweeps a hand across the scene.

I gasp, my senses bombarded.

Never before have I seen anything like this place. An enormous, high-ceilinged cavern looms ahead. It’s as bright as day but without a discernable light source. A few stalactites line the edges.

Honeyed scents tickle my nose, and real birdsong reaches my ears, unlike our domed city’s piped-in versions. The melodies are complex, sweet and pure.

We ascend a stony knoll through a narrow path in the rock. When we reach the top, I get full view of the city, and it takes my breath away. To my right, less than a mile away, stands a row of sparkling white castles, five in all, that glisten in the light. Colorful flags fly from their pinnacles, reminiscent of a scene from King Arthur’s legend.

In front of the castles lies a wide aqueduct, several hundred yards long and of the deepest blue imaginable. It’s spanned by two stone bridges, one at each end. A long road snakes between the castles and the aqueduct.

To my left and on the other side of the bridges are blue hills—yes, I said blue hills—that nearly brush the cavern’s ceiling. It’s hard to tell where the water ends and the turf starts. Horses graze on these rolling, blue-grass hills, and clusters of flowering trees, their leaves every color but green, stipple the landscape.

A hot-pink creature with multiple eyes and several tentacled appendages leaps out of the aqueduct. It flips its broad tail and then dives back in.

I lean on Andor for support. “What was that?” I gasp.

“A Guvron,” Alistair grins. “Think of it as a combination of an Old-Earth octopus, a fish and a very large insect. Quite harmless really.”

I have so many questions, but can’t decide what to ask first. Fortunately, as we approach the castles, my uncle answers some of the most pressing. “The plants and animals here are not from Earth but from a distant planet called Shalea.”

Now that Utopia Betrayed is out, I thought I’d let my loyal readers get a peek at the first chapter of the second book in the series, Utopia Abandoned. So here goes:

Part 1

Escape

Chapter 1

Cradled between two tree branches, I don’t move a muscle.

Twenty feet below, a dozen uniformed guards—Jupiter’s personal AI brigade—have fanned out.

No doubt they’ve been ordered to find me and drag me back to Jupiter, our Supreme Leader—dead or alive. My pulse drums in my ears.

Once a privileged Principal Artisan and Master Citizen in our domed city, I designed one-of-a-kind jewelry. Now I’m a fugitive, hiding in a tree to avoid Jupiter’s net, a net that’s slowly, inexorably closing around me.

Clambering up this tree was more difficult today because I’m getting weaker. The Serum-18 or S-18 nanobots—DNA-enhancing machines in my bloodstream—are dying. I was supposed to get my third infusion of the power-boosting serum yesterday. Instead I ran from Jupiter’s control before he could force me to spy on my friends.

Good friends like Andor, a fellow rebel. His image pops into my head—handsome symmetrical face, wavy blond hair, an enigmatic smile. But whether the AIs get me or nanobot depletion hastens my demise, my dreams of a future, maybe even with Andor, will likely die with me.

Don’t fool yourself, Faron. You’re going to get caught. When he was alive, my father, a Mining Laborer, used every opportunity to mock me. Now I can’t get his voice out of my head.

He has a point. I’ve been lucky to avoid capture so far. But my time is running out.

Mercilessly and methodically, Jupiter’s army stabs the undergrowth with the butts of their stun guns. Each stomp of their heavy boots causes the pine branch where I’m perched to vibrate. Cringing, I cling tighter to the rough bark. Sweat inches down my back.

I definitely need to find somewhere else to hide.

Nearby, a squirrel chatters, then barks to signal danger. I fight to keep my breathing slow and shallow.

The guards flush out a rabbit, and I mouth the words, “Run, rabbit, run. Get as far away as you can.” It bounds off, unscathed.

I’d run too, if I could. But I’m cocooned inside an anti-thermal sheet. Through the one-way material, I can view those emotionless machines. But they can’t see me, not even my heat signature. At least that’s what Andor told me when he gave me this tech. Still I’m scared witless.

But things could be worse. I could be stuck outside the Dome, in an area we call the Wilderness. Nobody really knows what’s left out there after Earth’s global war—the Horror beyond all Horrors. Many speculate that radiation has made our planet rife with “terrors beyond imagination,” as one Institute teacher put it.

Directly below me, the AI yells, “Halt!” and they all freeze. So do I.

He looks up, right at me. My breath catches in my throat.

Did he see movement through the leaves? Did the branch creak? Am I covered well enough?

Silent seconds stretch into what seem like minutes. Worried my pounding pulse will give me away, I elevate my gaze skyward to the translucent Dome that protects all New Caledonians, as well as these trees, from the dangers of a planet ravaged by war.

God, if you’re out there, help me!

Since I escaped New Caledon, Jupiter’s guards have scoured this forest for me. Their arrival is always heralded by breaking branches and ground-shaking footfalls, which gives me time to scurry up the nearest large tree. You’d think these highly advanced, human-looking robots would try to sneak up on me. But they’re not meant to think independently. They’ve been programmed to follow our Supreme Leader’s commands, no matter what.

“She must be in the trees,” the guard shouts. “Shoot the branches!”

My senses are immediately bombarded.

Flashes of blue plasma.

Snaps and clicks.

Whiffs of burning wood.

Clatters from sheared-off branches as they drop onto the sheet’s slick surface.

Will those fallen branches expose my position?

Like a rat in a trap, I start to shake. If the pine needles around me weren’t quivering from the brutal barrage, my trembling would give me away.

One loud zap sizzles nearby, and my heartrate punches into high gear.

Just when I thank my lucky stars I wasn’t hit, a searing, excruciating shock shoots up my leg. My whole body freezes, from toes to scalp.

I’ve been shot.

Don’t know why people think prayer is so beneficial. Every time I ask God for something, I seem to get into deeper trouble.

My muscles contract with painful spasms. Even my heart dances and then falters. I bite my tongue.

My fingers twitch. My grip loosens. My vision darkens.

I slip from the branch. The protective sheet stays snarled in the tree, leaving me uncovered. As I plummet downward, air whooshes past my ears. Branches tear at my green cloak.

I smash into the ground with a bone-splitting thud. Every wisp of air is knocked from my lungs. My brain rattles around inside my skull like an out-of-control mining car. I struggle to inhale. To exhale.

When I finally open my eyes, a blurry seven-foot guard—bulbous-nosed, fat-lipped, with dark pits for eyes—hovers over me. Like Death himself.

Muscles paralyzed, I’m helpless, my body a numb lump of clay.

This is it. My life’s over, I tell myself in my head.

With an erratic rat-tat-tat, my heart starts beating again. Nausea sweeps over me.

As if he’s at the far end of a mine tunnel, the guard shouts to the others, “We got her. Jupiter will be pleased.”

I wait for the AI to pick me up in his cold, synthetic arms. Or stomp on me. Or yank out my fingernails. Or do whatever else Jupiter has ordered. I close my eyes, not wanting to see what’s coming next.

But nothing happens. A grisly deep silence fills the forest.

Finally, I dare to open my eyes again. Slightly bent, the bulky AI towers over me, frozen where he stands, his stun gun still pointed at my head.

My muscle spasms subside. When my vision clears, I can move my eyes and head a millimeter or two, so I peer sideways at the other AIs. Those in my line of vision are statue-like as well.

Suddenly exhausted, I start to shiver. Must be adrenaline wearing off, or else I’m in shock.Do I have a concussion? Broken bones?

The chitters from squirrels and chipmunks gradually resume. No fake bird sounds though, like Jupiter has added to our city’s hubbub. With the exceptions of chickens and turkeys cloned for food, birds weren’t among the species that survived the Horror. At least that’s what we were told.

The ground vibrates. Approaching footfalls thump louder and louder in my head. What’s coming for me now? I’d cringe, if I could move.

With a bag slung over one shoulder, a masked, black-cloaked figure dashes toward me, dodging trees and bushes with lithe movements, unlike the stilted motions of AIs. Could this be an actual human?

“Faron?” A bass voice chokes out my name, more of a plea than a shout.

Afraid he won’t see me, I want to cry, “Help! Over here!” But any kind of verbalization is presently impossible.

“There you are!” He bends over my inert body, breathing hard. “Gotta hurry…. Don’t have much time….Jabari can’t keep Jupiter’s minions on pause forever.” At the mention of my friend and neighbor’s name, my savior removes his mask and drops it into a pocket.

The face is Andor’s! I breathe a sigh of profound relief. He once promised I’d always be safe with him.

“Hope this doesn’t hurt.” He grabs my arms and slowly slides me out from beneath the hovering AI and lifts me from the forest floor. Even though I’m as stiff as a dead branch, some sensation has returned. But so far, I’m not in any pain.

Adjusting his backpack to one side, Andor hefts me over his right shoulder, as if I weigh nothing. I’m not surprised. Like me, he’s on S-18.

I inhale his clean, familiar scent and revel in his warmth.

He bolts away, dodging motionless AIs left and right. My head bounces up and down in rhythm to Andor’s loping gait. The pinecone-covered ground whizzes past, his boots a black blur beneath me. As he weaves between trees and bushes, the sun strains through the translucent Dome and stabs the shadowy tree canopy with shafts of light. Pine needles poke into my scalp and pull at my hair.

“Gaao,” I groan. I’m trying to say, “go bag,” but I sound like a frog being electrocuted. My camouflaged pack—containing food, water and other necessities—is still back in the tree. Fortunately, it’s well hidden in the branches, and AIs can’t climb.

Amazingly, Andor understands what I’m trying to say. While skirting some rocks, he huffs, “I’ll come back for your go bag…once you’re out of harm’s way.”

I have so many questions swirling around in my head, none of which I’m able to ask. How’d he find me? How’d he know the exact moment I needed him most? What’s his plan to hide me?

Andor stumbles, then stops. He shifts my weight higher on his shoulder and adds breathlessly, “You’re probably wondering how I found you.” He inhales deeply, again and again. “Your locator pen was activated this morning…so we monitored your whereabouts.”

I’d forgotten about the emergency beacon/pocket light kept in a cloak pocket that the Separatists—underground rebels—gave me when I joined them. In my struggle to get up the tree and hide, I must have accidentally activated it. Which probably saved my life.

“When our monitoring equipment showed Jupiter’s AI guards on the hunt for you…” He takes off at a run again. “I hopped on the train to get here….Then by walkie… Jabari informed me the signals had converged.” He takes a heavy breath. “So he paused the guards’ programming….” Clearing his throat, he adds, “At that point, I wasn’t far from you.”

My arms and legs tingle as the stun gun’s effects diminish. I wiggle a forefinger to make sure it works and tap Andor on the back.

He stops and gasps for air. “Think…you can…walk now?”

“M-maybe.”

“Take it slow.” He lowers me to the ground and steadies me with both hands, his face close to mine, his warm breath bathing my cheeks. Electric currents that have nothing to do with my stun-gun injury race through my body. I can’t help but smile.

He returns my smile and pulls me into his arms. I stiffen till I realize our illicit display of affection isn’t being monitored by cameras, AIs or drones. I relax and hug him back.

When I think how awful I must look and smell, my face burns with shame. I haven’t had a shower in days and this forest, just like our city, is as hot as Hades, despite its shade. My cloak is caked with dirt and sap, and my greasy hair is probably thick with pine debris.

But he doesn’t seem to notice. Instead he steps back. “So good to see you again, Faron.”

Annoying tears fill my eyes. I don’t respond, afraid I’ll lose the tiny bit of emotional stability I’m hanging onto.

When I try to straighten up, my knees give out, and needles seem to dance across my forehead. If Andor wasn’t propping me up, I’d collapse.

He wraps an arm around my waist and holds tight. Can he feel how wildly my heart beats? He inches me forward. I try to help by willing my feet to move, but they don’t appear to get the message.

“We need to move faster,” he whispers in my ear. “Once they’re free, those guards are going to comb these woods for you. Jupiter might even send out drones.”

Peacekeepers? I hope not. They’ve flown over a few times, and I’ve evaded them so far by hiding under the trees.

“Where…?”

Like he’s reading my mind, he answers, “I know a place they won’t look for you.” He drags me onward till my body begins to respond. I concentrate on making my feet support me while secretly thanking what’s left of the nanobots for helping me regain my strength so quickly. Nothing feels broken, although my back is sore.

“I think I can run now.”

“Let’s go.” He releases his grip.

Andor takes the lead, leaping over logs and evading brush. I try to keep up, but the distance between us widens till finally, he slows his pace.

“This way.” He veers toward a thick patch of bushes and then stops. I catch up, and we pick our way through the waist-tall undergrowth.

He halts at a rocky outcropping, covered by a thicket of brush.

“Here we are.” He pushes aside some branches to reveal a hole barely large enough to crawl through. Small bones lie scattered around the opening.

Did something die here?

“This is the only spot I could think of where the guards won’t look for you.”

I stare, wide-eyed. “You’ve got to be kidding. No way.” I offer up my best scowl.

Doesn’t he know how I do everything I can to avoid small, dark spaces? Maybe not. I’ve never told him about my phobia. Before I started school, I occasionally spent the day with my parents in the mines. I was sure monsters lurked in the blackness beyond their headlamps, waiting for a chance to eat me.

“It’s not as tight as it appears.” He releases the branch and it falls into place. “The cave gets bigger the farther in you go. You can use your emergency beacon as a light.”

“How’d you find it?”

“Escaping a bratty cousin when I was twelve.” He grins. “Our families came here for a picnic on a day off. But I had to make the opening bigger to be able to squeeze through it.”

“What about spiders and snakes?” I shiver.

“Would you rather stay in the open?”

“No…” I shake my head and then point to his wrist. “Won’t your tracker give us away?” Although I removed my tracker from beneath my skin two days ago, I’m worried Jupiter can find us both through Andor’s.

“Jabari passed on your warning note, just like you wanted.”

Before I escaped the city, I left a note under Jabari’s door telling Andor that, because of me, Jupiter was suspicious of him.

Lines form between my friend’s brows. “So I paused my tracker and later removed it. Yesterday, I skipped work and told my AI I was sick. Then I sneaked out of my apartment, while he was out shopping. Been hiding ever since. Today, I came here to find you.”

That means we’re both refugees, both being hunted by Jupiter.

I sigh. “I’m sorry you got pulled into my troubles. I didn’t realize Jupiter was watching me so closely.”

“That’s okay. It was only a matter of time before he caught on to my rebel nature.” He motions toward the hole and holds the branches back again. “In you go. I’ll cover the entrance after you’re situated.”

My stomach twists. But I do as he requests.

First, I retrieve the EB penlight from a pocket. Throwing off my hood, I lower myself to hands and knees, switch on the light and peer into the hole. This is the first time I’ve seen a cave this small. It’s nothing more than a dirt floor and a rocky arch above.

I try to slow my breathing. Just take it one step at a time, I tell myself.

I stick the penlight’s cold metal case between my teeth and fold my arms into my chest to squeeze through the opening. My shoulders brush the sides. Dirt sifts into my hair from overhead. Roots pull at my cloak. The scent of sage is replaced by an earthy smell.

Continuing to crawl forward, I tighten my butt and wiggle my hips one way, then another to sidle them through the opening.

Am I being shoehorned into a space two sizes too small?

Reaching out, my hands touch the grubby cave floor. I push aside thoughts of how filthy I’m becoming.

I pull my legs in and turn around. Taking the penlight out of my mouth, I shine it around the space. A centipede scurries away, which makes me gasp.

This cave, if I dare call it that, has only enough headroom to sit. Rock walls surround me. My head brushes the rough roof.

Did I just disturb a spider or some other creepy crawly?

I madly scissor my fingers back and forth through my hair to remove any unwanted visitors. Then I try to consciously calm my fears by focusing on the positive. At least it’s nice and cool in here. Even with the hint of wet dog, the musty air isn’t too bad.

“You okay in there?” Andor’s face fills the entrance, and his mercurial hazel eyes reflect the penlight’s halo.

I sigh. “As good as can be expected.”

“I’m going to leave my go bag with you. In case you need it.”

Or in case you don’t make it back. I shudder but don’t voice my concern.

He draws back and then slides his bag through the opening. I grab it and set it on the floor beside me.

“Okay, I’m closing you in now.”

My heart stutters as he replaces the branches over the entrance. A wan light filters in till he adds more brush. Without the EB penlight, I’d be in complete darkness. As scary thoughts surface about being buried alive, I have to consciously calm myself. “C-can you see my light out there?” I ask.

“Yes, a slight glow comes through. So anytime you hear AIs, be sure to switch it off.”

“Okay.” I hope Jupiter’s minions don’t come close. This small space is bad enough. Add inky blackness and the threat of being exposed, and I’m afraid I’ll go crazy.

Andor whispers through the brush. “Hang tight. I’ll be back with your bag as soon as I can.”

“B-be careful.”

“Always.”

His footfalls fade as he retreats.

A sense of abandonment washes over me. I tuck my legs to my chest and curl into a ball. Then I take a deep breath and close my eyes.

I imagine myself at my jewelry worktable and envision a blue star opal, set in a shiny silver framework in front of me. I replay the steps needed to fashion this attractive pendant. First, I heated silver tubing and shaped it around a mold the same size and shape as the opal. After the metal cooled, I filed and polished the silver smooth and then soldered prongs onto the frame to secure the gem. After placing the opal into the setting, I gently squeezed the prongs over the sparkling stone.

Under my imaginary magnifier, its colorful layers glimmer in deep blue and sea-green, making me smile. I’m surprised when my eyes burn with unexpected tears. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed my art, even though it’s only been a few days since I fled the city.

Stop it, Faron, Kian, my father, chides. Enough wallowing in self-pity.

Exhaustion seeps into my muscles, maybe a residual effect of the stun gun. Or maybe I’m simply weary. Weary of living in our mechanized, superficial world under an artificial Dome.

I pull my cloak’s hood over my head and stretch out my legs. First checking for any bugs behind me, I lean my head against the bumpy cave wall. Then I set the penlight on the cave floor. No idea how long its hydrogen batteries will last, but right now, I’m more worried about keeping bugs away.

I close my eyes again. A little nap won’t hurt.

Awakened by scratching sounds. I point the penlight at the entrance. First, paws appear through the greenery. Then a long nose and a pair of piercing black eyes. At the sight of me, the animal startles and then freezes. We stare at each other for several long moments before it emits a low throaty growl.

A scream bubbles up inside me, but I don’t let it out.

I’ve invaded some wild beast’s den!

Here are the opening paragraphs to the new novel I’m creating, set in the 23rd century. I hope to have it finished for beta reading sometime this summer.

I think I’m being followed.

Heat waves ripple up from the paved road nearby. I lean against a tree, wipe sweat from my forehead and guzzle water from the metal bottle I always carry. This affords me a good look at the person who’s been my distant shadow. Holding a red umbrella above his gray head, the man with wire-rimmed glasses walks past me and doesn’t look my way.

You’re being paranoid, Faron, I tell myself. He’s just out for a stroll, like you.

Grateful for the dappled shade of Diana Park and a path through the trees, I trudge forward. The gravel crunches under my shoes.

I took an early lunch, so only a few people inhabit the park. A couple holds hands on one shaded wood bench, a woman reads the newspaper on another. A few people mill around the drinking fountain.

The man with the glasses closes his umbrella and sits on the other end of the bench where the woman is reading. Dressed like a Master Citizen in a suit and tie, he crosses his legs and scans the park. When we lock eyes, he tips his hat.

I look away. If he were really following you, he’d do a better job of hiding it.

Implanted at birth, the tiny tracker inside my wrist beeps twice, a sound I’m used to. Break’s over. Got to get back to work.

I leave the park’s empty playground, fake greenery and mechanical bird calls. Before the blistering sun can bake my head, I pull up my hood and quicken my pace. While I relished getting out of the factory, I’m more than ready to go inside where it’s cooler.

Peering over my shoulder, I watch the grey-haired man rise and speak to another suited man with brown hair.

See, he’s simply meeting a friend.

Ahead is the sun-bleached, thirty-foot Wall, the silent sentinel that surrounds our city. And beyond the Wall? What’s left of Planet Earth, an area we’ve named “The Wilderness.” Rumored to be full of noxious air and mutated beasts. “Terrors beyond imagination” is how one of my teachers described it.

I’m excited about the new series I’ve started called “Utopia Ascending.” It’s set four hundred years in the future, on an Earth that has been devastated by war. But what makes this dystopian novel unique is how all religion has been banned, and the government is basically worshipped. There’s no crime, no jails, no chaos, no poverty, no disease, and basically everyone and everything is at peace. Or are they? Is the facade what’s really happening underneath, in the catacombs of this society?

Just finished publishing the prequel  (Fairy Wars: The First Battles)on Amazon and all other digital channels, as well as in print on Amazon. Below is a teaser for the book that I hope will get you reading it.

Prologue

Present Day: After I step on the royal fairy and Fairyland and all its creatures are revealed to me, I return to my cabin from a camping trip in the Mansentia forest. I lean my fishing pole against a wall and drop my tackle box on the kitchen table next to a spiral-bound notebook I don’t recognize. It’s titled Magic is all around Us by Calen Bartholomew Ambrose in my handwriting. As I flip through it, some parts are labeled “My Private Notes,” and other parts are headed “Chapman’s Journal.” When did I write all this?

To say I’m shocked at its contents is an understatement. I don’t recall some of what it says took place, and I’m hazy as to where the journal went after I finished it. I do remember having therapy sessions with Dr. Chapman, and I do remember doing some writing for her, but much of the rest is fuzzy. I think the doctor returned my journal to me when I finished therapy, but I’m not sure.

Knowing what I do now, however, I believe its contents are all true. I hope whoever reads what follows will better understand my childhood and my destiny, a destiny I never asked for, but one which has changed my life forever.

Chapter 1

My Private Notes. After Session Two with Dr. Chapman.

If anyone would’ve told me that, at nearly sixteen years old, I’d be seeing a shrink, I’d have told them they were crazy.

My shrink’s name is Dr. Jane Chapman, and she thinks I’ve blurred fantasy and reality for a long time. The doc thinks I invented Mom’s notes about the strange things she witnessed. My sister Cassie, who’s three years older, agrees. “I think you made up those notes, to get attention.”

But I can still feel the rough papers in my hands and the indent of her neatly written words as clearly as the pen I’m holding.

Problem is, I’m the only one who actually saw those notes. And Mom can’t back me up.

Cassie was in the basement with me when the weirdness started, so I ask her to tell the doctor what she saw.

“Calen, I can’t help you.” Cassie shakes her head. “I told her you exaggerated the whole thing. It was a freaky accident, but certainly not supernatural.”

“What?! Why are you lying?” I ball up my fists.

“Listen. You’re never going to convince that woman of what you saw and –.”

“But … but you were at the hospital with me. That part was real.”

“I don’t think your life was ever in any real danger.” She juts out her chin.

“I was attacked in my bed! Don’t you remember?”

“No.” She shrugs. “I don’t remember an attack, and that’s the truth.”

“Great! And the shrink doesn’t believe I was even in the hospital. They have no record of my being there or of a Dr. Gray. My nurse has disappeared and the rest of the staff doesn’t remember me. You’re the only one who knows I was there.”

“Look. I never wanted to go to therapy to start with. If we tell the shrink what she wants to hear, we can fulfill the state’s requirement to get treatment, even though it seems a waste of time.”

“So you won’t back me up?”

She shakes her head.

“That’s just great!” I groan. “She’s going to think I’m crazy. Won’t she put me in a home for whackos or something?”

“Not if you admit you have an overactive imagination. She’ll just say you’ve been through a major trauma, and your mind has altered your memories to help you cope.”

I chew on this for a while and decide she’s right.

The doctor has asked me to write down everything I remember because people with PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder) tend to “repress disturbing events.” Having a written record is supposed to help me recognize what’s real life and what’s fantasy.

To quote her, “Recalling what really happened is the only way to stop your nightmares and panic attacks. Disturbing experiences are like festering wounds. They won’t heal until they’re opened and dealt with.”

When the doc is done reading my journal, I think I’ll tell her I invented the whole thing, even though Mom and Dad taught us never to lie. Hopefully she’ll believe I’m well, and I won’t have to go anymore. And the state will let Cassie and me alone to live out our lives.

I try to ignore the voice in my head. “But that’s still a lie, Calen.”

The doctor says the internal voice I hear from time to time isn’t real either. When I looked up “hearing voices,” I learned it’s a sign of schizophrenia. The voices a schizophrenic hears, however, are loud and commanding. The voice I hear is soft and suggestive, not demanding.

Here you go, Dr. Chapman:

Dr. Chapman’s Journal. June 6, 1991. (My 13^th year)

The craziness all started in our dingy, cold basement. Even with the lights on, it’s a creepy place. But at the time, I was glad to escape the summer heat, even if the downstairs storage area smelled musty, like old books.

I remember how, in spite of Mom’s offer to pay us, I wanted to read, work on the radio I was building or climb a tree, anything but clean out our basement.

But we’re moving soon. Dad just got a job teaching at a college in Harrisburg. And Mom says we need to get rid of all the stuff we don’t use.

I should be excited, right? A new school, a new city, a new house. But I don’t want to move and get a sick stomach every time I think about it.

This old house is where I’ve lived my whole life, where my sister and I played hide and seek, where we had all our parties, where my best friend lives down the block. It’s fearsome to think I’ll have to make new friends, leave old friends behind and lose everything familiar.

“Calen.” My skinny sister points to a big cardboard box. “You take that one. I’ll take this one.” She opens another box, one marked in red with “CJA” (for Cassie Joyce Ambrose) “School Stuff.” She digs into the box.

“Why are you so bossy?” I make a face at her.

“’Cuz I’m older and wiser.” She sticks out her tongue.

“Well, you got the older part right.”

Not wanting to be bossed around, I stomp over to the stack of boxes Mom said she wanted to sort through. I grab one labeled “CBA—Baby Stuff.” That’s me, Calen (with a long A) Bartholomew Ambrose. I set it on the ratty old couch that’s pushed up against the concrete wall.

One side has caved in and the top is bowed, like something heavy was piled on it. The box is sealed with slightly yellowed tape that’s curling at the edges. I pull on the tape and cry, “Yow!”

“You okay?” Cassie doesn’t look up from the box she’s rifling through.

“Yeah, paper cut.” The wound bleeds, and I suck on my finger. The taste of iron fills my mouth. Yuk.

I rip off the tape with my other hand and flip open the top. Stale air hits my nose.

The first thing inside the box is a book with a puffy cover. Baby’s First Book. A faded-blue baby shoe and Winnie the Pooh decorate the front. Beneath the book are tiny clothes, stuffed animals and baby toys.

Wonder why she kept all this stuff. I’m not a baby anymore.

I hold up the book, smearing it with my blood. “Did you see this?” I ask Cassie.

She smirks. “I’ve got one too. I think it’s so she can embarrass us when we have kids.”

“Really? Gross.” I’m about to toss the old thing into the “discard” pile, which is much bigger than the “keep” and “donate” piles, when my small internal voice says, “Look again.”

Sheets of paper in my mom’s handwriting hang from the book’s middle. I pull them out.

Tossing the baby book back into the box, I plop on the couch to check out the loose pages. The first one is dated when I was eleven.

April, 1989. “I think something weird is going on,” my mom’s notes read. “Calen has gotten into tight situations before, but I thought he was just the kind of boy whose guardian angel works overtime. But today was different. Today he very nearly died.”

Huh? I ask myself. When was that?

I take deep breaths, feeling like my heart is too big for my chest. I glance at Cassie. She’s studying a piece of paper in her hands.

I steady the pages and read on.

“I can’t believe what I saw and still wonder if I hallucinated. Perhaps by recording all the strange things that have happened to him in his short life, I’ll make some sense of it.”

Another date follows.

“Find something interesting to read?” Cassie asks.

“Just some old notes.”

“Let me see.” Cassie reaches for the pages.

No way is she going to find out that Mom thinks I’m weird. I’d never hear the end of it.

“No!’ I yell and hide the pages behind my back.

Cassie jumps. “Okay, okay, chill out.”

My heart thumps, and my palms sweat. But I can’t let her see how freaked out I am. “It’s just baby stuff.” I try to sound calm.

“Then get busy! Remember, we don’t get paid ‘til we finish the job.” She throws a stick-figured drawing from her box on top of our ever-growing discard pile. I want to make fun of her silly art, but I’m too upset.

“Yeah, yeah.” Folding the notes, I cram them into the back pocket of my jeans. Even though I really want to learn more about my weird life, I need to think about what I’ve just read and study the rest by myself.

Book Three is up and ready to view in print, although it will take a few days to show up on Kindle.  To wet your appetite, here’s an excerpt from the book:

“So, you ask, why am I the only one who can stop this long-standing war?

According to King Aubrey, the first Fairyland monarch established an “insurance policy,” centuries ago, against the dark side ever attaining absolute power. He hid four balance stones, two black and two white, somewhere in the realm. The king has asked me to find these pebbles.

My sentient swords, Noblesse and her male counterpart, Nobliege, have sockets in their hilts for these stones. Like every other champion before me, my swords were manufactured by ground gnomes, Fairyland’s metal workers, and imbued with magic. They were also fashioned with stone-sized recesses … just in case.

Because it’s morning, I know, without looking, that right below the balance-stone depression, Noblesse’s yellowish sun is alight on one side of her hilt. The accompanying pearlescent dancing fairies and colorful open flowers are also active, but at night, the sun darkens, and the bluish moon on her other side brightens. Then the fairies go to sleep, as do the flowers. Although not as ornate, Nobliege’s hilt has magically engraved vines and leaves that sway, without any breeze.

Somehow the stones’ placement into my weapons will neutralize the dark side. At least, that’s what the king believes. I have my doubts. In my months of fighting for Fairyland, I’ve learned things are not always what they seem.

Another shadow passes over the cliff face, and I feel a rush of air as something swoops past my head, leaving a chalky smell behind. On a second pass, the flying menace pierces my scalp with what feels like a series of hypodermic needles and hangs on.

“Yowch,” I yell. I jerk my gloved hand from the rope, reach toward my head and grasp at whatever has latched onto me. When I feel a solid mass under my glove, I squeeze tight and then yank, which causes a flurry of falling feathers and a squawk, but which also releases what must be a bird’s grip. I pull my captive toward my face to discover that my attacker is a large black raven. My shock at its presence overcomes the throbbing pain in my scalp.

Oh, oh, I can’t let this this bird, a servant of Natas (the main source of evil in Fairyland), report back to his master. He’d send all kinds of nasties after me.

The bird squawks and squirms some more. Then it bends its neck down to peck my wrist, hoping I’ll let go. I don’t loosen my grasp.

Finally, it turns toward my face. Worried it’ll go for my eyes, I slam it against the cliff face as hard as I can. Its body goes limp, and I open my hand to drop its carcass to the ground below. I grab the rope again with my other hand and rest a moment.

I wish I hadn’t had to kill such a beautiful animal, but I’ve learned that the evil beings in Fairyland have no mercy and no remorse. It was him or me.”

I will add a purchase button here as soon as both the Kindle and print copy are up.

 

 

Book Three is with my editor currently. I will need to complete the revisions and then will send it to my beta readers for review.  Look for Fairy Wars: The Final Battles to be out sometime before Christmas.

I’m frustrated with Amazon right now.  If you have a book series and are self-published, it seems they can’t list the books together, in sequence. The second book Fairy Wars: Spies Among Us should come up when anyone types in “Fairy Wars” in the search line. Unfortunately, they only list the books based upon sales orders, and yet I see other authors whose books are conventionally published that manage to get their new books linked to their previous publications. I called them to see if we could get this straightened out, and supposedly they took care of it. However, the second book still comes up on like page 5 or 6, unless you type in the entire title (with the subtitle of Spies Among Us).  How can one hope to increase sales on a sequel when there’s no connection  to the original?  I was even asked by Amazon to fill out a survey, which I did, and told them I thought this was very unfair to self-published authors.

You can also find both books under my author page (L.L. Bower, with or without the periods) on Amazon.

To update you on the progress of book 3, I’m 16 chapters in with almost 100 pages finished. I have so much I want to accomplish in this last book (although I may write a prequel) that I’ve allowed myself extra time to finish it.  There’s more than one narrator in this tale, and there will be surprise revelations, epic battles scenes, and new and weird numinal creatures.  Here’s a taste:

Chapter 10 – One of Calen’s Worst Fears

Still bundled in white cording, I’m strung up in a tree, with some teardrop-shaped sacs dangling in front of me. Apparently my head is now bound because I can’t turn it and see where Rampart might be. I try to twist my body as a whole, but can’t get enough momentum. Straight ahead in the distance, what I do see is the suggestion of tree trunks and a murky rise. I must be in a gulch where sunlight barely penetrates.

Even though I’m elevated, the myriad eyes of my very tall, very creepy captors are fixed on me and gleam in the dim light.

I’ve had bad dreams like this.

I shudder. When Crisa described these Fairyland arachnids, I shuddered then too.

My fear stems from a time when, as kids, my sister and I were cleaning out the basement. One of those awful jumping spiders flew out at me and landed in my hair. I could feel its spindly legs crawling across my scalp. I hopped around like I was on fire, trying to get it off me, before my sister finally calmed me enough to extricate it and smash it underfoot. For weeks, I had nightmares about its relatives exacting their revenge by attacking me in bed. I’d wake up each morning, scratching all over, inspecting my body for spider bites.

So, if you add my great fear – spiders – to the dangers of scorpions, you have what I’m looking at right now – Fairyland’s Oscar winners for best freaks in a lead role – scorpiders.