Seriously. I’m at 43,000 words and I don’t have a title.Here’s a teaser from Chapter 109.
The White House, Washington DC
It was four miles from the White House to a bar and grille in Arlington, where an Ivy League educated economist had been ensconced for the past hour-and-a half.
Carmen boarded the same housekeeping maroli she’d used twice, once earlier in the day, for the purpose of signing documents in her own hand. The machine was off-duty, in a dark closet, sipping nutrition through a straw out of a crushable plastic box.
She wiggled her avatar into the maroli’s form factor, arms operating two large tentacles on the top row, saying, “Hello again. Are you finished with supper?”
It tossed the box into a waste bin. “This device has eaten.”
An evocative adventure/love story from the author of The Illusion of Gravity.
In 1966 Manila, an American teenager courts a CIA recruit several years his senior. It’s a mismatch, a scandal. When she ships out, it’s over. Maybe.
An uncommon spin on the coming-of-age theme, informed by the author’s upbringing in mid-century Asia. Mature content, Young Adult appropriate. Value-positive, about good character as a strategy for creating a successful life. An immersive journey to a time and place now gone forever.
Just this week, I learned my novels have been mis-appropriated by an overseas book-pirate, upon whose website hundreds of titles are offered for free — unless you make a donation, in which case less free, except I still don’t get paid.
It’s not supposed to happen to unknown authors. Obviously, we’re talking about a thief with a discerning eye. “This guy’s going to be famous,” he’s telling himself. “I’m getting in on the ground floor.”
Not to say I approve. I filed complaints, but Icelanders are notorious for this activity, untouchable by their laws, much less ours. I have no illusions that anything will be done.
A few days ago, a fellow author asked her Facebook audience, “What was the best purchase you ever made?” I replied with a photo of my eighth motorcycle, bought new in 2004.
I was fifty-four at the time. I’d taken a long break from the activity, then resumed with a 1976 Kawasaki 900, a version of which I’d owned in 1974.
Inspired by posts about cars people wish they still had, I found a photo of my 1962 Mercedes-Benz 220, a possession I should have kept for a lot of reasons — including the fact it would have been a good investment.
But then, remorse over cast-away treasures is a common experience as we age. Sometimes we discover such articles in a sock drawer, or hidden on a shelf, joyful we didn’t discard them after all. That won’t happen with the car — I distinctly remember selling it to a nurse who worked at Deaconess Hospital.
I had bought it from my girlfriend’s older sister in 1971, for $600. It cost $3500 new, and was only nine years old. Although afflicted with a slipping clutch, I thought it was a bargain. That said, I was in college, too poor to be an auto enthusiast, too dumb not to be.
Two days ago, a double-murder-convicted prison escapee crashed a stolen car in a neighborhood across the river. Shortly thereafter, his shoe was found on a nearby boat ramp, implying he might have taken a swim over to our side.
See the featured image. I don’t want to find him hiding under the stairs. We’re locking doors, burning outdoor lights, setting the alarm, and packing heat.
The latter is a practice to which I’m not unaccustomed. Since Indiana is a reasonably enlightened state, the issue isn’t whether or not to carry, but rather what to carry.
Reincarnation! It’s not just for Buddhists anymore!
In the solitary middle of his years, Glenn Mehrenholz begins to dream about the temple of Hera at Paestum in the old, old days when southern Italy was part of Greece. There, standing upon a shiny marble floor (not a ruin, like it is today), a furry, foxlike lady speaking Sanskrit says she knows him by another name.
Spooky, right? You might wonder, “Why Sanskrit instead of Greek or Latin?” If so, high marks. You must have paid attention in eighth grade.
Things happen. Exciting things. Things you’ll want to know about. For instance, aliens from another planet get themselves outed by the U.S. Air Force, whereupon they confess to having colonized Earth during the last Ice Age — although not in a bad way.
“Surprise!” say the furry aliens. (Remember the lady in the first paragraph?) “We’re here! Always have been. Sorry. It was a secret.”
In due time, the concept’s existential threats are trotted out. (1) Impending cosmic disaster. (2) A power struggle on nearby Jivada. (3) The Unseen are stirring in their nest, which could be a problem for everybody. According to authors I follow on the Internet, every tale needs tension. I made sure to include plenty of it.
So, by way of explainment, I refer you to what happened to the Dalai Lama, who was recognized as the reincarnation of the previous Dalai Lama when he was two years old. Right there, in real life, a person’s normal existence was replaced with a noble quest, whether he liked it or not.
This is what’s happening to Glenn. He’s a ghost of ancient Vidura, an instrument of destiny, a man with worlds to save.
Don’t say it’s preposterous. I just demonstrated, with facts, how it isn’t.
It’s an epic story. I should know. I made it all up myself. Are you shopping for books with happy endings? Our hero marries a neurologist ten years his junior, although that’s not actually how it ends. You still have to read the book.
Notwithstanding what I just said, Ghosts of Ancient Vidura really is literary Sci-Fi. All my titles are #kindleunlimited. Click below to read a few chapters for free!
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