• Virtual Book Tour

    No Innocent Affair by Edward F. Mrkvicka Jr.

  • Science Fiction

    Renegades by Sara Mason

  • Inner City Strength by Dwight Slaughter

    Sometimes the game is all you have to save your life.

Tuesday, December 31, 2013

Guest Blog: Karen Faignes - Destiny Sets (Blog Tour & Giveaway)

Karen-Faignes-Banner

Shaytonian Chronicles – Book 1: Destiny Sets
Karen Fainges

The Hardest Thing About Character Development

The hardest part of character development for me has always been remembering what I said before. You need to keep all the details about your character somewhere where you can refer to it easily and make sure you get the basics right. You might think that you really don’t need this for your main character. Maybe not, though it is amazing how often I have to go back and check a fact. More likely you will need the reference sheets for supporting characters, those that wander on and off the page at intervals long enough that you forgot what you called them, or what colour their hair was.

One example of a sheet for keeping character details on is available http://dehydromon.deviantart.com/art/Blank-Character-Sheet-doc-Over-370-Questions-298561173. There are also less detailed sheets for minor characters.

Now you probably will not use even half of this in your story and definitely not for a minor character. ‘So why gather it’ I hear you asking. Good question.

You gather the information because the better you know the characters, the better your writing will be. First of all, the internal logic will be there. You won’t have consistency problems across the book or series.

You will never have to stop and think what a character would do in a given situation. You can also use small details to give reasons for your character’s actions. For example, I would rarely see the need to simply state that my character’s favourite colour is blue. If he met someone wearing the exact shade of blue that was the colour of his favourite jewel that his mother wore, that could influence his decisions and reactions.

The other area of character development that can be difficult is creating mannerisms that round out the character without being annoying (unless that is what you are going for). Here’s an example. In the Harry Potter books and movies, Harry would push his glasses up his nose if he was confused or embarrassed. Rowling didn’t have him do it in every scene, but it was often enough to see the habit of a young boy whose glasses never quite fit.

In contrast, Barty Crouch had that annoying thing he did with his mouth. It instantly told you that he was none too stable and more than a little bit creepy. The more he did it, the more I didn’t like him and I am sure that was intended.

So write down details so you stay consistent, give colour and depth to your characters and show their reasoning. Even if they don’t know why something is pushing their buttons, with the help of your sheet, you will.


downloadAuthor Bio: http://shayton.net/Author.htm

Karen Fainges works as a trainer in business and computing. A wife and mother, she started thinking up sci-fi stories at the age of 10. Editor of the K-tips business and computing ezine, she longed to present her fiction to the world. So she took those long ago stories, a love of the absurd and wrote about beings that were not humans. Sometimes you see a lot more about humanity and yourself when you are looking at someone else.





Author Links  Website http://shayton.net/
Facebook Author page https://www.facebook.com/pages/Karen-Fainges/83671225033
Facebook Series page https://www.facebook.com/pages/Shaytonian-Vampire-Fiction/88608175544 Twitter https://twitter.com/annalisamara
Linkedin http://au.linkedin.com/pub/karen-fainges/a/b99/424/
Goodreads https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/10612018
Amazon http://www.amazon.com/Karen-Fainges/e/B0050KEU3S/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_3?qid=1382177091&sr=8-3 



About The Book

Book Genre: Scifi/Fantasy Vampire
Publisher: Writers Exchange
Release Date:


destiny-sets-mediumBook Description:


Destiny Sets is the first novel in the Shaytonian Chronicles.   Lightning sears a scene against the eye. Trapped between reality and death, every scrap of life is fighting for existence. To stop fighting is to die. Some precious moments of peace can be stolen from small pockets of calm. Life can take a breath and wonder at the harsh beauty. But only for a moment, then struggle resumes. And others watch.   The Shayton Chronicles begins in Destiny Sets, the story of one man. He is that drop of chaos that can spell success or failure.   Born from a vampiric race of slaves, genetically moulded to provide comfort for their masters, he alone decides to be truly free. Irreverent humour and a fierce need to know 'why', war within him and entire worlds are changed.   "The Stainless Steel Rat with fangs."  


Excerpt

Painting the mythic vampire

The deep royal blue sky of the Italian Riviera provided the perfect backdrop to the posed woman. She was an otherworldly figure set amongst the ancient columns. Her softly accented voice broke the stillness. "Are you sure about this?"
She watched as he added a daub more paint, "I am sure. You said it yourself, the best way to deny something it is to say it is true."
"And what if the Council finds out?"
Alfredo dabbed on a different colour. Going by the look on his face, he still did not have the skin colour the exactly right colour of purple. It had been frustrating him all evening. There was a timeline that neither one of them had mentioned, but it loomed in their thoughts. He was getting older, and no one lived forever. His words dragged her out of the wave of sadness that swept through her. "This mythical Council of yours, what if they do notice the paintings? They are just paintings."
"The Council is no myth. They rule our world."
"I thought the King ruled your homeworld?"
Lisa started to shrug but remembered in time not to move from the pose. "His rule is absolute, so long as he leaves all the day to day decisions, like whether to exile his daughter to Earth, to the Council."
"And you, as this poor exiled waif are concerned that one of those 'day to day' decisions may be objecting to this painting?"
Lisa snorted at the sarcasm in his voice, knowing it was meant more to chide her out of the doldrums than anything else. "They defend of the safety of Shayton. They hold dear her anonymity. It keeps her from being destroyed by those that fear the different, which, my dear, you must agree describes most humans remarkably well."
Alfredo nodded, "And trust me, the picture of a masked dancer with obviously fake wings..." Lisa snorted again at this description of her body, "will ensure that any little slip ups like the one in Venice, will be seen as a publicity stunt and nothing else. Your Council will thank us."


Karen-Faignes-Long


Follow The Tour Here


Sunday, December 29, 2013

Chat with Author Paul DeBlassie III - The Unholy (Book Tour & Giveaway)

Paul-DeBlassie-Banner-Ad  

 About The Author

561989_551509354905000_1349582352_n  Paul DeBlassie III, Ph.D., is a psychologist and writer living in Albuquerque who has treated survivors of the dark side of religion for more than 30 years. His professional consultation practice — SoulCare — is devoted to the tending of the soul. Dr. DeBlassie writes psychological thrillers with an emphasis on the dark side of the human psyche. The mestizo myth of Aztlan, its surreal beauty and natural magic, provides the setting for the dark phantasmagoric narrative in his fiction. He is a member of the Depth Psychology Alliance, the Transpersonal Psychology Association and the International Association for Relational Psychoanalysis and Psychotherapy.   

Author Links: 

 Website pauldeblassieiii.com 
 Blog pauldeblassieiii.blogspot.com 
 Twitter https://twitter.com/pdeblassieiii 



Balancing life and writing; It’s a matter of listening to the energy coming from self, family, and friends so that nothing tips more one way than the other and the creative juices stay flowing rather than being depleted by excessive writing and are therefore constantly in a state of being replenished. I had a music teacher who once told me to practice or play up to the point that I feel bored, that the energy for it has been spent, and then to stop for the day. That’s what I do with writing. I stay with it, hit the page running each day, and go for as long and with as much intensity as I have for the scene that I’m writing. Then, I stop. And, if I don’t stop I’ll have nightmare that night that I’m being seduced and used by the muse and that such a thing could lead to utter ruination. There are horror stories about this. Writers in the stories feel the tug to write, the muse senses that someone is taking the bait and then the writer is hooked and reeled in. So, if I let myself be hooked and reeled in then I lose my balance. There is something to being hooked and reeled of course, but the true and balanced thing of it happens when it comes from a hook and a reeling that is my own and not one that causes me to be possessed by something other than my own common sense. After all, what matters is the living of life, and living a good one to the best of one’s ability, writing only a part of that.

Where do your ideas come from? Ideas come from the deep repository of the collective unconscious mind that inspires images and symbols during the fantasies of waking life and during dreams and nightmares. Mainly, it’s the nightmare stuff that bodes best for writing psychological thrillers and dark fantasy such as is in The Unholy. When I wake up in a cold sweat with the characters of the novels threatening me (I remember when Archbishop William Anarch, sinister prelate in The Unholy tormented me for nights on end, demanding that I not write the story) that’s when I know that real inspiration is flowing and that to listen to it and follow the images and symbols that emerge from my deep, unconscious mind during sleep and during the reverie of writing the story will end up in the development of spine tingling realities that jettison both me as the writer and the reader into phantasmagoric realms that have a way of shaking up conscious mindsets and get our heads blown out in a very, very unsettling but ultimately useful way. My writing, in other words, comes from an inner place of torment that needs to be let out so it can be set right. When mind stuff is set right inside me I can feel it by sensing a quality of being at peace, that I’ve written to the best of my ability and been true to the deep, archetypal energies swirling through my mind during the narrative. It really is a trip to listen to ideas, let them become images, and suddenly have them take over a page. It’s like the pages catch fire and everyone has come to life and things become disorderly, fraught with conflict, and danger looms.

10 things most people don't know about you: Those ten things will remain ten things that most people don’t know about me. But, the other ten things that I’m willing to share concern The Unholy itself, the fact that it was a story twenty years in the making. It’s held up over such a long period of time because every time I wanted to put it away my wife would encourage me. It was rejected well over one hundred times…so there’s one hundred things people didn’t know. If it wasn’t my wife, then my dreams would say not to give up on it, even though I had shelved it and moved on to other novels. People don’t know about the dreams about The Unholy that I had. They said to leave it in the kiln, to be fired some more, and then one day when I least expected it would be ready to be removed from the kiln. That’s when Jim White from Sunstone Press and I met up and he was on fire for the story. This is stuff people don’t know about me. Years, and despair, and patience, a plethora of dreams and nightmares, struggles, encouragement from my wife and family, and synchronistically meeting the right people went into publishing of The Unholy…dreams, nightmares, patience, despair, my wife, my family, encouragement, the phantasmagoric kiln, Jim White and Sunstone Press…all things some people know but many people do not. So, these ten things are hidden emotions and relational encounters and The Unholy and how it was woven into the fabric of my life for twenty years before publication in 2013.


Lessons I learned from my hero (heroine/villain). Claire Sanchez, 25 year old medicine woman, curandera, is a young woman who has lost her mother when she was five years old, witnessed her murder at the hands of a black robed man. She is a woman of tremendous courage and resolve. Fear tries to get her by the throat and squeeze the life out of her. There are so many times that she fought not to give up, to surrender to despair. I find her so human here, the draw to give up and make oneself disappear when confronted with evil. Evil, the real thing, can be so overwhelming, big and mysterious, and appear to be way out of our influence or control. She is one person, a very young and inexperienced person at that, up against a veritable force not only of society but of nature gone bad. To feel the odds stacked against you and yet know that you can’t be true to yourself, to your life, and to go on with life without getting answers and doing what you need to do to find those answers, no matter what, is sheer inspiration. Courage is courage only when it is face to face with one bad ass enemy…Archbishop William Anarch! If she dies then she knows that she has done what she has needed to do. Death is a real possibility for her. She knows this and yet has to risk it in order to be true to herself as a woman. To risk everything, life itself, in order to be true to self…that is courage and this is a lesson to be learned.


One of the most terrifying things about being a writer: If I’m going to write a true story that resonates with my audience I have to live it out. It has to have been a part of my life. Since I write thrillers and dark fantasy, that means that dark forces that have been at play in my life or are presently in the works can be quite overwhelming. This is not a hands off enterprise. Writing cuts to the core of my life and life experience, relationships, profession, dream, and nightmares. If I could only research stuff from a distance and then write in a compelling way about that, that would be one thing; but as it is I have to live this out. The story is a living breathing thing within my life before it hits the page, and then once its on the page, and then on from there. The Unholy is about terrifying religious encounters. This is something that I was raised with, fought my own battles about, treated people for clinically, and finally found that I was smack dab in the middle of writing a story that could not be stopped. It had to come out. Frightening, very frightening to live this close to one’s work. There were times that it effected my family, and I had to wonder whether I should withdraw; but we all talked and I had their support. I have it now. The arms of creativity stretch long and influence oneself and others who are in the emotional and psychic vortex of one’s existence. The energy, the psychological amalgam, of this is so intense and persuasive that nothing short of challenging and amazing can be said to even faintly describe it.

About The Book

Book Genre: Psychological Thriller
Publisher: Sunstone Press
Release Date: August 2013
buy_at_amazon


The-Unholy-Book-CoverBook Description:

A young curandera, a medicine woman, intent on uncovering the secrets of her past is forced into a life-and-death battle against an evil Archbishop. Set in the mystic land of Aztlan, "The Unholy" is a novel of destiny as healer and slayer. Native lore of dreams and visions, shape changing, and natural magic work to spin a neo-gothic web in which sadness and mystery lure the unsuspecting into a twilight realm of discovery and decision.    

Excerpt

Prologue

Lightning streaked across a midnight dark sky, making the neck hairs
of a five-year-old girl crouched beneath a cluster of twenty-foot pines in the
Turquoise Mountains of Aztlan stand on end. The long wavy strands of her
auburn mane floated outward with the static charge. It felt as though the
world was about to end.

Seconds later, lightning struck a lone tree nearby and a crash of thunder
shook the ground. Her body rocked back and forth, trembling with terror. She
lost her footing, sandstone crumbling beneath her feet, and then regained it;
still, she did not feel safe. There appeared to be reddish eyes watching from
behind scrub oaks and mountain pines, scanning her every movement and
watching her quick breaths. Then everything became silent.
The girl leaned against the trunk of the nearest tree. The night air
wrapped its frigid arms tightly around her, and she wondered if she would
freeze to death or, even worse, stay there through the night and by morning be
nothing but the blood and bones left by hungry animals. Her breaths became
quicker and were so shallow that no air seemed to reach her lungs. The dusty
earth gave up quick bursts of sand from gusts of northerly winds that blew so
fiercely into her nostrils that she coughed but tried to stifle the sounds because
she didn’t want to be noticed.

As she squeezed her arms around the trunk of the pine tree, the scent of
sap was soothing. Finally, the wind died down and sand stopped blowing into
her face. She slowly opened her eyes, hoping she would be in another place,
but she was not; in fact, the reality of her waking nightmare was more obvious
than ever.

Wide-eyed with fear at the nightmarish scene playing out before her,
she clung to the tree. In the distance, she saw her mother raising a staff with
both hands, her arm muscles bulging underneath her soaked blouse. Directed
straight ahead, her mother’s gaze was like that of an eagle, her power as mighty
as the winds and the lightning. The girl loved her mother and, through her
mind, sent her strength so that she would win this battle and the two of them
could safely go away from this scary place.

The girl turned to follow as her mother’s gaze shifted to an area farther
away and so dark that only shadows seemed to abide there. To and fro her
mother’s eyes darted before fixing on a black-cloaked figure who emerged from
behind a huge boulder surrounded by tall trees whose branches crisscrossed
the sky. He was much bigger than her mother, at least by a foot, and his cloak
flapped wildly as winds once again ripped through the mountains.
Swinging a long, hooked pole, the man bounded toward her mother like
a hungry beast toward its prey. His black cloak looked like the wings of a huge
bat as they reflected the eerie light of the full moon. As his pole caught the
moonlight and a golden glow bounced back onto the figure, the girl saw his
face with its cold blue eyes that pierced the nighttime chill. He seemed to grow
bigger with each step, and the girl’s heart pounded so loudly that she was sure
he would be able to hear it.

The stranger stopped a short distance from the girl. Crouched low
between rows of trees, trying to make herself disappear, she saw him clearly as
he threw his head back and let out a high-pitched cry like a rabid coyote. The
air crackled. Thunder struck. Lightning flashed. She was blinded and then
could see again.

Quick as a crazed coyote jumps and bites, the man struck her mother, his
black cape flapping wildly in the wind.
The girl leapt to her feet, her legs trembling, her knees buckling.
Straining to see through the branches, she was terrified.
The moon vanished behind dark clouds rolling overhead. Then came
a scream of terror that cut to the bone. Now the night was lit up again by
lightning flashing across the mountain range, and the girl could see the blackhooded
man hit her mother again and again.

Her mother crumpled to the ground and stopped moving.
The girl’s hand flew to her open mouth, stifling a scream.
The man stood over her mother, his long pole poised in the air, ready to
strike again.

A twig snapped in the forest, and the girl spun toward the sound, holding
her breath. Then she saw three gray forms slowly creeping toward her
through the darkness and recognized them as wolves. She was not afraid as
they encircled her, their warm fur brushing her skin. One after another, the
wolves lifted their snouts and looked into her eyes, each silently communicating
that she would be protected.
Her mother cried out again. The girl turned and saw her rising to her
feet, then striking the man’s chest with her staff.
As he batted his pole against her shoulders, her staff flew out of her
hands, landing yards away in a thicket of scrub oak.
Her mother screamed and blindly groped for it.

The girl jumped up, then stopped when the black-hooded figure looked
her way. Tears clouded her vision, and all she saw was darkness. Tears rolled
down her cheeks, dropping into the tiny stream of water running beneath the
tree she was clutching. She looked down and saw the dim reflection of her
frightened self.

As she peered through the trees to catch sight of her mother, a wailing
wind blew the man’s cloak into the air, making him again look like a monstrous
bat. Once more he swung his rod high and smashed it against the back
of her mother’s head. She saw and heard her mother’s body thump against the
hollowed trunk of the lightning-struck tree and slump to the ground. The evil
man bent over her mother’s limp body and howled.
Suddenly, the girl felt arms encircle her waist, and she was swept away,
deeper into the forest. She sobbed and at first let herself be taken because she
had no strength. But then she became angry and started pushing against the
arms carrying her, trying to escape and run back to her mother. She wanted to
make her mother well, and then this nightmare would stop and they could go
away.

Hush now, child,” said a voice she recognized as that of her mother’s
closest friend. “The man cannot harm you, mijita, as long as you are with us.
We will make him think you are dead. But you must be very quiet. Ya no
llores,” the woman warned, raising a finger to her lips.

The woman then carried her into a dark cave illuminated by the light
of a single candle. The cave was frightening, with shadows of what appeared
to be goblins and demons dancing on the red sandstone walls. “I will return for
you soon. You will be safe here,” the woman said. The girl watched the woman
walk away, shivering as a breeze blew through the cave’s narrow passages.

Closing her eyes, she rocked back and forth—imagining herself safe in
her mother’s arms—then opened her eyes to the light of the full moon shining
through the mouth of the cave. The shadows on the walls were just shadows
now, no longer goblins and demons. As she slipped into a trance, images
flickered in her mind. She saw the woman who had brought her to this place
scattering pieces of raw meat around the open mesa where her mother had
struggled, helped by two other women the girl could not identify.

Suddenly, the scene shifted to a stone ledge jutting over the mesa, and
she heard the pounding footsteps of a man running toward the women. The girl
felt her heart race and her breathing quicken, afraid that the bad man would
spot them and kill them. Then the image shifted again, and she now saw on the
mesa three gray wolves circling the raw meat and the man walking away from

the granite ledge. As he left, she heard his thought: The child is dead.



Paul-DeBlassie-Long
     

Follow The Tour Here

   

Monday, December 16, 2013

The Man From 2063 by Jack Duffy Book Tour (Based On True Events)

Jack-Duffy-Banner-  


About The Author


Jack-Duffy-Thumb-18290_150x160He has spent the last 40 years researching the important facts surrounding the JFK assassination. This includes interviewing several key witnesses that were part of the assassination investigation. This also includes doctors who treated Kennedy at Parkland Hospital.



About The Book

Genre: Historical Fiction (Based On True Events)
Publisher: Tate Publishing
Release Date: September 4, 2012
ISBN: 978-1-62024-167-7
Soft cover, 274 pages, $20.99

Barrett Company Press Release THE MAN FROM 2063Book Description:

Who really killed President John F. Kennedy? Sean Zumwalt is about to find out. I knew it. I knew it, he repeated to himself. A conspiracy. But who had planned the murder? Was Lee Harvey Oswald even involved? If only one could go back in time and solve the mystery. I have to pursue this, he told himself. Someone has to find out the truth once and for all. On November 22, 2063 a new film finally proves a conspiracy was involved in the assassination of President John Fitzgerald Kennedy. Sean Zumwalt dares to go back in time to alter the course of world history and save JFK. But he soon finds that the truth is much more complicated than he ever could have imagined. Based on actual events and forty years of research, The Man From 2063 will take you through the folds of time and historical conspiracies, leaving you wondering 'What if?'


'Although I reject the premise of The Man from 2063, that Lee Harvey Oswald did not kill President John F. Kennedy and that there was a conspiracy in the assassination, from a purely fictional standpoint Jack Duffy has succeeded in writing a very clever and engrossing 'what if' story surrounding the events of November 22, 1963.'
- Vincent Bugliosi, author of Helter Skelter

Jack Duffy has interviewed many eyewitnesses including Marina Oswald and several of the Parkland physicians who treated JFK, in addition to many researchers who have written books on JFK's assassination. He received his B.A. in Political Science from Texas Tech University, his M.B.A. from Baylor University, and his J.D. from South Texas College of Law. He lives in Fort Worth, Texas, where he works as an attorney and has one of the largest private collections of material on the JFK assassination.  


Praise For The Man of 2063

"I loved the book and finished it in one sitting, then even read it a second time about a week later.My Cozie Corner

"The perfect book for anyone interested in the Kennedy assassination and cover-up" Phil Van Auken  


Excerpt:

 
CHAPTER 1 A STUNNING NEW FILM The flame stood out like a beacon of light in a sea of darkness. It was probably the most famous flame in the world, for it honored the grave of President John F. Kennedy. It was November 22, 2063, exactly one hundred years to the day since President Kennedy had been assassinated in Dallas, Texas. The grave of JFK was mobbed with tourists on that bright, sunny fall day, all eager to see the martyred president’s final resting place. One tourist had a small radio playing softly in the background. Suddenly, a news broadcast came on. The newsman said, “This is WADC with a special report from Dallas, Texas. The FBI reports that a young man who claims to be the great grandson of Samuel Brandon, one of the eyewitnesses to President Kennedy’s assassination a hundred years ago, brought in an eightmillimeter movie that he claims his great grandfather took of the shooting. The film, which has never been seen before, reportedly shows a second gunman firing from the grassy knoll. If this film is legitimate, it is the first known movie showing another gunman shooting at the motorcade. It would provide conclusive proof of a conspiracy to murder JFK. Mr. Brandon died mysteriously after he told the Dallas police and FBI that he had seen a gunman shoot at the president from the grassy knoll. More on this breaking story tonight at six. We now return to our regular programming.” The young man standing near the grave was stunned as he listened to the news report. At thirtysix, Sean Zumwalt was six feet tall and 180 pounds of lean muscle. A star athlete in college, he had been on the 2052 US Olympic team in volleyball that had won the gold medal. He had earned the Eagle Scout award at the age of fifteen and traveled all over the world, courtesy of his father, a retired colonel in the Air Force. He had graduated from MIT with a 3.95 GPA in physics and later earned both MBA and JD degrees from Harvard. He lived in Washington, DC and was lucky to be a partner in one of the most prestigious firms in that city. He had grown up in Fort Worth, Texas, and still considered it his home town. Both of his sisters lived in the Dallas-Fort Worth area, and he often flew down to visit them and their families. Every time he went back to Texas, he usually went to Dealey Plaza, where JFK was shot. The assassination both fascinated and troubled him with the unanswered questions over the years. Sean had purchased an exact replica of the infamous 6.5-mm Mannlicher-Carcano rifle allegedly used by Lee Harvey Oswald and considered it one of his prized possessions. The gun had cost him $5,000, and he had wanted it so badly that he offered the gun dealer ten times the actual value just to have it. Like most people who had hobbies, the JFK assassination was his full-time hobby, and had been for some time; he had been a JFK assassination researcher for the last twenty years. Even his close friends joked about how he spent all his time reading, collecting, and searching for items related to the assassination. He had amassed one of the largest private collections of books, videos, magazines, newspapers, and photos. He remembered his father laughing at the absurdity of the lone gunman theory. His grandfather had told him years earlier, “I guarantee you there was a conspiracy that killed JFK. No one could shoot that accurately at a moving target, unless they were an expert shot and the luckiest guy in the world. I ought to know. I am an experienced hunter, and neither I nor my Marine friends could ever come close to shooting like that. Oswald was a loner, a perfect patsy. Why else would Ruby have killed him two days later? Anyone can see that the Warren Commission was a fraud, a complete snow job.”Ever since that conversation, Sean had been obsessed with the crime of the century. He remembered his father telling him about the release of all the classified data on the assassination in 2039 and how the US government had made a big issue of the fact that none of the documentation proved a conspiracy had existed. It had all indicated that Lee Harvey Oswald was the only man involved. He thought about all the eyewitnesses who had mysteriously died following the assassination. Why would so many people die suspiciously unless there was a conspiracy? If a conspiracy had murdered all those people, then the only possible motive was to silence them.  He suddenly remembered the old proverb: three people can keep a secret if two are dead. It certainly made more sense than everything just being a coincidence. Coincidence could only be believed up to a certain point. Was it a coincidence that Oswald had been to the Soviet Union and married a Russian woman? Was it a coincidence that the motorcade route had been arranged to drive by the Texas School Book Depository? Was it a coincidence that JFK’s brain and other crucial medical evidence had vanished? Was it a coincidence that the assassination happened in Texas and a Texan just happened to take over? Was it a coincidence that over fifty eyewitnesses hear a shot from the grassy knoll? Everything about the assassination seemed to involve some type of coincidence. It was unbelievable, especially the magic bullet theory. To Sean, that was the biggest joke of all. How could the US government expect the American people to believe that a 6.5-mm bullet shattered bones in Governor Connally and came out almost totally undamaged?  His great-grandfather, Dr. Robert Zumwalt, had been in Parkland Hospital on the day of the assassination and had spoken with one of the trauma surgeons about the tragedy. The surgeon told Dr. Zumwalt that the fatal shot had been fired from in front of the limousine.  Sean remembered his grandfather telling him how the trauma surgeon had died shortly afterward from a supposedly self-inflicted gunshot would, another mysterious death surrounding the assassination.  Sean couldn’t stop hearing the words spoken by Oswald shortly after his arrest in Dallas: “I’m just a patsy!”  He h ad often wondered how the US and the world would be different had JFK lived.Sean was convinced there had been a conspiracy to murder the president. The only question was, Who had planned the murder-the mob, CIA, Castro, anti-Castro Cubans? The list of suspects seemed endless.What a travesty of justice, he thought. They killed the president and got away scot-free. If only he could go back in time and prevent the assassination. Keep dreaming, pal, he reminded himself.  Or was it a dream? He had read recently about a new institute outside Washington, D.C. that was experimenting with the possibility of time travel. It was known only as the ISE (Institute for Space Exploration) and was connected with NASA. He had seen the founder of the Institute, Dr. Karl Van Auken, on TV several months earlier, talking about time travel. Dr. Van Auken was a legend in the scientific community. He had won the Nobel Prize in 2050 for physics and research on space travel. He had earned his PhD at MIT and had written several books. A world-renowned physicist and scientist, he had just recently been given the Presidential Medal of Freedom Award by the president of the United States. The institute was categorized TS-1, or top secret level one, the highest security clearance any entity could be given, by the State Department. Its work was so secretive that only a handful of people knew exactly what type of research was going on. It was the twenty-first century version of the Manhattan Project. Sean pondered the possibility of meeting Dr. Van Auken to explore more about traveling back in time. He had a close friend, Vince Bartlett, an old law school buddy, whose father knew Dr. Van Auken. Perhaps Vince could find a way to introduce Sean to Dr. Van Auken.</ em> The possibility intrigued Sean. Even if a person did go back in time, no one would believe him when he started warning of an impending assassination. The FBI or Secret Service would probably arrest the individual and dismiss them as a nut case. The only possible way to convince anyone would be to take newspapers, books, videos, even the Zapruder film itself back in time. Surely no one could doubt that type of evidence. Even better would be to take pictures of JFK’s grave, the Warren Report, and a Kennedy half dollar back in time. The question he would have to answer is, Would he want to go back and live in 1963? Sean thought of the advances in 2063 that were never dreamed of in 1963. Cancer was cured in 2030, along with AIDS. Doctors could replace parts of the human brain with computer chips. The average life span was a hundred and thirty years due to all the great medical advances. The Page 5 greatest medical achievement was the cure for paralysis in 2040. Two American physicians and a British physician developed a vaccine that totally restored spinal cord injuries. People who had been restricted to a life in a wheelchair could walk again. Technology had advanced so far that automobiles were driven with computers instead of steering wheels. Sean still had his grandfather’s 2043 Lexus that was a dinosaur compared to cars of 2063. American society had become transformed totally from a century ago. The drug problem had been almost eradicated due to the implementation of two different currencies in 2020. One currency for inside the U.S. and one for outside the U.S. That had been the brainchild of a wellknown attorney, Rich Sherman, who had written a book detailing the ways to halt the drug problem. He had received death threats from drug lords but was still living in California. The greatest innovation for Americans had been the elimination of the IRS in 2044. Every individual who worked was taxed through a complex computer program. The computer system for each taxpayer had to be monitored by a CPA. That kept accountants in business. He kept thinking of time travel as he went home. He would do everything possible to meet Dr. Van Auken. While driving down the freeway, he called his father in Texas. “Hi, Dad. This is Sean. How are you doing?” Ken Zumwalt replied, “Doing fine, Sean. How was your day?” “Great, Dad. I’m calling to get your opinion on something I have been thinking of for a long time. What do you think about time travel?” His father hesitated for a few seconds and then replied, “Are you crazy? What are you talking about?” “I’m talking about traveling back a hundred years to the day before JFK was shot in Dallas. Would you do it if it could be done?” “Well, it can’t be done, so what’s the point of debating the issue?” “The point is, Dad, it might be possible after all.” “Sean, have you been feeling okay lately? I’m worried about you talking all this nonsense.” “Dad, just please listen to me. The ISE in Washington, DC has supposedly been experimenting with time travel for quite a while. There have been rumors that at least one man recently traveled thirty years back in time and came back successfully.” “Sean, to answer your question, no, I would not go back and live in the nineteen sixties, whether it was to save JFK or not. Look, I know he means a lot to you, but he’s gone. He’s history. He #Page 6 would not be worth risking your life over. If there was a conspiracy, what would keep them from killing you?” “Yeah, I’ve thought about it, and I’ve also thought about the fifty-eight thousand men who died in Vietnam because LBJ escalated the war. If JFK had lived, there might not have been a Vietnam War or Watergate. Just think how much different our country might be today if history had been changed.” “Sean, even if JFK had survived Dallas, he might have been shot somewhere else. He was a marked man because of the Bay of Pigs, Castro, the CIA, and the mob.” “I see your point, but it still bothers me that we don’t know the whole truth.” “Sean, you’re the only guy in the whole country who still cares about what happened to JFK. He’s dead like Lincoln, so forget about it.” “Sean, listen to me. For all we know, it was just Lee Harvey Oswald acting alone, no conspiracy. You could be wasting your time trying to expose a conspiracy that never existed. Move on to more important matters, like trying to find a girl to marry. Your mom and I would like some grandchildren before we die.” “Okay, Dad. I’ll just drop the whole thing.” “Fine, Sean. Believe whatever you want. We are never going to know the truth a hundred years after it happened. Anyone who might have been involved in that murder is dead. It’s like going back and trying to look for Nazi war criminals.” “Dad, I heard something on the radio today about a new eight-millimeter film that surfaced in Dallas. It reportedly shows a second gunman shooting at JFK from the grassy knoll. Do you realize this is the missing evidence that people have been waiting for? It conclusively proves a conspiracy.” “Sean, stop for a second and think about this. How come this film just happened to appear after a hundred years? This is probably a hoax. The person who has it probably faked it or had it made just to cash in on this conspiracy stuff. You don’t recall the forged Hitler diaries or the hoax with the Howard Hughes papers? Stuff like this happens all the time. People come forward with some new piece of evidence, and half the time, it is a complete fabrication. They are trying to make money off this tragedy.” “Perhaps, Dad, but I would like to see the film myself before I jump to conclusions. You know a lot of people had their film and photos confiscated right after the shooting and never got them back. Zapruder was lucky he got his film developed before someone could take it away from him.” “Well, son, it is getting close to dinnertime. I better let you go.”Page 7 “Okay, Dad. I love you. Tell Mom I love her too.” “I will. We love you, son. Bye.” Sean kept driving and thinking about the new film. It was almost 6:00 p.m. EST when he pulled into his new home in the suburbs of Washington, DC. He ran into the living room and turned on the TV. The 6:00 p.m. news was just starting, and Sharon Shannon, the local anchor for Channel 7, came on the air. God, what a babe, Sean thought to himself. “We begin tonight’s news with a stunning development on the hundredth anniversary of the assassination of President John F. Kennedy. Today, Alex Brandon, the great-grandson of Samuel Brandon, provided the Dallas FBI office with an eight-millimeter film showing the murder of President Kennedy. The film was made by Mr. Brandon’s great-grandfather at the moment the shots were fired at JFK. According to the FBI, the film clearly shows an assassin shooting from behind the picket fence on the infamous grassy knoll. Speculation is already swirling about the authenticity of the film. Mr. Brandon told the FBI that he found the film in a lockbox with a note written by his great-grandfather. The note said that Mr. Brandon feared for his life and the safety of his family if he turned the film over to the authorities. He decided to hide the film and left instructions that his heirs should have copies made and turn the original over to the FBI. We are going to show this fifteen-second film for the first time ever. Please be aware that it is a very graphic film showing the assassination of President Kennedy.” Sean turned on his cyber recorder and began recording the broadcast. The film was extremely clear. It showed the limousine coming down Elm Street. JFK started to react to a bullet hit. A second later he raised his hands to his throat. Approximately one second later, Governor Connally reacted to a bullet hitting him. Then a gunman fired from the grassy knoll and JFK’s head exploded backward and to the left. The gunman appeared to be dressed as a Secret Service agent. Sean sat, stunned. There it was the proof of a second gunman for the first time. Not only that, but this film showed JFK clearly reacting to a bullet hit at least two seconds before Governor Connally, disproving the single bullet theory. There had to be at least three gunmen shooting. Sean was angry. If Brandon had shown his film in 1963, the truth might have come out. Now it was too late. Sharon Shannon went on. “This new film is sure to reopen the JFK debate again on the hundredth anniversary. Now for the rest of today’s news.” I knew it. I knew it, he repeated to himself. A conspiracy. But who had planned the murder? Was Lee Harvey Oswald even involved? If only one could go back in time and solve the mystery. I have to pursue this, he told himself. Someone has to find out the truth.


Jack-Duffy-Banner-  

Follow The Tour Here