Chapter Three of "Cursed Presence"

     We are ten days away from the release of Cursed Presence and I am very excited for the launch. I have posted chapter three below and will post chapter four mid-week. Thank you for your patience and please let me know your thoughts on what you read.

J. M.

Chapter THREE

      Dr. Osgood took Jonas’ pulse and blood pressure, marking them in a notebook. Next, he took three vials of blood from his left arm. I’ll run a toxicology screen to see if any of the experimental drugs could have built to toxic levels. That would explain the psychotic episode.
     He walked to the lab bench on the opposite side of the room, unaware that Jonas awoke; first one eye opened, then the other.
     Fully awake, eyelids half open, Jonas scanned the room, making sure not to move a muscle. If security was watching, he appeared sedated.
     Jonas’ heart beat quickened as his vision locked on to Dr. Osgood. A hate unlike any he’d known built inside him. His teeth clenched and his heart pounded as if it were trying to breach the restraints of the rib-cage. Nothing was more important at this moment than to kill. It was the only way to satiate the hunger and the loathing.
     His muscles tensed in anticipation of attacking his prey when he was held back by an unseen force. Something strong and heavy pinned him to the table. Although he saw nothing, he felt it breathe; a hot, dank, foul odor. He felt the heat on his face.
     As the force moved closer, the smell made him want to vomit. Knowing he had lost the battle to get up, he gave in to the invisible force. As his body relaxed, the pungent odor made him feel euphoric. His nostrils flared as he inhaled more of the intoxicating scent.
     The being was so close that Jonas suspected he would be able to taste the spirit’s flesh if he stuck out his tongue. The euphoria spread throughout his body while, at the same time, the fury subsided.
     The spirit, his friend, spoke to him in such guttural tones, the words seemed to carry weight. Not yet, my son. Your time has not yet come. You must be patient.
     But when, my father?
     Before the sun rises in the east, you will be a free man. Free to do my bidding. Free to bring about a new reign of terror, one that will bring me out of the shadows and into the light. One that will bring hell to earth.
     Dr. Osgood, oblivious to what was going on, ran the blood samples through the computer in a process that separated the chemicals in Jonas’ blood. While he waited for the readout, he had the distinct feeling he was being watched.
     Turning to where Jonas lay, he could have sworn he had seen Jonas smile. Rubbing his temples, he thought, I need sleep. My mind is playing tricks on me.
     It was 4:00 a.m. Dr. Osgood was no closer to discovering the reason for Jonas’ peculiar behavior than three hours earlier. He’d run blood tests, CAT scans, EEGs and nerve conduction tests, all to no avail. All came back negative; dead center in the middle of the normal range.
     He was so tired he felt he could fall asleep standing up. He yawned as he walked over to the gurney. For what seemed like the millionth time, he took the inmate’s vitals and for the millionth time, they read normal. His pulse and blood pressure were so consistent it was spooky.
     Opening his notebook he wrote,
     The only significant findings at this time are: there are no significant findings. The patient’s pulse and blood pressure have not deviated one beat since I first took them. That strikes me as very odd.
     Placing the notebook on the lab bench, Dr. Osgood walked over to the overstuffed recliner used for hypnotherapy sessions. He massaged the back of his neck. I’ve got such a headache. I just need a little sleep, then I’m sure things will seem clearer. With that, he closed his eyes. Within seconds, he’d fallen into a deep sleep.
     At 4:55, Jonas felt the weight again on his chest. This time, inhaling the beast’s breath did not calm him, in fact, it had the opposite effect. Jonas felt anger build within him. He lay on the flat surface while his disgust for the world churned within. The beast moved close to Jonas’ face, so close that the air became thick and putrid.
     It’s time, my son, it moaned. It’s time you took your rightful place in the world as the son of the Dark One. Jonas felt his ‘father’s’ lips on his as it breathed into his mouth. The breath held the unmistakable smell and taste of death; decomposing flesh, but not human flesh. The smell was much more acrid, so subhuman in its qualities that it had an eternal essence.
     As the sour, fetid breath filled his lungs, Jonas felt it course through his bloodstream. The further it progressed through his body, the further his mind moved into the past. Every evil thing his aunt had ever done to him flashed through his mind. Memory-driven, intense hatred filled his heart to such an extent he had no doubt it was time to extract revenge on those who caused it to happen.
     As quick as the weight came, it was suddenly gone. Jonas’ eyes, fiery red, opened wide. His pupils dilated.
     In one swift move, Jonas leapt. In an instant he was at the doctor’s side. Though he wanted him to feel the pain and torture he had known, he knew there was little time.

     Jonas glanced at the clock: 5:02 a.m. He had to move fast. He had a ten-minute window, from 5:00 a.m. to 5:10 a.m., when the security cameras were disabled to accommodate a computer backup.
     Unzipping his jumpsuit, Jonas stepped out of it and immediately removed Osgood’s clothes. He slipped into the doctor’s scrubs. Next he put his prison jumpsuit on the dead body, feet first, up to the doctor’s hips. 5:05.
     He allowed the body to fall back into the chair. At the lab bench, he grabbed a Bunsen burner and sparked the flame to life. Returning to the body, he burned symbols into the doctor’s chest. He tossed the burner back onto the bench. Time was in short supply. He lifted the doctor’s body off the chair, pulled the jumpsuit up over the lifeless torso, fed the arms into the sleeves and zipped up the back.
     Jonas carried the body fireman-style to the gurney. He arranged it in the same position he’d been in minutes earlier, making sure to turn the face away from the security camera.
     As he finished, the security camera came back to life. The security officer thought Dr. Osgood was struggling with the inmate.
     “Everything okay, Doc?”
     “Just fine,” Jonas replied in a dead-on imitation of the doctor’s voice. “I’m attempting to make the patient more comfortable. After I write a few more notes, I’ll leave for town, to the county hospital. I need to run more expansive blood tests. Send someone in ten minutes to escort me off the grounds, please.”
      “Sure thing. Ten minutes.”
     Jonas placed the straightjacket and shackles on the body, making certain his face was turned away from the camera. Then he tore a piece of paper out of Dr. Osgood’s notebook, scribbled a note, and tucked it inside the straightjacket.
     Finished, he walked to the lab bench. Pretending to trip, he smashed his nose on the top of the table, and caught the attention of the security guard.
     “Doc, are you okay? Are you hurt? Should I call one of the nurses for you?”
     Pulling himself up, Jonas moaned. He covered his face with his hands. Blood ran through his fingers. He grabbed a towel to cover his face and stop the bleeding.
     “No, but I may have broken my nose. Please send the guard now. I’ll have it looked at while I’m at the county hospital.”
     “He’s on his way.”
     Thirty seconds later, the door swung open. In walked Mickey.“Whoa, security wasn’t kidding when they said you busted your nose. Let me take a look.” As he reached for the towel, Jonas jerked away.
     “It’ll be all right,” he said. “The bleeding has just about stopped. If I remove the pressure, it may start again.”
     “You’re the doctor, I guess you know what you’re doing. How about I get you outta here and onto that bus?”
     “Perfect. That would be great.”
     On their way out of the room, the guard glanced at the body lying on the table. His head partially covered and turned toward the wall.
     “How’s our boy?”
     “Resting comfortably. I placed the jacket back on him for safety. He’ll be out for another five or six hours. I’ll be back before then, so I don’t want anyone disturbing him.”
     “No problem there. I want to stay as far away from that one as possible. Besides, I’m punching out myself as soon as I walk you to the surface. I’ll pass on your message to the next shift.”
     The two men walked out of the infirmary and headed down the hall to the elevator. They were six stories under the earth’s surface. The ride took a full minute to bring them to ground level.
     During the ride, the guard couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right.
     When he stepped out of the elevator, Jonas said, “I should be back around 9:30 or 10:00, depending on the bus schedule.”
     Bus schedule, Mickey thought, there is no bus schedule. It picks up on demand. Slowly, he brought his hand down to his gun belt and yelled, “Prisoner 54112, put your hands above your head and turn around slowly.”
     Jonas did just as he was told and dropped the towel. He abandoned using the doctor’s voice, choosing to speak in the same guttural tone he used earlier. “Not a good idea, Mickey.”
     With a speed and dexterity, cat-like in nature, Jonas brought his leg up, kneeing the guard in the groin. The force of impact caused Mickey to drop the gun. He doubled over in pain.
     Quickly, Jonas used the opportunity to reach for Mickey’s head. In one fluid movement, he snapped the guard’s neck, killing him instantly. Jonas quickly covered Mickey’s mouth with his own and inhaled deeply. The guard’s spirit satiated Jonas’ hunger for death. Once Mickey’s spirit was completely captured within Jonas’ demonic state, he dropped the body on the elevator floor.
     The hour, still early, the lobby of Dreamland was empty. Jonas carried and deposited Mickey’s lifeless form in the stairwell. Whether it from his added strength or from the loss of the guard’s soul, the body seemed lighter than he expected. Jonas liked the way it felt and he hungered for more. Exiting Dreamland, Jonas saw the sun make its rise over the horizon and he remembered what the Dark One had told him.
     “Before the sun rises again in the east, you’ll be a free man.”

(Chapter Four Wednesday)

Cursed Presence: Chapter Two

There really isn't much to say. You will find chapter two of Cursed Presence below. It will be published on January 31, 2012 in both e-book and print. Look for it everywhere. As a special promotion for the upcoming launch the publisher had discounted Cursed Blessing. It is now available in all e-book formats for only $.99. It will only stay that low for a short time so please take advantage of it.

Chapter TWO

      Later that evening, long after lights out, he heard his ‘father’s’ voice. Deep and guttural.

Tonight is the night, my son. It is the night you begin your ascent to the seat of honor. Prepare yourself.

     Still asleep, his muscles began to involuntarily contract. First, a slight tremor coursed through his body. Then his limbs twitched. His hands and feet followed, jerking up and down in quick, sudden movements. Fully awake, the twitching grew more exaggerated. Soon the spasmodic movement contained itself to his torso, it quaked with such force the security officers were afraid he would injure himself. Soon, he convulsed to such an extent that his entire body rose above the bed before crashing back down.
      An officer grabbed the in-house phone and dialed #001. “Doc, you better come see this.” No response. He pushed the panic button that rang in Dr. Osgood’s residence and summoned the guards.
      “Doc,” security screamed, “there’s something wrong with 54112. Looks like he’s having seizures.”
      Dr. Osgood threw off his bed covers and grabbed the phone. “On my way. Nobody is to enter the cell until I get there, understood?”
      “Yes, sir, I’ll relay that message.” He turned his attention to the intercom. “All personnel are to stand down, I repeat, stand down. No one is to enter cell 54112 without Dr. Osgood’s permission. This is a direct order.”
     The thrashing settled into a rhythmic movement, the muscle twitching took on a certain cadence. Standing in his cell, he stared directly at the security camera. Following each contraction or thrust, a non-intelligible noise emanated from his throat. The more he screamed and convulsed, the more non-human he appeared. His mouth foamed and his eyes rolled. His mouth and eyes were as white as the rest of his room.
     Dr. Osgood stormed into the observation room. Without addressing the security guard, his eyes locked on the screen.
      “What’s going on, Doc?”
      He looked away from the live feed long enough to answer. “I can’t be sure. I think he may be having some sort of physiological reaction to the major breakthrough that occurred in yesterday’s treatment session. He must be restrained before he self-mutilates.” Osgood  bit the corner of his lower lip in concern. He may be having an adverse reaction to the drastic increase in the psychotropic drug dosage I administered.
     The guard took immediate action and depressed the intercom button. “Attention, we have a Code One in cell 54112. Restrain the inmate and wait for further orders from Dr. Osgood.”
     Osgood left the observation room, and ran down the hall toward the incarceration wing. By the time he arrived, the inmate had already been placed in a straightjacket. The restraint however, did nothing to stop the convulsions, nor did it stop the screaming.
     When the doctor looked at the inmate, he swore the man was telling him something, but all he heard was verbal chant that was neither intelligible nor communicative. The doctor was so concerned with the quality of the voice, he didn’t pay attention to the words or utterances. He was accustomed to the man’s non-emotional, high-pitched, effeminate voice. This voice was base and guttural. It was though someone else’s voice was coming from his patient’s mouth.
     “We’ll have to sedate him,” Doctor Osgood said, pulling a syringe from his lab coat pocket. “Hold him down.”
      The guards grabbed the inmate. With every ounce of their strength, they pinned the already-restrained inmate to his bed. Dr. Osgood injected a fast-acting sedative. The effect was almost immediate.
     “Get a gurney and transport him to the medical wing. There, I’ll be able to run some tests.”
     The prisoner was lifted from bed to gurney where he was strapped down and shackled for safety. The guards wheeled him to the psych ward, or ‘laboratory,’ as they called it, the same area they had retrieved a calm, well-mannered prisoner seven hours earlier.
     The doctor, the only person with keys to this area of Dreamland, ran ahead to unlock the doors to the medical facility. By the time the guards arrived with the inmate, he was busy filling another syringe with two more medications.
     “What’s that, Doc?”
     “A long-lasting sedative. Roll him on his side, please.”
     As they followed the doctor’s orders, 54112 awoke and immediately began screaming and thrashing. Angrier and harsher than before.
     “My God, hold him down before he hurts himself!”
     “We’re trying,” the first guard yelled. “It’s not him we’re worried about.”
     Struggling to hold him still, the other guard yelled, “You’d better be quick with that needle.”
     Dr. Osgood drove the two-inch needle deep into 54112’s hip.
     “Argh,” the inmate screamed as the needle penetrated his muscle. Doctor Osgood depressed the plunger, releasing the medication into the man’s bloodstream. Within seconds the fight left him. He lay still and quiet as a corpse.
     “Is he dead?”
     “No, but he’ll be dead to the world for about twelve hours. You can let go of him.”
     With hesitation, the guards released prisoner #54112, half expecting him to wake up and start his wild movements again. They stepped back and took a deep breath, relieved their fears hadn’t come to fruition.
     “Excuse me, Doc,” Mickey said, “but if you don’t need us anymore, we need to report back to our posts.”
     “Hmm?” Dr. Osgood’s mind was elsewhere.
     “Doc?”
     “Hmm, yes, I apologize. You’re dismissed. Thank you both for your quick response.”
     “That’s what you pay us for,” Mickey said. He looked at the unconscious inmate, “Are you sure he’s not gonna wake up soon?”
     “Highly unlikely. Jonas…” his voice trailed, knowing he had made a mistake. Dr. Osgood hesitated for a second, waiting to see if either guard reacted to what he had let slip. When they didn’t, he continued, “Inmate 54112 will be out for at least twelve hours because of the sedatives he just received.”
     As the guards turned to leave, the doctor said, “One more thing. Please remove the restraints so that I’m able to perform the medical tests I need.”
     They looked at each other, disbelief on their faces, then at Dr. Osgood. “Doc, that’s not a good idea,” the second guard said. “You saw how violent he became, even after you gave him that first shot.”
     “Jim, I appreciate your concern, but I know what I’m doing. Please remove the inmate’s restraints.”
     Jim looked at his partner and shrugged. “The Doc’s in charge, Mickey. Let’s do as he says.”
     “Whatever. Let’s just get it over with and get out of here. This place gives me the creeps.”
     Once they’d removed the straightjacket, Jim said, “I’m gonna leave the jacket here, just in case. If he stirs, hit the panic button. We’ll be right back.”
     “Thank you. You’re dismissed.”
     On the walk back to their posts, Jim said, “Hey, Mickey, did you hear what he called him?”
     “Yeah, sure did,” Mickey replied in a muffled tone. “He called him Jonas. That psycho really is the Omega Butcher. I never would have believed it.”
     “Me neither. He’s so small. He looks almost like a boy, ya know?”
      “Yup, I was thinking the same thing. Where the heck did all his strength come from?”
      “I don’t know, but we now know how he was able to overpower those poor girls.”

Welocome to 2012: The year of new beginnings

Hi everyone,

It was a crazy ending of 2011 and for that matter the beginning of 2012. For those of you who don't know, I have had multiple hip prosthesis' in both hips. I developed a massive bone infection in my left hip and had to have emergency radical surgery on December 20th. They removed my left hip implant and all other hardware that had been implanted over the past ten years and left me without a hip. Yep, no hip. Who ever thought a person could actually walk and get around without the top part of the femur and a hip. It has been a tough recovery; one I'm still struggling with, but each day is better than the one before. I would like to thank everyone for your prayers, emails and get well wishes. I don't think I could have endured this past three weeks without them...God bless all of you.

Enough melancholy. It is time to celebrate the new year. And what better way to celebrate than with a new book. The long awaited sequel to "Cursed Blessing" is being released on January 31, 2012. I loved writing Cursed Presence and I'm very proud of the final edit. It took a while. We carved the original 600 plus pages down to a tight, spellbinding 400ish. I don't mean to sound conceited, but I think this one is much better than the first.

We received great critical acclaim for Cursed Blessing, so I am hoping for the same for Cursed Presence.
Since I didn't want everyone to have to wait until the 31st to get a glimpse of the sequel, I am going to start to put the first few chapters on the blog site to help wet your appetite. PLEASE let me know what you think. Your opinion means everything! Enjoy chapter one.

God bless and until next week,

J. M.

Chapter One

     “On the count of three, you’ll awaken. You’ll have no memory of anything that  has happened. You’ll feel tranquil, as though you’ve taken a long peaceful nap. One, two,
three…”
      Though the words were distant, he heard them deep in the recesses of his mind. Cognizant of their meaning.
      On “three” the inmate awoke and scanned. His gaze sharp enough to cut glass. He knew where he was. The room brought an awkward peace.
      When he spoke, his voice was feminine and sounding preadolescent. “How did I do, Doc? Was I able to tell you anything new? Did I remember anything about my childhood?”
      Two feet away, sat Dr. Osgood. Amazing, he thought, nothing like the psychopathic serial killer who first appeared at Dreamland seven years ago.
      The prisoner had arrived shortly after Dr. Osgood opened the Dreamland penitentiary and research center. It could be argued that the facility was built because of him.
      “That’s not important,” the doctor answered, “You’re doing great, you’re getting healthier and your mind is healing. I’m proud of you.”
      The young man sat up, his eyes darted about the room at all times. The greenery of the plants and the pastel walls helped him focus.
     “How do you feel?” Dr. Osgood asked.
      Hands on his knees, kicking his feet back and forth like a child, his eyes fixed on the doctor’s. “Kind of like I took a long nap. But I’m not groggy or nothing. Know what I mean?”
     The doctor’s mouth turned upward in a friendly, relaxed manner. “I do,” he answered, “that’s the way you should feel.”
     Inmate 54112 bit the inside of his upper lip. His thoughts cut deeper. I’ve grown to like the guy, it’s too bad I have to…a knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.
     A cold, abrupt voice rang out, “Time’s up, doc. I have to take the inmate back to his cell.”
     “Sorry, son, but we’re out of time for today. We’ll pick back up tomorrow in our next session.”
     Two heavily-muscled men walked in. As they moved towards him, the inmate instinctively stood up and held his hands straight out in front of his body, as he’d been taught. The first guard cuffed his wrists and tightly held onto him while the second guard bent down to shackle his ankles.
      A chain fastened to the leg irons was brought up between his legs and attached to a waist chain. It was drawn through an extended link on the handcuffs and pulled down, drawing his hands into his body, and again fastened to the shackles.
      “Let’s move,” the guard said. The prisoner shuffled his feet and moved towards the open door.
      Dr. Osgood looked up from his notes, “Until tomorrow.” 
      Not allowed to speak, 54112 nodded an affirmative and kept walking. The distance from the doctor’s office to the inmate’s cell was a short one, but it took several minutes to navigate because of the confining chains.
      The guards, posted on either side of the prisoner, continued down the hall. “Are you sure this is the guy?” Jim, the guard on the left asked.
      “That’s the scuttlebutt. Hard to believe, isn’t it?” Mickey, the other guard replied.
      “I’d say. This guy’s what, five-foot-five, maybe six? And weighs about a buck forty. I’m surprised he’d have enough strength to overpower those girls, not to mention what he did to them.”
      The first guard turned and looked at the inmate. Goosebumps covered his forearms, as if in warning. “I don’t know, Jim, if you think about it, the timing’s right. He got here at the end of 2001, just about the same time the Omega Butcher was convicted.”
      Jim shook his head. “I know, but it’s still hard to believe.”
      “Yeah, well—if it’s him, he’s gonna fry for those atrocities as soon as Dr. Frankenstein finishes playing with him.”
      The inmate sucked his lower lip and bit down trying to abate his aggression. I’ll show you how I did it, he silently promised. I’ll tear the two of you to shreds before you ever have a chance to pull your weapons.
      Seething with anger, he heard a calming voice somewhere in the recesses of his mind.
      Easy, my son. It’s not yet your time.
      His heartbeat slowed as he listened to the voice. The voice he now considered a friend. A friend who’d kept him from going crazy shortly after he arrived at Dreamland.
      Seven years ago he had questioned the voice’s identity, and was told, I am the one; the ruler of all that is of this world and all that will ever be, and you are my chosen, my son.
      If I’m asked who sent me, whom shall I say? the inmate pressed.
     Tell them the Dark One sent you. The one who lurks from within the shadows of men’s souls sent you and that you are my chosen.
     One of the guards walked ahead as they approached the prisoner’s cell and unlocked the door. Mickey, the second guard walked 54112 straight through without delay. Once inside the small cell, the guards removed the chain, shackles and cuffs in reverse order. The prisoner put his hands down by his sides and remained at attention until he heard the door shut and the tumblers lock.
     His shoulders dropped as he expelled a relaxing breath. Here, in his nine-by-nine square foot home, he felt secure. He looked around. Everything was white: white walls, white linoleum floor, white metal-framed twin-sized bed, and crisp, white linens. A commode and sink, also white, sat in the back left corner opposite his bed.
     He, like other Dreamland inmates, had running water twice a day, between six and six-ten in the morning, and again between eight-fifty and nine in the evening. During that time, inmates brushed their teeth and took a quick sponge bath. There were no showers.
     Truth be told, the cell reminded him of the only other place he had ever felt secure, his bedroom where he grew up.
     If he was nothing else, the prisoner was a man of patterns. He kept a mental schedule of how and when things were to be done and he followed the schedule to a tee. He permitted himself no variations, a system familiar to him from earliest memories.
     A cold sweat began to form as he thought back to that fateful day. He could still hear his mother screaming in pain as she lay in the fetal position on the kitchen floor. The salty sweat burned his eyes as he remembered waiting outside the operating room. Bile bubbled in his throat at the memory of the surgeon walking down the hall, head down, not wanting to make eye contact with him.
     His last memory of that day was throwing up on the shoes of the woman from Child Services.
     His mother passed away from a burst appendix and subsequent infection. He had no father, at least none he knew of. He was sent to live with his Aunt Peg. She was his mother’s older sister, his only living relative. She had agreed to take him in only when she learned the state would pay her to keep him.
     Following his mother’s funeral, Aunt Peg took him by the hand and they walked silently to her car.
     When they arrived home, she grabbed the visibly distraught boy by the shouldersand shook him. Fear swept over him as he looked into eyes that held no love. Evil was all he saw. Evil eyes set in a sharp, angular face. The boy often wondered if her face would crack if she smiled. It was a theory he was never able to prove or disprove in the thirteen years he lived with her.
     “There will be no more crying, boy,” she shrieked.
      She shoved him into her three-story Beacon Hill walk up, as she continued her ‘get to know you’ rant. “Things are done differently around here. Everything is done on a schedule. If you’re late, you’ll be punished. If you’re late for a meal, you don’t eat until the next scheduled meal and you’ll be punished. There will be no sparing the rod in this house.”
     The mere thought of Aunt Peg caused the inmate to shake uncontrollably. Time and schedule had been burned into his being, figuratively and literally.
     The clock above the door of his cell read 4:29 p.m. Dinnertime was 5:00.  It was time to pray, a rigid practice he’d held to since the day he moved in with his aunt. 54112 knelt in the middle of the floor. He knew he was being watched by security officers. They assumed the inmate was praying to God.

Ho, Ho, Ho

I walked into Barnes and Noble the other day and on their "featured" table was the new novel by the Kardashian sisters. The bile started to peculate, but with great concentration and a strong constitution I was able to hold it down. I turned around and walked out of the store. I promised myself I wouldn't write this blog until my emotions calmed down, although I don't think time has changed my opinion at all.

I didn't think the publishing industry could sink any lower than when Snooky "wrote" a book, but I guess I was wrong. We, all of us who are somehow connected to the publishing industry should be ashamed.

We can look at this in two ways. The first is that money and greed have overtaken the industry. The other is that publishers put out this garbage knowing that there are people foolish enough to buy it in order to have the funding to support new, lesser known writers who might not get a chance otherwise. I hope their reasoning is the latter, but...

I think what amazes me the most is that people will pay good money to buy this junk and worse, they actually think these airheads write these books. Think again. You need to be able to spell and put a sentence together in order to be able to write. Not to mention, having talent. Believe it or not, whining and showing cleavage is not a talent.

Purchasing a book for a loved one is a great gift to give during the holidays. It is something they will always cherish. If you do, please look at the new and upcoming authors and give them a chance. I know you'll be happy for that choice. Whatever your choice, even if it is trash written by trash, at least someone is reading, and that is always a good thing.

Merry Christmas,

J. M.

Halloween: One Christian's Opinion

     It's that time of the year again. A time for children of all ages to dress up and either go trick or treating or to a party or maybe both.

     For those of you who may not know, I am a Christian. That word brings with it many positive and negative connotations. For me, personally, it means that I believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, was born a man and led a life that was to be an example to all of us as to how we are to lead our lives. I also believe that he died willingly, not because the Jews or Romans were responsible. He died in order that our sins which kept us from having a relationship with God would die with him. I further believe that he rose from the dead, sinless, just as we will someday when we are born into the kingdom of heaven.

     Don't leave me yet. There is a reason for all this "religious" stuff, and I promise to get to the point. I have found the growing trend that Christians will not use the term Halloween, nor will they let their children partake in the traditions of the holiday. Instead they have a Fall Festival, where their kids still dress up and still get candy, it's just not Halloween. "Huh?" I'm I missing something?

     From my time in many Christian churches, I have found that Christians have come to believe that Halloween is Satan's day. A day that is high on the Wiccan calendar. A day when human sacrifice occurs. This made me do a little research into the roots of Halloween. I don't want to bore you with all the facts, but I do think a few are necessary. Halloween's origins date back over 2000 years ago to the Celtic festival of Samhain, which was held on October 31, the day before the New Year, November 1. This day marked the end of summer and the harvest and ushered in the cold dark winter, a time known for its many deaths
.
     The Celts believed that on the night before the New Year the boundaries between life and death were blurred and that the ghosts of the dead came back to life. To ward off the ghosts, the Druids or Celts would wear costumes of animal heads and skins and light bonfires. Let's jump ahead...Pope Gregory III (731-741) moved the observance of all Saints and Martyrs from May 31 to November 1 to coincide with the Celtic festival whom many were now Catholic. All Saints Day was celebrated similarly to Samhain, with bonfires, parades and dressing up in costume, especially, saints, angels, and devils. All Saints Day was also know as All Hallomas (from Middle English alhalomesse, meaning All Saint's Day) and the night before it, the traditional night of Samhain, began to be called All Hallows Eve and eventually Halloween.

     Moving ahead to the second half of the Nineteenth Century when there was a great European immigration into the United States, the Irish and English traditions came with the people. Americans began dressing up in costumes and going door to door asking for food or money. This tradition eventually became "trick or treat".

     So, getting back to the subject of this post. In my research of the true holiday, I did not find Satanism, nor any holiday in the Wiccan religious calender. I am not saying that I may not have missed something, but the point is, today Halloween is just a day when children of all ages can play dress up and pretend to be something or someone they are not and have a little fun for a few hours. Don't we all need a little escapism?

     If we as Christians want Christmas called "Christmas" and not a "Winter Holiday" then don't we have to bestow the same attitude on those holidays that we may or may not agree with?

     Christ told us to treat everyone as He has treated us. Just a thought.

     Happy Halloween,

     J.M.

GUEST BLOG BY STEPHANIE CAMPBELL

As I promised over the weekend, I have the pleasure of introducing you to a great young author, Ms. Stephanie Campbell.

A Guide to Dreams—and Why the Bigger the BetterBy Stephanie Campbell

I’m a young writer, only twenty, and ever since I was twelve years old, I have wanted to be a writer. I see myself in the limelight, waving “hello” at the camera on the Today Show and posing sexily for the New York Times. When I was younger, people called me crazy constantly, even my own friends.

At the time, I had been hurt and embarrassed and learned to keep my big dreams to myself, but I never gave up on them. I wrote everyday, no matter what. My friends would go off to parties and I would reject invitations, writing at my computer. Once again, I was crazy.

I wrote my first book, six hundred pages worth, at the age of sixteen and sent query letter after query letter. I got enough rejections to wallpaper my room with. I cried a lot. It was a very painful experience, and sometimes I wonder how my soft adolescent heart ever got through it.

When I was seventeen, I published my first novel, Until We Meet Again. I got my first copy just in time for graduation. I was proud of that book, editorial mistakes and all.

Fast forward time three years and you get where I am now. I have yet to stand on the set of the Today Show and I’ve never even been to New York, but I am a lot farther today than I was then. I have many publishers, over six books in production in the next couple of months alone, and I am in the middle of interning with a publisher so I can start my own publishing house.

Nobody calls me crazy anymore.

Maybe I’ll never get my big dreams, but I will never give up on them no matter what. My dreams taught me how to live. I grew stronger with every rejection, I learned the meaning of the word persistence after the first hundred query letters, and I give one hundred and ten percent every single day.

Dreaming isn’t a crime. It doesn’t matter if you want to be a burger flipper or a rock star. The biggest stars in the world started as a regular human being. The bigger the dreams the better, because they teach you how to live.

You can find my guest blog on her site at http://writersos.blogspot.com/2011/10/guest-blogger-jm-leduc.html 

Seasons

     In the past week, I have sensed the change of seasons starting to happen. Living in South Florida, this can sometimes be a subtle change. There is no changing of the color of the leaves. The mornings aren't brisk. Clothing doesn't change; well not for most of us. More on that in a moment. No, the changes aren't that overt. I wish they were. As a male member of our species, I don't do well with subtle. It takes us a while to catch on.
     That being said, I have sensed the changes that go along with summer morphing into fall. The temperature has dropped from 90 to a cool 85. The meteorologists have lost some of their zeal for putting the word tropical in front of every breeze that blows or rain drop that falls. We used to have showers or thunder storms, now we have tropical disturbances. Sorry about that. Where was I? Oh yeah...changes in the seasons. Other signs that fall is here can be seen in the stores. The Halloween costumes are on display next to the Christmas decorations. Is there really any doubt why more 'sane' people seem to go postal as the holidays approach? By the time December 25th has finally arrived, the sensationalism and commercialism of Christmas has been shoved down our throats for so long, that one more version of "I Wish You a Merry Christmas" or "My Grandma Got Ran Over By a Reindeer" could turn anyone into a raging wacko.
     Sorry, there I go again. Back to the signs of fall. One of the biggest signs that the seasons have changed is that the humidity is no longer 90 percent or above and finally the biggest sign in South Florida that the fall has arrived...the elderly have multiplied and they are wearing jackets, hats and gloves because the temperatures have dipped below 90... brrr!
     Now that I have gotten that off my chest, I have some exciting news. On this coming Wednesday, you will find a guest blog from a very talented young author on "Phantom Phrases." So please check the blog on the 19th or soon after to learn more about Stephanie Campbell.