Magic, Belief, and the Art of the Elevator Pitch

I was doing a book sale/signing last weekend with a group of local authors I know. We were one table among a myriad other vendors selling their wares. I’m not really one for talking about myself but I did grow up with a few performers in the family and understand the necessity of hawking one’s wares. So I talked to people and did point out the books we had for sale. But then somebody asked me what my books were about and suddenly I sounded like Maimonides attempting to describe God. All I was able to say is what my books weren’t. Yes, my books involved magicians, but they weren’t the kind that waved their wand and turned people into animals. I mean, they’re stage magicians, but they don’t have supernatural powers. Well, they sort of do have supernatural powers but not the typical kind of powers. I mean they can see into the future or talk to the dead, sort of, but it’s not from saying hocus pocus and gazing into a crystal ball…well, not exactly.

And I could see in the eyes of my potential customers that the light had faded and they soon walked on towards other booths. I had failed to make a connection. And instead of getting to the root of why I had failed to make a connection, I closed the chapter in my mind and started thinking about something else. You see, when things become uncomfortable, when questions arise which cause us to question our reality, we humans often have a tendency to change the subject or look the other way. We become comfortable in the world we have fashioned for ourselves even if it is not helpful to us.

Fortunately, my fellow author, Tara Meissner (this isn’t a plug, but buy her book Stress Fracture) told me something like “you don’t have an elevator pitch. They were looking at your books and you couldn’t even tell them what they were about. Why would someone buy your book when you can’t even explain what it’s about?” At which point that trigger response in me wanted to reply something like “It’s art, baby, don’t even try to categorize it. Don’t label me, because labels are limits.” Fortunately before I could say anything stupid like that, she followed it up with something like “It comes off as kind of arrogant”.

Aw, cut to the quick. And I knew she was just being honest. More than that, she was right. She tried to beg off it a bit as though she thought I might be offended but I knew just what she was talking about and agreed with her a hundred percent. Of course, we all need others to point out the obvious from time to time, especially us authors or, dare I say it, artists. See, as an author, I see the picture as it exists in my mind, as it should be, rather than as I have actually put it down into words. A writer first has to conceive of an idea, and then put it into words. If you cannot put it into words so that others can share what you have conceived, then you are not a writer but a dreamer. Which is totally cool, too. The world needs more dreamers, they are beautiful people. It’s only bad when you are a dreamer who thinks he is a writer, then you are a delusional dreamer. So in order to be a writer you have to express the ideas you have given birth to. You have to awaken those same ideas in the minds of others that you yourself have experienced. And if you aren’t able to tell people why they should read your books then you are doing a poor job of it.

It’s just that I’m a writer, not an advertising agent: on that I am firm. For me it is the writing and not the sales that must always be my motivator. I hate the term “elevator pitch” because it suggests to me some sleazy self-important climber sucking up to a superior or a client in whatever manner is necessary. And that’s what I’ve spent a lifetime avoiding being. I have to place honesty above all other considerations.

Okay, but I should be able to explain what I do honestly, shouldn’t I? Below is one attempt to do so. It might sound a little pompous, or arrogant. It might sound grandiose. I guess I’ll have to risk it. Perhaps it is not merely misrepresenting myself but having people see me too clearly that I fear.

I write about real magic. I write about what is left after you get rid of all the illusions. And the world is full of illusions. We never really are able to cut our way through the illusions. But magic is the belief that there is something beyond the illusions, that in smashing through the simplistic answers we more closely approach the reality, though we may never see it fully. To disbelieve in magic is to believe that there is nothing more than illusions, that beyond them there is simply nothing. Ultimately, neither answer will have definitive proof. Ultimately it is a choice, the choice of limiting ourselves or giving ourselves up to an unseen and invisible something that turns mundane existence into a miracle. We create magic within our souls, by choosing to believe, by opening ourselves up to something beyond what we are presently aware of.

Perhaps it is a decision to believe in God. Or at least just believe, believe in something even if I cannot express in words what exactly it is that I believe in. Life after all is not about living the life that we can understand but the life we can briefly catch a glimpse of. It is being humble in order to grasp the vastness of the universe we exist in. And it is having faith in that universe. It is believing you are a part of that universe, and it and you have a common goal/destiny, potential for harmony. It is believing that the division between you and the outside world is an artificial distinction we draw because we have not yet pierced the veil of illusions to reach what lies beyond.

I guess I have not worked it down to an elevator pitch yet. In time I’m sure I can winnow that down to a couple of sentences in order to give people an idea of what it is I write. Until then I’m afraid I’ll be staring at the walls of the elevator anytime someone else enters.

Bonus Material: Scraps From The Cutting Room Floor (Part 2)

Once again I give you snippets I had intended for inclusion in one of my novels that ended up never finding a home. I think the words are worth reading, they just didn’t go with the décor, so to speak:

Much of our intelligence lies outside of ourselves. Much of what guides us is external wisdom. We intuit it, become attuned to it. We allow it, unconsciously, to guide us. Were we conscious of it, we would reject it as irrational.

To be a part of the whole is to be yourself. Any compromise is to fit into something that is less than the whole.

By the time you’ve heard of a new scientific theory it has probably already had practical applications developed by the military and the propaganda machine.

There are scientific principles that dictate the rise and fall of paradigms, tipping points that overcome civilizations.

The moment of the leap, between the trenches in which we do most of our living, is the epitome of freedom and fear, the edge of insanity.

God created millions of stars to awe us, but we watch big screen TVs instead.

We must deny the opinions of the past or we could not stand what we have become.

The pain of existence is the pain of a piece of a puzzle that doesn’t know where it fits.

The group mind pushes on regardless of the individuals that compose it.

They take the genius of the mind and use it to sell toilette paper, just as they take rhino horns to sell as aphrodisiacs.

At the root of it all is small little men who want to be bigger. So they play with powers beyond their understanding as if they were mere toys.

“A few individuals can swing a herd.”

“Do we have the right to do that?”

“It is already being done, and not by people who have the herd’s best interests in mind.”

Even as they witnessed this the view began to fade. The knowledge faded from her consciousness, but she knew it still resided in the shared subconscious of humanity.

People seek to amuse themselves with distractions their whole life, spinning wheels so they never have to venture beyond the box they were born in, never have to be more than an animal.

For a thinker, discovering a new paradigm is like a miner discovering a vein.

The only energy is life, and the misdirection of it is the only power evil has.

We are defined by fear. Fear limits us, gives us boundaries. The less we are limited by fear, the greater we become, the less we are defined. The ALL is limitless.

Where is God when there is no mystery left?

People have sought to cover over the things they cannot understand, in the same manner that they buried the wilderness under concrete, sought to explain away their primal fears.

Lastly, here are some attempts at song lyrics from The Amazing Morse. I originally was intending to use the lyrics from George Harrison’s Beware of Darkness, but when I decided to self-publish rather than look for a publisher, I didn’t want to deal with copyright issues. For a time I did a mad scramble, trying to get the permission for lyrics from several different less well-known groups and while I waited I attempted to make some up on my own. I was fortunate enough to get the permission of Neil Morse and Radiant Records to use the lyrics of Duel With The Devil from Transatlantic, so I didn’t have to work with any of these.

In the dark I see

Lies my destiny

In a cage lies my freedom.

I’d welcome the darkness

To obscure the truth

Of adulthood’s vision

Eclipsing youth.

Even the darkness is better

Than what it hides.

Even a prison is better

Than what’s outside.

But there’s no protection

From within.

Once again, thank you Neil Morse for not making me have to go with any of those.

Bonus Material: Scraps From The Cutting Room Floor

Like the final edit of a movie, a lot of what is recorded in the making of a novel never sees the light of day. In looking over discarded ideas, I’ve found a lot of bits and pieces that help describe ideas I think are very important to grasp. So I’m sharing with you some rough, unfinished ideas that I feel contain a kernel of insight. Take a look, if you dare.

“Do you wish to be in charge of your own life or do you wish to bow to an anonymous authority, the passionless god that is science? Do you wish to live in a breathing universe or a sterile, scientific one?”

“You don’t get to choose.”

“Don’t you?”

They scoff at me, those who have never seen what I have seen and yet judge. They mock me when I say the Northern Lights portend something. But if you were to see them, you would say, “how could they not?”

Man’s rational mind can create things too powerful for his irrational mind to control. And visa versa.

Groups, governments, and corporations take on interests of their own, become entities.

Do you know what you call a person who thinks his town has the best food, his neighborhood the best people, his government the fairest laws? Happy.

We’re all just human beings slogging along, ingesting information the way a worm ingests food. But it all means nothing.

When a psychiatric patient is on the verge of discovery, that discovery is surrounded by barriers of fear. Such is the state of mankind now, we are on the brink of a profound discovery, but are afraid to take that final step. Our demons arise to stop it from occurring.

Some people live in a mansion and yet never seem to leave the room they were born in.

Look about you, this is nature, not science. Science is man’s interpretation of nature. When you worship science, you worship man’s creation. Science is the act of destroying the awesome with explanations.

Primitives thought misfortune was the wrath of gods. Does science provide more comforting answers? Are we not still left desiring justice? Is randomness a satisfactory answer?

You chase science as though you could catch it. But you are too slow, too human.

You don’t understand how conspiracies work. It is not a massive collusion, it is just group think kicking in. We think our congressmen are individuals, but they are people with a similar desire who have spent their lives making themselves cogs to fit the machine. Our mistake is believing our leaders to be rugged individuals when in fact they have ridden the prevailing winds to get where they are.

Pigeons can differentiate between Monet and Picasso, although they are not cognizant of it. We are capable of many things, too, that we are unaware of.

We adapt to our immediate environment rather than the whole.

The intellect is an evolving 6^th sense, one that is not yet fully developed. If you are not fully aware of what it is you are sensing, you fear it, the way a deaf man would fear hearing sound for the first time.

It’s about power. To shape the world is to own the world. To shape your mind is to own yourself.

The collective must break down the small world, the idols, in order to see the divine. This is the mission of our age, to demolish the existing paradigm in order to see the larger one behind it. It is God or another façade? Perhaps it is just a deeper understanding, a clearer perception of God.

We have evolved to be collectively smart, yet we foolishly cling to the belief that our individual intelligence can help us through the universe we inhabit.

A Snippet From Perchance To Dream

Here's a little something from my second novel in The Amazing Morse series, Perchance To Dream. There is nothing supernatural going on here, it is merely a description of a Halloween show put on by the magic show that magician Dave Morse works at. The illusions are fairly standard ones, but I attempt to put my own spin on them:

Located on a side street off of the main street of Wisconsin Dells, almost directly across from the Museum of Historic Torture Devices, Douglas Slattery’s House of Magic was a rather fitting place for Halloween festivities. It had a cultivated air of mystery and shadow about it. It was difficult to achieve such an atmosphere on a sunny day when the street was crowded with tourists, but the autumn night lent credibility to the props and less than authentic items that the store contained. Through the store’s display window, a chair could be seen, made of ornately carved wood and covered with rich red velvet. Two swords spanned the gap between the arms of the chair and upon the sharp edges of the swords sat a severed head. Not your normal everyday severed head, either, but one covered with tattoos. So many tattoos that the head was shaved in order to display them all. Nor was this severed head an inanimate prop, but a very active and curious thing that looked back at those who gawked at it through the window. When a couple who were walking past happened to gaze upon the spectacle, the tattooed head opened its mouth and stuck out its forked tongue at them like a snake giving warning. There was a defiance in its eyes, as though hatred was what kept it from the death it deserved. The woman leapt back as the thing’s eyes suddenly met her own and stared a challenge at her. The couple continued on their way. A moment later, several others had gathered outside the window. A sign in the window’s lower left corner read: “Enter if you would dare to see more.” The people soon entered the building.

They entered into a small room with a closed curtain at the far end of it, just in time for the next presentation to begin. The curtain was pulled back by some unseen source, revealing the body of a woman with the glaringly obvious lack of a head. Into the neck poured metal pipes, apparently to bring nutrients to the body in order for it to maintain a semblance of life. Various equipment that looked to belong to a hospital were around the body, one of them showing the vital stats. There were also two clear plastic vats filled with crimson fluids which intermittently bubbled as the fluid was pushed into or out of the body via tubes connected at the woman’s throat. Before long, the pre-recorded voice of an overly-clinical man could be heard through speakers located somewhere in the ceiling of the room: “What we see here is a recent development in health and beauty aids. In front of you is the body of a woman who was evidently born with good genes, but unfortunately without the material means to maximize their potential. She was forced through economic necessity to work in an industrial setting that made use of some rather dangerous heavy machinery. A moment of carelessness on her part resulted in a complete decapitation, the head being damaged beyond the opportunity for reattachment. Fortunately, modern medicine has been able to maintain the life in her body even though she is, sadly, no longer able to hold down a steady job. But her misfortune shall work in the favor of some other woman who is able to afford this magnificent physique. In the future, tummy tucks and other such painful, inconvenient operations will no longer be necessary, as bodies such as this will be available to women who simply do not have the time for exercise. Already, scientists are hard at work, busily trying to replicate the genes that have made this attractive physique uniquely suitable to matching and not rejecting another’s head.

“If one of you would like to step toward the computer screen, we will demonstrate to you that this body, while not technically ‘alive’, is still fully functional.”

At the railing that discouraged the crowd from getting closer to the exhibit was a touch screen with simple commands displayed. One simply had to touch “lift right hand” in order to make the body in front of them obey, if rather awkwardly. Another square had the command “cross legs”. When pushed, the woman’s attractive nylon-clad legs moved in a rather lady-like manner, crossing from one direction to the other. The audience was given the opportunity to press every button, or at least enough to get the point across. Once this was done, the crowd was instructed to exit the door on their left, allowing the room to fill up again with the next crowd of onlookers.

My Novel, Seven Stones Available (Sort Of)

My new novel, Seven Stones, is now available for pre-order for Kindle. So what’s it all about and why should you care? Because I’ve made a very conscious decision to bring you action from the get go while providing a portrait of life a century ago. The story begins a year before the start of World War I, touching upon many of the events and people of the day. It will take you to a Louisiana plantation where the owner still believes he has the right to own his workers, not only in life but also in death. The main character, Doug Slattery, encounters séances and acquaintances of Harry Houdini. Sister ships Mauretania and Lusitania cross The Atlantic with speed and in style, while The Trans Siberian Railway brings prisoners East to populate a bleak and ungiving land, where Joseph Stalin sits in exile. The South Pole has just been reached, and in the process, evidence is found in The Antarctic of a time when all the continents were united in a single Urcontinent. Physician Max Planck and novelist Jack London are using science to reinterpret the world in which they live. And through it all, the status quo is being threatened by those who would hurl bombs in order to advance their agenda. The old world is dying. What will survive, and what will come from the ashes? And what happens when mankind plays with powers beyond its reckoning?

Magic And Science Part 2

     As I’ve mentioned in my last post, magic is a major theme in the four books I have written. And like yesterday’s post, I hope to be able describe exactly what I mean by magic. At least that is the aim, to attempt once again to point at a target that is allusive and multi-faceted.

     The word magic is simply a label I put on an idea that is a little too abstract for easy understanding. Perhaps religion or spirituality might fit better, but any word is apt to be misunderstood. Please bear with me as I try to explain some of the ideas without getting hung up on the words that are used. As Chuang Tzu said, “The Tao that can be described is not the real Tao.” In other words, don’t worship the statue that represents God, don’t stare at the finger that points at the moon, they are merely ways of getting one to see the unseeable.

     Magic is the ability to cook a perfect steak without knowing the scientific principles involved. It is knowing that certain actions can produce a given result without knowing why. Science is a wonderful thing, no doubt, but so is magic. Jimi Hendrix did not have to know the science behind sound in order to make music.

     Sometimes in searching for explanations we end up killing the magic. Not because truths disprove magic but an insufficient understanding of it does. We never are really able to understand the deeper truths, it is too much for our little minds, but quite often we convince ourselves that we actually do know something. And in believing ourselves capable of understanding in any real sense, we permit our delusions of knowledge to destroy something wonderful.

     Magic is the sizzle of the steak: you could explain it, but why? Magic is elusive and should be. Magic is that thing that resides in the soul of the scientist that makes him question in the first place. It flits at the edge of our consciousness but is never clearly seen.

     Magic does not always jibe with our intellect, and so the intellect attempts to deny it. But if we keep our intellect humble, we can admit something exists without understanding why. After all, if a certain ritual permits a pitcher to pitch a perfect game, or a certain belief enables a forty year old boxer to become the heavyweight champion of the world, who are we to ridicule? It worked! Perhaps the reasoning they used does not fit in with reality as we perceived it, but IT WORKED. And the fact that such beliefs are passed on to others with similar results, it is not unreasonable to assume there is something to it.

     There are truths our intellects will never grasp, the intellect is simply not made for some things. The intellect is akin to a sixth sense, another way for the human animal to perceive the outside world. It is quite good at a great many things, but it has its own blind spots, a great many of them, I would say. Even our sense of smell is better equipped to judge the outside world than our intellect, but the intellect is better at convincing us it is right. Think about it, if something does not seem right but our mind cannot find a reason against it, we say that “something smells rotten” or “it doesn’t pass the smell test”. And if we allow our reason to veto what our nose is telling us, we usually end up paying the price for it. For one day, abandon reason for scent and see if it does not make you happier. And in experiencing the world without believing you understand it, then perhaps you will gain some appreciation of what I allude to when I use the word magic. It is something not to be understood, merely experienced. And in experience, you will find understanding deeper and truer than anything the human intellect can ever hope to attain.

Magic And Science

     Magic is a theme that has played a dominant role in all four of my novels. I’m not sure how the idea of magic has woven its way into my thinking but it has, and I continue to find new ways to interpret it. I’ve seen many of my favorite artists latch upon a single idea and go back to it again and again. A good idea, a unique paradigm, is worthy of being mined again and again.

     My main characters are magicians but my books aren’t so much about the performing of tricks on stage. Nor are they the kind of magicians that go to Hogwarts and turn people into animals. No, they are quite human people without any special powers. Except, perhaps, perception. They are able to see life in a way few people take the time to, are able to see beyond the accepted realities that have been built by a sort of group think. They walk paths off the beaten trail and so are able to see the things other people are too busy, too herded, to see. After all, being a magician is not a normal profession. It is perhaps something we think of doing when we’re young, but eventually we grow up and get real jobs.

     But there is something to the illusion, the sleight of hand. We want to know how the trick is done but we also want to believe that there’s something more than a trick involved. Sure, we know it’s not real, but it’s not really about reality, is it? There is something beyond the reality, or something that is real but not conforming to what we generally agree upon as “real”. What is truly magical, miraculous, is what takes place within us as we observe a trick being performed. That is where magic exists, within us, in our hearts and in our minds when we are able to observe things with un-jaded eyes. And that area where magic exists is an area quite foreign from science or objective observation. It has its own reality that can run concurrent to what we can quantify but exists slightly apart from it. It is a world of belief and faith just as it is a place that permits doubt and questioning of what the rest of the world accepts as solid fact. You see, when we believe, when we have faith, we are able to achieve many things that the outside world may say is impossible. And when we doubt what is accepted fact, we are able to overcome barriers that others never try to overcome. Indeed, many of us are never even aware that the barriers are there. I have noticed a growing idea that there is no such thing as free will. And for those who do not believe in free will it truly does not exist. You have to be able to see beyond the existing paradigms in order to overcome them.

     Hundreds of years ago religion was misused in order to restrict people’s reality. All of the advances of science would have then been considered impossible given the limits that were placed upon free thought. But scientists pushed bravely onwards and built an entirely new world beyond the imagining of anyone living a few centuries ago.

     But now ironically science itself is often used as a bludgeon to try to prevent us from seeing beyond the walls that have been constructed around us. Science has constructed rules and laws in the same fashion as religion once did. You see, no matter how enlightened we may believe ourselves to be, we cannot remove humans from the equation, their imperfections and unpredictability. Which is bad as far as science is concerned, but it’s where magic is able to flourish.

Chapter 21 From Seven Stones

Seven Stones will be available in September. Here's a little sampling:

Chapter 21

November 13, 1913 London

Doug awoke in his hotel room, staring up this time not at Evangeline Warren but Ashavan. It hardly made any difference to him, as the void remained with him. He was senseless to the world, detached from it in the way that Evangeline had shown him that it was detached from him. But Ashavan removed a jewel from his coat pocket. It was the same stone he had always had, but it seemed to shine slightly brighter. And in the moment he exposed Doug to it, to a faintly perceptible degree his condition improved. While his conscious mind was still detached from the world, his senses began to make contact with the outside again, recording what was detected even if there was no mind to interpret the information.

Ashavan was attempting to use his senses to bridge the gap, now, speaking softly in his deep resonant voice in order to tease out some kind of response from the seemingly comatose man lying on the bed in front of him.

“You have stared into the darkness, Douglas Slattery, and it has overwhelmed you. You have, as Freidrich Nietzche said, stared into the abyss, and the abyss has stared back into you.”

Doug could sense somewhat that Ashavan was cradling him on his lap as a father might comfort a son who is ill. And like a father, he knew he was helpless to do anything for him other than give encouragement.

“You have experienced the nothingness. But what would happen, Doug, if while gazing into the emptiness we did not lose faith? What if, while traveling in the darkness that it so happened that we were the light we needed? The abyss exists, there is no denying, but so do we. That also is undisputable. We may be tiny, but as Tennyson said, ‘what we are, we are.’ It is perhaps the era we are now living in that has forgotten this. We are the first generation to have left the land and gone to live in cities of man’s creation, and so we have forgotten that we are still a part of all creation. Science has caused us to look at our world as outside observers, we see everything as scientific phenomena, but we have forgotten ‘self’.

He spoke on, in some way hoping the words might bridge the gap between himself and Doug. “I met a man aboard the ship we were on, a wonderfully intelligent physicist, Max Planck. One seldom gets the opportunity to come across a mind like his, even for one as well travelled as I. He told me that science cannot solve the ultimate mystery of nature, and that is because we are part of the mystery we are trying to solve.”

Ashavan looked down at Doug, hoping for signs of some kind of recognition. “Don’t you see, Doug, in the final analysis, it is up to you. And I. The abyss, the nothingness, it’s an empty stage for us to perform upon, an empty page waiting for you to write your story, a silence awaiting a song. Nothing doesn’t matter. You do, we all do. And it’s up to you, there is nothing that nothing can do to you. It is your choice to come back. You can be part of the nothing if you wish. But it is a choice. It is your story, Doug, you who write it.”

There was no reply to come from Doug’s lips, no hint of recognition in his eyes. So Ashavan was absolutely shocked to feel a hand reach for his, as if it were a blind man’s. Ashavan grabbed it, and felt fingers working in concert to form around his own.

He had brought Doug back from the abyss.

An Assassination In Tsarist Russia

     It was with this heightened sense of distrust that he left with Ashavan to board the Trans-Siberian Railway on a week-long journey. The streets of Moscow were a little more accommodating than when they had arrived, due to some unusually warm weather for late February. The streets were crowded with people anxious to experience weather that was approaching the thaw mark. It was a few blocks to the station, which they chose to walk for the exercise, anticipating long-days of sitting aboard a train.

     Everything that moved did so against a background of white. Doug’s senses were keen as he walked along, noting a man whose face he thought he recognized from the hotel. He tried to look away, tried to look inconspicuous, but Doug could sense that he was on their trail. He glanced at Ashavan, noticed that he too was aware of the man. Ashavan glanced to his right, and Doug followed his gaze, noticing another familiar face. They did their best to blend in with the crowd, but Ashavan stood as tall as any, even in the semi-slouch he assumed to de-emphasize his height.

     The street they were on was approaching a frozen river that wound its way up from their left. Doug noticed horse-drawn sleds being loaded with large blocks of ice that were being harvested from the river for use in summer months. Another horse was dragging behind it a saw as if it were a plow, cutting the ice into blocks large enough as to be suitable for constructing an ice castle. Beyond the bridge that spanned the frozen river, Doug could see the train station that he had almost mistaken for a church, so elaborate was its design. Once aboard the train, they could be relatively sure of relief from the observation of the Okhrana: the secret police would not much care what anyone did east of Moscow. It was in the major metropolises where political mischief could cause real damage.

     The closer they approached to the bridge, the more heightened Doug’s senses became and the greater the sense of urgency he felt. The two men they had recognized from the hotel had not disappeared, and now there was a group of regular police in front of them to the right side of the bridge. They appeared to be staring directly at him and Ashavan. His heart seemed to double its pace and intensity until the throb of it pushed hard against his eardrums, muting sounds around him. But his vision was sharp, benefiting from the generous supply of oxygen his heart was pumping, his eyes registering every perception that came through the crisp air. There was a man walking across the bridge carrying a brightly wrapped package in his hands. Behind the group of police, to their left, stood a young woman with a swaddled bundle in her hand which she gently rocked back and forth. From the other side of the bridge came a man astride a horse. As he approached, Doug recognized him from pictures he had seen as a Cossack. He wore a wooly hat and a soldier’s long-jacket, and as he neared Doug could see a cold look of pride in his eyes. But he was merely a herald for the carriage that drove behind him. It was an ornate and anachronistic carriage for the Twentieth Century, a bit of ostentation to display the importance of whomever it conveyed. But the Cossack was not merely there as a part of that ostentation, Doug knew. He was there as protection in a place and time where political power was being contested by more than a few factions.

     As the carriage drew even with the man with the brightly wrapped package, Doug’s attention was drawn to his sudden movement. The package in his hand he threw at the carriage, where it landed immediately in front of it. Doug anticipated an explosion but none was forthcoming. He was witnessing an assassination attempt gone wrong. The driver, seeing what was happening, urged his team of horses on.

     It was only when the carriage approached the end of the bridge, its driver now whipping the horses into a frenzy, that the young woman sprang into action. She threw what Doug had mistaken for an infant at the window of the carriage and an explosion of flames and shattered glass flew from the center of the carriage. An instant later the thunderous sound caught up to what he had witnessed, distracting the attention of the police at the bridge. One of them went down, a victim of flying debris, as did the woman who had thrown the bomb.

     There was a brief moment of inaction, as the scene registered upon passerby and police alike. And then everything sprung back to life again. The carriage was still moving, an inferno on wheels. The horses ran wildly trying to escape the touch of the flames and the nameless terror behind them. Their shuttered eyes did not permit them to see their predicament, and so mad flight was the only option open to them. Something managed to keep the driver in his place, but it was no life within him that did so. He was like a doll which bounced with each bump but did not spill from his perch.

     Doug stared as if a detached observer at the scene until the reality that the horses were coming straight at him dawned. Even as he lurched into motion, he felt the hand of Ashavan pulling him out of the way. It was a mad dash, a last second plunge that saved him from the wheels of the carriage. He heard it speed past him, the noise of snorting, fear-mad horses and the steel of the wheels on the cobblestone street moving the maelstrom beyond his immediate zone of danger.

     He felt the fear-numbed throbs of pain in his forearms and elbows from him hitting the road, tried to assess the damage done through an adrenaline surge intent on more immediate issues. He was still trying to gather his wits when he again felt Ashavan’s hand tugging him, this time upwards. He looked at him, and more from reading his lips than by being able to hear him, he knew that Ashavan was urging him to hurry on towards the station. Here in the chaos of the moment was their opportunity to escape the eyes of the Okhrana and make their escape. Doug tried to move and felt the shakiness in his legs, the result of an excess of adrenaline. He walked as one might walk in a dream, his legs working as if in quicksand to propel him over the bridge and towards the station. Somewhere behind him the horses still ran with their fiery load, but there was no time for him to worry about it. They needed to get aboard the train, put as much distance as they could between themselves and the eyes of the Okhrana.

Seven Stones: An Introduction

Here then is a brief introduction of my forthcoming book, which I think I shall name Seven Stones:

The year is 1913.
     An aspiring magician, Douglas Slattery, comes across an advertisement for rare illusions for sale. He meets an older magician, known only by his stage name Ashavan, who is giving away his old secrets and props for services rendered. There is a certain jewel in the possession of a spiritualist in Chicago which Doug is sent to retrieve in return for the secret of the Bullet Catch trick. Later, there is a jewel that has found its way from Australia via Houdini. Then there is the one in Louisiana owned by a landowner who believes he can possess his laborers not only in life but also in death. With each jewel, the reward becomes greater, but the price payed by Douglas Slattery becomes greater.
     He learns there are seven jewels in all, one for each of the seven continents. They are parts of what was once a single jewel, the jewel of the continent Pangea. Both Ashavan and Doug learn that assembling the jewels leads to greater understanding, while also giving greater power to the stones that remain apart. Together they are a power for unity, separately they’re a source of evil. But assembling all of them into their original shape will bring about the recreation of Pangea.
     Would the re-emergence of a single continent be possible? Would it be preferable? Unfortunately, there’s not much time left to think about it. They’ve already unwittingly set the pieces in motion. As the individual jewels seem to want to unite, the power of the remaining pieces grows, as does the desire for them by those who would use them for evil.

A Look Into The Past (The Mauretania)

I had the idea of writing a novel that takes place a century ago and spans pretty much the whole globe. A fun idea, sure, but I had no idea how much research it was going to involve. I guess I should have known. There are so many questions relating to New York City alone. Did some sections still have gas lights? What styles were in fashion for men and women of various stations in life? Were trolleys prominent, and what was the ratio of cars/buses/horses? And while people dressed and spoke and lived a certain way in New York, how would they be living in a small town in Louisiana? All these things to be researched and we haven’t even left The U.S.A yet.

It’s an enjoyable process, or at least it would be if I could afford a year off work to do it. Still, it’s fun to immerse oneself in a different era. I’m running into a lot of fascinating information. I was having a real hard time trying to come up with information on the ship Mauretania. We tend to take for granted that everything we want is a Google search away, but it is not. But take a look at this website I found: http://heritage-3d.com/M/1.html

Based on a few old black and white pictures of the 1^st Class Smoking room of the Mauretania:

This person painstakingly came up with a color recreation of what it must have looked like:

Truly impressive work by whoever runs the website, not to mention the craftsmanship that went into the actual ship.

Below is a short sample of writing I did based upon the color recreation. It needs a second or third coat of paint on it (i.e. a few rewrites), but hopefully it shows some of the inspiration I had from seeing a re-rendering of what must have been a tremendous work of art.

The next room was the first-class smoking lounge. Above them was a glass arch that ran the length of the room, giving it the best of both the indoors and outdoors. Cunningly placed mirrors amongst the wood-paneled walls gave the room a feeling of vastness as though the room had no real defined limits. Teal chairs and oak tables were placed in geometric patterns that were a mixture of lines and intersecting circles. Blue sky intruded through the ceiling and, combined with the greenery of the chairs and carpet and the various wood pillars, he suddenly felt as if he were entering into a forest of trees. The marvel of man’s abilities hit him, the heights that humans were able to reach. Here was floating architecture as astounding as any cathedral or palace. The Twentieth Century, barely a decade old, was already making its mark on history.

Oh, and the book will most likely be called Seven Stones. I'm about 30,000 words into the first draft. It involves magic, the supernatural, and a possible re-emergence of Pangea. It might even tie in to some of those books that are on the upper right of this blog page :)

Perchance To Dream Hits The British Isles

Just thought I'd let my British fans know my book, Perchance To Dream, will be on sale at Amazon UK for £0.99. Not sure how much that is, but I think the £ is for lira. Whatever it is, I'm confident my book is worth point nine nine of something I've never heard of before. The sale will be going on for another 4 days, which would be 2/7th of a fortnight. May you enjoy it immensely: Perchance To Dream (The Amazing Morse)

Last Chance for a free copy of The Amazing Morse

I'm taking The Amazing Morse out of the free option for e-books on Amazon. I have no idea how long it will take to be taken off, so here's your last chance to get something I've worked really hard for without having to pay for it: http://www.amazon.com/Amazing-Morse-James-Rozoff-ebook/dp/B0099YXY2Y/ref=asap_B00847RE9G_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1418162045&sr=1-2

The Amazing Morse Is Free As An E-Book

I have decided to set the price for my debut novel, The Amazing Morse, at $0. The reason for it is to introduce myself to readers who may like it enough to pick up the second in the series, Perchance To Dream. The third book, called The Association, will be released in September.

I'm hoping also that by giving my book away, I may garner some positive reviews. This can prove risky because people tend not to value that which they get for free. So far I have acquired two negative reviews, but neither of them had anything of substance to say. Nobody has been able to pick on any specific shortcomings. I do have positive and honest reviews from strangers, which makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Reviews are for writers what tips are to waitstaff: we would not be able to survive without them. But more than that, they truly do make a writer's day. To know that one's hard work has been well received makes it all worth while. Never think that your acts of kindness are for naught.

And speaking of reviews, this is the most recent one I received for The Amazing Morse:

Evelyn visits her spiritualist. She knows Evelyn's future and the future of her other clients. Evelyn is bursting with joy, but the spiritualist knows there is only destruction in her clients' futures.

We first meet Daivd Morse sitting in his cubicle at work contemplating freedom and imprisionment, both of the mind and the body. As readers, we begin to see into his mind. Then, we learn of the horrible nightmares. Are they only dreams or are they replays of reality or are they forewarnings? Is he the monster of his nightmares? Certain words come to mind in describing this novel: demon, monster, surreal, evil, introspective journey, unsettling, horror; and above the rest: entertaining. This is a trip into darkness.

This is a somewhat different novel of psychological terror and horror. It is an enjoyable read.

A Seance from The Sleep Of Reason (Part 2)

Writing this sort of creeped me out, I hope the chills translate to others, as well:

Like a wisp of smoke that turned solid, the bluish presence within the circle slowly took form. Two eyes seemed to exude sadness and knowledge as they stared towards Russell. The figure was tall and thin, his narrow jaw and long nose blossoming into a prominent forehead. Wild waves of hair gathered around the sides of a receding hairline. The figure in the center radiated its blue light so that each of the members holding hands were bathed in the light.

“What secrets are you hoping to discover?” asked the blue apparition, peering down at them. He appeared unnaturally tall, as if he levitated in order to show his rank.

“We are looking for our missing friends,” said Russell. “Have you seen them?”

“You want answers, but answers are worth nothing until they are earned. If you wish to see what we see, then you must walk the path that we have walked.”

“We only wish to find our friends. Will you not help us?”

“Our secrets are our own. If you want answers, you must join us. Trust for trust.”

“We don’t want to join you,” said Doug, “we just want what’s ours. You have no right to keep our friends from us.”

“They came here of their own volition. Like you, they came seeking answers, which we provided them. But answers come with a price, which they have paid. Will you?”

Mindy was tempted to ask what price they would have to pay, what price Dave and Johnny had paid, but Doug spoke again.

“We have not come to bargain with you,” said Doug. His voice projected authority, but Mindy had no idea where it came from, what he could back it up with.

The figure inside the circle did not seem to recognize any authority other than his own. Mindy again became aware of the hands she clung to, felt the security they provided. Maintain the circle and contain the spirit. Although everyone in the circle reflected the blue glow from the presence in the middle. The blue glow seemed to lie now even beyond their circle. She felt the beads that Russell’s grasp pushed into the flesh of her hands, realized they belonged to the man in front of them, that he must be Gregor Soeldner. She feared that he might recognize them as his own, demand them back.

“I do not bargain, I speak truth. The Association has endured because we have not betrayed our secrets. If we let you in, we will not let you out.”

“We have summoned you to tell us what we need to know,” Mindy was pretty sure Doug was bluffing that he had nothing to back up his bluster. “You are contained within the circle we have created. You have no power, you cannot set conditions.”

“Yes, I am contained within your circle,” said Gregor. “But your circle is a small thing. And I am the only one within it.”

Mindy had been staring at Gregor, at the bluish glow of his presence. Now she shifted her gaze to beyond the circle the four members of The Beyond Show formed with their hands. Looking to her right, then left, she noticed beyond the circle the same glow existed outside of the four members. There were many figures outside of the circle, surrounding them, each of them holding hands in the same manner that Mindy and the others were. Each of them shared a gaze of intent that lacked any human element.

She looked at Doug and found him lacking any response. In that moment she knew she’d better gather her courage, that she was the one who had the most to lose. Whatever strength and experience the others had, she was among them and therefore had a part to play. She gazed at Gregor, who as yet had not looked at her, and said, “Perhaps they have us, but we have you. You have been summoned by us, and you will answer to us. You no longer speak from the authority that you did as a man of God, you are but a remnant of a man, a memory that has lingered. You exist to share your message. Speak!”

He looked at her as one who had been discovered, and said, “The answers and the people you seek are below us. If you dare to follow, it is there that you will find your answers.”

The figure of Gregor flickered, as if to say that it was not the thing they should be looking at. The group, still holding hands, turned their gaze outside of the circle, looked at the figures beyond. There were enough to form a full circle around them, even at a distance. But the circle soon dissipated as the figures began to walk single file towards a building to their west. Mindy looked to Doug and the others. Without the need for discussion, the decision was made. It was Russell who spoke for the group, “You are released, Gregor Soeldner.” The light that reflected from each of their faces vanished into blackness as the figure in front of them disappeared.

“Let’s follow them,” said Mindy, her words braver than the feeling in her heart. They trailed after the figures who moved slowly, like a chain gang returning from work. They disappeared through a door that Russell was forced to open for the others. Izzy would have been more than happy to be the last one through the door, but Doug stood behind, as if to guard against a reappearance from Gregor.

They walked upon tiled floors littered with glass, their way well-lit by the glow of the apparitions. There were perhaps fifty of them, most but not all of them dressed similar to Gregor. Some appeared to have been from newer eras, as if even in death The Association was adding to its ranks. There was one who seemed to be a teenager, perhaps one who had come to this place not many years back to drink a few beers and give a scare to his girlfriend. The whole of them shuffled along like zombies, as if their will had abandoned them, or as if they had surrendered themselves to the judgment of The Association, of Gregor Soeldner.

They led them down a flight of stairs, led them through hallways that shone blue in their presence. Great pipes hugged cement walls, vanishing into the darkness where the blue glow did not extend. Mindy walked behind Russell, content to have someone at her back in the darkness.

As Mindy walked she became aware of the terrible silence around her. The glowing apparitions were noiseless as they plodded along cement floors like zombies called by their master. Before she knew it, the smooth cement gave way to a hasher stone flooring, causing her to become more aware of her footsteps that padded softly like ripples on a still pond. The darkness gave opportunity for her mind to imagine hidden dangers, but she found herself preferring it to the blue glow.

There was a tunnel that led off to their right, cloaked in darkness. But at the edge of light emitted by the group, Mindy couldn’t help thinking that for an instant she caught a glimpse of a skeleton.

They were well lost by this point, having taken a large amounts of twists and turns, too many choices of which tunnel to take. As they passed by on offshoot, Mindy heard the sound of movement which she knew was not caused by any of them.

“Did you hear that?” Mindy asked, turning back towards Izzy and Doug.

“Yes,” said Doug. “Try not to think about it. Hopefully, The Association will keep us safe for their own purposes, whatever they may be.”

“It might be Dave!” said Mindy. Russell said he was somewhere in the dark, alone. We’ve got to find out if it’s him.”

“If we get lost in here, we’ll never find our way out. We have to stick with them.”

“I’ll go with her,” said Izzy. “I’ve got a flashlight. We’ll investigate and see what we can find.”

“You’ll get lost,” said Doug.

“We’ll only get lost if they allow us to get lost. I don’t think that will happen. You and Russell go ahead, we’ll catch up.”

Izzy appeared truly brave at that moment, making Mindy wonder if the times he appeared less so to be merely a guise. How could somebody so unknowable become so trustworthy, she thought.

Izzy turned on his flashlight and they headed down the dark tunnel, Russell and Doug still following the blue procession. Mindy found herself relieved when they had distanced themselves enough that she could no longer detect the blue that had so consumed her sight.

The tunnel they entered was rough, crudely dug, and Izzy gazed about with the aid of his flashlight to determine if it was even safe to enter. It looked to be dug into earth or clay rather than rock. They did not have to travel far before reaching the end. The noise was louder now, like the scratching of a rat. Izzy seemed reluctant to lower the beam of his flashlight, preferring ignorance to knowledge. When at last he found the courage to lower it, Mindy saw a figure hunched in the darkness, clawing at the wall in front of him as if he were looking to expand the tunnel he was lost in. It wasn’t Dave, thought Mindy, it couldn’t be him. He had been wearing the blue jacket she had bought for him when he left. This man wore a flannel shirt. And boots, Dave didn’t own boots. This couldn’t be Dave.

Mindy would have been content to let it go at that, allow whoever it was to go about his business. But Izzy realized him for what he was, a fellow human being in need of aid. He called to him, and when that did not work, grabbed him by the shoulder. The man twisted around with speed caused by fear. He stared into the light that Izzy shown at him, and Mindy couldn’t help thinking he flashed them a huge smile. But the edges of that smile were ragged, and in a flash of realization, Mindy realized that his lips were for the better part missing. Even as she looked at him in terror, the man in front of them was busily moving his jaw, attempting to bite at whatever flesh remained in chewing distance. His eyes were wide open despite the pain unexpected light must have caused him. He was alert in the way only great fear can achieve. Unable to look at the massacred mouth, she focused on his eyes, which radiated terror. She could see the pupils shrinking in reaction to the light, at the jaw nervously looking for something to chew.

Mindy screamed. She felt her body shrink towards Izzy, trying instinctually to find shelter in another’s strength. Together, they retreated slowly from the tunnel, Izzy’s flashlight still shining in the face of the man whose fear had caused him to chew his own lips off. Mindy could still the jaw working as the vision faded from her sight.

They had not been separated for long. When they returned to the tunnel they had come from, the glow had disappeared, but they knew which direction they were going. They ran quickly, as much to distance themselves from what they witnessed as to find the others.

The Sleep Of Reason Chapter 8

A lot of the writing I've done on this book has been without a conscious filter. I'll be curious to reread it and discover if it has any value. I'm sure it will have to be substantially edited, but I'm convinced that the most interesting writing is not done by the critical mind. At any rate, the title, The Sleep of Reason seems appropriate:

Chapter 8

Unable to fight the desire for company, the temptation to contact Dave again struck her. To resist the idea, she decided to check Doug’s office to see if she could locate any information on Russell. That was the answer to her worry and doubt: distraction and possible knowledge to be gained. Doug seemed to hold Russell in high regard, despite Russell’s humble, even meek demeanor. And there was a quiet confidence in Russell, she had seen that.

Mindy had access to Doug’s office but knew it wasn’t good form to go snooping around on the boss’s business. It wasn’t proper to go sneaking through drawers and file cabinets, but she needed more answers than she was getting. She trusted Doug because she had to, not because she wanted to. If Doug was not happy with her digging for information she would be willing to take the consequences. She and Dave’s decision to stay with Doug had been a tentative one, one that hung on a fine balance (?).

She entered the office located behind the display counter. She was allowed access there, but the way she intended to search the place was not something she wanted to be discovered. She opened drawers in Doug’s desk and found each of them to be stuffed with various papers, business cards, and other items. If ever a man needed a secretary, thought Mindy. Izzy’s description of an absent-minded professor came back to her and the state of Doug’s desk supported the idea. It seemed that Doug was always in pursuit of something, books, magic equipment and collectibles if not ideas. But it was Doug’s approach to life, to follow his inspirations faster than he could assemble them into a neat whole. She’d read somewhere that a messy desk was a sign of intelligence. If this was true, Doug was the next Einstein.

There were several times she thought she saw the name Russell written, but Doug’s hastily scribbled writing was open to interpretation. It was only when she found a list that she knew she had what she was looking for. On it were names of people, some she recognized, some she did not. Among the names was an Alan Clifton, which had been crossed out. Also listed was Jonathon Sinclair, Isadore Collins, and Russel Slater. And listed on the bottom were the names Dave Morse and Mindy Virgilio. Next to the names were the persons abilities. By Izzy’s name was the comment: ability to weave a narrative from incomplete information. Next to Johnny’s was the ability to interact with psychic residue. Next to Russell’s was a list: scryving, astral travel, rudimentary telekenesis, etc. Next to Dave’s name were the words “dream visions”, while next to Mindy’s name was a question mark.

What was she doing on the list? She didn’t have any abilities. Did she? No. At least, she hadn’t exhibited any signs of any yet. But she thought of the discussion they had had with Russell and Doug. They had said the very fact that they saw things others didn’t was the reason for Dave acquiring the ability to see things in his dreams. If that were true, and Mindy had seen things that others don’t, then it would only stand to reason that she too would have some ability as a result. But what? She really didn’t care to know. Now that she had found Russell’s name, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to ask him questions. But she realized it didn’t really matter what she wanted, she needed answers.

Returning to the sales counter, she sat herself in front of the computer monitor. Without experience of locating people online, she typed Russell Slater into Facebook just to see what would turn up. There was exactly many matches, but she recognized his face among the crowd. Mindy took a chance and sent a friend request. She was surprised when a moment later she heard her computer sound loudly, letting her know her request had been accepted. She saw a familiar image on her screen.

Checking his page before deciding to initiate a conversation, she noticed 5,000 friends.

“Russell?” Mindy typed.

“Mindy. How are you doing?”

“Fine. I was just alone and thought if you weren’t busy you might be able to answer some questions.”

Mindy received a request for a video chat, which she accepted. A familiar face appeared, friendly but awkward, almost childish yet obviously intelligent. She couldn’t tell what it was behind him, she almost thought it was a mirror.

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you and Dave,” said a voice that reminded her of a (Promising child) young man who sought to sound older than his years. “Russell likes to keep his new recruits to himself.”

Mindy couldn’t help thinking there was something missing in Russell. He seemed to be the stereotypical egghead who possessed vast amounts of knowledge while lacking basic social skills. There was a certain amount of awkwardness to him that he strived to ignore.

“I was thinking the same thing about you,” said Mindy. “I’ve only ever seen you through a television or computer screen. It’s like Doug keeps you in a box.” Mindy laughed, but humor did not appear to be one of Russell’s strong suits.

“I don’t get out that way much,” said Russell, avoiding looking directly at the screen. “There’s really no need to, not when technology can provide all the communication necessary.”

“Well that should be good enough for the questions I have. It’s not just you Doug keeps things from.

“And what is it you wish to know?”

“Well, I feel awkward even talking about such things. It’s like something you’re not supposed to talk about, something you keep secret. I can only talk to Dave and Izzy about it because they experienced it too. They’re in on it. But to talk to someone like you, someone I don’t really know…”

“Let me assure you that there is nothing you can tell me that will surprise me. You had your first encounter in April? What is that, like six months now? I have more than two decades worth of research into aspects of reality that most people never encounter.”

More than two decades, Mindy couldn’t help thinking. Either Russell looked incredibly young for his age or his experiences began when he was quite young.

“Well, back when all this began, Dave began to have dreams. I was quite willing to believe that they were just that, that maybe my friend I’d known most of my life was beginning to unravel. Hell, Dave was willing to believe that too. It wasn’t until we both saw things we couldn’t deny with our own eyes that we had to admit it wasn’t just madness. We were seeing things that others don’t—we were seeing things that others would call crazy.”

“If one person sees something unusual it is not to be believed,” said Russell. “If two people see it, it begins to appear true. If everyone sees it, it is undeniable. That is the way the human psyche is constructed. And now you have others, people like Doug, and Johnny and Izzy and myself who agree with your story. Now it’s even harder to deny what you have seen. And you would like to, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah. I guess I would. But failing that, I’d like to understand it. It seems like we are in the middle, not being able to doubt it, but not being able to understand it.”

“I’ll help you as best I can, although ultimately it is up to you to perceive the truth in whatever I say. Your ability to see, to understand, makes you more able to move your way through the world. And when I say you, I mean anybody. Knowledge is power. The more clearly you perceive the world you live in, the greater your ability to affect change in that world. Because Dave was able to see things beyond the accepted paradigms he acquired powers that did not exist within that paradigm. He catches glimpses in his dreams of things he couldn’t possibly know. That is a power, but it is one of perception. Izzy has an ability to gain knowledge through creating stories. He takes isolated facts, perceptions, and from them he has the ability not only to weave a narrative, but to a certain degree shape that narrative. Johnny has an ability to see the remaining spiritual echoes of perished souls. In this way he is able to alter the emotional atmosphere of a given area.

“Yes, but ghosts and demons…” Mindy realized she had cut him off before he got around to Doug. She wanted to know what abilities he had, but was already committed to another line of thought. “It’s like we’ve entered a different universe where all the laws are changed.”

“Watch this video,” said Russell, sending her this message on her Facebook page:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ahg6qcgoay4

“It’s something I share with new recruits. It will help you understand. A little.”

Mindy clicked on the link. It was a video titled Test Your Awareness: Do The Test. It showed two teams of 4, one team in black, the other in white. She was asked to count the amount of passes the team in white made, and she was quite happy when the video confirmed her count of 13. Her feeling of pride faded, though, when the narrator asked if she had also seen the moonwalking bear. There was no way something like that avoided her sight, she thought. The video was then rewound and, her mind now no longer busy counting passes, she clearly saw a man dressed in a bear suit walk into frame, walk into the middle, turn around and walked backwards off screen. She couldn’t believe that this was the same video, could not believe she had missed something so obvious. It was a trick, nothing more. She returned the video to the beginning, watch the part she had originally watched. Again, a man dressed as a bear walked into frame, again moonwalked his way off it.

There was no way she did not notice it, there must be some kind of trick.

“That can’t be real,” she said.

“It’s just a simple case of misdirection,” said Russell, exhibiting a degree of satisfaction with the result. “You as a magician’s assistant must be familiar with the concept.”

“Okay,” said Mindy, retreating from the specific example but not the overall concept. “But that is a lonnng way from what we are talking about. It’s a big difference from a simple case of misdirection and a colossal prank by God. How is it that people can not only be fooled once but consistently by some sort of misdirection?”

“Because human consciousness is not what we like to think it is, at least for the most part. We have some dim awareness, some small degree of something we like to call intellect, and we arrogantly presume it is the deciding factor in how we see, what we do. We amuse ourselves in playing a trick on a dog, searching for a ball that we have not thrown, all the time feeling ourselves intellectual superiors. But the truth is our intellectual superiority is of a fractional degree, and our amount of interaction with the universe exponential. The vast amount of dealings with the outside world is actually done on primitive levels. A scent, a color, a person’s relative height all influence our behavior much more than we ever permit ourselves to see.

“The psychological term for it is the illusion of knowledge, the belief that we know more than we know. The thought that the simple model we created of the universe is the universe. Because it works, because it keeps us moving, we accept its reality. And when things that do not fit into our model pop up, we rationalize them, dismiss them because it would be too much of a bother to incorporate them into our unsophisticated model.”

“So what the hell does this have to do with ghosts? And devils? And God knows what else?”

“I’ve got another video for you to watch.” Again, he sent a link to her Facebook page:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mA37cb10WMU Feeling the frustration rising in her, Mindy nevertheless clicked on it. It was a video of a mass of ants swarming in a circle.

“What is it?”

“Ants have the ability to follow the scent of the one in front of them. In such a way they are able to send out scout ants in order to find a source of food. Once the food is found, the others follow the scent in order to find the food. It’s an ingenious system. And it works. That is, until something throws a wrench in the system. That’s what happened here. The ants all followed one another but somehow ended up circling back upon themselves. Now stuck in the loop, a circular mill, it is called, they will continue to follow each other blindly until they drop dead from exhaustion.

“Their system was a complex one,” Russell continued, “but imperfect. Humans are smarter, but not by as much as we would like to think, not when compared to any vast span. We have little more understanding than ants in the grand scheme of things. What we see—or think we see—are mere glimpses of what truly is. We see the world in a way that works for us, it is functional vision, at least as long as we need to know how many times the basketball was passed. Ghosts, demons, they’re like moonwalking bears that most of us don’t see. Do you get it?”

“No.”

“I think you do, actually. You begin to understand, at least.”

“But the bear wasn’t actually a bear but a man in a bear suit. Does that mean what we mistake for ghosts or demons, while being something beyond the basketball game we normally are involved in, it is not ‘really’ a ghost but some manifestation of human energy?”

“That’s not really where I was going, but I think the analogy holds.”

“I don’t even know what it was I said.”

“I think you understand, in some manner. Ghosts, demons, tulpa, they are all products of human psychic energy. They are products of the human subconscious, manifesting themselves in a way humans can understand. You see, most of what we think of as psychic energy takes place not only in the sub-conscious but outside of the individual. We think of ourselves as separate and distinct, but much of the time our minds work like computers that are working on the problems of other computers. (clarify) We are synapses in a vast brain that does the thinking for us all.”

In his excitement with the ideas he was communicating, he momentarily forgot his discomfort with direct eye contact. He stared at Mindy, and in that moment realized how completely lost she looked. He cast his eyes away and muttered, “Sorry, I got a little carried away. But you have broken through the walls that society, that fear has placed upon you. You will grow to understand the misconceptions that most of us suffer under. Don’t worry if you don’t understand some of the concepts, it will come. It’s a far more complex paradigm than your mind is used to using, it’s only natural that it will be a little unbalancing.”

“Should I be taking notes?” said Mindy, attempting a little humor in order to lighten the conversation.

“No need. These are the sort of things that you won’t forget. They are abilities, like riding a bike, not bits of data like a locker combination.”

Mindy realized that whatever conversation she had with Russell, whatever he could learn from him, would not be the simple answers she had hope to gain in order give her peace about her and Dave’s position. The answers Russell had were so large that they would totally reshape her perspective, take years for her to feel some sense of balance again. She was beginning a journey that she knew would not be lightly completed. The seeds that had been planted in her mind were not (easy flowers) but oak trees.

Enough of concepts, for today at least,” Russell said in a manner that showed he was not completely devoid of humor. “Perhaps there are other answers I can give you that aren’t so involved.”

Mindy thought it over for a moment, unwilling to be sucked in again to explanations that were beyond her. “Tell me about Doug. What do you know about him.

“He’s a hobbyist,” said Russell, “playing with forces far beyond him. He was fortunate to have a degree of insight and enough money to follow his interests, but that means little in the big picture.

Mindy was alarmed. This was not something she wanted to hear.

“That’s not to say he’s a bad guy or anything. “And to be fair, such forces are beyond any of us. He’s well intentioned, I believe, but he has no idea what he’s involved in.”

“And what makes you so much more knowledgeable that Doug?” asked Mindy, almost defensive of Doug because of her need to believe he was someone who might be able to take care of them.

“Because this has been all mapped out long before Doug took in interest in such things.”

“By who?”

“By the government, among others. By advertisers and marketing firms. By anyone who has an interest in determining how you think and feel, in what you believe. Billions are paid each year to get your mind to see the many choices of bottled water you have rather than seeing the lakes and rivers that are being polluted.”

“Is it really that bad?” asked Mindy. She was beginning to sense the amount her perceptions were shaped by others’ perceptions, but perhaps she didn’t want to admit how little in control of her own life she was.

“Those who rule have always been interested in shaping the perceptions of those who are ruled. But never in the history of humanity has their reach been so great. Advances in technology and psychology have enabled the messages of the rulers to permeate our consciousness that no other society could have imagined.”

There was a lot more Mindy wanted to ask, but she found herself delving in too deep again. It was best that she stick to the shallower water, at least for now.

“And what about you, Russell? Where did all of your information and insight come from?”

“I worked for various governments. Oh no, not as an agent, more of a guinea pig. I had certain talents that attracted attention. But this is one field of study where the guinea pig is apt to learn as much or more than those who study him. I wasn’t a mere test case like Ted Kaczynsky, a man without innate talent that they simply experimented on. I had more value, was fortunate to be left more or left intact.”

“Ted Kaczynsky? The Unibomber was the subject of government testing?”

“Yeah. I’ll send you some links about it. Don’t go sticking your head down too far into that rabbit hole,” Russell laughed, showing a capacity for humor for a second time, “the truth is so tangled in the fantasies of those that survived it you’ll end up driving yourself insane.”

“But back to me. When our government discovered that the Soviets were conducting scientific experiments into psychic phenomena, we decided we should look into such matters as well. Again, always with a military angle. And when the Soviet Union fell and there was no money left for them to pay for such programs, we permitted some of their scientists to emigrate to the U.S. and continue their experiments. I had certain innate talents that were recognized—how I’m not quite sure—and I was recruited into their programs. You may laugh to think of your government spending your tax dollars on such studies as telekenesis and astral projection, but the people in control are always looking for any way to expand that control. The U.S., U.S.S.R., even the Nazis were looking for supernatural means of obtaining military victory. That’s why I say Doug is a hobbyist. By the time an idea makes its way into a newspaper or some mass media film, it’s already been thoroughly explored by the military.”

Mindy heard voices outside the shop door. She wasn’t sure if they were about to enter, but she took the moment to end the conversation with Russell. He had already given her more information than she could possibly digest. She had wanted answers, as well as a diversion from worrying about Dave. She had gotten neither.

“I think I hear people coming,” she said. “I’ll let you go, now. Thanks for the information. When I can stomach it, I’ll be back for more.”

“Sorry I overwhelmed you,” said Russell.

“Not at all.”

Mindy returned home later that evening, receiving a text from Dave that they had arrived at their destination and were so far both alive. Alone for the evening, she threw a pizza in the oven and sat herself in front of the television. TV had always given her a feeling that she was somehow connected to a vast world out there somewhere, but now she wondered exactly what it was she was connected to. What once bathed itself over her subconscious, uncritical mind now seemed to her a less than innocent diversion. She couldn’t block out the idea that as she was staring into the screen that something was staring back at her. It left her with such an unnerving feeling that the television was off before the oven timer sounded.

While eating she stared instead into her laptop. She went to check Facebook but got out when she noticed Russell was still on. She really had no desire to bite off more of the information he was willing to provide when she already had so much to digest. She went to bed early, her thoughts busy with assembling ideas Russell had provided, her cell phone next to her in case Dave reported back.

She awoke in the middle of the night to a message from Dave that told her they had encountered and survived a ghost. He would see her after the show the next night, perhaps driving all the way back.

Rozoff The Magician

I don’t believe I have yet to acknowledge the influence my brother Tom has had on my book, The Amazing Morse. While I had been carrying the plot ideas in my mind for a while I had yet to figure out who the main character was supposed to be. It was not until I realized that my protagonist should be a magician that all of the other elements really came together. Let’s face it, there is something a little spooky about magic and magicians: they’re always cutting people in half, sticking swords through them, decapitating heads, etc. And look at the posters I have on the Magic Posters page: they’re chock full of ghosts, demons, and the macabre. The themes of magic and escape have so fired my imagination that I have made a series out of what began as a single story.

Delving into magic started me delving into my childhood, when I worked as an assistant for my brother as he began his magic career (nearly forty years later, my brother is still earning a living doing magic).

Even before I started writing The Amazing Morse, I wrote this little blog entry for a now dormant website forum. If you are familiar with my book, then you will see how much it was influenced by my real-life experiences. Here is a little reminiscence I did that ended up being a little altered and put into Chapter 4 of The Amazing Morse. The picture I’ve added, since it is referenced:

 

How to Handle a Heckler

 

     Say what you will about Robespierre, he knew how to deal with troublemakers. Abuse of monarchical power? Off with his head. Crimes against the state? Off with his head. Complicity with foreign powers? Off with their heads. A crude but effective way of handling interpersonal relationships. But of course nowadays you can’t use a guillotine to solve your problems. Can you?

     As mentioned previously, I was an assistant for my brother, the magician. We performed for a variety of different audiences, young and old. Adults were generally polite and receptive, but it was the kids that really got into it. They were loud and very interactive, but that was part of the show. My brother Tom would anticipate their outbursts and play off of them. But there was generally one kid in every audience who needed to be the center of attention. Like a drunk at a stand-up comedy club, he could really ruin it for those that just wanted to sit and watch the show. He knew the secret behind every trick, he had seen it done before, and better. Every crowd of children has its Eustace Scrubb. 

     My brother was adept at steering the show away from such children should the need arise, but he would always give these Dudley Dursleys ample amount of time to voices their complaints. And then the moment would arrive when a volunteer was needed from the audience. It was at this point that the skeptic  would suddenly buy into the act. It was always he that would jump the furthest from his chair with his arm straight out, screaming loudly. And he would always be chosen. You could see the look of disappointment on the other children’s faces as this  kid, like Augustus Gloop with a winning Wonka bar, walked proudly to the stage. It is quite a sad thing to see a group of children’s faces as it dawns upon them that life isn’t always fair. When the volunteer came to the stage, my brother and I would prepare for the next trick. Hidden at the back of the stage behind other props stood something tall and imposing covered by a black cloth.  It would take the two of us to carry it to the front. When it was in place, my brother removed the cloth, revealing a guillotine, its blade glistening in the stage lights. At the same time that the confidence ebbed from our volunteer’s face, the disappointment would lift from the those of  the children in the audience who had wanted to help. My brother would then have our volunteer recite after him:

Tom: I, Eustace Scrubb…

Eustace: I, Eustace Scrubb…

Tom: Do hearby give Rozoff the Magician…

Eustace: (Nervously) Do hearby give Rozoff the Magician…

Tom: Permission to sever my cranium…

Eustace: Permission to, uh…

Tom: Sever my cranium…

Eustace: Sever my cranium…

Tom: From the rest of my anatomy.

Eustace: From the rest of my anatomy.

Tom: Now do you know what you just said?

Eustace: Uh, no.

Tom: You have just given me permission to cut off your head.

(Laughter from the audience. The children would be able to maintain their illusions of justice for a while to come, at least.)

     Then Tom unclasped the head stock and invited the volunteer to place his head in the space provided. The look upon the victim’s face was not unlike that of Louis XVI’s some two centuries ago when faced with the same situation. His face would turn pale as though the body was unwilling to supply blood to something that it would not be attached to for much longer.  But Eustace would summon up the courage to kneel before the instrument of death. Each step was another recognition of his own mortality. Placing his head into the jaws of this beast, hearing the clasps being closed, realizing his head is now locked in securely with no chance for escape. But after all, this is just a trick, something for the amusement of the crowd. Something the magician has done many times before. And yet…

     This was, unfortunately, just the beginning of the torture for our poor volunteer. The key for any magical act is to draw out the anticipation of the audience. With Eustace’s head now firmly locked in place, Tom began his banter with the audience, warnings to the audience members up front that they may get splattered. He would instruct Eustace to reach around with both his hands to grab his ears, “just in case”. Then he would move to the guillotine and grab the chain which held the blade. He began the count: “One, Two, 3 days ago…”, he interrupted the count,  “…I tried this trick and it left the stage a bit of a mess. So I’m going to put some newspaper down to keep the floor clean.” He held up the newspaper with a headline that proclaimed: “Magician has accident, head rolls into crowd”. He then placed it under our volunteer’s gaze. Then to the volunteer he would say: “You may get the impression that the ground is suddenly rushing up to your head. It is just an illusion. On the count of three…one, two, three.” With that, the blade came down, little Eustace said his final prayers, and the trick was over. Still alive, Eustace was freed from the guillotine and given a document that stated he was now an official magician’s helper. He would walk slowly and unsteadily back to his seat, and remain unusually quiet for the remainder of the show.

In writing this, I realize that the whole thing sounds a little cruel, but it really didn’t play out as bad as I portray it. After all, I myself was the initial guinea pig for the trick and I came through it just fine (note: please do not look at pictures from the previous blog).