Doug Dillon's Blog, page 167

Chapter 1: Sliding Beneath the Surface

The St.Augustine Trilogy: Book I

Young adult, paranormal/historical

1
Bad Dogs

The sign attached to the front of Mr. Lobo’s big old aluminum gate in front of us on that unusually cold and cloudy Florida day said, “No trespassing! Beware of BAD DOGS!” Not a very welcoming entrance, right? Time to go home, I said to myself. Instead of acting on that thought, I studied the beat-up old mailbox behind Carla and wondered what the “R” stood for in the name, “R. Lobo.”

Even though I had ridden past that warning sign a million times on my bike, for some reason on the afternoon of December 27, I had trouble taking my eyes off the words, “BAD DOGS.” The more I looked at those big, bold letters, the more my recurring dream poked its way into my mind. I’m not afraid of dogs, and I’ve been known to ignore no trespassing signs once in a while, but for a few seconds there, I didn’t want to go anywhere near that gate. At the time, I thought lack of sleep caused my reaction. How wrong I was.

The sandy driveway where Carla and I stood went under the gate and then curved back out of sight through a thick stand of bamboo—the skinny kind—about ten, twelve feet tall or so. I already knew the driveway ended on a tree covered peninsula that stuck out into Matanzas Bay. Since Carla lives next door, you can see that point of land from her back yard.

She stared at me with one eyebrow raised. With her, that could mean a lot of different things, but I figured this time she was definitely losing patience with my stalling.

“What?” I asked, trying hard to sound innocent.

“Jeffrey Golden,” she replied with her hands on her hips, “are you going with me to see Lobo or not?”

When Carla uses my full name, I get the message that she’s, well, less than happy. Before I could say anything, her Black Lab, Spock, barked and wagged his tail. The poor dog had been waiting to go for a nice long walk. I guess he thought the time had come.

I sucked in a big breath and let it out slowly. How, I wondered, can I possibly go share something so personal as a really bad dream with a perfect stranger who warns people away from his property with a sign about his vicious dogs? You can see why I hesitated, can’t you? Behind us on Water Street, a tow truck pulling a racecar splashed across puddles left from rain earlier in the day.

“OK, OK, I’m ready,” I finally replied to Carla’s question. “If we’re going to do this, then let’s get on with it.” Was I sure of that decision? No, but my throbbing head told me I had to do something.

“About time,” Carla said. Flashing me one of her brilliant smiles, she pulled her key ring out of her coat pocket with its attached silver oval dangling beneath her fingers and selected one of the keys. In seconds, she had the gate unlocked and open far enough for us to enter the property. To my questioning look, she jangled her keys at me and said, “Lobo’s like family.”

“That’s convenient.”

“Um hm,” she replied while stuffing the all silver key ring and oval back into her pocket.

Silver. That girl loves the stuff. No, really. She’s a silver freak if there ever was one. Right then, for example, she wore dangly silver earrings, several silver bracelets and a couple of silver rings. Against her light brown skin though, all that shiny metal looked good. Well, it always does, and so does she.

“What about the ‘BAD DOGS?’ ” I pointed back at the sign after we walked through the gate and Carla had locked it again.

After giving me one of her “you worry too much” looks, she came over, reached up with an “I know something you don’t” grin, and ruffled my hair with her fingers. “What’s the matter Golden Boy, afraid of a few little puppies?”

God, how I hated that nickname in school. Kids started calling me Golden Boy when I was little because of my blond hair and my last name, Golden. When Carla says it though, somehow I don’t really mind very much. Of course, she says it sort of like a compliment, so I really can’t complain.

“Puppies?” I was sure she couldn’t be describing Mr. Lobo’s BAD DOGS.

“Stay close to me and you’ll be OK.” She said that as she flipped her long black hair out of her face and gave me a confident looking wink. “Besides, do you believe everything you read?”

“Of course not but—”

“Just leave those silly critters to me,” she said as if she was bored with any possible danger. “I’ll protect you.” Carla likes to use the word, “critters,” for some reason. “Where’s Jeff the adventurer I used to know who would go anywhere?”

“Oh, so now you’re the great warrior princess, huh?” I rubbed my left temple, trying to massage away that nasty headache without Carla seeing. Even though I really was more worried about talking to this Lobo guy than getting past the dogs, it was good to hear that the “critters” wouldn’t be a problem.

With her relaxed attitude, I wondered if Carla’s friend had his dogs tied up or maybe they weren’t actually so BAD after all. As I thought about how many times I had ridden past that gate, or looked at Mr. Lobo’s peninsula from Carla’s back yard, I realized I had never actually seen any critters or heard any barking.

The driveway was still a little mushy in places from the rain, so we had to watch where we stepped. My shoes sank into the softness, especially where tires had pushed lots of sand, dirt and leaves into big, wet clumps. Before we walked very far, Carla unhooked Spock’s leash, but he stayed pretty close to her. Again, I wondered about the Mr. Lobo’s dogs—if there really were any and if so, how Spock got along with them. Spock. Oh yeah, that’s quite a name for a dog. No doubt about it. Carla calls him that because, like me, she’s wild about all those old Star Trek programs and movies.

Anyway, Carla’s use of my old nickname, Golden Boy, reminded me that the following week I had to start school. I say, “start school” because after mom and I moved here right before Thanksgiving, I talked her into letting me put off registering for a while. Actually she agreed to let me begin classes after the first of the year if I did all the housework up until then and promised to work hard in my classes. That gave me over a month off school and the house all to myself during the day while Mom got settled into her new job. Not a bad deal, actually.

Why did we move to St. Augustine? Ohhh, it was, ah, mostly because of financial trouble after … after my dad died. My grandfather’s house here in the city had been vacant since his death a couple of years ago, so we just moved in. For Mom it was like starting life over. Me? I hated the idea of moving away from Orlando and my friends, you know? Besides, the thought of having to live in a small town jammed with tons of tourists all the time didn’t exactly make my day. Yeah, we had tourists in Orlando, but at places like Disney World, not right outside our neighborhood like it is here.

“So tell me about this Lobo guy,” I asked while we followed the winding driveway deep into the bamboo forest. What a dark little jungle it looked like on that cloudy day, I swear. It even smelled like it, or at least how I imagine a jungle would smell—wet and moldy.

Carla twisted her face like she wasn’t sure how she wanted to reply to my question about her friend. Finally, she said, “Lobo? Well, he’s a Native American and he ah … is a very … different type of person, I guess you might say.”

Her hesitation and emphasis on the word “type” made me wonder what she was hiding.

“Lobo is probably in his sixties or so. I’ll warn you now, he can be very grumpy.”

I would have never guessed by looking at the warning sign on his gate.

“To make a living, he does wood carvings. His work is quite beautiful really, and it’s for sale in art galleries here in St. Augustine as well as in Savannah.”

“So, he’s an Indian. What tribe?”

“Jeff!” she said in her I can’t believe you’re saying that voice. Carla proceeded to give me some instruction on the proper use of words, and how Indians got that name—something every kid hears in elementary school. She only uses the term Native American and hates the word Indian. Anyway, all that time, I’m thinking, who cares if Columbus got it wrong and named the natives of America after where he thought he was, India, the Indies, or wherever?

“And as for Lobo’s tribe,” she said, responding to my question, “I have no idea. All he says is he no longer has one. I don’t understand exactly what he means by that, but he won’t say anything more.”

At about that time, the driveway turned slightly to the right, and the bamboo ended. From there on, big old oaks trees dripping Spanish Moss lined each side of the mushy road and merged on top, making the whole area in front of us look like a tunnel. Near the end of that tunnel and the peninsula, I saw the back of a two-story house. It looked a lot like other old buildings in St. Augustine’s Historic District where we live, only not very well maintained.

While looking at that place though, I had a strong urge to turn around and run like hell. I mean, it was this almost overpowering need to be anywhere else—sort of an instant flash of panic. Really strange. Never had anything like that happen before in my life. Besides, there was no reason for such a strong, negative feeling like that to suddenly take hold of me. It didn’t make any sense. All I was doing was looking at an old house. Just as quickly as the feeling exploded into my head, it evaporated, leaving me a little spooked, to say the least.

My mind seemed to be running away with itself. When I put that panicky feeling together with my weird obsession with the BAD DOGS sign and my crazy dreams, I knew I had better get some rest and soon. Little did I know that I wouldn’t actually be sleeping until mid morning of the next day.

The first floor walls of Mr. R. Lobo’s house might have been white at some time, but the two I could see looked more like a dirty grey color. Streaks of mold and stains dripped downward as if the place cried from lack of care. I don’t think paint had ever touched the wooden upper story. A huge pile of firewood sat near the back door. To be perfectly honest, the condition of the place reminded me of where I live.

Carla stopped before we actually passed the last of the bamboo, pointed at the house and said, “There’s where we’re going. Isn’t it gorgeous?”

“Gorgeous? You’ve gotta be kidding.” I had to laugh, but I should have known better. Me and my big mouth. The look on Carla’s face told me I was in for it.

“Haven’t any of my explanations about the architecture in this city gotten through to you?” I knew she didn’t really want me to answer her question. Instead, it sounded like I was in for one more of her St. Augustine lectures. You see, that girl loves history, St. Augustine and archaeology—bad combination, because she can go on and on, forever. Her parents had been archaeology professors so I guess she comes by it naturally.

“You’ve got to look beyond the dirt, grime, and needed repairs,” she said in a very exasperated voice. “That house is one of the oldest still standing in St. Augustine. Parts of the bottom floor date from the first Spanish period, probably 1745 or so. Underneath the messy looking plaster are thick blocks of coquina. The top floor was added during the short time the English controlled Florida.”

Oh, here we go, I said to myself. She loves the history of the city so much she even likes to see tourists flood our town—Americas’ oldest city and all, founded in 1565, etc., etc. “Yeah,” I told her once, laughing, “what do they do, your tourists? They come here and spend good money on things like those stupid ghost tours we have all over the place.” She got real quiet after that so I figured I had gone too far.

Anyway, with my head aching the way it was, I had no patience to listen to another one of her history lessons right at that moment. I had to do something. Even though we’d only known each other about a month, experience had taught me to try and short-circuit her train of thought at times like those.

“The walls are made of coquina, huh?” I said, doing my best to grab hold of the conversation and divert it at least in a direction of something interesting. “What is it anyway? A coral rock of some kind?”

Carla rolled her eyes as if every six-year-old should know the answer, and said, “It’s like limestone, in a way, made up mostly of small seashells compressed over time. The Spanish used to mine it over on Anastasia Island and bring it here to the mainland by boat so they could build the Castillo.” She pointed to our right in the direction of the old Spanish fort not far from our neighborhood. While she spoke, I gave Mr. Lobo’s property a quick scan.

Just beyond the house and to the left about fifty feet, sat a smaller, one-story wooden building—unpainted. It had large windows across the front, right next to a door. Parked between the house and the smaller building, a battered old pickup truck seemed to stand guard over the whole area. From that distance, I couldn’t tell where the red color left off and the rust began.

Beyond the trees, buildings, and truck, a small dock jutted out towards grass covered islands in the dull gray water of Matanzas Bay. Next to the dock sat a blue canoe, bottom up, resting on one side. As I looked at the bay, just for a second, it turned hazy. Then it wasn’t. Weird. I blinked my eyes several times, but then everything looked normal. Once more, that need to turn and run away slid through my mind and quickly out again. “By boat?’’ I asked, taking a step forward. Instead of thinking about my warped vision and that strange feeling, I chose to refocus on Spanish coquina transportation.

Before Carla could answer, a deep growl came from somewhere to our left. In seconds, the growl built into vicious, rapid barking, and it was coming our way. You know how a big dog sounds when he’s angry and doesn’t like you messing with his territory? That was exactly what I heard.

Oh crap! My stomach did a flip-flop as the words BAD DOGS flashed into my mind. Once more, I felt a panicky urge to run away but with good reason this time.

Carla stared at me with a startled and scared look. I barely had enough time to wonder what happened to her promise of, “Oh, leave those silly critters to me,” when the sound of other dogs back in the bamboo on our right joined the original dog noises to our left in an explosion of snarling, growling, and yapping.

I couldn’t see them yet, but the sounds were rapidly growing louder. I knew they would be on us any second.

 

For a brief description of The St. Augustine Trilogy, click here.

For Sliding Beneath the Surface on Amazon.com, click here

For reviews of this book, author interviews and blog tours, click here.

For the Official St. Augustine Trilogy Facebook Page, click here.

Contents & Prologue: Sliding Beneath the Surface:

The St. Augustine Trilogy: Book I

Young adult, paranormal/historical

Contents

Prologue

PART ONE

The Awakening

1. Bad Dogs

2. Lobo

3. Weapons and Poltergeists

4. Rules

5. 28

6. Cat Got Your Tongue?

7. Worlds-within-Worlds-within-Worlds

8. Conjuring

9. Fog

10. Pine Sap

PART TWO

Overwhelmed

11. Flying

12. Pyramids

13. A Cloud of Vultures

14. Brightness and People

15. Lyle

16. Spitting Coffee

PART THREE

Forced to Understand

17. The Chase

18. Fighting the Problem

19. The Officer

20. Solidity

21. Doppelgangers

22. Little Switches

23. A Blood Connection

24. Pipelines

25. Muskets and Rifles

26. Begging for Help

PART FOUR

Plunging into the Unknown

27. Spiritual Insanity

28. Fear

29. Dead Kid Walking

30. Icy Coquina

31. A Big, Cold Drop of Water

32. Contact

33. Face-to-Face

34. A Slick Coating of Red

35. 2011?

36. Elizabeth

37. Crow Eyes

38. The Invitation

Author’s Notes

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Dedication

To all young people who find themselves in very confusing and difficult situations.

Prologue

St. Augustine, Florida

January 15

The thing is, I can’t get what happened a couple of weeks ago out of my head no matter how hard I try. Sometimes when those memories flood my brain, I even start sweating, and my hands shake. Like this morning when I went to Carla’s house so we could walk to the bus stop together. As soon as she opened the door, I had this flashback of how she looked on a day near the end of December—exhausted, dirty, pine needles in her hair, and blood all over her. Oh man, it gives me chills just saying those words. You see, we both came so close to …

Wait. Wait a minute. I’m moving too quickly here. Carla would say, “Jeff Golden, you’re always getting ahead of yourself.” She’d be right too, so let me back up here.

Look, it all began with a vivid nightmare I had for three nights in a row starting on Christmas Eve. I’m telling you, that nasty dream definitely freaked me out. After not sleeping well for three nights, my butt was really dragging. My head and even my eyes ached. It was December 27, a date that would have a lot of meaning for Carla and me, but we sure didn’t know it at the time. On that morning, while I made myself some breakfast, mom left for work early and in a rush as usual. I’d been up since 3:00 a.m. drinking coffee after nightmare number three so I wouldn’t have to go back to sleep. Did I tell mom about the dreams? No, no way. Why? What can I tell you? Let’s just say my mom’s focus hasn’t included me for a very long time, so why waste the effort?

Anyway, I finished my breakfast, ignored the housework I was supposed to do and instead watched a James Bond marathon on TV. It kept my mind busy, you know, not thinking about that dumb ass dream. Well, at least not as much.

Somewhere in the middle of Goldfinger, Carla called, inviting me to lunch. I almost didn’t go, knowing I wouldn’t be very good company. In the end, she talked me into it. Being with Carla while she had some extra time over her winter vacation and shoveling down one of her grandma’s great meals were too much to resist.

Oh, I forgot, you don’t know Carla. Well, Carla Rodriguez is fifteen, like me, and we both go to St. Augustine High. Unlike me, she’s one of the real academic types—Advanced Placement and all that stuff. She and her grandma keep pushing going to church with them, but I’m not religious. Even though we’re so very different in more ways than I can count, Carla and I are … well … pretty close, I guess you might say. I’m not talking about romance exactly, but because of what happened back in late December, we, ah, are connected in ways I could never have imagined before that time.

How did I meet Carla? Ha! Maybe I’ll tell you about it later. Kind of embarrassing, actually.

Soon after I arrived at her house for lunch, both she and Grandma figured out I wasn’t doing very well. It didn’t take a pair of geniuses to figure that out. I realized I must have looked and sounded like crap. Oh, I tried hard to appear alert and cheerful. So much for my ability to cover up how I’m feeling. I’m sure my jittery coffee nerves gave me away as much as anything else.

Right as I walked in the door, the questions started, but I refused to say anything at first. I mean, as I said before, I didn’t even want to think about what had been going on with me, no less talk about it. I did eventually tell them though—after lunch. Carla has this way of opening me up like nobody else can. Even so, took her a while.

When I finally explained the details of my wild, repeating nightmares, some of the same terror I felt at those times seeped back into my mind. You might think a stupid dream shouldn’t scare a big guy like me, but size has nothing to do with fear. After I finished giving them all the gory details, except for how much those dreams really scared me, Carla and Grandma didn’t say anything at first. Instead, they stared at each other for a few seconds. After Grandma nodded to her ever so slightly, Carla looked back at me and said, “Jeff, maybe we can get you some help. We have a friend, someone who understands, well, a lot about dreams and things like that. You should meet him and see what he can tell you.”

What she meant by “things like that,” I didn’t know, but thinking back, I was just too involved in my own thoughts to care. Oh, believe me, I eventually found out. After a half hour or so, those two ladies eventually did talk me into seeing this next door neighbor of theirs, a man named Lobo. Did I really want to go? No, but I was so tired, headachy, and still a little freaked out, I figured anything that might get me a night of good, undisturbed sleep was worth a try. Makes sense, right?

Tell you what. I had no idea how much I was letting myself in for. Really. But if I hadn’t gone to see old Lobo … Wait, wait. There I go again. All of this is too complicated for me to explain in a few words.

Listen. What happened after Carla and I walked over to Lobo’s place continued into that next morning of December 28. See why I can’t spit this out in a few short sentences? Besides, there’s so much more to all this than just the actual time involved. I mean, in less than twenty-four hours things went on that, when I look back on them, feel like they took days or even weeks.

I know, I know. What I’ve said to you so far probably sounds crazy, but hang in there with me, and I’ll tell you everything I can remember.

 

For a brief description of The St. Augustine Trilogy, click here.

For Sliding Beneath the Surface on Amazon.com, click here

For reviews of this book, author interviews and blog tours, click here.

For the Official St. Augustine Trilogy Facebook Page, click here.

A Message from a Paranormal Realm, Part 8

In our paranormal nonfiction book, An Explosion of Being, my wife Barbara and I decided to include a chapter channeled directly from another realm of reality. The title of that chapter was, “To the Reader from a Source with No Name”. Actually, we did have a name of sorts. We simply called it The Source.

The idea was to give readers a more personalized, direct link in the unknown. Now, after many years, I am extending that connection to readers of my blog in series of 11 bite-sized portions. Your inclusion into our private network of communications is offered openly, with hopes that you might feel just a touch of your own infinite connections.

If you would like to find the other 10 postings in this series, just look for them in the blog category titled, Paranormal Communications.

“Formulate your own acceptability’s, but within these, also formulate the possibility of acceptance from another source than your own physical self. The sources of which I speak may be multiple for each of you. They are not in question. They are available only to you. Your own truest source is your self-guideline stemming throughout the various realities from your point of existence to another, weaving through layers upon layers of alternate existences. Becoming aware of this will shelter only yourself, but there is no need to ignore the position of others.

“Your advantages are many. Throughout the expansion of your own development, you will cease to concentrate upon negativity at points that, before, were dwelled upon. Your need to flounder within indecisive periods will also become lessened. The wisdom is pulled by grains that then collectively portray a newer path for physical acceptance. Your realm does not play its every moment as a specific purpose.

“As your physical enjoyments, pleasures and negativities perform an operation of thought, you will see that I am relating to your physical world in the nearness that parts of you relate to mine. Do not become ashamed of your physical self for any reason that is comprehensible. Your paths are alternated between positive and negative. Therefore, your many learning periods will be advanced.

“Belief in yourself has the ultimate importance that you will ever use during your lifetime. Here you will find the basis of all immediate needs met. Your avenues of belief will diversify from this base point, as you alter each others’ beliefs. Your will to delve into a higher realm of receptivity is due to the forming of your ultimate beliefs in the purpose of individualized existence.

“Finite ways are inevitable means to show your own purpose. They will screen out any formal uselessness that has been transmitted through previous existences on that planet. Each planet has its own source of resistance to outside influence. Yours, particularly, is sheltered through the mass needs for encompassment.

“The belief, again, that you see in others will, at times, dwindle, but the remaining strength of your ultimate conviction will never change. Areas of this belief which are divided will seed themselves into a portion of your being which has smartly played out the necessary plans for your guidance system. Being quick to act upon this actuality will help to preserve a later influence of self-denial.

“Factual curbing of any self-denials will form a leverage, thus permitting your entity to filter the idiocies of life, which then cause such denial. Love yourself, as each being has a total characteristic of love beyond that which romantically ties one another’s physicalness to each other’s needs. The importance of this particular message has a depth of meaning that I must again repeat. Belief in yourself is totally encompassing. It will permeate into other areas of your soul not now recognizable by you.”

To find our book online, just click on the title, An Explosion of Being: An American Family’s Journey into the Psychic.

“St. Augustine Hope:” Young Adult, Paranormal and Historical

Sliding Beneath the Surface

The St. Augustine Trilogy: Book I

A review by Hopecross19 placed on Amazon.

“I loved this book so much it got me reading like crazy again. I couldn’t put it down. Out of all the books I’ve read this year it was one of my all time favorites.I plan to purchase two copies or more and give to family and friends. I love it. I have nothing bad to say about because if any book gets me just wanting to sit in my office in my chair or couch just reading and ignoring the world around me it was this one. I am an avid reader and once I pick up a book I try to read through it before I judge it even if it seems boring at times. This one I didn’t have to. I can’t wait for the next book.”

To see this review on Amazon, click here.

Full of Suspense: Young Adult, Paranormal and Historical

S liding Beneath the Surface

The St. Augustine Trilogy: Book I

A review by Levina from California on Amazon and Goodreads

“Sliding Beneath the Surface is a blend of the historical fiction and YA paranormal genres. In present time, the male protagonist, Jeff Golden, is haunted by his ancestor, a U.S. army lieutenant killed by Native Americans during the Second Seminole War. His friend, Carla, introduces him to Lobo, a shaman who teaches him how to use his mental ability and balance his connection to the spiritual world as he struggles with these paranormal experiences.

“First off, I would like to congratulate the author, Dillon, on an admirable job writing about the Seminole Indians who ambushed the U.S. army. I found his descriptions to be historically believable and the battle experiences to be realistically traumatizing. I also commend him on counterbalancing the serious, ghost-related tension in the book with lighthearted moments in Jeff’s and Lobo’s as well as Jeff’s and Carla’s interactions. With Lobo’s no-nonsense attitude, Jeff grows as a character, from a temperamental teenager into a mature individual who learns to control his emotions.

“I found this novel an engaging and fast-paced read since the plot only takes place over two days (same amount of time it took me to finish the book). I really liked how the suspense slowly built throughout the story culminating in Jeff’s reliving the battle of his ancestor’s death and the touching conclusion. I would highly recommend this novel to YA and older readers who enjoy historical fiction and ghost stories. Since this is only Book 1 of a trilogy, I look forward to Jeff’s continued growth and discovery of his talents in manipulating and exploring the spiritual world.”

Click here to see Levina’s review on Amazon.

 

 

“AMAZING!!!!!!” YA, Paranormal and historical.

Sliding Beneath the Surface

The St. Augustine Trilogy: Book I

A brief review placed on Goodreads

by Sunmi

“I don’t normally read books by men, but this one is actually not bad at all. This book sort of got me interested in reading books by men. It is actually almost as good as Meg Cabot’s books. AMAZING!!!!!!”

To see this review on Amazon.com, click here.

“This Book is a Keeper.” YA, Paranormal and Historical.

Sliding Beneath the Surface

The St. Augustine Trilogy: Book I

A review placed on Goodreads and Amazon by

Nichole

“Doug Dillon did a wonderful job with this book. He has a good eye for detail and establishing characters who will not soon fade from my mind. We meet Jeff Golden who is basically an orphan. His father has passed away and his mother is too wrapped up in her world to know what is going on with her son. Jeff has an accident and ever since the accident he is plagued by the same nightmare night after night. His feisty friend Carla decides she will help Jeff by introducing him to her old Indian friend Lobo. Lobo has many secrets and has the capability of knowing others secrets. Lobo leads Jeff and Carla on their supernatural time travelling chaotic experiences with their dead relatives. Doug Dillon has me hooked! I really enjoyed this book it had everything going for it. Who wouldn’t love a book with a history lesson, Ghost, supernatural powers, and slipping into different worlds?”

To see Nicole’s review on Amazon.com, click here.

“Enjoyed the Book.” Young Adult, Paranormal

Sliding Beneath the Surface

The St. Augustine Trilogy: Book I

A review placed on Goodreads and Amazon by

Jo Ann from South Carolina

“I enjoyed the book… I loved the story line and the people in it! I also loved the historical facts…. This was a learning experience…. I would definitely read the second book! This is not my normal type of read, but was glad I read it!”

To see Jo Ann’s full review on Amazon.com, click here.

The Dancing Wu Li Masters: An Overview of the New Physics

A Book Review

Author – Gary Zukav

Author of The Seat of the Soul
For this book, Zukav won the American Book Award for Science

Harper One, 416 p.

This is an older book one well worth reading. A skillful writer, Gary Zukav explains the basics of quantum physics in everyday terms. Just looking at several of his chapter titles will give you a flavor or how he approaches this topic: “Big Week at Big Sur”; “Einstein Doesn’t Like It”; and “The Particle Zoo”.

To help the reader in the beginning, Zukav offers readers not only a regular Table of Contents, he also includes a secondary Contents section with sub-topics. As if that weren’t helpful enough, he adds what he calls, A List of Characters. This includes names of scientists, particles and theories. A great guide to what’s coming.

At the end of the book, the author includes detailed end notes, a bibliography, a very usable index and finally, a fold-out chart of subatomic particles. If you really want to make preparations for reading Zukav’s explanations, take a a quick glance at all that back matter.

Click here to find this book online.

Julia Hendrix: Author Assistant Extraordinaire

Social media networking and online book marketing are a must for authors these days. The thing is,  some of us writers are so old school we really need a lot of help in those areas.

Julia

For me though, somehow the literary gods smiled and sent Julia Hendrix my way. After reviewing my book, Sliding Beneath the Surface, Julia volunteered to set up an official Facebook fan page for my young adult series titled, The St. Augustine Trilogy. Tell you what, I jumped at the chance.

Next thing I know, Julia has that page up and running with all kinds of activity and tons of “Likes.” Absolutely amazing. Realizing what a treasure I had on my hands, I immediately made her my assistant.

Bam! Within just a few weeks she has now set up a 15 stop, online virtual book tour for early 2013 and is running a classy contest for me. Julia has designed swag items, coordinated with book bloggers and other authors,  gotten me great visibility on Goodreads and has just generally been a house afire. She’s in Tulsa and I’m in the Orlando area but it’s as if the miles in between don’t count. Our virtual connection just keeps things humming.

This young woman is so smart, super organized, highly computer literate and incredibly creative that it’s hard to believe one person can  so competent. She’s a bundle of enthusiastic energy that every author would love to have on call. Talk about lucky? That’s me.

Guess I shouldn’t be talking about Julia in public like this–other authors might try stealing her away from me. Even so, my fellow writers, take heed. There may be others like Julia out there somewhere so keep your eyes open. And those of you who aren’t authors but who might like to support some of them like Julia is doing, I say go for it!

Julia, you are one in a  million. Thank you for all you have done, are doing right now and have got planned for me in the future. I owe you more than I can ever say.

Click here if you would like to see Julia’s review of my book on Amazon.

Click here if you would like to see the official FB page Julia set up for The St. Augustine Trilogy.

Click here if you would like to see the upcoming blog tour my trusty assistant organized for January.

Click here if you would like to see the contest I mentioned above.