Sunday, March 17, 2024

⭐Pump Up Your Book Virtual Book Tour Kick Off⭐The Edison Enigma by Thomas White #TheEdisonEnigma #scifi #mystery

 


A physicist discovers the secret to time travel only to find out he was not the first, it is now his task to go back and repair history.

 

Title: The Edison Enigma

Author: Thomas White

Publication Date: February 29, 2024

Pages: 196

Genre: Scifi/Mystery 

Edison, a Chicago physicist, manages to successfully transport an object through time. Almost immediately following this success Dr. Edison is shut out of the facility and told by benefactor Raphael Barrington, to take a vacation. He is contacted by Don Rivendell, a grizzled old man with a secret. Rivendell explains to Tom that he is not the first person to discover time travel. Someone else went back and changed history by saving a young girl from dying in an internal combustion engine explosion.

Dr. Edison is tasked with going back and fixing history. He travels back to 1904 to find the younger version of Rivendell and stop him from saving the girl. 

You can purchase your copy of The Edison Enigma at Amazon at https://t.ly/_NOoo.

 

Book Excerpt:

Tom, Lori, and Jerzy entered the lab and stood on the landing, looking over the commotion. There was a hustle and bustle of frenetic activity as lab personnel moved from station to station, checking data, preparing modules, and entering critical information.

“Every time I come in here, I expect to see tables with bubbling test tubes and old, toothless women sweeping the floor,” Jerzy said.

Lori laughed. “Well, it would be hard to explain what bubbling test tubes have to do with this project, but I get your drift. We are kinda like Dr. Frankenstein with this whole thing.” Tom vaulted down the stairs and skipped to the control area on the opposite side of the room. He high-fived everyone he passed and crossed to an older, balding man with a semi-circle of gray hair around the fringe of his scalp. A short gray mustache covered most of his upper lip. The man had a slow gait caused mainly by forty straight hours on his feet. Tom hugged him. 

“Bruce! This is it! I feel like tap dancing!”

“Well, I’ve put up with worse from you. We’re just running the final check-down now; almost complete. The data you just sent down is perfect.” Bruce had a New Jersey accent highlighted by a Yiddish lilt that caused his mustache to bounce when he spoke. 

The retrofitting of the building was designed specifically for this project. Constructed like a sports arena with a high domed ceiling, the lab was ten thousand square feet open from wall to wall. Three levels encircled the room starting at the floor. Each subsequent level rose above the one below and contained a series of computer stations lined up like the NASA control room, collating, interpreting, or generating data. The entire room was connected, hardwired, and air-gapped to The Quint's central motherboard. The Quint was the fastest and most potent AI computer known to man and contained the most significant elements of learned behavior and artificial intelligence. More significantly, it could determine and pinpoint a specific moment in time. 

In the main staging area, in the center of the room, was the masterpiece of the entire project - The Time Tube. The Time Tube was a four-story, transparent tube made from indestructible acrylic conducive to energy absorption. As energy swirled through the Time Tube, it created the power needed for time travel. It stood 18’ tall with an eight-foot diameter. A raised platform ran halfway around and had six steps that led up to a full-size door allowing access to the Tube. 

The lab's roof was six stories high and supported a series of lighting instruments, air conditioning units, and safety mechanisms.  Among the other things that lived in the ceiling was a series of tubing that wrapped around the room like a tornado and converged from the roof to the lab's centerpiece. This series of tubing was called the Cyclone. Air was pushed through the Cyclone at incredible speeds, producing centrifugal force. That energy transitioned to Euler acceleration, creating a variation in the angular velocity. Theoretically, this opens a window in time and allows the object to pass through.

After years of research, study, and failed experimentation, Tom finally understood that time is, in fact, parallel, meaning that time moves through us rather than us moving through time. In essence, time is an ever-evolving moment. We move from one plane to the next as we move forever forward. The wonder is that it is infinite, never-ending, so we will never reach the edge of time as time continues to build moment next to moment. Once Tom accepted that theory, the means of moving through time began to evolve. 

With enough energy, we can freeze ourselves in a moment, thus staying still as time moves on. The challenge became moving through thousands of moments to move back in time, or more accurately, let a specific moment of the past catch up to you. It had taken Tom and his crew almost five years to reach this point. They believed they could generate enough energy to move back and forth within their time sphere to moments that have happened or will happen and return to their own designated moment and survive. 

One of the most daunting challenges the team had to overcome when sending something through time was having the entire entity arrive in the same moment. Any portion of an entity that arrived a millisecond later than any other part of that entity would be split in two by the paradox of time. Using an optical lattice clock allowed the team to calculate to a precise moment. When coordinated with The Quint, the top or bottom, front or back, the side to side of any entity would arrive at the same exact moment in time so as not to be split apart. 

Subsequently, above the main control area, against the back wall, was the read-out of an optical lattice clock, accurate to one second every 400 million years. It was this technology that allowed Tom and his staff the ability to pinpoint a single moment in time. The optical lattice clock uses laser beams instead of atoms to calculate the second. The light from the laser excites the strontium atoms and increases the accuracy of determination of time.

With The Quint’s exceptional calculation ability, Tom could capture moments within a zeptosecond, one trillionth of a billionth of a second, targeting specific areas of history or periods of time, with phenomenal accuracy.  Projecting these moments into the future would allow them to move forward in time as well. Theoretically, at least. 

That theory would be tested this afternoon.




About the Author
 

Thomas White began his career as an actor. Several years later he found himself as an Artistic Director for a theatre in Los Angeles and the winner of several Drama-Logue and Critics awards for directing. As Tom’s career grew, he directed and co-produced the world tour of “The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Coming Out Of Their Shells”. The show toured for over two years, was translated into seven different languages and seen by close to a million children. Tom served as President and Creative Director for Maiden Lane Entertainment for 24 years and worked on many large-scale corporate event productions that included Harley Davidson, Microsoft, Medtronic Diabetes, and dozens of others. The Edison Enigma is Tom’s third novel following up Justice Rules which was nominated as a finalist in the Pacific Northwest Writers Association 2010 Literary contest, and The Siren’s Scream.

Author Links  

Website | X (Twitter) | Facebook 1 | Facebook 2 | Goodreads

 


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Sunday, March 3, 2024

⭐Pump Up Your Book Virtual Book Tour Kick Off⭐St. James Infirmary by Steven Meloan #StJamesInfirmary #fiction #shortstories

 

Tales of wounded people in need of care…


Title: St. James Infirmary

Author: Steven Meloan

Publication Date: April 20, 2023

Pages: 80

Genre: Short Fiction

A book of short stories by Steven Meloan.

Steven Meloan’s writing has been seen in Wired, Rolling Stone, Los Angeles, BUZZ, the San Francisco Chronicle, and SF Weekly. His fiction has appeared in SOMA Magazine, the Sonoma Valley Sun, Lummox Press, and Newington Blue Press, as well as at Litquake, Quiet Lightning, and other Bay Area literary events. He has regularly written for the Huffington Post, and is co-author of the novel The Shroud with his brother Michael. He is a recovered software programmer, and was a street busker in London, Paris, and Berlin.

“Reading these stories, I felt like I was hearing an original voice for the very first time. They are surreal, cinematic, poetic, and have real punch-with everything I could want in a collection of short fiction. Set in California and Europe, from the 1960s to the 1980s, they vividly capture lost times and lost places. They have echoes of Jack Kerouac and Paul Bowles, and can be read again and again with a sense of wonder and pleasure.”-Jonah Raskin, Author of Beat Blues, San Francisco, 1955

St. James Infirmary is a captivating collection of stories that takes readers on a dark and uncanny journey through everyday life. Meloan’s writing has a haunting subtlety that draws one in, as if witnessing the events in real-time. With sharp insights and unexpected twists, these stories explore complex human relationships and the often-mysterious forces that shape them. Meloan vividly captures the gritty reality of each setting, throwing a column of light into the underground of the ordinary. For fans of evocative writing that stays with you long after the final page, St. James Infirmary is a must-read.” 

– Roadside Press

St. James Infirmary is available at Amazon at http://tinyurl.com/fv3zr2hn and Roadside Press at https://www.magicaljeep.com/product/james/129 .


Book Excerpt:

It had been a long, hard cross-country drive west, in our boat-like 1960s Mercury cruiser. My parents could only cover a few hundred miles a day—because my brother and I were always hungry, or bored, or needed to pee. After a half-day of driving, my father would finally give in, check us into a roadside Motor Hotel, where we would swim, eat burgers, bounce like monkeys between beds in the musty room, and then fall into exhausted sleep.

The final stretch had seemed an eternity of highway—parched plains, tin-badge sheriffs wanting payments for (we suspected) manufactured infractions…and then the haunted moonlit expanse of the Mojave Desert. My parents had purchased an after-factory A/C for our new car—a rare luxury for the time. But because of it, the car was endlessly overheating.

Knowing nothing about such things, my college-professor father opened the hood, cars roaring past us in the starry night. He pulled out his handkerchief, loosening the radiator cap, unleashing a boiling geyser of water that blew ten feet into the air. He howled into the night like a wounded animal. My mother applied Vicks VapoRub (there in case my brother or I fell ill) to his badly blistered forearm, and we continued on into the desert expanse.

So after all that, it was a relief to have finally arrived—to be in Los Angeles. We pulled in at midnight off the Harbor Freeway, our legs stiff, our butts numb. Rolling down the windows brought the distant roar of traffic, which I imagined to be the ocean. The breeze carried with it the smell of oranges and dust, and other new and indefinable things.

And Downtown L.A. wasn’t much back then, almost a ghost town by night. My brother whispered over to me, “…It’s not very nice here, is it? Not like Indiana.”

My mother peered out into the solitary darkness, involuntarily gathering her coat around her. I watched her tired face lit in pale fluorescence, reflected in the car’s window glass.

And once again, my brother and I needed a snack, and had to pee. A diner at the corner of Pershing Square glowed in the distance like a solitary oasis—neon-red and fluorescent-white splashing out onto the dark oily streets. “Googies”—the two O’s of the sign forming curious cartoon eyes.

Cruising past, we saw solitary men inside hunched on red naugahyde stools, nursing cups of coffee, and maybe a slice of pie. I wondered what people were doing out at that hour, and all alone.

“I’m not taking the children in there,” my mother said as we pulled up to the curb. “It’s full of bums!”

My father, tired from the road and his arm still raw, growled back—“If they get hungry enough, they’ll get used to it!”

We were the only family in the place, the young waitress giving us a booth by the window. The unearthly brightness and neon trim felt like a space station. At a nearby stool, a man nervously traced a finger along the pastel shapes etched in the countertop, stubbing out the last of a cigarette, and then lighting another.

But after a fountain Coke, a grilled cheese, and fries, all felt right again with the world. Even my father seemed in better spirits. We checked into our hotel—the “Cloud Motel,” just west of downtown. The rooms smelled of stale cigarettes and bleach. But a glowing swimming pool hummed in the center courtyard, its lattice of turquoise light dancing in invitation.

The next morning, we all went sightseeing—billowing L.A. clouds against a painfully blue sky, impossibly tall palms swaying in the breeze, and the jacaranda trees in full purple bloom. It was before the era of smog, and the downtown gleamed like Oz.

When we came back to our room later that afternoon, though, we found my mother’s dresses and blouses inexplicably stuffed into a plastic trash can in the hall outside the door. My father’s face tightened in rage. Like a detective, he slowly unlocked the door of our room. Inside, three men in their underwear sat at a small round table, smoking cigars and playing cards. Their wiry black chest hair spilled out from white-ribbed undershirts, and a lone woman lounged on a far chair, her legs crossed, wearing nothing but a bra and panties.

“What the hell are you doing in my room!” my father snarled.

“What the hell are you doing in my room?” a man who appeared to be the leader of the group shot back.

My father spun out to the hall, grabbed the trash can filled with my mother’s clothes, emptied the contents into the trunk of our Mercury, and then headed for the hotel office. My brother and I stood outside with my mother, her arms wrapped around us. Inside the glass enclosure, we saw my father waving his arms, his mouth contorting into vague obscenities. In response to something the desk clerk said, my father drop-kicked the plastic trash can clear across the office lobby. He’d never been good at sports, but it was an impressive shot.

Minutes later, he emerged with a new room key. “There’s a convention nearby,” he said, his face still red, “and they needed the larger rooms. It’s apparently how they do things here. But we’re getting the new room for free—and for the rest of the week.”

I looked at my parents as we made our way to the new room, trying to decide from their expressions whether this turn of events was a good thing, or a bad thing. My father suggested we all put on our suits and go for a swim. 

“…Welcome to L.A.,” he said. 





About the Author
 

Steven Meloan has written for Wired, Rolling Stone, the Huffington Post, Los Angeles, BUZZ, the San Francisco Chronicle, and SF Weekly. His fiction has appeared in SOMA Magazine, the Sonoma Valley Sun, Lummox Press, Newington Blue Press, and Roadside Press, as well as at Litquake, Quiet Lightning, Library Girl, and other literary events. His short fiction collection, St. James Infirmary, was released in 2023 on Roadside Press. He is a recovered software developer, co-author of the novel The Shroud with his brother Michael, and a former busker in London, Paris, and Berlin.

Author Links  X (Twitter) | Facebook | Instagram



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⭐Pump Up Your Book Virtual Book Tour Kick Off⭐Urbex Predator by Jens Boele #UrbexPredator #Horror #Thriller

 

Lost in the wilderness, a desolate barracks becomes a perilous attraction for risk-seekers drawn to the heart of nowhere, as a ruthless gang turns the abandoned settlement into a deadly trap with escalating provocations and brutal violence.


Title: Urbex Predator

Author: Jen Boele

Publication Date: February 4, 2024

Pages: 394

Genre: Horror / Thriller

A relic from the Cold War, the old barracks beckon photographers, influencers, and adventurers, shrouded in secrets and peril. Nela and Tess dare the eerie ruins for their photography thesis, while Zander, Yelka, Vivien, and Damon embark on a simultaneous shoot. Amid the abandoned shadows, Yelka’s group runs into Steven and his ruthless gang, initially outsmarting them. Yet, Nela and Tess fall victim to a nightfall ambush, escaping but torn apart. As adrenaline courses through the gang, they stalk Yelka and her friends, unleashing a relentless manhunt. Vivien becomes their captive, setting off a chain reaction. Tess encounters Damon and Yelka, while Nela, guided by Ben, the barracks’ security manager, races to find Tess. Yelka strives to rescue Vivien, trapped in an abandoned outdoor pool. On his lone pursuit, Zander witnesses the gang’s brutality, delving into a darker realm within himself, spurred by the horrifying thrill of Steven’s actions. The scene propels Yelka, Damon, and Tess into a frenzy, unleashing chaos to liberate Vivien. Nela and Ben, attempting to overpower the gang, witness Yelka and Vivien’s escape as the gang closes in. With the arrival of Steven’s older brother, Henry, the stakes are set; the old military hospital transforms into a battleground. No one is to leave alive, and a matter of life and death ensues. In the ruthless clash, Nela and Yelka emerge as the lone defenders, while Zander pursues a mission for his own catharsis. In Henry’s basement, dubbed his Hades, the teams converge for a pulse-pounding final duel, where survival is the ultimate prize. 

You can pick up your copy at Amazon



Book Excerpt:


We better find a way out quickly. The editorial's deadline is getting close, we can't afford any further delay.

Damon’s words lay upon the group like a heavy burden. He was good at making his personal problems everybody’s business. When he felt spoiled, he meant business. And Damon wasn’t done yet.

“Moreover, we have no Wi-Fi here. Zero, nada, not a bit.” 

He let the words sink in, then added, “Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t post anything out here.” He put his phone away and joined Zander. 

“Here’s how it’s going down: While the girls are taking photos, you’re looking for an exit that will get us out of here A–S–A–P. Get it?”

“We’ll take the pictures, don’t worry about it” Yelka hooked in from behind. “And tonight, from our hotel, we’ll be able to watch your follower numbers skyrocket in no time.”

“I assume so,” Damon replied curtly. “The sore point in the planning is the way back. But Zander will take care of that. And I know for sure he’ll find a really fast way out for us.” Appreciatively, he patted his shoulders.

“Damon, when do you think we will break the 30,000 mark? I really want that to happen by this weekend.”

“Yes, starlet, we can definitely do that. Your pretty sister will do a fantastic job and Zander will get us back to the hotel in no time.”

Zander wasn’t concerned about Damon’s problems at all. If it were up to him, Vivian should just do blunt erotic shots on the beach or in a studio. Or better, shoot soft porn. That was what it was all about, after all. Maybe he would watch that too. Vivian naked in the sand. Hmm … Anyway, none of this had anything to do with the fascination of abandoned places. And this barracks had so much of it to offer.

“If we continue along this path through the forest, we will soon reach the residential block. From there, another path leads to the recreational facilities. There is a pool, a sports field and a theater, but it could also be used as a cinema. In parallel …”

“Sis, shouldn’t we take a picture of me in this outdoor pool?” Lasciviously, Vivian played with the strap of her top.

“Absolutely” laughed Yelka.

Why wasn’t she actually on his side? After all, he had planned the whole trip just for Yelka. Zander wanted everything to be perfect today. Yet, that wouldn’t work with Vivian and Damon. Honestly speaking, they shouldn’t have joined in the first place. When the forest suddenly opened up to reveal a settlement, Zander’s heart began to pound faster.

Weathered multi-story apartment blocks rose into the sky, overgrown with birch and fir trees. Moss clung to the entrance areas; ivy sought its way upwards. The scenery looked like a modern Sleeping Beauty castle, sprung from the premonition of a sinister dystopia. 

For a moment, the group stopped and let themselves be captivated by the magic of the place. Speechless, their eyes wandered up the multi-story buildings, lingering on the dark building openings and absorbing the surreal atmosphere.

“This is incredible,” Yelka was the first to return to her words. She put an arm around Zander and hugged him. “Just incredible.”

Zander felt overwhelmed. His excitement was looking for a channel. “Considering that the residents lived here for 40 years, and nature has taken over for 30 years, then … well …” He didn’t know how to finish the sentence. Zander was overwhelmed, both by the place and by Yelka’s closeness.

“Darling sister, you can start thinking about whether you want to be photographed on the steps or the old climbing frame” Yelka indicated as she dug her camera out of the small backpack.

“The steps are great!” exclaimed Vivian, settling down on the moss-covered steps.

“Perfect,” Damon joined in again as well. “That looks excellent, starlet! Lie back, let your hair fall to the right.”

Zander walked thoughtlessly over the moss that covered the former street. Here, families must have once walked home, children played on the sidewalk, and vehicles drove north to the barracks. With a kick, he plucked the green from the ground and looked at the dark asphalt. This was how the place had been left nearly three decades ago. 

He squatted down and let his fingers slide over the old pavement. A shiver came over him. At that moment, he felt the same fascination for these places as Yelka. Stealthily, he glanced over at his secret love as she took photos of her hot sister. 

Vivian had leaned back dramatically, her chest up, her hair hanging down behind her. Her belly was exposed, her breasts pressed against the top. She stretched her long legs, like she was riding a bicycle.

Zander’s gaze drifted off to Yelka, who held her camera with both hands. She was shifting positions from time to time. Although she was wearing cargo pants, boots and gloves, she didn’t look one bit less sexy than her younger sibling. 

He averted his eyes and let them roam over the facade of the apartment block again, only to look back over at the sisters. 

“So, now …” Damon was about to intervene in the shooting when heavy dog barking made their blood run cold.

Yelka stopped her shots, Vivian lost body tension and Damon turned his head. 

The big, short-haired yapper hung on the leash of a young guy in his early 20s. His tattooed arms were pumped up, stretching a red shirt. His chest jutted out as he stood wide-legged, holding the dog. A sharply cut face framed his full lips. He wore a gold necklace, his hair was shaved short. Behind him, four boys and a girl had set up. Two of them held metal pipes in their hands, brandishing them menacingly.

“Good day to you all!” The words didn’t sound like a greeting, but more like a threat. “This is private property. No trespassing!” As if to underline his words, the dog growled insistently. The group slowly approached. Those two men carrying the batons grinned menacingly. “The whole compound is surrounded by a concrete wall.”

Yelka was the first to speak up, “Hey, we’re just taking pictures, we’re not destroying or stealing anything.”

“So what?” told Ryder Yelka. “Fuck it, you guys are still illegal. There are signs on the outside walls and gates that state that this place is off limits.”

“Yeah, but you’re still coming here,” the dark-haired boy with the scratched forearm shouted.

“Even though it’s forbidden.”

The group had surrounded the four, leaving no way out. Gazoo barked at Vivian, tugging at Ryder’s leash. 

“What you are doing here is forbidden, you know that.”

“Okay, we made a mistake,” Yelka tried to concede. “How about we pack up and get out of here?” Seeking help, she looked over at Zander, but he was transfixed.

“Yeah, you just thought so.” A grim smile played around Ryder’s face. “I want to see everyone’s IDs!”

“IDs out!” repeated Jesse, roaring.

Yelka looked at Zander first, then at Damon. “Please, let us just go our merry way and everything will be cool,” she offered the boys.

Damon had regained his composure and was surveying the situation. Yelka and Zander getting married would be more likely than these guys being security guards. There was danger in the air. They were in the middle of nowhere and were being threatened by a gang of rednecks, carrying a loose dog. 

Dave lifted the steel pipe and touched Yelka’s chin. “Ain’t nothing cool here,” Ryder told them. “Either you show us your IDs or else.”

As if to make an example, Dave hit the ground with his club.

Yelka flinched. Gazoo jumped up at her, held back only by Ryder’s leash. “Chop, chop, IDs out!”  Ryder roared indignantly.

“I think we need to make a cut here!” With a brisk step, Damon put himself between Yelka and Ryder. “To me, it seems like a misunderstanding.”

For a moment, there was silence. Gazoo stopped barking, Dave’s steel pipe hovered in the air, and Ryder waited to see what Damon would say.

“My name is Duke. Damon Duke, of Duke Executives.” He spread his arms and stood between Ryder and Yelka. 

“We rented this location today to hold a photo shoot.” 

He pointed to Vivian, who was still sitting on the steps. “This is Vivian Donahue, one of our most important models, known as Violet-D.”

Damon waited a moment, watching the gang as they stared over at Vivian. He could see the aggression draining from the young men’s faces. Desire appeared in their eyes.

“We are taking pictures for the centerfold today. Vivian’s work needs a relaxed atmosphere. So, I’d be grateful if we could do the shoot without any further disruptions. Later, I’m sure she’ll have time for a short meet and greet with autographs. If you have any further questions, please contact Councilor Wilbanks. Please carry on, we don’t have any time to lose. Hush, hush!”

A stunned silence hung over the scene. The gang hadn’t quite taken their eyes off Vivian when it dawned on them that they had just been set up. Yelka and Vivian were already preparing to resume the photo shoot when Ryder suddenly straightened up again. “Are you kidding me? I want to see your fucking IDs–no photos until I say so!”

“Good,” Damon turned abruptly and held out his ID to Ryder, “that’s me, Damon Duke.” He gave him a moment to compare ID photo and face, then pulled out his cell phone. “And now I’d like to know what company you’re with.” 

Damon held the phone to his ear and waited for Ryder’s answer. But he remained silent. 

“Mr. Wilbanks, this is Damon Duke speaking. I apologize for the interruption. Contrary to our agreements, we were evicted from the place by security.” His and Ryder’s eyes met. “They didn’t hire any security at all? Then I assume this is a misunderstanding.” 

Dave looked at Ryder, waiting for any reaction. But he just stared at Damon indecisively.

“No, I don’t think we need police here. Thank you very much, and again, I’m sorry to bother you.” 

Damon dropped the phone into his purse, then pulled out a slew of business cards. “Here you go.” 

First, he handed Ryder his card, then to the rest of the gang. “We’re still looking for security employees. If any of you want to make money, you’re more than welcome to contact me.” 

Dazzled, the gang looked at each other. “Have a nice day! Now, starlets, we’ll move on to the next location.”

Ryder looked grimly after the Urbexers as they walked on. Soon they would find out what kind of a nice day they were going to have.



 
About the Author

Jens Boele, a veteran media designer in the entertainment industry, brings over two decades of cinematic expertise to his writing. Born in Germany in 1975, Jens embarked on his writing odyssey in his youth, culminating in the publication of his debut book, “Sunshine,” in 2015. This was followed by “Hurensohn,” and his latest spine-tingling creation, “Urbex Predator.” Jens is a genre-bending author, specializing in horror and crime thrillers. His narratives often blur genre lines, weaving intricate tales that plunge readers into the darkest corners of the human psyche. Jens’s storytelling brilliance lies in his fascination with the criminal mind; his villains are always profoundly human, offering readers a chilling examination of the psychological aspects of the criminally insane. Jens sets himself apart by seamlessly integrating classic horror with the gritty authenticity of the present day. This innovative fusion imbues his narratives with a dynamic quality, seamlessly blending archaic thrills with contemporary intrigue, resulting in an immersive reading experience that resonates with both vintage enthusiasts and present-day readers alike. Jens Boele’s latest endeavor takes his work across borders, as “Urbex Predator” becomes his first book to be translated into English. A globetrotter with deep connections to the United States, Jens’s passion for exploration and his international perspective, nurtured by family and friends in the US, shine through in his writing, offering readers a captivating blend of horror and cultural diversity. Visit Jens’ website at https://jensboele.com/.




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Sunday, February 11, 2024

⭐Pump Up Your Book Virtual Book Tour Kick Off⭐The Dreaming Team by Chris Wallace #TheDreamingTeam #HistoricalFiction #HistFic

 


The Dreaming Team is a true story for anyone who believes that seemingly insurmountable odds can be overcome if you have the talent and the opportunity..


Title: The Dreaming Team

Author: Chris Wallace

Publication Date: October 30, 2023

Pages: 368

Genre: Historical Fiction

In the 1850s, Australia was a thriving colony of the British Empire, with its own sense of importance and sophistication.  But the people who had occupied this vast land for upwards of 40,000 years didn’t fit well with colonial expectations of the future.  In every way imaginable, white Australia tried to keep its “darkies” in line. It is against this backdrop in the 1860s that the amazing story of an all Aboriginal cricket team, the first Aussie team to do so, played at Lords, the home of cricket in England.  Conventional wisdom predicted that Indigenous Australians would die off by the next generation. The Dreaming Team brings those Indigenous players to life and follows them on an adventure that would appear to be unbelievable if it weren’t true.  They not only changed the minds and perceptions about Aboriginal Australians, they arguably changed the course of Australian history.  Praise for The Dreaming Team: “A beautiful story, beautifully written, about a piece of Australian history that, if you don’t know about, you probably should. Heartwarming, heartbreaking and brimming with relevance for today’s Australia. A poignant example of how far we’ve come and how far we haven’t.” “The Dreaming Team tells the true story of the all Aboriginal cricket team from Victoria who did a tour of Great Britain back in the 1860s and all the drama, setbacks, and cultural divide between the Aboriginals and white Australians involved. Considering the state of affairs for Aboriginal people in those days, the team’s accomplishments are no small feat!” “What an interesting story. It is truly an Australian story about indigenous Australians. The story grabbed me from the first chapter, and drew me further in to where I could not put it down. I don’t want to give anything away, so I will say that the twists and turns makes you want to know what happens next at the end of each chapter. To say it is a sports story is not fair, it is a people story, told from the heart, about the hearts of people who love the land, and their story. I recommend it highly, and look forward to more from the author, Chris Wallace!”

You can purchase your copy at Amazon.  




Book Excerpt:

Mr. Buckingham has asked Black Johnny to come into the shearing shed.  They stand together, both uncomfortable for different reasons.  Unaarrimin wonders if he’s done something wrong.  He has always tried to be a good worker.  Never complained about anything.  Was happy just to be there on the station  What could he have done?  In the very back of his mind, he wonders if it has anything to do with Alice but dismisses the thought as soon as it comes.  Mr. Buckingham is uncomfortable because he doesn’t like confrontation.  And especially this one.  He is perfectly happy with Black Johnny, finds him easy going, cooperative and good at his job.  It’s only because of his wife that he is in this position.  After a few more awkward minutes, Buckingham clears his throat and begins.  “You know . . . Um . . . You see . . . If it was up to me . . . Well . . . Er . . . The Missus has a bit of ah . . . Oh, damn it, I’m going to have to let you go.  That’s the size of it.  You’ll have to leave the property.  I’ve arranged some provisions for you, tea and sugar, salt, a blanket, a billy, matches, a good knife.  But you’ll have to go.”  Unaarrimin can only look at this man dumbfounded; this man who has been his guardian since he was orphaned as a little boy.  “What have I done?” Unaarrimin asks.  “Well, that’s just it, you see.  It isn’t that you’ve done anything.  It’s more like . . . um . . . look, Johnny, let’s just leave it that the Missus would rather you weren’t here anymore.  Like I said, if it was up to me, we wouldn’t be having this talk.  But you’ve got to go.  Here, take this letter with you.  It’ll help you get a job somewhere else.  But she wants you off the property tomorrow.  Early.”

Alice and Unaarrimin had been inseparable when they were children.  She claimed him.  She taught him to read.  As she learned them, she taught him manners.  They hiked all over Mullagh Station together.  He taught her how to live in the bush, showing her what plants were edible; how to make bread, how to build a proper fire.  They got into all manner of mischief together, stealing honey from Mrs. Buckingham’s cupboard and tobacco from Mr. Buckingham’s pouch.  One time Unaarrimin twisted his ankle jumping from the roof of the shed because Alice dared him.  When they saw that he was alright, they rolled on the ground together in fits of laughter.  He remembers how infectious Alice’s laugh is.  It’s like a melody, like music to him.  He would always do anything to make her laugh.  And she always did.  One day he was teaching her how to throw a boomerang.  “Hold it like this,’ he says.  “Throw from the shoulder”.  Alice cranks her arm for a mighty toss and cracks Unaarrimin in the nose.  She starts laughing her magical laugh.  Even when it starts bleeding, she’s still laughing.  And by now, he is laughing  too.  Alice takes a handkerchief from her pocket and begins dabbing the blood.  Then she gives it to him so he can apply enough pressure to stop the bleeding.  All the while they are laughing uncontrollably.

But there is no laughter now.  Now, he is filled with sadness as he empties the remains of the billy onto the fire and rolls up his swag.  Where is he to go?  What is he to do?  He ambles away from the billabong, no longer conscious of freedom, but thinking of what he has lost, wondering if he’ll ever see her again. 




About the Author
 

Chris Wallace is a creative resource.  

As an actor, he was a regular on the hit daytime drama, All My Children, created the role of The Half-Percenter in Joe Papp’s production, Mondongo, appeared in countless television programs, including The Incredible Hulk, The Mary Tyler Moore Hour and had a starring role in the holiday horror classic film, New Year’s Evil.  

As a producer, he put on New York: A Great Place to Live at Lincoln Center which kicked off New York City’s Diamond Jubilee; for Channel Five in New York, he produced the highly acclaimed Harlem Cultural Festival; at the Apollo Theatre in Harlem, he produced Uptown Sunday Afternoon, which was hosted by Harry Belafonte and featured Richard Pryor, Bill Withers, and a galaxy of other performers; for the National Organization for Women, he produced A Valentine’s Day Tribute to Woman at New York’s Town Hall;  was associate producer of the first Ali-Frazier Heavyweight Championship Fight at Madison Square Garden, and produced the gigantic block party, hosted by Gwen Verdon, which named West 46th Street as Restaurant Row. .

He earned the Silver Award at the New York International Film and Television Festival for In the Balance, a film that advocated sustainability and common sense in wildlife management.  It was also singled out by the Department of the Interior as one of the best films of its kind.  Chris wrote, narrated and wrote the musical score for that film.

He performed on several children’s television programs in New York, Boston, Philadelphia, Washington D.C. and Jacksonville, singing his original children’s songs.  In Hollywood, he performed them for all denominations of Big Brothers and Big Sisters of America.  He created a musical, A Special Thing to Be, at the Los Angeles Children’s Museum that featured his kids’ songs and the museum’s children’s chorus.

He wrote the songs for two children’s theatre productions in Hollywood, Hooray, Here Comes the Circus and Sleeping Beauty; wrote and performed the songs on Strong Kids, Safe Kids, a video produced by Henry Winkler for Paramount that dealt with the protection of children from sexual molestation and exploitation.  He created his first musical revue, Greatest Hits, in Hollywood, which played several venues, including Carlos ‘n’ Charlie’s on Sunset Strip and The Backlot in West Hollywood.

Upon relocating to Australia, he produced A Helping Hand at the Victorian Arts Centre, a benefit for Quadriplegic Hand Foundation; wrote book, music and lyrics for Nothing to Wear, a musical based on “The Emperor’s New Clothes,” also produced at the Victorian Arts Centre.  He created a one-man show, A Thing of Shreds & Patches, for the Melbourne Fringe Festival; created another one-man show, The Mark Twain You Don’t Know, which toured Australia, then Pacific Palisades, California, and played in New York City on the 100th anniversary of Mark Twain’s death.  He created several cabaret shows for The Butterfly Club in Melbourne, most notable of which was Les Femmes which featured an all female cast.  He wrote, produced and performed in Huckleberry: A Musical Adventure which premiered in Melbourne.

Which brings us to The Dreaming Team.  This is his second book.  The first, Hollywood Mosaic is written under the pen name, Pete Joseph.

You can visit his website at www.olentangymusic.com. 





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