Beta reading for the first book in the series is closed, as the book is now available in print and e-book. Book 2 should be available in print and e-book soon.

Reviews wanted

I have released the first book to beta readers. You may send me email, or simply post your comments here on this page. If there are questions about the first book, the whole series or simply about this blog page, I would love to hear them. If there are no problems, the release to ebooks will occur on time. It is currently planned for Oct. 30, 2013. While it is not really a Halloween theme, it does have witches, wizards, ghosts and goblins in it, so releasing in time for Halloween seemed appropriate. https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/364445

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The first question I have to answer is: [Q:] "Why are there so many references to space and aliens in a book about magic?"

[A:] That secret gets revealed beginning with book 2, Return to Abras. The main characters in the series, [Kevin, Amy, Patty, and Billy] only think they are doing magic. The reality is that they are doing science … alien science. The witches robes, magic wands, and ancient spells are not really needed, other than to help them concentrate their powers. The first book can be considered stand-alone, but read the next book and all this will become clear.
Other questions?

Welcome to my mind. Keep your hands and feet attached at all times and ignore the ghosts; they generally mean well.  Today I will add an excerpt from the fourth novel, working title "The Orion Spur" (or possibly "Trouble in the Orion Spur"). This section sees the introduction of an aboriginal named Bach Spivey, who lives in the Northern Territory of Australia. He is greeted by Bernie Jacobs (an elderly Jewish man). I welcome all thoughts as I am traversing unknown waters trying to give proper speech and slang to an aboriginal from the NT.  If you see something that does not ring true, let me know. I would appreciate it.

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A little dingo bird, trying to make a nest in one of the scrubby bushes, wrestled with the twigs and branches, trying to get them to go where he wanted.  Bach Spivey sat watching its progress for a while, as he leaned back in the meager shade cast by the corrugated metal of his tiny shack's roof.

"Welcome to the Scrub, little friend." he said quietly.  "I'd throw an old shirt over that bush to help you stay out of the sun, but you'd probably think I was up to no good and fly away.  I guess you will have to make do with what shade you're getting from the brush itself."  As precious as water was, out here in the Scrub, he thought about setting out a little dish with water for the dingo bird.  After all, the bird was now his closest neighbor.  He considered he might use a stick to slide it over towards the bush very slowly.  Most people who lived in the Scrub were there because their parents had lived there and their parents before them, going back to the beginning, –whenever that might have been.  Bach was one of those.  There was not that much to do, but, as with the little bird, sometimes just living here took a lot of work.

For now, Bach's main concern was staying in the shade and waiting for the cool of the evening, so he could walk about.  He might go visit his good friend Sully, but for now the heat was making him drowsy.  Before long, he was lolling on the verge of sleep when a strange sound drifted in from the distance.  He had never heard a sound like that before.  In reality, it was two sounds mixed together.  First, there was the distant sound like thunder, and then shortly thereafter, a whistle joined it, like something moving fast through the air.  The whistle rose in pitch, higher and higher, as it turned upwards.

He did not have to turn his head, only his eyes, which was good.  It seemed especially hot today, and he hated moving if he didn't have to.  Perhaps this was that global warming he had heard talk of.  Staring straight ahead, but slightly to the left, he could see that there was something shiny on the horizon.  It moved to the right, directly across his field of view, and curved upward at a steeper and steeper angle.  The further it climbed, the higher pitched the sharp whistling sound that came from that direction.  It was going faster and faster as it climbed.  The thunderous roar and whistle was louder now, coming from behind the silvery thing, and seemed to follow it.

"That's no plane, is it, bird?"  The object looked like an airplane, but was very sleek and pointed in the front, and from the rear, enough fire poured out that he could see it glowing brightly against the sunny afternoon sky.  It left a trail of smoke behind, but the smoke was light enough that it disappeared quickly.

"I might move that fast if my tail was on fire. How about you, bird?"  The whistle had gotten too high to hear, now.  The silvery shape disappeared far up in the sky, and the remaining smoke and thunder were gone quickly thereafter.

"Well, that was different." he summed up, and resolved to tell Sully about it to see if they could figure out what it might have been.  He knew what it reminded him of, –one of the ancient tales that the story-keepers passed from generation to generation.  It would be quite exciting if that where what it was.  As a small boy, he had dreamed of those times.

The story he liked best told of the spot where he sat.  According to that tale, this place had once held a great city, where ships took off and landed from far worlds, bringing the ancients who came to teach men how to hunt and how to make things.  They told how the First Men who lived here made enemies out there and those enemies followed them back here and destroyed the city.  From that, the Scrub was born.  They poisoned the land, so little grew here any more.

What Bach had seen must be one of those First Men crafts, perhaps hidden in a cave all this time.  He would relate it to a story-keeper.  Could there be a story or a song he had not heard, which would tell more of such things?

* * *

"G'Day," called an elderly man as he approached Bach's little house.

Bach answered back, "G'Day, Mate.  Owyergoin?"  (Hello friend.  How's it going?)

"Not bad lately," answered the man, as he approached.  "Is this your land?"

Bach considered the man without getting up.  "Well, now that is an interesting question.  The answer depends on how you mean it.  If you mean, is this the place where I live, then yes, it is.  If you are asking whether the land belongs to me, then I would answer that there is a native title or ILUA registered for this land at the place where the government keeps such things.  However, my real answer is: Who can truly own the land?  It was here before us and will be here long after we are gone.  The land is its own master.  It is also the master of foolish Pommies[1] who walk about in the heat of the day."

The City-man glanced up and grinned.  "I can see the truth in that.  My name is Bernie Jacobs.  May I come share your shade and talk?"

Even though he was a city man, possibly American, he seemed respectful enough.  Bach shrugged and motioned with his head towards his other chair, which, like the one he now sat on, was next to the wall in the shade.  "Please stay clear of that bush, though.  My neighbors are shy of strangers."  The man from the city looked at the bush Bach indicated.  A piece of old cloth lay stretched over the top of it.

As the man looked, he saw that a little ways below the cloth, there was a bird's nest in the bush where he saw a pair of birds.  As Bach had asked, the man from the city did skirt far out around the bush, before coming to sit down on the one empty chair.

Bach extended his hand.  "I'm Bach Spivey.  Take a rest."

The man, Bernie, said, "I spoke with your chief, Warra, and also with one of your story-keepers, Natan.  I was told the ancients had a city here in the long-time-past."

Bach agreed.  "Yes, I have also heard speak of this, but I have seen no evidence."

The man unslung the pack hanging over his shoulder and sat.  He brought out a thermos.  "Care for a drink of tea?  I'll warn you, it already has sugar in it."

Bach agreed and reached for his cup, swigging down the last of the water inside.

Bernie poured him some tea and they sat for a while in the shade, drinking and exchanging light conversation about the heat of the day, certain small clouds in the distance, and whether rain might be possible.  Bach told Bernie that he thought the birds were some of his ancestors, but had not yet figured out which ones.  "They could have lived anywhere, but they chose this spot, so they must be here to look after me, and me, them."

The man, Bernie, finally asked, "What I was wondering was something Warra and Natan told me.  What about this plane that looked like it went right up into space?"

"As I told them, it was no plane.  It took off from over there."  He pointed at the spot on the near side of the hills, where he had first seen the thing appear.  "It started off level, but as it moved forward and picked up speed, it turned upwards, steeper and steeper."  He traced the path he remembered, curving upwards, "–until it disappeared from view about there.  It went into space. "

"Could it have been further away than it looked?  That is the right direction for a rocket fired from Woomera."

"True, but Woomera is far away.  It is south beyond Coober Peddy.  What I saw definitely rose up on this side of those hills, –not beyond them.  I haven't seen my friend Sully lately, but if he's home he might know more.  It was much closer to his place.  He should have even heard the sound if he were sleeping in his underground room."

Bernie raised an eyebrow.  "Underground room?"

"One year several of us men went walkabout together.  We went to Uluru, which you may call Ayer's Rock.  It's a holy place.  After that, we walked south to Coober Peddy.  We wanted to see the way the people who mine the opals made whole houses underground.  My friend, Sully, was so thrilled with the idea of underground houses, that he said when we got back here; he was going to dig out under his house and make a room.  He must have done, for his house is always cool inside.  He says the cool air comes from underground."

Bernie looked thoughtful.  "Sully sounds like an interesting person.  –Is he a lifelong friend?"

"He has been here a few years.  He asked permission to build a house in that corner of our titled land," Bach pointed, "–and Warra agreed.  He is a brother, but when he first came here, I couldn't understand him at all.  I think he walked away from one of those government sites, although he didn't seem to know any English.  Some of them teach only in English, so our people struggle to understand what they mean by the words."

"If he is native, then why couldn't you understand him?"

"You may not know it, but there were two hundred fifty different languages here before the English came, and there are still one hundred forty five, I am told.  We may all be related in some way, but there are many tribes or nations.  Sully was simply from a different tribe."  Bach smiled at the grandfather-man, hoping he did not sound patronizing.  "We decided to teach him English instead of Yolngu talk, since that is understood by most of us and would help him in dealing with your people."

"Let me correct that.  I may speak English, but the English are not my people.  I'm of Hebrew descent.  My people live in Israel."

Bach put his fingers to his chin and looked towards the sky.  "I once saw a globe of the Earth.  I am trying to remember where that is."

"Do you recall Europe, Africa and Asia?" the old man asked.  "Israel is a small country close to where those three continents come together."

"Ah.  I believe I can picture it.  That is a long walk from Australia, –If we could walk on water."

Bernie smiled.  "Besides the oceans, there are mountains, deserts and rivers to cross.  It would take at least a year to walk there."

"Indeed a long walk."

Bernie returned to the earlier subject.  "You said it was not an airplane.  Can you tell me what it was, then?  What did it look like?"

"I see many airplanes flying over in all shapes and sizes, and it did look somewhat like one but sharper, –pointier.  It was silver colored, reflecting light like a mirror or the surface of a still pond, so I am sure it was metal.  The sound was like thunder rolling continuously and a sharp whistle came too, rising in pitch.  That sound meant it was going faster and faster."  Bach looked at the stranger.  "Oh, I don't want to forget the fire.  There was fire spraying out the back and it left a thin trail of white smoke that disappeared quickly, leaving no trace it had been there."

Bernie reflected on Bach's words.  "I see," he said absently.

"You are not English, after all."  Bach looked at him.  "They would have questioned my word and asked, 'Are you sure?'  You just accepted what I said without challenge."

Bernie raised both hands palms upward.  "What can I say?  I could tell you were certain from the tone of your voice."  He paused a moment.  "You said you might check with your friend Sully later.  Would you mind if I went along?  I should warn you that being old, I walk slowly.  Hope you can put up with that.  —If Sully has anything to add to the story, I'd love to hear it."

"It's a goer, then.  No worries.  I'm matey with old people's walking." (It's a sure thing. Don't worry; I'm familiar with how old people walk.)

"I believe I almost understood that.  Careful or I'll start throwing Yiddish at you."

The man began explaining what Yiddish was, but Bach continued.  "The sun's still high, so I'll have a short kip and we can walk over to Sully's place after that."

* * *

"Sully?  You home Mate?"  Bach yelled as they approached the small shack.

There was no one stirring at Sully's place.

Along the way, Bernie watched patiently as Bach picked some berries, holding them in a fold of his shirt.  Walking inside his friend's house he looked for a place to put them.  There was a bowl sitting on the small table in the corner he filled with berries, and wrote Sully a quick note.  "Berries From Beethoven", it said.

As Bernie looked at it, Bach explained.  "Sully discovered classical music a while back and realized that Bach was a famous name in that field.  After that, he started calling me by a different composer's name each time he saw me.  –Strauss, Mozart, Brahms, Chopin, Vivaldi and so on.  He will know it was really me if I put the name of a different musical artist than Bach.  In fact, if I did put Bach, he might even suspect it was from someone intending to poison him, and toss the berries in the bin."

"Trusting fellow."  Bernie chuckled.

"He can be paranoid.  I will admit that."  Bach looked around.  Spotting what looked like a wooden pallet on the floor, he walked over to it.  Holding his hand above it, Bach said, "I think this is the cover over his shaft.  I feel cool air."

Bernie eyed it.  The cover had a wooden frame with cross-slats, but a wire mesh covered it to keep someone from stepping through and falling down the shaft he knew was below.  He tried to lift it but it would not budge.

"Gelar 'Sully' Sullivan!  Are you down there Mate?  It's Mozart."  Bach called, but there was no response.

Bernie noted, "The grate seems to be locked from below.  Perhaps he's down there, but sleeping.  On the other hand, what if he started down to his underground room and fell, hitting his head?"

Bach glanced at him and nodded.  "Possible."  He tried to peer down through the grating, but the shaft below was too dark to make out anything.

Bernie added, sounding concerned, "Before we leave, do you think we should make certain he isn't down there?"  Bernie then seemed to be talking to himself.  "If I were hiding a release lever for this cover up here, I wonder where I would put it?"  Bernie walked over by Sully's bed.

Interesting, he thought as he saw what appeared to be buttons and levers around the bed.  They were disguised as part of a frame built by someone inept at bed building, but his practiced eye saw them for what they were. Reaching out to touch one of these with a finger, Bernie realized they were meant to be activated by someone lying in the bed.  He reached across to one on the far side.  With barely any sound, a handle to something popped up into his hand.  Raising it, he turned it over to see it better.  It was a Sig Sauer P226 pistol with a sonic suppressor from a company called SWR in the USA.  What would you be doing in the Australian bush, my little friend?  Bernie considered the weapon as he checked that Bach had not seen what happened.  He pushed the pistol back into its hiding place with a soft click

"I can't see anything down there," Bach glanced up and said.  "Sully.  Are you about, Mate?" he yelled, cupping his hand beside his mouth to direct the sound downward.

Bernie considered the other release lever.  He was betting there was another pistol on this side as well.  When he was sure Bach was again looking away, he positioned his left hand to catch whatever popped up and pressed the release.  Prepared as he was, what shot up into his hand stunned him.  He thought, YOU shouldn't even be on this planet!

Only the eyes of one who had been off this blue and white world and learned of life beyond, would recognize this weapon for what it was.  At the base of the grip were the initials marking it in galactic script as a product of the Skelorian Weapons Works.  In his hand was a fully charged Skelorian laser pistol.  Nearly everyone 'out there' would agree that this was one of the most accurate and deadly laser pistols in the galaxy, –very hard to find, –and very expensive.

He quickly slid the Skelorian back into its hidden slot between the frame and the mattress and stepped to the foot of the bed, where he had already spotted the release he was looking for.  A thin wire attached to that lever hugged the leg of the bed and disappeared into the floor.  He said, "Ah, I think I see what we need," to Bach, and made a show of pulling the lever at the foot of the bed.  One side of the grating popped up an inch or so.  "Yes, that's it."

Bach raised the grating and looked in.  "There's a ladder.  I'll climb down and see if Sully's down there."  He paused a moment and added.  "Since Sully doesn't know you, would you mind waiting up here, mate?"

"Not at all.  Go ahead.  I'll wait here."  Bernie already had the answer he was seeking.  In his hand, he had, rather unpredictably, held the solution to why he was really there.  Sully was the elusive man he was hunting.

Bach disappeared down the shaft, giving Bernie a chance to look around more fully.  From his vantage point by the bed, he spotted several things that looked out of the ordinary for a simple aboriginal shack.  What looked like a hand hewn cabinet held various items including food, a wooden spear thrower of Kandiwal wood and an eating knife.  Those were fine.  The odd part was that the sides of the cabinet were large blocks of wood several inches thick, which Bernie could see were not solid at all and provided space to hide things.  Once he figured out how to open them, he found that one end held a new ACR general-purpose assault weapon, a few fragmentation and smoke grenades, several cartons of ammunition, and an M320 launcher for US 'smart' grenades.  The other end held a Klai'trk'ha plasma rifle with recharge canisters, and a Barrett fifty-caliber sniper rifle with a very special day/night scope.

Following his earlier discovery of the Skelorian laser pistol, any new items he discovered no longer surprised Bernie.  He mused, If there is such an arsenal up here, I wonder what Bach is seeing in the room below?  The sounds of someone ascending the ladder echoed upward.  Making a quick scan to be certain he'd left everything as it was earlier, Bernie sat on a rough-hewn wooden chair.

When Bach appeared, he looked thoughtful.  "Sully's not down there," he said.

"Something wrong?"  Bernie asked, trying to sound casual.

Bach looked at him.  "No worries, mate.  Nothing wrong..."  After a brief pause to close the wooden hatch, he added, "...just some things I didn't expect.  In all the years since we came back from Coober Peddy, I've never been down there before today.  I guess I could say he must have a lot more money tucked away than I suspected."

"Oh?"  Bernie prompted.

"Yeah, well, for one thing, there is more than one room down there, and all of them have very nice furnishings, –the sort you'd find in a governor's mansion –nothing bodgy[2].  It cost big bikkies[3].  There is electric lighting, so he must have a generator somewhere.  There are no power lines in this part of the territory.  He has nice paintings on the walls and sculptures sitting about.  One room is an art studio and another holds a nicely equipped machine shop."

Bernie took this news in and said, "He must be a private sort who doesn't want people to know he's got money.  You know Vivaldi, I think we ought to leave and not tell Sully that we know about that stuff, unless he mentions it himself.  What do you think?"

Bach thought it over.  "Right, Mate.  Prob'ly throw a wobbly[4] if he thought I was spying on him.  —All this time, I'm thinking he hasn't a brass razoo[5], —Lucky bastard.  Let's go."

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[1] Pommies = English persons.  Note that some people consider this a racial slur, but Bach said it with a smile.

[2] Bodgy = of inferior quality.

[3] Bikkies = biscuits, a lot of money.

[4] Throw a wobbly = throw a tantrum; have a fit; get very irate.

[5] Not have a brass razoo = to be very poor.

Chaucer style poetry – the Maid's Tale

I decided to post one of my older poems, which I wrote with respects to Geoffrey Chaucer.
Invariably my poetry has both rhyme and meter of one standard poetic form or another. (I agree with my college poetry professor and consider "free verse" to be prose, not poetry.)
A form Chaucer commonly used was Iambic Pentameter. This poem was written in that form.

"Pentameter" identifies there are 10 beats (or syllables) to each line. "Iambic" means that every second beat is stressed.
 unstressed / stressed / unstressed / stressed / unstressed / stressed / unstressed / stressed / unstressed / stressed /

 I called this "the Maid's Tale".
(Please note that it has been published and copyrighted,
so please remember that and give me proper credit should you quote it.)

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               THE MAID'S TALE

             © Dan Mickle (1967)

This tale of love to tell at length have I

 of maiden fair, the type to make men sigh.

Yet though the maid had passed nineteen in years

 the games she played with men bespoke her fears.

While outward she professed to seek her fill

 she shied from love for fear it steal her will,

that she might lose her soul through lust of man

 and thus it was she held her secret ban

on giving of her heart till she was sure,

 lest it be rent, else not remain so pure.

One man through grace of God did seek her love,

 that angels cry with joy in skies above,

and so he came to her to ask a boon-

 that she might give herself to him; that soon

the two of them in bliss together lie.

 He begged her, "Come -lest not, I know I'll die."

"Yes, surely, I would wish to sleep with thee,

 except that I must with my mother be,

for this is that one day within each week,

 when all the clothing which would mould and reek,

must wash-ed be, but soon shall I be done,

 and then we two may lie as close as one,

and seek what pleasure we would chance to take.

 Upon thy bed, I'll on the morrow wake..."

A message she would send to him anon

 that they could meet in secret and be gone

to his own bed and there to seal their pact;

 to join their bodies both in thought and act.

He took him then to leave her to her chore

 onto the Inn, where he might bide yet more,

and there did drink of spic-ed ale and mead,

 well served by buxom wench of peasant breed,

but after many mugs -no message still-

 his hand began to move of its own will.

While he, his love did nearly make to cry,

 his hand fell on the serving wench's thigh,

and she with smile did patiently forebear

 that he should take his hand away from there,

but it did seem the room was getting warm.

 She felt she ought protect him from the harm

of broken heart that his pure love would know,

 if he awoke alone -his pain to grow.

Knew he at dawn someone had shared his bed,

 but drink still lay like fog upon his head;

and though he try he still could not recall,

 if his fair love had come to him at all;

and yet within his throbbing heart he knew

 it was the wench who cuddled him for true.

The shameful fondness of that memory

 intruded harsh within his reverie.

At midday went he by to see the maid.

 "I'm sorry," said she then, "but I was bade

to stay at home and help my brother Ben,

 but we could meet this e'en down at the glen.

When evensong is rung -I will be there

 to kiss my love and fondly stroke thy hair."

So off again he strode with gladdened heart,

 that they would meet and nevermore would part.

So, strolling then, he paused and sniffed the air;

 new leaves and flowers, grass and hay were there,

and pretty birds and butterflies they flew,

 while honey-bees collected flower-dew.

Thus contemplating how her love to win,

 he found him on the door-stoop of the Inn,

and so to be refreshed he entered there,

 to order him a draught and other fare.

The wench was there and quickly came she hence,

 that he might pleas-ed be of her and thence,

they could go off together once again,

 that she might well console him of his pain.

She found her chance when there arrived this note:

 "I'll see you on the morrow, love." was wrote,

along with explanation of her plight-

 the maid must stay at home the whole long night!

So thus the wench did satisfy the gent

 and comfort him in life where e'er he went.

At last the maid decided she could give

 her heart to he, who for her smile did live.

She met him on the lane near Cotter's Way,

 to tell him she was free the entire day.

He seemed a jot upset that this be so,

 and downward cast his eyes, "But I must go."

He spake it soft, as though the words he dread,

 "Today, my love, the wench and I be wed."

Trouble at Home

This section concerns Amy's homecoming after a long time away, first with the teens adventures in space and thereafter returning to school once they got back to Earth. I have not, however, decided whether to include it in one of the books. This is not the whole chapter as written, but three or four pages of it. Prior knowledge, Amy's family is Jewish Canadian.
bounced?  As I said, I may not even use this section in one of the books, but since it is a sample of my writing, I dropped it in here.   Enjoy.
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"Hi, Mommy."  Amy whirled through the doorway, happy to be home after such a long time away.  She could not wait to see her mother and father, and especially her uncle Benjamin, who always called her his little princess.  She decided she could even 'tolerate' her younger sister, Lois, for a while.  In her heart, she really loved her sister, but sometimes, younger sisters could be very irritating.

She gave her mother a brief hug, which was returned with interest.

"Hi, Honey.  Has everything been alright at school?"  Her mother asked, while continuing to hug her.

Her mother's smothering embrace told Amy that something was wrong.

"Uh, yes.  Everything is fine.  Is —Is something wrong here at home?"  Amy asked, as she finally escaped, pulling back to arm's length.  She could see from her mother's puffy red eyes that she had been crying.

"Not—right—here—at—home," Maureen Levine said slowly, as though trying to hold her voice in check.  She closed her eyes and clenched both her lips between her teeth.

Amy’s eyes widened as she realized that something was seriously wrong.  Amy was not sure what the problem was, but figured her mother would tell her when she was ready.  She decided to change the subject.  "Oh, good.  I was starting to worry.  Is Uncle Ben coming over soon?  I have so much I need to tell him—things I found out that I am sure he will want to hear about.  It has to do with him always calling me…"  She broke off, because her mother had suddenly let out a loud wail and broke into sobs.  Maureen turned away from Amy and ran into the kitchen.

Amy thought of following her, but she heard her Grandmother Rose, say "Maureen, sweetheart…" just as the kitchen door swung shut.  Her mother's mother was in the kitchen, so she would let Grandmother Rose handle whatever was wrong.  Amy decided to see if her father was home.  He would know what was happening.

Her father, Louis, always came home and sat in his chair in the living room in front of the television.  He would turn on the TV with the remote, take off his tie, fold it neatly and lay it across the arm of his large reclining chair.  He always unbuttoned the top button of his shirt as he began to watch TV, which he did until supper was ready.  He should be watching the evening news about now.

Everything was always very neat at the Levine house.  Louis Levine always did things in a certain way.  "What if we should get an unexpected visitor?"  He would say.  What Amy saw in the living room shocked her.  Her eyes widened and she saw what, for her house, was utter devastation.

Louis sat in his chair, and seemed to be staring at the television, but the TV was dark and lifeless.  His tie did not lay neatly folded on the arm of his chair, but reposed in a wadded heap about five feet away, as though thrown there in a fit of emotion.  Amy could see that the tie lay in two pieces as though cut in half with a knife or scissors.  Her father's shirt was ripped down the front in a special way.  Perhaps when he endeavored to unbutton his top button, it had not cooperated, and he took both sides and ripped it apart, tearing the shirt asunder down the front.  However, that did not explain the tie.

His TV remote was lying over by the wall with the batteries several feet away.  She could see a fresh, deep dent in the wall paneling above where the remote had fallen.

Sometimes mourning comes with anger.  There was only one thing she could think of that would make her father cut his tie and tear his shirt like that.  The tear was not along the seam, but to the left of the seam, as though he had intentionally ripped the shirt in a wish to expose his heart.  It was something they called 'kriah', which meant 'tearing'.  It stated that he was heartbroken.  It told Amy there had been a death of someone close to her father, probably someone in the family.  Louis Levine's eyes were red, but he stared ahead, not speaking.  It was as though he had not seen his raven-haired daughter enter.

Amy suddenly got a terrible lump in her throat, and she knelt beside her father's chair.  "Daddy?"  Her eyes had started to water.  She was terrified to hear what somehow she knew she soon would.  Someone had died.  She looked at her father, with his shirt rent apart and the signs he had been crying.  It must be her grandfather, her father's father.  He had retired and moved to a condominium in Florida.  Something must have happened to him.  In a quiet voice, she got closer, moving into her father's line of sight.  "Daddy?  Is Grandfather Isaac…?"

Her father's expression did not change immediately, but suddenly he seemed to realize his eldest daughter was asking him something.  With visible effort, his eyes refocused on her face and he spoke.  "No, Honey.  Papa is fine.  He will be flying up from Florida, tomorrow."

"He will?" she asked.  For a moment, happy thoughts returned, but the start of a smile froze on her face.  The happy thoughts disappeared.  She realized what this meant.  Her father's rent shirt was a sign that someone close had died.  Grandfather Isaac was flying up from Florida right away.  She let out a shriek, "Oh No!  Please, no!  It can't be that—" Her eyes filled with water even as the words tumbled from her mouth.  She felt suddenly as though she could not breathe.

"You don't know yet, do you, Honey?"  Her father asked.  Then he did something her father rarely did.  He put his arms around his daughter and pulled her close to him.  She waited, choking in fear of what he might say as he tried to speak.  She saw a tear run down her father's cheek.  "…Bennie…"  He gasped out and began to cry, turning his face away.  "My big brother, Bennie…" he sobbed, but he could say no more.

"No, Daddy." she gasped out, starting to cry.  "No… no… no… no… no…"  That same word was all she could say.  Nothing else came out.  It couldn't be.  What she was thinking could not be the answer!  There had to be something else.  Maybe Uncle Ben had some bad news.  Maybe Abe at the store had died, or—or even Ben's wife, Gilda…?  It had to be Gilda.  The other possibility that was in her mind was too horrifying.  She thought, please finish the sentence with "wife!"  She cared for her aunt Gilda, but her uncle Ben was beyond special.  He had always been there for her.  He had taken the time to talk to her when no one else seemed to care.  He listened to everything she ever had to say.  He had called her his little princess, and bragged to everyone, telling them all what scholarly successes she had in school, how smart she was, how pretty she was, and how proud he was of her.

He had said that some day she would become a very important person.  She now had news that she needed to tell him.  She simply had to tell him what the Abrasax queen had told her, when they first met.  They had been away from home for so long.  When they returned from Abras, they had gone right back to school and she had not yet told him about it, because it was something she could not write in a letter.  Summer vacation had come at last.  School was out, and she had come home.

Her father looked at her again through flooded eyes, knowing that she had to hear it from him.  "Honey, your Uncle Bennie…"  He paused and screwed up his courage.  "My big brother Bennie is dead!" he choked out softly and then he broke down and cried loudly, putting his face down on his arm.  He could no longer hide his feelings.  Amy's world froze.  Nothing came out of her mouth but "No…" again and again, like a recording that kept repeating over and over.  "No… no… no… no… no…"  She denied the words she had heard her father say.  Her Uncle Ben was not dead.  He could not die!  She would call his house and talk to him.  It was a joke.  He was playing a joke.  Please, let it be a joke!

Everything went red.

The room went away.

                                                            * * *

(For those who have asked, the remainder of this chapter takes place after Amy awakens to find her uncle's ghost waiting beside her bed. Everyone else in the house was sleeping. Was she dreaming, or did she really see a ghost? He informed her that he could not go on to the afterlife until he was sure she would be alright. He informed her that she had been in a coma for over a week and that she should get her tukis out of bed and show her friends and family that she was alive.)

The problem with blogs --

The problem is that these entries come up in reverse chronological order, with the most recent first.

The next entry you are likely seeing right below this is the Abridged Galactic History that goes along with my novels. You see Part 4.  Do yourself a favor, scroll down past Part 1, and read

Intro for a Short History of the Galaxy

Then scroll back up to the first part, then second, third and finally fourth.  It will be a lot easier to follow.

As I mentioned, this is back-story for my novels. There is no information in this history that directly interacts with the novels, but knowing this could help you once you start reading the second and later books. (The first book takes place on Earth and the main characters know nothing about their ties to others out in the galaxy.  They just think they are doing "MAGIC" in the classic Earth sense.

Besides a few novel excerpts, I have also listed a few of my poems for your enjoyment. The poems are copyrighted, so "stealing" could get you in hot water, unless you credit me as the original author. <Grins>

Ok, scroll down, --even clear to the bottom and go to "Earlier posts". Do that a couple times to get back to the earliest entries here.

Hope you enjoy reading these samples.

Oh, it's Monday... History of the Galaxy (part 4)

I should post some more if I can make the time for it...
So much to do, so little time.
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Abridged History of the Galaxy (part 4)

The Zorn came here from Andromeda galaxy, where they had absorbed or wiped out many races.  They had their own method of crossing great distances quickly.  They had not perfected quantum movement, but rather they were masters of controlling black holes.  They had learned how to create them nearly anywhere, and learned how to generate worm hole corridors, through which they could travel where they wished in essentially no time at all.

Attacks on the Zorn by Abras ships did not stop them, but proved to be such a problem for the Zorn, that they concentrated all their efforts on stopping Abras.  They joined the Conclave with that purpose in mind.

The Zorn used their ability to manipulate black holes as a weapon against the planet Abras and its inhabitants.  The Zorn first created and then disrupted a large black hole about 300 trillion miles from the planet.  The resultant gamma-ray burst was enough to destroy life on Abras and shut down the planetary computers and robot workers.

Abras had only four hours warning.  That was not enough to set in play a planetary rescue mission, but they did manage to send out a small military mission to jump to Andromeda galaxy with instructions to set off their most powerful weapon near the Zorn home world.

They knew they were going to die, but they believed in "an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth".  The Zorn were killing them, so they would kill the Zorn.  The weapon they sent out against the Zorn was an anti-matter time-reversal bomb.  The bomb contained an anti-matter singularity, which could be sent backwards in time and detonate in the past.

The bomb was set on a giant gas planet not too far from the Zorn's planet of origin. The singularity sucked in matter from the gas giant and when that matter met the anti-matter of the singularity there was total conversion to energy.  Eventually, this energy built up to the point where it disrupted the event horizon and the singularity exploded like a miniature big-bang.

Along with everything else within range, the Zorn home world was converted to nothing larger than atomic particles.  The time reversal effect had carried the bomb back to a time before the Zorn first ventured into space, killing them before they could cause trouble for anyone. This caused a disruption of the Space-Time continuum in that part of Andromeda galaxy.

The Zorn ceased to exist.  In one of the paradoxes that crop up when dealing with time, the time reversal only occurred locally in Andromeda, so the planet Abras was still bathed in killing rays, and the Zorn war machines still plagued the Milky Way.  The Conclave attacked and slaughtered the Nisse, Lepp-Ricans and Tomte.  The balance of power in the Milky Way turned and remaining humans became subjects of the Conclave.

The federation of worlds ceased to operate.

The Conclave controlled the Milky Way.

Only a few thousand people who escaped Abras survived.  One group of these took refuge on a planet very much like Abras in the Orion Spur, a small part of the galaxy with no known space-faring races.  It did have a rather small indigenous population of humanoids, but only about 2000 mating pairs.  If the refugees from Abras could hide among that population, they might avoid detection by the Conclave.
That planet is known today to its inhabitants by many names; a few of those include: Dharti, la Tierra, Terre, Terra,  地球, земля (Zemlia), Prithvi, Erde and Earth.