A Poem Like That

Wouldn't it be grand to skip the lies? If you don't love me, simply speak the truth. I need to hear it from you... and in so doing give you one last chance to act like a man. I won't hold my breath.

Once Upon September

Softly blows the wind at night through the hills and valleys Moves the clouds beyond my sight until my eyes can now see… Moonbeams dancing on the hill touch secrets I remember They now stay ever, ever still since once upon a September. Mother said come here to me, safe forever you will be, Let their arms now comfort thee I promise they will set you free this night in good September. Their game was played on these very hills I was swift but we all took some spills Twas harder than my very will In that warm September. They called the game a merry chance But whoever lost had to dance A dance that only they could pick So I had to dance at the end of a stick The robed ones disdained all my cries Saying for fortune I was their prize A dainty for the gods they pleased That night in dark September. I never saw my mother again But fortune is her new best friend The cloaked ones earned their queens embrace And I a new path forever take, Sailing O'er the mid

night breeze... Quiet, peaceful, still as you please Yet there is no comfort left for me... Ever since September.

Mike Malone and the Book of Enoch

In 2010 I wrote an article for the Midnight Diner about my (then) coming novel, The Calling of Mike Malone. I've learned a lot about the book of Enoch since then, but it still formed the genesis for the story and the article sums up why. From The Midnight Diner-- Why Enoch? In August I have a novel coming out called, The Calling of Mike Malone, to be published by MuseItUp publishers. This story grew from all the years I’d spent wondering about a certain prophet in the Bible named Enoch. Why Enoch? Come on, how do you not wonder about Enoch? I can recall being five years old, driving along in the family station wagon off to church and my sisters arguing about people dying and going to heaven. My mother added that there was at least one man who didn’t die at all, a man named Enoch. I asked how he managed to skip that step and my mom said because he was translated. I sat there staring into space, my five year old head thinking, ‘Translated? To French?’ I sat back and forgot about it for awhile. But over time I noticed something about Enoch…the Bible doesn’t say much about him. From the KJV we know that he didn’t see death, that God was pleased with him, and, aside from a few blurbs in Jude, there isn’t much. So then, one day, I read the book of Enoch. No, it’s not part of regular biblical canon. My view of extra-biblical works is that you might have to take them with a grain of salt, but you can also learn things. For instance, the book of Enoch deals with the days Enoch spent judging the fallen angels. Yeah, think about that a second. This man called down God’s judgement on the angels. You know, destroy- a- city- with- the- wave- of- an- arm, smite- thousands- at- a- time, beings -of- blazing- light…angels. And yet this little human turned to them and spoke the words God gave to him say, “You’re going to hell.” Not a message I’d want to deliver. Enoch had guts. The book also introduces us to the concept that in over five thousand years the snarkiness of rebellion really hasn’t changed that much. Here’s the fallen angels deciding to go to earth and get some strange. Enoch 7 1It happened after the sons of men had multiplied in those days, that daughters were born to them, elegant and beautiful. 2And when the angels, the sons of heaven, beheld them, they became enamoured of them, saying to each other, Come, let us select for ourselves wives from the progeny of men, and let us beget children. 3Then their leader Samyaza said to them; I fear that you may perhaps be indisposed to the performance of this enterprise; 4And that I alone shall suffer for so grievous a crime. 5But they answered him and said; We all swear; 6And bind ourselves by mutual execrations, that we will not change our intention, but execute our projected undertaking. 7Then they swore all together, and all bound themselves by mutual execrations. Their whole number was two hundred, who descended upon Ardis, which is the top of mount Armon. 8That mountain therefore was called Armon, because they had sworn upon it, and bound themselves by mutual execrations. Unbelievable! Big bad angels about to disobey God. This section is like something out of middle school when me and a few other baddies would meet around the picnic table and talk about how we were going to steal answers from the teachers desk or something. Samyaza is like, “I’ll go do it, but I’m not going to be the only one that gets in trouble. You guys do it too or I’m out.” And like a bunch of dumb-ass punks, the fallen all agree that they’ll do it, too. Now, even if you don’t believe the book of Enoch is biblical at all, it is still a very old book and in this example alone we learn that bad guys are most believable when they are a little bit stupid. Go back and read the account again and listen for these other commonalities: They show no ability to put themselves in someone elses shoes. The ‘it’s all about me’ attitude has been embraced throughout the millennia. How else do you think Lady Gaga scraped up fans? But the implications and possible ramifications of the events in the book of Enoch are still with us. Long debates are fought in the UFO community as to whether or not the fallen are still having babies down here and if they are behind the alien abductions we hear so much about. Some religious groups, like the Mormons, insist their God lives on his own planet and spends his time making babies. Sounds down right Enockian. So coming up with a story in which a fallen angel decides to out do his brethren by creating his own personal anti-Christ and taking over not only our world, but the spiritual realm, well, it ends up sounding not so far-fetched. But then Mike Malone has to deal with the fact that his father’s greatest dream for his life is to have Mike become own his anti-Christ. And Dad doesn’t like hearing ‘No.’ The ride Mike takes after making this clear to his father becomes- an extremely dark, but fascinating adventure. One that I hope the reader will enjoy.

Secondary Character? Still First Rate!

Welcome to the Paranormal Blog Tour! I am so pleased to be your first stop!

In paranormal fiction, secondary characters still need a first rate quality. They’re like ushers helping the MC and the readers find their way through your bizarre universe. Here’s an example from my novel, The Calling of Mike Malone. This is Mike’s meeting with Reverend Hazel Lumski, a character who functions around the edges of the story, but adds so much. She becomes the perfect introduction to a new, strange chapter in Mike’s life. She’s a New Age medium who enjoys, among other things, Chicago basketball, cigars and…speaking to the dead. Let’s meet her!

…Mike rang the bell again, and in a moment he found himself staring down at the Reverend Hazel Lumski, a woman who stood about four foot nothing. Her red hair was wrapped in a tidy bun, and she wore what he thought the ladies called a peasant dress, with puffy sleeves and gingham print, an earth tone shawl draped her shoulders.

Thinking he might punch Rudy for sending him to some weird, middle-aged spinster, he forced a smile and said, “Good afternoon, Reverend. I’m—”

“Michael Sean Malone,” she briskly informed him. “You were born almost twenty-one years ago here in Chicago, your mother is alive and retired to Florida, your friends say you work much too hard, you listen to old rock and roll, you’re a Cubs fan, and you keep a special stash of money in your briefcase in an envelope marked business. Your girlfriend’s name is Linda. Please come in. Rudy, it is good to see you again.”

“Been way too long, Reverend.”

Closing his gaping mouth, Mike stepped into the house.

“Let me take your coat, Mr. Malone.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, still stunned. “How-how did you know all that? Not even Rudy knows about my money stash.”

“Ha, now I do,” Rudy said.

The Reverend smiled sweetly. “It wasn’t I, dear. It’s one of the many spirits I see surrounding you and vying for your attention!


The Rev never loses her ‘take charge’ attitude throughout the story. She is ruled by her willingness to discuss the incredibly weird as if they are just things we should take for granted…


…Mike swung one leg off the saddle and landed lightly on the floor.

“If I hear the word calling one more time! Reverend Lumski, among other things, my father is a cannibal.”

“No, no.” She wagged her annoying finger the same way she had at their very first meeting. “One can only be a cannibal by devouring one’s own kind. We are not his kind. He is a god. A creature far superior to us all. To the smaller minded, his behavior may well appear extreme.”

Mike said, “I’m warning you. If you stay here, and he gets bored with you, or you quit being useful, you will end up on the menu.” He pushed his way past her and started up the stairway. “Forget it, I’m getting the girl.”

“That’s not the right way.” She pointed down the first floor hall.

“And I should believe you, why?”

“Because your father told me to give you anything you wanted.”

“Sure, give me Linda.”

“Manners!”

He paused. “Please give me Linda?”…”


What can I say? Reverend Lumski is the result of immersion. I interviewed people who truly believe in strange things. For instance, a friend of mine, Guy Malone, ran the UFO Festival in Roswell New Mexico for a number of years and also had a radio program called, ‘Live from Roswell.’ Go to the chat room of a show like that and some of the folks you meet can be extremely interesting. I had a conversation with one woman that went like this:

Woman: “The Tall Whites spoke to me last night.”

Me: “Who are the Tall Whites?”

Woman: “They’re the alien race that lives among us. They are the gods returning home.”

Me: “Well, what did they say?”

Woman: “They said, ‘Soon.’ “

I know, creepy, huh? And you can call her words the result of over-whelming awe or a lack of medication, but after an extended conversation one thing was clear: the woman believed everything she said like you or I believe in gravity. In a paranormal story the hero or heroine may be terrified or confused due to circumstances, but if you’ve written a solid secondary character they become like a cemented sign-post announcing, “This is how we’re going to play…”

Like Reverend Lumski….

"…Thank you,” Mike said, nervous, avoiding her eyes. “But I think I’d better go.” He stuffed the medallion into his breast pocket, grabbed his coat, and headed for the door.

The ever pleasant, kindly voice of the reverend stopped him again. “Aren’t you curious? Don’t you wish to speak with your father? You can, you know. You will think about it, won’t you? I promise I won’t let any harm come to you.”

He stared at her, thunderstruck. Talk to my Dad? My Dad is dead you freaking witch!

Outside his head he merely stammered, “Sure-sure, I’ll think about it,” knowing full well he would push the entire episode from his mind as soon as possible.

Reverend Lumski’s last words took aim like a poisoned arrow. “It never pays to lie, Mr. Malone…"

_________________

Thank you very much for coming! I hope you enjoyed it! I have PDF copies of Mike Malone for the first five ‘creative’ comments. And everyone, thank you again for stopping by!

Death to the Lizards!

In the smoky back room of a Bay City coffee house Tim Marks peered out at the crowd. His turn next. Into his fifties he knew he was way too old for this shit. But the back alley was the perfect set-up for what he needed. The prep; simple, effective.

Young punks, teens and twenties, sat in the audience amidst masses of self generated fog from the cigarettes they openly puffed. They lifted coffee mugs to their lips to sip substances with far more punch than coffee. This was an underground club, a place where children of the wealthy gathered to be bad. Some could wake up, but not all.

He spotted them. The offspring of the elite. Deja Monique, daughter of movie star Vu Monique sat next to Sunset Diamond, son of music mogul, Dave Diamond. Dressed in chic black and stylish, bored expressions, they sat, eyes peering.
Time to see if they’d fall from the tree.

As he stepped on stage, his back-up band hit and sustained a C-five triad. Tim felt the sounds waves wash over him like a clean, mountain stream. The sound of the chord made Deja and Sunset twitch. The rest of his audience raised their voices in approval.

But inside he knew they still craved blood.

He picked up the mic and over the din of cheers asked, “Got your lizard stomping shoes on?”

Expressions changed to amused, half-drunk raucous cries of, “Yeah!” and “Death to the lizards!” filled the room.

Yeah, just a roomful of spoiled, dumb kids, programmed to the hilt. But Tim knew if he kept pulling back the layers and layers of implanted ideas and actions, a few of them had a chance.

He lowered his voice. “Yeah, death to them…” the crowd hushed wanting to hear. “You know how the show goes…keep it quiet first, but help me sing…ahhh…”
In whispered voices the crowd sang, “…ahhh…”

The sound shimmered across the room. Tim could see it in their eyes; the ones who’d been to his show before had a light in them. Not a bright light, more like a pin-prick. Still, it meant they were coming back to life. He glanced at Deja and Diamond. Both stared daggers at him and their eyes…not black, but a sick jaundice yellow. Yeah, easy pickings.

He continued in the same awestruck, whisper and sang a third above the current note, “Ladies….ahhhh….”

“…ahh…”

He took the note a fifth above the first on and said, “Band sings, ahhhh…”

“Ahhh…”

He let the tones hang in the air a moment until the sound of raw, human voices filled the club with it’s holy sound. He cut them off. Even in a room of drunk rowdy, over-grown children, the sound gave them pause.

“There…” he whispered. “You feel it. Our weapon against the evil…and we know it’s there…”

His bass player struck a low, ominous note to the rhythm of a heart beat.

“You know they’re around when nothing makes sense. The man tells you he needs more tax money because he has to spend it…to make more money. It makes no sense. The man will tell you he is good, but does more evil than the worlds biggest sinner. Remember your note and sing louder….ahhh!…”

“Ahhh!”

The harmony wrapped around his soul and lifted him. Once again, he would do this.
“Yeah,” he said and his audience quieted. Deja and Sunset twitched and gazed at each other uncomfortable. Oh, don’t even think about getting away.

“Hey!” a voice called, “I wanna know something’.”

Tim waved for his band to halt. “Let the man speak,” he said.

The punk stood, a plaid fedora on his head, black coat with blue jeans and dangling black tie. He teetered and bowed. “Thank you, uh…” a loud belch erupted from the bottom of his gut.

Laughter mixed with comments:

“Aw…sit down, Loser!”

“You suck!”

The Punk raised an index finger and wagged it at the group. “No, no, no! I jes’ wanna know one freakin’, stinkin’, thing. Izzat okay?”

A shout from behind told the Punk, “Sit down before you fall down!”

“Let him speak,” said Tim.

The punk straightened himself and gave a silly bow. “Thank you, sir. You are a scholar ‘han a gentleman. All I wanna know is one or two little things…”

“Dude, the whole show is waiting on you. Speak.”

“’Hokay. Why do you hate lizards? Whud they ever do to you?”

Tim laughed. “I don’t hate them for the hell of it. If I hated them I’d screw up, then they’d catch me. It’s all self-defense. They declared war on us along time ago and I’m just a soldier behind enemy lines.”

The Punk stared at him open mouthed a minute then burst into laughter. “Dude! You are so out there, yer in!” He thrust a fist into the air. “Yeah! Death to the freakin’ man! Death to the lizards!”

“Who-hoo!”

Tim spoke into the mic, “Time to call ‘em out…”

He stared down his audience and sang...

"Why’d it take so long for me to see that if I don’t kill you, you’ll sure as hell kill me?

I’m walking, I’m talking, I’ll say to you today, that if you don’t back up I’ll blow you all away….

Death to the Lizards!”

The audience leaped and replied, “Death to the lizards!”

“Death to the Lizards?”

“Death to the Lizards!”

“I live out here in the valley of the shadow, keeping it low…lower than your muther,
If you see me comin’ and you haven’t run yet, you better make tracks cuz  I’m your angel death, Death to the Lizards!”

“Death to the Lizards!”

“I quench my thirst with the river of life, so look out bitch, I’m down for this fight…Right? Rights? You wanna hear your rights? In the name of Jesus Christ, you better take flight.

 Death to the Lizards. Sing! Ahhhh-ahhhh-ahhhh!"

“Ahhhh-ahhhh-ahhhh!”

“Ooooh-oooh-ooooh!

“Ooooh-ooooh-oooh…”

It happened in a nano-second. Deja and Sunset vanished. Next, the scream.

“Lizards! Oh, my freaking God! Lizards!”

Waves of fright and commotion sent people hurtling towards the exits, but his roadies blocked the ways. “C’mon people it’s part of the show!”

“What the hell?”

Tim noted that these looked like giant, black iguana-like creatures. Deja and Sunset ran back and forth in sheer confusion for a moment, then roared and plunged, as Tim had thought they would, out the east exit. Close to the sewer.

“I got this!” Tim bellowed into the mic. “Sit down and get ready!”

He leaped from the stage and plowed out the back door. In the alley the two juveniles waited for him. The young ones always waited, still arrogant enough to think they had a chance. Sunsets side frills exploded from either side of his neck. Deja recoiled with a loud hiss. Tim yanked the already silenced Rueger from his side holster and shot them both in the head. Shovel parked by the exit, he used it to flip open the storm drain and stuff the massive lizards down, enjoying splash sound as they were being washed away. He dumped the bucket of bleach water he’d also parked outside, just to rinse any blood away, and returned to back stage.

The two stuffed heads they used for props were placed by the back curtain. Tim snatched them each by a head spike and hoisted them high as he stalked back onto the stage.

The band had started a rock song, some kids were dancing some still watched the battle video. When Tim re-appeared wild, insane cheers broke out.

“Yeah!” he shouted. “They tell you what to think, how to feel, what you ought to be!” He threw the heads back stage and cried, “Remember what you were meant to be and be it!”

“Yeah!”

He waited for the cheers to die down before an amused smile nudged across his lips.

“All right ya’ll,” he said, “wait till ya hear our next song…”


 

The Calling of Mike Malone and what "They" aren't Telling You

It starts with a prophet named Enoch.

Genesis 5:24 And Enoch walked with God: and he [was] not; for God took him.
Hebrews 11:5 By faith Enoch was translated that he should not see death; and was not found, because God had translated him: for before his translation he had this testimony, that he pleased God.

Yes, that Enoch. Great-Grandfather of Noah. His revelations were passed down generation after generation until being compiled in the Book of Enoch.

Here's what else the Bible tells us about the man:

Genesis 5:18-24
18 Jared lived one hundred and sixty-two years, and begot Enoch.
19 After he begot Enoch, Jared lived eight hundred years, and had sons and daughters.
20 So all the days of Jared were nine hundred and sixty-two years; and he died.
21 Enoch lived sixty-five years, and begot Methuselah.
22 After he begot Methuselah, Enoch walked with God three hundred years, and had sons and daughters.
23 So all the days of Enoch were three hundred and sixty-five years.
24 And Enoch walked with God; and he was not, for God took him.

And that's all.

In the book of Noah, Noah says this :

Enoch 68:1
And after that my great-grandfather Enoch gave me all the secrets in the book and in the parables which had been given to him, and he put them together for me in the words of the book of the parables.

What secrets? Well, that's where it gets interesting.

The KJV tells us that one third of all the angels were cast down to earth and the unspoken question about Enoch becomes, “What was it like to be alive and kicking at that time?”

The book of Enoch tells us these Fallen angels, the 'sons of God' wanted to be treated like gods. They brought technologies to the earth that were the equivalent of handing a loaded gun to a three year old. They mated with earth women, and, as you can imagine, two different species getting together like that produced some horrible, freakish creatures. They were the Nephilim, the giants who devoured human flesh—and by the way, ever wonder why most counties have legends and tales about flesh eating giants living in caves around their land?

Our image of the Halloween witch comes from Enoch: the wives of the Fallen were taught occult secrets and the use of strange herbs.

But God called the 'secrets' the Fallen took with them 'useless secrets.' It was just enough to impress the greedy among us, and when has man not been greedy? The Fallen turned the hearts of men towards evil continually, and that triggered the Noatian Flood.

Before all of that happened, however, God sent this little Prophet named Enoch to pronounce His judgment on the Fallen angels. This man judged the angels. Just for a minute, can you imagine being on earth when these Fallen angels walked among us as wonderful, god-like, however, evil creatures? And there you are, sent to pronounce doom on someone bigger and far more powerful than you've ever felt in your entire life. You get to show up and tell them they're damned for all time.

Afterwards they constantly sought out Enoch, screaming, begging, pleading for him to go before God and intercede for them. But like the Flood event where there was a span of at least one hundred years in which anyone could have joined Noah on board the ark, at last, the door closed and the rains began. The time to do the right thing had passed.

So why isn't 'Enoch' part of the Bible? I mean, it doesn't contradict scripture concerning the last days. For instance:

Enoch 46:1-2
1 There I beheld the Ancient of days whose head was like white wool, and with him another, whose countenance resembled that of a man. His countenance was full of grace, like that of one of the holy angels. Then I inquired of one of the angels, who went with me, and who showed me every secret thing, concerning this Son of man; who he was; whence he was; and why he accompanied the Ancient of days.
2 He answered and said to me, This is the Son of man, to whom righteousness belongs; with whom righteousness has dwelt; and who will reveal all the treasures of that which is concealed: for the Lord of spirits has chosen him; and his portion has surpassed all before the Lord of spirits in everlasting uprightness."

Compare that to the Bible-

Revelation 1:10-18
10 I was in the Spirit on the Lord's day, and heard behind me a great voice, as of a trumpet,
11 Saying, I am Alpha and Omega, the first and the last: and, What thou seest, write in a book, and send it unto the seven churches which are in Asia; unto Ephesus, and unto Smyrna, and unto Pergamos, and unto Thyatira, and unto Sardis, and unto Philadelphia, and unto Laodicea.
12 And I turned to see the voice that spake with me. And being turned, I saw seven golden candlesticks;
13 And in the midst of the seven candlesticks one like unto the Son of man, clothed with a garment down to the foot, and girt about the paps with a golden girdle.
14 His head and his hairs were white like wool, as white as snow; and his eyes were as a flame of fire;
15 And his feet like unto fine brass, as if they burned in a furnace; and his voice as the sound of many waters.
16 And he had in his right hand seven stars: and out of his mouth went a sharp twoedged sword: and his countenance was as the sun shineth in his strength.
17 And when I saw him, I fell at his feet as dead. And he laid his right hand upon me, saying unto me, Fear not; I am the first and the last:
18 I am he that liveth, and was dead; and, behold, I am alive for evermore, Amen; and have the keys of hell and of death.

Most of the other things in Enoch are basically things the canonical scriptures just don't handle.

Part of the problem, I understand. The stories of Enoch remained an oral tradition for the most part. They were things “everybody knew” back in the day. Maybe they wanted to keep it that way. What we have of the book is in fragments, the first part 'The Book of the Watchers” was written down around 300 BC. And the Book of Parables came much later. So, some argue, it was not actually penned by Enoch.

Well, Genesis wasn't penned by Adam, either. Moses took his knowledge of past events, another oral tradition, and placed them on parchment. What would be the problem with the writers of Enoch doing the same thing?

Even still, the book, remained part of Jewish Canon until 90 AD and Christians didn't discard it until after 364 AD. The Apostle Mark took the known scriptures back to Ethiopia where he remained a witness for Jesus Christ and the Book of Enoch remains in the Ethiopian Bible to this day. So was Mark wrong? Why was the Catholic church so anxious to leave it out of the Bible?

Oh, there's answers, but don't you smell a conspiracy coming?

We'll talk more about that end of it later, but if you were a Fallen angel, which book would you want kept out of the Bible?

However, this discarded book that tells you about Enoch and what he did, the book everybody used to know, that churches now avoid and don't wish to share with you, now forms the basis for The Calling of Mike Malone.

See you next time as we begin to discuss the conspiracy.

The Calling of Mike Malone Now Available!

Yes, it's my first novel and already has a four-star rating on Amazon. It's available there (see side bar) or at MuseItUp Publishing! Thanks for having a look!


The Calling of Mike Malone @ MuseItUp Publishing

Me and My Kid Playing around in 2006

This is from a blog me and my son, Tim, did back in 2006. We called it The Adventures of Dr. Daniel and Phantom. Following this is an excerpt of the kid's writing today.



Hello, my name is Dr. Daniel.

Hey, I'm Phantom.

Dr. D:We are sharing this blog because we work together. I work for the government. I am an interdimensional traveller and my asignments can take me anywhere from a different spot on our time line, to another planet in the sixth dimension.

Phantom: I'm a pilot and robotics expert. I keep the Doctor's gadgetry working.

Dr. D: Tomorrow we have to go to Sucomuno, the 12th planet in the Hertofor solar system.

Phantom: Why are we going there?

Dr. D: A weather report. We need to see what the effect of a double sun has on a planet very similar to ours.

Phantom: A weather report? Why don't we just build a model here and let me sleep in tomorrow?

Dr. D: Well, you'd miss church.

Phantom: But I can tell you what the weather is like on Sucomuno right now: they have two suns. It's hot.

Dr. D: But there are some things that can only be known if we go and see them. Up close and personal.

Phantom: Yeah, it's the personal that gets me sometimes.

Dr. D.: Get some sleep, Phantom. We've got a lot to do tomorrow.

Phantom: Sounds good. Nice meeting you folks out there! Things get a little hairy when we're on the road, so bear with us. But tomorrow should go pretty well....Yeah, I like dimension hopping. It rocks! See you!

Dr. D: Night all!

posted by M. L. Archer at 7:41 PM 7 comments

Right now he writes under the pen name, Mike Olmsted. They grow up way too fast.





How He Loves

By: Mike Olmsted


I saw my first demon today.


My name is Mark Handley. I’m seventeen. Pretty normal guy, got a regular life, school, work. At home it’s me and my mom. And church. Yeah, church. I’ve been going forever and have heard all about demons and devils. But learning about them and knowing you’ve actually run into one…I better explain.


I go to this little Pentecostal church where I sing in the worship band. One of the songs we were doing that Sunday was Dave Crowder’s, How He Loves. I listened to it on You Tube while I was getting ready to go and I happened to hit a version where they swapped out the line, “Sloppy wet kiss,” for “Unforeseen kiss.”


I know I made a face like someone tossed a rotten egg in my room. I see things like that as a sign the little old lady brigade got hold of someone and commenced arm twisting till that someone yelled, “Uncle.”


Now don’t get me wrong. Little old ladies are just fine. In fact, if you’re my age and never sat down and spoke with someone 20, 30...60 years older than you, heck, do it sometimes. Those guys are cool. I’m telling you, they know things.


But there’s always that minority who place their attention on performing an ethnic cleansing your brain cells until you meet their standard of perfection. Annoying, but I let it go, since I was singing ‘Sloppy wet kiss,’ anyway.


Had an okay service. My mom told me when I joined the band that, “Your first job is to lead people into worshiping God, not your ability.” She doesn’t sugar coat much. But she’s right. So I do my very best to make that happen. But today when I was on the platform, I felt like something was watching me. Like some dark cloud had hissed through the church and every eye seemed critical.


I have to admit, I felt bad because I thought it meant I had let myself obsess over that stupid song line to the point where I wasn’t doing my job. Yeah, me the guy that said, ‘Jesus, I’m your man. Just tell me what you want done and I’ll do it…if I don’t completely screw up, that is.’


So I sang my song the best I could and was glad when it was over.


When church let out, I was outside the sanctuary, hanging around with my wingman, Jimmy Wilson. He’s a big guy, football player, the kind of guy who greets you with a shove and a name. My left shoulder took the greeting this time as he said, “What’s going on, dork?”


I regained my balance and gave him a quick back hand to the chest with an added, “You’re the dork.”


You’d have thought a mosquito landed on him. He stood there laughing like, “Heh-heh…heh-heh...”


And then all hell broke loose. I mean it.


Sister Jabez, a blue-haired, stern faced, matron barged forward, calling my name. Her heavy wooden cane thumping on the sidewalk.



“Mark Handley! I saw that! I heard you!” a gaggle of senior ladies followed behind. For an older hobbled woman, she sure got in my face right away.She stuck a finger an inch from my nose while her friends gathered around like an octogenerian Gestapo. My heart sank as I realized I was trapped by the real little old lady brigade. I could see it: Mark Handley met his end today after being pummeled by old ladies with canes and walkers.


My jaw dropped.


Sister Jabez sniffed, “I think we’re all a little tired of watching the boys your age engage in so much tom-foolery. Why pushing and shoving, you could have knocked someone over. And you, especially, you’re supposed to set the example. You on stage and then afterwards calling people names like that. You should be ashamed! You make me sorry I had to hear those words and I want you to apologize to me and all my friends right now! This is church!”


I’ve often heard the phrase, “Just wait for a Word from God.”


But the only word in my head at that moment sounded like, “Whu-huh?” So I didn’t say it.


I paused and in those few seconds I think a thousand idea’s ran through my head. Two years ago I would have tossed my hands in the air, said, “I didn’t do ANYTHING!” And stormed off. Not now. My first thought was to apologize and say I was sorry for disturbing her. That would have been a nice thing to do.


But not the best.


I stared at her, still dumbstruck. Her eyes narrowed. More than ever in the glare of sun light her face appeared as relief map of wrinkles and worn in an expression made even harsher by the way her lip curled wolfishly as she glared.


My mind raced through every encounter with this lady and nothing added up to this kind of outburst.


But maybe she had had a bad day. Car trouble, benefit of the doubt…go with it. I could do that.


Except I looked into her eyes again.


Her arms folded, her head tipped upward. “Well?” she snapped. “We’re waiting. Apologize. Apologize now.”


Once, I asked my mom how you can tell if there’s demon causing problems. She just looked at me and said, “Biggest demon tag I know: when everything stops making sense.”


This made no sense at all and Sister Jabez’s eyes explained everything else. For a moment I saw their blue-gray color retreat. A mocking intelligence peered from behind as they darkened to black. I felt a rush of shock; I was with something inhuman. It was the first time I ever knew something wanted me dead. In my minds eye I could see this evil sprite, cavorting against a black sky, and it’s death head rushed to my face as it cackled, “Yes, boy, bow to me.”


But it all felt just like imagination. I had a verse spring into my head, but if these were the wrong words, if this really was my imagination, she’d be crazy angered, and there would be meetings with my mom and the pastor and I’d be told to maybe take a break from the worship band while the church healed…and on and on…


But then I could also hear my youth Pastor, when he told my group, “God is talking to a lot of you guys even now. At some point you have to decide whether or not you really believe He’s got your back.”


I knew what I believed, I knew what was happening, so I said the verse, “Get thee behind me, Satan.”


Sister Jabez's response startled everyone. She doubled forward in explosive coughs. I yanked some change from my pocket and told Jimmy to go buy her a ginger ale. I took her arm and lead her to a nearby bench where the coughing continued for several minutes. Jimmy brought the can of soda and I sat by her, offering it to her as I lightly patted her back.



She drank. The coughing slowed and I asked, “You okay, Sister? Didn’t mean to startle you.”


He is jealous for me, loves like a hurricane, I am the tree, bending beneath the weight of his wind and mercy.


Her eyes were no longer black, the darkness replaced with tears. Her face, soft, kind.



When all of a sudden I am unaware of these afflictions eclipsed by glory and I realize just how beautiful you are and how great your affection is for me…


“Oh, Mark, I’m so sorry to snap at you like that. I have just so much on my mind, I really do think you’re good boy. I’m just a snappy old woman sometimes. You don‘t think I‘m Satan, do you?”


Oh, how he loves us…


A picture flashed into my mind of Sister Jabez in her fancy house and plenty of money, still wondering, still afraid if everything would be okay.


We are his portion and he is our prize, drawn to redemption by the grace in his eyes. If His grace is an ocean we’re all sinking.


“Of course not. In fact,” I smiled and gave her a wink. “Let’s do lunch. I’ll pick you up on my motorcycle.”


Sister Jabez threw her head back and laughed more joyfully than I’ve ever heard her laugh before. I mean, c’mon, if something wanders in one ear and out the other, doesn’t mean you stop loving that person.


“Oh, my!” she laid a hand on her chest while the rest of her friends joined in her merriment. And all of a sudden, I knew I was going to help this lady realize that God really does have her back.


I don’t have time to maintain these regrets when I think about the way He loves us…


“This old bag of bones racing down the highway?” she said with a laugh. “I don’t know, but you if you promise not to laugh, I’ve always wondered what it would be like to ride one of those.”


I sat up. “Really? I could give you a ride now.”


She waved me off . “No, no, I’m in a skirt. But on Wednesday, I could wear slacks. If you promise not to go very fast and stay right in the parking lot.”


Oh, how He loves us, How He loves us all.


She wasn’t a bad lady, just scared. Yeah, I could help.


I told her it was a date, which made her friends giggle. And all was well with the world again. The ladies gathered themselves up to leave, and I knew would climb onto my motorcycle and head for home, but not before Sister Jabez gave me a hug and planted, right on my cheek, a sloppy wet kiss.



Could it have ended any other way?

And He loves us, Oh, How He loves us...

Oh, how he loves us...

How He loves us all...

The Calling of Mike Malone to be Published by MuesItUp!

Yup, next summer, The Calling of Mike Malone comes out with Canadian based MuseItUp publishing. It will be presented first as a an e-book I am excited and thrilled!

Here's the start...


Somebody was watching Mike Malone, and it scared the hell out of him.
A tall man, he peered out over the crowds, scanning the people who hustled past. One arm rested on the roof of his car, and he paused, tensing over the familiar sensation that now struck as quick and chilling as the late autumn wind. Though this feeling of being watched often followed him, he knew it had to be ridiculous. Who on earth would spy on him? And why? But after brushing off an endless stream of strange incidents in his life—which now included glimpsing the future—Mike couldn't deny it. He needed help.

His father’s words whispered from a distant, childhood memory. “I’m so glad you are
happy son. Your life may take some strange turns, but I promise you’ll understand when you’re twenty-one. I promise.”

Mike gritted his teeth. Tomorrow he would be twenty-one. Dad, if you wanted to make dire claims over my life, you should have stayed alive long enough to explain them. Enough, I’m done. This ends today.


For more sample sections checkout Mike's fan page on Facebook.


The Calling of Mike Malone-Facebook

Back in the Midnight Diner....

Hey, good to be back in the Midnight Diner. I decided to stick with my theme of violins and violinists experiencing supernatural problems and wound up writing this piece called, Virtuoso. Would you believe I wrote this because of a really nice recording of Ave Maria? Go figure.

But here's a short excerpt from the beginning of the story. Hope you like it!

Hey, here's a link to the author's page so you can check out the whole motley crew...
http://themidnightdiner.com/


Virtuoso

M.L. Archer

Benjamin Toll pulled his ball cap down over his eyes and tucked his violin case a little closer. He slouched in a darkened, rear booth in a bar off Paris’ Rue Monge and wrapped himself in its shadowy embrace. Stale Gauloise smoke, decaying leather, and bourbon sat with him.

Ben’s plan to drink until Madame Gissette’s words no longer rattled his head had failed. He lifted his empty glass and planted it, upside down, on the wooden table top.

“Benjamin Toll! You ‘ave done zis to me!”

Check mate.

“You and no one else.”

Benjamin gave a deep sigh and started to slide out of his seat.

Movement caught his eye. A woman dressed in black glided through the bar towards his table and the sight of her felt like icicles.

She approached, a stark figure dressed completely in black from the pumps which she balanced on to the large brimmed hat on her head. Ben couldn’t see her face. Like the rest of the world, he had to view the woman through the heavy, black veil that blocked her visage and he wondered if there was something wrong. Perhaps a disfigurement.

She moved with unearthly grace. But her steps, and the complete focus of her path, conjured a sense of obsession, as if this woman made the knowledge of his private comings and goings her reason for being alive. As far as Ben could tell, her gaze never left him.

She halted a few feet from his table and spoke in French.

Ben couldn’t see her face other than a vague outline of blood red lips. Her eyes were dark hollows.

“No parlez vous francais.” He hoped she would brush him off as an ignorant American and leave him alone.

“That is not a problem. I speak English very well, no?”

“Madame, I would rather not have company at the moment.”

“But you are drinking alone. That cannot be good. Do not worry. I am here for you…” She slid into the booth facing him.

A man’s voice broke in. “Oui, monsieur?”

Benjamin glanced up to see the bartender addressing him from his post.

“Did you call to me?” the bartender said.

“No, I was speaking to…” Ben halted mid-gesture and gaped at the now empty space the woman had occupied.

Ben said. “Just thinking out loud. Sorry.”

The bartender chuckled. “Or, perhaps, our French spirits are a bit much, eh? Eet is alright. But go home, sir. You will be well.”

He rose, violin case clamped under his arm, and carefully walked to the bar to pay his bill. He tugged his wallet from his blue jeans.

Benjamin glanced at the bartender standing against his backdrop of bottles filled with amber liquid and sparkling glasses. “Did a woman in a large black hat come in here?”

The bartender paid him an easy smile. “Do not worry. There are many willing females, no?” Recognition then flitted across the man’s face. “Mon dieu! Are you Benjamin Toll?”

“Yes.”

“I must tell you, I am so sorry to hear of what has happened. But you have given so much pleasure with your music. All of Paris is yours!”

“Thank you. You’re very kind. Bon soir.”

“Bon soir.”

Ben paid his bill, stepped out the door and into the night.

Dale, Me, and the Speed Demon

Story of the Month-April, Mindflights Magazine


"...because the words that come out of your mouth mean something..."


All my life I wanted to race at Talladega. But the night before the Cup race, I sat in my apartment shakin’ like a leaf.

I was Lightnin’ Jack Davis. I was the guy who went around sayin’ he could beat the devil. I had the big promo poster that showed me leanin’ against the side of my car, black number 21, with my catchphrase at the bottom: Speed is my friend.

I was the hottest rookie on the circuit and didn’t mind sayin’ so. A few days ago all I wanted was to win the Cup. Now, all I wanted was a way to skip out on the biggest race of my life.

Some people think my attraction for NASCAR came from me growing up so close to the speedway and spending my summers working there. That’s only part of it.

When I was ten, we visited my grandma, and I loved it because around her house were the longest, steepest hills in all of West Virginia.

First day there, I took my bike out, and with as powerful a push forward as I could muster, I slammed my feet onto the pedals and pumped like I had Satan at my heels. I took a full eighth of a mile to build up speed on the level straightaway as I pushed toward the start of the slope. When I peered over the top, I pedaled even harder. I picked up speed as I raced down the hill and kept haulin’ until my pedals spun freely. The wind whipped my face and at one point I felt the bike leave the pavement. Flyin’. I was flyin’!

Then, I realized I didn’t have a plan to stop. After a brief panic, I figured I had a few choices. I could slam into a mailbox and end up at the hospital, I could try running along the curb to slow down and most likely chew up my tire, or…at the bottom of the hill, a field fenced off by barbed wire waited to welcome me. Now, that would have been one of the bad choices, except I saw a board left lying on the curb. I figured if I hit it going fast enough it would act like a ramp and send me flying over the fence.

Now that was a choice.

I gritted my teeth, aimed the bike and forced every pedal’s worth of power I could pull from the thing. When my front tire slammed into the board, I flew into the air, my bike landed in the barbed wire, but I went on another three feet and crashed down in the nice, soft mud.

I was a mess, but I wasn’t hurt even though my mom got plenty upset. But I stuck a hand on my hip and told her, “Don’t worry, Mom. I could outrace the devil if I wanted to, ’cause speed is my friend.” And being a mom, she repeated that little quote a million or so times, and what can I say? It took. And it was true. I loved speed. For me, that was the attraction.

My fans in the stands even echoed the story. “You’re faster than any devil, Lightnin’ Jack! Whip the devil’s butt!”

I’d laugh and promise to do it.

But wouldn’t you know? During the qualifying rounds for the Cup race the devil called me out. No, he wasn’t wearing a red suit. He came in the form of an old woman. Lots of older ladies come to the track and cheer and yell right along with all the guys and have a good time. So when this old woman, sidled up to me at the track, I didn’t think too much about it…at first.

She looked me in the eye and said, “Lightnin’ Jack, you think you can beat the devil? Well, I gotta message for you, boy. He’s got your number, and you’re gonna die.”

She yanked out a container with red dust in it and tossed it at me.

While I was waving my way out of that cloud, Hank, who heads up my operations team, called security.

“You okay?” Hank peered at me from underneath his #21 ball cap. “That old biddy get any of that junk in your eyes?”

I brushed it off me. “No. What’s her durn problem?”

Hank gave a dry, short laugh. “She sounds like Satan’s number-one fan. Crazy old bird. Takes all kinds. I’ll have the guys make sure she doesn’t get on the track anymore.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

This morning, the old lady made the papers, just not in a good way. The headline read, “Self-described, ‘back-country witch’ found dead after ritual involvement.”

The paper explained how police found the old lady’s body covered in evil markings. No explanation how it happened. My stomach felt like lead, and all the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. You know that feeling you get walking past the graveyard at night? Like there’s something with you, except you’re supposed to be alone? That’s what I felt.

Tom, one of the pit crew, gave me a whack on the shoulder. “Well, she ain’t gonna be riding her broom anymore. Wonder if the devil got her? Or maybe she summoned Pumpkinhead! Whoooo!”

He wiggled his hands in the air like some dumb kid on Halloween, and I snapped, “Shut up!”

That was the day we did qualifying rounds. After years of driving in starter races, and dealing with ARCA cars, and traveling to Loews and Atlanta, I was doing what we set out to do. I met Hank in Atlanta and he was the one who decided my driving was worth the hassle of gettin’ a car and team together. We had so much riding on that day and suddenly I was so spooked, I barely bagged a starting position of thirty-second. Thought I’d be sick.

Everything startled me. That’s the best way I can explain it. It ain’t smart to be twitchy in a stock car.

The guys were all cool about it, even Hank. But, dang, I could’ve done better.

That night, I’d close my eyes, and I could see that old woman, one gnarled finger pointing at me. She kept calling at me in a dead croak, “You mocked Satan! Nobody beats the devil, boy. But he is going to beat YOU!”

The only reason I got up and went to the track the next morning was because I still couldn’t figure a good way out of it. Even if I died, there were people I couldn’t let down. The witch cursed me, and I knew it. But I sucked it up and went to Talladega.

The raceway did make me feel a lot better, though. The smell of exhaust alone cheered me up.

I got dressed in my coveralls, got together with the team, went over the strategy, got my car in my crummy thirty-second position, and when the white flag waved, I realized…I was okay. No headless horseman had showed up to haul me away, or Pumpkinhead, or Freddy Krueger. All of a sudden I felt like the dumbest kid on the block for lettin’ some crazy old lady scare me so bad. With the sun up and the engines roaring, I was ready to go.

I heard Hank’s voice over my radio. “How ya’ doin’ out there, kid?”

I hit my intercom. “Remember all that mess with the old lady?”

“Uh, yeah…”

“Well, forget it. It’s time to get to work.”

“Now yer talkin’!”

I gripped my wheel and focused. I always said every race was mine to win, and this one wouldn’t be any different.

Johnny Fizbin and Mike Raider were both driving and on my team. Our plan was that when we had five laps to go we’d make our moves, earlier if the game changed a little, but at the latest by then. We were counting on each other to ride our drafts for better placement. This many cars back, I surely hoped neither of them would get greedy.

I held my position, lap after lap.

Some people think it doesn’t take much to drive in NASCAR, but let me tell you, try taking one hundred and eighty-eight laps around a track doing close to two hundred miles per hour, while the track temperature itself sits at about one hundred and thirty degrees. Yeah, it takes skill and focus.

It’s also why, when I first heard the roaring sound, I thought maybe my lack of sleep was getting’ to me.

See, I made it all the way to lap 178 when stuff started getting weird.

In my mind, I started wondering, Should I pull over? Get some water tossed in my face? What?

No reason not to keep going.

Then I heard it again. Wasn’t anything strange about hearing an engine on the speedway, but this sound practically filled my car. It didn’t sound so much like a stock car as it did an oncoming tornado. The kind of loud, ongoing roar that tells you anything in its path better get out of the way. Right at that moment I saw it. A car so fast and dark, it whipped past me in a black blur.

My heart leaped into my throat.

Hanks voice came over the radio right away. “Jack! You’re swervin’ awfully bad! You got a problem?”

“I—I—I...” That’s when I heard a voice in the seat next to me say, “Quit stammering and answer the man. But watch what you say or they’re gonna think you’re crazy.” And when I glanced over, I dang near lost control of the car. I didn’t know whether to scream or puke or what. A guy sat there wearing racin’ coveralls, with a red ball cap on his head. He had mirrored sunglasses and a reddish mustache that twitched a little when he talked.

I’d been lookin’ at that guy all my life. My heart skipped a beat ’cause I’d even cried like a girl…when he died.

“Dale Earnhardt?”


To see the rest...check out

http://www.mindflights.com/item.php?sub_id=5344

Paint it Black

Because this story is set to shortly come out in the Goth-zine, "Coach's Midnight Diner" I can't post the whole thing here yet. But here's the first 'movement.' Since the main character is a symphony musician the story is set up in movements like a symphonic work. Cute idea, scary story.


I. Molto Grave’
When a loved one not only dies, but races to death’s dark embrace as if it were a prize or reward it cuts us to the core. The heart is left with a single agonized cry of Why?

That question became my own last March when my brother took his life. The discovery was unbelievable. But he didn’t die alone. My brother was a cultist. He and twenty-seven others took knives to their own throats and they did it because they thought space aliens were coming to take them away.

I could almost handle believing he was unhappy and distraught over his divorce. But…space aliens?

I am, by profession, a violinist with the Dallas Symphony. My brother, Rick, and the others took their lives after spending time in a cult called ‘Heavens Temple,’ based out of Santa Fe, New Mexico. For many hours, I researched this group, hunting to see if, among other things, it still had a following in Santa Fe. It did.

Here’s the core of the ‘Heaven’s Temple’ entire belief system: mankind is about to be recycled and the Ascended Masters are coming to help a few chosen souls shed their mortal bodies and raise them up to heaven. ’Hey Rick, the aliens want you! Kill yourself! ‘

I didn’t buy it.

That summer, I decided to leave Dallas and take a summer job playing for the Santa Fe Opera because then I could further look into things without alarming my family.
The Sunday before I left, I played the special service music at my parent’s church, and then went to their home for supper. It seemed to cheer mom up for a little bit. She’d been awfully quiet since the funeral.

When it was time to leave, my father walked me outside and shook my hand. “Well, son, thanks for playing the service. Your mom needed a few braggin’ rights.”

“Thanks, Dad. You think she’ll be okay?”

My father shook his head. “I don’t know.”

I leaned back against my little Tercel. From sheer habit my violin case was tucked under my arm.

Dad looked me over and gave a small laugh. “You remember all the crap Rick used to hand you about taking up the fiddle instead of playing football?”

“Yep.” I said feeling the wetness start down my cheeks. “I still can’t believe he did it, Dad. I miss him.”

“I know you do. And you know what bothers me? I don’t think he did anything crazy as suicide.”

“You think he was murdered?”

“I don’t know. I just know in my heart, there’s more to the story. You do, too. That’s the real reason you’re going to Santa Fe.”

My father kept a step ahead of me all my life. I wasn’t surprised he had me figured out now. I wiped my eyes and nodded.

“Thought so,” he said. “I’d do the same thing if I didn’t think it would upset your mom. Find out whatever you can, but be careful, call me if anything strange happens. Your mom couldn’t stand to lose another son.” His voice broke, “Neither could I.”
We stood on the driveway and embraced each other until he gave me a light whack on the back and said, “I’m proud of you, son. You’re a damn fine musician.”

Interview with Game Developer Patrick Frye

First appeared in Infuze Magazine June 2005

Patrick Frye reprinted it on his webzine, ICEPOWERED, earlier this year.

This interview is pretty old now but our motivations haven't changed and neither has the industry all that much.

Michele: We'd like to know about you, who you are, how long you've been a Christian and a bit about your technical background.

Patrick: My name is Patrick Frye. I was raised in a Christian home but I don't think I truly understood what it meant to be a Christian until about five to six years ago. Up until then I consider my faith to be nominal. This was partially due to the church I was attending at the time, which didn't teach the Word. Then I again, I may have been thick-headed.

I worked for a Department of Defense contractor where I produced the software that controlled satellite communications systems in spy planes used by the U.S., Britain, and Australia (along with some other NATO countries). It was stressful since there were always deadlines to meet.

Now I work in a service oriented department at a non-profit Christian ministry so the amount of work goes up and down and... no deadlines.

What is your position at TGS and how did you become involved there?

I'm the Lead Engine Designer, a.k.a. "code monkey." I provide the tools for the level designers and artists; it's their job to produce the actual content for the game. Of course, that means if the resulting game is horrible I can't be blamed. Just kidding. I actually have been submitting many ideas during the pre-development design stage for Nightmares. In the first game, Eternal War: Shadows of Light, I didn't have any input at all into game play since I came on very late in development. Most of my work was in upgrading the original engine with additional features and fixing major issues.

As for how I joined TGS... If I was going to work in the game industry I wanted to produce games that not only entertained but could teach a solid Bible-themed message. Along with a group of other people I started a company called Gamers Underground Movement Productions. To make a long story short that endeavor failed and I decided to set aside my own plans in favor of furthering the Christian game industry in whatever capacity was available. I believe that one of the largest issues facing the Christian game industry is the fragmentation of the talent pool, since everyone seems to want to develop their own little pet project. At this point the industry realistically cannot support that. So I set about looking for a solid Christian game developer that seemed to have a good track record. I submitted my resume to TGS and was immediately accepted.

Tell us about Eternal War and please discuss some of what is involved in the making of a game.

Here is the storyline in a nutshell:

Eternal War takes place in the suicidal mind of John Coronado, a desperate teen ready to take desperate measures to escape his "personal hell."

You are Mike, a friend sent to help John out of his pain and struggles before his time runs out. Traveling down the road of malice and destruction, Mike is faced with hundreds of obstacles ahead of him to overcome through the only power that John thought abandoned him."

There are a variety of specialized fields involved in game production including:

* Management (Finance, Marketing, Sells, Website, etc)
* Game Design Leads
* Programming (Rendered, Sound, Networking, Engine Architecture, Scripting, Physics, etc)
* AI Programming (I list it separately because it's pretty much its own field)
* Script Writers
* Level Designers
* Sound/Recording Artists
* 3D Modelers
* 2D Texture Artists
* Play testers
* Musicians

For learning more about the game industry I suggest www.gamedev.net and www.gamasutra.com.

How do see the ministry possibilities for the Christian gaming industry?

In movies the message is given to the audience and it's only passive interaction. With video games the audience becomes involved and they are forced to think about the message and to make decisions based upon it. Brain research scientists have discovered that a person's thinking can either be changed or solidified by modifying or reinforcing the brain's neural pathways. While it is difficult to change old neural pathways with enough dedication it is possible.

The U.S. military has taken this research and they use 3D combat simulations in order to desensitize soldiers to possible violence they might face in their first real combat and hopefully prevent them from freezing up and getting themselves killed.

Most people don't realize this, but the video game industry has already surpassed the movie industry in worldwide net profit. It could also be said that the ability to effect society is already greater. Movies usually run between 1.5 to 2 hours and most people spend a limited amount of time thinking on the subject matter contained within. AAA title video games usually contain anywhere from 12 to 60+ hours worth of game play content and many gamers will play popular games for months or years. While playing these games, certain neural pathways are consistently being reinforced. Because of this the potential to effect people is huge -- both positively and negatively.

So far this great potential has not been met. The "message" in the storyline of most video games is usually fairly neutral in scope and for the most part does not hold a social agenda. Just like Nintendo's Mario, most games still consist of a hero, a basic goal, and a bunch of bad guys blocking the player's path to the goal. It's slowly gotten better with in-game cut scenes and game play scenarios and environments that actually mesh and belong in the story. Technology and funding for years was mostly the limiter but those limitations are slowly being erased. Game developers are just now starting to talk about games where players will feel for the characters and think of moral situations. This brings about the possibility of producing games that can change the audience's views and thinking on moral issues.

I will state one caveat right now: those who claim video games were the cause of incidents like the Columbine school shooting are just looking for an easy target to blame for responsibility... other than themselves. At the same time those who claim that playing video games does not effect them at all usually are not being honest with themselves. Reality lies somewhere in between.

In males, depending on the game type, there is usually a raise in blood pressure and heightened aggression. This effect is limited in duration and usually dissipates within minutes after the person has stopped playing the game. Now the effect on a person's thinking is dependent on the subject matter and the perspective the person chooses to take when playing the game. As for me, when I play a First Person Shooter I view it the same way as I do paintball. Just like the board game of chess, I'm out to beat my opponent(s) by "tagging" them with a certain set of rules and tools (weapons).

On the other hand, the Columbine shooter's anger at their classmates caused them to recreate their classrooms in custom levels in the old game Doom. In this manner they simulated killing their classmates over and over before actually considering doing the deed in reality. If a person views playing video games in a similar way they should not being playing video games and should seek counseling!

Desensitization towards violence is also a rightful worry when it comes to children. During that stage in life the brain is still developing and is highly malleable to change. If a child's boundaries are being taught through video games and not by their parents then I would be worried also. At the same time children should be taught that there are real repercussions to their actions, whether it be in reality or in a game.

Publishers are very careful about claiming video games have no correlation with violence... mainly so the bottom-line isn't effect and so they cannot be held legally liable; not because all game developers actually believe this. Isn't it odd how software publishers claim educational software can teach children to think a certain way yet deny that "just for fun" games can have any effect on the mind? An employee at Id Software once made a statement to this effect: "After a very long session of play testing one level designer noticed that he was automatically thinking of ways to defeat and kill his fellow employees as he walked the hallways. His brain could not tell the difference between reality and a video game. Now even though this was a short time effect on his mind needless to say this freaked him out."

The Grand Theft Auto series is famously used an example, since in it the player role-plays as a criminal who is out to gain power using any means possible. The game play mechanics are laudable but the message detestable. But that is not the only way to package a message to an audience. The games Fable and The Sims did not comment on homosexuality but merely introduced it matter-of-factly by allowing the player's character to marry a non-player character of the same sex. While not actively advocating homosexuality through words, the message was still the same: homosexuality is normal behavior. In fact, not reinforcing homosexuality in the game as "special" only enhances this message.

In the same way, Two Guys Software doesn't plan on bashing the audience over the head with the Bible every time they play our games. We plan on integrating moral themes into our games without disrupting the player's game play experience. In Christian literature, authors Ted Dekker and Shane Johnson go about writing their stories the same way. The characters, settings, and plot draw the reader in and then they are introduced to concepts where they think about moral issues, and sometimes the basic message of the gospel, sometimes without God or Jesus mentioned until the very end. This way non-Christian audiences are not immediately scared off by blatantly Christian packaging of the message.

When it comes to EW: Nightmares, the plot will be considerably darker in content. This is where we'll probably get the most flak from the Christian gaming community, but we're not too concerned about that. This time around we're going to approach the story more authentically. We've been doing research into the real-life effects that abusive use of drugs, porn, suicidal thoughts, rage, and occult influences have on people. It's not a basic "messed up kid who needs help" story again, we're aiming more for a chaotic conflict zone, each zone having it's own type of chaos that the player interactively helps a game character overcome. So the game will be a lot darker but also much more powerful in message.

Where do you see the industry headed?

At this time the largest problem facing the Christian game industry is the lack of adequate financial investment. The majority of companies are being run from home and the work is done only on available spare time outside of normal day jobs.

The other huge problem in the industry is this: Everyone wants to own their own little company and pursue their own little vision of a great game; they want full control and to be "the boss". Some times this is due to pride, but usually it's the heartfelt desire of people to fulfill their dreams. While these desires are laudable this also severely fragments the talent pool since we have hundreds of little companies/groups made up of maybe 5 to 10 people on average.

I'm reiterating this point from above because I consider it so important: I quickly realized that the only way to succeed is to set aside my dreams for the short term and join an already established company that appears to be succeeding. Perhaps in the future, once the Christian game industry has matured, I might be able to develop my own dream but I must learn to be patient. To complete my thought, if all the available people would band together under one company it might be possible to be competitive. If we have a hundred people working part-time on the side it would be approximately equal to about twenty to twenty-five full-time workers. Of course, managing all that would be crazy and be a full time position by itself but at least it would be possible to competitive with the secular industry and thus financially successful.

One of the reasons these small groups fail is because they are overly ambitious. They have grand visions but do not consider the reality of creating their vision in terms of resources, time, and capabilities. Some people are just starting to realize this error. As one game developer put it: "I'm just sick of project ideas -- whole projects even -- just being discarded because there's no time or it gets old or its too hard." Then these groups run into another problem, that of reducing their game to the point where it is irrelevant in the market. Most "simple" game play styles are available in such quantity that many are even free! It's quite impossible to sustain a working business plan which includes profitability when faced with such a situation.

Another problem is the lack of business sense in the industry. The majority of people starting these Christian game developers have no clue what to do when it comes to even simple business practices. The last paragraph could be used as an example. For another example, when I started Gamers Underground Movement Productions with several others, none of us had any practical experience at running a business. Fast forward to the future. TGS does receive help from Christians in the secular industry but day-to-day decisions are still left up to us, as well as marketing and other disciplines we are sorely lacking in.

Only once the talent pool is consolidated into professionally operated corporations funded by investors and run by experienced managers do I see the Christian game industry as being able to stand on its own. It's going to be a hard road and I imagine it will be years before the fruits of our labor pay off and the Christian game industry has settled down into a more settled, more "normal" routine.

What, if any, have been your biggest obstacles in dealing with the Christian community?

You'd be surprised at how the majority of mainstream Christian publishers we've talked to say Christians should not play video/computer games. It's practically the same situation that occurred with the Christian music industry in the 60 and 70s, where those with the money and who were in control of the industry said rock and roll is evil. At the same time it's amazing how many secular magazines/newspapers (like Fortune, MSNBC, etc.) are asking to interview us (TGS) about these emerging "religious games." The secular media actually paints a brighter picture than most Christians, estimating that the Christian game industry will exceed five hundred million dollars in several years.

One of the few Christian publications I've seen that has even mentioned the Christian game industry is World Magazine. But even then their editorial had a negative slant, quoting Mack and others out of context, and complaining that we have any type of violence in our games. Conflict of some type in video games is pretty much unavoidable, as is a certain level of violence. In the letters to the magazine section I saw letters about that article printed over a period of several months. These letters were all negative, saying they were appalled we were making such games and calling us hypocrites. Do I see these same people screaming about the blood-soaked, gory descriptions in the popular Left Behind series?

The reason most Christians don't play Christian games is the same reason why most gamers don't play our games: With the resources we're forced to work with we can only produce games that are five to seven years behind the game play curve (or worse). The AAA titles of the late 90's were made with a budget of less than a million and maybe twenty to forty people. Today's games are made with budgets typically exceeding several million dollars (two million dollars a month for Valve Software's recently released bestseller Half Life 2) and a staff of over one hundred people. The original Half Life was released in 1998 and to this date, the Christian game industry hasn't produced a game that can match it -- though, to be fair, many recently released secular games don't match it either. To put it pointedly, the majority of gamers have grown tired of games that play like Quake 1... and that's the quality level a spare time budget allows developers to make. While it's impressive that Eternal War: Shadows of Light met and exceeded the gameplay of Quake 1 considering it was developed on spare time and a limited budget, it still isn't enough to compete with today's market.

Now, the problem isn't a lack of Christian talent -- there are many Christians already working in the secular game industry in companies like Sierra, Activision, Electronic Arts, etc. These guys have even expressed interest in joining Christian game developers like N-Lightning or Two Guys Software. The problem is that the majority of these guys have families, mortgages, and bills to pay. Joining a Christian game developer would mean a huge pay in cut that, quite frankly, they can't afford at this time.

Many publishers will look at TGS and other Christian game developers and then claim the reason they aren't interested in backing us up is because of our lack of major financial success (or in the case of secular publishers mainly just because we're Christian in the first place). What they don't seem to comprehend is the lack of success is largely due to a lack of money, marketing, business management, and store shelf space... things only they could provide. It's a Catch-22 since we first have to be financially successful in order for them to consider providing the necessities required for us to be financially successful in the first place.

Why does there need to be a Christian game industry that creates games specifically to be marketed to Christians alone? Can't Christians just work from within the mainstream game industry?

When I think of the Christian game industry I agree that it shouldn't be centered around games created specifically to be marketed to Christians alone. Preaching to the choir or specifically targeting a yet-to-exist Christian game market has always seemed a waste of time to me, though I know others in the industry might disagree. It's possible that type of business plan might be financially sustainable in the long run, but that's not my interest. Two Guys Software's goal, for example, is to reach out to hardcore gamers with Biblically sound values and game play that anyone could appreciate. The idea is to overtly integrate moral issues and a message into the game play so that non-Christians don't feel like they're being bashed over the head with the Bible.

We've actually received more interest from secular media outlets like Forbes and MSNBC and mostly scorn from Christian publishers and media. "Christians shouldn't play video games, especially if they have any sort of violence at all in them" is usually the type of response I hear. There are actually many Christians in the mainstream game industry, from Sierra to EA, but I know from experience that the publishers will bulk at the idea to produce games that discuss sound moral issues in any manner; even if the Bible, God, or Jesus is not brought up explicitly. Using the word "Christian" will almost always get you shown the door immediately. That is why there is a "Christian" game industry, because at this time it seems that is the only way the games will be produced.

Where do you see TGS five years from now?

I cannot give an exact time frame but we're expecting the development of EW: Nightmares to take several more years. We're currently seeking financial investment and/or support by a mainstream publisher, either Christian or secular.

If a young person wished to become involved with the Christian gaming industry, what advice would you give them?

To be able to make good games you have to recognize good games and the game play mechanics behind them. What makes a "good" game is a fickle thing and often requires the tweaking of many variables over a period of months in order to balance out the game play.
I would recommend reading game development websites and magazines so you can become familiar with the industry. Depending on your planned specialty you may have to be well grounded in technical matters.

An Interview with Demonologist Keith Johnson

Appeared in Teenage Magazine 2007


When God works we glory in His miracles and greatness. When Satan works we remember that the Christian walk is no game.

Keith and Sandra Johnson are paranormal investigators. For a number of years they have helped people with their questions and problems regarding this field. Along with hosting a local paranormal talk show in their native Rhode Island, Keith also serves as consulting demonologist for TAPS, The Atlantic Paranormal Research Society, whom many have seen on the sci-fi channel hit series, Ghost Hunters.

Keith graciously took time to answer a few questions exclusively for TeenAge...


TeenAge: Please tell us who you are and a little about your organization, New England Anomalies Research.

Keith: We founded New England Anomalies Research, in October of 2004, as a means of investigating the paranormal as a team, as well as assisting people who are facing situations which may possibly involve paranormal phenomena. More and more frequently, we find that people are requesting help with these types of situations, and they are often extremely grateful to find an organization they can turn to for help.


TeenAge: When someone hears the term ‘Demonologist’ it tends to sound a little bit scary; as if a demonologist is someone who hangs out with demons. Would you define the term for us and explain what it is that you do?

Keith: Essentially, a demonologist is someone who studies the history, theology, nature and activity of the demonic realm, and is able to apply this knowledge.


TeenAge: How does your Christian faith help you when dealing with these situations?

Keith: It is through our Christian faith that we feel protected when entering a situation where a demonic entity may be involved. We know that we are not dealing with these situations under our own authority, but that we are protected and guided by Jesus Christ.


TeenAge: On the heels of that question, Keith, how did you and Saundra each become involved with paranormal studies? Is that how you met?

Keith: Sandra and I actually met when we were involved in a theater project together. As far as becoming involved in paranormal research, my interest was originally peaked by the fact that I grew up in a house when paranormal phenomena occasionally took place. Sandra also developed an avid interest in this field, and this, combined with our Christian faith and desire to assist others who were seeking answers, led us to investigating these types of cases together.


TeenAge: What happened on your most startling or frightening investigation?

Keith: A fourteen-year-old boy was subject to demonic possession, and while we were helping him, his aunt also went under possession. This was a perfect example of demonic spirits working together.


TeenAge: Can demons read minds?

Keith: Demons can mainly pick up impressions, and can seemingly read the thoughts of someone who is demonically influenced. However, they cannot read the thoughts of someone who has the indwelling of the Holy Spirit.


TeenAge: Can Christians become possessed?

Keith: A Christian cannot normally become possessed, as in being taken over by a demonic entity. However, a Christian can be tempted and even demonically influenced to a degree, if his or her guard is down. This happened on at least one occasion to the Apostle Peter.


TeenAge: When it comes to paranormal investigations, a very common set of initials one hears are the letters EVP. Could you explain what that means and how it relates to your investigations?

Keith: EVP stands for Electronic Voice Phenomena. Essentially, this is disembodied voices being picked up on either a magnetic or digital recording. Often these voices are picked up during a paranormal investigation, sometimes even while we are interviewing the client. They are generally only heard when the recording is played back. However, we would caution that voices caught in this manner are not necessarily the voices of departed human beings, and they can also be very deceptive.


TeenAge: My thirteen year old friend wants to know when you hear voices on an EVP how can you tell if they are demonic or human spirits?

Keith: If a voice captured in EVP form reacts negatively to any mention of God or Jesus Christ, then it is likely that of a demonic spirit. Most EVP messages are very brief and whispery, and often of a negative or sarcastic content.


TeenAge: You occasionally work with TAPS on the sci-fi channel show, Ghost Hunters. I heard part of an audio once for a show that Ghost-Hunters never aired. It featured Keith performing an actual exorcism and was really quite frightening. But I recall hearing a great deal of Christian prayer also going on during the same episode. Any thoughts on why it wasn’t shown? Too scary, or too Christian?

Keith: There are actually quite a few episodes of Ghost Hunters which, for a variety of reasons, do not wind up being aired on TV as part of the series. This particular episode was perhaps considered a little too controversial. However, an upcoming preview of it was shown, which resulted in many people asking questions about what actually happened. Let me just say that the exorcism was successful and the victim was eventually freed. The entire session was extremely physically and emotionally draining on me.
(Because there were so many inquiries, I did wind up writing out what happened in full story form, which can be found on the stories section of our web site: www.nearparanormal.com.)


Teenage: Many teenagers are fascinated with the occult. Could you offer any words of wisdom, or even warning for those who want to learn more about it?

Keith: The occult can be very dangerous, and also very, very deceptive. At first, it can even sometimes seem very alluring, such as the opportunity to gain advantages or to communicate with the spirits of departed loved ones, as through the Ouija board or automatic writing. But make no mistake...these are false promises, designed to trap people into getting in over their heads. It is often easier to lure in a demonic entity than it is to get rid of one. These spirits have the wisdom of the ages, and will look for any opportunity to infiltrate the life of someone who may be lonely, depressed, or spiritually vulnerable. But also, take comfort in the fact that Jesus gives us protection always read this out loud when entering a situation where the demonic may be involved. against these unholy forces through faith in Him. A good method of protecting oneself against demonic forces is to put on the "Armor of God," which is described in Ephesians, chapter 6. Sandra and I always read this out loud when entering a situation where the demonic may be involved.

_______

In case Ephesians 6 doesn't ring a bell, here's the section to which Keith is referring:

Ephesians 6:10-13 KJV

10 Finally, my brethren, be strong in the Lord, and in the power of his might.

11 Put on the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil.

12 For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.

13 Wherefore take unto you the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand.

A good passage to remember, no matter what you happen to do.

Bless the Children: Appeared in AlienSkin Magazine Jan. 2007

Excerpt........



My name is Glob. Around sundown today I went above ground to get groceries, and this is how my trip went.

I was a little miffed when I went to the TV/Stereo shop on the corner. I just wanted to catch a glimpse of the news, find out what’s going on in the world, y’know? So I’m watching, and the next thing you know, this dumb show comes on about these lousy little reptiles that get doused in nuclear waste then, ‘Bammo!!” They transform into heroes! Man, like, what if they were nuclear tapeworms? Would they eat the bad guys from the inside out? They should have made a show about us. At least we used to be human.

My girlfriend, Bucket, says we still are. I don’t know.

So anyway, I’m standing there, my hood is pulled over my head when the manager yells, “Hey, kid! If you aint’ buyin’ get out!”

And I thought I wasn’t a Rhodes Scholar.

Well, I already had my chain jerked a little anyway, so I spun around and stuck out my tongue. The dude screamed like a girl then started saying swear words about the costume shop down the street.

“Go on!” he cried. “Get!”

I said a few words about his over-sized rear and took off.

I took my usual path down the alley that runs adjacent to S. Michigan Avenue, Chicago, USA.

Chet’s Diner was my first stop. Sitting on the back steps were the four bags he leaves everyday. I leaned forward and smelled the soup. Mmmm, minestrone. I peaked in one bag and saw he had included a can of V-8 especially for our girl Loosey. She needs extra vegetables, but her jaw doesn’t work very well. I also noticed the bags were sturdy and had handles. Good ol’ Chet.

Of course, before this had been Chet’s place it had been Sal’s, and Tawan’s and also Larry’s.. But hell, those guys couldn’t deal and became real inconvenient. Inconvenient people die. My mother taught me that.

So old Chet is a good boy. We help him, though, it’s only fair. Like the time he was robbed. Friggin’ burglar stole a ton of money and equipment. Expensive stuff. Police couldn’t find him, but we did. Chet got his stuff back and I let Patch abort him. He didn’t live long. A good deal all around.

Next stop was the church. Father Hillary left a small box of medicine we needed with a note attached; ’Will have extra clothes, blankets and batteries tomorrow. The ribbon is in with the medicine.’

I felt excited and tore open the bag for a look. There it was, a strand of velvet, all ruby-red and soft. It was a present for Bucket. Man, I knew she’d love it. She loves tying things around her head. I also saw Father Hillary had included his usual present: a Bible. I gave asnort of laughter and chucked it to one side. That Father Hillary, sometimes he’s a hoot. Always talking about the great life you can find just reading the Bible. Maybe it hasn't dawned on him that I'm dead, so what's a dead man need with a life? But the Father is still a pretty good one. I’ll have to carve a lot of flesh before I find a replacement for him.

I put the box in with the juice and headed for my last stop, Wilma’s Natural Food Mart. She was supposed to leave us organic apples, but when I got to her back door, I didn’t see anything.

Disgusted, I pounded on the door. Wilma opened it and peaked out. She’s thin with gray lines in her hair, always wears blue jeans and acts like she’s doing me a big, fat, favor. She’s got it wrong.

She looked at me and stuttered, “Oh, its-its….y-you.”

“You-you? Who-who?” I talk like that to her. Freaks her out. “Say who I are.”

“I’m not calling you that-that name.”

I told her, “My name Glob. I wanna apple.”

“You’re not a glob.”

“Liar.”

Her eyes said she was a little scared and guilty at the same time. I thought, N.G., Wilma, N.G.

“Look,” she told me opening the door. “Come in. We have to talk.”

“I wanna apple,” I said and waddled in after her.

She lead me to her office which was a real mess, let me tell you. The paperwork on her desk looked so jumbled you’d have thought it had a life of its own. There were bills held in check by a marble paper-weight; a spiked message skewer over-flowed with messages and order sheets covered her desk like insulation. Being an orderly kind of guy, I was just plain friggin’ appalled. And this slob was supposed to help me. Tsk, tsk.

She sat in her rotten old desk chair and motioned for me to sit.

I told her, “Glob stand.”

“Uh…all right,” she stammered. Then she smiled in that same kind of way Bucket does sometimes. Except, when Bucket does it, she’s usually congratulating a two year old for pooping in the right spot. I aint’ two years old. This chick spoke like we reached some major compromise.

“All right…Glob. Stand. But we will talk. I’ve been letting this arrangement go on too long. You must see that you need help! My church has a youth Pastor who could help you to...”

“I wanna apple.”

Her eyes flashed, “Stop talking like that! You’re not stupid! I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you! But you do need spiritual help and physical help. The swellings are there, but you could see a doctor! You could be a normal boy!”

Her words punched a button with me so big and touchy I wanted to nail her right there. But I was in a bad position. I kept cool and moved closer to the desk.

“Gimme apple! Gimme now!”

She rolled her eyes to the ceiling and said, “That’s it young man! You can’t be more than fourteen and if there are other children like you down there…don’t you see? They need a doctor! Jesus didn't save your lives just to have you hold them captive in the dark till they all die or don’t you care?”

Inside my anger flared like an exploding volcano. Didn't care? She had NO idea! But since she was about to die, I told her the truth. I leaned forward on her desk and gave her my most intelligent smile. “Wilma, Wilma, tsk, tsk. My clan is officially dead. Or so you’d expected when a person is aborted. But a few of us made it, as you well know…”

I never used this voice with her and I could see her face go slack with fright, as if she had just learned a fatal secret. She had.

Wilma gasped, “You’re normal!”

I grinned and yelled, “Surprise!” Then snatching up the paper-weight, I slammed it into her temple and she slumped to the floor. I felt the side of her neck and found no pulse. But it didn’t matter. I felt in my pocket for my switchblade, pulled it out and snicked it open. Grabbing a fistful of her hair, I yanked her head up and slit her throat. No hard feelings, but when I kill someone, I make sure they’re really dead.

I waited at the back door to her office. I could hear the clerk out front yakking on the phone and having a grand old time. No one else was in the store. I slipped out. Near the back door I found the sack of apples and oranges she was supposed to leave for me before she came down with the bleeding heart sickness.

I grabbed the sack and left.

Does it end well? Hmmmm....we'll have to see!

Soul Mate and Blessed Infant: Appeared in Infuze Mag. June 2005

It doesn't happen too often, but once in a blue moon I write poems. The first was a poem, the second became a medieval style song, performed locally.


Soul Mate

I always knew you were there,

A companion almost too good to be real.

Someone who could do the impossible

And love me...

just the way I am.


I always prayed you were there,

the elusive soul-mate

only others seemed to find.


You fill my heart,

You touch my soul

Just knowing you exist...


I thank God for you,

again and again,

I thank God for you...




Blessed Infant

Blessed Infant rest your head
Sleep baby, sleep
Laying in a manger bed,

Sleep baby sleep.
A thousand stars may grace the skies,
but one shines brightest for you tonight.

Come so that we may have life,
Sleep baby, sleep.
Sleep baby, sleep.