Dr. Sam Vaknin is an Israeli psychologist
and has written extensively about narcissism.
Dr.
Vaknin states "I must confess I was impressed by Sen.Barack Obama from
the first time I saw him. At first I was excited to see a black
candidate. He looked youthful, spoke well, appeared to be confident - a
wholesome presidential package. I was put off soon, not just because of
his shallowness but also because there was an air of haughtiness in his
demeanor that was unsettling. His posture and his body language were louder than his empty words. Obama's speeches are unlike any political speech we have heard in American history. Never a politician in this land had such quasi "religious" impact on so many people. The fact that Obama is a total
incognito with zero accomplishment, makes this inexplicable infatuation
alarming. Obama is not an ordinary man. He is not a genius. In fact he
is quite ignorant on most important subjects."
Barack Obama is a narcissist.
Dr.
Sam Vaknin, the author of the Malignant Self Love believes "Barack
Obama appears to be a narcissist." Vaknin is a world authority on
narcissism. He understands narcissism and describes the inner mind of a
narcissist like no other person. When he talks about narcissism
everyone listens. Vaknin says that Obama's language, posture and
demeanor, and the testimonies of his closest, dearest and nearest
suggest that the Senator is either a narcissist or he may have
narcissistic personality disorder (NPD). Narcissists project a
grandiose but false image of themselves. Jim Jones, the charismatic
leader of People's Temple, the man who led over 900 of his followers to
cheerfully commit mass suicide and even murder their own children was
also a narcissist. David Koresh, Charles Manson, Joseph Koni, Shoko Asahara,
Stalin, Saddam, Mao,Kim Jong Ill and Adolph Hitler are a few examples
of narcissists of our time. All these men had a tremendous influence
over their fanciers. They created a personality cult around themselves
and with their blazing speeches elevated their admirers, filled
their hearts with enthusiasm and instilled in their minds a new zest
for life. They gave them hope! They promised them the moon, but
alas, invariably they brought them to their doom. When you are a victim
of a cult of personality, you don't know it until it is too late. One
determining factor in the development of NPD is childhood abuse.
"Obama's
early life was decidedly chaotic and replete with traumatic and
mentally bruising dislocations," says Vaknin. "Mixed-race marriages
were even less common then. His parents went through a divorce when he
was an infant (two years old). Obama saw his father only once again,
before he died in a car accident. Then his mother re-married and Obama
had to relocate to Indonesia , a foreign land with a radically foreign
culture, to be raised by a step-father. At the age of ten, he was
whisked off to live with his maternal (white)grandparents. He saw his
mother only intermittently in the following few years and then she
vanished from his life in 1979. She died of cancer in 1995". One must never underestimate the manipulative genius
of pathological narcissists. They project such an imposing personality
that it overwhelms those around them. Charmed by the charisma of the
narcissist, people become like clay in his hands. They cheerfully do
his bidding and delight to be at his service. The narcissist shapes the world around himself and reduces others in his own inverted image. He creates a cult of personality. His admirers become
his co-dependents Narcissists have no interest in things that do not
help them to reach their personal objective. They are focused on one
thing alone and that is power. All other issues are meaningless to them
and they do not want to waste their precious time on trivialities.
Anything that does not help them is beneath them and do not deserve
their attention. If an issue raised in the Senate does not help Obama in one way or another,
he has no interest in it. The "present" vote is a safe vote. No one can
criticize him if things go wrong. Those issues are unworthy by their
very nature because they are not about him. Obama's election as the
first black president of the Harvard Law Review led to a contract and
advance to write a book about race relations. The
University of Chicago Law School provided him a lot longer than
expected and at the end it evolved into, guess what? His own
autobiography! Instead of writing a scholarly paper focusing on race
relations, for which he had been paid, Obama could not resist writing
about his most sublime self. He entitled the book Dreams from My Father.
Not surprisingly, Adolph Hitler also wrote his own autobiography
when he was still nobody. So did Stalin. For a narcissist no subject is
as important as his own self. Why would he waste his precious time and
genius writing about insignificant things when he can write about such
an august being as himself? Narcissists are often callous and even
ruthless. As the norm, they lack conscience. This is evident from
Obama's lack of interest in his own brother who lives on only one
dollar per month.
A
man who lives in luxury, who takes a private jet to vacation in Hawaii,
and who has raised nearly half a billion dollars for his campaign
(something unprecedented in history) has no interest in the plight of
his own brother. Why? Because, his brother cannot be used for his
ascent to power. A narcissist cares for no one but himself. This election is like
no other in the history of America . The issues are insignificant
compared to what is at stake. What can be more dangerous than having a
man bereft of conscience, a serial liar, and one who cannot distinguish
his fantasies from reality as the leader of the free world? I hate to
sound alarmist, but one is a fool if one is not alarmed. Many
politicians are narcissists. They pose no threat to others...They are
simply self serving and selfish.
Obama
evidences symptoms of pathological narcissism, which is different from
the run-of-the-mill narcissism of a Richard Nixon or a Bill Clinton for
example. To him reality and fantasy are intertwined. This is a mental
health issue, not just a character flaw. Pathological narcissists are
dangerous because they look normal and even intelligent. It is this
disguise that makes them treacherous. Today the Democrats have placed all their hopes in Obama.
But this man could put an end to their party. The great majority of
blacks have also decided to vote for Obama. Only a fool does not know
that their support for him is racially driven. This is racism, pure and
simple. The downside of this is that if Obama turns out to be the
disaster I predict, he will cause widespread resentment among the
whites.
The
blacks are unlikely to give up their support of their man. Cultic
mentality is pernicious and unrelenting. They will dig their heads
deeper in the sand and blame Obama's detractors of racism. This will
cause a backlash among the whites.
The
white supremacists will take advantage of the discontent and they will
receive widespread support. I predict that in less than four years,
racial tensions will increase to levels never seen since the turbulent
1960's.
Obama
will set the clock back decades... America is the bastion of freedom.
The peace of the world depends on the strength of America , and its
weakness translates into the triumph of terrorism and victory of rogue
nations.
It is no wonder that Ahmadinejad, Hugo Chavez, the Castrists,
the Hezbollah, the Hamas, the lawyers of the Guantanamo terrorists and
virtually all sworn enemies of America are so thrilled by the prospect
of
their man in the White House. America is on the verge of destruction.
There is no insanity greater than electing a pathological narcissist as
president.
Today,
America faces enemies that make the world of the Cold War seem like
much brighter times. Islamic forces have declared Jihad on America
causing the greatest threat to the life of the United States since
World War II. In Patriot Acts, America finds itself under covert
nuclear attack from the Islamic Republic of Iran which has linked up
with radical American Militia groups. They have set aside their
political and religious differences to carry out the widest attack to
America in the nation 's history. Colonel Fisher Harrison, the best
trained Special Ops killer the military has, is the only one person who
can effectively retaliate against their aggression. The only problem is
that Colonel Fisher is in a federal prison, framed for a murder he did
not commit by his former boss who is now the President of the United
States of America. Take an amazing journey from Alaska to the Midwest
and to the center of the Islamic Republic of Iran as two enemies unite
to save the nation from two adversaries in league to bring the country
to its knees. You will be amazed how close to home and to reality
Patriot Acts could be!
Have you ever felt that the world was guided in ways that are beyond man’s control? The constant changes in the world since
the time of Nimrod 4000 years ago until today and all the events that
have shaken the world have been to bring the universe back into the hands of the Prince of Darkness, Lucia, a world that he had ruled with his Watchers
before it was all ripped from his grasp when man was created. Nimrod
Rising paints a diabolical picture of how the Prince of Darkness
executes his evil plot to take the world back by force and destroy
civilization in the process. From the Great Builder Nimrod
in 4000 BC to today, 666 generations later, you can ride the storm of
Nimrod Rising and experience the death of a world and the birth pangs
of another. You will swear it is really upon us!
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Wallace Findings has a past that he does not even know about. During a
one-night stand with Susan Chacon, an illegal immigrant and prostitute,
Findings falls prey to a crime, an evil plot to conceive a child that
Susan will give up for adoption, along with the myth of a financial
reward. The only problem is that instead of producing one monetary
child, twins are born. One child is rejected and left an orphan, in a
world without identity or care, facing brutal treatment and harsh
physical and sexual abuse. His twin brother, Jeffery Phaire is welcomed
into a wonderful life of plenty and privilege. Stillborn is a thriller
that reveals how a life of bitterness and child abuse can result in
revenge, deadly repercussions and vengeful actions. Stillborn is full
of suspense and action and intrigue and murder. You will learn what a
life of pain, suffering and child abuse can cause, when a child is
denied an existence, and when vengeance becomes a driving motivation.
Find a common, good man; even a Pastor, a man known more for his good deeds than for any mischief.Take away everything from him. Take
away his life, his history his future, his faith, his wife and you’ve
created a monster, a desperate man who wants payback from those who
destroyed his life. Greg Bradford is a victim of infidelity, man who
wants revenge, a man prepared to do anything to get his life back.Imagine,
you’re a well-known Police officer, in a state-wide position, and you
have to investigate a murder at a State Mental Facility in Logansport,
Indiana, a vindictive crime that Chief Inspector Corbett (Core)
Mandeville has swirling around in his past also.Both
Core and Greg know why they did what they were both sworn to prevent.
Corbett Mandeville is well known in Indiana, having investigated some
of the worst murders in his state. Now, an
escaped mental patient, who has a vengeful score to settle, is on the
loose, and Core has to stop him. This adventure is not like many
others, since Corbett Mandeville has a closet full of suspense, of his
own. This killer and Mandeville both had similar reasons for stalking
their prey, for stepping out and taking justice into their own hands.
Get into the mind of the killer and the cop, as both find a connection
that makes for a lethal thriller of profound actions of vengeance and
justice.
This is written with respect for your office and with deep concern for the direction of the nation.Sir, I ask myself why you, a very powerful and smart President, would wait so long to respond to courageous fight for freedom of the Iranian People.
Do
you not consider it ruthless, President Obama, to rule over us and make
us believe we want you to do the things we ought to know will destroy us?Your handling of the economy right out of the Communist manifestoand your creation of a shadow government through your ever expanding group of Czar, which means king in Russian, as I’m sure you know; ten kings; ten rulers who are answerable to no one except except for the One; sort of like you are setting yourself up as a Supreme Leader, sir?
Mr. President, your ability to virtually make yourself all powerful and beyond scrutiny will eventually render the Congress powerless; into political mush, removing any lasting vestiges of the separation of powers; just the way you want it, sir?
Mr.
President and your Administration, have proposed the most sweeping and
constitutionally most devastating set of new rules the nation will have
ever seen.If you actually accomplish your
power-shifting goal, you will control General Electric, and by virtue
of the fact that NBC is controlled and owned by General Electric, and
you will control of a large part of the News Media in America, all
propped up by the Federal Reserve.All this seems impossible for you to get all this through Congress.Yet,
you have already said you’d achieve this by fiat, that with one
executive order and your signature you will effectively end the nation
that took all the people’s votes to begin.If
you enact this unconstitutional executive order, you will destroy the
News Media in America, Freedom of Speech and rendered the Constitution
invalid forever.
So, though President Obama, your words were measured and yet decisive,
and I was pleased by what you said, perhaps the greatest reason you did
not respond quickly to condemn the Iranian Regime was because, you are a socialist, you plan to be dictatorial and you are rewriting the nation to replace the former one, which has died.Perhaps you are, in end, no different than the ones who kill their own in Tehran.Thank you Mr. President for letting me speak my mind.I hope you prove me wrong.
Author Steven Clark Bradley
Below is a letter to you, Mr. President
from Iranians who desperately seek freedom
This letter was written by Iranians who desperately want you to speak out for them.Is this not what we have hoped and prayed for, since their revolution in 1979?I have no criticisms of anything you have said the Iranian uprising except that it has not been enough.You have spoken out twice and I give you a hearty approval of your words both times.
There are new approaches between Iran and USA after 30 years. Iranian government in the latest presidency election rigged the votes and Mr. Ahmadinejad came out with fiction percentage of 62.
We all ask Mr Obama not to recognize Mr. Ahmadinejad as Iranian president as it seems he got elected like a coup.
US
supported Iranian regime in 50s to turn down by a coup. We strongly ask
United States not to recognize Mr. Ahmadinejad as Iranian President.
That would mean that US supported another coup against the democracy in
Iran.
Petition:
Dear Mr. President Obama,
Your
election by American people was not only hope for Americans but also
for many people in the world who wanted change in their own societies.
Mr.
President, Iranian first approach to democracy got down by the coup
which your country heavily supported against elected Prime Minister Dr
Mohammad Mosadegh in 50s. That caused a loop back for the country for
about 30 years. Since that time, Americans in most Iranians’ eyes were
not those people we had thought of. We consider them as people who just
see their own benefits and do not care about anything else.
On June 12th 2009, Iranians overwhelming voted for change as Americans did on November 4th 2008.
But
in an unacceptable and unrespectable event, Mr Ahmadinejad came out
with 62% as president. We all know and believe that they have rigged
the election and as Mr also Mr Mousavi and Mr. Karoubi our reformist
candidates referred to it as a huge Fraud. So the event which was
supposed to burst the country in happiness, it turned out to a national
funeral.
We, Iranian people are aware about your new policy
about Iran as you have invited Iranian diplomats in all American
embassies and foreign offices around the world for 4th of July. The
policy that some refer to it as the hot Dog policy. We all embrace your
new policy and we all see it as new window for both countries after
three decades.
Mr. President, we strongly and kindly ask you not
to recognize Mr Ahmadinejad as Iranian president and please withdraw
your invitation for Iranian diplomats. We all look for a new window;
you were hope for all of us so please do not let another American
support to another anti-democracy movement in Iran.
If
you'd like to buy one of Steven's novels, just click one of the links
and enjoy reading a book that might even explore you! Thanks again!
All of Steven Clark Bradley's novels are widely available all over the net. Here are a few links to help you read these exciting stories now.
Steven's books are about issues that will make you think and reevaluate the things you've never
questioned before. Steven's three novels are listed here and there are
excepts from each of his novels. You will also find articles he has
written as an expert status writer for ezine.com. Take a look, move around and explore, leave a comment!
Today,
America faces enemies that make the world of the Cold War seem like
much brighter times. Islamic forces have declared Jihad on America
causing the greatest threat to the life of the United States since
World War II. In Patriot Acts, America finds itself under covert
nuclear attack from the Islamic Republic of Iran which has linked up
with radical American Militia groups. They have set aside their
political and religious differences to carry out the widest attack to
America in the nation 's history. Colonel Fisher Harrison, the best
trained Special Ops killer the military has, is the only one person who
can effectively retaliate against their aggression. The only problem is
that Colonel Fisher is in a federal prison, framed for a murder he did
not commit by his former boss who is now the President of the United
States of America. Take an amazing journey from Alaska to the Midwest
and to the center of the Islamic Republic of Iran as two enemies unite
to save the nation from two adversaries in league to bring the country
to its knees. You will be amazed how close to home and to reality
Patriot Acts could be!
Have you ever felt that the world was guided in ways that are beyond man’s control? The constant changes in the world since
the time of Nimrod 4000 years ago until today and all the events that
have shaken the world have been to bring the universe back into the hands of the Prince of Darkness, Lucia, a world that he had ruled with his Watchers
before it was all ripped from his grasp when man was created. Nimrod
Rising paints a diabolical picture of how the Prince of Darkness
executes his evil plot to take the world back by force and destroy
civilization in the process. From the Great Builder Nimrod
in 4000 BC to today, 666 generations later, you can ride the storm of
Nimrod Rising and experience the death of a world and the birth pangs
of another. You will swear it is really upon us!
Officer
Wallace Findings has a past that he does not even know about. During a
one-night stand with Susan Chacon, an illegal immigrant and prostitute,
Findings falls prey to a crime, an evil plot to conceive a child that
Susan will give up for adoption, along with the myth of a financial
reward. The only problem is that instead of producing one monetary
child, twins are born. One child is rejected and left an orphan, in a
world without identity or care, facing brutal treatment and harsh
physical and sexual abuse. His twin brother, Jeffery Phaire is welcomed
into a wonderful life of plenty and privilege. Stillborn is a thriller
that reveals how a life of bitterness and child abuse can result in
revenge, deadly repercussions and vengeful actions. Stillborn is full
of suspense and action and intrigue and murder. You will learn what a
life of pain, suffering and child abuse can cause, when a child is
denied an existence, and when vengeance becomes a driving motivation.
Find a common, good man; even a Pastor, a man known more for his good deeds than for any mischief.Take away everything from him. Take
away his life, his history his future, his faith, his wife and you’ve
created a monster, a desperate man who wants payback from those who
destroyed his life. Greg Bradford is a victim of infidelity, man who
wants revenge, a man prepared to do anything to get his life back.Imagine,
you’re a well-known Police officer, in a state-wide position, and you
have to investigate a murder at a State Mental Facility in Logansport,
Indiana, a vindictive crime that Chief Inspector Corbett (Core)
Mandeville has swirling around in his past also.Both
Core and Greg know why they did what they were both sworn to prevent.
Corbett Mandeville is well known in Indiana, having investigated some
of the worst murders in his state. Now, an
escaped mental patient, who has a vengeful score to settle, is on the
loose, and Core has to stop him. This adventure is not like many
others, since Corbett Mandeville has a closet full of suspense, of his
own. This killer and Mandeville both had similar reasons for stalking
their prey, for stepping out and taking justice into their own hands.
Get into the mind of the killer and the cop, as both find a connection
that makes for a lethal thriller of profound actions of vengeance and
justice.
How can America ever forget what happened on September 11,
2001? A horror that's better known as 9-1-1, and a nightmare that
shocked all Americans, a disaster that should have never occurred.
Steven
Clark Bradley's "PATRIOT ACTS" comes to life, and is as scary as the
same day I witnessed the tragedy of the burning towers. He creates a
picture-perfect image of terrorism, and brings it to life in his
adrenaline-pumping story of a nuclear attack after visiting thirty-four
countries, and expertise on working as a freelance journalist.
_________________________________
"As intense as "ARLINGTON ROAD"
where your paranoia
can become real"
_________________________________
I
recommend this novel to all those interested to learn about terrorism,
for military fiction fans, and all thriller lovers. The reader is able
to dive into the dangerous mind of a terrorist, learning what motivates
such a person, and why this person can become a walking time bomb. This
novel leaves an aftermath behind, without a doubt and the readers will
indeed keep thinking about the War on Terror, long after they close the
book. For added touches, the author cleverly demonstrates what it feels
like to live through a national crisis, and the reader can sense the
fear through this remarkable story. "PATRIOT ACTS" is as intense as
"ARLINGTON ROAD" where your paranoia can become real, and is as
mesmerizing as "WORLD TRADE CENTER."
Steven
Clark Bradley has been to or lived in 34 countries, including Pakistan,
Iraq and Turkey. He has a master's degree in liberal studies from
Indiana University. He speaks French and Turkish. He has been an
assistant to a prosecutor, a university instructor and a freelance
journalist.
Patriot ActsThe
Republic of Iran has linked up with radical American Militia groups to
carry out a covert nuclear attack on America. Colonel Fisher Harrison,
the best trained Special Ops killer the military has, is the one person
who can effectively retaliate against these adversaries. But Colonel
Fisher Harrison was framed for a murder he
did not commit by his former boss--now the President of the United
States of America. The two adversaries must put aside their differences
and unite to stop those in league to bring America to its knees.
Patriot Acts (Extended)
Where Can You Get Your Copy Of Patriot Acts?
This new exciting novel is easy to find and available all over the net.Here are a few links to help you secure you own copy of Patriot Acts.
Steven Clark Bradley has been to or lived in 34 countries, including Pakistan, Iraq
and Turkey. He has a master’s degree in liberal studies from Indiana
University. He speaks French and Turkish. He has been an assistant to a
prosecutor, a university instructor and a freelance journalist.
Steven is the author of four novels:
Patriot Acts America
finds itself under covert nuclear attack from the Islamic Republic of
Iran which has linked up with radical American Militia groups. They
have set aside their political and religious differences to carry out
the widest attack to America in the nation's history.
StillBorn! Unknown
to Wallace Findings, a one-night stand results in twins. The mother is
murdered soon after their birth to cover a hideous crime, which sends
Findings on an eighteen year
hunt for her murderer. One twin is adopted and welcomed into a
wonderful life of plenty and privilege. The other is rejected and left
an orphan, in a world without identity or care, facing brutal treatment
and sexual abuse. This twin seeks out Findings and his sibling and all
those who had abandoned him to carry out a plot of revenge. In the end,
Findings discovers his role in a baby for sale scheme in which he and
his unknown children were victims.
Greg Bradford
is an escaped mental patient, a man who wants revenge, a man prepared
to do anything to get his life back and has a plan to do it. Corbett
Mandeville, a homicide detective known for solving some of the worst murders in the state, has to stop him. But,Corbett
Mandeville has secrets of his own that created an affinity between him
and the vindictive mental patient that drives both to stalk their prey
and take justice into their own hands.
Steven
worked a number of years in various countries in Europe, Asia, and
Africa. He has been to 34 countries and has worked extensively with Kurdish refugees from Turkey, Iraq, and Syria. Steven also established a school by correspondence for African students in the African countries of The Gambia and SenegalWest Africa. He is the founder of a Cultural Center for refugees in France,
where he lived for six years. Speaking fluently in French and in
Turkish, Steven has been in 34 countries. Before returning to the
United States in 1995, Steven worked as an instructor of English and
Business skills for four years at Bilkent University in Ankara, Turkey.
'More Deaths Than One' can Only Adequately Be Described As Superb
stevenbradley | April 22, 2009 15:02
You have got to read this novel More Deaths Than One
Who
has stolen Bob Stark's identity? Why is he being pursued by the
henchmen of a shadowy multinational corporation? What does it have to
do with his old friends from his brutal days of service in Vietnam?
These are but a few of the exquisite and tantalizing questions and
scenarios painted and which must be answered in Pat Bertram’s riveting
and excellent new novel, More Deaths Than One.
Try to put
yourself into Bob Stark’s shoes. Your mother died more than 20 years
ago and you actually attended her funeral, at that time. Then, you
travel to South East Asia where you end up staying for eighteen years,
only to return and discover that your long lost mom has just died again
and another you is at her funeral. Sound startling, eerie or
suspenseful? Believe me; if you start reading this tremendous read, you
will not want to stop until it is completely finished. It is one of the
best novels I have read in years.
As a novelist, one of the most important things a writer must do is to grab the reader’s attention, on the first page. Pat Bertram’s novel, More Deaths Than One certainly hooked me immediately. Bertram has
a natural talent and has created a story that gets readers deeply into
the story and holds them. Her plot and her very realistic characters
took my total concentration. The characters are so fascinating, attention-grabbing and human. By the end of the book, I felt as if I knew them well and
for a long time. I am convinced that if the reading public learns about
this spellbinding new novel, a very large number of people will want to
read it and Pat Bertram will have a best seller. I consider her to be
one of the smartest writers I have had the pleasure of meeting.
I
think we will read a lot more from this excellent storyteller, Pat
Bertram. She has stated that when the traditional publishers stopped
publishing her favorite type of books that are character and story
driven novels, which can’t easily be slotted into a genre, she decided
to write her own. She certainly achieved her goal, with More Deaths
Than One. The residents of Pat Bertram’s native Colorado, where she is
a lifelong resident have much to be proud of, from one of their own.
There are many words that come to mind to describe this powerful and
suspenseful novel, such as exciting, powerful, suspenseful or
mesmerizing. But, without a doubt, the best word I can use to describe
More Deaths Than One by Pat Bertram is nothing less than Superb.
“I
love the story of More Deaths Than One. Pat Bertram blends
mystery/suspense with history very well. Her characters are strong, and
I love the slow reveal of who Bob really was/is. The hints and clues
Bertram drops come together for me with the jungle nightmares.The
descriptions of the places Bob and Kerry visit are exquistely done; the
places sound real. I enjoyed this story very much.” Rachael Wollet,
freelance editor.
“Wow.
I read A Spark of Heavenly Fire twice. The first time for the story,
the second for editing. Though I’m not sure I caught much because I got
so engrossed in the story…even the second time through. Bertram’s
characters are heartbreaking and real. I love Kate. Absolutely love
her. The description of everything seems spot on. Sounds much like New
Orleans post-Katrina. Bertram clearly did her research on this one.
Fabulous.”
Rachael Wollet, freelance editor.
“Full
of intriguing dialogue and interesting characters one will not soon
forget, “A Spark of Heavenly Fire” is a truly satisfying read I highly
recommend. Captivating visuals and an original theme kept me turning
the pages at a rapid rate. I look forward to more work from this gifted
writer.”
Deborah Ledford, author
“Pat
Bertram, author of More Deaths Than One and a Spark of Heavenly Fire,
is one of the best of the new crop of writers. Pat’s work is
insightful, superbly crafted, and completely involving. I would
unhesitatingly recommend her books to anyone who enjoys speculative
fiction of the highest order.”
Suzanne Francis, author of the Song of the Arkafina series from Mushroom Ebooks.
In
More Deaths Than One, Bertram created two characters I’m ready to watch
take off. The combination of Bob and the waitress is great-she’s
obviously the one person he’s letting pull him out of whatever shell
he’s been in. Bertram raises so many interesting questions in her
initial chapter that it definitely compels me to want to read more. Why
is Bob in Denver, and where has he ben? Is this a story of timeshifting
madness, or what? Why are the police at the funeral? And on and on!
Bertram’s writing is also well-crafted and flows so well. The dialog is
a strong suit.”
Ann Barks, fellow FCC contestant.
“While
we are intrigued and caught up in the absurd story of a man who goes to
the second funeral of his mother (long dead) and sees himself (living a
life he doesn’t realize he’s lived) and his brother (with a trophy wife
young enough to be his daughter), the real clues Bertram leaves us as
to what’s going on are to be found in Bob’s perpetual headache, his
troubled/troubling art, his mysterious reappearance in his hometown,
and the questions asked by the friendly, persistent waitress. Meantime,
I enjoy the dialogue, with unique phrasings such as “son of rabid dog”.
Denver is an unusual setting that must figure into the story in
multiple ways. I enjoyed the rock solid POV, as well as the nice,
just-slightly-more-than-minimal descriptions (like the way Bob
concealed himself in the lilac bushes or the description of the young
couple in the diner). Above all I appreciate the way Bertram builds
mystery on several levels into the story. Good job.”
“What do you think of a guy who embezzles from his own business?”
Bob Stark recognized the voice of the graveyard shift waitress, the
attractive one with the black hair. He glanced up from his
contemplation of the scars on the laminated plastic table and saw her
standing by his booth, gazing at him, her eyebrows quirked. She seemed
to expect a response, but he had no idea what to say. And why would she
ask him such a question? Though he’d been coming to Rimrock Coffee Shop
for four weeks now, she’d never deviated from her standard lines of
“What’ll you have?” and “Here you go.”
He took a surreptitious look around. Except for the two drunks arguing
in a corner booth and a cook cleaning the grill in the kitchen, he and
the waitress were the only two people in the twenty-four-hour coffee
shop.
Beneath the overly long bangs, her dark eyes gleamed, giving him the
impression of laughter. “Yes, I am talking to you.”
“I’ll have hot chocolate,” he said, adhering to the unwritten script.
With a flip of her wrist, she brushed the hair off her face. Her skirt
flounced as she whirled away from the table, and Bob noticed that she
had nicely muscled thighs. Good calves, too. Not wanting her to catch
him staring, he picked up a newspaper someone had left behind and
leafed through it.
The waitress returned with his beverage. “What would you do if you were
a girl who just found out her boyfriend is embezzling from himself?”
Bob stirred his hot chocolate, trying to think of the right response, but nothing came to mind.
“Men!” she said, hurrying off to answer the ringing telephone.
Later, after the drunks had stumbled out into the night, she came back
to Bob’s table carrying a cup of coffee for her and another cup of hot
chocolate for him.
He raised his palms. “I didn’t order this.”
She sat across from him. “Let’s not quibble over details.” She sipped
her coffee, eyes laughing at him over the rim of the cup, then she set
the empty cup aside.
Folding her arms on the table, she leaned forward and stared into his
face. “What do you have to say for yourself? And who are you? You’ve
been coming in here every night, real late, and you never talk except
to order hot chocolate.”
She leaned back. “I bet you can’t sleep. That’s why you come, isn’t it? What’s the problem? Bad dreams?”
Bob felt a shudder go through him. He came here to get away from the
nightmares, not remember them. He took a gulp of chocolate, grateful
for the warmth sliding down his throat.
“You’re a shy one,” she said. “And you never did answer my question.”
He lifted one shoulder in a disinterested shrug. “You asked a lot of questions.”
“The one about the girl finding out that her boyfriend is embezzling from himself.”
“Depends on their relationship. Is she involved in the business?”
“She helped him start it, works in the office during the day, and waits tables at night to pay the rent.”
“Then he’s embezzling from her, too.”
She flicked the hair out of her eyes. “You’re right. God, what a fool
I’ve been. Ever since I found out he’s been cheating on his business,
I’ve been wondering if he’s been cheating on me. That son of a rabid
dog. He promised we’d get a house together as soon as the business did
well enough, and it turns out we could have been living in our own
place for several months now.”
“Even if he’s not cheating on you physically,” Bob said, “he’s cheated on you morally.”
“I want someone who’s honest and true to himself, someone who likes and
respects himself so he can like and respect me. Is that too much to
ask?”
The door opened. A young couple entered. Mouths locked together, they
slid into a booth and groped beneath each other’s clothes.
The waitress stood. “I better go remind them this isn’t a motel.”
Grateful to be alone, Bob sipped his hot chocolate and read the newspaper.
The Broncos still reeled from their humiliation at the previous Super
Bowl, having lost to the Redskins forty-two to ten.
Two youths found a man’s decomposing body in a culvert off the South
Platte River. The man had been tortured; the work of a gang, the police
surmised.
Silverado faced insolvency, having squandered one hundred million dollars on bad loans.
And Lydia Loretta Stark was dead. Again.
***
“I brought you another hot chocolate. It’s on the house.” The young
woman sat and peered at Bob. “Is something wrong? You don’t look so
good all of a sudden.”
He tried to ignore the ache inching up the back of his head. “What
would you do if you were reading today’s paper and came across the
obituary of your mother who’s been buried for twenty-two years?”
She laughed. “Go to the funeral, of course.” She must have realized Bob
hadn’t meant to be funny, because the mirth faded from her eyes.
“You’re serious?”
“Dead serious.” He showed her the notice.
She read it aloud. ” ‘Lydia Loretta Stark, sixty-six, of Denver, passed
away August twenty-ninth, nineteen eighty-eight, at four p.m. Preceded
in death by husband Edward Jackson. Survived by sons Edward Jackson,
Junior and Robert; six grandchildren. Services and interment Friday,
ten a.m., at Mountain View Cemetery.’ ” She looked at him. “Are you
Edward or Robert?”
“Robert. My brother is Edward, but he goes by the name of Jackson.”
“What name do you go by?”
“Bob.”
“I’m Kerry. Kerry Casillas.” She eyed the obituary. “How many of those children are yours?
Bob massaged the back of his neck. “None.”
“Jackson’s been a busy boy.”
“Seems like it.”
“You don’t know?”
“I haven’t seen him since my mother’s funeral-the first one, I mean. We never got along.”
She pushed back her hair. “So this is really your mother’s obituary?”
“Could be. She died in nineteen sixty-six at the age of forty-four and
had no grandchildren at the time, but everything else matches.”
“If it’s not a coincidence, it must be a hoax.”
Bob shook his head, stopping abruptly when pain shot to the top of his
skull. “Why would anyone go through all the trouble of putting a fake
obituary in the paper? And who’s being hoaxed? It can’t be me. No one
knows I’m in Denver.”
***
On Friday, Bob made the trip to Mountain View Cemetery. He wandered
around the lush expanse, skirting formal flower gardens and stepping
over white gravestones lying flush with the ground. The place seemed
deserted, but as he topped a small rise, he saw a funeral party spread
out before him like a stage play.
He paused beside a large clump of lilac bushes and scanned the small crowd encircling the brass-trimmed casket.
Everyone wore black except one young woman, scarcely out of her teens,
who had pasted on a skimpy red dress that left no part of her
voluptuous figure to the imagination. A much older man had an arm
draped around her, his hand cupping her buttocks.
Bob recognized the man: his brother. Jackson had been a good-looking
boy, having inherited his father’s athletic build and his mother’s
blond beauty. He still looked good, though Bob could see that too many
years of hard living or hard drinking had left their mark.
Bob’s headache returned in full force. He closed his eyes and massaged
his temples while breathing deeply. When the pain abated, he glanced at
the crowd again and noticed two men with the tensed posture of police
officers on duty standing off to one side. They seemed familiar, but he
couldn’t place them. As if becoming aware of his scrutiny, they turned
in his direction.
He stepped closer to the lilac bush, out of their line of vision.
Clustered with their backs to him stood a man, a woman, and six
children ranging in age from about two years old to about sixteen. The
obituary had mentioned six grandchildren, Bob recalled. Were these six
his brother’s offspring, by an ex-wife, perhaps?
One of the children, a pudgy little boy, reached out and yanked the
pigtails of the taller, skinnier girl slouching next to him. She
slapped him. The next moment they were rolling around on the ground and
pummeling each other.
The woman turned around. “Stop it, you two.”
Bob sucked in his breath. Lorena Jones, his college girlfriend? What
was she doing here? How did she know these people? He certainly hadn’t
introduced her to them.
Feeling dizzy, he studied her while she scolded the children. Deep
lines and red splotches marred her once satiny smooth face, and her
body appeared bloated, as if she had not bothered to lose the extra
weight from her last pregnancy or two. Despite those changes, she
looked remarkably like her college picture he still carried in his
wallet along with the Dear John letter that had ended their
relationship.
Lorena nudged the man next to her. “Robert Stark, don’t just stand there. Do something.”
The man she called Robert Stark turned around to admonish the children.
Bob stared. The other Robert Stark seemed to have aged a bit faster
than he, seemed more used, but the resemblance could not be denied. He
was looking at himself.
Head aching so much he could scarcely breathe, he stood like stone. Not
even his eyes moved as he watched the rest of the ceremony.
When everyone left, he approached the casket. He gazed at it, then
turned to walk away. A flash of white caught his attention-the
headstone, lying discreetly off to the side, ready to be inset: Lydia
Loretta Stark, cherished wife, beloved mother; adored grandmother; born
March 10, 1922; died August 29, 1988.
“What the hell is going on?” he asked aloud.
The mild expletive hung in the air until a sudden breeze blew it away...
~~~
Here's another of Pat Bertram's great novels - Check it out too!
A Spark of Heavenly Fire Pat Bertram In
quarantined Colorado, where hundreds of thousands of people are dying
from an unstoppable disease called the red death, insomniac Kate
Cummings struggles to find the courage to live and to love. Her new
love, investigative reporter Greg Pullman, is determined to discover
who unleashed the deadly organism and why they did it, until the cost
of Kate's life becomes more than he can pay.
"Wow. I read A Spark of Heavenly Fire
twice. The first time for the story, the second for editing. Though I'm
not sure I caught much because I got so engrossed in the story…even the
second time through. Bertram's characters are heartbreaking and real. I
love Kate. Absolutely love her. The description of everything seems
spot on. Sounds much like New Orleans post-Katrina. Bertram clearly did
her research on this one. Fabulous." Rachael Wollet, freelance editor.
Get Your Copies of Pat Bertram's Excellent Novels
By Clicking These Links:
Patriot Acts - An Intense, Fast-paced Modern Day Thriller
stevenbradley | April 11, 2009 18:11
Patriot Acts An Intense, Fast-paced Modern Day Thriller
By Cheryl C. Malandrinos
April 1, 2009Hidden
away in an Alaskan prison, serving time for a crime he never committed,
Colonel Fisher Harrison thinks of revenge. His government forsake him
and his Special Ops buddies and no one was meant to survive. If Fisher
gets out of that hellish place, the man who put him there is going to
pay.
But, that man is now President of the United States and
seemingly untouchable; until the Islamic Republic of Iran and radical
American militia groups join forces, and President Christopher Tate
knows that Colonel Harrison is the only man who can stop a planned
covert nuclear attack. Will Fisher help the government who forsake him?
And if he does, will he make it out alive?
"Patriot Acts" by Steven Clark Bradley is an intense, fast-paced modern day thriller that leaves you clinging to the edge of your seat. Bradley's wealth of experience comes alive in this story of a covert nuclear attack
planned by two deadly forces. Having traveled to thirty-four countries
and having been a freelance journalist in Iraq, Israel and Turkey, Bradley creates a realistic and scary portrait of potential terrorism issues home and abroad.
Strong
and complex characters fill this novel. From Fisher Harrison to
Christopher Tate, from radical militia leader Len Garret to Jamie
O'Rourke, the President's Chief of Staff, every player is alternately
sympathetic and despicable, likable and easily hated. Bradley has done
an excellent job of creating multi-faceted characters whose actions
move this story along at a fast clip.
That
said, the overuse of the exclamation point in the dialogue rendered its
effect useless, and a good editor may have helped making some of the
transitions easier. Since this book travels back and forth in time, the
choppy transitions occasionally left this reader with a moment of
confusion until she figured out the character was recalling past events.
"Patriot
Acts" by Steven Clark Bradley will be a hit with military fiction fans,
lovers of fast-paced thrillers, and anyone interested in the War on
Terror. This is definitely a book worth checking out.Cheryl C. Malandrinos Cheryl C. Malandrinos is the Editor of The Book Connection, a blog focusing on reviews, author interviews, and on hosting virtual book tour guests. She's also a reviewer for The Muse Book Reviews.
Cheryl is currently looking for more reviewers to join her blog,
especially for those who review ebooks. A virtual book tour coordinator
for Pump Up Your Book Promotion,
Cheryl sees a bright future for review bloggers and calls the Internet
a 'huge promotion playground' for publicists and authors.
"People
do not give up their Freedom. They naturally take it for granted. Since
freedom is not granted by any government, we forget, Power and Freedom
are always in conflict. Freedom either slinks away like a vapor, we
don't know it’s gone till it is no more. Or, it is snatched away from a
people too dependent to stand alone.There is no Security without FreedomDon’t know?"
"Don’t Care?Neither does Apathy nor Ignorance"
_______________________________
Patriot Acts
Today,
America faces enemies that make the chilling world of the Cold War seem
like much brighter times. The Islamic forces that have declared Jihad
on America have caused the greatest threat to the life of the United States
since World War II. The novel, "Patriot Acts" is a very original,
well-researched and very plausible look into what could happen if the
nation of Iran
is allowed to become a nuclear power. All of the sites and stats and
cultural aspects are true and thoroughly researched. Also, having lived
in several Islamic countries, I have a first-hand ability to write
about the lifestyles in places like Iran.
The
setting of this story takes place in the very near future with
allusions into the past from the main characters. The characters are
very profoundly developed in the areas of action,
dialog and emotion. In Patriot Acts, America finds itself under covert
nuclear attack from the Islamic Republic of Iran and the only person
who can effectively retaliate against their aggression is Fisher Harrison, the best trained Special Ops killer the military has.
Iran
has represented the root of terrorism since 1979 until today. The only
problem is that Fisher Harrison is in a federal prison, framed for a murder he did not commit, framed by his former boss, now the President of the United States of America. The plotting in this novel works from the premise that America faces three major challenges.
One
problem this story deals with is the growing threat with Iran and its
desire to procure nuclear weapons. The next problem is the insecurity
that America faces from the border with Mexico.
In Patriot Acts, the border easily allows Iranian operatives to
infiltrate America. The third situation playing out at the same time in
this novel is the threat of American radical militia groups joining hands with radical Islamic terrorists to try to bring down the United States Government.
In the midst of all the upheaval, Fisher Harrison,
who is serving a life term in a federal penitentiary, is the only man
trained well enough to stop this move against America, but he has a
goal of killing President Christopher A. Tate, whom he believes framed
him as a killer. The mysterious situation surrounding the murder and
the truth of it all in the end makes for tantalizing intrigue
especially when mixed in with the terrorist threats facing the country.
You will take an amazing journey that will transport you from Alaska to the Midwest and to the heart of the nation of Iran
itself as two enemies unite to save the nation. You will be amazed how
possible this story is and may inconveniently render the reader afraid
in realizing how close to home it could all be!
The main question is whether America is willing to do what is necessary to preserve, protect and defend the constitution of the United States of America? The deeds required and carried out in this story are not acts of terror, not acts of vengeance but in reality, Patriot Acts! Steven Clark Bradley
Excerpt From Patriot Acts
Special Handling
Harrison’s
eyes were closed in a drug-induced stupor, but his mind was replaying
the day his family abandoned him! He saw it all afresh and looked out
over a terrain that was lifeless, and yet there were living crawling
things all around him, in the shrubs, in the bald headed trees and all
around his feet. Some of the things were insects, others were reptilian
but the large majority of them were human. Down the highway of death
all about him was the burnt out carnage of a war that was caused by a
man set on seizing the Middle East
and setting it ablaze and resulting from a President’s lack of resolve
to finish a job barely halfway completed. Cars, Trucks, both civilian
and military, the carcasses of tanks and men alike were strewn about
like God had reached down and picked it all up at once and tossed it
into space and let it fall at will! Bodies of men with their limbs
blown off were everywhere with the detached limbs of another comrade’s
arm, leg or head laying next to them. This highway of madness Fisher
Harrison saw so clearly as he looked at the residue of 100 hours of
slaughter that had taken Saddam Hussein out of Kuwait. Fisher Harrison
lamented, as he knew that his brothers in arms had been removed from
their advance to kill the tyrant only to be assured that they’d have to
return one day to repeat it all over again, only at a far more wretched
price! They were all gone!
Fisher
looked over the horizon in every direction to see if even a cloud of
smoke could be seen from a retreating Bradley or Abrams. There was
nothing! They were gone; all gone except for him! The only remaining
American thing he could still see was the chopper he had escaped from
death in; the chopper where 7 of his fellow Special Black Ops had not
been so lucky. As Fisher took out his long-range viewers the only hint
of the war left were thick, black clouds rising into the sky from the
incinerated oil wells in Kuwait and the various cars, trucks, and
military hardware that had not yet burned themselves out!
Fisher saw movement to his left. He walked over to a car that was burnt
beyond recognition. Inside was the dead body of a young Arab girl,
about 16. On top of her was an Iraqi soldier still breathing and still
inside her where he had been when an exploding shell had impacted close
to the car where he had been reviling her. His breathing was shallow
and his eyes opened slowly as he regained consciousness and he mumbled!
The soldier’s eyes opened and Fisher
saw him look down at the girl he had been raping when he had been
knocked unconscious. The soldier had not seen Fisher but looked down at
the dead girl under him and he started to laugh. It had seemed ironic
to him that she had escaped her pain by dying and he had been forced to
continue in his by living. The soldier slapped the dead girl across the
face and then spat on her just before he pulled himself out of her. He
stood up and looked down at the young Iraqi girl, one of his own, and
laughed again before turning around to see Colonel Fisher Harrison’s gun staring in his face.
“American! You are American! War over! God bless America! God bless America!”
Fisher kept the gun directly about six inches from the Iraqi’s face and aimed between the Muslim Rapist’s eyes!
“Thank you, God always blesses America! Give your Allah my regards!”
Fisher squeezed the trigger and the Iraqi’s face exploded before Fisher’s eyes! Fisher Harrison didn’t flinch! Killing was his job. It was what he did without the slightest increase in his pulse.
He heard a sudden sound of rotors twirling and saw the tornado-like
affect of a Black Hawk heading his way and stirring up the desert
floor. He looked straight ahead of him and up and saw a chopper and his
heartbeat picked up speed when he thought of his brethren coming to
take him out of this field of twisted metal, war-ravaged breathless
faces and smoldering death!
The chopper continued its approach and then the pilot and his Ordinance Specialist saw Fisher! The chopper flew toward him and hovered overhead. Fisher started waving his arms until he saw the expression on the pilot and Or. Spec’s faces. Fisher
then just stood there under the chopper holding his hands up with sand
and debris being propelled all around him and in him realizing they had
not come to rescue him but to kill him, to get him out of the way!
Fisher
stared into their faces less than one hundred feet above him with a
huge caliber round staring back at him. The pilot could not take his
eyes off Fisher! Fisher was sure he had seen tears run down both of their faces! Fisher too had the same sort of eyes looking back at them pleading with them to take their brother home!
Fisher turned his back to them and fell to his knees and looked at the death all around him. He raised his arms and cried out!
“Who are we? What have we become? What can we defend?”
This was a case of ‘Special Handling’! Perhaps his own brothers would
make him one with his dead comrades, but if so it would be a shot in
the back! Why would he bravely take a bullet to the forehead when the
nation he had so bravely fought for was about to so cowardly make him
disappear?
The pilot just hung there in the air and Fisher resolved himself to his fate and knew there would be justice, even if not in this life! Fisher
finally turned around and looked up at the two soldiers hanging in the
metal whirling bird hanging not so far above him. He saw the pilot lean
over and say something to his Or. Spec. Then the Or. Spec held a radio
like the one Fisher had at his side. He flashed Fisher four fingers and Fisher
turned the radio to channel four and could now hear all communications
between the chopper and base camp. The chopper maneuvered about ten
feet to the right of Fisher.
Then the chopper that had moved away from Fisher loaded its gun and the Or. Spec stuck his head out of the craft and Fisher saw him very plainly and clearly! Fisher had told himself he would never forget his face, but he eventually would. The Or. Spec waved at Fisher to get down on the ground. Fisher concurred and the Or. Spec fired off fifteen rounds just to Fisher’s right. Fisher knew they had missed and knew they had chosen to miss!
The chopper then maneuvered direct over top of Fisher and the Or. Spec took a large plastic bag full of blood and dropped it down from the chopper so it would fall directly on Fisher
whose body was still splayed out flatly in the corrupted sand of the
Highway of Hell! It busted open on impact! The Or. Spec then took a
camera and shot several photos of Fisher lying there, apparently dead! The Or. Spec then looked down at Fisher and Fisher looked up and the soldiers above who had placed their right extended fingers to their foreheads and saluted Colonel Fisher Harrison!
“That’s affirmative, Sir and we have just killed one of our own and have earned any call sign we chose!”
“You are to maintain radio darkness!”
“Sir, after we get this bird safely to her nest, consider the both of
us as having resigned our commissions and never fly for this force
again! And you can then take your darkness and stick it up your ass!
Sir! Merciless One, over and out!”
“Come in Mercy One, Mercy One, do you read me...?”
The chopper lifted high into the sky and flew away! Fisher saw it leaving, growing smaller and then vanish! Fisher rolled over on his back and looked straight up and screamed!
“What have we become!?” and his eyes forced themselves open!
I struggle with just how to paint the picture, which is permanently imprinted in my mind, of the fractured society that several minor and major Middle-Eastern wars have created.
I can also never forget writing the final chapters of Nimrod Rising.That
was the other time that such a feeling of inadequacy had come over me,
until I finally conjured up the appropriate images and then it flowed
out of me.
Depicting the great and final battle of Armageddon. and the utter destruction that will result, is a humbling and heart-rending mission. I was right there, the battle ground where the bowl of vicious evil
will be ultimately filled and where the final clash of kinship, a
collision of cultures and memories of loss in deadly battles, already
fought; all done in the name of their God.I was standing on the very ground and writing this expose.
The
first two articles already gave you a taste of this very profound
novel, Nimrod Rising. These ancient societies have come down to our day
and the long awaited battle shall follow suit. This is as real as it gets.
Waiting to enter Ramallah, at the Qualandiya checkpoint, told me that I was very much alive, and hoped to remain as such. War was all
around me, at least the remains of a war that had taken a breather,
giving me time to get in and to get back out. Yet, walking up to a
soldier in full battlefield gear without being nervous is impossible. I found that the best approach was complete honesty.
When my turn came, I produced my passport with a picture that no longer looked so much like me and handed it to the soldier standing guard at the Qualandiya checkpoint.
It looked official enough, I thought. I turned out to be right and
entered without difficulty. I entered the city of Ramallah wondering if all the humiliation was needed. I finally concluded that is was.
I love the Jewish people, and I believe I let them know that. They are an amazing people with some of the greatest minds in history, to their credit. They have taken the
desert and made it to blossom and is one of the few places in the world
bananas grow in the desert. Still, what I would soon see inside Ramallah would have a big impact on me. There could be no accurate recounting of the situation without seeing the other side of the story. It would teach me how rich in culture and life both the Jews and the Palestinians are.
By the time Mr. Toubassi arrived, I was very happy to ride rather than walk in the embattled streets of Ramallah, with livefire all around us. Ramallah is by no means small nor insignificant. Before the founding of the State of Israel, the British had used this teaming city as a resort, during their rule, because of its moderate temperatures. Today, it is a teeming city, with sections which lay in complete ruins.
I started my journey at about 10:00 AM. I had found a good contact with the President of the Palestinian Journalists
Syndicate, Mr. Naim Toubassi. He was not sure that I would make it
through the checkpoint at Qualandiya, but if I could, he promised to
meet me, when I arrived. I did not know Mr. Toubassi, but I had been
assured that he was a reliable man, and it turned out to be completely
true.
Journalism
is a very dangerous profession for Palestinians, in the occupied
territories. Mr. Toubassi, himself, has paid a price for his love of
his people. He has spent as much as seventeen months in jail without
charges for his role in reporting the incursions
into the West Bank in three of his newspapers. Once he was released for
one day and night and was rearrested the next day. He has preached
peace and an end to the suicide bombings, but his pleas have fallen on
deaf ears, due to the continued intransigence of the Israeli
government, according to Mr. Toubassi. He pointed out that his
credibility is threatened and he feared that the violence will only
increase as his fellow Palestinians see no reason to push for a peace
that they feel offers them nothing but the same.
Mr.
Toubassi pointed out to me that fourteen Palestinian journalists had
been killed and over 70 wounded by Israeli forces. In addition, nine
journalists are still held in detention by Israel's military. Shimon
Peres himself has stated that war does not mean only a rifle and a gun,
but also a camera. We were given evidence of this statement when we
visited the bombed out headquarters of the Palestinian Broadcasting
Company.
During
the massive incursion in Ramallah, the Israel army had systematically
placed dynamite throughout the building and blew it up along with all
the equipment, which had been purchased with American and United
Nations' funds. It seemed a bit like killing a bug with a sledge
hammer, but Israel's justification was that such media sources only
encouraged and glorified the suicide attackers and their families as
heroes of the Palestinian cause.
A
Palestinian reporter asked me, "How do you feel about having your
American tax dollars to fund such death and destruction." He was making
reference to the two billion dollars in American funds sent to Israel
for their defense. The same argument is used by Jewish citizens of
Israel that the funds handed over to Arafat by the Clinton and Bush
administrations after Oslo to build a security force have allegedly
been used to purchase explosives for the attacks that have rocked
Israel's civilian population.
As
I sat down for lunch with Mr. Toubassi, I spoke little and listened a
lot. His words were profound and pertinent. "Who is the power holder in
this region? It is certainly not the Palestinians. It is Israel who has
the soldiers, the tanks, the Apache helicopters and the bomb itself.
What have we got? Our people have the guns the Israelis gave us after
Oslo which are small. We have our rocks and our bodies. When a young
boy here has lost his mother, father and his brothers and sisters, what
does he have left to do? He feels he has no reason to live and he wishes to give back to his family's killers what they had given to him, so he blows himself up. America and Israel tells us to arrest our terrorists, but the jails are all destroyed so where
will we put them? Give us our land and we will rebuild our security and
the bombing will stop. Everyone knows, except America and Israel that
peace under these terms is the only thing that will work. I promise you
that then we will live side by side and have a mutually beneficial
relationship. Until then, our calls for an end to the bombing will fall
on deaf ears."
To
say the least, this region is at the point of change, simply by virtue
of the fact that no society can maintain such dire conditions
indefinitely. Either the troubled area of the world will find a
negotiating posture that both sides can agree to or violence will only
increase and a complete obliteration of both sides will result. America
has stepped up its role as an honest broker that appears to be trying
to find a process which sees the causes and reasons for the violence on
both sides.
The
truth of the matter that I have been able to ascertain is that the
despair and dire lack of hope of the Palestinians cries out on every
street. It is not enough to state that this land belongs to Israel.
Both groups of people are out of options. There are no resources or
political contacts that have sufficiently revealed that the only
solution truly is peace. Perhaps what type of peace and how to achieve
it is still up for grabs, but there have not been enough serious
exchanges that could ever hope to lead anywhere accept to more hatred,
more bombing of innocent lives and more death on both sides. It seems
clear that the time has come to call the bluff of the leaders of both
sides and to see if it is peace or power that is truly desired by
either side. Politics is by nature a self-serving affair. The only way
to reveal the motives of the two enemies is by challenging both sides
to sacrifice and make room for new leadership. The fact is that who
ever becomes the next leader of the Palestinians will have to take the
terrorist factions by their throats and crush them. Otherwise, any
future leader will remain hostage to groups that cannot even fathom any
future Palestinian state next to a State of Israel. Constitutions and political and judicial institutions will be of no effect and any leader will
have no power to rule if they are not reigned in. It is only logical
that if a new, democratic state can be achieved, the first threat to
peace will be Hamas, Fatah, Islamic Jihad, Hezbollah, The Allah Aksa
Martyrs Brigade and any of the various other splinter groups of which
Hezbollah is armed to the teeth by Iran which exercises far wider
influence in Middle-East violence than anyone cares to admit.
This
became evident just over one year ago when the world was shocked by
Hezbollah's ability to unceasingly lob their missiles into Israel. A
future Palestinian leader will likely face a greater threat to regional
peace from groups such as these which come from his own people than
from Israel. Hamas has only lately made that clear. Indeed, it will be
vital for a new Palestinian government to immediately develop strong
relations with the State of Israel.
In
fact, to accomplish what will be needed to establish a viable,
legitimate Palestinian State, it will be vital that the terrorist
groups be forced to turn on any newly elected government that was
installed by the people of Palestine. This will break their public
support. Money, guns and bombs cannot long live when the will of the
people has been repudiated. A Hamas-led government would never outlaw
terror, for it would be political suicide, since Terror is their raison
D'etre.
If a new leader is willing to do the required tasks to rule, then it would not even be inconceivable to see Palestinian and Israeli troops fighting togetherto weed out the terrorist culture out of the Middle East. Such a situation would be mutually beneficial to both sides of the present conflict. Yet, it would be naive to expect such a direct demand by President Bush to be accepted at face value. It was clear to me that a large percent of Palestinians desire different leadership and peace and cooperation with Israel.
Never has the peacemaking role been so vital and never will there be another opportunity such as now.
Hamas and Fatah are in a war of their own now. At the first bombing I
witnessed in Israel, I spent a good deal of time taking it all in. I
found it impossible to absorb entirely. A great feeling of guilt came
over me and I did not want to take pictures, but their stories had to
be told. When I was making my way out of the scene a long black bearded
Jewish man came up to me. He had refused to cry, but his eyes were
reddened. "We should have pushed them all out a long time ago. It is not that I hate Arabs or Palestinians,
specifically, but Israel is for the Jew." The problem is that the day
of Peres and the day of Prime Minister Sharon are over and there seems
to be a leadership gap now in the Jewish state. The current leadership
seems not to know that there will be no peace until they get rid of the
killers? That is not so surprising since the world’s only super power
has also missed the boat in that regard.
The Palestinian People and their Culture
A prayer for the State of Israel
Nobody can rightly
say that Israel is unjustified in defending its citizens from the
indiscriminate murder of its children and families. Christ said that
anyone who harms a child would have a great millstone placed around
their necks and be cast into the deepest sea. If this is the case,
neither side will be able to escape judgment. Both are guilty of a lack
of mercy and a sense of justice. Nevertheless, these two peoples are at
war. It is a gang war of sorts and ground zero of the clash of
personalities. What I saw and experienced in the home of the Intifada
and in the middle of the Promised Land were these two peoples, both
brothers, both with the same blood from the same father coursing
through their veins and they are both deserving of a time of peace and
hopeful of a future standing down and a cease to
the hostilities. The world now waits to see if peace is truly desired
or achievable in this sacred land.No one is sure of what President Obama truly desires to do in the Middle east today.He has been letting his goals disseminate piecemeal.What
is sure is that in the future, once again stained with blood that runs
in the veins of two peoples who are more alike than they would care to
admit will again flow in the streets of the Holy Land, and it is
understandable, they are brothers at war.
Steven Clark Bradley lived
abroad for over 17 years and has been to 34 countries, including
Pakistan, Iraq and Turkey. Hehas a master's degree in liberal studies
from Indiana University. He speaks French and
Turkish. He has been an assistant to a prosecutor, a university
instructor and a freelance journalist in Ramallah, Palistine, Israel,
Turkey, Iraq and Pakistan. Steven is the author of threenovels, Nimrod
Rising, Probable Cause and Stillborn!
Part Two Brothers at War - The Heartlessness of Terrorism
stevenbradley | March 28, 2009 16:24
Steven
Clark Bradley, Author of the hard-hitting novels, Patriot Acts &
Nimrod Rising, presents Part Two of his expose on the conflict in the
State of Israel, which he witnessed firsthand. The current conflict and
the ultimate events of this war between the Jews and the Palestinians
is a major theme of Nimrod Rising. Read and learn about the experiences
that led Mr. Bradley to write these very important novels. With America
confronted with a severe economic crisis, surrounded by potential
enemies with a White House sending America into territory that may well
change her fundamentally forever, with Iran ready to set the world
ablaze and ready to embark on a nuclear strategy, it behooves us to
know what is happening in some of the most entrenched hot spots in the
world. Israel and the Palestinian Authority certainly rank near the top
of that list. Read Part Two Brothers at War - The Heartlessness of
Terrorism and ask yourself if peace is even possible.
Part Two Brothers at War - The Heartlessness of Terrorism
The
morning was as sunny and hot as the evening was cool and breezy, but
the day started and the other ended the same way, with death. I had
risen at 7:30 AM and went to contribute to my caffeine addiction.
Though I found no coffee, at around 8:15 AM, no less than 15 minutes
later, I saw ambulances and police vehicles racing down King David
Street towards Gilo, on the road to Bethlehem. I had planned to go to
Bethlehem at 11:00Am. I ran into the King David Hotel and learned of
the deadly bus bombing that had just killed seven children and 12
adults. So, I hailed down a taxi and headed towards bedlam.
The sight was so much more devastating to see in person than anything one
might see on TV. There was a certain charred smell in the air, and I
knew what it was. It was hard to think that the blasted out bus was the
scene where nineteen innocent souls who were destroyed, amongst whom
were seven children had had their young lives cut short. It made me
feel guilty to take pictures, but their story had to be told. They had
awaken that morning and died before the afternoon in this attack which
would prove to be the worst attack in Jerusalem in 40 years. Though I
was refused entry at first into the scene, I was finally able to enter
in from the left side of the blocked off crime scene. Bits of personal
effects and clothing items were strewn everywhere. It all brought
crashing home to me that so many had suffered so terribly right there.
The
day after the terrible carnage of the suicide blast had left an
indelible image burned into my mind, I spent a lot of energy and time
trying absorb and understand the thoughts and emotions that flooded my
mind. I was in Israel to write objectively and to explain both sides,
but my angry and saddened mind kept telling me how much I hated the
other side. I have four children. I have a family. I want them to
outlive me! Such thoughts coursed through me and I had to get them into
some type of perverse perspective in order to accomplish my task. So my
whole morning was a day of trying to take in what I had seen the day
before. There was a report that two bombers were in the new city. One
was gone and the last one was a reportedly still out there. The
population seemed convinced there would be a second bombing, soon. They
proved how well the people of Israel had refined their sense of danger.
I was seated in the Rosemary café on King David Street for a bite to
eat when I heard it all over again. The wailing sirens gave evidence
all around that the angels of death and war had stuck again in the city
of David. We got to the scene on the Northeast side of Jerusalem, which
was almost in the West Bank, and I managed to get up close to the bus
stop where the bomber had taken out his hatred on those who had never
given him a reason to hate them. I saw a black colored vinyl bag on the
ground next to the bus stop, and I did not have to ask what it was.
Seven victims were claimed there. Ultimately, seven died in this blast
and over two dozen were injured. When I was finally ordered out of the
area, I walked past a soldier who was dressed in full fatigues and heavily armed. It was seriously and powerfully moving to witness such a toughened up man with tears flowing from his eyes. It was sure that this attack would not go unpunished. Two times in two days was unusual. Is This Really The World You Knew As A Child?
I find it impossible to fathom how someone could be so out of hopeand
so full of hate that they could deliver death to such small and
completely blameless victims. One soldier pleaded with me, "How can the
people ever trust anyone again. Once they have killed your children,
who is to be trusted?" This soldier's worn and bitter shoes, I did not want to wear. In fact, children from both sides have been brutally killed. Children from both sides are growing
up to hate each other and to distrust everyone around them. The only
difference is that the Israeli children still have a solid family structure intact and a government to give them
slightly more than a semblance of normality. The same cannot be said
for Palestinian kids who have had all their security torn away from them, partly by Israel but also by their own leaders who have taken their people down the road of terrorism and death. Both sides
love their children; both sides want the best for their children and
both sides must do more to save their children, both physically and
emotionally.
A part of
humanity's future dies with each one that perishes, Jewish or Arab and
new seeds of hatred take root with each blast. There could be no
greater reason to find peace than to save the children. Though I had already begun to understand the Palestinian situation better, seeing these blasts only
brought more resolve to me that there is no justification for such a
crime against humanity and that such attacks only hurt the
Palestinians' hopes. I had to get inside the Palestinians' heads to understand what could motivate them to do such acts.
In talking to many Palestinians about the deadly phenomenon of suicide
bombing, I think I found the deadly recipe. As one Palestinian man at
the Old city of Jerusalem put it, "How can we be equal partners or even
equitable as adversaries with Israel? We do not have tanks or planes.
The peace Israel wants makes us conquered, not liberated. When a man or
woman has had their mother and father, perhaps her husband and children
were destroyed by an invading nation, what have they left? They cannot
work, go to school nor feed themselves. One can subsist in America. You
have the laws and the institutions to help the sick and the hungry. On a good day in the West Bank,
we are at subsistence level. When you get to the point when survival is
worse than death, all you have left is your God, your stones and your
body." Take this scenario and combine it with hatred and revenge and
you have just produced a suicide bomber. I knew I would have to go to
the West bank.
Probably
the best thing that happened in Jerusalem was meeting two freelance
journalists, Gregory Harms and Vicram Sura. We decided to work together
on a trip to the West Bank. We planned the short trip to Ramallah and argued the finer points of the Palestinian issue. During the day I met the General Secretary of the Federation of International Journalists, Aidan White. He had just returned from the Gaza and was going to Ramallah. He gave me his card. The same evening, I contacted Mr. White and found him to be very helpful. He gave us the number of the President of the Palestinian Journalist Syndicate, Mr. Naim Toubasi. Having had the opportunity of meeting Mr. Aidan White and Naim Toubasi made all the difference in the journey, which followed.
Are You Ready For Nimrod Rising?
There
were normally many of the small cramped minivans or shurups heading to
Ramallah, but not this morning. There was nothing except taxis. The
border had just been closed, which was a tale-tale sign that something
was in the works for the Israeli army. We knew we still had a small
window of opportunity to get into Ramallah and we at least had to try,
though there were no guarantees about getting back out. Though we had
never met Mr. Toubasi, he had said he would meet us, and he was our
only hope to get a true picture of what had been the fate of Ramallah.
We all three piled into a taxi and headed to the former western border
of Jordan, now called the West Bank.
The ride to the capital of the Palestinian authority caused me to pay attention to my surroundings. I had already been to Iraq twice and I knew what that feeling
in the pit of your stomach was all about. It told you that you had
temporarily left your sphere of normality and security and that you
were not quite sure of what could ensue and that my need to know had overtaken my requirement of safety.
The valleys of the Holy
Land are breathtaking. They were the hosts of many biblical wars. The
valley of Megiddo still waits for the final bloodletting at Armageddon.
As we past in the taxi toward the Qualandiya checkpoint, the valley to
my left changed quickly. In the valleys of Israel, you can see growing
affluence and a stubborn insistence on truly possessing what the Jews
regard as their biblical birthright. This is the amazing thing,
considering that the Jewish state has been virtually at war since
before the founding of the nation. I could tell that when we had left
Israel and were in the West Bank. The buildings began to look older and
there began to be signs of destruction and desertedness everywhere.
Suddenly, we were out of the urban area of Jerusalem and in front of us
was a line of Palestinians, lined up to cross over the massive
checkpoint to their jobs and hopefully back to their families in the
evening.
Though the Palestinians wait at this massive checkpoint without
violence, as they seek to carry on their daily lives by enduring what
they regard as humiliation, the deep-seated hatred and anger of the men
and women as they dealt with overheated and crying children was
pervasive. There are no accommodations for women and children, an idea
which seemed far too thoughtful and merciful according to the Jewish soldiers I talked to. After about one hour, I finally was able to pass. I immediately was confronted with the ravages of a war of incursion by the Israelis responding to attacks of Palestinian suicide bombers on the lives of the innocents in Israel. Buildings were demolished all around me with snipers having been spotted and heard from the hillside homes on my left and right. The sun was hot and shots were fired and we stood out in the midst of the war between Isaac and Ishmael.
Nimrod Rising In Depth
Excerpt From Nimrod Rising!
Domes and Demons
September 15, 2020
The
fireplace was ablaze with swirling orange and yellow flames. The fire
was accented with periodic pops and crackles from the cinders that were
characteristic of the smoldering flames that had engulfed the world and
had left it in ashes. One would have thought that Manassa Dormin had
been worried about his hold on power, but confusion and mayhem was his
forte! He was a master at consolidation and collision of forces. He had
used and played his moves faultlessly and had now sent previous allies
against each other. As he sat in his lavish office in his new capitol,
in NewBabylon,
he was enjoying all that he had accomplished. He had learned that
tearing down a world was in some ways more difficult than building one.
Dormin had to completely obliterate the people’s trust in men or women
to protect them from terror. The coalition he had put together between Islamic
terrorist and militia crazies had been so effective in bringing the
population of the world into a form of rage that made the breakdown of
all their cultural and political traditions easy to destroy. Now,
Dormin was on the verge of bringing the mayhem into the Middle East, in
a manner that it had never been seen before. Dormin had already taken
steps towards Israel, and it had torn apart his happy group of killers.
The militia types had supported his moves, but his flimsy Muslim
alliance with the American breed of terrorist had immediately shredded
their former agreements and Hamid Assad’s faithful turned against the
Supreme Consort.
Dormin had cajoled, pleaded, almost begged. After there was
no putting humpty-dumpty back together again, he played the part of a
grieved leader well. He went home and rejoiced in his new move towards
the total desolation that would soon appear. He would let the house of
cards completely fall. In fact tonight, the night was quiet, but it
would not be for long. Dormin sat in his the huge office that was more
than any man could need; especially in the days that now found death on
the streets and close at hand in homes across the world. The mahogany
mantelpiece, the Corinthian leather sofa and armchairs and the wine
that the leader of the enslaved world was twirling in his glass mocked
the destruction that he was shielded from. He sat looking deeply into
the dancing flames in the fireplace and then peered longingly down into
the wine that shimmeredin
its glass. It reminded him so much of the power he craved and had
amassed for himself and for the master. He was not seated there to find
a way of keeping his conscience at bay, for he possessed nothing even
close to producing some kind of emotion for the dead or soon to be so.
His desire for the dead was to rid his eyes of their presence and to
see the living walk headlong into a voluntary abyss of death.
Dormin
sat in his seat and recalled it all so delicately. He had even amazed
himself, tonight, as he reflected on where he had been, where he was
going and where he would be when the goal of divine knowledge and
longevity would be his and his master’s. He looked and saw the flames
begin to dance to his presence. The flames looked like nymphs dancing
to his name and he could
hear their voices singing, “The forest bows to your wishes, the clouds
release their voices and tears on your command and you are the darkness
that closes the light to every seeing soul!”
He
closed his eyes and took it all in and knew somehow that it would not
last, but he refused to listen to the other voices that warned him that
it was all simply but a moment in time that would not compare to an
eternity in torment unless he could get Shepard, his son to cooperate.
He would worry about that later. Tonight he would relish an act that
would set the last days of the puny human tragedy into play! It had
taken far too long. He knew that the history of man was so short in
comparison to that of the world of his master’s realm that had endured
before time had been conceived. So, Manassa Dormin would claim this
moment. It had been such a great distance from there to here.
It
had started so innocently. There had never been a brute or tyrant who
had contemplated such a course the first time they had sucked on its
mother’s breast. Nevertheless, life started with immediate
all-consuming and demanding hunger! His had commenced no differently,
and it had simply not subsided, as it should have. It had changed and
the lust and appetites had deepened, evolved, or devolved, however one
interprets the lust for power. Man is born with dependence on the host,
but he becomes wise fast in the various ways of getting what he wants,
when he wants it. The baby screams, kicks his legs into the air, craps
in his pants and then demands it be changed. Men and women use guns and
knives to get virtually the same things by much more brutal instinctive
means, but comfort and the power to achieve it and maintain it was all
that mattered anyway. He, like all others, grew up and preferred to do
some things for himself. Dormin simply did not know how to give up. He
was addicted to thinking about himself and taking whatever he wanted.
And now he could do just that! He possessed it all and there was no
disputing that such power was powerful stuff.
Dormin sat in his plush armchair and looked lovingly into his glass
of the last of the best Bordeaux, the last that had been produced
before the great fall, and that only he possessed. He took the remote
and pressed a button that caused the wall in front of him to slide to
the left, revealing a huge array of screens. He
pressed another button and they all came to life. All the channels he
had allowed to continue to broadcast were there before his eyes. There
was no volume. He did not need it and
did not want to hear the rubbish that was being spewed to those who
still had the ability to have a signal to the blank tube that reposed
quietly in most homes. He did not need to be told what was going to
take place, because he knew already. He had willed it to be so, and it
would light the fuse to the Middle Eastern powder keg!
A
talking head mutely moved his lips on CNN. A beautiful woman on MSNBC
accentuated her words with the luscious lips of a ripe fruit that said,
forget the news, aren’t I gorgeous? The Fox News
channel had refused to play the game and had been closed years before
since they had remained unafraid. He just sat and waited.
~~~
The
lights in Jerusalem were always so inviting at night. Ten men sat in
the Bets Muel Hotel waiting for a signal that would change the world
forever. They had been to all the beautiful sites during the day. Why
not, they would never be the same again after tonight. They were now
busy slipping dark skintight pants over their legs and pulling
pitch-black shirts over their muscular bodies with patches on their
sleeves that read, ‘MESSE’. They had a certain sadness in their
demeanors but were about their business, nonetheless. They each took
their utility belts and strapped them on and then placed their ‘tools’
to their belts and looked at each other and simply waited. It was 11:30
PM, thirty minutes from the start of Ramadan.
~~~
Power
was a lot like wine, to Manassa Dormin. The color was red like blood
and it glistened when it moved around in the light. Like the rich
color, also power was similar to the taste of good, aged wine. It was a
bitter and sweet taste that burned the tongue slightly, but went down
and had an acquired taste all its own. The slight pain that the bite of
the bittersweet grapes produced somehow demanded that one take more
after having tried it just once, even though the first drink had not
tasted so good. It was like flying and feeling queasy but eventually
going so high that one would never come back down! Power was lustful
like the deep rich texture of the liquid that he now was admiring and
that, symbolically, said he had something that few, if any, had ever
had before! Dormin was in love with power, the power to give life and
to take it at will, depending on how he felt, at a given moment. Power
was like wine, because it could be denied to the ones desiring it and
it could be given in such great quantities that the indulger became
inebriated with its allure, only to be liquidated freely because of
being too enamored with oneself to realize that they were but pawns on
the checkered board of war! Yet, tonight was Manassa Dormin’s, not that
every single other day was not. Nonetheless, tonight would light up the
world and kill so many more weak and unfaithful humans. The land
belonged to his master. Tonight it would all be blown to Tenebre and he
would find his ticket into the holy land. It took death to introduce
death. What he had prescribed, ordered and would carry out tonight
would culminate in meeting Elyon on the great field of battle.
Dormin picked up his secure phone. He pressed a special code
and when the voice spoke at the other end. ‘Dome and rocks tumble
together!’ He hung up the phone and sat back in his chair and relished
the ability to do as he pleased. His self appreciation was interrupted
by a voice behind him.
“Hello Father.”
~~~
The
ten men in black suits of death had placed well-tailored suits over
their uniforms of death. They were seated silent and poised and
resolved for the task ahead of them. The leader’s phone rang and he
answered simply, ‘We are on it’. They all stood up together and took
their brief cases and left the room and entered the elevator at the end
of the hallway. When they got down into the lobby they headed out to
the door. “Did you get some good sites in today?” The receptionist
asked. The leader walked over with a happy smile on his face. “We did,
but tonight is going to be a real blast! What a beautiful country.
Shalom, my beautiful Jewish princess!” He took her hand and kissed it.
~~~
“Not
now boy, I don’t have time for your arguments and snide remarks! I’ve
got a war to get started here!” “Who am I?” Shepard asked. “Who are
you? Are you really my father? Whatever happened to you?”
Manassa
Dormin looked up and took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. He rose to
his feet. In spite of himself he was filled with a dilemma. He really
felt a twinge of something that he thought was dead forever. It was
blood, kinship. He knew that. This time, it was not the blood of Nimrod
but the blood that he and Shepard shared together. “Come on in Shepard.
I apologize. I have been so disappointed in you, but you are indeed my
son, and I cannot deny that and it pains me to feel things such as
kinship when I have worked so hard to rid myself of human affection.”
Shepard
walked into the office and looked around at the books, the symbols of
power and the various symbols of the origin of his power. He looked at
the large group of screens in front of Dormin. There were newscasts,
but one of them was focused directly on a close-up shot of the Dome
of the Rock Mosque in Jerusalem. There were no voices, just the sounds
of cars passing on the streets around the mosque and passersby.
“Shepard,
there is a new world coming, and it will not be ruled by those who took
our power from us. It is only a short time now.” Dormin’s phone rang.
“Excuse me Shepard.”
Shepard
watched the screens and could see what was happening. He saw ten men in
suits and carrying briefcases walking up to the mosque. Shepard put all
his attention on the screen now. “No! You wouldn’t do that!” “Do what? Oh, that? As we speak my boy, as we speak!”
“Sorry…” Dormin said to the person on the other end of the line. “Yes, go to phase two.” Dormin
turned back towards Shepard. “Yes my man, it is time to set the powder
keg ablaze, my boy! We will then come to Israel’s aide and build a
temple fit for a Devil! Ha-Ha, yes, it will bring about the final
battle that will defeat the world, break the will of Elyon’s promise
and take us to the day when we will stand before the great Tree of Life
and read the scroll and take our rightful place next to the master
while he transforms this broken and battered world into his own liking,
having full power, complete knowledge and ready to do battle against
the Watchers right up to the gates of Mount Elyon!”
“Dear
old Dad, ever the great dreamer. You are perfectly mad! How can you
expect to defeat your own maker! It is madness, I tell you!” Dormin
motioned toward the screen. “And this…is this madness? Of course it is
and it is lovely to behold! Man killing man! The master has perfected
the tradition and this is his grand crescendo!”
Shepard
watched the screen and saw the men taking off two manholes in the back
of the mosque and one behind the Wailing Wall. It was 11:47 PM.
~~~
The
commander took his radio and hit the orange button on the side. It told
all the other operatives that the show would go on. He and each of the
select group of special ops quietly slid into a manhole, and then
pulled the cover back in place. They had all spent a lot of time with
their children before flying to Israel from the former French, Italian,
Japanese and Russian states with visas as businessmen on a trip to,
‘The Support the Jewish State’ conference. The night before, they had
made passionate love to their wives and had taken out the best
insurance policies. They had kissed their kids many times, before the
day of their trip arrived, and then they boarded their planes and never
looked back. Tonight would be their last night alive.
The
commander gave the green light to enable their packages and to go to
their designated locations. Each operative programmed their devices and
walked to their locations. With handheld GPS devices that guided their
ways underground and around the Dome, each walked briskly to the proper
place. It was 11:54 PM, once they got to where they were to stay and
radio the commander. Two went to the underground area at the entrance
of the mosque. Now 11:55 PM, two others were seated with programmed
devices at the back of the mosque. At 11:57 PM, two more were planted
on the left side. Two were attached on the right side of the sacred
house at 11:58 PM. The last two were still in their suits and walking
at the entrance above ground at 11:59.
~~~
“Sir,”
Shepard shouted “Do not do this!” Shepard’s eyes were glued to the
screen. The full moon was visible just over the place where Mohammed
was said to have ascended into heaven and where Abraham was to have
sacrificed his son, Ishmael. In one minute, Ramadan would be declared
with a perfectly round moon overhead and a mosque full of worshipers,
now in their prostrate positions and contemplating the prayer they were
about to utter. Shepard watched the place and the screen shifted to the
interior of the mosque. At 11:59 and Thirty seconds, thousands of bare
feet could be seen, both inside and outside the historic religious
shrine. Men bowed before Allah on their knees, with the arms
outstretched and their palms facing heaven, and women bowed before
Allah in distinct and special areas of the mosque.
“Stop
this father!” “Stop it? It is my finest hour, or minutes!” Dormin
declared smiling and rubbing his hands together gleefully, 11:59 and
forty-five Seconds. Shepard could no longer talk. He saw the worshipers
looking to the left and the right to greet the demon and the angel that
were said to sit on everyone’s shoulders, 11:54 and Fifty Seconds.
“Watch this, my son!” The seconds ticked away, 11:54 and Fifty-five
seconds 56 seconds, Fifty-seven, Fifty-eight, Fifty-nine, Sixty.
The
Earth started shaking from below and above! Just before the power of
the five simultaneous blasts shook the ground, the fallen Watchers
controlling the special Ops warriors leapt out of each one with speed
and great laughter. Each warrior looked suddenly at each other and
screamed out in horrible fear, knowing that they had just caused World
War III and had just killed themselves, totally against their own
wills. The bombs erupted with so much force that cars and other
vehicles, above ground, were rocking back and forth, like an
Earthquake, before the explosion finally burst forth from beneath the
ground. The worshippers looked at each other for a second and then rose
and tried to run, but the force of the bombs hit so fast and with so
much power that their bodies were torn apart, before they could rise to
their feet! Shepard was holding his breath so deeply that he nearly
passed out! Dormin was shouting! “It needs to fall! It has to come
down!” worried why the dome had not yet crumbled!
Suddenly,
the ceiling that held up the ornate and historic golden dome started to
crack and burst just before it fell in one massive, colossal collision
to the ground followed by the walls and the Wailing Wall as well. “See
there Shepard!” Dormin gleefully proclaimed, “That is power! The power
to clean up the neighborhood, in any way I choose! The power to use any
means to get what the master requires, and he requires blood and souls
and I…I am the only one to deliver it all to him, besides you of
course!” “Power?” Shepard answered back angrily. “That’s not power!
That’s murder, but that is what gets you off, isn’t Dad; screams,
blood, destruction, pain? But I do have to hand it to you for one
thing.” “And what would that be? You are the one person in history to
make Hitler look humane in comparison to you!”
“I
don’t know whether to slap you or thank you, Son!” Dormin snapped back
at Shepard. “I am building your destiny and mine, so let the whole
thing ride and we’ll cash in all our chips later, what you say, Shep? I
don’t know how many times I have heard Elyon’s believers’ claims
concerning the Nazarene or of his angels having banished the master
from an area or casting out demons. My own opinion regarding this is
the “demons” aren’t really “demons” but angels, who were impersonating
demons. Why? Because, it makes the master appear to be under the
control of Elyon, and in many cases frightens those who lack knowledge.
Fear is used to control. I do know something about that, myself. Death
is just so much less drastic in our eyes! After all, death will come to
us all, my boy, at least most of us!”
“Look
at the death all around us! Look at the death tonight! You want me to
serve this ‘master?” Shepard lamented. “What is your problem? They are
but tools…pawns! You have to break some eggs to…” “Yes, I have heard it
before! My mother had told me about you, I mean, Alex Maefield. She
said you loved Elyon.” “She was not wrong except about the person of
Elyon. Elyon is a usurper!” Dormin declared. “How can that be? He made
you, He made everything! It is not logical, not even for marauding
brain-dead pagans like you! Your ‘master’ must be insane! He knows the
book is true but refuses to admit it!”
Shepard
walked around in the ornate office. The symbols of Dormin’s
consecration to the master were abundant. Shepard saw a large plaque
hanging on the wall behind Manassa Dormin’s desk.
The Commandments of the Master
“ALL MY TEACHINGS ARE EASILY APPLICABLE TO ALL TIMES AND ALL CONDITIONS.
I TEACH AND GUIDE THOSE WHO FOLLOW MY INSTRUCTION.”
“I EXERCISE DOMINION OVER ALL CREATURES AND OVER THE AFFAIRS OF ALL WHO ARE UNDER THE PROTECTION OF MY IMAGE.
I AM EVER PRESENT TO HELP ALL WHO TRUST IN ME AND
CALL UPON ME IN TIME OF NEED.”
“I ALLOW EVERYONE TO FOLLOW THE DICTATES OF HIS OWN NATURE, BUT HE THAT
OPPOSES ME WILL REGRET IT, SORELY.”
“NO GOD HAS A RIGHT TO INTERFERE IN MY AFFAIRS AND I HAVE MADE IT AN IMPERATIVE RULE THAT EVERYONE SHALL
REFRAIN FROM WORSHIPPING ALL ELYONS.”
“WHEN TEMPTATION COMES, I GIVE MY COVENANT TO HIM THAT TRUSTS IN ME.”
“I DO NOT ALLOW FRIENDLY ASSOCIATION WITH OTHER PEOPLE.”
“NOR DO I DEPRIVE THEM THAT ARE MY OWN AND THAT OBEY ME OF ANYTHING THAT IS GOOD FOR THEM.”
“I APPEAR IN DIVERSE MANNERS TO THOSE WHO ARE FAITHFUL AND UNDER MY
COMMAND.”
“I LEAD TO THE STRAIGHT PATH WITHOUT A REVEALED BOOK; I DIRECT ARIGHT MY BELOVED AND CHOSEN ONES BY UNSEEN MEANS.”
“THREE THINGS ARE AGAINST ME AND I HATE THREE THINGS.”
“THOSE WHO KEEP MY SECRETS SHALL RECEIVE THE FULFILLMENT OF MY PROMISES.”
“IT IS MY DESIRE THAT ALL MY FOLLOWERS UNITE IN A BOND OF UNITY, LEST THOSE WHO ARE WITHOUT PREVAIL AGAINST THEM.”
“REJECT ALL THE TEACHINGS AND SAYINGS
OF SUCH AS ARE WITHOUT. I HAVE NOT TAUGHT THESE TEACHINGS,
NOR DO THEY PROCEED FROM ME.”
“HONOR MY SYMBOL AND IMAGE, FOR THEY REMIND YOU OF ME.”
“I EXERCISE DOMINION OVER ALL CREATURES
AND OVER THE AFFAIRS OF ALL
WHO ARE UNDER THE PROTECTION OF MY IMAGE.
I AM EVER PRESENT TO HELP ALL WHO TRUST IN ME
AND CALL UPON ME IN TIME OF NEED.”
Dormin
glanced over at Shepard and saw him reading the plaque. “I watched that
movie, you know? What was it again? Oh yes, “The Exorcist.” some
12-year-old girl who was possessed by the Mesopotamian Watcher
“Pazuzu.” Never met that one! This movie topped the charts for years!
Woooo, the ultimate in fear and trepidation! There have been few actual
claims concerning cases of “possession.” The master does not possess
anyone! He simply remakes them. Souls are important to my master; and I
been giving him quite a few lately, wouldn’t you agree? Humanity is his
creation. People choose to dedicate their souls to Lucia and become a
part of a massive force of energy that we can tap into in order to
accomplish our desires and objectives. Behold its power before your
eyes now! You…me, we are different! He lives in us, and it is our
heritage!
“He
does not live in me.” Shepard insisted. “Yes, I was born with a curse,
but so was every living soul since your master managed to corrupt
Elyon’s plan, but His purposes remain! I am as redeemable as anyone. So
are you, but oh, I forgot, you are dead and they, like that ugly putrid
thing inside you do not have the benefit of redemption! That’s right,
is it not, Father? That’s one of the reasons your wicked master is so
pissed off? Concerning your, ‘benefits’? I see suicide centers, street
body trash trucks, death, death, death. It does not matter what name
you put on a suicide center, it still means death! Yours is a lust for
power, greed and evil, but above all, death!”
Dormin
just stared at Shepard for a moment and then responded. “Elyon is the
greedy one! He only frightens ignorant human beings back into His
energy bank of souls. Shepard, my son, when I was twelve years old,
Satan came to me in Church one Sunday. Of course I rejected him, but in
a church of all places!”
“It
is not about the place where you worship, my evil father; it is about
who lives inside you and your insides are already dead!” Shepard
insisted. Shepard walked over to a display on a table, against the
opposite wall. He looked down on an alter that had been devoted to
Dormin’s master. Spread across the table, 6-lit candles surrounded a
golden pyramid in the middle. Incense were burning on all four corners
of the table covered with a black tablecloth with a pentagram
emblazoned in the center. Behind the table, on the wall was another
pentagram with an upside-down cross hanging from it. A long dagger
hung, halfway out of its sheath, to the left of the cross. Shepard
reached down to touch the table and some demons promptly appeared.
These demons were on the lower end of the demonic hierarchy. They were
the ones with the red eyes, gargoyle like with rubbery wings. This
order of demons mainly carried out tasks as Messengers and protectors.
They quickly cleared the path when Chief Watcher Azazel appeared and
approached the area they were in. Out of respect, they covered their
faces with their wings. Shepard saw them and stared at them. He was
strangely unafraid and Azazel bent down low in a bow before, the Son of
Nimrod, the 666th.
“Elyon was powerless to stop the master. He did nothing to stop this tonight.” Dormin reveled. “He has his reasons” Shepard answered back. “And you and I both know, your days are numbered!”
“Ha-Ha, you believe that? Your mother has corrupted you!” “My mother taught me the truth and it set me free!”
“One
of the most important things we can do as servants of the master is to
establish a strong relationship with him. He is calling you Shepard. It
is why you were born! Your mother suffered to bring you into this
wretched world and if I had killed her, you’d be doing my job now, and
I could enter into my rest! For ions, people have looked to books,
writings and other information about you. The doors are all open now,
but your confusion is understandable, Son. There are so many mistaken
assumptions, that later upon meeting him and getting to know him, you
will find are false. There have been so many lies and so much
misinformation written and presented about my master. Nearly all, if
not entirely, have been invented and spread by his enemies, people who
don’t know him, people out to make a fast buck and people indoctrinated
with Elyon or other right hand path teachings.”
“Once
you become close to the master he will send you a guardian Watcher who
will reveal the world of our master.” “Your master, not mine!” Dormin
stared angrily at Shepard and then continued. “They will accompany you
when you visit places on the astral. I have had beautiful experiences,
learned so much. After knowing your guide friend for a while, you will
learn so much more about him. What he likes or dislikes. They are all
individuals as we are.”
“You
mean one like that ugly beast in your eye that always tries to scare
me.” Shepard interjected. “I’m a man now, and I am not afraid of it,
but I have no desire to know it!”
“There
are many beautiful and interesting places in Tenebre!” Dormin closed
his eyes and relished his time with the master and seemed to desire it
so much.
“If
one is patient, if you are open, your Watcher may take you there. There
are many fun and pleasant experiences on the astral. The more we visit
the astral, the easier it becomes. Our guides take us when we are
ready.
~~~
Outside
and under what was left of the Dome Mosque, the UWC Special Ops were
all blown to smithereens, but enough remnants of their uniforms with
MESSE emblems emblazoned on their arms still remained. The Dome was a
burning heap of ancient stone, smoke and blood. Shepard turned and
headed out of the room. “Don’t you leave til I say you can!” Shepard
was angry, perhaps the angriest he had ever been in his life. He
stopped and turned around and faced Dormin.
~~~
Elif
felt the underground blast and ran to Jesse and Tolga’s room. She saw
Sally Mike coming out of their rooms. “Did you hear that?” Elif asked
Sally “Yes! If it was what I think then the world is in for a great
deal of trouble!”
They
checked on the children and then walked out to the veranda and looked
towards the Mount of Olives and saw the smoke and flames boiling over
the horizon and the beautiful dome was no longer there!
~~~
Shepard
looked so deeply at Dormin that he felt as if his own eyes would
explode! “That’s better! Now it is time for a bit of…” Shepard held out
his right arm with his hand shaped as though he was squeezing Dormin’s
neck! He began closing his fingers together and Dormin could no longer
talk!
“Wha
wha ar yo doing? Dormin strained to get out the words and fell to his
knees. Shepard walked over close to Dormin and looked down at him still
holding him in his grip. “You evil bastard!” Shepard screamed. “I am
nothing like you! I could kill you now…” Dormin was turning red and
fell to the floor! “But I know I would simply be giving into the same
evil voice you cannot refuse! I will never end up as heartless as you
are! I have found a greater force than you or your master, and I will
not be your key, your servant or your killer!”
Dormin
thought he was going to die. Abaddon was writhing in pain as well.
Finally, the demon leapt out of Dormin’s body. Dormin’s body fell limp
and ceased to move. Abaddon ran over to Shepard to take him in his
claws but Shepard turned his grip on the demonic beast and the huge
demon fell to the floor and kicked its feet and screamed out curses
against Elyon! He held the beast and directed it back to Dormin and the
beast slithered back inside the dead body. Dormin started trying to
breath again.
Steven
Clark Bradley, Author of Patriot Acts, Nimrod Rising, Stillborn and
Probable Cause is a world-wide traveler who has been to 34 countries.
Here is Part One of his three-part series "Brothers At War" which he
wrote concerning the constant conflict facing the tiny but powerful
State of Israel. One of the huge themes in Steven Clark Bradley's
novel, Nimrod Rising, is the series of events that lead up to the final
culmination of world war in Israel known as Armageddon. Read part one
of "Brothers at War" and learn about the author, Steven Clark Bradley
and his experience that led him to write the powerful novel Nimrod
Rising.
Part One: Brothers at War
A First-Hand View of Jacob's Trouble
The trip had been planned quickly. I had witnessed the conflict in theHoly Land long enough on TV. I had to see this tiny but very significant country whose actions
could cause the world to tremble. I had to write about it and see it
for myself. It had come to me as one of those things that I just could
not refuse. I felt that there was a story on both sides that was being written piecemeal and that there had to be a way to tell it in the big picture.
Here I was at O'Hare, ready to go. Israel was not the summer getaway it used to be, but I have never been a tourist anywhere I have ever been, and I did not intend to be one now. 911 did have a tremendous impact on me, as with most Americans, and it caused me to take my sizzling, hemorrhaging world more seriously. I knew that there was something historically afoot and I had to be part of it. It gets boring just watching history. Sometimes you have to be part of it and hopefully along the way make a little history too.
To
say it appropriately, I had been to 33 countries, previous to
travelling to Israel. I have been privileged to be as far East as the
Eastern border of Bangladesh, as far North as Iceland and as far South
as Senegal, West Africa. Every one of these regions has added something
to my life and has made me think differently than before I visited
them. The Muslim, the Catholic, the Hindu all gave special memories to
me. Nevertheless, all of them combined never influenced the core of my
heart like the Jews and the Palestinians in the middle of this war of
stones, bomb-blasted bodies and sacred history being waged in the Holy
Land. The truth is that both the Jewish and the Palestinian are
wonderful peoples. From both of these rich cultures are masses of
distressed people who want nothing more than peace. They want to keep
their traditions, raise their children and simply live a life that is
free of persistent fear.
The Israelis who worked at my hotel became my friends and were far more open about the tragic conflict than one might imagine. I sought to encourage them to trust in their faith and the future promises to their land. I tried to listen pretty well, also. Three
workers at my hotel, Biet Shmuel had lost family members on the bus
bombing on June 18. It was hard to be positive, but they needed lifted
up while their world was crashing down.
Notably, the Palestinians were quite friendly to me from behind eyes thatwere angry, broken and insecure that even their tear-stained veils could not hide. Having spent
time with one family in particular, I can say that they have a deep
bond together. They are not nomads with nowhere to go. They are where
they all expect to stay, along side of Israel if need be. They are honest and committed to give all for their land, even their blood if need be. Ahmet was the Café manager at my hotel. After talking to him for an hour I realized that this man was very smart. He could speak beautiful English, Hebrew and his mother tongue, Arabic. Take this man out of his entrapped milieu and set him free to be productive and he would make a lot of money. He told me, "I like everyone here. They are all very good people.
Of course I would like there to be a place for my people, but now I have a little boy and I want to live.
I am treated very well in Israel. I love my family." These were deep
words to me. He is a wise man, having earned respect on both sides of
the conflict. Therefore, it is not a fair
assumption to declare either side as purely evil or always good,
clearly wrong or clearly right. They are two great peoples who have become strategically out of options. That meant that I would need to be ready to write the story as I saw it and to suppress any preconceived notions that I had possessed concerning who was wrong or who was right. I would have to be neutral. I would have to hear both halves of the story. I would ease into the situation after a quiet flight to the Holy Land. It was not to be.
I
did my patriotic duty and was at the airport more than three hours
early. Quickly, an Israeli security agent came up to me. He took my
passport, looked at the eight year old picture inside it and did not quite believe it was me. I totally agreed. I told him that both the picture and the real thing were ugly. He asked me, "Why are you going to Israel now?" At times, I was asking myself the same question. "Don't you know what's going on there?" I told him that of course I did and that I was not afraid. I answered
all his questions and I was informed five minutes later that they would
not let me go on that flight. I would have to wait for the next morning
and no explanation why was being offered. So,
after a good night at the Radisson, on ELAL's tab, I boarded my flight
the next morning. This experience and the six times that my bags were
completely emptied and x-rayed and squeezed and shaken during my trip
showed me that this was going to be the closest thing to being a war
correspondent that I had ever experienced. This proved to be true as I
was confronted head on with the post 911 world and two peoples under
siege.
Arriving
in Tel Aviv was like landing in the center of the world. History was
invented in the Middle East, and Jerusalem was every bit the face of
the Eternal City. The traffic ran "a la Middle East", but all the
lights worked and few horns blared. I was tired and sleepy, but one
doesn't go to Jerusalem during the intifada for sleep, and indeed I did
little of it.
The
old city of Jerusalem is stunning to see. I had to touch those ancient
walls that had served as a fortress for kings. I walked around the
walls past the Jaffa gate, the new Gate and finally came to the
Damascus Gate. This was the Arab quarter. There were thousands of
people there and it was like I had walked out of one country and into
another. Covered women and loud voices screaming in Arabic gave me a
chance to hear from the other side of the story here and that was what
I wanted. Having lived in many Muslim countries, I felt comfortable and
walked into the crowd. All together, I spoke to twenty-six different Arab men on my first day. None of them
expressed approval for the bombers. The thick quiet serenity of the old
city was deceiving. These merchants knew that they had no choice but
endure the hard times. The quiet would not long
endure though. As I walked, eyes trailed after me and before me. Was it
my camera, my Western face or the fact that I was a foreigner who, in
their minds, had but one interest, a story, and
not necessarily a desire to understand the plight of their people, who
had been repudiated by the developed powers of the world and by their own Arab brothers? Overhead that day, in the old city, an army helicopter
circled overhead. The word was that there were two bombers in the city
and that spelled murder. In all, I spent my first week speaking to many
of these normal fathers and children who did not have the slightest
hunch what their futures would hold.
It
is difficult for placated, satiated Westerners to even marginally
contemplate the nightmare of the Palestinians. Their society is far
more open than that of many other Muslim peoples. They lead the pack,
in the Muslim world, for literacy. Therefore, it is not inconceivable
that the Palestinian people could produce good,
competent leadership. Freedom for democracy and fair elections would
bring in new leadership. If the UN and the USA can convince the
Palestinian people that any elections must be
fair and democratic, the people will vote for new leaders, because the
Palestinians, I have met in their own homes, want peace. Their
businesses are failing because the tourists are gone, and their families are in danger. Fairly though, the large majority
of Palestinian Israelis stated to me that they were content to be
citizens of Israel as long as they could achieve equal rights and be
respected as equal partners with the Jewish state.
None of them ever expected that prospect to become a complete reality,
but they preferred to live in the relative safety of the Israeli side
of the disputed borders.
In speaking
with Jewish citizens, it was related to me that this was not possible
in the present climate. Who could know who was legitimate and who was
not? Was a weak Arafat of the past better than a future strong leader
from Hamas, Islam Jihad, Al Aksa Martyrs' Brigade or some other terrorist group or faction? How could Israel make a lasting
peace deal with a nation that was even divided amongst its own people,
as we see today in The Gaza? One young woman who was a Palestinian
lawyer expressed it to me this way, "I have so many friends who are
Jewish. We really love each other and have always done everything together.
Now, we are not allowed to contact each other and God knows how much I miss them." The bottom
line is that from both sides, these are scared, brutalized, bewildered
people. They are not all militants and they not all combatants. They
wake up, try to go to work and try to pay their bills. When they look at their children, they feel proud and afraid for their offspring's
futures. Little is heard about the rank and file residents of the Holy
Land, because they do not yield powerful stories of
hatred and death. Perhaps if the media would go out and talk to them,
the whole world would have a greater sense of hope for future peace in
the Middle East. What I experienced next demonstrated why peace is so
illusive in Israel...
Steven C. Bradley
About Steven Clark Bradley
Steven
Clark Bradley has been to thirty-four countries including Pakistan,
Iraq, Turkey and Africa. He has a Master's in Liberal Studies from
Indiana University and speaks French and Turkish. He has been an
Assistant to a Prosecutor, a University Instructor and freelance
Journalist in Iraq, Israel and Turkey. Steven is the author of four
dramatic thrillers, Patriot Acts, Nimrod Rising, StillBorn & Probable Cause.
You
can find my books almost anywhere across the net and in an increasing
number of bookstores. Here are a few links to help readers get copies
of my Stories the will read them.
Author Steven Clark Bradley Interviewed by Geri's Book Reviews
stevenbradley | March 21, 2009 09:11
When did you first realize that you wanted to be a writer?
I
have always been a storyteller. It seems to have been something I was
born with. It was actually my son who challenged to stop writing as a
hobby and to start publishing my several manuscripts I had written. As
a child, I started writing dreams and ideas and it was all part of the
process of learning how to paint a tableau with words. Probably the
hardest thing was learning to get over what I call ‘the middle of the
book’ syndrome. Perseverance is one word that best describes the main
character trait that all dedicated writers possess. I can attest to
that as I developed the characters, setting, atmosphere and all the
million things that go into holding a story together.
What type of books do you enjoy writing?
It
is such a driving passion to tell stories that could make one pause and
reflect on where we were and where we are, to gain a better
understanding of where we are going. The only problem is that when we
look at where we are and perceive of where we're going, then the story
always, inevitably come out shocking and ... dare I say spooky. It is
never my intension to paint a bleak picture, but the truth can set us
free. All of my books center on a major theme that typifies the human
experience and tragedy.I look at my novels as my footprints in the sands of time that will live after I have been covered by the earth.I
want to leave my books as my last will and testament, my final word to
a world that my children will inherit, stories that make us look back
so we can gain our bearings on the present to ensure a better future.
Did a special person in your life inspire you to become a writer?
Since
my earliest years, until now, I have seen that life is carried forth by
those who left behind accounts of the life that was common in the past.
Every generation has the responsibility to share their thoughts and
emotions for the future ones. So, I would not say that any one person
has been my catalyst for my writing exploits. Instead, I feel that I am
motivated to write by an ideal, the need to put into practice the freedom I possess from God to present the issues of our current day in a brave, realistic and plausible manner. With all that, there are certain writers who have pushed me forward. Thomas Clancy is a great mentor for me. He has
had a great affect on me and made me know that freedom is not free. So,
I am driven by my desire to demonstrate the freedom of our fingers to ensure that such liberty is never trampled on or disregarded.
Have you written any books based on a true life story?
I
have lived in many cultures and that has given me a love for the
differences amongst us, but my life has also opened up hundreds of
doors or directions to write my stories.Because I have lived in so many cultures, I can say that all my books are, to a great extent, about myself.I love to fictionalize things that I have actually lived.It
gives me an ability to describe things in such a realistic manner and
takes the reader with me on a journey that will both tantalize them and
at times, frighten them into taking stock of their own lives.I am a student of American culture and write about the changes
in our society. Yet, every place I have been and in everyone I have met
there has always been that same driving force; the desire to leave
those who follow us something that says we were here! This is an
intrinsic passion for every writer, ultimately.
The
genre of stories I have written and the views I have expressed in my
books are an intense effort to say something about my current society
and to perhaps warn Pluribus Unum of the things that threaten the life
we now have. I consider my books to be hard-hitting stories that may
frighten the reader, as a result of the realism and the plausibility of
the evil unleashed on an apathetic and ill-mannered world when
faithlessness falls upon the just and the unjust.
Who is your favorite Author?
The
writer who has most influenced me is Francis A. Schaeffer. Though he
was a greatly respected Philosopher and not a novelist, his uncanny
ability to show the cause and affect aspect that the decisions we make
and as inhabitants of our world greatly spell victory or defeat of our
way of life, so Schaeffer’s call to renew our respect for human life
influences me to this day and is exemplified in all my novels. I think
I am his antithesis in that his call was to show what faith would do
for society and I write of a world devoid of any, and what woe it would
work. No one else has assisted in the formation of my world view more
than Francis Schaeffer, and I feel I am carrying forth his message in
creating stories that show that none of us is an island and that we all
have a major impact on the world around us, rather we know it or not.
Are your characters created from people you've known in real life, or are they from the imagination?
Well,
almost all my characters are patterned after either great and honorable
and bad and disreputable men and women I have met, and many I have
known. I can recall sitting back in my chair and closing my eyes and
picturing these people and asking how the person the character is
patterned after would respond to something, what expression they would
have on their faces or what actions would be instigated as a result of
a given situation. I have met a great many people and that is a big
help in creating my characters.
How many books have you written?
I have written and published four novels. Whether
probable Cause which is a story of the tragic results of infidelity,
Stillborn, which is a study of the lethal outcome of a life started and
lived without love, compassion or human contact or Nimrod Rising which
describes what a world could become when we leave behind all the human
values that separate us from the rest of creation.Finally,
Patriot Acts is an expose of the dangers of pretending that catastrophe
is not out there when it is staring us in the face. Since I have
traveled widely around the world, I have been privileged to possess the
ability of giving a fair accounting of the life we share on this part
of the small globe we call home. I also know how easy it would be to
see liberty all blown away into the sands of time to only be
disinterred by a yet to form people far different than our own. So, the
stories that flood my mind are to help us stop, perceive,
reflect…perhaps alter our actions and cause us to look at where we are, where we have been and determine, perhaps with more clarity, where we are going.
Where can your books be purchased?
You
can find my books almost anywhere across the net and in an increasing
number of bookstores. Here are a few links to help readers get copies
of my Stories the will read them.
Describe how you felt the first time you were Published.
The
freedom to write so freely in a free land is such a wonderful thing. It
is something to be cherished lest it be whittled away to finally be
axed to death until we die for what we believe. It would not be the
first time, nor the last. That is why I feel that there is nothing
greater than writing & creating something from nothing. It's the
closest thing to the divine! The freedom to say what we believe is not
bequeathed to us by any man or woman. The ability to create worlds and
personalities, to describe something so powerfully that it can make the
reader laugh with joy, shiver in fear or cry in sorrow and empathy and
then to breathe into them the breath of literary life is a gift from
God; a process that starts in human imagination and comes to life on
the printed page. It is the thing that separates us from the rest of
creation! It is exactly what God did when He stepped into nothing and
created something that lives and breathes!The
process that takes hours of exciting and painstaking work, getting the
manuscript to a publisher, getting it approved and edited and reedited
and then printed and to actually see it in your hand!There is a world of intrigue and mystery in my hand and I am its creator.That’s a pretty powerful feeling!
Do you have any current work in progress for a new release?
I
currently have two projects going. My third published novel, Nimrod
Rising was actually three novels in one volume. I am deeply into part
four of Nimrod Rising which is tentatively titled, Generations. That
title is subject to change. I also am writing a children’s book titled
Aiden’s Ashes which is a collaboration with one of my students, 15
years old, mind you! He is a great writer and really gifted. So I am
working together with him on a really great story. I have three other
works started. I always get an idea down on paper so I don’t forget it
later. It is a real juggling act to market one’s novel while ever
writing another one. It is tough work and it demands that the writer be
dedicated to his or her trade and never grow weary of challenge before
them.
What are some links to your websites where visitors can read a BIO on you as author, and your writing?
Goals, at least in my head, are guideposts, markers that can take us to a certain point.I
am always careful to make my goals alterable, since many of the side
streets we venture down mentally as writers produce the most unique
stories, stories that stand out and proclaim the message the most
clearly and brightly.Since my stories are always
message driven more than mere entertainment, though I love entertaining
material, I have to always have my heart tuned and my mind open.I
am an ever growing, constantly learning, very dedicated writer. I try
very hard not only to write about today as I also seek to point the way
in which today’s lifestyles, whatever they may be, shall either take us
towards a reasonable position of faith and unity or shall shove us
headlong into a pitiful humanity where man is reduced to mere trouble,
scarcely meriting bread and water, such as in the case of Terri Schiavo.
Remember her? She could be you…me…any of us, in a world that makes
human life so cheap that it renders death itself as the sole solution,
with dignity. I guess I am saying that I drive my goals, they do not drive me.
At this point and time in your life, are you exactly where you wanted to be in your writing endeavors?
I
am never satisfied with any product I create, I know that I must go the
extra mile to get the story to people and to make sure it is at the
point where I can be sure the readers will grasp the overall and
underlying message. So, I am never where I want to be because I keep
pushing the bar further out and continually giving an extra push to
achieve. There is always another word, another issue, another story to
tell. I suspect, I’ll never feel I have arrived. I tell my students
that the times when you feel you are learning nothing, or that they are
not achieving their goals, that those are the times when they are most
likely learning the most. With every new thing we learn or try, there
is a new feeling of inadequacy, but that is because it is new and still
being implemented in my mind. The times of euphoria are not the times
to sit back. I never feel I have arrived or that I am where I want to
be. That drives me to be creative and to reach higher.
In your opinion, what are some factors that can help authors reach their dream of accomplishment?
Winston Churchill said, “The Pessimist sees problems in every opportunity, but the Optimist sees opportunities in every problem”These
thoughts often enter an author’s mind once they get into the middle of
a novel and need that second wind to get over the hump of taking the
story to the next level by pouring themselves into it. It’s this inner
voice that makes us press on when we feel so unsure until the story
starts to write itself. Some call that this “Literary Critical Mass”
when the story becomes a living thing and logic flows and literary
inertia seem to take over. Actually, this drive makes all of the
characters come alive so that eventual readers will become one with the
story until you accomplish your task! To wisely persevere, you need to
see the costs or difficulties and benefits or positives of what you are
doing. An honest and good decision requires honest and good
information. The more you understand yourself, the more certain you
will be about your decisions and the more likely you will find the
strength to persevere. All of this serves to develop your own writing
style and makes you unique and singular in your message. You’ll
probably find that you’re having more fun than you actually thought you
would!
You
want to write a book, you have an amazing idea that you need to get on
paper before you lose it and you do not know how to get started. Ever
feel that way? Writers do all the time. It takes time to make your
image in your mind into a world with living breathing characters that
do a multitude of things and have a multitude of personalities.
Writers
draw their ideas from the world around them. They also most often
pattern the characters, the good the bad and the not so bad characters
after people they have met. My novels are full of distinct,
international, good, bad and evil people. We all have met people whom
we have categorized in one group or another. Click on the link below to
learn about the main characters of the story of Nimrod Rising. Who is
the hero, heroine, villain. Click here and learn about characters that
are as real as it gets!
As an author, have you ever experienced writer's block?
I like to say that I let the story tell me what is next.When I cannot get the drift of the next part, I have to relax and listen and let the natural progress of the book direct me.I
do get writer’s block, but I know that perseverance is one word that
best describes the main character trait that all dedicated writers
possess. I can attest to that as I developed the characters, setting,
atmosphere and all the million things that go into holding a story
together and bringing the new world into the realm of plausible and
real.
In your opinion, what advice can you give to authors to prevent writer's block?
The
best way to describe this important word is three simple words: “Never
giving up!” Sometimes, when we find ourselves wanting to quit
something, we feel pulled in two directions. Have you ever heard these
voices in your head? “There’s no use in continuing!” or perhaps “I have
failed and I give up!” These feelings are almost always untrue and are
usually caused by depression, fatigue or loneliness. There are so many
other personal things in our lives that cause such feelings of
hopelessness. We are also drawn by voices in our heads that tell us not
to give up. “Think of all the time you’ve invested!” or “Think how hard
you have worked!” It’s that second voice that helps you continue on and
is what I call “Wise Perseverance.” Below, you will find links to the
mind of Steven Clark Bradley and what drives him to write with such
great passion. Each link gives a different perspective of the writing
process.
As a child, did you have any favorite books that you enjoyed reading?
I
loved the Chronicles of Narnia as an older teenager and of course read
Mark Twain, but I loved Nancy Drew books. I was a strange child, which
means I have not changed that much. I was into history and political
material, at a very early age. I read lots of history and loved
political magazines, believe it or not.
As a child, did you enjoy reading a lot?
As
I said earlier, I was a bit strange, as a child. I remember I read
through almost all the World Book Encyclopedias in my school library,
which gave me my great love for travel and culture, and which gave me
ideas for stories like no one else has written.
If you had the opportunity for one day to live the life of a famous author, who would it be?
I
think I would be Vince Flynn. This author is one of the best I have
read in terms of painting the picture so real that I can see it in my
mind. He too writes about real-life situations that are now confronting
the world. Each of his books are strong, assertive and passionate with
drama and action, but with action that could be really taken. He is the
best writer I have read.
Many
authors feel a sense of self-satisfaction after publishing a book. Some
feel a sense of achievement, can you relate to such feelings?
I
can say that each novel feels like another one of my literary children
was born. All the hard work, all the revisions, the TLC that goes into
making it powerful and readable and clear, expressive and addictive to
the reader comes together when it sits in my hand. The greatest thing
is to finally read it in book form and I forget that I am the writer
and loving it. It is one of the greatest feelings I have ever had. My
novel, Nimrod Rising represented more than 12 years of hard work. There
is no feeling like that.
How do you balance your current occupation with your goals for writing?
This
is the easiest question to answer; I never sleep. I have been blessed
with the strange ability to be rested with as little as 5 hours sleep a
day. I have been that way all my life. My wife too is just wonderful.
She knows that what I do demands lots of time and she is my best
supporter and full of understanding. I am a language teacher and I find
that my writing and my teaching fit well together. I do feel times of
stress, and I realized that during those times, it is important to take
a break, recharge the batteries and write with pleasure and never
because I feel I have to.
How did you feel at your first book-signing, or the first time you signed one of your published books?
I
was surprised that people actually wanted to buy them. I found that I
was really able to communicate the story as I spoke about it and made
me feel really confident and I understood that that was what I was
really good at. I am a people person and love the face to face. Getting
book-signings and public appearances are hard to line up, but they not
only sell books, such events encourage the writer to be ready to carry
out the same tough work that we did on the previous book, because it is
our passion.
If you won the lottery tomorrow, would that change your plans in your writing career? If so, how?
I
have never thought of money as my claim to fame. Of course, I would go
crazy to win that much money and I’d head down the list helping some
people I’d love to bless, but I’d use it to further my writing and to
ensure my stories were read. I am not driven by money, another point in
which I am strange, I guess. Yet, I am a writer and the artist gene is
alive and well in my head.
As
writers, we begin with a manuscript that becomes published, and then we
learn the meaning of promotions. In your opinion, what was the most
difficult task?
The
hardest task is getting book stores to believe in you and getting your
story to readers. Finding a good agent is like pulling teeth, as well.
I think the publishing and book store industry is geared against
writers, to a great extent. It is true that there are a lot of bad
books; badly written, badly edited and many publishers are into money
and care less about authors. It got me down for a while, but I told
myself that I write for the message and that there were just some
things that would just have to do for myself. Though writing the book
is challenging and meticulous, it is fun and enjoyable, because that is
what we do. I am not an editor, an agent nor a publisher. Yet, I have
had to do almost all those things. It has taught me a lot and I am glad
for the struggle, because I come to discover other talents that I did
not know I had.
Some
writers need to listen to soft music to help them write those chapters
for a new release, some prefer looking at the ocean, or flowers. Do you
have any particular scenery, or object that you wish to focus on when
writing?
I
find that I always listen to music when I write. I love to listen to
movie soundtracks as I write. The music is written to set moods and
feelings for particular scenes. This has been perfect for me to give my
mind the mood of the part I am writing. Music is powerful helps me
write with the language the story dictates.
If
you had books published in one Genre such as horror, and became daring
to write a novel for a different genre, what would it be?
Every
story has a genre of its own. I never set out to write a horror story.
I like to say that I write about the world around us. I touch subjects
that most of us do not dare broach. My books do not all fit into any
one genre. I want to warn people about the loss of faith and the world
that we do not see colliding with our own, so I wrote Nimrod Rising. I
wanted to warn about the dangers of child abuse and the creation of
criminal monsters, so I penned Stillborn, suspense drama. I wanted to
show what infidelity could do to an exceptionally good man who lost
everything and how it could transform him into a raging maniac, so I
wrote Probable Cause. I wanted to demonstrate how lethargy and
pretending that a terrorist danger is not present could place the
nation at large in the forefront of a national disaster, and I wrote
Patriot Acts. I want to be broad in my writing and I cannot predict
what I will write next, not until the story tells me.