Thursday, April 4, 2024

Book Watch: URBEX PREDATOR by Jens Boele #bookwatch

 


 

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

You can pick up your copy at Amazon. 




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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Absolutely” laughed Yelka.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Even though it’s forbidden.”

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

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

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

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

“IDs out!” repeated Jesse, roaring.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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









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

Wednesday, April 3, 2024

Book Watch: THE EDISON ENIGMA by Thomas White @thomasw42956181 @pumpupyourbook #bookwatch

 




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

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

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




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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That theory would be tested this afternoon.










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

Author Links  

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




Wednesday, February 14, 2024

Book Watch: The Golden Manuscripts: A Novel by Evy Journey #bookwatch

Title: The Golden Manuscripts: A Novel
Author: Evy Journey
Publisher: Independent
Pages: 360
Genre: Women's Fiction / Historical Fiction / Mystery

A young woman of Asian/American parentage has lived in seven different countries and is anxious to find a place she could call home. An unusual sale of rare medieval manuscripts sends her and Nathan - an art journalist who moonlights as a doctor - on a quest into the dark world of stolen art. For Clarissa, these ancient manuscripts elicit cherished memories of children's picture books her mother read to her, nourishing a passion for art. When their earnest search for clues whisper of old thieves and lead to the unexpected, they raise more questions about an esoteric sometimes unscrupulous art world that defy easy answers. Will this quest reward Clarissa with the sense of home she longs for? This cross-genre literary tale of self-discovery, art mystery, travel, and love is based on the actual theft by an American soldier of illuminated manuscripts during World War II.

Buy Links:






November 2000

Rare Manuscripts

I sometimes wish I was your girl next door. The pretty one who listens to you and sympathizes. Doesn’t ask questions you can’t or don’t want to answer. Comes when you need to talk. 

She’s sweet, gracious, respectful, and sincere. An open book. Everybody’s ideal American girl. 

At other times, I wish I was the beautiful girl with creamy skin, come-hither eyes, and curvy lines every guy drools over. The one you can’t have, unless you’re a hunk of an athlete, or the most popular hunk around. Or you have a hunk of money.

But I’m afraid the image I project is that of a brain with meager social skills. The one you believe can outsmart you in so many ways that you keep out of her way—you know the type. Or at least you think you do. Just as you think you know the other two.

I want to believe I’m smart, though I know I can be dumb. I’m not an expert on anything. So, please wait to pass judgement until you get to know us better—all three of us. 

Who am I then? 

I’m not quite sure yet. I’m the one who’s still searching for where she belongs. 

I’m not a typical American girl. Dad is Asian and Mom is white. I was born into two different cultures, neither of which dug their roots into me. But you’ll see my heritage imprinted all over me—on beige skin with an olive undertone; big grey eyes, double-lidded but not deep-set; a small nose with a pronounced narrow bridge; thick, dark straight hair like Dad’s that glints with bronze under the sun, courtesy of Mom’s genes. 

I have a family: Mom, Dad, Brother. Sadly, we’re no longer one unit. Mom and Dad are about ten thousand miles apart. And my brother and I are somewhere in between.

I have no one I call friend. Except myself, of course. That part of me who perceives my actions for what they are. My inner voice. My constant companion and occasional nemesis. Moving often and developing friendships lasting three years at most, I’ve learned to turn inward. 

And then there’s Arthur, my beautiful brother. Though we were raised apart, we’ve become close. Like me, he was born in the US. But he grew up in my father’s home city where his friends call him Tisoy, a diminutive for Mestizo that sometimes hints at admiration, sometimes at mockery. Locals use the label for anyone with an obvious mix of Asian and Caucasian features. We share a few features, but he’s inherited a little more from Mom. Arthur has brown wavy hair and green eyes that invite remarks from new acquaintances. 

Little Arthur, not so little anymore. Taller than me now, in fact, by two inches. We’ve always gotten along quite well. Except the few times we were together when we were children and he’d keep trailing me, like a puppy, mimicking what I did until I got annoyed. I’d scowl at him, run away so fast he couldn’t catch up. Then I’d close my bedroom door on him. Sometimes I wondered if he annoyed me on purpose so that later he could hug me and say, “I love you” to soften me up. It always worked.

I love Arthur not only because we have some genes in common. He has genuinely lovable qualities—and I’m sure people can’t always say that of their siblings. He’s caring and loyal, and I trust him to be there through thick and thin. I also believe he’s better put together than I am, he whom my parents were too busy to raise. 

I am certain of only one thing about myself: I occupy time and space like everyone. My tiny space no one else can claim on this planet, in this new century. But I still do not have a place where I would choose to spend and end my days. I’m a citizen of a country, though. The country where I was born. And yet I can’t call that country home. I don’t know it much. But worse than that, I do not have much of a history there. 

Before today, I trudged around the globe for two decades. Cursed and blessed by having been born to a father who was a career diplomat sent on assignments to different countries, I’ve lived in different cities since I was born, usually for three to four years at a time. 

Those years of inhabiting different cities in Europe and Asia whizzed by. You could say I hardly noticed them because it was the way of life I was born into. But each of those cities must have left some lasting mark on me that goes into the sum of who I am. And yet, I’m still struggling to form a clear idea of the person that is Me. This Me can’t be whole until I single out a place to call home. 

Everyone has a home they’ve set roots in. We may not be aware of it, but a significant part of who we think we are—who others think we are—depends on where we’ve lived. The place we call home. A place I don’t have. Not yet. But I will.

I was three when I left this city. Having recently come back as an adult, I can’t tell whether, or for how long, I’m going to stay. You may wonder why, having lived in different places, I would choose to seek a home in this city—this country as alien to me as any other town or city I’ve passed through. 

By the end of my last school year at the Sorbonne, I was convinced that if I were to find a home, my birthplace might be my best choice. I was born here. In a country where I can claim citizenship. Where the primary language is English. My choice avoids language problems and pesky legal residency issues. Practical and logical reasons, I think.







Evy Journey writes. Stories and blog posts. Novels that tend to cross genres. She’s also a wannabe artist, and a flâneuse. Evy studied psychology (M.A., University of Hawaii; Ph.D. University of Illinois). So her fiction spins tales about nuanced characters dealing with contemporary life issues and problems. She believes in love and its many faces. Her one ungranted wish: To live in Paris where art is everywhere and people have honed aimless roaming to an art form. She has visited and stayed a few months at a time.

Author Links  

Website | Facebook | Instagram | Goodreads


Tuesday, February 13, 2024

Q&A: Chris Wallace, Author of The Dreaming Team #Q&A #Interview #TheDreamingTeam

Chris Wallace is a creative resource.   As an actor, he was a regular on the hit daytime drama, All My Children, created the role of The Half-Percenter in Joe Papp’s production, Mondongo, appeared in countless television programs, including The Incredible Hulk, The Mary Tyler Moore Hour and had a starring role in the holiday horror classic film, New Year’s Evil.   As a producer, he put on New York: A Great Place to Live at Lincoln Center which kicked off New York City’s Diamond Jubilee; for Channel Five in New York, he produced the highly acclaimed Harlem Cultural Festival; at the Apollo Theatre in Harlem, he produced Uptown Sunday Afternoon, which was hosted by Harry Belafonte and featured Richard Pryor, Bill Withers, and a galaxy of other performers; for the National Organization for Women, he produced A Valentine’s Day Tribute to Woman at New York’s Town Hall;  was associate producer of the first Ali-Frazier Heavyweight Championship Fight at Madison Square Garden, and produced the gigantic block party, hosted by Gwen Verdon, which named West 46th Street as Restaurant Row. . He earned the Silver Award at the New York International Film and Television Festival for In the Balance, a film that advocated sustainability and common sense in wildlife management.  It was also singled out by the Department of the Interior as one of the best films of its kind.  Chris wrote, narrated and wrote the musical score for that film. He performed on several children’s television programs in New York, Boston, Philadelphia, Washington D.C. and Jacksonville, singing his original children’s songs.  In Hollywood, he performed them for all denominations of Big Brothers and Big Sisters of America.  He created a musical, A Special Thing to Be, at the Los Angeles Children’s Museum that featured his kids’ songs and the museum’s children’s chorus. He wrote the songs for two children’s theatre productions in Hollywood, Hooray, Here Comes the Circus and Sleeping Beauty; wrote and performed the songs on Strong Kids, Safe Kids, a video produced by Henry Winkler for Paramount that dealt with the protection of children from sexual molestation and exploitation.  He created his first musical revue, Greatest Hits, in Hollywood, which played several venues, including Carlos ‘n’ Charlie’s on Sunset Strip and The Backlot in West Hollywood. Upon relocating to Australia, he produced A Helping Hand at the Victorian Arts Centre, a benefit for Quadriplegic Hand Foundation; wrote book, music and lyrics for Nothing to Wear, a musical based on “The Emperor’s New Clothes,” also produced at the Victorian Arts Centre.  He created a one-man show, A Thing of Shreds & Patches, for the Melbourne Fringe Festival; created another one-man show, The Mark Twain You Don’t Know, which toured Australia, then Pacific Palisades, California, and played in New York City on the 100th anniversary of Mark Twain’s death.  He created several cabaret shows for The Butterfly Club in Melbourne, most notable of which was Les Femmes which featured an all female cast.  He wrote, produced and performed in Huckleberry: A Musical Adventure which premiered in Melbourne. Which brings us to The Dreaming Team.  This is his second book.  The first, Hollywood Mosaic is written under the pen name, Pete Joseph. You can visit his website at www.olentangymusic.com.  

 


Why did you decide to write The Dreaming Team?Did the inspiration come at a particular moment, or had you been planning to write the book for a while?   

 I never planned to write this book. I knew about the story for several years and thought it was too important to ignore.  No one else was willing or able to bring it to the public, so I did.  It’s that simple.

Did you have to do any research before writing this book or was it more a self-guided knowledge on the subject?   

 I had been involved as a creative consultant for what was hoped to be a miniseries on this subject that never got produced, so I had access to a lot of historical material.  Once I decided to write it, I went further into newspapers and other documents from that period.

What are some of the positive results or responses you have received since publishing your book?  

So far, the most gratifying results have been that both people who know about and follow cricket, and those who don’t, still found this a story that made them want to keep turning pages.  I’m not a die hard cricket fan myself, so I wrote it for people like me.  The fact that it’s a true story about Indigenous Australians makes it timely, just as Killers of the Flower Moon is for Native Americans.  We have a lot to learn from people who have had such respect for and such an honest relationship with the land over millennia, despite how they’ve been treated by society.

List three interesting facts about yourself.   

One thing I find interesting about my life is that when I was a kid in Delaware, Ohio, the last thing I ever thought I’d do was live anywhere else.  And here I find myself living in Australia.  Another thing is maybe that I’ve never thought I couldn’t do something I’ve wanted to do, creatively.  I just seem to barrel ahead.  And one more thing could be my general philosophy of life, which is two-pronged: 1) Always say “yes” and it will land you someplace interesting, and 2) Timing is always perfect.

How can our readers reach out to you? 

 I don’t do social media, but I wrote another book a few years back, titled Hollywood Mosaic, under the pen name, Pete Joseph.  I created an email address for that which I now use for all my writings.  It’s petejoseph34@gmail.com



Title: The Dreaming Team
Author: Chris Wallace
Publisher: Round Lake Publishing
Pages: 368
Genre: Historical Fiction

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

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