Ancient Builders Created Monumental Structures that Altered Sound and Mind, Say Researchers

https://alien-ufo-sightings.com/2015/09/ancient-builders-created-monumental-structures-that-altered-sound-and-mind-say-researchers/ 

We're leading our nation & the world on a #JourneyToMars. Our plan outlining the next steps http://t.co/BVyrAJbNEv

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Do you like Spooky, Suspense and Mysterious? Well check this great video out about great books. You can find all the books at amazon.com     https://youtu.be/tzRCnsguUuQ 

BLOG HOP: J.L MCFADDEN

Please read this wonderful interview of J.L MCFADDEN                                    

NJ – How are you doing today?

JL – I am well. What about yourself?

NJ – Never better. Why don’t you tell our readers a little about yourself?

JL - I grew up in farm area in P.A, spent my early years touring with cover and original bands. I have lived in a ton of places: Upstate New York, Buffalo NY, Redondo Beach, Hollywood, and now I am living overseas.

NJ – So you like moving around a lot?

JL – Not really, I just went where the wind took me I guess. I have learned a lot from a lot of different people. Spent time with Mountain men, Native Americans, every race you can think about in America, a lot of different people around the world.  Every culture has a story or think of it as a song; we only have one life to try and experience as much as we can.

NJ – Sounds like fun, but haven’t you had issues with language or cultural ordeals?

JL – Some would say the language is a hardship, but I look at it as a chance to be like a three year old again and have to learn to communicate with people.  Just look at any two or three year old and see how they try to convey to the adults in their lives what they need… Cultures never shock me to be honest. I read a lot and am open minded.

NJ – What drives you to write?

JL – Do you mean drives me mad?

NJ – (laughing) No, no! What drives you to write?

JL – I know all authors have different systems, but for me it is like a movie, I see something happen or someone doing something and then the book starts playing out in my head… No plot planning no structure – I just write what I see going on in my head – like a projector beaming on the back of my head.

NJ – So you don’t do any research?

JL – I do fact checking if I am not sure if something is accurate, but one of my hobbies is reading and studying history and I think my sub-conscience runs off that. Very rarely will I need to dig into anything. Maybe like a language type of thing or names. For Adela I had to look for old names from that time period.

NJ – Who is your favorite writer?

JL – Terry Pratchett. He is one of a kind and we could talk forever about his Disc World.

NJ- But you write paranormal, don’t you find that a bit odd?

JL – Anne Rice reads mysteries and talks about them often on her interviews, so I think reading authors far from you is a normal thing.  I also have some new books coming out that are not paranormal.

NJ – What inspired your book Choices?

JL – The books Adela and The Guardian, because the story needed to continue.

NJ – Why did you right the prequel Adela after the Guardian?

JL – Adela was just larger than anything in the book; not only did I have readers ask about her, I was asking myself, how would a woman become that powerful and be able to have so many loyal followers through the hardest of times? Adela came to me one day as I was working out and I left the gym and went home to draft the book.

NJ – What is something you strive for in your writing?

JL – What every author strives for: To be able to take my readers into my little world. You see what people like you and I do is put our hopes, dreams, and fantasies down to page, which allows our readers to walk hand in hand with us through our own little words – even years after we have passed. I believe every author strives to be good enough to take the hand of their reader and guide them through the magical world that was created within the author’s head.

NJ – I have really enjoyed our time here and hope to see you back here in the future.

JL – Likewise, it has been a pleasure speaking with you.

Author Bio: 
J.L McFadden was born in  Pennsylvania and spent his life bouncing around the States until beginning to travel the world. Starting out he was a well-known musician in upstate New York that had a heavy playing schedule. Later he went back to his home state to work in the Lumber mills of the mountains. In California working in sales, management and even directed a small moving company until deciding to see the world. His travels around the world have allotted him to not only join an International Aikikai Aikido Federation, but have trained with Sanseis from Belgium, Ukraine, Russia and other European countries. He accounts his journeys and meeting of new people to his broad character types in his books.

Book Blurb: 
While still doubled over, picking up a book, Adela stated with a sultry voice, "One of these days, I am going to make you deliver on all of those promised ideas, running through your head when you watch me." She had a playful sound to her voice with her smile, telling that fulfilling his dreams was not out of the question.

Website: http://www.jlmcfadden.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/officaljlmcfadden

G+: https://plus.google.com/+JamieLeeMcFadden/posts

Twitter: https://wwww.twitter.com/jamieleemcfadde

GoodReads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/20842432-choices

Purchase:

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Choices-The-Guardian-Volume-2/dp/1492747246/ref=tmm_pap_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1423908742&sr=8-1

BN: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/choices-j-l-mcfadden/1121101320?ean=9781492747246

Rafflecopter Giveaway: https://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/4af5be7f12/

Goodreads Event Page: https://www.goodreads.com/event/show/956279-choices-blog-tour

eZine

Please enjoy this awesome new eZine from the Author's Cave!!!!!!

Short Story: For Beauty

Please enjoy this short story, and feel free to comment, Enjoy :)

FOR BEAUTY

BY

REGINA M. JOSEPH

“Missing,” the Magistrate pronounced loudly, followed by a mumbled, “That’s one less.” He tossed his long braid over his shoulder to hide his discomfort. Carefully nestling his stylus between two pudgy fingers, he let his hand sweep down to affix a check beside the name of the missing Outlander.

“I've eliminated her from the rolls.”

                “We need more workers,” the factory foreman protested, not daring to glance up to the podium. 

                “You have plenty.”

Grumbling, the gray-bearded foreman folded his hands in his blousy sleeves and floated into the shadows. 

                “We’re done for the day,” the Magistrate intoned. Arising on his transport pillow, he floated from the adjudication room to his private sanctuary. He smiled. Gentle music filled the air. The shutters of the holographic window lay open to a garden overflowing with delicate flowers of every color. Resting on the imagined window ledge, the magistrate drank in the delicate perfume. Releasing a long sigh, he thought, This is how it used to be and how it will be again.

                His attendant, dressed in the drab homespun of an Outlander, offered a cup of wine. He bowed from the waist. “Difficult day, my lord?” 

                Detecting surliness in his voice, the Magistrate accepted the cup and studied his face. His attendant was usually pleasant, one could even say competent. He’d shared many a debate with the man, agreeing on nothing. For an Outlander, he was intelligent and arguably worth saving. Nevertheless, an edict had to be applied evenly. Only one wistful glance at the beauty beyond the window was sufficient to ratify his course. Swirling the wine in his cup, he noticed a defiant glance.

               “You know what’s being done, don’t you?”

                The attendant stiffened. “We are given provisions for a journey and told that a perfect settlement for Outlanders has been readied. Its décor is plain and utilitarian as our traditions mandate. But the directions to this nirvana are faulty, or false, and Outlanders are unfamiliar with the terrain outside the City walls—as you well know. In truth, the path goes through the sinking land. We go to certain death. Officially, we are missing, as if we deviated from the directions.”  The Magistrate winced. “We’re not responsible for the lost ones.” 

                The Magisterium’s unanimous edict had been rendered after an intense, but brief, debate. The Magistrate had his moral doubts, but the situation had deteriorated to where reprehensible acts were the only available course. It was kill or be killed. The City’s natives had revolted because the Outlander influence had, they said, ruined their culture. Their society used to be filled with colorful gardens of magnificent beauty, and people wore colorful garments. Music was played everywhere. Now, the beautiful life remained only in hiding. Over time, the Outlanders’ population had reached a tipping point within the City’s walls, and they’d bullied and used their demonstrations to eradicate all that the natives considered beautiful. It was as if a revolution had occurred, stealthily and silently, without anyone even knowing there was a war afoot.          “Not lost. Purged.”

“So,” the Magistrate probed, “is the so-called purge―I admit nothing―common belief among your kind?” The Magisterium had designed the cleansing for secrecy and for avoiding distasteful handson bloodshed, thinking that the Outlander bodies would sink into the bogs without a trace. Nature was responsible. But knowledge meant resistance. His stomach knotted. I must warn the Magisterium.

                “We all know.”

               The Magistrate’s mind raced. We must accelerate the purge. They outnumber us.

The attendant fumed, “You brought us here.”

                The Magistrate narrowed his eyes, annoyed that his guilt was so apparent. “We made short term offers for work that we ourselves could no longer perform. We needed labor and we were willing to afford Outlanders excellent hospitality in return. Your forebears accepted—the offers were the mistake of the old regime. The bargain was made for expediency, and we miscalculated how much you’d breed, as well as how little we would. Before the violence began, we ignored the imbalance and your growing resistance to our authority. We sought to placate you by leaving you alone. Outlanders migrated into ever more neighborhoods, using their numbers for intimidation. Who could have foreseen that you’d ban our wonderful gardens? We’re losing our identity. Since you don’t appreciate our culture, we must be rid of you. But you wouldn’t accept our incentives to leave. Violence could still be avoided.” 

               “We've nowhere to go. We’re generations away from our homeland.”

                “After extensions of our bargain, we assumed that you’d appreciate our beauty and become one with us. How can anyone not appreciate beauty? It’s unthinkable.”

                The attendant taunted, “You have no right to design your life. Your inability to walk is punishment. Without us, you’ve lost the ability to survive.”

                The Magistrate snapped, “You’re fanatical. In coming here to work, Outlanders knew we were the flower people. From the start you must have had a grand design. This is our homeland and beauty defines us. We will take it back.”

The attendant chuckled. “You’re the fanatical ones. We are returning this land to its pristine

state.”

“To barrenness? You want us to change? We built the City a millennium ago.”

               The attendant stared coldly. “It’s only fair. You owe us.”

                “No we don’t. We had a bargain.”

                “You didn’t know the real bargain.”

 “We never imagined that nature would create creatures that couldn't appreciate its beauty.” The irritated Magistrate caused his pillow to rise in hasty escape, but the attendant punctured it with a curl of his lip. 

                “We are unstoppable.”

                “What exactly is your world view?” We should have seen this coming, but we didn't think their rebellion was an existential threat. It spread further than we knew.

                “It is whatever I say it is.” Producing a serrated knife from within the folds of his gown, he jabbed the fleshy Magistrate in the stomach.  

               Collapsing, the Magistrate lamented his City of flowers. We acted too late. For beauty!