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Enter “The Collective” – Shared Universe writing
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Enter “The Collective” – Shared Universe writing

Some years ago, I read a book by a good friend of mine that was called a “shared universe”. Basically, several authors wrote stories within the same world. Sometimes they overlapped and sometimes not. It was an intriguing concept that swindled around in the back of my mind for awhile.

Fast forward a little and I came up with an idea for an alternate history world. In this world, a meteor shower has the potential to trigger an event – originally just that an object of some type would gain a special ability. I invited some of my friends in on this idea. In our discussions it was decided that the effects of a meteor shower became more in that it could grant supernatural abilities to humans/animals, or even cause strange mutations.

To combat this potentially dire threat to humanity, The Collective was born. The original concept was a mashup of Warehouse 13 and the Men in Black. Agents would collect the objects or people affected by meteors and protect humanity. The more dangerous objects are locked up in one of several Vaults across the world in the different branches of the Collective.

What came next was our crisis. The Astrology agents within the Collective discovered an impending meteor shower of global proportions. With not enough agents to cover this type of event, the agency went into crisis management mode. They had to protect humanity, and maintain their secrecy from all but the upper most levels of the intelligence community.

With the basic world building complete, we all got to work on our individual stories, bouncing ideas back and forth, sharing characters and referencing the events, both in the past and the current crisis. Along the way we name dropped popular myths and legends like Excalibur, Bigfoot and the Loch Ness Monster as all having ties to the Collective.

In the end, it presented a unique challenge to wrestle six authors’ stories into a cohesive book. Based on early feedback, it appears to have worked.

Will I continue to work with this shared universe and the other authors involved? Definitely. We have several novel ideas either alone or in pairs, as well as planning another short story collection collaboration for 2022.

If you’d like to check out the book, you can find it on Amazon. And below is our amazing cover from Fantasy & Coffee.

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Welcome to the Roaring 20s…

Hello all. It’s been a year and a half since I last posted so this one is going to be a bit long. Lots of big changes so I’m going o have updates in my Fatherhood, Writing, and Business aspects of my life. So break out the jazz music and brush up on your Charleston.

Fatherhood Updates

2018 ended with a bang as we welcomed a third child into our family. Jackson Warren Ferrell was born November 24th after a long labor. He wasn’t ready to leave mommy and he’s still a snuggler a year later.

Here he is a week ago beating me at his version of checkers.

His sister joined her older brother and her parents in wearing glasses this past November, just weeks before Jackson’s first birthday.

We built a snowman this week because Wisconsin got some great packing snow. Our Olaf didn’t last long as it warmed up enough the next day his head separated and had to be rebuilt.

My oldest child is a freshman in high school now. The only freshman (and only one other sophomore) that got consistent playing time on varsity football. He got his letter and pin for his jacket. He’s slowly earning more time with varsity on the basketball court as well.

Here he is during football season with his sister.

Three kids has been a huge adjustment for our family in terms of time management and trip planning. Thankfully my beautiful wife is a wizard at that aspect and manages to get us everywhere we need to be.

The challenge I’ve faced lately is trying to remember that Emma isn’t older than she is. There are times she says and does things that would lead one to believe she’s a lot older (maybe even a teenager in some ways). The next minute she’s melting down over something so minor (to us parents at least) and it hits you that she’s not quite four. She’s still figuring out how to handle her own emotions and feelings and navigate the world. It’s a work in progress for all of us at this stage.

Writing Updates

2019 was a good year. I joined a 365 Challenge on Facebook that really helped keep me accountable. I developed a much better writing routine through the groups founding principles of just 10 minutes a day. I drafted several pieces I’m still working on. I also finished and published my second novel, “Through Darkness to Light”. In addition I had a new cover done for book one to make them flow better.

You can click the images to be taken to the Amazon product page.

2020 is going to be bigger yet. I’m finally working on my high fantasy realm Ezrahn via short stories to build the world lore and flesh it out more. I’ll definitely be sharing snippets via my Facebook page and Twitter accounts so be sure you’re following me there.

Business Updates

Cloaked Press enters its third year in 2020. We’re launching Spring Into SciFi 2020 in February/March which will be our 6th short story collection. We also published our first stand alone novel, “To Visit Earth” by British author, Ian Hugh McAllister.

We redesigned our website recently to hopefully provide a better user experience. We also now offer editing services for authors on a budget. I feel our prices are very competitive for what we offer.

Our Kickstarter to expand into more single author novels, novellas and collections isn’t fairing so well and in its final hours is still a long way from being funded. We’ll still get there, just will take us longer to take in these projects.

I think that’s all for now. I hope you’re still with me and I look forward to sharing more of my journey as a Father, Author, Blogger, Publisher.

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Interview with Lloyd Lofthouse, Author

Lloyd Lofthouse Redemption of Don Juan Casanova

Today I get the pleasure of interviewing the author of the new book, The Redemption of Don Juan Casanova, Lloyd Lofthouse. Mr. Lofthouse, let me start by saying thank you for your service to this country. It is always an honor to meet a veteran such as yourself. In the format of my previous interview, my comments are in Green and Mr. Lofthouse will be Blue.

Let’s dive right in shall we? Your latest work, tell us a little about it.

I’ve always enjoyed reading murder mysteries. For instance, I’m a fan of Dick Francis (I’ve read most of his work), Dan Brown, Lee Child, James Patterson, John Grisham, David Baldacci, James Lee Burke (my favorite), Patricia Cornwell, Richard North Patterson, Dashiell Hammett, and Tony Hillerman (I’ve read all of his novels and even the last one written by his daughter after his death), and this is my short list.

When I decided to write my own murder mystery, “The Redemption of Don Juan Casanova,” I borrowed from my experience as a maître d’ in a large night club in the early 1980s.  The Aphrodisiac Academy is modeled after the Red Onion (the chain went out of business in the 1990s, because a few bartenders were caught by undercover police selling cocaine in the club—I was gone by then but borrowed that event and added it to the novel). But when I was still working there, I caught a newly hired bouncer in the bathroom off the lobby being paid off by a drug dealer. I reported what I saw to the club’s general manager and I never saw that bouncer again. For a few days after that, I expected to get shot down when I left my shift after midnight and drove home.

I also used my own mother and older brother to help develop the main character’s mother and older brother. That doesn’t mean they are exactly like my mother and older brother. In fact, the pimp we meet early in the story was modeled after a real pimp who did drive out of Beverly Hills to our club to avoid his enemies, and that pimp, who was not murdered, was confronted by the club’s head bouncer when he was caught abusing one of his girls in the Red Onion’s parking lot. I was there when our head bouncer, who had a black belt, knocked him down and warned him to never bring his girls to the club again.

What brought you to decide to write your first book? Describe the feeling the first time you held a printed copy of your own work.

Forty years slipped by from the moment I decided I wanted to write my first book length manuscript—that still isn’t published—and holding the paperback of my twelfth manuscript and first novel, My Splendid Concubine, a work that took nearly nine years to research, write and complete.

What caused me to want to be a writer was listening to Ray Bradbury in 1968 when he came to speak at the college I was attending with financial help from the Vietnam G.I. Bill. It was my first year of college and two years later I had completed that first manuscript that found an agent and an interested publisher, who took a year to make the decision to go with another writer, due to a budget that only allowed for one new writer a year.

The first time I held that paperback for My Splendid Concubine, if I had any feelings, it was mentally holding my breath as I waited for readers I didn’t know, to enjoy the story. That was almost seven years ago and now the novel has more than 100 reviews on Amazon—a few negative and many positive—and more reviews on other sites. The novel has also picked up a number of literary awards through the years.

Surprisingly, even after having published four books, I still feel the same way every time one comes out—that sensation of waiting and mentally holding my breath to discover if someone I don’t know enjoyed reading the story.

 Where does your inspiration come from for your books?

The inspiration for the stories I write come from many places: for instance, my imagination and the experiences I’ve had through this journey we call life. That journey also includes the thousands of books I’ve read and films I’ve seen.

What do you think makes a good story?

I think what makes for a good story is the collision of characters dealing with what life throws at them, and how they handle the conflicts—internal and external—that arrive like unexpected mental and physical tsunamis and earthquakes.

What has writing taught you about yourself?

Sticking with writing and facing hundreds and maybe thousands of rejections for more than forty years taught me that if you want a chance to achieve your goals and dreams you cannot give up. Once you stop, you’ve lost. You might stumble once in a while and even fall down but you have to get back up and continue the journey that you started. I’ve been falling and picking myself up for decades in my long journey. I hope I never arrive at that final destination. If you fall in love with writing, that probably helps.

Can you tell us a little about your journey to publication? Did you seek out agents or did you go straight to publishing houses?

My journey to publication was a long one, and during that journey I had more than one agent and had more than one manuscript considered seriously but always in the end rejected. I don’t know exactly how many rejections there have been. For instance, back in the 1980s, one of the early agents managed to get the manuscript for my second novel, Running with the Enemy (Dec. 2013), in front of a senior editor at Random House, who rejected the novel after writing that he enjoyed the story, but no one was publishing stories about the Vietnam war anymore, because the market was glutted and readers weren’t buying. That manuscript sat on a shelf for about 25 years before I dusted it off, revised it, had it edited and indie published it. Now that I’ve had some success as an indie author I no longer look for agents or submit my work to publishers.

I see that you were a teacher for 30 years, do you think that has helped you in your writing? How?

Yes, I think being a teacher did help me as a writer. For most of those thirty years I taught English literature and grammar and that helped me discover more about plot, character, conflict, theme and improve my own grammar and mechanics skills. I think that teaching something is the best way to learn it.

In addition, for seven years I was the advisor teacher of a high school journalism class that produced an award winning student generated high school newspaper. I think that working with hundreds of high school journalists and reading their work also sharpened my eye for what grabs the attention of most readers.

Any advice that you would give to fellow writers?

The only advice I want to offer is to never give up if writing is your passion, and do all you can to improve your skills. It’s nice to have talent but talent isn’t enough for most of us when it comes to writing. Writing is a craft and a craft can be learned. That’s why, after Ray Bradbury motivated me to change my goals in college, I changed my major from architecture/urban planning to journalism for the BA, attended workshops out of UCLA’s writing extension program for seven years, and eventually earned an MFA in writing part time through two other universities over a period of several more years. And read. Read a lot. Writers should be readers who have experienced as much life as possible because through life we discover, learn and grow.

Thank you much for your time Mr. Lofthouse.

 You are welcome, and thank you for having me on your Blog as a guest author.

Here you can find a list of links where you can connect with Lloyd Lofthouse. Stay tuned because tomorrow I will have a review of his latest book, “The Redemption of Don Juan Casanova”.

http://lloydlofthouse.org/

http://www.amazon.com/Redemption-Don-Juan-Casanova-ebook/dp/B00TR9Q0Q8/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

https://twitter.com/lflwriter

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A year in review…. (One year of WordPress)

I received a notification this morning that I have been a member of WordPress for a year now. I look back and I think the last couple of months have been my best months of blogging. I got off to a rocky start. I really didn’t know what I wanted to share or if my words would mean anything to anyone else. I have met some really fantastic people on here and I am glad I made the plunge into the world of blogging.

Last July I published my first book. While I haven’t topped any best seller lists (yet!!), it is still incredible every time I look at the book and know that I wrote this. It is a piece of my mind and soul, not just a passing fancy. There is a character Bio of my main protagonist, as well as the first chapter posted on this blog.

My son turned 10 this past year and he is really becoming more and more his own personality. It was great watching him play football for the first time on an actual team. He loved it and I hope he will continue to play as it is a great outlet for his high energy level. I continue to learn more and more about being a father every day. We have started giving him an allowance to teach him responsibility with his money. He was overjoyed to be able to go online and order toys he couldn’t get in the store. To watch him count and recount the money to his mother so he could be sure he had enough for what he wanted was a sight to see.

I joined the Blogging 101 and Writing 201 courses offered on WordPress and it was a lot of fun. I found some great blogs to follow and made some more e-friends. I learned a few things about poetry and blogging in general that have been helpful as I continue this journey into the blogosphere.

Here is to another year of blogging. Cheers…

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Beginnings, Family Heritage Volume 1 – Free Chapter 1

Here is Chapter 1 of my book. If you like it you can pick it up on Kindle or paperback.

Amazon Link http://goo.gl/0X5kYc

Chapter 1

“James Michael Keller, are you still in bed?” Sally called as she started up the stairs with a basket of towels for the bathroom her two children shared. A few strands of her auburn hair had come loose from her very utilitarian ponytail and she brushed them back with a hand as thin as the rest of her. It must be where her kids get their lean frames from, as their father had been a broad shouldered man. Connie, her daughter, was up and off already to meet a group of girls for cheerleader practice. Her son however, hadn’t stirred since turning in early the night before. She had been growing increasingly concerned over the past two weeks as Mike seemed to withdraw even more while he fought off periodic but severe headaches. They had started mild in the beginning; popping an aspirin would take care of it with no problems. After two weeks though, the headaches were getting worse.

She turned the corner into his room and found him buried under his blankets with the pillow over his head. He had described one of them as the slightest sound being like standing next to a concert speaker and dim light like staring into the sun. Concern etched her face and clouded her brown eyes to see him like this. She drew his light blue curtains tight, the rush of air causing her auburn hair to flutter, but it barely helped shade his room. The rest of his room showed signs of clutter, odd for her oldest, with piles of clothes and books scattered all over the room. To a mother’s trained eyes, it was a clear sign. To this particular mother, it sent her mind to darker thoughts she had hoped she would never have to contemplate.

“Why so loud?” she heard her eldest child mutter as he emerged from beneath the blankets. Through squinted eyes he took a couple sips from a glass of water she had left on the little wooden end table when she had brought him a dose of aspirin last night. Each excursion from under the pillow to retrieve the glass felt to Mike like mentally preparing himself to enter a firing range. ‘Not that Mike is overly tanned, but he is looking paler than usual this morning,’ Sally thought to herself. What she had been able to catch of his expression was haggard, pain marring his features. That too made her think back to her childhood and what she had witnessed.

Shaking off her dark thoughts, she stepped over closer to her son. “Put some clothes on, we are going to the clinic downtown to see if they can figure out what is going on,” she whispered, patting what would have been his shoulder as he retreated back into the darkness under his heavy comforter with a sigh. She then left him to get ready while she put the towels away. By the time she was halfway done she could hear him stumbling around. ‘Good,’ she thought, ‘maybe it isn’t what my brother fears it is after all. My poor baby.’

The first challenge for Mike was actually getting dressed with his eyes pressed shut, moving about like a blind man. Knowing he had left a t shirt and a pair of blue jeans on the chair next to his desk, Mike groped his way in that direction. His hands connected with the fabric and he pulled the familiar items over his body. Retrieving his glasses from the nightstand proved only slightly more difficult. As he opened his dark brown eyes slightly, he flinched and closed them before taking a deep breath. Luckily he had slept in his socks and just had to slip on his tennis shoes before he could declare himself ready to face the outside world. He ran his fingers through his stringy dark brown hair and sighed again. He glanced at the mess in his room and knew he needed to straighten up. Clutter always bothered Mike, and his room was starting to look decidedly like his little sister’s.

Concentrating on feeling his way down the hall toward the stairs with his hands and feet, Mike found that the headache subsided slightly the more he focused on his other senses. By the time he reached the end of the hall he was able to crack his eyes open to momentarily navigate the stairs. Upon reaching the bottom of the staircase he almost felt normal and gave a small cheer before the headache slammed back into place just as hard as before. The sudden reappearance of the pain nearly sent him to his knees, but he clutched the banister for all he was worth, while he got his breathing under control. The only witness to his brief respite and near fall was the multitude of family pictures that lined the hallway and staircase. Mike found himself staring at a picture of his grandfather with his mother and uncle. It seemed like his grandfather was staring encouragement at him from the dark frame.

Mike stumbled towards the garage where his mother was already cranking up the car. The whole drive in was an experience in torture for Mike as he kept his eyes pressed firmly shut behind his thick glasses; shielding his eyes with hands to prevent even the little bit of light that shined on the back of his eyelids. Squinting his eyes open barely enough to walk without tripping over his feet; Mike cautiously made it into the office. For once when his mother hovered close by, keeping a hand on his arm, he didn’t feel embarrassed and was grateful for her assistance. He was also grateful she didn’t say anything till they were inside and then only whispered their names to the nurse, asking quietly if she thought they could be seen right away.

The sterile off-white walls of the clinic, with its harsh fluorescent lighting, were no better than the outside world or his room. The nurse on duty took one look at the pair of them and ushered Mike and his mother into a smaller room while she went to track down the doctor, dimming the lights on her way out. She could tell by the concern etched on Sally’s face that this was a mother who was greatly worried. Mothers like that can be known to overreact sometimes when their children were in pain. The nurse knew that ‘mother bear instinct’ well herself. She whispered that it would just be a moment for the doctor to finish up another patient.

Soon enough a balding, older man came into the room, and having been warned of the condition of the patient, whispered quietly that his name was Dr. Miller. Dr. Miller wasted no time getting to the bottom of the situation as he saw it. The nurse had said that the way Mike was holding his head it looked very much like the migraines she herself experienced from time to time.

“So, let’s take a look and see what we can see, shall we?” whispers Dr. Miller, retrieving a small pen flashlight and motioning for Mike to move his hands from his face. After checking for pupil dilation Dr. Miller quickly scribbled some notes on Mike’s chart. He then pressed his fingers around Mike’s temples and forehead, checking for any swelling or a fever. “OK, so, what would you rate your pain as and where does it seem to be located specifically?”

“I would say it is at least an eight doctor,” Mike whispered in response, thinking over the second part of the Doctor’s question. “It seems like it is right behind my eyes and lower forehead. Like a jackhammer is going off, but it’s just the pressure, no sound.”

Nodding, Dr. Miller made a few more notes on his chart. “Is there any family history of hypertension, sinus infections, or migraines? I know my nurse said you looked how she feels when she gets hers, but I have to rule out all other options as well.”

“My brother got them for a while when he was in his teens,” Sally spoke up quietly, the worry in her voice touching her brown eyes. “I think it might be a pattern in my side of the family, but my husband never mentioned suffering from anything of the sort before he passed away some years ago.”

“My condolences Mrs. Keller,” Dr. Miller said softly before turning back to his notes. “I think we will try a more targeted type of pain medication designed for migraines. If this works, we will leave it alone but if it doesn’t help, we will test for everything else. Will be just a moment while I write up a prescription and get you a sample from the pharmacy here in the building.” He patted Mike on the shoulder softly and then went to the pharmacy the clinic had and retrieved a small white pill and a glass of water for his patient. He encouraged Mike to finish the whole glass of water to ward off any dehydration, while he wrote the full prescription. Lastly, Dr. Miller left the two Keller’s alone while he went to get the paperwork filed and move on to his next patient.

Sally turned to her son, concern marring her face and causing her forehead to wrinkle. “At least it sounds like we have something to help,” she whispered, wrapping an arm around her son’s shoulders. She kissed the stringy brown hair on the top of his head like she used to do when he was a kid. Normally Mike would pull away when she did this, but for once it felt good to be comforted by his mother. The headaches had felt like his head was going to split in two from the pain. Mike took strength from his mother’s comforting, as he knew he was going to have to face the sun outside for them to get to the corner drugstore for the rest of his prescription. He had only taken the pill a few minutes ago, but it already seemed to be better. Perhaps it was knowing that someone was doing something to really help him that was making him feel like the headache was already subsiding. Bracing himself, Mike stood and walked back out to the car with his mother.

Not quite two hours after leaving home, they were standing in the pharmacy down the block with a prescription for migraines. The pill Mike had taken at the clinic had really started to work while the pharmacist was making up the bottle to take home, giving Mike a much needed sense of relief. He was finally able to open his eyes without pain for only the second time all day. With a warning not to take them any more often than was prescribed, the man handed the little paper bag over to Mike’s mother. Able to function more or less normally by the time they got home, Mike grew excited about the prospects of a Saturday night not spent locked away in the dark.

With his mother’s blessing he grabbed his cell from his room and made a quick call to his best friend Darrell, who revealed that everyone was gathering at Tony’s, as was the usual. Darrell said that he would pick Mike up around six. Unbeknownst to Mike, his typical night out would become very far from typical. Mike spent the rest of the afternoon reading for his English Literature class and then about five started getting ready for Darrell to arrive at six.

“What’s up man?” Mike asked, sliding into the shotgun seat at five after when his friend Darrell pulled into the drive. In the pocket of his blue jeans was a small plastic bag with a pill in it in case the headache started to come back. Thankfully things were still blessedly peaceful with the wrecking crew that had been working in his head earlier. Mike pulled his seat belt around and buckled in before turning to look at his friend.

“Same old shit just a different day,” his pale friend laughed, throwing the car in reverse and backing out of the driveway. Darrell barely glanced over his shoulders to make sure no one was coming from either direction, his shaggy black hair swinging back and forth with the motion. “I thought you were down for the count, though. What changed?” Darrell was giving Mike a sidelong glance filled with concern. Darrell had seen firsthand the pain that his friend had been experiencing but was very glad to see a measure of improvement from the day before at school.

“Mom dragged me to that walk-in clinic downtown,” Mike replied patting the pocket of his faded blue jeans. “I got a prescription for something to combat the migraines. At least, that is what they think they are. All I know is that I don’t want to give myself a frontal lobotomy with a power drill from the pain anymore.” Mike’s hand rested on his pocket where the pill was contained, almost as if the near contact could make the pain stay away.

“Fun fun,” Darrell said casually as he steered towards Main Street. Tony’s was a combination restaurant and pool hall that catered to the young and old alike. Mostly serving burgers and fries along with soda or beer by the pitcher; it was just about the only decent place to hang out in the city for teenagers. A typical Friday or Saturday night was filled with greasy food and a few friendly games of pool while the jukebox cranked out the current Top 40 hits.

The two friends got about halfway across town when a sudden spike of pain shot through Mike’s temples, causing him to close his eyes reflexively. His flinch caused Darrell to take his eyes off the road to glance concernedly in his friend’s direction. With his eyes closed, Mike saw them entering the intersection just as two cars came barreling through on the cross street; drag racing from the looks of it. The first belonged to the school’s star quarterback, Kevin Robinson. From the bird’s eye perspective he had, Mike saw the car, a custom Mustang you couldn’t mistake, plow into the passenger side door of Darrell’s beat-up white Cutlass. It was so surreal that Mike only vaguely noticed he could see clearly their high school logo on the ball cap Kevin had covering his short cropped dark blonde hair. A mild panic attack set in as he thought it had already happened and this was some sort of ‘out of body experience’. Fearing that he was dead or dying, Mike could barely breathe.

“Stop the car, NOW!” yelled Mike as his eyes snapped open and he saw the intersection rapidly approaching. Without thinking he slammed his foot down as if he was hitting a brake pedal of his own and the car started to lurch as it fought to slow down. Mike pushed both hands against the dash to stop from falling forward, the seat belt starting to tighten. He felt a tingling sensation in his foot, but he was too panicked to focus on that at the moment as he watched his friend react to his warning.

Instinctively Darrell slammed on the brakes and the car skidded to a stop just before passing into the green light intersection. To the blaring of a horn behind them from someone who almost hit them in the rear end, Darrell followed where Mike was looking ahead. The horn blower stopped as they saw what the two friends did, which was two cars rip through from the cross street regardless of their light being red. Kevin’s black Mustang must have been a mere two or three feet from the front of Darrell’s car as he went by doing some obscene speed. A shiny two door red sports car neither of them recognized was in the farther lane and right on Kevin’s right rear quarter-panel; trying to gain ground. The cross street, while it came into the middle of town, originated in the outskirts of the county, an area known for its late night parties and drag racing. Normally they don’t come all the way into town, but Kevin and his opponent must have not been paying attention.

“Son of a bitch. That was close,” Darrell muttered, clearly shaken. He ran the fingers of one hand through his not quite shoulder length hair while the other was white knuckled to the steering wheel. He cautiously eased forward into the intersection and they continued on their way. Mike had ridden passenger with Darrell driving ever since his friend had gotten his license last year, and never had Darrell been the poster child for safe driving. He was always forgetting to use his signal, or pushing five or ten miles over the speed limit even on city streets. The rest of the drive across town however, he kept it under the speed limit and never failed to alert others of his intention to change lanes farther in advance than was recommended. It was as if he was shooting a safety video for the Department of Motor Vehicles.

______________________________________________

Sally dialed her brother’s cell phone as soon as the dial tone clicked through. She was watching from the window as her only son left with his friend Darrell for a night at the local hangout. While glad that he was going out, she really wished Darrell would be more careful when he drove. She watched as her son’s friend barely paused before backing into the street. He never really pays as much attention as he should, she thinks, lost in thought a moment, before realizing that her brother has picked up.

“Sally, is that you?” James was asking for the third or fourth time. He hardly spoke to his niece and nephew except around their birthdays or holidays, so he assumed it was his sister calling him. No one seemed to be on the line however. “Mike, Connie? Did one of you call me by mistake?” For a moment concern gripped him and he squinted his eyes, wishing he could ‘see’ who was there like his father had described from time to time being able to do.

“James,” Sally said, realizing he had picked up. “I just wanted to tell you that I took Mike to the doctor this morning. They gave him a prescription for something to combat his migraines. I know you think it is this whole family legacy thing, but the doctor seemed sure it was migraines.”

“Sally,” James said, only a little exasperation slipping into his voice. He had told his sister some of the information he had received in the form of a letter he found from their father, but not all of it. The main point was that the family tradition would continue with her son, Michael. “You know what our father wrote. That Mike was going to continue our tradition because I cannot have children of my own. I know you don’t want him to be a part of this world, but I do not think there is any choice in it for any of us.” He brushed his free hand through his close cropped dark hair.

“I still hope the both of you are wrong,” Sally spat back, before recovering her composure. “I know it isn’t your fault James. I know you are just trying to be supportive. But this thing in our family has already taken our father and my husband. It drove mom to senility well before her time because she learned too much. Why does this have to happen to my baby?”

“I wish I could take it away from him Sis, I really do,” James spoke calmly. His family’s special gifts had been costly this last generation. “We just have to trust that dad knew what he was doing when he said I would have to be ready to guide Michael when he was ready. I have made all the preparations I can on this end. Another week or two and everything will fall into place and I will call him up and ask him to come spend the summer with me. After that, he has his own decisions to make.”

“I know,” Sally nearly whispered. “Thanks James, for taking care of him. Give Jenny my love OK? I gotta go get started on something for Connie and I to eat for dinner. She should be home shortly from her day with the girls on the team.”

“Take it easy Sally,” James said as he hung up the phone, looking across the room at his wife. “Sally sends her love. She is worried about Mike.”

“I know hun,” Jenny says to her husband as she finishes cutting up some fresh fruit they picked up that afternoon. “I know she is worried, but we will take good care of our nephew. I am so excited to have him come to visit.” Her green eyes shined with excitement.

“I know,” James replied, smiling at his wife’s enthusiasm. He walked up behind her and, after pushing her long brunette locks out of the way, planted a kiss on her neck. “I am going to take a walk. I’ll be back in time for dinner”

Their lack of children had been a heavy burden initially, but through her volunteer work with the local youth, she had a lot of nieces and nephews to call her Aunt Jenny. Their nephew coming to visit would be the closest thing to having a child in the house they have ever had though. Timing it so that his office assistant would be taking maternity leave during the summer Michael turned eighteen had been difficult to say the least. At least that family would have children of their own, a dream he will never get to experience. He hugged his wife briefly before heading out the back door to take a walk through the woods around their property.