Ian McKinley is a
Canadian diplomat currently on leave to follow his wife of 23 years, Josée Lanctôt,
to beautiful New Brunswick. He writes what he calls “fantastic realism,” a
genre that seeks to escape the traditional tropes of fantasy,
wherein pure good confronts ultimate evil for global domination. Rather, Ian’s
narratives are driven by alignments and/or collisions of human interests and
His first novel, The
Gallows Gem of Prallyn was released to positive reviews in November, 2014. It
throws together an explosive mixture of zealotry, class oppression, and
nationalism, the results of which take the reader on a gripping adventure.
Ian unveiled his second novel, Harbinger,
Book One of Northern Fire, at the 2016 Frye Festival, in which he
participated as a “Prélude Emerging Writer.” In
Harbinger, Ian explores questions around culture and the type of societies
particular cultures construct, the various tools of societal control that
societies develop, as well as the question of whether an individual can change
the fate of an entire nation. Ian is working on edits to The Winter Wars, Book
Two of the Northern Fire duo-logy. If things go to plan, it should be available
by November, 2017.
Ian was born in
Calgary, Alberta, and grew up in Northern Ireland and on the Canadian prairies.
He graduated from the University of Lethbridge and joined the foreign service
shortly thereafter. He has served Canada abroad in Colombia, Kenya, Zimbabwe
and at the Permanent Mission of Canada to the United Nations in New York.
Ian has seen his
non-fiction published in Bout de papier and Au courant.
Ian is a member of
the Writers Federation of New Brunswick as well as the
Sunburst Award Society for
Excellence in Canadian Literature of the Fantastic. He speaks English, French
And now an excerpt from Harbinger.
Theysailed from Cape Terror on the dawn. The
mainland off Rignil’s port rail rose in sheer cliffs and the first of
the Demon’s Teeth neared off the starboard beam. As if on cue, the winds found
them; between mainland cliff and sea-bound tooth, the gusts
buffeted the longship from changing directions. Then the rain began. At first
it was but a mist, hard to differentiate from the spray thrown at them by the
swirling winds from the wash rising off the prow or from waves surging against
their sides. It turned into a steady drizzle, and, just before midday, to rain.
Lars muttered. “Can this get any worse?”
Before Thay or Cairn
could reply, Krüllig laughed and said, “Of course it could, lad! Be glad this
is a summer crossing. In winter, you could be treading freezing cold water and
watching our stern slip beneath the waves! But I wouldn’t worry too much about
that; Kindron’s been through the Teeth two-score times. He’ll see us through.”
As if to underline
their captain’s skill, Kindron delivered them a small blessing. He leaned
against the rudder and turned them into a channel that ran between two jutting
islands. He brought Rignil close to the southern island’s cliff face and
ordered oars raised. The crew all leaned forward on their oars, panting in the
pouring rain, but laughing as well as they saw that Kindron had found a current
that pushed them along faster than any wind could. Then only he had to work as
he controlled the rudder, pushing it or heaving against it as need be. But he
grinned as he did so and that grin gave them all a fire in their bellies to
combat the cold rain. Thunderer and Northern Fire hove-to and
heard their fellow Sea Wolves bellow approval from the other boats.
Their respite lasted
long enough for them to gobble down a damp meal. Kindron even threw them a skin
full of wine to pass around. However, the captain’s face darkened at a low
drumming of thunder that suddenly rumbled across the
waves. Before it echoed off the cliffs, the men were back on the oars. By the
time the boats shot out the other end of the channel, lightning arced between
the Teeth. The clouds turned jet and sank lower to the water. The seas, too, surged and dipped,
and waves coming
at them from every direction, once combining to heave the
stern aloft and throw men backwards onto the oars of their crewmates.
Thay looked about
him. Lora, huddling near the stern, looked as worried as he felt. Beside him,
terror was carved on Cairn’s burly features: the
big youth looked horrible, with his dark hair lank, wet, and
clinging to his ashen face, his brown eyes red-rimmed and wide, and his head
twisting from side to side as he shot panicked looks at the sheer cliffs
bursting from the swirling sea on either side of their longboat. Thay felt
Cairn strain against the oar, quickening the rhythm but for the countering
control that Thay exerted; it would not impress the captain if they
broke the unison of the crew. It occurred to Thay that though Cairn, the son of
herders, had never sailed in a storm.
“Calm down,” Thay
grunted between oar strokes. “This crew knows what they’re about.”
“The cliffs close in on us!”
“That’s just the boat
shifting in the swirls,” Thay responded, but he glanced at the mountains
involuntarily as he did so. At first glance, it did indeed look like the great
wall to starboard loomed closer and the cliff to port filled more and more of
the roiling grey-black sky.
boomed overhead, drowning the drumming of Asgear and wiping the grin off
Kindron’s face. Thay quickly realized how much he had drawn confidence from the
captain. Kindron studied the low, swift-flying clouds and then ordered the sail
unfurled and trimmed. Rignil listed away from the wind and held to a
course Thay hoped would steer them clear of the fangs of rock that rose from
the waves. Salt spray carried on the wind from the bow showered him and mingled
with his sweat. Behind Rignil, Thay could see that first Toftig on Thunderer, and then Albig on Northern Fire, followed Kindron’s example, unfurling
and setting their own sails.He could see less to starboard as the boat
leaned in the water, but he saw frothing whirlpools and white foam splashing
off the ever-approaching cliffs to port. He gave a start when he heard the
crash of a wave against a jutting point of rock an oar’s length from the
They passed a
headland to the south and heard Kindron yell from the stern, “Hang on!” As Thay
hooked his legs around the prop of the bench in front of him, he saw terror on
Lora’s face. Then the instant was gone as a wall of water hit them from
starboard. As he rose into the air, he reached for the gunnel. He
saw Cairn pitch sideways and flail at the bench. Then Thay flew.
When he broke the
surface, he gasped from the shock of the cold water and fought to keep his head
above the waves. Against the backdrop of the Tooth to the north of them, he saw
the flotsam of the boat all around him; men, oars, cloaks, planking, sea-chests
and rope bobbed on the water. Six men had gotten their bearings after having
been thrown even further and they began swimming towards him. Thay twisted his
head around and saw Rignil floating low in the water only an oar’s
length from him. Improbably, the only person still in the boat was Cairn.
“Thay!” Cairn yelled.
“Grab the oar!” The big lad stood unsteadily and ran out an oar.
As Thay swam he
called out, “Sit down, you ass! And lean to the other side of the boat!” Cairn
did so, scrambling to a bench and then straining with his great strength to
haul Thay to the gunnel. Thay scrambled over and Cairn ran out his oar to the
six men swimming closer.
Thay sloshed over to
the rudder as Rignil bobbed on the waves. The wave that had tossed them
overboard had also left the sail flapping in the wind, but pulling on the
rudder only brought the water-logged boat around slowly. Thay looked then to
the sea and saw another massive wave bearing down on them. He knew the rudder
would not turn the boat around quick enough to point the prow into the wave,
there were no crew at the oars.
Quick as he could, he
pulled on the rope lashing the anchor to the stern, expecting the slip knot to
give and release the heavy stone in its wooden cradle. The rope, however, was
thick and sodden, and some misfortune had pulled the ends of the knot too tight
to allow the loop to slip. He fixed his legs and gave the lashing a great
heave. Still the knot would not give. He whipped out his dagger, pried its
point into the knot and used the blade as leverage, hoping to loosen it. He
glanced over and saw that it was not another man at all that had clambered into
the boat, but Lora. He did not breathe a sigh of relief. Rather, he glanced at
the approaching wave, suddenly much nearer, and put his entire strength behind
a last heave of the rope. It gave way in a sudden rush and he fell back onto
the deck, the anchor thumping onto the deck at the stern.
“Lora!” he yelled, “Trim
the sail!” She did not reply but scrambled over to the loose
ropes that set the sail.
Thay lifted the
anchor from the deck and heaved it astern, towards the rock face of the nearby
Tooth rearing up from the frothing sea. He could not heave it far, but he hoped
it would be enough as it trailed its rope behind it, just as he hoped the water
would be shallow enough for his gambit to work. As the anchor’s rope unwound
with a whir, the prow crept to starboard, towards the wave that approached with
alarming speed. But then suddenly the rope stopped unwinding. He knew he had to
change dramatically the angle of the prow to the wave and that pulling on the
rope from the stern would have no effect. So, with the black wall of water
looming above them, Thay grabbed hold of the slack coils of rope attached to
the anchor and ran, bounding from bench to bench above the water in the boat,
to the prow yelling, “Hang on.” He looped the rope once over the prow, forming
a noose for the wolf that was the figurehead, and he hung on for dear life.
They were not going to make it, Thay suddenly realized in the moments before
the wave hit. They did not have enough forward momentum to swing the boat
That was the moment
that Lora got the sail properly trimmed. Being the
daughter of a fisherman and so bold as to insist on accompanying her father out
to sea to learn the handling of boats, she knew how to catch the wind in a
sail. In the near-gale now blowing, she pulled the sail into position, it
caught the wind and the boat lumbered forward and it came about. As the sea
welled up and the wave towered over Rignil, Lora kept the sail in the
wind and they turned. Thay pulled on the anchor rope with all his might,
tugging the prow southwards. The wave crashed against their starboard side at
an angle, but the prow had come about enough to cut into the onslaught. The
boat lurched but did not capsize or toss them overboard, and then the wave was
Only one other such
wave hit them, but by then Kindron had relieved Thay at the rudder and had
pointed the prow into the swell. The men hauled out of the sea had also bailed
a great deal of water out of the boat and Rignil rode the waves with
Northern Fire drew up beside Rignil
after having scooped up Lars and Krüllig. Thunderer returned another
five crewmen to them - sodden and shivering, but all grinning. Kindron did a
head count, and then repeated it with Asgear, before dousing the momentary
elation. “Hossig’s gone.” He strode from prow to stern, looking into the dark
water, the other two captains looking around them, but they saw nothing. “We’ll
mourn on the other side of the Teeth,” Kindron declared and then set about
putting his boat in order.
The wind and seas
calmed and Kindron passed around his wineskin again. Then he had them finish
the bailing, return the sea-chests to their owners and re-stow them, secure the
rigging and order the sail. He took his own woollen blanket from beneath the
deck and, though it was sodden, just like everything else, he draped it over
Lora’s shoulders, patting her on the back. He gave Thay and Cairn each a
serious nod. All three knew they had just received Kindron’s deepest thanks.
Thank you Ian for being our guest this week. Looking forward to reading more of Harbinger.
Drop by Ian's website to discover more about him and his novels and watch for his next novel.
Another back-to-back feature on the Scribbler last week and this one. We are fortunate to have Author Chuck Bowie from Fredericton, New Brunswick, who joined us last week with an essay on the topic of his writing. (if you scroll down to the end of this post, you'll find it there) He's back this week for an interview with a different format than the regular 4Q you are familiar with.
The Scribbler is ever grateful to have Chuck as a frequent guest. His stories are entertaining, witty and a treat to read. You will find his links below.
we’ll put Chuck on the hot seat, asking him a few questions about
his favourite writing: Genre Fiction. Genre Fiction (Or, As I Like To Call It, Fiction)
Question: Do all writers of fiction novels write genre
Answer: Certainly, there are a number of kinds of
fiction writers, some being literary fiction writers, some genre writers. Literary
Fiction is anything that does not fit into a genre. If you’ve written The Great Canadian
Novel, in which man’s inhumanity to man is explored, it can be amazing writing,
but somewhat more challenging to classify. Oftentimes, this type of novel would
not be classified as genre writing.
Today, though, I’d like to chat about genre fiction. As a species, we humans like our
lists, our boxes…our shelves. If, for example, you write a thriller and
classify it as such, it is lumped in with millions of others. If you refine
this identification—as I do by identifying my series as an international
suspense-thriller series—it’s far easier, in this way, for the reader to
anticipate that they’ve found the kind of thriller they were seeking.
Q: So, what is genre writing?
can be classified by content and theme. Here is where we find our common
genres: adventure stories, science fiction/fantasy, mystery, horror, romance,
realistic fiction, and historical fiction. One thing to keep in mind while
reading different texts: genre categories aren’t always clear-cut. You can have
a crime/mystery story set in the future (science fiction) or in the past
(historical fiction). Some readers quite enjoy ‘mashing up’ genres to suit
their reading desires. SteamPunk, for example, is an entertaining mashup of history
and science fiction.
Q: And you prefer to write genre fiction?
Regardless of the genre (or sub-genre), this kind of storytelling encourages
the writer to create a world according to their design, populate it with the
characters they feel are necessary to tell a specific story, and begin that
story exactly where the author tells them to! That, I feel, gives my
imagination free rein to manage all of the components of the story. I like
Q: Tell me more
about the specific genre of writing you engage in.
A: As I mentioned,
I am writing an international suspense-thriller series called Donovan: Thief For Hire, and
I’ve just finished Book 4, entitled The Body On The Underwater Road.
Thrillers usually begin—in the first few pages—with a dramatic act. Tension
rises, and remains quite taut throughout the entire novel. The climax is very
near the end of the book. As a thief for hire, my man Donovan travels all over
the world, taking things that don’t belong to him in exchange for large sums of
money. One of the pleasures of writing thrillers is I have the opportunity to
experience, vicariously, what it is like to do things I would never consider doing
in real life. One of the perquisites of the job!
beginning another novel now. Is it a continuation of the thriller series, or
have you embarked on a new project?
A: Ah. It’s a new
series, and I’m switching genres. It will still be a mystery series, but not a
thriller. The genre for this one is a cozy mystery, set in a fictional town in
New Brunswick, in fact.
Q: What’s a cozy
A: This genre is
a very popular form of the murder mystery (although there doesn’t always have
to be a murder, there usually is). Specific constraints include restrictions on
graphic sex, violence and language. Charm, warmth and wit are considered
attributes of the cozy. In my novel, the small town itself will in a sense
become one of the central characters the reader will love. We’ll see.
Q: Can you give
us a summary of the plot?
A: I’m sorry; no.
For many writers, it’s bad luck to say too much about their story while it’s
still being written. Suffice it to say, there will be a murder or two, the town
will be charming, and we’ll all be rooting for the protagonist.
Q: I wish you
good luck on this foray into a new genre. Will you come back to talk with us
when your fourth Donovan novel is published?
A: I’d love to! In the meantime, here’s something to ponder:
King once posed the theory, based on the notion that all stories are love
stories of one form or another, that there are essentially three kinds of
stories. There is finding love (sometimes known as power), losing love, and
losing and then finding love. The advantage of this sort of
generalization is it’s easy to sort this type of categorization. I would argue
this applies to genre and literary fiction (as well as flash fiction!) Perhaps
we need to ask ourselves: ‘Why the compunction to classify at all?’ But perhaps
a blog on Chaos Theory is for another day.
Thank you Chuck for being our guest again this week. Always a pleasure having you on board!
Another back-to-back feature on the Scribbler this week and next. We are fortunate to have Author Chuck Bowie from Fredericton, New Brunswick, participate with an essay this week on the topic of his writing. He'll be back next week for an interview with a different format than the regular 4Q you are familiar with.
Chuck has been a favored guest on the Scribbler before. I've had the pleasure of reading the Sean Donavan - Thief for Hire series and if you like action novels, great dialogue and clever plots then these are for you.
We are posting links to his previous visit below. Please take a few moments to discover more about Chuck and his stories.
Are All Writers ‘One-Trick Ponies’?
is the better writer; Fredericton’s Roger Moore, or Britain’s JK Rowling?
(Harry Potter fans aren’t allowed to vote!) Some would argue Ms. Rowling,
because of the vast number of book sales she’s enjoyed. Others would
argue—compellingly—Mr. Moore, because of the diversity of writing he’s excelled
at. Ms. Rowling has written a brilliant fantasy series, as well as a fairly
average murder mystery. Mr. Moore has written literary analysis, reams of
poetry, fiction (flash and otherwise), essays, academia, non-fiction and much
Where am I
going with this? Two things occur to me as I perform this ridiculous
compare-&-contrast between these two fine writers. My first thought is it’s
madness to compare two very different writers and think you’ll arrive at a
valid conclusion. My second thought is one of wonder. Writing a book is hard
work. Writing a series is really hard work! Writing a series in a certain
subject matter, and then switching to a different genre or subject matter is,
well, taking the challenge up another notch. I admire those who attempt it, and
until now, I’ve wished them well as I plodded along on my one-track series.
But then, I
finished Book 4. My suspense-thriller series about a thief for hire began as a
one-off, with the publication of Three
Wrongs. But I wanted to know how, or if, Donovan, my Thief, would find
redemption. So I wrote a second novel: AMACAT,
which for a time I called a sequel. But a great plot visited me in the night,
and with the publication of Steal It All,
I had a trilogy. But I dislike loose ends, and so a fourth novel: The Body On The Underwater Road is now
being edited and will hopefully be out late this year.
So, it’s a
I confess I
have the rough idea of a fifth novel, but I’ve put it on hold, for the moment.
For some time now, I’ve been dreaming. I’ve been dreaming of a new non-Donovan character,
and she doesn’t occupy the world of the thriller. She’s warm, she lives in a
small town, and nobody swears. At least, they don’t swear much, and then, only
in their mind.
a suspense-thriller. That’s a cozy mystery. Add a dead body, a nervous heroine
and a suspicious policeman, and you have a different sub-genre. Am I now
writing a new series? I guess so. And have I moved to a different subject
matter? I guess so. Part of me—the devil on my left shoulder—is telling me I
have a lot of nerve, writing a non-thriller when all I’ve ever had published
are thrillers. The angel on my right shoulder is telling me I have to try.
Sadly, the angel did NOT promise me it would be easy, and she did not slip me a
plotline or three to get me started.
How am I
doing, so far? I began by reading up on cozy mysteries. And early on I decided which
town to modelled my fictional town after. I also determined that, to meet my
personal goal, this fictional New Brunswick town would be imbued with so much
personality, it would have to be considered a character in- and of itself.
of a cozy is not the same as other mysteries. Timing, level of violence,
(language, sexuality) are all different. But there are similarities. If I don’t
make the town worth visiting, if I don’t make the plot the very best I can, if
the reader doesn’t fall in love with my characters, I will fail, no matter what
thought about it. And I dove in. Then, Christmas season, together with a
Christmas cold came and went, and with it my momentum flagged. But I dreamed.
And my partner let me talk at her and, to my joy, she had great ideas I could
use. This is how the trauma of letting go of a previous writing project gets
mitigated. And this is how the wonder of beginning a new, foreign writing
project is embraced.
Will I be a
‘one-trick pony’? Or will I be able to transition from one sub-genre to
another? Time will tell, but if I have
to write—and I do—I might as well write what I really want. And this year, I
want to write a cozy. And to paraphrase Honoré de Balzac, really, it’s all
done. Now, all I have to do is write it.
I’ve always enjoyed writing but you may be amazed to learn, I’m not
so much of a reader. I used to skip parts of high school reading
assignments because reading would put me to sleep. I started writing
when I was a teenager on a sci-fi time story but couldn’t finish because of my
lack in knowledge about government affairs in cold war time. Once I
stopped I got busy with jobs I held and life in general until
2006/7 when I wrote a totally new sci-fi book of science fiction and real time
science mix together in a time traveler adventure story, The Traveler the beginning, which is out now.
My writing schedule is sporadic. Unfortunately, with
my almost always weekly changing work schedule I have no structured
writing schedule so I can go weeks and months without doing a single thing and
then I get a weekend or week of down time and, wham, I may write entire chapters all at once.
Publication has been a long, sometimes tedious and unfulfilling
road with a lot of disappointment -much of it was caused by my former
publisher. Looking back, after I spent around a year of researching what I
needed to know about Indie publication vs. publishers vs. using
agents I still didn’t know nearly enough. While I was searching for a
publisher and found a Christian based place whom I called. We made a deal and
arrangements for the books but over time I started to see a trend at the
publisher who really wasn’t helping much since the books went public. A
year and a half into it I fought to market myself and do mostly everything
including foot huge multi-thousand dollar bills to get known while trying
to balance life, several family tragedies and an ever-changing monthly career schedule.
It’s taught me a lot, which I believe as a Charismatic Christian and author I
probably needed as part of a great future that is still being written! Because
of the hard road I was forced to take I believe I will be able to offer my
reading fans someone awesome surprises in the future – which I am currently in
progress of now. Hint, hint!
I have two other books in progress right now – a Christian
fiction and another sci-fi. With God’s help I plan to complete these very
soon. I’ve already done the leg work to lower my EBook prices from where the
publisher had them and I am dedicated to the readers to make them more
easily attainable by everyone worldwide. There’s also a new website coming
My future plan is to commit to writing full time and get myself
out of the eighteen-year computer and networking career that I am currently
One favorite thing I
enjoy is doing the book autograph signing events. It’s that excitement of
seeing the person’s face after we’ve talked some about their lives, the book and
about me. Second, I think once I’ve finally written the book as well and
completely as I can before it goes to someone to edit and I see how the
entire story has run its course - that makes the time and effort worthwhile.
When I’m not working or
writing, I like to watch the Sci-Fi channel, documentaries or science shows on
T.V. and attending family get-togethers like cookouts and birthday parties and
There are two books currently out in EBook format. I am pleased
to include a brief few paragraphs from them both here thanks to my interview
host.My inspired non-fiction Christian
book “Life Explained a Journey to Selfless Love”;
I was a
little unsure where to begin and how to open this book in a way that would grab
the reader’s attention, so as I wrote this sentence, I just placed it into the
hands of the Lord, that He would write it for me and through me. I wanted to
allow him to be in control without taking a chance that my limited human
knowledge and abilities would ruin the content of the subject matter of these
very important chapters.
longevity of life ties to quality of life, and that’s something we all need and
many of us feel we are deserving of. The Bible references long life and quality
of life as being tied together and tied to keeping of the Old Testament and New
Testament scripture readings. Some of you are saying, “This is absolutely true
and for real,” and you have seen firsthand accounts of it and the results of
keeping up with it consistently. Now there’s the other half of you who are
partially or even totally against it. Keep reading on. I personally have seen
the results, speaking as a person who was raised Catholic and a churchgoer but
who would waver or fall away, as they say, because I would allow life, work
schedules, and my laziness to interfere and draw me away. Many fall prey to
that because we are submerged in a lifestyle of desiring things that are
pulling us in multiple directions daily.
through the narrow gate; for the gate is wide and the way is broad the leads to
destruction, and there are many who enter through it. For the gate is small and
the way is narrow that leads to life, and there are few that find it.” (Matt.
The path is
selfless love and commitment to the God, who is love itself.
By the time
I reached my late forties, life had taken a toll on me, as it does to us all,
causing us to harden ourselves to survive; even if we remain good people, after
decades on this planet, we lose our true selves. We lose part of the humanity
the Lord designed for us to have. I took time to help people, tried not to
break the law, and obeyed my parents, for the most part, and all those things
that supposedly make us nice people. Like many of you, I worked hard and
remained vigilant to my beliefs and responsibilities to myself, family,
friends, job, and other life-related things. One night as I was going to bed, I
knelt beside the bed and cried out to the Lord, “I give up! I can’t do this
anymore. It’s too hard. Like a broken record, life problems and struggles keep
coming back over and over again. I need help. Lord, I need your help. I will
put you first above everyone and everything— over work, family, friends,
everything—and never stop!” …
And for “The Traveler
the Beginning” the sci-fi time traveler adventure story;
alone in my home, shielded from the outside world, abandoned by many of my
people and hounded by many others. I can hear the sounds of militant forces
encroaching into my personal living space. They are in need of answers to
questions they are not yet prepared to deal with. I am an outlaw in their eyes,
cut off by my own actions. The innocent actions that began a journey of wonder
and enlightenment have now forced me into my seclusion. The sounds of
helicopters fade in and out as they swoop in, checking the perimeter of my
yard, my confines, in hopes of my capture. In the far distance, across my long
yard, television and radio crews line the street beyond the boundaries of my
property line in either direction. The once-tranquil neighborhood where I live
has turned into a form of a battle zone, a mockery of my achievements and
significant contributions to mankind’s continuation. It’s still here, an almost
deafening silence resounding through the back of my mind while I sit and watch
their unrelenting advancements. Outside troops mass on the lawn. Jeeps, men,
and tanks tear up my gardens. Bullhorns and walkie-talkies echo orders from
commanding officers to penetrate my home and bring me out by force. I am not a
criminal and thus will fight to the end for my freedom. The shields are
impenetrable to their efforts to reach me, shy of digging deep into my grass
and tunneling under the protective barricade I have erected around my home.
Over and over they call for me to come out. It’s been going on now for several
hours. The year is 2052.
believe I need take you to the start of my adventures to give you a better
perspective of why this is.
pages you are about to read are taken from my memoirs. An extraordinary event
has unfolded itself onto me as part of my own undertaking, an event that
captured the minds and hearts of a tiny planet located in a solar system just
as small in proportion. I have been time traveling now for a total of 1,500
years, though I am now only sixty-five years old. Much of this time was spent
in various centuries living new lives and learning new cultures. I speak over
forty languages and fifteen different dialects from this planet alone. In my
adventures of time traveling, I have been to the future and to the past. I have
been through many dangerous and terrible times, seen so much beauty and
glory—more than my words can begin to describe— and beings the like of which my
imagination couldn’t begin to fathom…
Thank you Michael for being our guest this week.
Please check the links below to discover more about Michael and his writing.