Saturday, October 05, 2019

Author's word - Afterglow Rain

  This is the eighteenth novel I’ve completed and the sixteenth I’ve published.
  This story or this sequence of the story seemed to be never-ending, so I considered discontinuing it prematurely, at an earlier point than I had originally planned. But moving a large chunk of the story to the third book just did not work, and one thing being an experienced author has taught me is that you continue on a given novel until the story is done. This was not and thus, I kept going.
  I was tempted to rush it, but eventually I managed, like I always do to settle the itch to do that and reach the somewhat calm storm of the storyteller and write the story with sufficient patience and virtue. It unfolded at the methodical, but urgent pace I always strive for.
  The language in The Nine series is distinctly different compared to my other books. That is a deliberate choice when describing societies differing in minor and major ways from modern day earth societies.
  It is about a never-ending journey. Like I usually do, I focused solely on this novel as it approached its end, and hardly wrote on the five other stories I write simultaneously at all. So, I dive into the characters’ life and their circumstances and not doing much else. Sometimes, it takes me three months to write the three final chapters. This took me only a few days. I took advantage of what to me is the calm and quiet of Easter. While others went skiing in distant mountains, I stayed in front of my computer, with the occasional photo safari mixed in.
  The story of The Nine is further fleshed out, as Afterglow’s continues.
  This book has approximately 210 000 words, my third thickest book.
  One more long journey has ended. Another has already begun.

  One Sherwood Forest 2019-04-21
  Printed version ready 2019-05-17

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Tuesday, September 24, 2019

Page 158 of my novel Afterglow Rain - The Rough Road to Rekong Peo




attraction only growing when I saw a film recording the path.
  – But there is more to it to Leila, isn’t it? Afterglow said casually. – She has longed for it, very much like a salmon moving up the river.
  – Yes! Leila breathed. – Yes!
  For once Janet had turned the table on her, but Leila didn’t care. She had her attention cast forward almost every single moment.
  – I guess the various portals have called me my entire life, she acknowledged. – I’ve always been restless, never truly settled in any brief-home. My boyfriend wanted to get married. I said yes, but decided on a whim to participate in the Sao Paulo triathlon instead. He got the message.
  – I remember, Stuart said. – You were far more excited than the rest of us. It was almost as if you suspected that you would never return.
  – As stated, I almost didn’t make it to the boat, Leila whispered, – but when I ran flat out in my desperate attempt to do that, it felt like the most important thing in my life.
  The drive started out normal enough, with the roads not being too bad, but they turned progressively worse the higher the old bus climbed. It started raining and the road resembled a stretch of mud, even though the ground didn’t turn that soft, not beyond a certain point. There were trees, trees with green leaves surrounding them. It felt totally out of place, but there it was.
  The driver hummed a melody. He couldn’t sing. Whatever came out of his mouth sounded totally out of tune. Afterglow still heard the music and her eyes grew distant again, and she started humming as well. The driver stopped and she continued. Leila joined in as well. They easily started singing in tune.
  It had stopped raining, and the ground was dry and dusty, and the valley was far down there, and the road didn’t exactly grow wider.
  – This is it, an excited Caphie cried from the back of the bus.
  They looked outside, and they felt like the bus could slide off the ridge at any time, imagining that they heard the sound of it doing that all the time. The road had literally been dug into the mountain, carved out of the rock. The dusty road was wide enough for one small bus exactly and that was it. Josie leaned out of the window and the vehicle threatened to tilt, and fall down, down into the vast ravine. Josie quickly returned inside.
  – Its reputation is more than justified, Leila shuddered.
  But her eyes glowed in excitement and anticipation.
  – Close the windows, Afterglow told them.
  After the road took a turn to the right, they spotted a small waterfall flooding the road, making the ground even more treacherous. The water splashed the roof and would have practically drowned them if the windows had remained open.
  They arrived at Rekong Peo, a city quite different from Shimla not long after noon. There were distinct traces of western influence here as well, but only traces,
advertising and such.
  – I will find lodging for us, Dipda said.
  Afterglow stopped her with a wave.


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Monday, September 09, 2019

The walkers in shadow


  When a rock is smashed against rock, there is a spark. That particular spark fades quickly without nourishment, but when it lands in dry grass or hay or wood, it becomes a fire, and if there is sufficient mass of those things, the fire might become an inferno…
  The modern story about the Janus Clan begins in the Sixties against a backdrop of political and social upheaval and ends forty years later, when that upheaval has turned even more pronounced.
  It begins with troubled and insecure youths and ends with troubled, assertive and beyond passionate adults no longer taking shit from anyone. In their teens, they were angst, uncertainty and rage. The first two are gone, but fortunately, the rage remains.
  Forty years of ferocity, terror, passion, life beyond anything this world has ever seen.
  Ted, Linda, Liz, Iris and the rest of the modern-day shadowwalkers experience the Sixties, the seventies, the eighties, the nineties and the zeroes through their looking glass of red and fire and pale shadow.
  They touch and ponder the deepest of questions, find the most profound and crucial answers. There’s no rock they don’t turn, no secret they don’t expose. They illuminate every dark corner, shadow all bright days, paint all gray surfaces with all the colors of the rainbow. They exclude nothing, include everything life has to offer. Yes, the fire within is worth any sacrifice to keep burning.
  And when they change, like a slow-turning wheel, they also change the world, change humanity to something people have only glimpsed through the thick fog of their fears. Everything stands revealed as the inferno it is. The ravages of passion, longing and rage herald the twilight of mankind.


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 Amazon UK

 The Book Depository

 Wordery

Tuesday, September 03, 2019

Published books - Amos Keppler

 The main webpages for my novels and collections of poetry.

Red Shadow and Other Stories

My anthology.

Season of the Witch

A London-fantasy about our deepest self.

Thunder Road - Ice and Fire

My post-civilization novel.

Black Dragon

Comics as a novel.

The Nine

my world building.

Alarums of Reality

my psychotic novel.

ShadowWalk

the deepest of mysteries explored.

Dreams Belong to the Night

the ultimate tale of rebellion.

Your Own Fate

a tale of growth & realization of Self beyond any confines.

Night on Earth

a dark London tale to end all tales.

The Poetic Site

an exploration of all shades of life.

The Janus Clan

One of the most controversial series of novels ever published.

Sunday, September 01, 2019

The Twilight Realm

  In the twilight realm between night and day, sleep and awakening, my mind is ablaze with dark fire, with the power of conception.
  Constantly, consciously changing the daily chores, the daily routine, making it anything but routine, does that to me, making my muses flow and ebb like a heart.
  That, among many things is what we’re teaching here, in the circle of the Midnight Fire. The fire is always with us, but with the blazing awareness of self, that fire, those dark, pulsing flames are erupting inside, pushing itself out in the open. That’s what a witch does, pulling what is inside to the outside. He or she opens closed caskets. A witch opens everything for everybody to see and feel and experience.
  I’m floating in a sea of Shadow. It is many things. It’s the realm outside normal human perception. It is infinite space, infinite time, it is the time stream. Time is not a river, but a flood, flooding fields, forests and even mountains…

Wednesday, August 21, 2019

Page 154 of the paperback edition of The Defenseless

  Sample from my novel The Defenseless - Washington DC and a classroom in Colorado during the protests against US president Richard Nixon

  Chapter seven

  The May sun cast its light and heat at the huge gathering. Major banners swayed in the wind. The slogans written on the banners were steadily repeated by the masses:
  – AMERICA OUT OF VIETNAM. WE AMERICANS ARE FED UP WITH OUR SONS SACRIFICING THEIR LIVES FOR A DICTATORSHIP.
  And then:
  – PRESIDENT NIXON IS CORRUPT, PAID FOR AND BOUGHT BY THE MILITARY/INDUSTRIAL COMPLEX. GET RID OF THE PRESIDENT AND WE GET RID OF THE WAR. KICK NIXON OUT OF THE WHITE HOUSE.
  Several men and women stood on a platform in the midst of the seething humanity and screamed through megaphones. In the background one could glimpse the White House, surrounded by policemen and units from the army. A small, brown-haired young woman screamed:
  – Behold the Commander in Chief in his house of cards, protected by his soldiers. He doesn’t dare come to us, to descend from his throne. What a poor, pathetic coward.
  – COWARD, COWARD, COWARD.
  The TV-cameras were instantly directed at the Oval Office in the White House. Behind the impossible to break glass the familiar, wrinkled face of Richard Nixon appeared.
  In a classroom, on a TV-screen, half the country away they could all see every furrow in that face.
  – Damn, Linsey Kendall said very pleased. – That girl certainly gave him a nice slap in the face. Too bad we’re not there with her, with them, don’t you agree?
  Ted Cousin grunted something unintelligible, but another boy, who couldn’t avoid hearing what Linsey said virtually jumped from his chair, his face red in anger.
  – So, you would have wanted to be there, huh? He asked furiously. – So, you’re siding with those freaks?
  – They’re not freaks, Linsey protested. – They’re…
  – Linsey, Paul, the teacher interrupted them sharply. – We’ll discuss this broadly and thoroughly afterwards. I think most of

Tuesday, August 13, 2019

Time for a new Artists against Apartheid

  I remember it well. Margaret Thatcher, Ronald Reagan and all the world’s reactionary forces were furious and the very air sizzled and burned before, during and after the event.
  Thirty-one years ago, at Wembley in London the world’s foremost rock musicians performed at a concert in honor of Nelson Mandela and his 70th birthday called Artists against Apartheid. Mandela was still imprisoned at the time. He was released less than two years later, and the South African apartheid-regime disappeared from the government in 1994.
  A similar concert directed at the Israeli apartheid regime is overdue. If many musicians and performers told the Zionist government of Israel to fuck off, many others would dare to do so as well. There might even be a watershed moment where Israel could no longer dictate international politics, and the Palestinians’ freedom and return from exile would be that much closer.
  BDS is important, and has worked well, but it is time to take the fight against the beyond cruel and brutal Zionist regime one step further. Zionist hasbara (propaganda) must be challenged head on.

  A bit of paraphrasing here:
  «Israel is the only country in the world that has apartheid enshrined in its constitution. There is a message from all of us, all of you, from the sons and daughters of Palestine to the Israeli government and establishment that it is time for a change».

  Palestine has many victims and freedom fighters similar to Steven Biko and Nelson Mandela, men, women and children that have been kidnapped, imprisoned, tortured, maimed and killed by the Israeli colonization and occupation regime.

«You can blow out a candle
but you can’t blow out a fire
once the flame begins to catch
the wind will blow it high»
Biko - Peter Gabriel


Thursday, August 08, 2019

page 88 - The Defenseless

  Sample from my novel The Defenseless - Chicago during the protests in August 1968



completely, not even close to completely.
  – We’ve done nothing wrong, Bobby Seale cried. – Nothing but exercising the constitutional right and duty to protest we are given at birth as citizens of a supposedly free country. We have been attacked verbally for months now, through media and from fat politicians seeing their «hard won» positions threatened. And now the oppressors and their eager servants have come full circle, by attempting to break every bone in our body, in last ditch attempts to finally break our spirit. People of all colors, all «creeds» are rising up against injustice, against oppression, all over the world. We are not alone, people. Our brothers and sisters are with us… In short… pick up a gun, pull the spike from the wall, because if you pull it out and you shoot well, all I’m gonna do is pat you on the back and say: Keep on Shooting.
  The Black Panther Chairman held up a fist, and a lot of the people present, black, white, yellow or red did the same.
  – Let’s pay a visit to the fine building over there. David Dellinger bent over the microphone and raised his voice. – Where the decision-makers, the insane makers are having a fit, sweating their heart out. It’s about time.
  Well over a thousand people divided from the main body and followed up on Dellinger’s calling, and joined him on the east sidewalk on Columbus Drive on his way to the hotel. The crowd filled the sidewalk. Not long afterwards the police stopped the march. A man several policemen would later swear was Abbie Hoffman, (in spite of him being in custody at the time) instructed the crowd to disperse into units of five and ten people and then do their utmost to penetrate any shielding, any defense put up by the police or security guards, and generally do as much disruption as possible. Then, the police attacked in force and superior numbers, once more using clubs and teargas grenades. Everything turned red and gray.
  Ted and Linda had sought refuge in an abandoned building south of the park. They were both shaking in rage and turmoil raged inside them.
  She touched his head with a shaking hand.
  – You’re injured, let me…
  – No, no, it isn’t my blood. Believe me, I can tell.

Sunday, March 24, 2019

Author's word - Lewis of Modern York


  The past is with us, wherever we go, no matter how hard we try putting it to rest.
  Yes, we remember places we’ve never been, events we’ve never experienced. We’re taught to forget, no matter how much we need to remember.
  Cities like New York are steeped in memories far older than the cities themselves. They don’t forget, even if its people believe they do.

  I started writing this story in my head more than forty years ago, like I did with all the books in the Janus Clan series. It has evolved a bit, but basically stayed the same. The scenery is basically a result of my visit in 1980, with a few blanks filled in later. My visit to York in England a few years later brought additional scenery to the story. I made the connection easily, in more ways than one. The story practically fledged out itself.
  New York City didn’t really make much of an impact on me, not compared to London and other cities later. Tall, giant spires have never impressed me, but have, on the contrary been a rather bland detail in a major city. Everything truly important, the way I see it, happens on street level, where people breathe and gasp and exist and live.
  I always add something unplanned while I’m writing a given story, mostly details, but also broader strokes, and I did that here as well. I knew where to start. Liz and Ted seek out long lost family members, while dealing with what they can never forget, and in the process meet quite a few people important to their past, present and future.
  The tapestry is painted further with both broad and narrow strokes. We are halfway there, now, and the story pauses a bit, before moving on, gearing up for the end of the long walk. The first ten years or so have been told. The next thirty is waiting just around the corner, in the mist and the shadows far ahead.
  And at the end of the long desert walk… awaits the dragon.