Whew!

Okay! I was wrong. I don't have a subscription service yet. I had someone test it and it opened a page up on UNLV instead of my blog. How that happened is way beyond my knowledge. I was using Mail chimp. So am going to look to another service. Google's email subscription service is screwy now too since they discontinued upgrading it, so I will look elsewhere.

I apologize if anyone has subbed and gotten nothing so far.

If you know of any good services I could use to offer feeds to my site, or subs, please email me at:
realmsword@cox.net

First three people to send me suggestions I can use will get two of my new books. Just state what format you prefer so I can send something you can use.

Thanks.

John

Hi everyone!

I'm doing my usual weekend break, but I'm working on updating this blog to be more fun to visit and more useful as well.

By Monday I'll begin posting links to public domain novels that are stories I've found exciting and have helped me over time as a writer.

The first one is "War of the Worlds."

I'll be providing a link to the novel.

As time allows I'll make ebook versions of the stories so you can download the entire book effortlessly.

I've also added a bookstore for the stories I've written so far. I'll add to that as I complete my works.

For those of you who haven't checked Nuggets yet, it's a page devoted to writers I love and who have influenced me and the fields of fantasy, adventure and science fiction they excel in.

Coming soon are: Perehelion and Invaders of the Cowboy Skies. Both are strong adventure tales packed with science-fiction, mystery, suspense, humor and most of all lots of fun. Born of my experience with the Saturday morning serials such as Flash Gordon, Batman, Superman and Captain Video. My homage to the past.

Also, coming soon, I'll have a new blog devoted to children's stories for those of you who have little ones, or know someone who does. It'll be totally devoted to the younger ones, complete with my own illustrations and stories. My first story will be about the life of Mister Po, a cute character, who lives in a world most of us wish existed, but for him actually does.

Mister Po checking out the skies.

P.S. I'm getting ready to add an email sub service. If you would like to be on it, please send me your contact  information to: realmsword@cox.net. I'll put you on the list the moment it's up and running.

Also, please let me know if you would prefer to have the posts delivered once a day, or weekly.
Thanks!

So until Monday when I continue my take on War of the Worlds, have a great weekend.

Best.

John Pirillo

It was on one of those solitaire sojourns beneath the glistening gold tower of the Eiffel that he first met Wells. Jules had been eating a pastry his mother and he had made together. She had insisted he eat all of it, making sure that she added some sausage into it, as well as the creamy topping he liked so much made of honey.

“What’s that?” Wells had asked in his rather stiff, and proper English accent.

Jules had looked up, his mouth quite stuffed with pastry, with topping oozing around the corners of his lips and said profoundly. “Mmmph?”

Wells had broken into laughter. Jules had thought he was making fun of him and was ready to jump up and stuff the pastry between Wells’ ears, until Wells flopped down beside him, and offered a different sort of pastry made of whole ground wheat and topped with raspberries.

Jules eyes bugged out. “You have raspberries?” He asked, his pastry spitting out as he tried to talk and swallow at the same time.

Wells nodded his head, then did a remarkable thing. He split the pastry in two and offered Jules half. And that did it. Their friendship was sealed in gold. And never to be broken.

Jules accepted the offering, setting his own pastry aside to savor the raspberries, eating each one as if they were the last his lips would ever touch. When he had finished those, he nibbled at the pastry proper, relishing the deep brown sugar that was thickly addressed to its sides with his tongue, and then gulping it down before it could melt away.

In between their snacks the two boys covertly examined each other. Jules noted that Wells had a kind of dark look to him, besides the obvious hair color. It was like he was a storm waiting to happen. Later on, Jules would remember that first insight when Wells burst into one of his famous tempers. But Wells  was not an unjust person. His anger was not generally reserved for the innocent, but rather those things he couldn’t change, or those things he wanted to change, but hadn’t found a way to yet. He, just like Jules, loved writing. He had read all the eclective literature of his time from Asimov, Heinlein, Disney, Pixar and the late, but great Lucas and Spielberg, one of the finest writing teams on the planet that ever lived.

There wasn’t a child alive who hadn’t read one of the team’s super stories about beings from other worlds and wars between distant galaxies.

In fact it was those two that had urge Wells to pursue his own story “War of the Worlds,” about the Atlanteans and Lemurians who had demolished each other and ruined most of the planet in their efforts to conquer the other.

He had described the Atlanteans as giants with a third eye in the middle of their forehead, and the Lemurians as winged creatures that resembled humans, but had foul temper and no love of life whatsoever, even going so far as to eat their own kind when annoyed with them.

That had set his mother in fits of terror after reading it. “People eating people.” Oh, Wells, that’s just horrible! No civilized being would ever do such a thing.”

I've been receiving some email asking about subscribing. Google Blogs are about to lose their subscription services from Google, so I am looking for a reliable service to do this so your subs won't be interrupted or break down.

In the meanwhile I will be posting every night Monday through Friday and taking the weekends off, with perhaps a surprise or two on occassion.

Thanks for your support.

Happy reading.

John

P.S.

Look towards the bottom right for the portion of War of the Worlds I posted tonight. I have posted twice tonight.

John

    Jules preened under her admiring glance. “But of course, or it would be no fun.”

    And so they had all dessed up in their outdoors clothing, as it was drizzily that day and made their way to the bakery shop up Andelay Street. There Montclief the Chef brought out a tray of sweets he always kept for that special time when his customers needed to be naughty.

    He plied the family with raspberry tarts, strawberry tarts, lemon squares, cherry froths and his specially made crèmes, which he nearly froze in his basement with ice left over from the Winter a few months ago.

    Jules, again, etched this memory into his brain, knowing someday it would become precious. It was not that he could see into the future, but he had overhead his parents sometimes at night, remembering their youth and the things of importance they had forgotten and wished they could remember, but were long gone.

    Jules had promised himself that he would always treasure his past as much as he valued his present, and later the future. He was a child of the moment, and a man of the present. A young man true. But a man, nevertheless. For in the France of that time young men of thirteen to fourteen were treated as adults, and often would step into the shoes of their fathers to take their paths in life.

    Anyway, getting back on topic, forgive me my delays in getting back to the delicate and sweet Marie. She was in the forefront of the naturalist movement, as group of  French leaders who believed that food was next to God, but had to be administered properly, or it would become the devil’s playground…causing such horrible things as Javier’s missing toes, or Grand Ma’s black growth on her scalp, or the horrible smelling things between one’s toes and fingernails.

“Cleanliness and nutrition are the next best thing to godliness, Junior, she would tell him in her sweet, lilting voice.” And he believed her, even as he believed Jules Senior when he boasted of chasing a dinosaur across the Antartic ice for its precious oils. After all, everyone knew that dinosaur oil was the most healthy drink one could consume for one’s health. Though sometimes when he went into the local pharmacy he was puzzled that he never saw any dinosaur oil advertised there. He had asked the pharmacist and been told only Old Timers could purchase it. He had said that with such a strange grin that Jules thought he was pulling his leg, and as he grew older he came to understand what dinosaur oil really was and laughed at his youthful naivety.

But despite all those incredible uplifting moments, Jules found himself lingering longer and longer in the park beneath the Eiffel Tower, savoring all the different personalities of people who strolled, ran, hopped, skipped, cleaned, patrolled, and did the countless thousand other things humanity did moment to moment, and day to day.

Jules was becoming a writer and his ability to observe was being honed, not only by his exquisite diet of fatherly and motherly advise, but by his own inclination to go beyond what was expected of his personal education. To go beyond what people said, to what people truly meant, and what their actions foretold with subtle movements, such as a glimpse, a nod, a dismissal.

Chenie shook a finger at her father. “Naughty. Naughty!”

  

    They shook their heads. “The Ministry of Defense!”

    Jules and Chenie jumped up and down for several minutes, yelling at the top of their lungs, while the family sat at the table quietly watching with amusement.  Finally, they sat down, picked up their fallen napkins and placed them properly back in their laps again.

    “Sorry, Mama. Sorry, Papa.” Chenelle said quietly.

    “Not me!” Jules burst out and let out another whoop of happiness.

    Needless to say Jules was relegated to clean up duty that night. And cleaning up after a family of six is no easy task, especially when it’s a six course meal like tonight was. Jules carefully cleaned each piece of silverware after letting them soak in boiling water for about thirty minutes, then placed them in their slide out drawer his father had made for his mother. He called it the “Utensils drawer.”

    Jules asked him if he had ever tried to sell the idea. Jules Senior’s eyebrows arched high on his forehead, indicating the thought had never struck him, then answered. “But if I sold the idea, then everyone else would have it and I would no longer have the pride of owning the only one.”
   
    “So it’s pride is more important than sharing?” Jules had asked innocently.

    Marie had stepped in then to save him. “Your father knows what’s best for his family, doesn’t he, mon Cherie.” She said, pinching his right cheek playfully. He turned around and gave her a swing around the kitchen as if dancing with her, while the children rushed in to watch. They began clapping their hands, and soon they were all dancing with each other.

    Jules would always remember those peaceful happy nights, because a day would come when they no longer existed.  But at that time, and in that moment, his heart was full of delight and warmth as only the member of a contented family could experience.

    The next morning Marie had asked Jules Senior to watch the kids while she went to her Naturalist Meeting. She was the Chairman. He gave her a peck and with a smile shooed her on the way. He winked at the kids. “Since it’s summer and the cat is away, perhaps the mice will play?”
Jules and Chenie were heroes at the dinner table that night. When the father and mother looked at the cards, they were flabbergasted. “My God, you children know whom just bought  your work?”

Okay, Day two of War of the Worlds. Hope you're enjoying this. While you're reading this new short novel, I'm already working on the idea for a new story, which I will tease some ideas about as we get to the midpoint of this one.

Also, if you haven't already done so, take a look at the Nugget section of my blog. I'm posting pictures and information on well known and perhaps not as well known authors who have influenced me over the years, and whom I think you might enjoy reading.

Best.

John

NOW ONTO: WAR OF THE WORLDS

   “Jules, a man of Letters will go much further in the modern world, than a Chef. Perhaps someday there will come a time when a Chef will be seen by all the world and then his fame will occlude that of a writer, but that seems an impossibility at this time.” She said brightly.

    Jules immediately perked up, his head full of ideas, just like their oven was filled with cup cakes at that time. “Imagine this, Mom, a device that will hold a man’s face within it and project it around the world so everyone can see it.”

    His mother had given him a hug of delight. “You’re so creative, Jules. No matter what you choose to do, I know you will be a success, and no matter you choose I will love you no more and no less.” She said proudly, then leaned closer to whisper. “But don’t tell your dad that, he’ll use it against me.”

    At the time Jules didn’t know what she meant, but as the years peeled away from his youth and his adventures grew, he came to understand the meaning of many things which had eluded him in his youth.

    Jules fondness for his mother was only exceeded by his fondness for inventing. He and his sister, Chenie, as he called Chenelle, would go out back into the tool shed and weasel various components of old stoves, pipes, bolts, wire, and whatever they could find and make things. Their father and mother thought it unusual for them to take on such a hobby, as most siblings, especially male and female didn’t want to be together so much, but Jules and Chenie were like hand and glove.

    One day they proudly built a new kind of dog house. It was built so that wherever the dog was a door in it could open. They called it the automatic dog house. Jules and Chenie sat in front of their  house one weekend and tried to sell it. Their father and mother watched from the bedroom balcony with amusement, until one elderly gentleman stopped to take a look at the house. His face was all red and puffy from his exertions. He was quite overweight. He listened to the children explain what the device was for, then he took out a card and handed it to Chenie, and then one to Jules. Next, he gave them each ten francs. Whistling, he gathered up the doghouse under one arm and walked off.

Tonight begins a short novel that takes place in an alternate reality, where the Martians aren't really Martians, and H.G.Wells and Jules Verne are the heroes of an invasion that baffles the imagination and challenges the soul.

Join me in:

WAR OF THE WORLDS

Preface:

For a long time humanity appeared as if it would disappear off the face of the planet, the Martian War Machines destroyed anything and everything that moved. They were ruthless and cruel as no one could ever have imagined in their wildest dreams. Their experimentation on human beings went far beyond any tales of terror from the World Wars of old. No, they were a race of cold, calculating beings, whose intellect was so remote from the simplest of human feelings and emotions, that the word compassion, kindness, friendship, love and sympathy just didn’t exist.

Into that world H.G.Wells and Jules Verne forged a friendship that would last and endure many hardships.

And so as we near the end of an apocalyptic century, the story can finally be told about those horrible years when humanity came close to extinction and no amount of prayers to God seemed to change that. For man had chosen a dark path to follow and it was only natural that Dark Masters would be attracted from across the universe to seek and find him and to war against him, even as mankind warred against its own self, the ground it lived upon and the air it breathed.

And in the end it was indeed the work of God that saved humanity, but only once mankind had become humbled so greatly that he would finally listen to the one friend he had always had.

Volume One: The Forever Friends

Chapter One: The Authors

Jules was a mild mannered man, far from the more adventurous image his stories cast upon the world and its hungry readers of his fantastic adventures. Born in Paris, France, to poor parents, he was never one to seek attention, but somehow always got it anyway.

His parents, Franco and Marie Verne, were famous writers and artists. They had chosen early on in their marriage to split the duties of script and brush to create harmony and balance the needs of the family to the needs of making an earnest and rewarding living. Franco Pierre Emile Verne  was a large man with steep sideburns and a large bushy beard, which his mother would call the burning bush sometimes because he would catch it on fire from time to time when he lit his pipe to smoke.

Marie was the sensitive one and Jules got that side from her, but his father was a fisherman of tales, always throwing bigger and bigger stories back into the waters because of his seemingly endless backlog of adventures only he could imagine. Jules was born with a dash of Marie and a huge helping of his father Jules Senior.

Jules Senior always put his son to bed with a huge story, complete with multiple characters and places of exotic interest. Marie, on the other hand, would have Jules or Junior as she would call him, help her in the kitchen. There in her splendid world, he learned about the craft of spices, and how just the right amount of parsley, and sage could improve the taste of beef. And the holding back of salt would stop the food from making you so thirsty afterwards.

    His sisters, Marie, Chenelle, and Julie made fun of him because he was so set on becoming a master chef. He loved story telling, but it was evident from early on that food was a direction he would probably end up mastering a career in. His father loved the idea, but his mother encouraged him to write.