In the jungle the mighty jungle,

the iguana sleeps tonight.

Pink flamingo and his partner were born in 1978. They can live to be 50 years old.

A parrot grooming himself.

And the gods watching over it all.



Victoria Butterfly Garden more here
www.darlenejonesauthor.com

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BLURB My face is on every television, in every newspaper. They say I’m saving the world. I know better. I’m a school principal not a superhero.

Of course that doesn’t explain the blood on my hands. Or the strange languages coming out of my mouth. Or the feel of swinging a machete. Or the sensation of lifting off the ground before I lose all memory.

Someone or something has hijacked my life. How do I get it back?

Alien contact leads to adventure and love as the characters involve themselves in world affairs in this science fiction novel series. But are humans given second chances after our superhero fights war or will the gods decide our fate?

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BLURB I do what I do to make the world a better place because of these visions I had when I was a kid. I’m sort of invincible too. Crazy, huh? And I’ve found my promised soulmate. Victor doesn’t believe he’s the one. Not yet, anyway.

Damn, damn, damn. I’ve been kidnapped. Victor will find me. He has to. Doesn’t he? The visions can’t be wrong.

With her bodyguards in the hospital it’s up to her watcher, the ex-cons, her dad, and friends to save her. Will they and her soulmate come to the rescue in time or will her delusions be her ruin?

EMPOWERED EXCERPT

“Okay, Unc, I’m dying of curiosity. What do you need?”

“Anything and everything you can find on Brian Berdin.” Maria’s eyebrows rose.

“The Mr. Berdin!”

“Yes.”

“Jeez, what’d he do? Rob a bank or something?”

“Nothing like that.” Nick grinned. “If I tell you why, can you keep it a secret?”

“From Mom and Grandma too?” Nick nodded. He could see the wheels turning. Maria loved subterfuge and wanted to be a police detective like him. He was confident she would keep his secret when many adults wouldn’t.

“He offered me a job.”

“What?” she squealed and then clapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry Unc. I better be quiet or the boys will be in here and you know how they blab everything.”

“The chief recommended me for the job and I met with Mr. Berdin yesterday morning.”

“Were you nervous?” Maria asked. “I mean it being Mr. Berdin and all.”

“Yeah,” Nick admitted. “Who the hell wouldn’t be, Kiddo?”

“So when do you start?”

“I’m going to say no.”

“But, a chance to work for Berdin? Are you sure you want to give that up? I know you love being a cop but jeez, couldn’t you take a leave from work or something and try it anyway?”

“It’s tempting but, no.”

“But …” Maria stopped when Nick frowned at her. “Okay, okay, but if you’re not going to take the job, why do you want the info?”

“He made me an offer and I feel that I have to at least do the research to be fair before I give him my answer.” Maria nodded agreement. Nick knew that would make sense to her moral code too. What he didn’t tell her was just how tempting the offer was. He could buy a place for his mother, send her on a holiday to visit family in Italy, and ease the financial strain for Angie, Maria, and the boys. God, to do all that; to have real cash flow, no money worries. Much to his chagrin, he hadn’t been able to put the financial side of it out of his mind. “Also, see what, if anything, you can find on Jasmine Wade.”

“His sleepover?”

“Maria!”

“Give it up Unc. I know all about that stuff.”

“You kids grow up too fast,” he muttered as he studied the little girl become woman. How had that happened? Just yesterday she was a miniature of her mother.

Maria groaned. “I’m almost fifteen for heaven’s sake, not a baby. You sound just like Mom.”

“Okay, okay.” Nick held his hands up in surrender.

“Did you see Miss Wade? What’s she like? What was she wearing? Are her eyes really that green? I mean, in pictures they look brilliant. Is she as beautiful in real life as in her pictures?”

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Blurb

My face is on every television, in every newspaper. They say I’m saving the world. I know better. I’m a school principal not a superhero. 

Of course that doesn’t explain the blood on my hands. Or the strange languages coming out of my mouth. Or the feel of swinging a machete. Or the sensation of lifting off the ground before I lose all memory.

Someone or something has hijacked my life. How do I get it back? 

Alien contact leads to adventure and love as the characters involve themselves in world affairs in this science fiction novel series. But are humans given second chances after our superhero fights war or will the gods decide our fate? 

Excerpt

“Sue,” Tom called. “You here?”

“In the supply room. Gotta check the back-up tapes. What do you need?”

“The Boss in?”

“Haven't seen her.”

Tom took a step back, and surveyed the office. “Her door's closed. Coast is clear. Listen Sue, what's up with her?”

Sue shrugged. “I don't know. She's been vague and forgetful lately. Not like her at all.”

“Loses her train of thought. Did you notice her struggling for words at the staff meeting? That's not like her at all. Normally sharp as a tack.”

Sue glanced out the door. Two teachers were passing through the office on their way to the staff room. She waited until they'd gone and lowered her voice. “Do you think we should talk to her?”

“I tried. As diplomatically, as I could.” Sue arched her brows. Tom chuckled. “Okay, so I asked her outright if she was okay.”

“And?”

“I don't know. It was like she didn't hear me. Like she was someplace else.”

“Do you think we should call her family?”

“Yeah, you should.”

“Me!?”

She didn't need to overhear that conversation to know she was slipping away. Away to that other world.

And later in the story:

She picked up the phone, dialed Tom's room. “Can you come to my office please?”

“What's up, Boss. You sounded worried and I don't mind telling you, you look like hell.”

She took a deep breath. “Do you believe in extraterrestrial beings?”

“Whoa, girl. Where did that come from?”

She shifted in her chair. “I... Nothing. Sorry. It was a bad dream I had last night. Spooked me is all.”

Tom frowned. “Are you sure you're not sick or something?”

She nodded. “Yeah, sorry to have bothered you.” She waved a hand at him. “Now get out of here. Back to the kidlets.” Her grin was wobbly.

Tom grinned back, but felt like cursing. He found Sue refilling her coffee cup in the staffroom. “She's not okay, is she?”

“No, and I don't mind telling you I'm worried sick. She asked me today if I believed in aliens and then seemed heart broken when I said no. I thought she'd burst into tears then and there.”

“So what do we do?”

“I've called her family like you suggested last time we talked. Waiting to hear back.”

Tom squeezed Sue's shoulder. “Let me know as soon as you get word. I'll go with you to talk to them.”

Wanted: Book Assassin

Yes, you read right. Please come and bash my books. Tell everyone they are anti-religion, profane, and wicked. The louder you yell, the more strident you are, the better. Tell the world they’re more than sci-fi with otherworldly beings. Say that the action and love story are a ruse to disguise subversive social commentary.

Someone needs to write to the New York Times and complain about my books, slam them for all depravities contained therein. I don’t really care what you say as long as it garners attention.

Oh, wait. It would be best to brand them anti-Christian. I’d sell millions. Just ask Dan Brown. Religious controversy worked for him.

I didn’t think I’d written anything controversial until readers gave me feedback. Some say my books are very anti-religion. Others ask if Yves is God. I admit that my goal was to get people thinking about world conditions. But, such strong responses from what started out to be an adventure romance with a little sci-fi thrown in for the magical element it could bring to the story?  

These reactions startled me and beg the questions for authors.

Is there anything controversial in your book?

Should there be anything controversial in your book?

Can your novel be successful without controversy?

I’ve heard it said that if you want to stay friends with someone, you must avoid three topics—sex, politics, and religion. Is the same true for novels?

Doesn’t seem so when it comes to sex. Many novels, certainly not just in the romance genre, are replete with sex and they sell.

Novels featuring political themes are popular too. Who doesn’t love the intrigue of political machinations? Add some sex and you’ve got a best seller on your hands and, in real life, juicy headlines that threaten to topple even those highest on the ladder.

And religious controversy in books … well, remember Salman Rushdie?  

Controversy grabs attention. Controversy sets people talking and arguing. Controversy sells.

Should an author deliberately write something to cause controversy? And, if so, what? 

The Hero Confronts the Author

“Okay, Mrs. Jones, here’s the thing,” Yves said. “You put me in your books for the magic solutions I could bring to Earth, right?”

“Exactly,” I replied. “We need you down here to stop wars, get rid of the guns, and …, well, I don’t really need to explain. You can see for yourself that Earth needs a whole lot of fixing.”

“No question. But with so much to do, why did you pick me? Why not one of the more experienced Powers? I’m a rookie on my first assignment. I’m bound to mess up.”

I had to chuckle. Of course he’d mess up. In fact he’d mess up for four whole novels before he got it right. I didn’t tell him that of course. Wouldn’t do for him to know about his future. “Trust me. You’re the one for this job.”

Yves stomped a foot. The most emotion I’d seen from him so far. So he could get mad. Good. He’d need emotions, a whole lot of them, to do the job well. In fact all of those supreme beings up there needed to loosen up or what would the universe come to?

“How can you say that?” His voice rose to a sort of adolescent squeak. “Look at the mess I’ve made of things already. I’ve sent Em out on dangerous missions and haven’t even been able to communicate with her. I can’t let her know she won’t be hurt no matter what happens. How am I supposed to live with her questions and her fears knowing I’m the cause? Look at her!” His voice rose again. “She’s fighting. Hand to hand combat. Blood all over the place.” He blinked and Em’s gi pants and t-shirt glowed spotlessly white in the mud and blood and mire of the battle.

I rubbed my hands together. Oh, this was good. Really good. Tension on every page just like the experts said. “Don’t worry,” I said. “It will all work out okay.”

Yves breathed a sigh of relief.

“Or not,” I said.

Yes, writing is fun. A lot of work too, but when you have multidimensional characters, a complex plot line, the realities of the world mixed with a bit of magic…. Well, what more could an author ask for?

Near death experience and writing

Being a pedestrian hit by a car means multiple injuries and critical condition, but it’s not all doom and gloom. Well, okay, 99.9% of it is, but there are a few bright humorous moments.

I know I’m lying on the ground in the middle of the road. “Where are my kids? Where are my kids?” I open my eyes and see my son bending over me.

“It’s okay, Mom. We’re right here.”

“Where’s my purse? Where’s my purse.”

I can’t see my daughter, but I hear her say, “It’s okay, Mom. I have it right here.”

So, you see, I have my priorities in the right order.

In the emergency room, I say, “I wear contacts.”

A nice young intern hovers over me. “It’s okay, we took them out.” He holds a contact lens case a couple of inches from my eyes. “See, I have them right here.” Maybe he’s not so nice after all. Or, maybe I’ve been babbling a little too much?

Weeks later I’m transferred from the trauma unit to the rehabilitation hospital. I lie in bed with casts from the top of my legs to the tips of my toes. My right arm has been so badly dislocated that it’s useless.

A nurse comes in to tell me I’ll be going to physio and occupational therapy. Physio first. I’m taken to a room that looks like something out of the Spanish inquisition. Weird contraptions on the walls, with belts and straps and hooks that menace the helpless patient.

“Mrs. Jones, what are you doing here?” says a bright young thing I recognize as a former junior high student.

“Sandra, what are you doing here?”

“I’m your physiotherapist.”

I look again at the instruments of torture. “Oh, God, I hoped you liked me.” Turns out we get along just fine.

One evening the tall skinny nurse’s aide who is my favorite staff member offers to give me a shower.

“How can we do that?” I ask gesturing to my casts. Not a problem for her. She wraps both my legs in green garbage bags, wheels me on a gurney to the shower room, proceeds with a shampoo, and sprays the top half of my body. Never has a shower felt so good.

She dries me off, combs my hair, and removes the garbage bags. No problem with the first one, but when she pulls the second one off, she’s left holding the bag and my cast. We stare at my leg. She quickly slides the cast back on. We don’t tell a soul, but we hardly dare look at each other after that afraid we’ll burst into laughter.

And one last … what shall I call it…? … incident. I’ve progressed to walking casts, and am sitting on the edge of my bed naked. I’ve given myself a sponge bath and am about to get dressed. I hear a sound behind me. I turn to see a young window washer grinning from ear to ear. There’s not a heck of a lot I can do. I smile and wave. He turns beet red.

And for the 99.9% of bad bits. They do not need to be relived.

What has any of this got to do with my writing? Not a heck of a lot. Or, perhaps, everything. At some point in the emergency room, I saw myself walking back across the street wearing different clothes. My spiritual friend said that I was bringing myself back from the brink of death. I didn’t see lights or tunnels or angels, but I did experience an incredible calm and I am no longer afraid of death.

If you asked me, I’d say I was an atheist, yet my novels are all about deities. If you asked, I’d say I don’t believe in heaven, yet my novels encompass a heaven. If, before I began writing, you’d asked me what I would write, I never would have said novels about gods controlling Earth, gods interacting with humans, gods trying to set things right.

I don’t know if my stories are shaped by cultural conditioning or if somewhere, deep inside, I do truly believe. Perhaps I’ll never know. That’s okay with me. I’ll continue to live my life as I know it should be lived and I’ll continue to write. What new novels might bring will likely, once again, be a surprise to me.