Mitch Wilde was a smart-ass and a jokester, but he knew his eyes weren’t deceiving him when he saw some strange things in Outlaw River, Oregon. And for a while he kept them to himself.
The Outlaw River Wilde by Mike Walters is a suspenseful excursion through an X-files and Ancient Aliens genre with a few surprises thrown in. His retinue of characters are familiar, comfortable, and engaging beginning with the protagonist, Mitch Wilde, an active and young at heart middle-ager, and his wife, Mabey, who is his attractive, well-liked, common sense counterpart. Jack (Mitch’s close friend since high school) has a near death experience at a neighborhood barbecue and begins behaving oddly in the aftermath. In the backdrop is an eccentric and sage-like neighbor, Jasper, who keeps to himself, but has connected with Mitch and eventually confides some enlightening details of his own.
After a bike-ride spill in the woods, Mitch believes the cause to be an errant arrow nicking his shoulder which sets him off balance both literally and figuratively. The arrow mishap is not so unusual except for the Native American Indian on a white horse he observes across the river who seems to be watching him, and then disappears. When the strange arrow seems to dissolve, later the dots are connected when local Native Americans seem, too, to dissolve into thin air without explanation.
As Mitch and his partner in crime, Jasper, attempt to sort out all of the peculiar events that unfold, other members of the community become more fearful. Walters finally poises the reader on the brink of answers when the two men investigate in stealthy fashion the government-restricted Crater Lake where earlier Mitch recorded alien beings on his camera. A harrowing rescue and an urgency to return to Outlaw River drive the final thrilling scene toward a much anticipated sequel!
Who of us, at one time or another, hasn’t wondered if we’re alone in the universe? Mitch Wilde never had until a failed attempt at pulling an arrow out of his best friend Jack’s shoulder began a string of strange and unexpected events in the small Pacific Northwest Town of Outlaw River.
When Native Americans start vanishing throughout the country and re-appearing in strange places on horseback, Mitch is challenged in ways he never dreamed. In addition, who are the uninvited strangers ransacking some of their homes? Added to this, Jack has taken to odd nocturnal treks. The local sheriff releases hostility he has held against Mitch since high school and something—nobody wants to call them UFOs—has just crashed into several surrounding lakes.
Can Mitch keep himself out of jail? Can Mitch figure out what the strange entities emerging from the lake are and why? Can Mitch protect the beautiful life he and his wife Mabey worked so hard to create? Finally, can Mitch help his eccentric neighbor save the residents of Outlaw River before it’s too late?
Mike Walters and his debut novel, The Outlaw River Wilde, sprung from an idea while watching Ancient Aliens on the History channel. He intertwines his love of Native American culture and a passion for the Pacific Northwest, primarily his birth state of Oregon. Mike sat down one day and started writing. The characters and story were revealed each and every day he wrote.
“Every session was as if I were reading something new myself for the first time. It was a blast seeing what would happen next. This is why I enjoyed writing this novel so much. ”
Mike is a Director of Marketing & Product at Auto-Graphics, Inc. based in Ontario, CA. That’s California, not Canada. A-G makes software for Libraries, primarily public. So on your visit to the library, when you sit down to search for a book this is the software that A-G makes.
“I am very fortunate to work in an industry that has a meaningful impact on society. It makes going to work each and every day enjoyable. I mean who doesn’t think we need, and who doesn’t love, libraries?”
Mike learned photography as a freshman in high school and later took the passion and used it as a photographer in the United States Air Force. He loves to ride bicycles in SoCal year around, volunteers in Los Angeles at the Westside German Shepherd Rescue taking photos of the beautiful dogs, and has a passion for Micro-brews, particularly Porters and Stouts. You will frequently find him sampling, with his son Alexander, at Claremont Craft Ales, a personal favorite — or one of the many fine breweries in and around Claremont, CA. Mike is currently at work on the follow up to The Outlaw River Wilde, which will be titled – Still Wilde in the Outlaw River. The book should be out later this year or early 2016.
Gunther exited the Shack and slid into the city’s white Crown Vic cruiser. He pounded the dashboard with his right hand and cursed. He looked into the rearview mirror and was ashamed at what he saw. Gunther hated Wilde. He allowed the anger to flow. It kept potential tears at bay. He steadied his shaking hand putting the key in the ignition. The sheriff pounded the dashboard one more time for a final release.
He started the engine and backed the cruiser out. There was a screech as a car came to a skidding stop inches from his rear bumper. He shot a hateful stare at the driver in his rearview even though he was at fault. Gunther peeled his teary eyes from the mirror, placed the car in Drive, and pressed the accelerator with his highly polished police-issued black loafers.
He rubbed his forehead with the back of a still-shaking hand while looking up and down the street. He didn’t see Wilde’s Jeep so he flipped on the car’s blue and red emergency lights and aimed toward the mayor’s office.
Gunther plowed the police car into his private parking spot in front of City Hall. Outlaw River’s sheriff was immediately cleared through the security scanners and made a beeline for Mayor Jenkins’ office on the second floor.
When he surged through the outer office door he was greeted by Jenkins’s secretary, Trudy, greeted him. “Good morning, Sheriff. Mayor Jenkins is on the phone. Please wait a moment. I’ll let him know you’re here.”
Gunther grunted some utterance of disrespect and disdain, brushed past the elderly woman, barking, “He’s expecting me, Trudy, and won’t mind.”
The secretary jumped up from her seat and got close on the sheriff’s heels. She normally just rolled her eyes when he passed, but this time she was letting Gunther know this was her domain.
He didn’t slow or pause. Gunther pushed his way into the mayor’s office. He felt the damn secretary’s breath on the back of his neck, where the hair still stood in shame and anger over Mitch Wilde.
Jenkins was, indeed, on the phone. He was hanging up as Gunther entered. “Mayor Jenkins, I am so sorry, I tried to tell the sheriff that you were on the phone, but he barged right in.”
“It’s okay, Trudy, I’m done. Put my calls on hold for the next few minutes and please close the door behind you.”
“Yes, Mayor.” Trudy gave the door a satisfactory slam behind her.
“Jesus, Bob, you can’t barge in here like that. The sky better be falling. What the hell is going on?”
Gunther paced back and forth in front of Jenkins’s desk. Jenkins walked around the desk and sat on the edge. “Sit down, Gunther, and tell me what the hell is going on.”
Gunther swigged his foamy latte and sat in one of the chairs facing Jenkins. “That goddamn Wilde is pissing me off again. I want to make the asshole pay.”
“For high school still? I told you, it’s time to get over whatever happened. It was what, twenty-five years ago? Move on already, Bob. Jesus!”
“Yeah, whatever. He is just so damn arrogant. He threatened me at the Coffee Shack a few minutes ago.”
“Got up in my face and told me he was going to kick my ass if I didn’t back off.”
“Back off. Why would he say that?”
“He accused me of busting the taillight on his Jeep. Said he would gladly spend some time in jail for kicking my ass. Something along those lines.” Gunther took another drink of his latte with a steadier hand. He was finally calming down a bit. Just being in Jenkins’ presence had a soothing effect on him. He seemed to be the only one who understood him and cared about him.
Truth of the matter, Gunther knew deep down the mayor didn’t really care that much about him. He knew the relationship was more convenience for the mayor and staying on the sheriff’s good side made sense. One time the mayor had admitted the uniformed turned him on. Gunther set those thoughts aside hoping someday the mayor would genuinely care for him. He didn’t have many other options in this damn straight-laced little town.
“Well, if he really threatened you, go arrest him. You can’t let people get away with that.”
“Oh, he’d be out in less than an hour. There weren’t any witnesses.”
“If it’s that bad, make it inconvenient for him for a couple of hours, perhaps he’ll get the picture and ‘back-off’ as you want. First, tell me something before you go down this road. Did you break his light? Does this have anything to do with you shouting at him at the Shack the other day?”
Gunther stared out the window and didn’t respond.
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When John was seven, he found Candy dancing in the neighboring yard wearing a yellow polka-dot bikini and red rain galoshes, splashing and dancing and singing at the top of her lungs. She saved his throat from getting ripped out by her grandma’s guard dog. Good thing she did, too. It was John who raised the alarm that day, when the man who smiled with his mouth but not his eyes drove off with Candy in a cloud of dust. The police stopped whatever might have happened next in a seedy motel—a place Candy doesn’t dare remember. John rescued her, creating a bond between two friends strong enough to awaken…something.
Ataxia is one of those weird conditions; even the effects cannot be fully explained, but it arrived with me slowly when I was around the age of 40. A very easy way of (partly) explaining it is: While walking, my feet will only rarely land on the exact spot my brain tell them to, therefore the brain will attempt to compensate – but how much? In which direction? For how much pressure? So the brain very often gets it wrong too. Walking would normally be in an automatic mode, but I have to concentrate… Also, one of the many side-effects is that much of my memory of my younger life has randomly disappeared and co-ordination is a thing of the past.
Now that’s done with, I’ll talk about my writing. Many years ago I read the classic ‘The Time Machine’ by H. G. Wells and sometime later the early James Hebert books, (‘The Rats’ and other gory stuff), I became hooked and thought, ‘I can do that.’ But I was busy and unfortunately it became ‘mañana thing,’ then the Ataxia arrived – forcing a stop to my work, (at the time I was a photographer) and suddenly my ‘tomorrow’ came! I tried other work before accepting early retirement. While typing from a seated position (!) it took a long time to write a book with a one fingered style of typing (the co-ordination required in typing loss was almost immediate), to explain: My left hand forefinger clicks all the digits – except one – my right hand forefinger hovers over the capitalization button, ready to pounce at a moment’s notice, like a coiled spring!
The aim in my writing was to produce a new style, featuring an everyday item having a totally unrelated result of unpredictability. My book “A Disturbance in Time” spilled out of me at an exciting rate and gives a new slant on time travel – without it being the main subject of the book. The foremost character is Elizabeth and the story is telling how her fate twists and unravels in an entirely unexpected way. All three main characters have an inner strength, but their slight vulnerability turn them from book characters to real people, adding a lot of warmth to the unpredictable story.
In this disturbing, exhilarating debut novel, three apparently unconnected events and places are all mysteriously bound up across time and space… In 1668, in an isolated community in the wilds of Exmoor, a poor peasant family is terrorized by a crazed witchfinder. More than three-hundred years later, the crew of HMS Leopard welcome on board two distraught young girls, the survivors of a shipwreck off the coast of East Africa. And at the beginning of the new millennium three geeky lads build an experimental computer (during their summer school holiday), and end up with much more than they bargained for. Part fantasy, part thriller, this is a powerful novel that asks profound questions about the nature of destiny and responsibility, power and love.
How do you get along with your parents?
I’d like to say well, but the truth is they don’t really know who I am anymore, and I can’t risk telling them.
My mom treats me more or less like I might break at any moment. That’s understandable, since four years ago my parents thought I had a breakdown. I can’t tell them that what really happened was that I started to remember all of my past lives, and it took me awhile regain control over that flood of hundreds of years’ worth of memories. She thinks I’m more fragile than I am, that I might flip out again at any moment. Unfortunately, if I told her the truth, she’d be sure I’d already flipped out.
As for my dad, he can’t figure out why I’m different now. He noticed that my interests had changed after I came back from the hospital, but he wants things to go back to the way they were before. That isn’t going to happen, of course, but I can’t explain why. We’re just stuck in a perpetual state of uneasy denial, and there is no obvious way to get out of it.
With all of those problems with your parents, is there anyone you can rely on for support?
Stan is the only friend who didn’t more or less abandon me after the “breakdown.” Actually, he stayed at the hospital all the time, except when his mother ordered him home. Otherwise, nobody could have pried him out with a crowbar. He would support me if I needed it…well, except for the fact that I can’t tell him who I really am, either. Maybe someday. I’d like to; I just can’t figure out how to break that kind of news, and I have the instinctive feeling that telling anyone would seal my doom. Why I think that I couldn’t tell you, though.
Who do you most want to emulate?
I wish there were someone else in my situation that I could model myself on, but I’m not aware of anyone else in all of human history who has been in the same situation. Sure, every so often someone will claim to remember past lives, but not all of them, and not every detail. Frankly, as far as I can tell, most of the people who make that claim are just looking for attention, anyway. I doubt most of them really remember.
I suppose the only person who comes close in any of my lives is Merlin. He didn’t have past life personalities floating around in his head, but he did have to deal with being half-demon, which couldn’t have been easy. As I recall, the situation made him kind of a loner, a little bit like me now. Unfortunately, that’s where the similarity between us ends. Over the course of hundreds of lives, I’ve known many people with big problems—King David and Alexander the Great come immediately to mind—but again, they didn’t have to deal with the same situation I’m in, so I’m still stuck.
What do you want from life?
Right now, I’m ready to settle for staying alive until tomorrow. Knowing that someone is trying to kill me but not knowing who it is or how to stop that person—or thing—pretty much dominates my waking life and quite a few of my nightmares.
What do I want if I manage to survive? I don’t know anymore. The magic I have makes me very good with people and with music. I could become a rock star if I wanted to, I guess, but that feels kind of like a kids’ dream now. Of necessity I’ve had to utilize my past life skills to become good with weapons, but I don’t want to make a career out of being a mercenary. I’ve been told I have the potential to become a wizard greater than even Merlin, but to do that, I would have to give up the life I know, and I don’t want to do that. So where does that leave me in terms of future goals? Exactly nowhere.
If you were granted three wishes, what would you ask for?
Eva, Eva, and Eva. She was my girlfriend when I had my “breakdown,” but she drifted away while I was in the hospital. I think the whole experience was too intense for her to handle at that age, but by the time I got out and worked up the courage to talk to her, she was already with someone else and still is. Come to think of it, if I used two of those wishes, one to turn back time four years and the other to keep me from remembering my past lives, I wouldn’t need the third wish because Eva and I would still be together.
The way my life has been working, getting three wishes might actually be a possibility, but there would still be two problems. First, I don’t have any idea why my past life memories came back in the first place. Nothing would prevent the same thing from happening later on in life if I didn’t know how to prevent it. Second, I have no idea who is trying to kill me or why. It could be my secret enemy would have had no interest in me if I had stayed ordinary, or it could be that he or she would have come after me anyway, only as an ordinary guy I would have had no way to defend myself.
In a weird kind of way, maybe my past life memories will be what saves me in the end.
What three things would you take to a desert island?
I suppose if I said Eva, that would make me sound “stalkerish.” Since I can’t guarantee my enemy wouldn’t come after me on the island, I’d have to say White Hilt, my sword, and a couple of musical instruments. My magic is stronger with a little music to help it along.
How do you fall in love? At first sight? Over a long period?
I’ve really only fallen in love once, as you probably have guessed. Eva and I have known each other as long as I can remember. I’m sure exactly when friendship transitioned to love. I think it was in middle school, at least for me. I can’t speak for her.
What parts of loving come easy for you? Hard?
It’s been four years since Eva…well, “broke up,” doesn’t exactly capture the experience, since there was no neat, clean break-up. “Drifted apart” sounds too peaceful. “Ripped apart” might be more accurate. Anyway, loving someone from afar isn’t the same thing as having a relationship, so I can’t really comment—unless you want to talk about past life experiences, and then we would be here all day.
When you walk into a room, what do you notice first? Second?
Since I knew someone wanted to kill me, I make sure I know where all the exits are. Then I scan the room for any unusual things, supernatural or otherwise. Particularly with shape shifters in play, a guy can’t be too careful. Anyone could turn out to be an enemy.
When you walk into a room, what do you expect people to notice about you?
Unless we’re talking about Eva, hopefully as little as possible. Keeping in mind that I need to keep secret who I really am, I try to be as inconspicuous as possible. In fact, I often use a spell that causes people not to notice me. Gliding around town under everybody’s radar may be lonely, but it’s also safer than the alternatives.
Describe yourself to me.
Where do I even start? The physical part is easy. I’m pretty ordinary, actually. I’ve been told girls find me attractive, but given the way I feel about Eva, I haven’t encouraged any other interest, so it’s hard to tell how much there might have been. I’m brown haired, medium height, slender but pretty muscular. (I was always athletic, but the weapons training necessitated my buffing up a little).
A personality description is much harder. There is who I was four years ago: the happy, social, soccer playing, bad musician. Then there is who I am now: the brooding, isolated, secretly sword-swinging, concert quality musician. I guess I liked music either way, but almost everything else is different. Sometimes I think that earlier me is still alive in me somewhere. Other times I fear I am just a compromise among my past life personalities and that who I was supposed to be in this life is pretty much dead. I think I am that person, but I’ve long since lost track.
Did you turn out the way you expected? The way your parents predicted?
Isn’t that kind of obvious? I’m not who anyone expected me to be, myself included. I’m…out of place, sort of like an intruder in my own life. I’d like to say I’m a work in progress. Now, if I just knew what I was progressing toward, that would really be something.
What do you consider are your strengths?
As I’ve said, I’m a pretty awesome musician these days, thanks to the original Taliesin. I’m a better swordsman than he was. I sort of have to be if I want to survive. I’m easily the top of my class in magic…which is my subtle way of reminding you that no one else in my class can do magic. I’m best at manipulating people’s minds, though I only do that when I absolutely have to in order to keep my secret or to protect somebody. No, really! If I ever gave into the temptation to do what I really wanted, I might just enchant Eva into loving me again, and that would be bad…really bad.
What do you consider are your weaknesses?
I feel helpless most of the time. I don’t know who is trying to kill me or how to stop that person—if it even is a person. (There are several other possibilities, some of them pretty nasty.) I don’t really know what to do about most of my problems. I know there must be solutions, but if so, I can’t see them.
I guess part of the problem is that I can’t find a way of moving on, as you must have guessed from the Eva situation. In more than one way, I’m a prisoner of the past.
What is one physical attribute you are proud of? I don’t really know. I’d say ask Eva, but I bet she wouldn’t know what to say either at this point.
What one physical attribute would you change?
I’d like to be even stronger, mostly for survival reasons. I work out as often as I can. I could probably speed up the process with magic, but I’m a little afraid to do that since the original Taliesin left me no experience in that area to guide me. Magic can be powerful, but precisely because of that, it can be dangerous if you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.
If you could be an animal, what would it be?
The funny thing about that question is that I actually could be an animal. Celtic spell casters can typically shape shift, and the original Taliesin was certainly no exception, though he didn’t use that ability frequently. Frankly, the whole idea scares me. I’d rather stay in human form. Fewer things can go wrong then.
Bill Hiatt has been teaching English at Beverly Hills High School since 1981. Although teaching has been and remains his first love, he has also been drawn to creative writing of various sorts. From high school on, he wrote short stories, a little poetry, and an earlier novel, finished in 1982. Then the demands of teaching kept Bill away from writing for many years, but the stories within him eventually could not be denied any longer, and Living with Your Past Selves, is his first published novel.
Bill’s ancestors came from a wide variety of European backgrounds, with Celtic groups (Irish, Scottish, Breton, and, as you might guess from this novel, Welsh) being the most well represented. His ancestors settled in America long ago, though, some of them as early as the colonial period. He is a third generation Californian who grew up and still lives in the state.
Becca Mann is a 17-year-old fantasy writer who likes chocolate milk, Broadway Musicals, and reciting digits of Pi. Becca has traveled and written in six of the seven continents. She now lives in Baltimore and is a member of the USA Swimming National Team. Becca started writing The Stolen Dragon of Quanx on her smartphone when she was eleven years old. Becca heard that her bio will change dramatically as her career advances, but for now she’s stuck staring at a black line at the bottom of the pool, creating ideas for her next book while simultaneously wondering what life will bring. She’s often accused by parents, teachers, and coaches as “living in Quanx.”
Kale had no idea how Paka knew that there was something about the sword that she didn’t want him to know, but she had reached her decision. Paka obviously wasn’t going to let her leave until he had gotten a look at the sword. She was just thankful that Winikona hadn’t decided to come along. “I’ve decided to name my horse ‘Seeker,’” she randomly told her friend. Then she passed her friend the sword and Paka took it with a smile. Then he inspected the pommel, the hilt, the side, the other side….
The light-blue eye and the dark-blue eye both landed on the engraving. He stared at it for a few moments and slowly his gaze began to rise up until he was looking Kale straight in the eye. Then he recited, “Elise Translunski was a peasant, born on the Islands of the Peasants. She was a descendent of a man known as Brogan, who was driven from Xangterro many years ago when he failed to pay his taxes. So Brogan retreated to the Island of the Peasants where he eventually started plotting revenge.
Brogan wanted to get his home back and wanted Xangterro to pay for what they had done. He rounded up the peasants of the Island he was on, and sent some former Persquunians to swim to the others islands to gather more people. Then he held a meeting on the largest island, where he told the peasants that they would get their revenge for everything that Quanx and their leaders had taken away from them, no matter how long it was to take. All the peasants agreed much too happily. They all started training their youth and preparing their weapons.
They knew that the battle might not take place for many generations, which they were correct in guessing, since this battle hasn’t happened,but that did not hold them back. They wanted their children and their grandchildren to live in royal palaces on Quanx, something they had dreamed of themselves, but had never achieved.
Category Archives: Fantasy Fantasy, Paranormal, Urban, YA Review – A Mathematical State of Grace by Cathy McGough May 29, 2015 admin Leave a comment A Mathematical State of Grace by Cathy McGough Review What more could an Australian girl want than to be with the love of her life without any interference? This is the…