Book Promo Feature – Memoirs from the War in Heaven by John H.Doe

Indie Book Promo is happy to welcome John H. Doe to the blog. He’s here to share about his book, Memoirs from the War in Heaven. If this book sounds like something you would be interested in reading, please find buy links below and pick up a copy or two.

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This is part of the story of my life. Which is not to say it’s over, but enough happened to make me want to write down what has happened so far. There are drugs in it (which I’m not on anymore), and there is stuff that you might call blasphemy. And that, because what has happened to me was religious, which you might have guessed from the title. The title is, in fact, not a metaphor for something else, but in fact, the accurate description of what is written inside. It starts on a typical Friday night for a sophomore in college, who dropped some very strong acid, and who became involved with the actual War in Heaven. The war in eternity. The span is from that initial night, where I was drafted into service on the side of light, to Satan’s fall, some 25 years later. No, it was not every day that I was intensely involved, but let’s say that I can say, “I was there.” That’s it, that’s the book. One earthbound misfit in a world full of angels.

Memoirs from the War in Heaven is available from:

Amazon Kindle   |   Amazon paperback

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JohnHDoePicJohn H. Doe is a noteworthy nobody, whose name was not an accident of birth. In the years of his life, he traveled from party animal to a deadly serious researcher of artificial intelligence. Throughout this journey were there events and hints of a larger thing, the likes of which finally revealed its import in the last month of the Year of the Dragon, the culmination of twenty-five years of war and art. The war being not of this world, as Christ’s kingdom was not of this world. And when that all transpired, here emerged an author anew, whose work appears before you. It may confuse you, and it may change your life. You have been warned.

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As my body lay there, I became a completely loose freeform entity. I passed down, through layers of consciousness, I saw the connections to how we come to perceive the world around us, then where the symbols we use were grounded, and then com-pletely OUT of my body, so that I was a pure sphere. A sphere, but whose whole surface was an eye: I could see out in all directions without having to turn my head (as if that were the issue, since I had no body parts at all)—but where was I? Part of me, the spherical eye, could see where I had just been, the hallway of my dorm and the door and the exit sign above it. Was this it then, the exit I had been looking for? 

I got a little scared. Mostly from confusion, plus the absolute strangeness of what had just happened. And then appeared there before me two of my friends, but I knew they weren’t really my friends, rather that these two beings were symbols of all that was right and good about the cosmos, of heaven and earth. One of them said, “John, this is the only reality you’ve got. Up, up!” And I knew exactly what I needed to do. I wonder now if anyone else had visited where I had been, and were not able to get back. Would they have been catatonic? Would it have been a coma state? I was lucky, and with that cue, “Up, up!”, I passed back up through my layers of consciousness, back into my body, and I stood up. I started walking back up the driveway, saying, “I love this place, Hunt Library…” Then I saw Bob coming down the stairs.

All he said when he saw me was, “John, where are you going?” But I was having none of it. Because he was a symbol of that which was below, the darkness, of all that was wrong, the drug rehab center and the fake reality I was trying to wake up from, trying to escape. Ironic that he had come because he was concerned about me. So, as my state of mind had determined the course I was to follow, I veered right and ran away, yelling, “I’m off drugs!” Later Bob told me this only added to my legend, and that I was a particularly fast runner. But where was I going, actually? 

I had it in my mind to get out of this fake reality/drug rehab center, and I had a vision of a fall. I had decided that whatever it took, however it would feel, I was going to get out. So I was making a beeline (if bees turned 90 degree corners) to Schenley Bridge, about 100 feet high off the ground, midway—to jump off it. 

And then what happened was the best thing ever. This was worth the price of admission, and a half. I was running up this hill, and I heard a voice inside my head say something like, if you want to get out, you’ll have to run forever! And this maze appeared in my mind, extending beyond my vision’s reach, and I was supposed to fill it with my running. Short hesitation while still running full throttle, when I decided, “Yes!” And at that instant, there opened a white light in the maze, the middle of my imagination; and when I tried to wrap my mind around it, the white light completely overtook me, and now was there nothing but the light, so bright as to be solid, more solid than steel or diamond whatever you could find in any earthly realm—and it was as if I did not exist in comparison to the light, and I was told I was not that light. It was then my perception closed upon it: the circle whose center is everywhere, its circumference nowhere: INFINITY. And I was dropped back into my body, which had fallen for a second time onto the pavement. 


Book Promo Feature – Harper’s Ferry by Joshua Herdt

Indie Book Promo is happy to welcome Joshua Herdt to the blog! He’s here to share about his book, Harper’s Ferry. If this book sounds like something you would be interesting in reading, please find buy links below and pick up a copy or two.

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Harper had everything. She was smart, athletic, and unbelievably pretty. It was annoying. I hated it, and I hated her for coming around. Okay, maybe hate is a strong word. It just bothered me, the way they all gawked at her. Especially when HE did it. Charlie, I mean. When he looked at Harper, no one else in the world mattered, not even me.

I had a hard time picturing them together. Charlie and Harper seemed as different as any two people could be. I often wondered what they saw in each other. Were they in love? Or, was it some kind of adolescent fascination?

I knew what I saw in him. Charlie wasn’t like other men. And, he was fascinating. He was thoughtful, and at times over burdened by responsibilities. There were so many things he thought he had to do. He was care worn. I have no doubt that he had his entire future mapped out. Or, at least, parts of it. The problem was two-fold. First, he had no idea how to get there. Second, life doesn’t go according to plan.

Charlie was handsome, in his own way. He had tawny skin and copper hair that grew lighter in the summer. His eyes were always cool and caught somewhere between green and blue. They could never make up their mind and swam, instead, between the two. When we first met, he was too skinny and wore glasses that resembled coke bottles. He wasn’t the type of boy girls would fixated upon, which is what made him mine.

We spent our childhood together, and were for the most part, inseparable. I loved him then. It was an anxious, desperate kind of thing. I was all butterflies and stutters as we grew up beside one another. It was a secret I tried to share with him, but he could never see. I dropped hints and planted seeds, but none ever took root. We kissed once, an innocent experiment, that I wished would continue. It didn’t. Instead, it slipped away.

While I tried to claw my way out of the shadows, he dated all kinds of girls. There were tall ones, short ones, skinny ones, and pudgy ones. I tried to counsel him. I tried to show him that they would never take care of him like I would, but my words fell on deaf ears. Or, maybe I wasn’t clear. I could never tell him exactly how I felt. He might not have known what I wanted. It was… frustrating, and still is.

I had fallen into a state of acceptance when she walked into our lives. I guess we all had. It was just us back then. The five of us for a time. We had nothing to do and nowhere to go. Together we weathered an eternal summer. Time was on our side. Charlie thought we were lost, but I disagree. You can only be lost if you are alone.

We spent our days swimming in rivers of beer and cheap booze. One day was no different than the other. We saw our futures as paramount. We imagined them as castles dotting some distant hillside. With no place to hold court, we did so in The Stonewall, our bastion in the landscapes of our youth.

I can still see us, all of us. Blake would stand there off to the side. He was always quiet. He always wore a smirk as he watched us. He was so still compared to the others, almost statuesque, but probably just as lost.

Blake might as well have been Calvin Klein. He was always so put together. I remember him in his slim cut dress shirts and sharp ties. He seemed a model cut from the pages of GQ. He had wanted to go to school for acting, but his parents would not have it. He would have made a great actor, though. He had a way of dominating a room, or falling into the background on cue. Between the loss of that adolescent dream and reality, he had somehow lost his way. In that way he was like the rest of us.

Beside Blake would have stood Derrick. He would be front and center. Behind him sat a platter of empty shot glasses. The bar lights would float like moths. Their light was suspended in the blurry haze of those drunken days. He was at home in the spotlight, his voice booming like a drum, as he regaled us with some story.

I liked Derrick, despite our aggravations and complaints about one another. I liked him for who he had the potential to be. Not necessarily, for who he was. When he wasn’t talking he could be a fairly decent guy. Unfortunately, he never shut up. Charlie seemed to idolize him, but I found him a bit shallow.

Yes, he was ruggedly handsome. He had big arms, a square jaw, and abs that could pop open women’s bras. Women loved him, and he loved them in return. He was a regular womanizer. He also had the tendency of being a royal dick.

Derrick had a lot of earthly blessings, but a majority of them were lost to him. For such an imposing figure he was absolutely crippled by insecurity. This insecurity bred narcissism, which caused him to stray from whatever grand destiny he envisioned for himself. In that respect, I pitted him. Derrick was hard to love. He never made it easy. But we loved him all the same.

Henry would have been sitting at the bar beside Charlie and me. He was easy going. By nature, he was relaxed and unperturbed. While the rest of us endured personal dramas, Henry was our rock. He was a reminder that time kept moving, and that everything would be alright eventually. I guess he was unconcerned. Yes, that’s how he’s best described.

That same lack of concern showed in his appearance. Henry was always in need of a shave. He had that bristly face and hair that might never have seen a comb. He had a way of letting himself go. Despite being in filthy work clothes, and looking like a lumber jack, he still managed to pull girls. They loved his devil-may-care attitude. Hell, so did I.

About the only thing that did bother Henry was his job. He hated HVAC, and reviled his boss. Despite that truth, he wouldn’t quit. Instead he persisted in some kind of self-appointed exile. Maybe he didn’t think he could do anything else. Maybe he lacked motivation. Regardless, his job haunted him. He escaped it by sailing away on a bourbon bottle. It might have cost him his liver, but for a time it made him happy.

Until Harper arrived, I was the only girl. I liked it that way. I had no love for gossip and girls were just too much work. The boys, on the other hand, were easy to understand and relatively straight forward. It never bothered me when they brought other women around. Not really. I knew they could never replace me. They were just ships passing in the night.

Harper was different though. She came to us twice. In both instances she brought change. She made a lasting impression, especially on Charlie. There was something between those two. Something I had wanted. I could see it in the way he looked at her. That’s how I wanted to be looked upon. That’s the kind of look I would have returned. Despite whatever else she might have done, she taught Charlie something invaluable. You’re probably asking yourself, “What was it?” Well, I’ll let you figure that out.

Harper’s Ferry is a story about transition.   It’s story about them, about me, and about all of us. It’s about what she did, what she didn’t’ do, and what happened as a result. Like any story worth telling, it begins and ends with a girl. It’s a love story, and well, something a little more.

Harper’s Ferry can be purchased from:

Amazon   |    Kobo   |    Nook   |    Smashwords

Profile PicJoshua Herdt graduated with a degree in Sociology and Anthropology from VCU.  He currently resides in Richmond, VA with his wife Michelle and daughter Isabelle.  Feel free to contact him via social media or email.

Joshua can be found:

FaceBook |   Twitter  |    GoodReads

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