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Saturday, July 26, 2014

Kameron's Movie Proposal

Mr. Ron Howard
Beverly Hills, CA 90212
Re: Time Trip: The Journey to Ancient Greece Movie Proposal

Dear Mr. Howard,

I am writing this proposal request in regards to one of my favorite books written by author Jason McKenney. I feel that you should turn the book Time Trip: The Journey to Ancient Greece into a thrilling, and adventurous film. This story is about two cousins named Zammie and Kyla. The children travel back in time all the way to Ancient Greece. They get a strange doll from their elderly neighbor, Ramesh, whom they affectionately called Mr. G. In order for the doll to work you have to twist the upper half of its body and pull its four arms down on both sides, look deep into its eyes and it will take you on a magical trip that will teach you about the past and even better the future. I don’t want to give too much of the book away as I have enclosed a copy for your personal enjoyment.

If you make this book into a movie it would garner much attention from the public. The perfect location to film the movie would be in Samos, Greece. Why? Because in order for the audience to feel the whole medieval Greece theme, what the children really went through, and the journey they experienced, Greece would be ideal. It would really bring to life the problems Zammie and Kyla encountered during their path to get back home as well as their adventurous journey. I picked Samos, Greece because it is a small town and still has the stone buildings, grassy hills, and a great big Sea that surrounds the coast of Samos.

My recommendation for the actor and actress that would play the characters should be Mackenzie Foy (The Conjuring) who would play Kyla and Max Records (Where the Wild Things Are) should play Zammie. I feel like these two young actors are perfect for this role because they both know how to be funny as well as being able to take on serious roles. They are both young and fit the personalities of Kyla and Zammie. Mr. G should be played by David Suchet, he was born in London, speaks four languages, German, French, Russian and Arabic. His years of acting experience and training in some of London’s most prestigious acting theatres will really give life to Mr. G’s character.

Mr. Howard, I am such a fan of a lot of your films, How the Grinch Stole Christmas, Parenthood and my ultimate favorite American Graffiti. Although I am young, American Graffiti made me wish I was born and experienced that 1960’s era. Mr. Howard, making this exciting book in to a Hollywood Box office hit would be one of the best films you have ever directed. I have enclosed a copy for your review and please sir, just think about it.

Sincerely,

Kameron
Your biggest Fan!

Purchase 
at Amazon today! 

Saturday, July 12, 2014

The Bully


The bell for third period had already sounded. It amazed Zammie how quickly the hallways switched from mass hysteria to empty solitude between classes. One moment the locker-lined halls were filled with a couple hundred middle-schoolers, the next they’re as empty as a canteen in the desert.
Usually Zammie would have already been in class himself at this point, but he just arrived at school from a rough teeth cleaning at the dentist. He turned one of the vacant corners and saw four peers standing near the lockers on the other side of the white-tiled hallway. A small boy had his back against the blue lockers while three larger boys hovered over him like night club bouncers. Two of the boys were holding the smaller boy by the arms while the third brute was talking to him with his finger in his face. Zammie recognized the smaller boy. His name was Joseph Suna. His dad was Japanese and his mom was Thai, Asian immigrants like his own parents. Joseph was the quintessential outcast at school. Too smart for his own good. Too small for his age. A dark bowl cut encircled his head, and his brown pants stopped short at his ankles. The kid had no chance. The big red-haired boy’s name was Marvin. Zammie didn’t know him personally, but he heard enough urban legends to stay clear of Marvin at all cost.
“I asked you nicely, Joseph,” said Marvin. “Didn’t I ask you nicely?”
Joseph couldn’t speak. His chin quivered like a ribbon tied to a fan.
“I told you if you talked to her again you’d be punished, you little bitch.”
Without a moment’s hesitation Big Marvin punched Little Joseph right in the stomach. A whimper escaped from Joseph’s mouth and he doubled over, his knees buckled and the other two boys let go of him so he could fall to the floor.
Zammie froze in the hallway. One of the boys spotted him and pointed.
“Look!”
The red-haired boy looked at Zammie and in a flash started walking towards him. Zammie’s heart began racing but he stood his ground. He didn’t want to show fear, but his bladder felt like it was about burst open like a tomato in a microwave.
“What’re you lookin’ at?” growled Marvin, approaching Zammie like a slobbering pitbull.
Zammie tried to speak, but his jaws wouldn’t cooperate.
“You didn’t see nothin’, did ya?” said Marvin, now right on top of Zammie, freckles and all.
Zammie didn’t respond. But he did see something. Something that made him both sick to his stomach and angry at the same time.
Marvin stepped closer. “Say ‘no,’ you little bitch.”
“No,” said Zammie, frightened and fuming.
“Say ‘no I didn’t see nothing’.”
“I … didn’t see anything.” Sudden shame washed over him.
“Smart ass.” Marvin stepped closer to Zammie, looking down at him, his baloney breath filtering out in hot waves. Small acne pustules convalesced around the corners of his mouth like tiny soap bubbles. “You’re name’s Zammie, right?”
Zammie nodded his head, almost proud that Marvin would know who he was.
“If you tell anyone, Zammie, then we’ll find you. Believe it. And you won’t like what we’ll do to you.”
Zammie glanced at Marvin’s two stooges. They were bad news: greasy hair, see-through mustaches, dull eyes. Kids that didn’t amount to much after graduation. If they even graduated.
Zammie had always told himself if he was ever bullied or pushed around he would stand up for himself. If he ever saw someone else being bullied or pushed around he would stand up for them. Well, here he was. And he couldn’t move a muscle. Putting up as much fight the last mushy fruit loop in a bowl of cereal.
Marvin turned away from Zammie, motioned to his two minions, and the three of them walked quickly down the hall and turned a corner, probably off to find someone else to harass. Zammie exhaled and rushed over to where Joseph and trying to stand up again.
“Are you okay? Why did they do that?”
Joseph tried taking a couple deep breaths. He was in the 7th grade like Zammie, but he was only ten years old whereas most of the other 7th graders were twelve or just turning thirteen.  He had been pushed ahead two classes in elementary school by his parents. They believed their gifted child needed the additional challenge of more advanced academics. What they hadn’t taken into consideration was the increased interactions with kids much larger and much less passive than him.
“I’m fine,” he said. Zammie noticed large tears falling from his eyes.
“What’d you do to piss off Marvin?” asked Zammie.
“Nothing … I’ve gotta go to class.”
Joseph picked up his backpack from the other side of the hallway and ran off as quick as his little feet would carry him. One of his laces was undone. Zammie was left alone both confused with what had just happened and disappointed in his response to it.

The sky was crackling blue and the sun glowed like the giant heart of Zeus high above the school building. Kyla was waiting out by the flag pole in front of Rosemont Middle School after the final bell had wrung for the day. That was her and Zammie’s meeting place after school before making the short walk to Zammie’s house a few blocks away. It was warm enough for shorts, by Kyla had stuck with jeans and a pastel top. Her black hair was woven tightly into a single braid down her back.
She was always glad to get Fridays over with, but today she was especially excited. Two days earlier they had gone to visit their neighbor Mister G. They told him about their time trip to Gettysburg and their survival of Hiroshima. The elderly Mister G was amazed at their stories and proud of his two brave time-travelers. Zammie had promised Kyla that they could go on another journey that afternoon. It was addicting, like gently salted corn chips, it was impossible to stop indulging.
Mister G had given the Arjuna statue to Zammie thinking that it might give him visions of the past, but he didn’t expect it to take both he and Kyla back into fully immersed adventures where they’d be able to completely interact intelligently with historical figures. They were even able to bring artifacts back to the present with them. Mister G had never seen the Arjuna statue work so strongly before. Apparently the Arjuna liked these two kids very much, but he was worried that they might grow too involved with it.
When Zammie arrived at the flag pole he wore a pensive look on his face. He was still thinking about Joseph and his inability to help him.
“You ready for Arjuna?” asked Kyla. The smile on her face was as wide as eagle wings.
“Sure.”
Kyla noticed the lack of conviction in her cousin’s answer. “What’s wrong?”
“I dunno. I saw something very strange today, and I’m not sure what I should do about it—”
“Zammie!” A young girl was running towards the two cousins.
Zammie looked over and saw Jessica Guerra approaching. She was one of the eighth graders who worked in the Principal’s Office after school helping sort papers and make phone calls for a work experience credit. She was a pretty Hispanic girl with long, black hair and mocha brown skin. She was a couple inches taller than Zammie which was something that intimidated him a little.
“Zammie. Misses Ellingson wants to see you.”
“Misses Ellingson?” asked Kyla. “What for?”
“I don’t know,” said Jessica. “She just said she needed to see him real quick.”
“Oh, boy.” Zammie had a gut-feeling he knew what this was about. “Go ahead without me, Kyla. Tell mom I’ll be home in a minute.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, Kyla. I think I know what this is about.”
“What is it?”
Zammie began walking back towards the school building with Jessica. “It’s okay,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll tell you when I get home.”
Kyla watched her cousin disappear back inside the school building. The large, brown doors swallowed him up like a little Filipino gingerbread man.

Mrs. Ellingson was the Assistant Principal. She was an athletic, raven-haired woman in her later fifties who was active in yoga. She loved going to wine-tastings and complaining about the poor reading habits of today’s youth. From time to time she would wonder how she got stuck as a middle school AP having to deal with these artless tweens.
Help the minis, was her mantra. This must be the true calling the Cosmos has in mind for me. At least for the time being.
Her office was painted in a sandy beige color and decorated with tiny palm trees and pictures of her with various chefs, authors and other accomplished friends of her husband.
            Jessica Guerra led Zammie into the office where he saw Mrs. Ellingson filling out some paperwork that was neatly stacked on her desk.
 “Hello, Zamuel,” said Mrs. Ellingson. She barely looked up. “Have a seat, please. I’ll be with you in one second.”
Jessica closed the door and returned to her post at the receptionist desk leaving Zammie alone with Mrs. Ellingson. He sat down on the black canvas couch across from her desk. His palms had begun sweating the moment he re-entered the school building. Now that he was actually in the AP’s office he felt he was going to piss himself as well. The second time he felt that way today. How disappointing.
“Alright, sir. You’re probably wondering what this is all about.” Mrs. Ellingson put down her pen. “Or maybe you already know.”
Zammie did his best to look relaxed, but he knew his face had “scared stiff” written all over it.
“I’ve been told we had a bullying incident in the hallway earlier,” she continued. “Do you know anything about that?”
            Zammie felt like he was going to puke. How did she know?
“No, ma’am.”
“Are you sure? I ask because apparently there was another witness of the incident who claims that you were there.”
“What incident, ma’am?”
“I was told that Marvin Waggoner punched Joseph Suna in the hall today. There was a witness who will go nameless for now who claims that you also saw this incident. Right now I have three students who claim that Marvin was in third period study hall this morning and one student who claims he was beating up Joseph. If you also saw the incident it would go a long way towards supporting the case against Marvin.”
“What does Joseph say?”
“He doesn’t want to talk about it. He already went home. But tomorrow, Principal Gainar will be back and we will all be able to meet and discuss this entire issue ... if you did in fact witness it.”
Zammie wanted to speak, but the thought of Big Marvin using his face as a speed bag made the words turn into rocks in his mouth.
“Zammie, you understand that bullying is not something to be taken lightly. I will not tolerate it at this school. Principal Gainar will not tolerate it either. But if we are to be able to hand out a fair punishment we have to be sure of all the facts.”
Zammie was angry with himself. He wanted to speak up, but he couldn’t. Fear had a tethered grip on his tongue as strong as steel. 
“Did you see Marvin punch Joseph, Zammie?”
He remembered hearing a story during the summer about how Big Marvin was playing a game of basketball on the outdoor court one afternoon. Marvin and one of his friends were playing two other boys, and the two other boys won. Marvin apparently didn’t take kindly to their smug attitudes so he picked up a rock from the grass and threw it at one of the boys as they were walking away, hitting him in the back of the head and knocking him to the ground. The other boy ran back at Marvin in an effort to defend his friend, but Marvin grabbed the second boy by the neck and began punching him in the nose, smashing it to pieces until the boy’s face was painted red with blood. Not everyone believed the story was true, but Zammie wasn’t about to hook Marvin up to a polygraph machine to find out.
“No ... I don’t think so, ma’am.”
“You don’t think so? You don’t sound very sure of your answer.”
“I didn’t see the incident, ma’am.” Zammie words trickled out like the heartbeat of a dying church mouse. He looked down at his brown hands. He could feel the stare of Mrs. Ellingson boring into the top of his head.
“Alright. I want you to go home and think about this some more, Zamuel, and on Monday I want you to come in and see Principal Gainar and tell him what you told me, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Unless, of course, you remember anything that you’re not telling me now. Then you can tell him the full story. Understood?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I can’t force you to admit to anything, Zammie, but I want you to think about what you’re going to say.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Okay. You’re free to go.”
Zammie got up and left the office. He couldn’t get out of there fast enough.


Thursday, July 3, 2014

July 4, 1863 – Kyla at Gettysburg


My vision was blurred by the tears streaming from my eyes. A cool wind chilled my face. I could tell a rainstorm would be moving in soon.
“Kids die all the time, Miss Kyla,” said Steven. He said the statement with some conviction. As if he had seen it firsthand many times before.
Both he and Tillie were with me roaming along Cemetery Ridge. We had been watching the medics and Union infantry going through, picking up the dead bodies. We had been brimming with morbid curiosity to see the rancid corpses of these fallen heroes. I was not prepared for what I had seen. And smelled. Some of these bodies had been lying out in the hot sun for a few days now. Some were bloated with gas, their hands grasping out with rigor mortis, their mouths frozen open in silent cries of torment.
The battle had ended the day before with the Union armies pushing back the last of the Rebel charge and sending them packing back south. That was before I saw Steven kneeling over the form of a young boy that I thought looked familiar. My head spun with shock when I realized it was Zammie. He had a massive bullet wound in his chest where some monster had shot him. Blood had splattered and dried black all over his neck and mouth.      
“Why did your cousin support Secesh?” Tillie asked me.
I wasn’t sure how to answer that. I guessed that the Arjuna had placed him there for some reason. “I’m not sure,” I said. “I hadn’t seen him in a while. He must have had a good reason.”
“Maybe he did.” Tillie didn’t sound convinced. She took the fact that these Rebels had invaded her state very personally. “I’m sorry for your loss, Kyla.”
“Don’t judge him too harsh, Miss Tillie,” said Steven. “He was a good friend.”
The tears began to roll down my face again. I stared down at Zammie’s lifeless body. His glassy eyes were half open staring off into eternity. His purple-coated tongue rested on the edge of his bottom lip. His hands were bent inwards at the wrist. I was glad that his parents couldn’t see him like this. The same thing could be said for every other dead boy out on that field. Regardless of how valiant the cause, I’m sure all of their mothers would trade such a grisly and lonesome death of their sons to have them back safe and sound at home. I guess that’s the way war works. People go to fight with ideas and emotions but the finality of death isn’t quite fully taken into account. If it were I don’t see how war could be as common as it sometimes seems.            
I held out hope that he wasn’t really dead. That this was just an illusion played by the Arjuna. That’s when I noticed the doll being held in Tillie’s left hand.
“What is that, Tillie?”
“This thing?” She held the silver figure up for us to see. “I found it leaning up against the angle in the wall. One of the soldiers must have left it. Do you think we can keep it?”
“Can I see it?” I asked.
“Sure.” She handed me the doll and the archer’s almond-shaped eyes immediately began glowing red. I could have sworn it turned its head and grinned at me.
“It’s already working,” I said.
“What do you mean, already working?” asked Steven. “What’s that thing do?”
“Are you alright, Kyla?” Tillie was trying to talk to me when I fell to my knees and nearly passed out in the grass next to Zammie like I had been hit in the head with a hammer.
“Goodbye Steve . . .” I mumbled. “Bye Tills . . .”
The big orange and blue sky and the rolling green fields of Pennsylvania quickly blurred into a distant gray haze. The colors swirled around like a giant pinwheel until they began fading to black.
Please, Arjuna . . . send us back home . . . 

Excerpt from Killing For Country 
by Jason McKenney

The General and The Emperor

The full Conquest of Mexico covered a much larger stretch of history than just the march of Hernan Cortes on his way to Tenochtitlan in 1519. That was simply the tip of the spear. Centuries of bloodshed, brutality and eradication were still to follow as waves of Spanish and Portuguese conquistadors, along with their assorted priests, arrived on the beautiful shores of Central and South America.

In this book, I have chosen to focus strictly on that fateful march of a fledgling Captain-General and his 400 anxious followers. Barely the shoreline of the land they found had ever been seen by European eyes before. As they met with locals their imaginations were gorged with stories of gold, magic and powerful cities floating among the purple mountains to the West.

They also discovered that this land was ruled by a single god-like man, Moctezuma, whose vast armies patrolled the far reaches of the empire collecting tribute and keeping order. On the surface, this federation of smaller cities and tribes appeared to support Moctezuma, feeding his desire to build the capital city of Tenochtitlan to even grander and more elaborate heights. But as history has often shown, a lack of resources for some can generate marvelous creativity.

Knowing he didn’t have the manpower to confront Moctezuma head-on, Cortes began to identify those cities that truly supported the Emperor and those that simply placated him. This was done through translators as well as the help of a beautiful native slave girl named Malinalli, a young woman who had her own motives for helping the General.

An alliance was built. A “Coalition of the Willing,” you could say. Small tribes working together, but always at the behest of Cortes. The young General proved his worth in the battle field against those natives who did not treat with him peacefully; unleashing weapons of war the locals had never seen before: cannon, muskets, armor and horses.

Repeatedly, the Emperor sent messengers to Cortes, begging him to turn back. And repeatedly the feisty General ignored the requests, claiming he was on a mission from his King and his God, following the True Cross with the intention of converting the entire nation to Christianity while filling the coffers of the Spanish Crown.

In this book, Part 1 of a 2-part epic, I have dropped two time traveling youngsters from our own time into the midst of this cultural upheaval. They will experience everything that the actual participants would have experienced along the way: harsh climates, alien food, beautiful performances, gruesome battles and horrific human sacrifices. History is not always pretty, so be warned.

Our two protagonists will be confronted with decisions, questions and desires pushing them to grow up fast in this vastly different time and space. They will gain a deeper understanding of the pre-Contact landscape, people and traditions as I hope the reader will as well. The Conquest of Mexico still speaks to us today, offering insight into human behavior and runaway ambition that continues to be relevant even 500 years later.


 Conquest of Mexico: To Follow the Cross available at Amazon.com for KINDLE and PAPERBACK.


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