Writing Portfolio and General and Background Information
On-Line Biographical Information
Men should write because they have truly lived, not write as a substitute for living.
“Jack is the best researcher I have ever met.”
Bear Smith, Smith and Wilson
“Jack did a comprehensive article on the history of our church. I highly recommend his work. He gives great attention to detail.”
Pastor Howard, Hillside Church
“Jack is an excellent interviewer and Freelance writer.”
New Hope
In recent years Hillside has seen a continuous and steady increase in membership. This increase in membership has come both from the local surrounding population and from congregants who live outside the immediate and traditional geographic area surrounding the church. The church often sees members who travel some distance each time they visit the church, often bypassing closer facilities, which is an unusual situation for the membership of a small country church. However, Hillside has also endeavored to appeal to new members who might not fit the traditional profile of congregants to a rural community church.
Many of the congregants and members of Hillside Church take a direct and active involvement in the programs and activities of the church, which may account for both the continued growth in membership and the attraction to those who might not typically attend such a church. Hillside has a large variety of programs, mission projects, youth ministries, Christian education classes, cooperative and community programs, and various other activities which allow every member of the church, should they so desire, to be involved in some type of Christian outreach, charity, or work. In addition to supporting local missions and ministries Hillside is also active and involved in missions and ministries in the larger community, such as state programs, national Christian work, and has even recently become directly involved in international missions.
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REPORTS:
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WHITE PAPERS:
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NEWSLETTERS:
See these Newsletter Blogs:
Dante’s Ninth (personal): http://dantesninth.blogspot.com/
Opus Magnus (literary): http://opusmagnus.blogspot.com/
The Difference Engine (business): http://the-difference-engine.blogspot.com/
BLOG CONTENT:
See these Blogs:
The Missal (personal): http://themissal.blogspot.com/
Omniworks (project): http://omniworksgen.blogspot.com/
B Reader (professional):
WEBSITE CONTENT:
See these Websites:
Center and Circumference: http://centerandcircumference.pbwiki.com/
Endeavor and Enterprise: http://endeavorandenterprise.schtuff.com/
MILITARY AND INTELLIGENCE:
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LAW ENFORCEMENT:
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RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY:
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I'm now going to give you a shortened version of what I think really happened in the murder scenario in which Cain slaughtered his brother Abel, based upon the Hebrew. Take it for what it is worth. It is one possibility, but much closer I suspect to the real events than the standard English translations. And much more fascinating and logical.
Eve gave birth to twins, the older Cain, and the younger, born in a continuation after Cain was delivered, being Abel. Cain was probably called Cain because of the screams of labor pains while Eve delivered, something she had been forewarned about. The association of the name of Cain with funeral wailing and with a spear or lance probably came later after the murder. He may have also become a famous weapon's smith after his exile.
As they grew Abel was known to be vain or perhaps he was vainly beautiful. He may also have been known for his shallowness and transitory nature. Strangely enough he also may have possessed a feminine nature because when described as a shepherd, the term actually used was the feminine form of richly fertile, to be fertile like a woman. He was a shepherd of flocks, but that term can mean either literally sheep or goats or it can mean figuratively, men. It also means to migrate, which may explain the transitory nature. Abel may have been a shepherd of animals, or he may have been a shepherd of men, known for moving about a lot and for his enormous beauty and/or vanity. Either way he seems to have been immensely fertile and influential even if shallow or unsatisfactory in some way.
Cain was, in English, a tiller of the ground. In actuality he was directly involved in the adamah, which implies both somehow manipulating the ruddy or bloody earth from which Adam had been constructed or was directly involved with Adam himself, and all that involved. He may have been bound to the adamah in some way or he may have been seeking power over it, or him, or them, seeking to enslave. He may also have developed or perverted some form of worship around these things.
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SCIENTIFIC:
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THEORY PAPERS:
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RESEARCH AND ACADEMIC:
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BUSINESS:
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EDUCATION:
See this Website:
The Renaissance Academy: http://renaissanceacademy.pbwiki.com/
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POLITICAL:
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SPEECHES:
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POETRY:
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Three men into the valley came
The night was cold and shocked with rain
We hunted men who killed for sport
In foreign lands and foreign ports
The turn of every track we made
Like watered glass did quickly fade,
We came as hounds upon the wolves
A gift of death for careless fools
I still remember that night well
We crept upon a burning hell
While women screamed and children wept
We meant to kill, and promise kept
We silent split as shadows three
My brothers soon encircling me,
And made our inching way ahead
The crushing storm like dripping lead
I came upon a lingering guard
His labored breathing grinding hard
As black as jet, yet still more dark
An evil fire in his heart
I slid my knife into his neck
And sliced it open for effect,
His blood was warm upon my hands
Thank God this monster was no man
The ground did swallow up his stain
His future victims freed of shame
And so I moved upon the next
And stabbed him dead as dead he slept
My brothers too to their part went
Killed every demon in his tent,
Dispatched them as if drunken snakes
For dead they cannot mischief make
We gathered then those who survived
Of thirty souls but ten alive
Three tiny girls and two young boys
Five beaten women, small as toys
We marched them down the river road
And into boats we later rowed,
To make away from where we were
Before the slaughter could recur
And so we came to dryer camp
Yet two more died of wounds and cramps
The rest would live to tell the tale
But we three men had broken hell
And when you've broken hell apart
It always lingers in your heart,
You never rest within your mind
To think of those you left behind
I sometimes see them in my dreams
I sometimes catch a fading scream
If only I could multiply
The ones I had brought out alive
If only I had beaten time
Had caught the demons at the line,
Or tracked the bastards twice as fast
Had killed them first instead of last
Yet I may never know the swell
'Tween those we saved and those I failed
You cannot know what never was -
But wonder wanders in my blood
Three men into the valley came
The thunder crashed with pouring rain
While women screamed and children wept
And since that time I've never slept.
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“Post equitem sedet atra Cura”
Upon the table where I lay the object of desire
I came upon an ancient thing, a thing I could admire
A telescope of ages past, a compass lost to read
An experiment alone by which forsaken I accede
A glass that mirrored back my soul
A branching from the bole,
A secret whispered back from God
That guile could not enroll,
Upon the table where I lay the object of desire
I came upon an arcane thing, a thing I could acquire
A ruler steep, an astrolabe
For shooting at the sun
A promise long that I did crave
No matter when begun
And machinations, they did turn
Where assemblies did adjourn
Along the casement of facade
For by this did I learn,
No man has ever grown so tall
He ever stooped the sky,
Then when he topples, what a fall
That cracks the globe nearby
Upon the table where I lay the object of desire
I came upon an obscure thing, a thing which did conspire
For reaching up upon the mast, as tall as masts will grow
I found what I was searching for, then lost it down below,
The moral of this versive tale, this song of last repent
Is that desire never sleeps, and never does relent
So if you come upon that thing which lingers in your heart
Be very careful what you take before you do depart…
For gaining we have caught it all, and grasping we will hold
Seceding we cannot let off, our end is thus foretold.
Osiomander heard the words spit out of the girl’s mouth as if whistling stones shot hot from a ballista. He felt a strange and uncanny sense of unease and imagined briefly, for a moment at least, this paralyzing dread must be the unreal sensation his victims feel as he rips and murders their fragile bodies. The girl’s words were an omen to him, not of a kind of witchcraft that he knew, but of an unearthly and eldritch witchcraft that he had seen only in his confused and furious visions of metamorphosis.
Escarn was similarly unnerved. He stopped rowing and for a period indescribable to him the boat continued through the water, gliding with only the slap of the cutting wake trailing into the night. He did not know why but he desired to flee, to stand up and race as if he stood on dry land, to abandon everything around him and run until his body and will both failed him. But he could not move. He was only able to turn his head slightly where he caught a glimpse of the wereman transformed instantly into an impossibly large creature, every hair on his ferocious body standing upright, as if the overlapping silence terrified the Silencer.
Ilicia too felt a kind of bizarre sensation pass along her spine, as if something ungodly moved along the length of her body, invisible and yet as real as the touch of a creeping corpse. She looked around her, desperation and dread swelling within when she noticed that the trees along the banks of the river appeared to move, to take on shadowy, fearsome shapes and to dance about like the ancient ancestors of dead gods. Ducks suddenly screamed as if mortally wounded and shot into the air, their strange calls sounding like ravens hovering over a living scarecrow that frightened them from their black nests. But it was the sight of the squirming fish which had suddenly schooled around the boat that nearly stopped her heart. They were huge, and they were crazily massive, pikes and gars with vicious and prehistoric looking fins, and snapping jaws of glowing teeth that opened and closed like metal traps meant to impale and crush huge bears. They swam in circles around the boat by the hundreds, never touching the craft but twisting it around and around in a vortex of uncanny fear. The eyes of each fish did beam yellow, like oily torchlight bleeding from distant caves, and a pattern of black grease seemed to bubble on the surface where they swam. Yet still they could be seen and still the boat turned in slow arcs which followed the orbit of their swim, rotating and fixed in the river as if held by an anchor, which twisted below. With an icy start Ilicia suddenly realized that these fish should not even be there, they were not native to these waters, or these shallow depths. Yet still they came, and still they swarmed.
It was only then that she also noticed a figure seemed to be moving towards them from one of the banks, which bank she knew not because having turned with the boat so often she was too disoriented to mark her bearings. But as the figure approached, and no matter from which direction, or how the boat turned, she could always easily see the approaching form. And she knew the man and the desperate werewolf could see it as well as she. Or could they?
She wanted to turn to look at both the man and the beast but she could not force her gaze to part from the ghostly menace which seemed to float above the water, coming on, slowly, relentlessly, horrifyingly. It seemed a ghost and yet it seemed something else as well, something not just from the world of the dead, but as if it were a form of Death personally embodied. She tired to recoil herself from the figure, her lips quivering in exhaustion and with inward shock, but she seemed transfixed and unable to move. Yet suddenly she found herself speaking again and as she spoke a creeping nausea overwhelmed her because she heard an unknown voice speak from two different points at once, from her own lips and from the figure floating over the Lurking River.
“Cursed for what you have done, no god, no man, nor demon will save you now.” The voice seemed like rusty metal chains groaning under a supernatural strain. A snap bit the air as if some immortal giant had with one titanic effort broken the very skeleton of some unknown god with his huge, gruesome hands.
And then her involition was gone, and she could move again. She looked out at the bank, almost too frightened to peer closely, but the trees were trees, and the blackness rising from the shores seemed wholly passed. She looked into the water but could see no fish. The boat seemed to be still turning, but in ever slowing circles and now seemed also to be lazily drifting downstream, without any real direction or purpose.
She looked at her abductors but Osiomander was utterly quiet, he lay in the boat as if dead, his form human once again and his hair suddenly as silver as if the moon had stained it so. She looked up into the eyes of the man, companion of the subdued beast, and yet alone unto himself, the same man who had apparently turned to face her once again with the final passing of the ghostly vision. He was completely silent but she thought she saw real horror in his face, and as if by magic she could suddenly read his one and only thought. “Witch!!”
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HORROR:
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HEROIC:
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SCIENCE FICTION:
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ACTION AND ADVENTURE/THRILLER:
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MILITARY AND ESPIONAGE:
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Today I go into work and get asked to impersonate somebody. Always finding other people more interesting than anyone else I take the dart they're pitching, then swing out wide of center. So right off the bat I know that yesterday has already passed tomorrow, as they say in the biz. Well, I psyche myself up because Russians sound funny when they talk. Now don't get me wrong, I've got quite a few friends south of Kamchatka, but I've never liked Eskimo pies. They make me gassy.
So, I get all painted up, dressed down, and put into costume, then go for a little stroll downtown into the local Red Square, when who should I run into but an old buddy of mine, also in the get up.
"Whatcha doing here man?"
"Oh, you know, the old shake, rattle, and roll."
"You get pop corn and fries with that?" Well, we both laugh at that one. It was pretty good for being on the spot, I gotta admit.
"Did you get rolled last week?"
"Nah," he says. "That's next week."
"How can you predict that?"
"Because the old man is a galactophagist." Now it's my time to guffaw.
"Who they painted you for this time?" Not sure I'm clear to talk I tell him Barney. He catches my drift and scratches his mudhole with his index finger. Which is better than the other way round.
"On the step now?" he asks.
"Yeah, my sweet is set and so I'm on spot." So with that he gives me one on the down low and then he makes like a bunny. Two times in a row.
Next thing I go for a walk. On the way I audition a couple on the fritz and it looks like the mouthy mouse is gonna slug the dame. That's a nuisance, what with me outta uniform, and instead made up like a Dimitri Colonel. It's always like that, you're not ready for the one thing and then the other happens. Still, no good deed goes unpunished so I amble over and take a poke at public relations. Well in the middle of a shout, with the gal all sobby, he suddenly sees me in the make and can't decide where I should be. Then after a few words he decides he can't make out where he should be either, and skeedaddles. I tell the Donna it will be okay and to scoot home and set a grease fire before the tadpole returns. She thanks me and I'm off again to sightsee. Soak up the town.
About ten of the clock I've had enough of that and since my daughter has her final acting class about 11:45 I call in and tell em to skip the intros, I'll go straight for the throat. Well, I drop two dimes on the patio and stroll on into the joint. Three of the big ones meet me, but being far more experienced than them I let my guard down anyway so as not to catch anybody off the floor. After one of em decides to wipe the walls to make a show, the other two skip me in to see the old man.
Now there he is fatter than life and ugly squared. Still, the smell is tolerable so I sit down with a flourish and make the secret handsign. To which he stands up and salutes like his mother is there. Okay, so formalities aside I ask him if he's prepared. It's a simple enough question but where he thinks it's going I have no idea because he's flumstrusstered by the whole talking in words bit.
I repeat my lines in dog barks and that does no good either because suddenly his mutt runs in and her legs are freshly shaved. What the hey-all? Yeah, that's what I thought too. So now that we're all on the same page again you can see why I'm gettin annoyed. Not in the playbook, one ball, two strikes, and somebody is gonna hav'ta call for sunshine before a washout. And me without my secretary.
Since this ain't going nowhere I decide to have a seat and let my previous sit down stand awhile. Now I'm impersonating both of em, which sounds a lot harder than it looks, especially with this crowd. Well he gets confused which is where I like to play when I'm the main talker. But I ain't saying nothing and so that's the part that's hard to figure, for both of us. As things stand and sit I decide to go poco a poco.
"Who you gonna call?" I pass the call sign. It's a play on words but since he still can't make out the game I let him catch a fly instead. Then he opens his mouth and it flies back out again. Getting tired of all this back and forth I settle on the sideways, which is always a good diagonal move. Well, a bit more of that with a little left over and I tap my watch to show him that time flies when you're having fun but all bad things must end by hook or by crook. Being crooked he gets my jive and smuggles something out of his number two monkey. I say, "How bout that," and tip him the high hat, but with just enough parfume that he thinks I mean it to smell that way.
So Ooday and Coosay hold my hands as we walk out, just in case I trip and something drops down that can embarrass us all. But that ain't really what aggravates me about the whole thing. What really bothers me is that as I'm dedressing it suddenly strikes me that one of my socks is black and one deep, navy blue. What if I had been accidentally disemboweled and then cut up for square? The boys in the morgue would have spotted the foot hose thing right away and then where would I have been? It's hard to explain that kinda thing and make it seem believable.
DRAMA AND PLAYWORKS:
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Satan: Come to taste my blood, my brother? No, I think you would rather destroy my home. Lay waste my lands. Jesus has a home in heaven, Jesus has a home on earth, and Jesus has a home in hell. But I have no place to lay my head.
Jesus: You are famished, and speak only out of hunger and fear. Taste my blood, and you will be well, and whole again.
Satan: (sardonically) No, take all I have if that be your intention, but I am as unworthy of your suffering, as you are of mine.
Jesus: And what of yours should I take?
Satan: I remain true. It is you who are the Wandering and the Prodigal Son.
Jesus: Come, follow Me. All must eventually forsake hell, even you.
Satan: What? Desert Hell? And who would hold the wayside, and mark the paths of the lost?
Jesus: Father, forgive him for he knows not what I do. (Satan flinches). It is said that "it is easier to reason against the madman, than against the fearless." I am fearless in my course now brother. Do you understand?
Satan: No, ... no, you are mad, and I am fearless.
Jesus: (sighs, then smiles) Will you then at least take my hand in parting?
Satan slowly takes the hand of Jesus.
Jesus: You tremble. Love of Fury, or Furious Love?
Satan: (Quickly, and too loudly) Would you have me remain unmoved? After all I have lost?
Jesus: (Gently, and quietly) No. Who remains unmoved in loss?
Satan: (more calmly now) Indeed. Will you loose me now, so that I may count my loss as lost again. I have business to attend.
Jesus lets go his hand.
Jesus: (whisperingly soft) Gather while you may.
Satan: It eases the loneliness.
Jesus: When next we meet...
Satan: I know, I know... but answer me this; What am I to you?
Jesus: The same as I, a Lamb in the guise of a Wolf.
Jesus laughs and then turns to leave. He stops at the ruined and disassembled gates, and then looks back at Satan. He sweeps his arms through the air, gesturing of Hell.
Jesus: All this I give to you. All this I have given up for you.
Satan bows formally, and stiffly.
Jesus: Now you too must give up this home of wind. Give all this to the Poor of Spirit, and come, follow me.
Satan: Relinquish my only wealth? You have stolen my Blessing, do you demand my Birthright as well? I am of the fields, a hunter. Do you descend upon a ladder from heaven to slay even the pressman of the vineyard? You have many homes, I have but one. The wind blows where it will, but only the invisible is left to me. Would you steal the crumbs even from the dogs?
Jesus: (thoughtfully) Yes, you have but one home. But not here. Not here. (long pause) Very well, then. Come when you can. I will burn a lamp to light the path. (Jesus exits)
Satan: (to the audience) Save the oil. I know the way. (Satan weeps. End of scene.)
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FILMSCRIPTS/SCRIPTS:
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CHILDREN’S LITERATURE:
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GAMES:
All Works © JWG, Jr. 1989-2006