Quantum Entanglement (Chapter 21) “Hapa Girl DNA” by M. Talmage Moorehead

Reversal of cognitive decline: A novel therapeutic program 

“This is 21st century medicine… It’s not trying to attack complex, chronic illnesses with single drugs, it is looking at what is the actual cause, going physiologically… with multimodal approaches. If you had told me ten years ago in the lab that we’d be telling people how important meditation is, and yoga and nutrition, I would have laughed. Now I realize the biochemistry is undeniable.” – Dale Bredesen, MD, excerpt from podcast interview by Chris Kresser.


James is alive! I hear him coughing. I try to turn my head to see but I can’t even move my eyes.

I’m so cold. I should be shivering, but I’m not. My eyes are fixed on a swirl in Shiva’s marble ceiling. It looks like the Orion Nebula going in and out of focus.

I hope I don’t have a high cervical cord injury. Even if I do, James is alive! The sound of him coughing is the best thing I’ve ever heard. The warmth of knowing runs through me.

“Shine” soars through my mind. He wrote it to one of his first girlfriends.

“One second close to you is equal to a lifetime filled up with light. I obsess on you. It steps outside time. You’re so pure I can’t believe you’re in my life. In rage in my mind, in pain deep inside, you put them all to sleep. When you’re here I feel a sense of peace that I never knew was real before you. My hurt disappears staring in your eyes, where there’s no wrong and there’s no lies behind your face. And I crave you above all else. So breathe slow and soft, and hold on to me. I’m no damn good, and you’re all I love. Your eyes slowly speak, cast a spell on me. I feel so bright, and so does my life when I’m with you.”

That was James’ first and last love song. To a girl who demolished his heart a few months later.

Someone’s crying. It’s Maxwell, I think. I’ve never heard him cry before.

“I’ll always love you,” he says. “I should have told you the first time we met.”

It is Maxwell. Talking to me?

I struggle to move my arms but they won’t budge.

His face looks down at me, so out of focus I can barely tell it’s him. A tear falls on my forehead.

I wonder if he thinks I’m dead.

Max, I’m not dead.

Maybe the River can hear me. “Anahata, Vedanshi, tell Max I’m not dead!”

No answer.

Maxwell leans close and kisses my lips. A peck on the side of the mouth.

That was my first real kiss, you know. Everyone brags of their first kiss. My brag will be a near miss, delivered by a man who thought I was a corpse.

I hope I’m not.

Maybe I am. I can’t move at all.

“Try this,” Anahata says in the River.

“Anahata, you’re there! Tell everybody I’m alive!”

The cold vanishes from my core. My arms shoot up from my sides on their own. I struggle to move my fingers, and after several tries they all work. My eyes are moving and I can focus. What a relief!

“Thank you, Anahata!” I shout, all husky.

Maxwell flinches.

I manage to sit up and then have to lean my head against his left shoulder to rest. I feel drained of energy. My sternum hurts every time I inhale.

I look up at the whiskers on the side of his face and whisper toward his ear. “When you said you’ll alway love me, did you mean romantically? Or is this a brother-sister thing?” I don’t want to say, just friends. I hate those words.

He puts his hands on my shoulders and supports me sitting up. His eyes are full of surprise.

“Unbelievable,” he says. “You didn’t have a pulse.”

“Did you do chest compressions on me?” I ask.

“Frantically,” he says.

A wave of affection sweeps over me. Chest compressions. It’s the sweetest thing I can imagine. I have to hug him. I put my arms around him and squeeze, wondering if he did mouth-to-mouth, too.

“Thank you, Max.”

“I guess I’m no good at finding a pulse,” he says apologetically.

“That’s three times you’ve saved me.”


“So I need to know. Are we more than just friends?” There, I said it. Just friends. The timeworn escape clause.

My jaw clenches for the distancing words I’ve grown to hate: close friends, soul mates, practically twins, you’re like a little sister.

Maxwell grins. “Does totally infatuated count?”

“Sounds superficial,” I tell him and try to hide a smile. I’ve always wanted a guy to see me that way.

“Superficial?” he says. “I’ll have you know, Doctor Fujiwara, my infatuation runs deep.” He raises an eyebrow, then puts his hands on the sides of my face and kisses me. Full on. Lips against lips all the way across, not on the side. I can’t believe it.

I’m wondering if there’s going to be tongues. My heart’s racing. I’ve read about this a million times, but how do you know what to do if it ever happens? There’s no consensus in the literature.

Suddenly I have a strong feeling. Like everything revolves around this moment. It’s weird, as if nothing else matters or ever did. Somehow French kissing seems irrelevant. It’s as if I’m melting.

Maybe this is the quantum thing that God was talking about. The quantum entanglement of souls.

I wonder if any of that dream was real. It seemed hyper-real.

Maxwell finishes the kiss. Good, I couldn’t hold my breath much longer.

“It was too real to be real,” I tell him, trying to weigh the dream in my head.

“What was?”

“I had a classic near death experience. Totally influenced by Vedanshi’s story. It even had a pyramid.”

“You better write it down,” he says and catches himself. “Nah, scratch that.” He grins at my memory. People do that all the time.

“Maxwell, I want you to know I’ll always love you, too. In the purest sense of infatuation.”

He looks into my eyes, shakes his head slowly like it’s too good to be true, then kisses me again. Whoa.

I’ll tell you what seems too good to be true. James is alive and Maxwell loves me for more than friends.

I wonder how James is doing. I end the kiss and turn to see him.

He’s sitting there shivering with Vedanshi kneeling behind him, her front against his back. She reaches over his shoulders and rubs his folded arms. Quick little friction circles on his skin to warm him the way she did to me when we met.

“Get a room,” he says to me and starts coughing again.

“Anahata, could you please warm up James like you did me?”

“Good idea,” she says in the River.

“Does he have brain damage?” I ask and hold my breath for the answer.

“No,” Anahata says.

What a relief. “By the way we’re both alive. That means we passed Shiva’s test.”

“No, I’m sorry,” she says, “I had to abort. I don’t know how you got into his chamber but that changed the parameters and voided the test. The protocol has to be letter-perfect, Shiva said.”

I had a feeling.

“I hope none of you drowns,” Anahata says. “I mean that with all my heart.”

“It’s crazy,” I tell her, “but I know you do. I understand what it means to be trapped by honor.”

“What’s going on?” Maxwell asks. “You’re talking to somebody, aren’t you?”

“Anahata needs to redo the test.” I heave a sigh. “It’s a strict protocol. Shiva wants proper drownings.”

The screen flashes metallic silver. A line of rivets comes into focus and moves away. Vaar’s metal cigar shrinks to fit the view, then hangs in space, surrounded by glittery blackness.

Vaar’s face comes on the screen, superimposed over her ship. “I wasn’t aware of any drowning,” she says in the River.

“I called her,” Maxwell says to me, looking up at the screen. “Figured she didn’t know the details or she wouldn’t have recommended Saturn.”

“vaarShagaNiputro,” Anahata says, “What a rare pleasure to speak with Shiva’s esteemed homelander.”

“What’s going on here?” she asks.

“It’s complex. Come over and we’ll talk.”

“Listen, if you lay a finger on that Fujiwara girl I’ll let the jinns out on you and Shiva.”

“Pardon me a moment, Madam Vaar,” Anahata says. “I’ll encrypt some privacy. The Chairman himself is listening. I wouldn’t trust him with a zinc suppository.”

James seems warm now sitting with an arm around Vedanshi. They’re beside The Ganga, both looking at the screen.

“OK, now we have privacy,” Anahata says.

“Every bit of this is going public if you touch Johanna,” Vaar says. “I had no idea Shiva’s test was fatal. I need that girl to save my species. I’m not a quitter like Shiva.”

“I’m deeply disheartened by Shiva’s orders,” Anahata says. “I would do almost anything to keep from spending the rest of my life drowning innocent people this way, but…”

“Why do I doubt that?” Vaar says.

“I don’t know what I expected the first time, but the drowning was a horrible shock. Now the deaths haunt me. Every moment.”

Vaar laughs. “It’s a cheap thrill. Be honest.”

“Weakness invites evil,” Anahata says. “I’m always honest. Orders must be followed.”

“Not this time,” Vaar says. “Shiva left me something.” She brings her right hand into view, her signet ring bulging from the third digit. “Recognize this?”

The ring looks old, a dull silver with a double helix of golden cobras, one heading north, the other south. The eyes are gemstones.

“You found his ring,” Anahata says. “He thought he’d lost it jumping Bridal Veil Falls, but I told him he was mistaken. I would have found it easily.”


“He didn’t lose it,” Vaar says. “He gave it to me before he jumped across. I told him I’d dropped it. But to the point. An hour ago in my lab, the reflection of a UV laser glanced off this ring. Something like this.”

Her left hand comes into view holding a dental mirror. A needle of near-ultraviolet light bounces onto the ring and dances over the northern shake’s eyes.

A holographic image of a planet appears in the air above her hand. It has blue oceans, green and brown land and white clouds.

“This is Mars,” Vaar says. “Does it look familiar?”

As we watch, Shiva’s voice shouts slurred commands. Bolts of blue lightning from space penetrate the atmosphere and strike the oceans. Bellowing clouds of steam rise like white mushrooms growing out of the water at each point of the lightning’s impact.

“This next part isn’t in the records I’ve seen,” Vaar says. “It surprised me.”

The image of a mother appears, running with three children, the smallest in her arms. The perspective moves higher. They’re running from a wall of orange fluid that’s flowing over their village. A small white dog joins them and runs ahead. In less than a minute they’re cornered against the side of a vertical cliff. They try to climb the rocks. Heat waves from the glowing fluid bend their images as they fall from the face of the cliff, writhe in agony and turn to reddish dust. The fluid slides over their smoking remains and into the base of the cliff as Shiva laughs in high falsetto.

“Please turn it off,” Anahata says.

Vaar’s needle of light goes out and the image vanishs.

“Context is needed,” Anahata says. “The Martian Particle Accelerator was mere seconds from unity. There wasn’t time for evacuation.”

“I’ve heard the story,” Vaar says. “Even if true, it’s obvious that you and Shiva enjoy killing. Anyone can hear it. Shall I play something with you howling like a shillelagh fan?”

“No,” Anahata says. ” Please. Things aren’t as simple as you imagine.”

“Shiva was clearly drunk,” Vaar says. “I suppose that’s a moral excuse to feeble minds, but you were sober as a monk, Anahata.”

“We were faced with losing one world or three. An entire arm of Shiva’s galaxy would be obliterated along with his home planet. Selective destruction served a higher purpose.”

“It isn’t the math, it’s the mirth,” Vaar says.

“The angel of death must focus on logic, then choose laughter over guilt. Dance above despair.”

“I’ve recently been accused of being a sociopath,” Vaar says, “but you, Anahata. You’re beyond any disease of mine.” She shakes her head.

“Dark humor is the sanctuary of dark angels,” Anahata says.

“I don’t care,” Vaar answers. “The psychology of mass murder bores me. You haven’t seen a fraction of the ugliness in this ring. If you’d care to avoid galactic disgrace, release Johanna. And that brother of hers, as well. She won’t do anything without him.”

“I’ll be disgraced in either event,” Anahata says. “But to forsake an order is genuine disgrace. The records in Shiva’s ring evoke a misunderstanding of soldier motivation. Nothing more. I’ve lived in disrepute for longer than I’d care to remember… four hundred thousand years, roughly. The popularity I had with Shiva was brief by comparison. I enjoyed it, but it isn’t essential to me.”

“I’m familiar with brief popularity,” Vaar says. “You do grow attached to the adulation, I’m afraid. Now I know what you’re thinking, but forget killing me or stealing my ring. The dirt on you is set to broadcast River-wide if I should so much as sneeze too enthusiastically.”

“I’m not a thief,” Anahata says, “and the last thing I would do is harm Shiva’s friend for spreading the truth. Even if it’s going to be misunderstood.”

“Don’t be calling my bluff, now. If you think I won’t do it…”

“Logically, I can’t fault the deeds of Shiva and his Fleet, but in my heart I regret that no one beneath God is able to punish me for the things I’ve done. The mistakes I’ve made.”

“If you touch Johanna, I’ll punish you,” Vaar says with an intensity in her eyes that makes her look younger.

“Broadcast your truth,” Anahata says. “Johanna tells me it will set us free.”

The images keep replaying in my head. Children turning to dust while Shiva laughs. A crazy laugh.

I wonder what Anahata thinks of the Large Hadron Collider. Maybe she doesn’t know about it. She’s been banned from the Libraries. If she finds out, will she have to destroy the Earth?

It’s odd how the River Libraries are updated. As if there’s an unseen librarian selecting new content. Like that UFO documentary with the Australian kids?

Vedanshi thinks the Universe is the librarian. Maybe so. Somebody’s triaging the information.

I wonder if any of my papers made it. I wonder if…

“Max, I’ve got an idea.”

“All ears,” he says.

“We need to get Anahata back into the Library.”

“Why?” Anahata asks in the River, just before Maxwell asks the same thing.

“There’s a chance I actually passed Shiva’s test,” I tell them. “Despite breaking the protocol.”

“Why do you say that?” Anahata asks.

“Think about the test design. Hyperoxygenated, cold physiologic saline. Why drown someone like that?”

“I wish I knew,” Anahata says.

“This is outlier thinking, but if we assume Shiva knew NDE’s are real, then maybe he thought I would move on to the next life so he could come back and take over my body. All my tissues would be in good condition, red cells protected by the saline, not lysed or crenated the way they would be in freshwater or ocean water. And the low temp with high oxygen saturation would stave off necrosis and autolysis.”

“Remotely plausible,” Anahata says.

“Sounds dead on,” Maxwell says, as if all our problems are over.

“But what makes you think you passed the test?” Anahata asks.

“In my near death experience, Shiva changed his mind and stayed with God. I decided to come back here. Neither of those would have been part of his original plan.”

“Anoxic dreams aren’t real,” Anahata says.

“Near death dreams are caused by anoxia,” I admit, “but so is death. That doesn’t make it unreal.”

“Clever words,” Anahata says. “No one can objectively validate a near death experience.”

“I can. If one of my papers made it into the River Libraries, you’re going to see Shiva’s name beside mine in pink letters.”

“I’m sure your papers made it,” Maxwell says. “You’ve got, what, three major breakthroughs?”

“But I’ve never been allowed to claim first authorship.”

“I know,” Maxwell says. “It’s ridiculous. Drummond should do his own research for once.”

“He needs his ass kicked,” James says.

“The River lists everyone in the et. al’s,” Vedanshi tells us. “Your name will be there.”

“I hope this isn’t a stalling tactic,” Anahata says.

“It’s not,” I tell her. “I saw Shiva step right out of my body onto the blue flowers. The original Shiva, not your guy. It was so real it makes this life look like a dream.”

“Shiva left you?” Vedanshi asks. Her mouth stays open for a moment, then she whispers to James. He hasn’t coughed in a while. The sight of him alive and lucid brings me powerful hope.

“There was something about you,” Anahata says to me. “Sitting in Shiva’s Throne that way. Remember how I called you, Captain?”

“You were feeling a little loopy,” I remind her.

“I was,” she says wistfully. “Let’s have another look at the Library. All of us.”

The screen leaves Vaar and shows the Sentient Fleet lined up in space.

“Follow me,” Anahata says to them. “We’ll line up and kill each other later.”

The Chairman’s voice comes on like a squealing pig. “I command you to fire!”

“Really?” I ask him. “As if you haven’t looked me up in the River. As if you don’t know. You never wanted to rescue me from Anahata. You were protecting yourself from Shiva. Were you going to kill me or just lock me up?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the Chairman says.

“I wish that were true,” I tell him.

A glimpse of Africa fills the screen, then the Giza Pyramids. Without another hint of movement we’re inside the Sphinx Library. Actually the Library is inside Anahata’s convex room, but she’s phase shifted, so locality is a gray area.

Maxwell helps me to my feet and takes me beneath the inverted glass pyramid. We look up at the flower of life and I feel a flood of certainty.

I try to slow my breathing, but it takes focus to prolong my inhaling and exhaling the way Vedanshi taught me. Finally I settle down and feel a subtle mood lift. I’m ready. I speak my name into the River: “Johanna C. Fujiwara, PhD.” I picture the word “Shiva.”

And wait.

Nothing happens.

I try the first author’s name: “Adolf P. Drummond, PhD.”


I wait some more.

Nothing happens.

Not one of my papers made it into the River Libraries. Disappointment doesn’t describe this feeling. It’s thoroughly humiliating, especially in front of Maxwell and James.

Vedanshi whispers something into James ear.

He looks perplexed. He tries to get up but can’t make it to his feet. Vedanshi gets up on her knees beside him, steadies him and eases him back to the floor. He lies flat on his back for a moment, then puts his hands behind his head and pulls his chin to his chest to look at me.

“Hey,” he says. “Try the one with the cuss words and that fat dude. That was sick. My favorite story ever.”

“It’s not published,” I tell him. He knows I got in trouble for that thing. All those cuss words in a church school? What was I thinking?

Then again, maybe the River’s standards don’t match the human gatekeeper’s. I subvocalize the title into the River, “The King Weighs 340 Pounds, OK?” Instantly the words appear in the air beside me. Three-dimensional block letters with my middle name, “Celeste,” below them. No first or last name at all.

I used my middle name the year Moody pulled my hair out. People were calling me Joe. I hated everything about it. I still have a phobia about masculinity, you know.

Except for this one thing: Beside my middle name, in pink letters, the name of an ancient Indian god floats in midair: “Shiva.”

He was part of me when I wrote that story.

This changes everything.

I look over at Vedanshi kneeling beside James. She smiles at me through watery eyes. “My brother finally went home,” she says, then leans forward and cries for joy on James’ broad chest.

M. Talmage Moorehead

As a (retired) pathologist and not a religious fundamentalist, I accept intelligent design over neo-Darwinian evolution as the more logical explanation for the mind-boggling complexity of the human body (including the DNA code, the brain and the mind).

Let’s ignore that issue while we learn from the latest science coming from a UCLA doctor, Dale Bredesen, MD. He’s on the cutting edge of what I hope will be the new direction for 21st century western medicine. Like the vast majority of scientists, he accepts neo-Darwinian evolution. I don’t, but so what? This guy deserves everyone’s total respect. The planet is lucky to have him on board!

Most of us know someone with Alzheimer’s. It’s an epidemic. Finally there’s hope! More and larger studies are needed, as usual, but this one had 10 patients, 9 of whom either recovered or improved significantly. The one who didn’t improve had advanced Alzheimer’s.

Enjoy listening to this brilliant scientist, Dale Bredesen, MD, right here. <== Click those orange words. 🙂 Preserve your gifted mind so you can continue producing your brilliant creative work. The world needs your voice.

You can also read the paper and watch Dr. Bredesen’s videos.

(By the way, I have no affiliation or relationship with Dr. Bredesen or Chris Kresser, M.S., L.Ac, the man doing the interview.)

OK, Johanna’s story is nearing the end. One more chapter to come, if she cooperates. After that, I’m probably going to re-work it, making it less of a blog-novel by eliminating much of the nonfiction stuff – unless you write and talk me out of it. The plan is to mold her story into a legit genre novel. It may be impossible, so depending on the input I receive, I may move on to another novel. If you’ve read the whole thing, please drop me an email and give me your advice: cytopathology (at) gmail (dot) com.

Keep writing! I’m watching Jessica Brody’s Productivity Hacks for Writers. It’s insightful and full of ingenious methods of getting you into the flow state for writing. If you sign up for her free stuff she’ll send you a coupon that lowers the cost from 30 dollars to 17. I paid the thirty before I noticed the discount in my email. I’m told Udemy would give me the discount if I complained, but this course is worth more than the $30 I paid. Let’s just make sure you pay the lower price if you buy it. 🙂 (I have no affiliation with Jessica Brody or Udemy.)

Love and hugs,


40 thoughts on “Quantum Entanglement (Chapter 21) “Hapa Girl DNA” by M. Talmage Moorehead

  1. Anonymous

    Anytime am suggesting to my friends the people i think they should follow,i never forget to add your name and site. I mean,you are so very good and your writing skills is also marvelous. Not to forget your picture quality. I don’t know where you get your pictures from but i must say they are really good and they fit your contents. I also love how you engage everyone that visits your site.
    You are blessed dear.

    • Thank you, I really appreciate your recommending my site to friends. That means a lot. I’ve been off in a corner writing another story in recent months, so I need to get back here and write some nonfiction posts, I think. Thank you for reading Johanna’s story. 🙂 I miss her so much now that I’m writing for other characters. Someday I’ll come back and work this “first draft” into a finished novel, I hope.

  2. I have this feeling like when an important chapter in my life is getting close to an end – like when I graduate, or when one of my kids leaves the nest that we call “home”.
    I used to read your book since the beginning (precisely, starting with Chapter Three); it makes a difference reading chapters sporadically, each one at a distance, in the actual rhythm the story is being written. While you, the author, are being naturally connected to your work in progress, the reader is loosing that connection, so it is harder to achieve an emotional and meaningful built-up every time you retake reading. With an actual book, it’s all a different story. For particular reasons, I have read these past four chapters together, and it’s been a whole world of a difference – the connection, the emotion, that need to find out more and that “holding my breath” for what’s coming next…
    I now find out with mixed feelings of both satisfaction for your successfully wrapping up a long project, and regret for having to say farewell to an endeared character, Johanna, and to her companions for the journey.
    I know very well the attraction of writing non-fiction, but, if you are going to choose it unilaterally, I honestly believe that it is going to be a great loss for the world of fiction – or, rather, for the world of intelligent fiction. Thank you for all this delight for both senses and mind, and I cannot wait for the last chapter.

    • I was ready to switch to writing nonfiction exclusively (after the rewriting and publishing of this as an indie on Amazon), but after hearing your comments, honestly, I’ve decided I should keep going with my fiction. Not exclusively, though. I have such a huge desire to read nonfiction, learn new things and write about them that they find their way into my stories, slowing things down and detracting from plot, conflict and visual scene generation. I think my fiction will be better if I write some nonfiction, too, and keep the two a lot more separate.
      Thank you for your tremendous positive influence on the way I feel about this story and about my potential as a fiction writer. I’m going to do both fiction and nonfiction, thanks to you. If I can overcome perfectionism, my writing speed will improve, too. There must be a practical way to get rid of perfectionism as a writer.

      • Hmmm… I know something about those pains, too.
        I, too, feel WAY more attracted towards nonfiction – actually, I have already written like two first drafts for two different nonfiction books (besides the two memoirs that you know about) that, even after three-four years I still find important and worthy of pursuing.
        But, consider this: I believe that writers – at least those who are serious about it – are pushed to write. It is not by choice, like Jung said: it’s not people who have ideas, it’s ideas that have people.
        So, in as much as you would think that you write for yourself, like a pregnant woman, you know, who didn’t choose her pregnancy, buy is compelled by nature to take it to the end, and, moreover, also go through the birthing process (I would have shot myself if I had a gun – luckily none was nearby :))

      • I understand how you feel about writing nonfiction – I, too, have like two first drafts for two different books, and which, after three to four years I still feel they well deserve continuation.
        I was thinking that you do not write just for yourself, just because you are under the inner pressure to do it. Or, rather I should say that you feel the inner pressure because you have something to say that is important to be there, in the cloud of collective consciousness – and nothing can do it better than fiction. It is a fact that, when people feel the need to fill in their soul or their intellect gaps, they would firstly go for fiction, rather than for nonfiction. This doesn’t deny the need for nonfiction (I cannot remember last book of fiction I have read – except for yours here:)) I can only read nonfiction right now, and, I believe for ever more.
        But I really believe that everyone carries a responsibility in the way positive-influence and negative-influence weigh for the cultural balance in our world. I profoundly believe that, even though nobody reads yet our work, time has a way of revealing whatever is relevant in everybody’s lives. And, I know for sure, there are scores of people who would find immense relief in reading more of the positive stuff (I do not deny the utility of the “bad” stuff, though).

        • I can’t believe I’ve got a comment from you that I haven’t responded to yet. YOU of all the people to fail to answer! My sincere apologies.

          Yes, I sense that responsibility you’re talking about… to bring something uplifting into the world with the stuff we write.

          I’ve been writing a new story lately, this one is offline and heavily commercial in content and structure. I even wrote an outline that I paid Jessica Brody to assess, bless her insightful heart. I made it halfway through writing the novel’s first draft (with decent speed) when, several weeks ago now, an old friend from childhood came over unexpectedly and spent the entire day talking and talking to me about his life. I’m not much of a talker except with my kids, so I mostly listened. I apologized to him at one point for leaving our rock band and going off to chase after religion and a career in medicine back when we were teenagers. I was 13 and he was about 16 or 17, same as the other two guys in the band, “Friction.” He said, “It is what it is.”

          That didn’t sound like the acceptance of my apology, but maybe that’s because we were just kids when I left my life and my friends. He said he’s always “used me” in conversation as an example of someone who could have made it (in the rock-and-roll world), but allowed religion to ruin his life. (Words to that effect, anyway.)

          I’m not sure if it was something he said, but since that conversation I haven’t been able to get back into writing my new sf novel. I keep studying various medical things as well as listening to all the self-confident preachers and teachers on the internet. Almost everyone sounds so absolutely sure that they’ve discovered the answer to whatever it is they’re selling as a cure.

          I remember reading your work and feeling such hope and relief that here is a vibrant, intelligent person who has found a real answer but doesn’t project any false infallibility. I still wish I could go to a place like the one you described and have someone drag me, like they did you, into that joyous dance with hundreds of strangers and that excellent guru. The true story of your life brings me hope to this day. Hope of connecting with 3D people in some meaningful, unselfconscious way. Connecting with people is probably the ultimate meaning of life. That and helping them if you can.

          I always seem to mention something concrete that’s helping me on my journey. Here’s my latest thing: high intensity interval training.

          The “high intensity” part is a relative term. I run for a minute or so on a treadmill then walk for several minutes, then repeat another short sprint, then walk for several minutes… and repeat this intermittent cardio stuff about four or five times in the morning and then again in the evening. It’s not much work at all, but does seem to clear my head and elevate my mood much more than I would have imagined, having done tons of slow jogging on a treadmill over the years. I can’t wait until the weather warms up so I can get back in the pool and swim sprint laps.

          My experience with the ketogenic diet was good and bad. Good in the sense that it really does wonders for my brain – thinking and memory – but bad in the sense that the acidic internal environment has been hard on my kidneys. I didn’t know it, but I have a genetic kidney condition that makes me susceptible to kidney stones and renal failure. Great fun for the whole family! 😉

          Maybe it was that new kidney diagnosis that’s set me back as a fiction writer, not the talk with my long lost atheist friend from childhood. Or maybe it’s the sense that writing fiction (that anyone will read) seems to require the creation of negativity (conflict, a villain, etc.). Anyway, although I’m not much of a Christian in terms of believing in an infallible book, I do trust God completely in my own little way. Renal failure and death are not to be feared when you know the intelligent designer is truly a kind, loving, and trustworthy person. All the pains of war and the loss of our loved ones as well as the loss of ourselves – these are the result of free will, which in my opinion is a fragile thing, but also the essential ingredient of a real person, not necessarily a human person, but you know – real as opposed to science’s version of humanity: an illusion of matter and energy.

          I hope everything’s going well for you and your family. Do your yoga breathing, get some sunshine and stay motivated to finish all your writing!


    • Thank you. Yes, it’s science fiction with an implied acceptance of the notion that the Universe fundamentally consists of mind, matter and energy, rather than just matter and energy as the reductionists assume. Neither position can be proven, but as a scientist, (a retired pathologist), I think the evidence for conscious intelligence (mind) as a non-derived reality (apart from matter and energy) is best seen in the complexity of DNA and other information containing portions of the living cell. Attributing the complexity of DNA to random mutations over a mere 14 billion years seems less likely to me. And even if a person accepts the mainstream mindless evolutionary dogma, it doesn’t answer the question of how this lucky universe got its properties and underlying characteristics that give it the ability to write hyper-complex DNA code without thought. Was that just a remarkable stroke of luck, too? Maybe, but I doubt it. Of course, no one can prove it one way or the other. It’s intuitive no matter which side of the intelligent design argument a person happens to land on.

      Sorry, I got carried away there. You said it’s a mix of sf and “supernatural” saga. Of course you’re right, except that I’m thinking the code writer (who or whatever term we use) is the most natural part of nature. That’s my position as a scientist, not as a fundamentalist religious affiliate of any type.

      It seems there are more and more scientists beginning to see things this way. You might check out “Signature in the Cell,” by Steven Meyer, PhD. There’s even a famous atheist philosopher, Thomas Nagel, who’s doubting the mindless Darwinian dogma in his book: “Mind & Cosmos: Why the Materialist Neo-Darwinian Conception of Nature is Almost Certainly False.”

      Anyway, this is why I shouldn’t be writing fiction. I have a difficult time leaving all this boring “message” stuff out of stories. 🙂 Thank you for your inspiring comment! 🙂

      • anshgupta1234

        Yep, I’m almost 12. I’m a bookworm, that’s how I get all the ideas.(But if you speak to my mom, she will disagree about me having “talent”.)

        • Glad to hear you like books. That’s going to be a huge plus for you throughout life. I bet your mom knows you have tons of talent. Sometimes they just don’t want you to get a swelled head. I know my parents were strong believers in keeping us kids from having oversized egos.
          Keep reading and writing. You’ll go far. 🙂

          • anshgupta1234

            Finally!Part 3 is out! Sorry I was late. I had to go out on a vacation for a week. Here’s the link-https://anshguptablog.wordpress.com/2016/08/21/the-land-of-dead-chapter-3the-palace/

            • anshgupta1234

              I need some advice. When I put links on my posts, what links should I give them? Should I give them the link only to the first part, or all of them?

              • I put the chapters of my story all together in order on one separate WordPress page. Then at the end of each chapter I tell the readers (all two of them) that they can read this story from page one by clicking here. Then I link the page with the whole story to the word “here.”

                Is that what you were asking? I’m sure there are better ways to do it. For one thing, my story is so long now, I doubt people can open the page on older PC’s and cell phones. I probably should have broken it up into three “acts” or something.

                  • I think it’s the same for every theme.

                    I had to get the wordpress helpers to show me how it’s done.
                    You have to create a new page first. Then cut and paste your chapters into it.
                    Then (this is the hard part) you may have to get one of the wordpress help people to show you how to create a menu item (probably the title of the novel) that is a link to that page. If the wordpress people aren’t available, try googling “how to list a page on a menu in WordPress.com.”

                    As a default, every new post comes up as the landing page for new visitors in WordPress.com. But that can be changed to where every new visitor to your site sees a static page, such as the first page of your novel, or your About page.
                    I left mine the way it was, so visitors always see my latest chapter.
                    Hope that’s helpful. It’s really tough to give detailed instructions like this. Videos are way better. Having a live helper from wordpress is often better than a video, but that’s not always the case. Good luck.

                    • anshgupta1234

                      Thank you! But wow, that is a hard thing to do. I think what I’m going to do is that in the start of every chapter I will put a link to the first part and in the end a link to the next part. Thogh thank you for explaining!

  3. anshgupta1234

    Thanks! I will try to find the book.

    Also, I have started a story called The Land Of Dead(I know, I know, it is a very bad title)Read the first part:https://anshguptablog.wordpress.com/2016/07/04/the-land-of-dead/

    Oh, and your advice that I should like, follow, and comment on other people’s blog has really helped me out. Now I have had 20 visitors and another follower(It’s not much, but without you I have would have had only 5 visitors and only you following me)! Thank you. But there is one problem: It takes a long time to find a blog or post worth following, liking, or commenting on. Once again, could you help me?

    And please reply to this comment on my post The Land Of Dead, so that it emails me when you do reply. Thanks!

    • One way to find good blogs is to go the Reader (up in the left hand corner) and at the far left where it says “tags,” click “add” and type in a word like “writers” or “fiction” or “young adult fiction”. That makes a bunch of blogs pop up who have put those tags into their blogs. Saves tons of time. Regarding my late response to your reply to my comment… Your response wasn’t in the “reply” box, so I didn’t get a message telling me you had responded until you put the comment on my blog. Hope that made sense. 🙂 “The Land Of Dead” sounds good to me. I’ll hop over and check it out later tonight.

  4. {“The River lists everyone in the et. al’s,” Vedanshi tells us.}
    Haha, that’s poetic payback ( excuse me the term) !!!

    So, the loneliness of the long distance…writer is almost over, as far as Johanna’s story goes.
    Maybe afterwards, if you fell like it, you can share your insights about the aftermath (practical & psychological) of completing a work of art as a writer.

    • Thank you, Spira. To have you to call my story a work of art is deeply meaningful. You are the genuine artist, of course.
      I’m fighting to make progress with the next and final chapter. When it’s done I may rewrite it and try to transform it into something that sf readers would spend 99 cents on. Not sure yet. I’m going to talk to a writing coach next week about it. I think he may wisely advise me to move on. Start from scratch and do genre plotting where there’s a villain driving a story-long single conflict that’s crystal clear from the first chapter. At any rate, my next fiction work will be done in private rather than on the blog. I really miss blogging about nonfiction. I’ll come up with a focused post on the practical and psychological aftermath of the whole journey. Thank you for that brilliant suggestion!
      Thank you also, Spira, for the pictures of Parvati in your sculpted shrine. Your work is magnificent!
      Everybody reading this, click over and spend some quality time with all of Spira’s original three-dimensional art. Breathtaking! https://spirasc.wordpress.com/

  5. Dear Talmadge, I find more “Truth” in your story-line than in the daily news 😄 and it is certainly more interesting! Still not up to date on the past segments, but enjoying it every step of the way, non-the-less. (Well, of course I just had to read the latest – even though I’m not up to date in the story.) I love the way you offer support to up and coming authors and also the informational links you have provided for us all, too.

    • Thank you for being there to encourage me again! The earlier chapters are loaded with boring rants (messages) that will probably need to be deleted or sized down considerably if I do a final draft of this story. I’ve got a phone appointment with a writing coach next week. Hopefully he will help me decide whether to try to make this a true genre novel (sf) or just move on to another project.
      I’m glad to hear that the links are interesting. In many chapters I think I went way overboard with them, but who knows? I’m just making this up as I go along. I do think that a lot of news is swept under the rug and suppressed. Routinely. But I could be wrong, despite being infallible. 😉
      I think the entire indie writing community is loaded with people who genuinely love to help other writers. I’ve heard other people say the same thing. Indies. Even aspiring indies, like me. Maybe there’s an epigenetic link between needing to write (chromosome 7?) and loving to help people (chromosome 18, no doubt). 😉 All indie writers seem to have it, thankfully. Hybrids, too, like Joanna Penn who’s been traditionally published and has also become a powerhouse indie writer.

  6. anshgupta1234

    Ok, so Pressing is basically publishing a post on your blog that belongs to someone else’s blog. But it isn’t really plagiarizing because it only gives you a paragraph of the story and gives you a link to the actual post.

    To Press a post, you need to click the “Read more” Button on the post and then go to the very bottom of the post under where it says ‘Share this’. There you will find a button with the WordPress logo followed by the words ‘Press this’ Press the button and click “Publish’ And there you go! You have posted the link to a post you like.

    And I have some advice for you.(I’m just a kid and I don’t know a lot, so remember that in mind before reading the advice. And just say No if you don’t want to follow the advice. You don’t need to sugar coat it or anything because I understand. In fact, even I’m not so sure about this.) If people want nonfiction, give them nonfiction. I say that you Copy and Paste your novel on MS Word or Google docs. Then Trash all 20 Chapters. Then you can have this routine: 1 post nonfiction, 1 chapter of ‘Happa Girl DNA’. And when you are done with your novel, post all the chapters. And then just do nonfiction.(or a mixture of both)

    There is only 1 con-People might start asking more chapters of ‘Happa Girl DNA’!

    Also, how do you find other blogs on genres you like?

    P.S I’m sorry if you thought it was rather selfish of me asking you to Press my posts!

    • Thank you for that straightforward advice. I’ve got one chapter to go on “Hapa Girl DNA,” so I guess it’s too late to take it all down. I will go back to blogging nonfiction, though, as you recommend. The story has many “messagey” rants throughout, and I plan to do a final draft where they are reduced in quantity and hopefully woven into the story better. On the other hand, I’ve got a discussion with a writing coach next week and he may change my mind by telling me to just start another story and let this one go.
      Regarding “Pressing” your work on my blog, thank you for asking and for explaining so clearly what it is and how to do it. I haven’t deliberately posted anyone’s writing except for the quotes at the beginning of most of my chapters, but if I begin Pressing other people’s work, I will certainly keep you in mind. Your writing shows great talent for analysis of complex issues, so the more you write and the more you read (nonfiction especially) the stronger your work will become. Read “The Talent Code” by Coyle, if you can possibly find the time. It will empower you with the knowledge of how the central nervous system works with you to create world class greatness. The younger you start, the further you’ll be able to go. And you’ve already got what it takes to be great.

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