Author Keith Jenkins’
newest novel,
Misfit Toymakers: Misfits Made book 1
Published by Author
House, is, in his own words,
“A Historical Fiction
set in the future, back dropped by the
secession of Texas Union and the states that follow with it, the politics of the fifty years between now
and then.”
I personally find this
description to be highly amusing, and accurate.
Normally my first
choice of reading material isn’t a political thriller.
However, Jenkins
includes an abundance of fast paced action
scenes, mixed with futuristic tech,
and quirky sense of
humor to keep the reader constantly
entertained.
Between the covers of
Misfit Toymakers you will find: politics, a love
story, tech gadgets, international commerce, ADD boy, terrorists,
redemption, millionaires,clones, and more.
I enjoyed the fast
pace and creative genius of Jenkins Novel. He comes up with tech
that I hope one day will be an every day part of life. Even if a political
thriller isn’t your first choice for pleasure reading, I found that this story
has a little bit of everything, something for most audiences to enjoy.
For up to date
information on the Misfit Toymakers, click here
The cast of
Characters:
Joshua Danz (A.k.a
ADD Boy) ~ “A man conflicted by who he was, is, and is not. He discovers that
his is a life of wealth and power that must be learned, not earned. He is the
master of a massive, global Enterprise
Follow Joshua Danz on
Facebook
Ethyl ~ “The woman he
fist comes to love, after his recovery is a real piece of work. She is smart,
capable, beautiful, sexy, deadly, and wise. She works for him, as his
administrative assistant and much more. She makes certain that his every
command is carried out, and she protects him with her life- a life that is not
nearly as long as it looks.”
Follow Ethyl on
Facebook
Follow Doc on Facebook
Here
Below is an excerpt
from Jenkins’ newest book
Misfit Toymakers (Misfits Made book 1)
(with permission from
the author)
The Crash and Recovery
through the smoke and
screaming pain, that there is a head, shattered and splattered, on a car window opposite me with
only a singular crack running up and down the window, and I’m so ADD that somewhere in
the back of my reeling mind I am thinking, “That’s some impressive glass.” That’s where
this story really begins. The cold wind blows over me through the window, and outside there are
shouting voices getting closer and the door being torn from the car . . . tears
flow, cooling to my face, even as parts of me are crunching in their hands. I’m
fading from consciousness . . . sirens sound . . . people shouting to me, at
me, for others to come. Fading, “But . . . !”
I want to scream, but nothing happens. I am trying to flail,
to put the fires out, to shout, to cry, but nothing comes.
My eyes are so watered up that all I can see are pools of darkness followed by a blob of
colour, then colours, undulating one among another, and then I’m blinking, the tears run down my
cheeks, as I realize that the colours I see are not the colours I had seen, they’re brighter –
whiter – cleaner – daylight – indoors. “Where am I? What’s going on? Who are you, and why are you
doing this to me?” I try to say it all, but nothing comes out. Still, I’m not burning – I’m cool
and not in pain, so there’s that.
There’s a guy in the doctor mask with his hands on my face.
He must have seen the terror and confusion in my eyes because he replied. He
removes his mask and his lips move as if to say, “Just a moment,” but it sounds
like Charlie Brown’s mom, and everything was gone. I didn’t realize what was
happening then. Really, it would be days before any true understanding of my
reality would arrive.
I just wake up and I can’t move. I can’t scream for help. I
can barely blink my eyes and think, and more than anything else I am worried
about what I am thinking. I am thinking that it seems like weeks since I did
anything, and I can’t remember what that was. I can’t remember if what I did
last was work or play or spend time with my wife and kids. What is my wife’s
name? I can’t picture her face
at all. Do I have a wife and kids? I try to think about what I do for a living,
and it simply will not come to me, and then I realize, “Wait a minute, who am
I? Holy crap! I can’t even remember my own name.” I close my eyes
hard and try to think, but even my face won’t come to mind. Who am I?
I begin to panic, but that doesn’t help, and no one comes to
see me. I hear some beeping and quiet whirring
noises around me and realize that these are the sounds I have heard on TV when someone was in an
ICU – I think, “I’m hooked up to some doctor junk.” Hard as I try, I can only look around as
far as my eyes can move, and that ain’t much. Just on the bottom edge of my
field of vision, I can see a breathing tube of some sort, and I hear the slow
and steady “whish . . . whoosh” sound from a respirator. I’d heard that before,
but I can’t remember where or when or why. I start feeling a panic going on and
hear the beeping of my EKG or EEG or something getting faster and very shortly,
a nurse comes in. She sees, she glares, and then she shouts.
“He’s awake.” I hear, but the words are garbled. It is like
my head is under pillows or like I am laying down in a shallow bath with my
ears covered by water. A small, red light in the hallway begins to rotate and
flash quietly as a stream of people dressed in scrubs flood into the room,
finally followed by an authoritative looking woman and a man with a lab coat.
It seems like a dozen others are mumbling around me as if my ears aren’t quite
working; everything still garbled. Lab coat guy comes close beside me and leans
down saying, “Looks pretty good.” And that’s all I recall from that visit. I
must have passed out or something.
Click appropriate link
to purchase your own copy of Misfit Toymakers
Available at Amazon
Also available at Barnes and Noble
Misfit Toymakers (Misfits Made book 1)
For all things Keith
visit his linked in profile for access to his personal web pages
If you read Misfit Toymakers:(Misfits Made book 1)
make sure to come back and check out books 2 and 3 of the Misfits Made series.
Working titles subject to change
Mexican Mission:(Misfits Made book 2) & Ambassador's Tale:(Misfits Made book 3)
An excerpt from Mexican Mission:(Misfits Made book 2)
Church in the Weeds
We are all up and out by
dawn, big kids fed and dressed, loaded into the caravan. The babies will stay
home with Cinco today. Mike has gone ahead with the Angel and taken a box of
supplies that had arrived the other day from Tejas. Every few months we get a
box full of stuff for the neighbors. We have four locations to the south of us
where we usually set up church. Each church is its own autonomous operation
with a group of elders, that’s born-againers that have been saved for a while
and really get it, who study the Word and have shown themselves as men striving
to live God’s way. We stop in to lead worship from time to time and bring
support materials in the boxes, and to help the elders with any problems that
they may have trouble with. In that sense, I guess I am what Paul would
describe as an overseer, or what the old church called a bishop. It’s an honor,
not a job.
It is an early start as
we head about twenty miles south of home on the 39, then west-ish to Ciudad
Valles, then south another ten miles, west again into the territory. There are
big roads, and small towns, plains, and thickets, and trails through jungles to
get there. The wildlife we encounter along the way is like a trip to the zoo
for the kids and the Hanratty’s take it much the same way. He drives as she
points, with an ooh and ah, and shoots everything she can with the camera in
her phone. Ethyl drives her Mega Cruiser, with the locator beacon in her nav
sat, and I follow in the SHV-19-D (which has four rows of seats an d gas
powered electric drive), while Hanratty’s drive a deuce and a half full of
tables and benches, and Doc brings up the rear in the medical van. Its well
over an hour and a half journey from home to holler and with all these kids,
and me of course, we have made several pit stops along the way. Never, I
repeat; never blame the women for the stops. You are always better off if you
just assume any blame in this. One nice thing about being in the woods is that
we can just pull over and find a tree, or a bush; we don’t have to locate a
suitable business, restaurant or gas station; there are no rest areas like in Texas
It is shortly after eight, when we arrive at the
box, following the transponder that Mike put on it, with Ethyl’s nav system in
her expert hands. We unload a few benches from the trucks and cue up some
music. This morning we are playing “Prepare Ye the Way of the Lord” from
Godspell. I love that tune. The people know we are coming so they are on their
way. The music is our way of saying that we are ready for them to arrive. At
first it is the elders, who greet us all with handshakes, hugs and kisses,
followed by the most faithful and most nearby of the followers and there will
be strangers and stragglers coming in until the last of the food is eaten and
the work is done. It never fails that someone will arrive right be fore we are
ready to go. Just wait and see.
We have unloaded about a
half dozen benches into the clearing, three to the left and three to the right
from the pulpit area and as the people arrive they bring the other benches out
of the truck, assisted by Hanratty and wife. The elders have asked that my family
not be seen loading and unloading the vehicles. Even when Doc and Ethyl need
medical supplies from the van, they would rather get it for them, or send one
of the deacons. It is their way of establishing and maintaining order so that
respect and discipline can be upheld throughout the tribes, as this congregation consists of
people from eight or nine neighboring tribes and the elders come from all. In
this way the elders are seen submitting to us, as the deacons – regardless of
tribe – submit to the elders, and so it flows.
