Are you a fan of Science Fantasy? Come join the Kynaston Royal Saga Facebook Group to join in the fun as we prepare for the launch of Book 1! Power In Time follows the adventures of Larkspur, an unwitting time traveler who finds herself stuck 4,000 years in the future, with unknown superpowers lurking in her DNA, and adopted into one of the most powerful families on all four inhabited planets. Will painful surprises from her distant past now help her embrace an uncertain future? https://www.facebook.com/groups/996482640749642/

The moment I was brought into this world, I was instantly branded developmentally-stunted, narcissistic and lazy. Apart from being a lethargic preemie (who forced doctors to take him out weeks early), my other crime was being born in the 80's. While newer evidence from psychology (mercifully) defends my generation as suffering from the dual struggles of discovering identity while enduring growing pains of the most rapidly-changing socioeconomic environment in human history, impulsive prejudice built up against Millennials towers over us like Mount Olympus (which, ironically, few detractors would ever climb such pre-conceptual heights to find out whether we fit their expectations). To our elders, strangers (elder strangers or was it strange elders?), we would instinctually be graced as “Generation Me”. Deep in my bones, I knew I wasn't this kind of person. Much of the joy in my youth, for instance, came from volunteering at the hospital or performing songs to soothe weary audiences of their troubles. Partying was a worthless social obligation (starting with boredom and ending with anxiety for the time I wasted). Whether my young mind knew it or not, I was determined to be something other than the selfish, entitled brats Gen Me were destined (by society) to be. It's probably why, at 24, I faced a quarter-life crisis. Days before my 25th birthday, I was unstoppable. Fresh off of earning my black belt in Shorin Ryu karate (a feat some believed beyond me), I raced to the wall in my room, placing the half-English, half-Japanese certificate above my ARCT in piano performance and my medical science degree. I gazed up at my trinity gleefully, only for my pride to vaporize instantly. I had accomplished nothing. Emptiness welled up inside me as I questioned the truth behind those certified proclamations. For all the blood, sweat, tears, time and effort I had poured into those milestones, my patient friend, Walter, from my hospital days (who always blessed me as a ‘good man' whenever we parted) was still dead. My musical performances were little more than transient pleasures. But shaking me most was that a tech at school (I had just finished my 3rd year of pharmacy) died suddenly from cancer. Surrounded by medical practitioners - and all we could offer were our sincerest condolences. Her death was the last straw: fueling me to choose cancer to cure since there's not a single person whose life hasn't been touched by the disease. Unfortunately, continuing to champion destructive treatments (yes, even Nobel Prize-winning immune therapies) in this civil war against our distorted cells (or selves, as it were) will still claim 1/4 of all Canadian cancer patients. With the impending arrival of the largest cancer patient population in history (due to aging baby boomers), 1.2 million baby boomers will die while the luckier 3.5 million boomer survivors will be forever cursed by a myriad of progressive chronic diseases. Three guesses whose generation bears this other impossible burden. Einstein once wrote: “A new type of thinking is essential if mankind is to survive and move towards higher levels”. To me, the answer was easy: non-destructive cures. If cancer isn't threatened, it won't desperately evolve against treatment. Sadly, humans have been killing cancer for centuries. Researching otherwise would be like growing a third head (a second being normal by contrast). Witnessing my (supposedly superior) assessor degrade patients with outdated data for her ego proved that my field also wasn't a solution. This left me one avenue to convey my theories somewhat seriously. Sci-Fi. The sting of incredible backlash still ails me to this day. My parents called me crazy. My colleagues shied away from my radical logic. Even my girlfriend dumped me, thinking I'd choose writing over pharmacy. All they saw was another selfish dreamer enticed by fame and fortune. All I could dream about were a hundred thousand terminal Canadian cancer patients pleading for euthanasia each year. What else could I have done? I shut out my heartache: setting out alone to show people that non-destructive cancer cures can solve this imminent medical genocide. At times I wonder whether publishing Destructive Salvation was worth it. I struggled through rejection, isolation and dark times when I believed my passing might be better on my parents. But in my waking nightmares, I uncovered strength within me: pushing me through crippling anxiety and fatigue I once thought unconquerable. Regardless of my gains or losses, my fire burns brighter than ever to make non-destructive cancer cures a reality. Whether my novel makes a difference is not just up to me anymore, (though I have faith good people will agree with me and want to help). In the meantime, my promise to all cancer patients past, present and future still stands: I'll never stop fighting to cure this disease properly. Not a bad calling for defying one's (preordained) destiny.

How do you plan for this day? Personally, I carefully considered any plausible scenario that would require running. To ensure my time would last, I accounted for miscalculations, kept a running journal, and assumed my generously estimated steps would endure well into my elder years. Legend has it that people used to run to live. There are still those who believe this, but I find it preposterous! Knowing life diminishes with each allotted step, running is not meant to be superfluous. Humans can only sustain a certain amount of running before their life energy is depleted. Once that energy runs out, so does your life. I always imagined accidents or emergencies would inevitably require the use of a substantial number of steps. I built my life around these ideas, as I supposed others had done. I never anticipated an emergency of such monumental impact, however. Yet, here I was. Crouching low among the dusty crates, taking measured breaths to steady my mind and body, contemplating the expanse I must travel in order to survive. It was recently discovered that taking someone's life would transfer their life energy, including their remaining steps, to the murderer. Who discovered this? Terrorists? The government? Law enforcement? No one really knows. All we know is that once the word got out, some lunatics decided to see if it was true. There's also been talk of early deaths being the result of murder instead of depleting steps through running. It's nice to think that murder was once controlled only by powerful people, but now that maniacs can participate, it's complete mayhem! The estimated number of steps I have remaining should be enough to allow me to escape this knife-wielding psychopath. My eyes darted around, searching for the most efficient path. If I could just get to safety, I could maintain my life, albeit diminished. It was now or never. I tried to calculate how much life energy would remain after this sprint while simultaneously visualizing the steps I will take to get away. I took off running as silently as possible. I heard the heavy, long strides behind me. I knew this guy wouldn't run after me if I was his first kill. He wouldn't squander his steps unless he had killed before. His footsteps revealed that I was definitely his first, but he was relentless nonetheless. My path of liberation was running out. I searched for places to hide again, but that would require returning to my starting position. That would mean being trapped and a loss of life energy. I could push myself to run faster, but that would mean using up even more steps. I had a choice to make. Keep running and risk dying, or stop running and risk dying. This was not a choice I ever envisioned for myself. I ducked behind a wall of steel beams so I could make my decision. I knew I didn't have long, as I could hear his steps approaching. Then I saw the gleam of his knife reflected off a beam to my left. I knew I would have to flee. He would never give up the chance to prolong his life as long as I was within his grasp. My decision was made. I must run...run faster than I've ever run before...run more steps than I ever planned...run to an expedited death. Either way, my life energy would be drained. I had no idea at this point how much of my life would remain. As I sprinted, I began to drift further into the recesses of my mind, recalling each moment I had lived. I was no longer aware of the distance between me and my attacker, no longer aware of his footsteps or mine. Suddenly, I realize that I am no longer running; I feel as if I am floating; my steps have run out.

Read the rest of this ......starts in medias res Also check that poem out(sort of a poem) .....its rough and possibly rhymes to close together like a a b b b b b .....also, its You as in, singing it to A girl, that i havealready met(r____ would be the only potential one) or a girl I have not met(most likely)... it would suck to never fall in love it is the truth i feel right now.... it makes my writing miss the romantic side, and for me thats a big side..a muse would apply here lol ... They could trigger the perfectionist, drive, and sensitive in me ... but the pitfall is they can also trigger the obsessive thinking to much loving tendency, & overly insecure side....... I tend to be attracted to the more dominate or artist girls( smarter dominate girls like H_____& R_____ they were not afraid to kick asses ) ..... or Artist like L____ (ballet & Art) understanding me better and far more interesting..I guess I loved her the most but as my past record shows,my love grows too quickly and even when theirs grows equallyas fast , at a certain point theirs will slow or cap out and mine keeps on growing into an obsessive love, they cant match, they get sick of me, & within 2 months its bye bye...... (obssesive LOVE, because it is not an obssesive sexual thoughts, it is just thr loving definitions without a limit, and beyond annoying) However, i WAS untreated Bipolar back then, NOW i AM treated so maybe it would be different, but i have a feeling it is my imagination & mind that turns me into The Love song of J. Alfred Prufrock ..... I imagine every scenario and It is always the sad outcomes that come tru(not the worst tho) unless the multi-verse of quantum physics is real, but in that guess I have split myself for every scenario I have imagined... The only thing that sucks is, my imagination is not able to deceive myself into taking action, be it is able to stop me from moving...but luckily thru fantasy, I can escape without moving ...but it cant replace what I miss the most and that has always been Love Although, one of my fears is, it was my Manic Side that got the girlfriend but it was my normal state that they left....after all, the manic side is the confident side....imagine how sad that would be, Why move?, I already know the results, just like I know I will probably never make it as a writer .. If there is a God or Gods, I would like to ask, yo whats the deal, why do i exist and more importantly what the hell? Like come on dude really, no one at all, u supplied no matches for me..and all i wanted as a kid was to fall in love...How the heck do i keep my fire burning if I have no matches to start the fire in the first place.... At least Now I am able to deal with that aspect now that I am older, it is not a Need like it was when i was younger, its all just A want now.....