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A New Novella from John Clarke

Historical fiction and romance collide in an account of young people during a time when the Vietnam War and its aftermath dominate the headlines.

As the heat from the 1967 Summer of Love turns to the chill of winter, a relationship both sweet and bitter is renewed. Decades after their whirlwind 1960s romance ends, strait-laced medical student Carl Blanchard and free-spirited artist Jo Cranston lead separate lives. When a premonitory dream precedes Jo’s sudden reappearance as his patient, Carl and his wife Brenda must confront the past. Their attempt to heal her sets in motion a chain of events spanning continents, culminating in a bittersweet final gift that will forever link their families and test the boundaries of fate and love.

“The Silence Between Years is a masterfully written novel that explores the enduring connections between people and the choices that define their lives…a compelling and heartfelt read.

“Readers who enjoy the works of Nicholas Sparks or Kristin Hannah will appreciate Clarke’s ability to blend emotional depth, personal growth, and poignant relationships into a detailed historical setting.” — Carol Thompson for Readers’ Favorite.

“…the narrative balances intellect and feeling: science and art, duty and desire, then and now. … The writing is thoughtful without being heavy, and poignant without slipping into sentimentality. It’s a story about compassion, second chances, and how love—of any kind—can quietly reshape a life.” — Jennifer Senick for Readers’ Favorite.

“…an incredibly beautiful ending, this is a five-star read. Very highly recommended.” — Jamie Michele for Readers’ Favorite.

Reviewer #1

“The Silence Between Years by John Clarke is a powerful story set during the Vietnam War era, capturing the turbulence of a generation struggling with love, loss, and self-discovery. Clarke skillfully crafts a narrative that spans decades, examining the complexities of relationships, the burden of personal choices, and the lasting effects of past connections.

“The story starts with Carl Blanchard, a pre-med student, navigating the counterculture of the 1960s. His chance reunion with Joie Cranston, a high school sweetheart turned free-spirited artist, sets the stage for a journey full of emotional highs and lows. The realities of their diverging paths challenge their rekindled bond.

“The novel’s exploration of themes such as love, sacrifice, and the search for meaning is complemented by its historical context. John Clarke’s firsthand experiences during the Vietnam War era immerses readers in the cultural and political climate of the time. The vivid descriptions of Atlanta’s hippie scene, the challenges of medical school, and the haunting landscapes of Laos create a compelling backdrop for the characters’ journeys. The writing captures the era excellently. The dialogue is genuine, and the pacing is seamless.

“The Silence Between Years is a masterfully written novel that explores the enduring connections between people and the choices that define their lives. Readers who enjoy the works of Nicholas Sparks or Kristin Hannah will appreciate Clarke’s ability to blend emotional depth, personal growth, and poignant relationships into a detailed historical setting. Fans of authors who explore themes of love, loss, and resilience will find The Silence Between Years a compelling and heartfelt read.” — Carol Thompson for Readers’ Favorite.

Reviewer #2

“The Silence Between Years by John Clarke is a sweeping read that had my emotions and heart pumping with a fierce arrhythmia. As much as I appreciate Carl as a solid and really caring protagonist, it is the women who take the story to a totally different level.

“Clarke presents Jo’s art as a lifeline that reshapes her direction while her trusted friends, Carl and Brenda, encourage her talent and health.

“The story hits its strongest note when Clarke takes us to Laos in the footsteps of veterans from Luang Prabang to the Plain of Jars, where Jo’s landscape art is a distinct shift from her prior medical illustrations and psychedelic work. I love that her arc is tied to her art, and with an incredibly beautiful ending, this is a five-star read. Very highly recommended.”— Jamie Michele for Readers’ Favorite.

Reviewer #3

“The Silence Between Years by John Clarke is an emotional novel about lost love, unexpected chances, and what it really means to move forward. It begins with Carl, a medical student, reconnecting with his high school sweetheart, Jo, during a trip to Atlanta in search of adventure. Years later, Carl—now a doctor—once again finds his past and present colliding when he meets her again, now known as Josephine Meyers. He learns she’s married to a soldier missing in action. As their lives continue to intertwine through medicine, memory, and mystery, the book asks questions about fate, hope, and the bonds that last long after goodbye. Will they ultimately meet at a point in time that brings them together like they used to be, or will life follow a different course?

“The Silence Between Years left me thinking long after I finished reading the last page. It’s the kind of story that feels quiet at first but slowly builds as it makes its way into your heart. John Clarke writes with such tenderness that even the smallest moments, like an old memory, a hospital conversation, or a simple act of kindness, are charged with emotion.

“What stood out to me the most was how the narrative balances intellect and feeling: science and art, duty and desire, then and now. My favorite part was how Carl gave Jo the gift of using her natural talent in a way she had always wanted to. The writing is thoughtful without being heavy, and poignant without slipping into sentimentality. It’s a story about compassion, second chances, and how love—of any kind—can quietly reshape a life.”—Jennifer Senick for Readers’ Favorite.

Find the Novel on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Silence-Between-Years-John-Clarke/dp/B0FVXM3JKV?

The Earth is Not Our Property? Really?

Are we the aliens on planet Earth?

At least one brilliant and knowledgeable scientist thinks so.

There was a good reason why a famous 1982 Spielberg movie was named “E.T. the Extraterrestrial.” For decades, “E.T.” was the initialism that American culture associated with Extraterrestrial Aliens, creatures from outer space.

But now it isn’t in fashion. In fact, the notion of “aliens” has seemingly been replaced by NHI, “non-human intelligence,” at least in official government channels. Gone is the obsession with aliens from outer space. In fact, gone is the obsession with aliens, period.

Why might that be? Well, the anthropologist Dr. Michael P. Masters makes the argument in his book The Extratempestrial Model that so-called aliens might be human time travelers.

However, there is a corollary to the old (over a hundred years old) question about aliens that has arisen once again.

Who are the original intelligent occupants of planet Earth? Are we the aliens?

My long-held response to such ludicrous questions used to be, “Poppycock!”

Until a few days ago. Now, I’m not so sure.

Garry Nolan

My understanding of the universe and our place in it was recently shattered when a highly credentialed and respected scientist from Stanford said something incredible during a Podcast interview. Jordan B. Peterson, a Canadian psychologist, author, and Podcaster (The Jordan B. Peterson Podcast), interviewed Dr. Garry Nolan for Episode 563 (July 17, 2025) of his podcast. The tagline for that episode was startling: “Something Non-Human Has Been Here a Long Time.”

Dr. Garry Nolan – screen capture from the 2025 interview with Jordan Peterson.

Garry Nolan is a Professor in the Department of Pathology at Stanford University. Actually, that is an understatement. He is a British-American immunologist, academic, inventor, and business executive. He holds the Rachford and Carlota A. Harris Professor Endowed Chair in the Department of Pathology at Stanford University School of Medicine. Nolan has founded biotechnology companies and is the senior science advisor for the Skywatcher program which lures UFOs (UAPs) to land and be captured.

Dangerous stuff there, in my humble opinion.

During the closing minutes of the 90-minute interview, Peterson asked Nolan for his conclusion about the presence of NHI on Earth. Nolan’s response was a shocker.

“I conclude that there’s definitely something here. But I think the more interesting conclusion is if they are, if something is here, it’s likely been here longer than humans have even been civilized. So, it really opens the question, and actually it’s something that I think Charles Fort actually said, …Earth is probably somebody else’s property.”

Let that sink in for a moment.

Charles Fort

The person Nolan mentioned, Charles Fort, was even more draconian than Nolan. In the first chapter of his first book, Book of the Damned, published in 1919, he claimed that some unknown intelligence may own the Earth and its inhabitants. He wrote, “I think we’re property.” Twelve years later, one of Fort’s speculative writings in his third book, Lo!, is the most chilling of all. He wrote in no uncertain terms, “The Earth is a farm. We are someone else’s property.”

As can be heard in Part 1 of the Audiobook version of his book, Fort explains that the “damned” are those natural observations, data, that “science has excluded.”

Charles Fort. an early 20th century American writer and researcher

Ninety-four years later, most of us view Fort’s imaginative musing with a bit of subdued laughter and a healthy serving of skepticism. However, when a scientist of international caliber and fame such as Stanford’s Gary Nolan, repeats Fort’s idea, deadpan, in all considered seriousness, then, we have the makings of a nightmare.

That may be the reason that the cognoscenti in government and world leadership are so determined to resist full disclosure at all cost. It might scare the crap out of us.

Most of us with a good reason to believe that aliens and their craft have visited Earth, are perplexed by the resistance of the government to disclose visitation from other worlds. Surely, we can accept that fact, despite often-heard protestation that we are “not ready” to know the whole truth.

On the other hand, maybe they are correct. Perhaps, we are not ready for what Gary Nolan and Charles Fort had to say.

What if those two savants, Fort and Nolan, are correct?

What if Nolan’s recent words are a carefully measured leak? Who or what are the true Masters of our planet? Care to guess?

Based on a genetic probability argument, Nolan dismissed the likelihood that they were humanoid. If not human in appearance, then what are they?

Reptilians

Well, there is plenty of legendary lore about super intelligent reptilians hiding deep underground. Is there more to it than lore?

Frankly, I’ve yet to see the slightest hint of evidence for highly advanced, ancient reptilians hiding beneath our feet. If they are hiding, they’re darned good at it!

Without evidence, reptilian overlords are nothing more than a fantasy.

Shadow People

But what if the entities of which Fort and Nolan speak are not physical at all? Some, like Heidi Hollis, refer to vaporous Shadow People. (Hollis’s claim to fame is her 2014 book, The Secret War: A True Story About Real Alien War and Shadow People.) Those supposed entities are negative spirits in the extreme, even demonic, perhaps.

And the worrisome part is that Hollis (and others) claim that such ephemeral phantoms can induce vulnerable humans to do harmful things, harmful to themselves and others.

Well, once again, without verifiable evidence of Shadow People, the reality of these nightmarish entities can be neither proved nor disproved.

But still, since Gary Nolan put his top-notch reputation on the line, I’m hesitant to dismiss his general conclusion out of hand. Something may in fact own us. Unfortunately, Nolan claims not to know WHO owns us.

Methinks people like him know something the rest of us don’t.

Booth Tarkington

Within the Introduction to Charles Fort’s Lo!, I found a delectable passage written by the Pulitzer Prize-winning novelist Booth Tarkington. His words came not from Lo!, per se, but from Tarkington’s introduction to Fort’s New Lands, from 1923. It specifically addressed Fort’s earliest writing.

“(After dipping here and there in The Book of the Damned—) I turned back to the beginning and read this vigorous and astonishing book straight through, and then re-read it for the pleasure it gave me in the way of its writing and in the substance of what it told. … Here indeed was a ‘brush dipped in earthquake and eclipse’… He [Mr. Fort] deals in nightmare, not on the planetary, but on the constellation scale, and the imagination of one who staggers along after him is frequently left gasping and flaccid.”

Apparently, I am not the first person to view Fort’s reasoning, and Nolan’s echo of it, as a nightmare.

Henry Fuseli’s ‘The Nightmare’ from 1781. Google Arts and Culture

Armageddon – Preparation for Visitors

In a post-apocalyptic world following Armageddon, the narrator reflects on survival amid nuclear devastation. As the last known human, they scrape by on lichen and insects, while hinting at extraterrestrial Arvidx plans to take over Earth post-war.

Armageddon

I may have been the only survivor of Armageddon.

I don’t know for sure. All communications have been down for two years. They were never great where I hid in the mountains, two hundred miles from the closest town. But as far as I know, there are no more towns.

From day to day, days that go unnumbered, all I have are my memories and dreams of the past.

Most of the animals are gone, vaporized, or frozen. So, my skinny body has learned to eke out a small amount of sustenance from the lichen I scrape off rocks, plus the occasional worm or grub. The cold has kept insects mostly dormant, so they can’t skitter away from my fingers as fast as they used to.

Armageddon Gamble

I remember a story from the early atomic age in which a physicist at Los Alamos National Laboratory attempted to “tickle the demon core.” That spherical core was a sphere of high-grade plutonium surrounded by one of two half-shells of beryllium. When the top and bottom of those beryllium half shells were separated, fission reactions within the core could not lead to a nuclear chain reaction. When they were too close, runaway fission would occur.

One day, Louis Slotin used the hand-driven rotation of a screwdriver blade to slowly lower the gap between the two beryllium halves and then widen it again. He played with the atomic demon while nearby technicians watched.

But when the screwdriver accidentally slipped, the half-shells fell together. A blue flash lit the room, and at the speed of light, a fatal dose of radiation shot through Slotin’s body.

Nine days later, he died.

Two years ago, U.S. politicians were making the same gamble. Play with nuclear fire, and maybe you won’t get killed. But then again, you might.

Back then, I listened to the news that the U.S. was testing Russia. In return, Russia and everyone else it seemed, was threatening nuclear war. Didn’t anyone know what nuclear war would mean?

Well, of course, they did. No one could be that stupid. But they did it anyway.

Aliens

Ironically, simultaneous with war fever, there seemed to be anxiety in Washington about alien disclosure. There were two factions, the pro-disclosure and the anti-disclosure groups. The anti-disclosure groups all believed the truth about extraterrestrial aliens was too much for the human population to fathom. Initially, I took some offense at that, but I guess it was true after all.

In the end, political disagreements didn’t matter; the War made such arguments moot. D.C. no longer exists. And neither does Moscow, or Paris, Berlin, or London. Swiss neutrality meant nothing. All their cities were destroyed, and the unlucky survivors in the Swiss, French, and Italian Alps all froze to death or starved to death, slowly and painfully.

Nuclear winter is much more than a theory.

All it took was one slip of the proverbial screwdriver to change everything. The world we once knew is gone, but the insanity of it all is a matter of opinion.

Arvidx

Remember those ET aliens we were talking about in 2024? Why weren’t they here?

Well, you see, the Earth was too hot for the Arvidx, too bright for their skin and eyes, and there was way too much oxygen. Political radicals are dangerous, but free radicals are worse.

The Arvidx pioneers who came to Earth had to remain hidden in the deep oceans. By the time human technology advanced enough for the Arvidx craft to be detected, the wheels of Change were already in motion.

True, the Arvidx had always intended to steal Earth from the humans. But until the middle of the 20^th century, terraforming Earth to make it suitable as an Arvidx home required far more effort than it was worth.

But when humans became nuclear capable, the Arvidx leaders saw an opportunity. Why should they invest effort in terraforming Earth when humans can do it for them? After all, what better way to reduce toxic oxygen than by nuclear firestorms and the death of oxygen-producing vegetation?

And what better way to reduce the atmosphere’s temperature by 20° Centigrade than by a prolonged nuclear winter? And what better way to increase the background level of gamma rays than by tearing gigantic holes in the ozone layer?

It was a perfect plan.

Replacement

Most importantly, what better way to eliminate the scourge of the human population than to encourage them to off themselves?

All they needed were the Arvidx-human hybrids, like myself, to sneak into critical roles of world governance surreptitiously. From their positions of power, they could be champions for war.

In truth, I had no interest in politics. I was an Arvidx hybrid, but not a very good one. However, growing up feral in the mountains had its perks. No one was my boss.

As for food? Before the war, my rifle skills ensured a steady supply of protein.

I do miss that protein. Lichen tastes like crap, but it has lots of fiber. It keeps me alive and regular. The ability to be nourished by it must be due to the few Arvidx genes functioning correctly in me. But still, I do miss an occasional venison steak.

I do see dimmer days ahead. Which is good, because I lost my sunglasses years ago.

Also, now that humans have prepared the world for us, I have lots of company from full-blooded Arvidx. Consequently, my diet has improved, and things are finally looking up.

You Don’t Need a Tardis for Time Travel

The author discusses their interaction with Dr. Harold Puthoff, a key figure in the CIA’s Remote Viewing program, and its declassification leading to unique storytelling opportunities. Their new novelette, “Soul Has No Name,” explores time travel through human soul “fingerprints.”

Twice, I have been suspected of being a CIA Remote Viewer. I have no idea why.

Harold Puthoff

However, I have hosted the Ph.D. physicist and engineer Dr. Harold Puthoff, who initiated the CIA’s Remote Viewing program. Puthoff, best known currently as a theoretician in UFO propulsion systems within the UAP Disclosure effort, came to our laboratory to lecture our Navy scientists on advanced physics, namely scalar energy.

He had been slated to speak elsewhere, but at the last minute, that Navy venue became unavailable. Only after Puthoff returned to the Stanford Research Institute did I discover his past involvement in the dark side of national intelligence

Stargate Project

After the U.S. Army showed an interest in the CIA’s remote viewing results, the program became known as the Stargate Project. Not surprisingly, the Defense Intelligence Agency (DIA) was involved. Since Stargate has been declassified, the internet is awash with information about this unique intelligence-gathering technique.

What does that have to do with the Tardis?

As the “Doctor Who” fandom knows, the Tardis is a fictional time machine/spaceship. Even though the Tardis looks like a nondescript British Police phone booth, it is anything but.

Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash

Remote Viewing as a Literary Device

Thanks to declassification, we know that Stargate Project remote viewers could reportedly “view” past and future events. That is, the viewers could travel through time sans Tardis.

But just imagine what Remote Viewing can contribute to storytelling. Based on what we know about real-life remote viewing, a character in a book or short story can be bestowed with seemingly magical powers to see clearly at a distance, both backward and forward in time. Best of all, the reader does not need to suspend disbelief because those powers are real, at least in trained viewers.

This author could not resist using that literary device in books two and three of the Jason Parker Trilogy. In Triangle and Atmosphere, a blind remote viewer keeps distant tabs on the series’ protagonist and his female accomplice.

Borrowing again from Remote Viewing, there is the new $2.99 novelette Soul Has No Name.

Soul Has No Name

The above history, including my serendipitous nexus with the avowed father of the Remote Viewing programs, provides a little background on my latest publication. Soul Has No Name, A Story of Soul Travel is a longish short story (aka novelette) about a specialized, boutique form of time travel from the comfort of a padded recliner. No phone booth is required.

That makes it yet another form of time travel using remote viewing. Of course, such a thing is entirely fictional.

Unless it isn’t.

Soulmates

The story’s premise differs from other time travel stories because it’s dependent on future technology that can identify the “fingerprint” of human souls. After all, based on known physics, energy cannot be created or destroyed. Likewise, a soul’s energy is unique and everlasting. Knowing those soul fingerprints, technology can be applied to match those unique energies throughout time. One’s fingerprints can lead to “meetings” with soul mates. Past lives literally become alive, at least for a brief soul-travel interval.

(Please remember the previous paragraph includes some fiction. It only makes sense to the reader after the requisite “suspension of disbelief.” For the reader (and this author), there is no requisite belief in past lives, reincarnation, or anything else. Like any good science fiction, the story assumes certain things can happen, whether they actually can or not. It’s “make-believe.”)

Of course, no time travel story would be complete without someone screwing things up. In this case, the protagonist has his entire life upended for a reason and in a way that no one would suspect.

All things considered, Soul Has No Name is unique in the science fiction time-travel genre.

Review

Commercialized Time Travel as a boutique industry.

“In all the millions of words I’ve read, I never came across Clarke’s time travel concept. This story ranks near the top of my long list of science fiction short stories.” Robert G. Williscroft, Bestselling author of The Starchild Saga and The Oort Chronicles.

Shortly after Time Travel is commercialized, a boutique specialty focuses on identifying and tracking human souls through their unique energy “fingerprints”—fingerprints that remain unchanged through all incarnations of that soul, swapping from one gender to the next, and even while inhabiting other Earth or off-planet locations.

In the mid-21st Century, commercial time travel to experience a soul’s previous lifetimes becomes a most exotic and expensive recreational adventure, taking the explorer on individualized trips back through time. Through Spirit Writing, a fallout of time travel, we follow a Tennessee family that drops in on its Scottish Highlander forebears in the 1620s, rebounding back to Atlanta in 2040, then on to Boston and Hungary in 2080. Soul connections, multi-generational romance, and devastating foibles highlight this tale.”

Header image credit: Photo by Dingzeyu Li on Unsplash

Nighttime Prayers in War and Peace

The 2022 Russian invasion of Ukraine has reawakened fears parents once took for granted, particularly the nighttime safety of their children. The author reflects on the historical context of childhood prayers, revealing how wars disrupt innocence and reshape bedtime rituals.

The 2022 Russian invasion of Ukraine has brought clarity to many things we have long taken for granted. One of those is the ritual of putting children to bed at night. For most of a century, parents have had the security of knowing their children were likely to survive the night.

Now, as before, that is no longer a sure thing.

*A summer bed on the porch. Photo by Dr. Albert S.J. Clarke.*

World War II

I was born two months after World War II ended. Throughout my early years, echoes of the war still reverberated. Although knowing no violence first hand, I grew up with a book of poetry and prayers for children. One page featured a graphic of orphaned children saying night prayers during the London Blitz of 1940. The photo below is not exactly what was in my book, but it is similar.

*Homeless and orphaned children settle down to sleep in the air-raid shelter at John Keble Church, Mill Hill, London, during the Blitz in 1940. Public Domain.*

On that page of wartime horror were the words I had been taught as a nighttime prayer.

Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
If I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take.

During my wife’s childhood, she recited that same prayer. Mirroring our own bedtime ritual, we taught our children the same words.

According to this source, this children’s prayer originated in the 1700s, inspired by Psalm 4:8. “I will both lay me down in peace, and sleep: for thou, LORD, only make me dwell in safety.”

1700s to 1900s

When that childhood prayer was still new to the world, high infant mortality was a fact of life. During the first months of the Covid 19 pandemic, I received a stark reminder of that statistic as I walked through the North Cemetery in Portsmouth, New Hampshire.

*North Cemetery Marker, Portsmouth, NH. Own photo.*

I came across a tombstone marking the deaths of all three of the children of Seth and Temperance Walker in a matter of four days in 1798.

According to the marker, Nancy, Temperance, and Samuel Walker were “promising children … who were lovely and pleasant in life and in their deaths were not divided.” The children were 12, 6, and 4 years old. Presumably, a contagion of some sort took those young lives in quick succession.

War brings its own contagion of horror and uncertainty to parents and children alike.

*September 1940. Photo of East End of London during the Blitz. WWII. Public Domain*

A Brighter View

When our youngest was five or six years of age, she was invited to a sleepover with my wife’s aunt. When her aunt heard our daughter’s prayer, she thought the words were anything but comforting for a child. So, she taught her a new version of the nighttime prayer, the same one she had taught her child.

Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
Guard me Jesus through the night,
And wake me with the morning light.

Our little one taught that version to us parents, and we adopted it henceforth as an improved nighttime prayer for both our children.

A Darker Reality

However, over the past seventy years, humans have not evolved as much as we had thought. We had been deluded by a long period of relative peace into believing that over time, mankind had become more spiritual, more humane.

Clearly, that is not the case. The dark side of humanity, inhumanity, has risen its loathsome head once again.

As always, innocent children are being devastated, either bodily or emotionally. So, I expect that to the childhood victims of war, the blander version of the nighttime prayer that our daughter taught us seems out of touch with reality.

Whereas my family, historical and present, never put much thought into the last two lines of this 300-year-old prayer, Ukrainian children probably do.

Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
If I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take.

According to Google translate, the prayer I recited as a young child looks like this in Ukrainian.

Тепер я лягаю спати,
Молю Господа, щоб моя душа збереглася.
Якби я померла, не прокинувшись,
Молю Господа душу мою взяти.

Teper ya lyahayu spaty,
Molyu Hospoda, shchob moya dusha zberehlasya.
Yakby ya pomerla, ne prokynuvshysʹ,

Translated back to English, we get the following.

Now I go to bed,
I pray to the Lord that my soul will be preserved.
If I died without waking up,
I ask the Lord to take my soul.

Arguably, prayers can’t stop bombs and missiles from destroying human lives. However, bombs and missiles can’t destroy souls, especially those of the most precious human beings, children.