Freedom’s Hand: Hell in the Desert
Most books that we authors write are ones we WANT to write. But occasionally, there are books that we HAVE to write. For me, that book was Freedom’s Hand. I mean, who would go out of their way to write a story about a concentration camp in the desert of the American Southwest? The ghosts, demons, barbarians, sorcerers and such in many of my other stories were so much more fun.
So why do it? I grew up in New York City during the 1950s and ’60s, and I wondered about many people in my Bronx neighborhood. They seemed so unfriendly, so timid, and they all had numbers on their arms. No one talked about it then, but later on I learned about the Holocaust and realized that these people had survived the most unspeakable tortures. They had been to Hell, and they’d made it back—perhaps not whole, but alive. So, with the understanding that HATE NEVER DIES, I vented my anger and frustration through the pages of Freedom’s Hand. This is a cautionary story, because not only could it happen again, it IS happening again, as haters with twisted ideologies murder, torture, and enslave others.
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