Watch Nimrod Rising Video Trailer http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sKHofQi2pRI

Author Steven Clark Bradley
Frokm The Mind of Steven Clark Bradley
Steven Clark Bradley @ Inspired Author
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Steven Clark Bradley @ The Power of The Written Word
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Steven Clark Bradley @ Word That Work
Steven Clark Bradley @ Goodreads.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Myspace.com

Author Steven Clark Bradley
Frokm The Mind of Steven Clark Bradley
Steven Clark Bradley @ Inspired Author
Steven Clark Bradley - Nikki Leigh Virtual Book Tours
Steven Clark Bradley @ The Power of The Written Word
Steven Clark Bradley @ Communati.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Blogtalk Radio.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Facebook
Steven Clark Bradley @ Twitter.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Xanga.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Amazon.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ yuku.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Bookmarket.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Published Authors.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Word That Work
Steven Clark Bradley @ Goodreads.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Myspace.com

I worked a number of years in various countries in Europe, Asia, and Africa. I have had the privilege of living a unique life and have been to 34 countries over a period of 16 years. Having worked extensively with Kurdish refugees from Turkey, Iraq, and Syria, I have first-hand knowledge of the hatred and the anger that many Middle-Eastern nations have toward America, as well as the culture and attitudes. So, I have had the opportunity to explain what is leading this nation to possible destruction without real and concerted efforts to preserve our way of life. I am grateful for the experience I have gained through the many amazing opportunities I have had around the world. I know that where much is given, much will be expected. So, I have an inner responsibility to use my knowledge and experience to wake up those who don’t feel the danger

The Inspiration For Patriot Acts

I know there are very good arguments against the war in Iraq, some of which I agree with. Yet, there has always been one driving view that has kept me supporting that effort; the need to make sure that terrorism is defeated and to take our war to the terrorists rather than again letting them come here. Patriot Acts is a story that supports the idea of what political and national lethargy will wrought in this nation.

In Patriot Acts, America finds itself under covert nuclear attack from a unified force of the Islamic Republic of Iran and radical American Militia groups; setting aside their political and religious differences to carry out the widest and deadliest attack on America in the nation's history. In the midst of an unsure, newly inaugurated presidency, the attack is discovered and the new President must forgo the honeymoon and take grave and massive actions to spare the nation

I want my writing to be a gauge of where we are in light of where we were, historically, which sheds light on where we will be, depending on our response to the threats we face. No one and no nation is in a vacuum. America is changing and it is important to remind people of what this nation was founded to be and to make them remember the values on which we were founded. I think I accomplished that well in my third novel, Nimrod Rising and I think Patriot Acts takes a giant step at revealing what years of inaction and pretending that all is fine will ultimately do to threaten America’s future. So, I feel that I want to entertain, but most of all, I want to stimulate Americans to once again take our freedom seriously and to no longer take it for granted.

I got a really good head start on Patriot Acts. Early last year, even before Patriot Acts was signed by a publisher, I began to publish excerpts and to make sure readers got a taste of this powerful story. I also prepared video trailers and posted them early to give a visual image of the story, from several different perspectives. I also began to post my material on several different blogs, but made sure I created a blog specifically for Patriot Acts itself, which is called Steven Clark Bradley's Patriot Acts. A writer today cannot expect anyone to do the hard work for them. They also cannot become discouraged by the lack of obvious signs of reader interest. I have found that there are always more people reading our work than we can easily know. So, all the ground work on Patriot Acts has already been done. Now, I can recycle and add new material to drive home to readers that there is a new book out there that is different and very close to reality, perhaps too close for comfort.

Patriot Acts Is Definitely a Story that Reads You!

All of my books contain so much from my experiences and my moral and social world view. The first three chapters of Patriot Acts, though fiction, reflect actual experiences I lived through, which I have used to paint the picture of a nation at grave risk. I think a good writer must get the drive, the plot, the atmosphere of their stories from things they have either studied or lived. So, I would say that the first three chapters represent my actual travels and actions, but my moral and political values are captured throughout the book.

Read An Excerpt From Patriot Acts Click The Link Below

Patriot Acts - Last Ounce of Devotion

Northern Indiana - 2009

Toto, Indiana was no ordinary almost-village. It had some great little stores that sold just about anything. It had countryside, farmland, an abundance of wild reefer, a large contingent of KKK want-a-be’s and the largest concentration of militia groups in the nation. These were not just a bunch of bed and breakfast warriors, but good husbands. They were involved daddies and mommies, devoted believers…at least on Sundays. There were serious and lower-scale business men ready to fight for each other as one with those they employed. All of them were unswervingly ready to give their last ounce of devotion to create a world where freedom was shouted loudly while bigotry reigned king.

The larger towns and small cities around the Podunk spot of Earth that was Toto, Indiana were the fastest growing small cities of the state. Knox, Indiana was the County Seat and had progressed from the “Bloody Bucket Bar” to the “Court House View Tap”. No one was being thrown out of the windows anymore, but the same crazies still drank their fill but were too old to carouse any longer like they used to. The almost town place, North Judson still had a sense of the rustic and, like Knox, was a fundamentally good place to bring up the next generation of defenders of the Constitution, at least that was how they mostly viewed it along Toto Road, the one road that entirely spanned the county. Staying on Toto Road was like a place of refuge. One could traverse the county, into the depth of this country enclave and still feel secure inside their car.

Thoughts of turning left or right off of Toto Road could only be carried out safely by those born in Starke County. Strangers are not too well digested in the land of a thousand armies. The folks around Toto, Indiana did not like them strangers coming in there and looking all over their Jeeps, gawking at their arsenals all set up for the day that the United States Government would most certainly tear up the Constitution and cast it to the wind. The globalists elected to the offices of the land, down from the most menial, elected position in the nation and up to the most powerful office in the world, would most certainly need to be overcome by the people’s sheer willingness to keep what they had yearned and striven for. Almost every car was known that drove up in there. Today was no different in road traffic than any other, except for the special passenger that the old Ford Escort was carrying, as it turned off Indiana Highway 35 North and onto Toto Road heading due west.

Len Garret sat with his feet up on his coffee table and thought about all he had lived through that had brought his to the point of departure that was at hand. He had some visitors who’d be arriving shortly. For the moment though, Garret held a bottle of Tequila in his hand and stared straight up at the portrait of his father that was hung prominently over the Fireplace. Garret had commissioned the painting himself, as a tribute the man who had both beaten him on a regular basis and who had instilled in him a stiff determination to never give into the internationalists, globalists, traitors, fags, or any other lowlife epitaph that he could recall hearing his father use for those who ran the country.

Though Len Garret’s father was a feared and respected memory, that painting over the fireplace served more as a constant reminder that he had unfinished business to conduct than as an act of true feeling for the old man about whom even Len Garret himself had wondered a few times if his father Russell Garret had gone mad.

“Even so, if Dad was crazy then guess the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.”Len Garret thought as his eyes grew heavy. His father’s greatest wish would be realized, starting today…everything would start today.

The old Ford Escort was heading west on Toto Road. For the driver, driving this patch of asphalt was an everyday occurrence. For the dark-faced passengers in the back seat, they had sworn that such a wild and overgrown area would certain spell some kind of mischief against them. Weren’t all these retched people along this backwater place Christians? That point, alone made this journey one that made these guests shaky and worried. Yet, it was about something that would make the world change forever and well worth the risk. The Escort drove into the miniopolis of Toto and turned left onto County Line Road. There was no turning back. It was like a little bit of Vegas in Hicksville, USA.

Len Garret’s fingers felt the skin covering his own visage as he looked at his father’s face. He started staring at the painting profoundly, so deeply, just like a thousand other times, and his eyes flickered, closed, then opened and the remained shut and a world that had long disappeared took on a shape and life, and he saw it all afresh. It was a day he recalled easily, because it had caused him to grow into the man he was today, having had his childhood cut short. He saw that boy again. He had seen him too often after having had his order to his brain to stay awake disobeyed. Each time he ventured into the recesses of his slumbering mind it was like opening the wounds that had closed up outwardly, but still raw and hemorrhaging on the inside.

He saw the boy, in his reverie, seated in the huge hall reading the document that his father had so loved while glancing around at the armed men and women stationed about him. His father had given his last ounce of devotion when the country he had almost given his life for ultimately took it away along with his daughter and wife. In the service of his country and while seeking the protection of his people, which was the goal and stated purpose of the sacred parchment anyway, and which he had believed until realizing that it was really nothing more than a not-so-hidden or secretive organization. But then, politicians did specialize in perception, and he had fallen prey to their tactics, though not necessarily of his own will.

He knew he was young, just Seventeen years old seated there in the grand hall waiting for something, a ruling, a judgment. He was not exactly a child, but except in such cases as this boy, most children his age still never thought about such things. He only knew that his moment had come too early. He wanted to kill them all one minute and run home and play his half-life video game, the next. His mind now knew that his day of games was over. He knew he would see his death, and now forcefully knew that childhood was not a never-ending run and that he was a child no more, for he knew he would die. . .

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