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About the author:
It’s now time to fess up… The author’s name is not Stan McDonald. Stan is a pen name. The names of all the people mentioned in this story have been changed to protect everyone’s identity. He can’t give specifics about any of the characters, including himself, as that could jeopardize the anonymity of both the innocent and the not-so-innocent involved. The author’s motive in writing this book is to document the truth of what happened, not who did what. That task belongs to the investigative authorities. Maybe at some future date, the author will emerge from the writing closet.
What inspired you to write your book?
This is a true story, true crime memoir. It accounts a man’s 10 years journey to find his next bride. It relates several romances during that period, the last ending in attempted murder. The author/victim (yours truly) felt flat out compelled to get the true story told. I just must write a book about it.
Here is a short sample from the book:
Excerpt from the Book
This story is true. Maybe ninety-five percent. Five percent speculation, an attorney would say. Now, I speculate when I say O. J. did it. That Casey drowned her daughter. I wasn’t there, so I opinionate, judge, and speculate—one of the truly sad human qualities we all possess. That sorry-ass is always guilty, unless he can prove beyond a reasonable doubt, his innocence. But I lived this story first person. I experienced and befriended the people in this story on an intimate level. In approximately five percent of this story, I wasn’t present; however, based on conversations where I was present and my knowledge of the personalities and their actions in this story, I feel strongly convinced that when I speculate here, I’m one hundred percent accurate. Nonetheless, an attorney would say it’s speculation: You weren’t there and you can’t possibly know that. So read on, and please use your own discernment.
Truth is stranger than fiction! Because this story is true, I feel flatout compelled to tell it. I wish you coulda seen it in color. A caution to my brothers and sisters: never, never, ever forget…let the buyer beware!
Please note that there are some graphic sex scenes and language in the book. Also, it’s necessary to be brutally honest in some cases to adequately explain all that happened. I apologize if this offends anyone. It is not my intention. Admitting my own shortcomings and character flaws was uncomfortably necessary, as was opening my bedroom door to you readers.
I have changed the names of all characters to preserve their anonymity. I’ve renamed locations and slightly changed dates to protect all involved from identification. No, my name isn’t really Stan MacDonald; I have to write anonymously because my life is still in danger to this day.
All of our lives are intertwined, and lessons are useful when shared with others. Perhaps other guys and girls out there will learn from my story. The victim in my story is male, but no doubt a female could be baited and become a victim of the same type of scam I lived. I just want to tell my story and protect everyone who was involved. This is, moreover, a story about being entrapped by a black widow. As I explain what happened to me, I hope to clear my name of all alleged crimes. Even though I’m writing under a fictitious name, I am an innocent man.
It was April 26, 2011, and Any County, Tennessee, General Sessions Court Plea Day. I wore a blue suit, yellow shirt, and tie, trying to look professional. “All rise!” bellowed the bailiff. The room was jampacked, standing room only. I watched a parade of young men accepting pleas. They were all accused felons and accepted misdemeanor pleas through court-appointed lawyers. Then the court recessed for discussion. This is the time when your lawyer and the DA negotiate a plea.
What in the hell was I doing sitting in this courtroom, anyway? I was a gray-haired, harmlessly innocent fifty-six-year-old with a clean criminal and civil court record. I was being charged with resisting arrest and felony domestic assault, punishable with three to fifteen years in prison and a $10,000 fine. I can’t recall ever having a felonious thought, much less committing a felonious action.
My lawyer returned and said, “The DA is offering to reduce the charge to simple assault since it was your first offense; time served, pay court costs, and take anger-management classes.”
I replied, “Tell the DA to set me a damn trial date! I’m an innocent man, and I’m not going to let them railroad me into saying I’m guilty of a lesser charge!”
The court reconvened with ten more accepted pleas, then we broke for lunch. Upon return, the bailiff bellowed, “All rise!” Once again, the court broke for discussion. My lawyer returned. He said, “They are offering retirement, one year, no contact with the victim, followed by expungement from your record. You pay court costs and attend anger management.”
I replied, “Tell them to go to hell! This ain’t ‘Let’s Make a Deal.’ I didn’t assault that woman! Set me a damn trial! I have a right to face my accuser in front of a jury of my peers.”
How’s a gray-haired old man get himself in this kinda mess, you ask? OK, I’ll tell you. But hey, wait a minute. I’ve really jumped the gun here. Please allow me to back up. Read on; you’re hardly gonna believe it, but what I’m fixin’ to tell you, well, you can’t make this shit up! Please bear with me, as I am new to authordom. You don’t start a book with the climax and then build in the lead-up. You have to create a buildup that ends in a climax. So, I’m getting way ahead of myself. The black widow strikes in 2011. This is not an autobiography, so I won’t bore you with the story of the first forty-four years of my life. This story starts in 1998, so allow me to back up and set the stage.