Into the Fire

Dining at . . . Bo's Cafe

You might remember Windblown Media as the small publisher who hit gold when they collaborated to produce the little novel that made it big: The Shack by William Paul Young. Brad Cummings, President (and Publisher), and Wayne Jacobsen, Publisher, head up Windblown Media now under the umbrella of Hachette Book Group. If you’d like to read more about them, visit their website or go here: http://www.hachettebookgroup.com/publishing_windblown-media.aspx.

Bo’s Café by John Lynch, Bill Thrall, and Bruce McNicol is the first novel to follow Windblown Media’s production of The Shack. And as their self-defined purpose declares, this book, like The Shack, is written with the “spiritually hungry” in mind. And similar to its predecessor, the story is pretty much one long conversation with an agenda—-not long in the sense of word count in that my guess is this story tops out at 70,000 words max but probably closer to 60,000.

Steve Kerner works, lives, and occupies the fast lane in life. His job is cutthroat, and he’s near to the top in his thirty-something years—-the proverbial “has it all” kind of guy who fights with his wife, forgets to pick up his daughter at school, and either hates or fears his coworkers. When he stops off at a greasy bar in an area where he grew up, a stranger starts a conversation with him as he sulks at the bar. Not wanting to be bothered by the man he perceives as an aging hippie, he’s finally drawn into a conversation he doesn’t want to have when he learns the man was a friend of his father. When the man spouts off too much information about Steven’s failing personal life, Steven takes a ride with the man known as Andy in his mint condition 1970 Buick Electra convertible.

When an argument with his wife gets out of control, Steven is banished to the Marriott Hotel. As he reluctantly continues to discuss his life with his strange new acquaintance, Andy takes him to Bo’s Café where Steven is introduced to people who get in his face without threatening him. The colorful café consists of a melting pot of characters who’ve been in the spiritual and emotional state Steven is just now facing and come out victoriously on the other side. They’re unafraid to tell him their stories in spite of his guarded façade and unwillingness to get real with them.

Andy demonstrates his love for the younger man by waiting until Steven contacts him. His ability to dissect Steven’s misguided perceptions and refusals to address his deepest fears and problems conjure up the symbolism of the Holy Spirit’s role in our lives as we stumble around in our inept sinful ways finding excuses and blaming others for our faults and failures.

In keeping with their self-proclaimed agenda, Windblown Media presents another novel about a journey back to God from an estranged wayfarer. This long discussion takes place over a period of months when the two men and the peripheral friends meet at Bo’s Café to eat both “Mr. Bo’s” delicious meals and to consume the spiritual food for starving souls.

From the technical standpoint, and not to denigrate Paul Young in any way because his success is inarguable, this little novel is written more skillfully. It breaks the rules, as did The Shack, with its agenda-driven conversation being the sole reason for the story’s existence. To its credit the conversation is good, the asides real, and its concepts are far less controversial than those of the other little book.

Who are the readers for this short novel? Well . . . if you know someone with anger issues and a reluctance to admit any fault with himself, this is a good starting point. If you know someone who’s spaced himself away from God and who perceives Him in a bash-you-over-the-head kind of way, this novel is all about forgiveness and grace.

Mick Silva, editor at Waterbrook Press and who is given credit in the Acknowledgements, claims the “spiritually interested” audience is largely untapped, demonstrated by the huge success of The Shack. Mick’s hopeful formula: “Man and God and Jesus and world all together in one book? That's a middle ground. Nothing removed for the extremists and separatists in either camp.” Bo’s Café fits in this group.

Father, please bless these men who desire to honor you with their writing. Keep them honest, keep them real, keep them serving you. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Escape, Entertainment, Evangelism?

The provocative Mike Duran posted a quandary/opinion over on Novel Journey Monday. And of course got the gamut of responses defending or defying his point. His observation had some bite to it which usually evokes stark differences from those who comment.

I’m going to veer slightly off the path he took—or perhaps pursue a parallel trail.

In and of itself there is nothing wrong with either writing or reading to escape. After all, if you’re a fan of fantasy or science fiction, your preferences are composed of imagination and speculation. The admission of favoring fantasy writing neither negates nor necessarily neglects important themes or other aspects of serious writing, but it can often be relegated to sheer escapism.

Readers have many motives for choosing to read fiction, certainly not the least of them being escapism or entertainment. Some readers in the Christian fiction market want to read about experiences with Jesus or how characters meet Jesus or what happens when characters turn their backs on Jesus—either to return like the prodigal or head for destruction.

The controversy often rages about the “market” and the “target audience” for novels written by Christians. Each writer is supposed to define his real or actual audience and possibly add to that assessment who else he might reach with his work. And this is where so many authors get caught up in the disputed areas of who novels are “supposed” to reach.

A new breed of Christian writers lament the short-sighted vision of the current CBA audience while other Christian writers insist an entire “seeker” market awaits daring stories which are not specifically designed to evangelize or “preach to the choir”. Reasonable participants in this argument will admit that multiple audiences should be reached by Christian writers, not just Christians, but fear the CBA is too restrictive for the outer reaches of whatever element they favor for inclusion.

So. Here’s my take on it. No person, which includes every possible kind of writer, can write anything to save a soul. That book’s been written by the hand of God. However, God can use any book he chooses to draw a person to Jesus Christ. It’s His choice to whom and how He ministers, woos, entices, and wins a soul. Praise God if it happens to be your ghoulish horror novel, but it might also end up being someone’s light fluffy romance novel. Not for you or I to determine.

Now I’m going to say a hard thing—something that won’t make professionals in the industry too terribly happy. They usually don’t stop by here, so I’m probably okay. There are Christians in the publishing industry who do not lean on the Lord for their decisions. Not all. But some. They go about their businesses using the same implements, worldviews, and practices as secular publishing because they believe those methods work for them. However, by being inclusive of certain “moral standards” within some of their novels or by leaving out the gospel in others as a business component rather than a prayerful decision, they end up with contrasting decisions and motives and controversy.

People who complain about the limited spectrum of CBA novels simply haven’t read much of them in the last five years. The lines have been stretched. Altered. Lengthened. Developed. Explored. And, yes, even exploited. And still there are complaints. More, more demands.

Some of the complaints I’m quite sure are legitimate. Others, not so much.

The point I’m stressing here is this: every writer and every industry professional must take personal inventory and assess motives for operating within this field of endeavor. As Christians, we know whatever we do, whatever our purpose, we are to glorify and serve God. To demonstrate the love of Jesus, to maintain Truth in our lives. Those are inarguable attributes of Christians. In that process different ones will be used in different arenas. We must obey God, set aside the accolades from man, and pursue righteousness in however the Lord uses us. Having said that, we need to withhold judgment of those who take a different avenue than ours, letting the Spirit direct their assignments while remaining true to our own.

You and I cannot save a single soul. All the glory for that supernatural event belongs to God. Not writers.

God, I bow down to you. Jesus, you are the Savior of the world. Holy Spirit, help me to keep to your perfect design for me. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

To Be Read . . . soon?!

Intervention by Terri Blackstock

The Justice Game by Randy Singer

White Picket Fences by Susan Meissner

June Bug by Chris Fabry

Veiled Freedom by Jeanette Windle

. . . to name a few of the many.

Non-fiction: Parting the Waters by Jeanne Damoff

Father, thank you for wonderful writers, for each divine gifting. You're great and awesome and worthy of praise. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Enveloped in . . . A Slow Burn

Those of you who read Daisy Chain, Mary E. DeMuth’s first installment in the Defiance Texas Trilogy, experienced the downside of reading a series which of course is the wait for the next one. At long last the second novel in the trilogy is here and it’s cleverly titled A Slow Burn.

The following review will refer to events which occurred in the first novel (Daisy Chain) so if you haven’t read it, there will be **Spoilers**. I would urge you to read Mary’s first in this trilogy to get the full perspective and benefit of A Slow Burn.

This particular story focuses on Daisy’s mother Emory Chance while bringing back Hixon, the black preacher handyman, and brief snippets of Jed Pepper, Daisy’s beloved companion, his mom and little sister, and Muriel while introducing new characters and flashing a glimpse of Daisy’s killer. Emory Chance, or Missy, as Hixon calls her, is a lost, pathetic and self-loathing character who runs to her marijuana stash and occasional hallucinogens provided by her charming supplier whenever her self-pity overwhelms her will to function. Her past haunts her daily, she has become her despicable mother, and she resents and resists rescue in all forms except chemical.

Hixon, a man who knows “his place” in Defiance, is respected for his godly behavior, his helpful attitude, and his care for the dying Muriel. His pathos is his love for Emory Chance. She’s stone-cold hard in her heart and rejects all efforts to penetrate her rock solid feelings of anger toward God and her refusal to forgive Jed Pepper who she accuses of abandoning Daisy, blaming him for her death.

Watching Emory’s struggle pains me, and honestly by the end of the novel I’d had enough of her. In her wretched state she is mean-spirited and unlovable except to her God-appointed protector Hixon who finds a way to love her through her ugliness. When he’s ready to quit, God rushes him to her defense. She is the undeserving beneficiary of God’s undying love for her demonstrated through Hixon’s self-sacrificing words and deeds. And, of course, the point is we can all be the beneficiaries of God’s love in our equally undeserving and fallen states.

The similarities among all of the primary characters show the lack of real love given them by father or mother figures, leaving them empty young people or adults until they can grasp the magnitude of the loving kindness of Jesus and real concept of family offered by God.

Mary doesn’t write fluff, and I applaud her for putting the hard stuff down on the page. This novel is a harsh capsule of one woman’s life who travels the hard way and takes the long road to discovering who she truly is. And like the rest of us who’ve come to know Jesus, Emory learns she’s no better, no worse than anyone else who makes the journey to the Cross of Christ.

The third installment in this trilogy will finally expose Daisy’s killer, at least I assume so. We’re given hints of who it is in A Slow Burn, and it’s a somewhat familiar figure but held just out of our sight until the next book.

If you’re a reader of serious novels that tackle difficult issues and expose human behavior in all of its weakness, frailty, and sinfulness, pick up the first and second books in the Defiance Texas Trilogy and read them in order: Daisy Chain and A Slow Burn. The unique characters will touch your heart and/or drive you crazy, but you’ll know you’ve experienced something important when you finish reading about them.

Father, please bless Mary for all of her efforts to bring glory to you, to worship you in Spirit and in Truth, to convey the love of Jesus in her work, and for enduring the pain and triumphing through her personal suffering. She’s an amazing woman in so many ways. Love on her, Lord, as only you can do. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Sunday's Offerings

Yet the Lord longs to be gracious to you;
He rises to show you compassion.
For the Lord is a God of justice.
Blessed are all who wait for Him!

Isaiah 30:18 (NIV)

Saturday Sample

Grady Hutchinson sat in the kitchen sipping a large Styrofoam cup of hot black coffee as he perused the local sports page. Occasionally he looked up to see if there was someone he might possibly recognize in spite of the great odds against it. He’d heard Robert Sanders came out here last season and made a killing, but he didn’t know if he was back. It would be nice to see Robert again—he was a class act.
He looked out the window of the racetrack kitchen viewing someone’s rig parked on the side of the nearest barn to the south out of the way of the hotwalking machines. It had to belong to another horseshoer. Staring out the window, he saw a squatty built man with farrier chaps come out and open a compartment on the silver Chevy custom pickup. Hutch watched him grab a couple sets of shoes before disappearing back into the shedrow.
Not the first time Hutch had come to a new track. It usually didn’t take him long to fit in and find work. He liked people as a rule, and they invariably liked him—grateful for that because when it came time to collect money, he discovered people had a tendency to pay him before they’d pay others. Of course, that probably had a lot to do with the fact he was just plain good at what he did. He kept up with every new shoe or experimental method used in his field, so confident in his work he’d use anything to try and help a horse—no matter who “pooh-poohed” it or criticized a new idea. If it worked, he wanted to use it. Who cared what people thought? All he cared about was being an expert. At times he knew he cared too much about it. And it had cost him everything. Everything except his work.
At least it’s not raining this morning, still staring blankly out the window.
Glancing at his watch, he decided to head to the commission office to get his farrier’s license. After that he’d cruise the barn area, start up some conversations, see if he could introduce himself to the other guys in his field and endure the inevitable sizing up and competitive nature of the other horseshoers. He’d been through it before many times. It was just part of the process.
Boy, I’m a long way from home.

“Man, it’s muddy out there,” John Eisley complained as he got off his last one.
“Yeah, no kiddin’. I could barely sleep last night listenin’ to it bang against my tack room window. Dreaded gettin’ up this morning,” Tim Soures agreed as he bathed the filly John had just untacked. “A lot different than last spring, huh?”
“Yeah. A lot different.” A smile crossed John’s face. “And a lot better.”
“Sure, for you. You’re an old married man now,” Tim laughed.
“Hey, I ain’t old yet,” he laughed as he took the tack to clean it up.
“John, how’d that filly go?” Sev asked.
“Well, boss, I can tell you this: she don’t like the mud. It’s hard out there today. So, a little rough, I guess.”
“I knew I shouldn’t have brought her in yet. If it doesn’t clear up around here, I’ve a mind to take her back out to the farm for another month. She gets fit in a hurry. She doesn’t need to be in here yet. Darn Phillips. Always bugging me to get ‘em goin’. You know what? If he wants her in here, she’ll just stay in the barn till the track gets decent,” and he walked off muttering and cussing under his breath.
John shook his head and started in on the tack.
When he was almost done, Jenny poked her head in the tack room.
“You up for a nap?” she asked her husband.
“With you—anytime,” he answered smiling.
“You know I hate the mud.”
“You and me both, but we’re kinda at the wrong track not to get any.”
“I know. I love this track. I just don’t like the mud.”

(For His Glory; sequel to Hope Of Glory)

Friday Five

One of the fun things I remember doing as a little girl was hanging on my dad’s muscles with his arm flexed. He’d have a big grin on his face as I dangled there with my two hands wrapped around his biceps.

After one year at the University of Washington, I’d had enough of school for awhile. I went to work and saved my money to go to Great Britain and Europe. During the year it took to save the money I was able to buy some very cool things like black Vogue-featured calfskin boots that went all the way up to the tops of my thighs. Those boots raised a few eyebrows and questions such as, “How far do those things go up?” I’d smile and answer, “All the way up.”

I became engaged when I was 18 and disengaged at 19.

Yesterday was my 31st wedding anniversary. Although we’ve been together for 35 years.

My maternal grandmother’s name was Lila. I have a beautiful picture of her as a young girl and one of her at around 16 years of age. She outlived both her daughters and died at around 93 years of age. My mom, her youngest daughter, died at the age of 62. So young.

Father, every life tells a story. Some good. Some not. Thank you for life. As hard as it is, you provide answers and sanctuary. Please help me to do what you desire of me in mine. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Utopian Dream

Think about it. “Livin’ the dream.” What does it mean?

Find your dream. Keep your dream. Don’t let anyone discourage your dream. If God gives you the dream, He’ll bring it to pass. Dream big.

Dream on.

What is a dream anyway? Heaven knows we’ve all had them. Still do. However, I think it’s important to take inventory of what’s at the root of “the dream”.

The secular humanists place perfection in the lap of mankind. Hysterical. Perhaps they base the success of such efforts on the millions of years in the future since it’s taken so many millions of years to get to our current despicable state. But since we’re annihilating this planet with our carbon footprints, I guess it won’t matter if we can’t make it a Utopia.

But isn’t that part and parcel of “the dream”? Utopia. The perfection of what we want? Yes, we qualify it with if I work hard enough, if I stay focused, if I do this or do that . . . I can attain my dream. My perfect Utopian dream.

I’ve been schooled about “dreams”. And please don’t be discouraged by this post. Instead be real. Dreams can either be rooted in the desire for the perfection of heaven, or they can be rooted in the desire for a utopian experience here on earth.

Dreams can be planted by the Holy Spirit or dreams can be desired by the human flesh. Sometimes those dreams intersect and produce a satisfying conclusion.

Dreams can be nothing more than goals, achieved by hard work and/or amazing circumstances.

Dreams can be hopes unrealized or unrealistic wishes.

Dreams can be imagination-fueled speculation.

Dreams must be evaluated and their value determined.

Dreams are called dreams because they’re beyond the norm. There’s that unattainable qualification to them—unless . . . unless . . . unless the Lord is involved from start to finish? Or unless the human endeavor excels beyond the level of “ordinary”?

Your thoughts?

Father, you are my dream come true. Jesus, I love you. Spirit of God, whisper truth to me and cause me to hear. In the name of Jesus, Amen.

And on to the . . . Ends of the Earth

We’ve all heard the cliché regarding painting oneself into a corner. Well, Tim Downs has managed to do this with writing sort of on purpose in his latest Bug Man novel Ends of the Earth. Nick Polchak, forensic entomologist who perceives himself as an insect, reigns as crime-solver-extraordinaire where bugs are involved. However, if you want to present the Bug Man with an insurmountable challenge, place him in the company of a woman, and in this case two beautiful women from his past. Female-speak is as foreign to this man as an isolated tribal language. He doesn’t understand it, and he can’t speak it. Not even a little. He uses his boss/mentor Noah Ellison, chairman of the Department of Entomology, and friend FBI Special Agent Nathan Donovan to translate for him. And still fails . . .

The Bug Man is one of the most amazing, quirky, always irreverent, sometimes innocuous, often cynical, and apparently, in spite of his coke bottle glasses, very attractive characters in literature. He rarely fails to entertain, and it’s interesting to view this character experience the various changes in his life through the process of investigating different crimes, sometimes with and sometimes without FBI Special Agent Donovan.

This particular story places Nick back at NC State in his random professorial mode when he is summoned by Sampson County police, specially requested by an attractive old flame, Kathryn Guilford—now Severenson—from Tim’s first Bug Man novel, Shoofly Pie, because her estranged, drug abusing husband Michael has been murdered in their organic tomato fields on their five acre farm. After learning of the circumstances, Nick calls another attractive woman in Virginia from Tim’s last novel, Less Than Dead, Alena Savard, to assist him with her dogs to find a possible drug cache.

When marijuana is found by Alena’s drug-sniffing dog in the tomato field, insect eggs inhabit the spilled weed. Nick takes them back to the lab at NC State to pinpoint when Michael was murdered. The oddity surrounding the dope and the insects continues to mystify Nick especially when a particular fungus is discovered protruding from the bugs. Finally when the error-proof time of death turns up wrong and a foreign student is murdered in the lab, slowly but surely and with Agent Donovan’s wife’s assistance, he begins to put together a plot intended for agro-terrorism.

In the meantime, sparks fly between his two ladies and himself, there is a near catastrophic event with the neighbor’s corn combines, and an escape by the man responsible for murder, chaos, and the agro-terrorism attempt.

Now back to the writing himself into a corner . . . Tim Downs gives readers like me a “Don’t you dare!” moment at the end, and I’m fairly sure I wasn’t alone in this. I’m going to speak in vagaries here because I don’t want to ruin the story for anyone. Tim takes his character to a new level in this book, and I felt the insecurity of this journey right up to the end. There was a discomfort in the dialogue never before experienced in the Bug Man novels due to the UST taking place, and just as Nick became infuriated by his occasional lack of focus, I do think the story was slightly disjointed, running parallel instead of intersecting most of the way, especially since Nick figured he must detach from one conflict to deal with or address the other. I felt a certain favoritism in Tim’s writing toward one of the characters in the conflict, and it disappointed me. Funny how we get so attached to these “people”. The eventual outcome of this story could radically change future Bug Man novels, so I’ll be standing by to see which direction Tim takes Dr. Nick Polchak in his current conundrum.

Father, you know Tim’s heart and soul. You’ve blessed him with talent and a great imagination. Please continue to lead him in all that he does to honor you. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Writers Schmiters

I think some of us have lost it. Yeah. I do. What we’ve lost is the perspective of being a reader. And I don’t think it’s particular to us alone. I think there are professionals in the publishing business who’ve also lost touch with their readers.

The majority of readers do not write novels. Some of them might want to or wish they could, but they never will. What they will do is continue to read. Some of them stick with their favorite authors and genres and take serious convincing to slip outside of their comfort zones. Others jump from fantasy to historical romance and don’t miss a beat, just as eager for a horror novel once they finish their current literary masterpiece. Some readers use the New York Times Bestseller List as their infallible guide—and consequently miss out on a lot of better books. Few of them spot dialogue tags and become incensed or snicker and shake their heads in disbelief at passive verbs or multiple adverb usage. Really, they don’t even notice.

Publishers, professionals, and authors all caution wannabes not to underestimate their readers, and to a point I would agree. But I don’t agree that most readers notice average writing and wish it could be more “excellent”. If that were true, well . . . let’s face it: a good number of novels on that bestseller list wouldn’t be there.

The potential for underestimating readers is in their ability to just enjoy a story. Of course some readers are more sophisticated than others and yearn for and recognize literary excellence, subtlety, symbolism, and low-key themes woven into stories. Some readers want short novels, others prefer sagas. Some like Hemingway-types. Others enjoy Dostoevsky-types. Some want to be taken in by the first five sentences. Others love to meander through the development of a story. There are all kinds of readers, and certain requirements won’t satisfy all readers. Literary types keep insisting the “average reader” will in fact notice those things the rules cite as essential, but really it’s debatable. However, the agent and if you get there: the editor no doubt will, branding you as an amateur with potential.

However, it is an editor’s job to make a book as readable and attractive word-wise as can be done. Problem? This is the subjective part. While most professionals mentally travel within a certain framework for “good” writing, some deviate radically from others as to how a story should be written or whether or not it will sell well or sell at all.

It’s impossible to predict what will provide the razzle dazzle that sells mucho books. Every now and then we hear of the huge advance paid to an author who writes an absolute dud. And then there’s The Shack to confound all rule writers and professors.

Readers are not necessarily writers and until those that matter quit pretending readers’ requirements are the same as their own, books that “shouldn’t” sell well will and others that “should” won’t.

Father, you're the only judge that matters to me. You know the heart and soul of writers. May my work bring you glory somehow, some way. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.