Into the Fire

In regard to favorites . . .

We avid readers of fiction all have our favorite authors. Some of us can narrow our faves to a list of a few, and maybe there are some of us who if pressed will concede our top-notch favorite author—but usually with a caveat of some kind to insure that the others on the list are so close to that single selection the margin is nearly immeasurable or possibly noting that this favorite is in a specific genre.

But even among favorite authors, we have our less favorite books in their offerings. You know those you couldn’t wait to buy, but when you finally got the time to read them, the anticipation level far exceeded the actual end result? (I should give inspirational credit here to Michael Snyder for his Thursday post at The Master’s Artist. Go read it if you haven’t simply because of the valid multiple points he makes with his unique brand of humor.)

Even those of us who’ve written a few novels seem to number their appeal to us. One or two stand out for various reasons: our attachment to the characters; our experience while writing it/them; the way the words worked just right; the resolution; the quirks; the overall appeal. Who knows?

One of my most favorite authors is the great Frank Peretti. I love Peretti’s writing. However, I did not particularly enjoy Monster. I could still appreciate his writing—the usual way he depicts characters, scenes, uses the senses, and makes me feel like I’m reading a movie—but I didn’t care for the plot, unique as it was, and I wasn’t in love with the characters. Even with the letdown of reading that novel, I can hardly wait until he releases a new one. And for Peretti fans that’s usually a long wait these days.

It seems when many writers look back on some of their novels, they see glaring weaknesses and insist they would’ve done things differently. That seems plausible for the first couple, but after a point in time, it does seem like a writer must come to terms with how he/she tells a story at any given time. If authors drastically change after a couple of novels, perhaps it’s because they really no longer like the style they’ve used and must develop another. Voice evolves, but does it really change? If so, why? Was it un-genuine to begin with? Borrowed? An imitation?

How do you think you arrived at your favorite authors and why’d you choose to eliminate one or two of their collective novels from your favorites?

God, we tend to choose favorites, but you treat us all as favorites since you are no respecter of persons. Thank you for that. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

In a noble . . . Pursuit of Honor

Haven’t I described myself as a rule-breaker when it comes to writing? Well, I officially broke my own self-imposed rule of reading only Christian fiction. And let me tell you why. Recently on the radio I heard two interviews with NYT bestselling novelist Vince Flynn promoting his latest release Pursuit of Honor. Baited and hooked me. Why? Because he’s willing to expose the ridiculous positions of certain government politicians and their issues when it comes to protecting and preserving this country. So the very next day I headed to Border’s and didn’t even flinch when I picked up the hardbound book and proudly took it to the register, actually anxious to contribute to this novel’s sales. Let me just say there were places in the story where I cheered!

I love Mitch Rapp. The antithesis of politically correct in a world gone mad where injustice so often seems to preside over justice in multiple ways, and the pseudo rule of law prevails over common sense, Mitch Rapp delivers the hammer blows to crooked politicians and evil terrorists. The CIA covert operative, who describes himself as “damaged goods”, is one of the elite few unafraid and willing to do whatever it takes to either get information or silence it. Rapp and his covert cohorts do the unpopular, the ugly stuff, things that remain anonymous to almost everyone. Thank God for these people.

The story opens just after explosions erupted in Washington D.C. at the National Counterterrorism Center killing 185 people including public officials and CIA employees. The heroes of the aftermath, who were able to kill all but three of the terrorists who escaped, are unofficially given instructions to do whatever is necessary to find them in spite of the hand-wringing politicians who still blame the USA for creating its enemies. The calculated, heroic, but daredevil actions taken by Mitch accompanied by his partner Mike Nash to subdue the terrorists in the attack must remain unknown to keep Rapp’s and Nash’s identity a secret.

The hunt for the three remaining terrorists continues with the story moving back and forth between Rapp’s methods for finding them along with the CIA’s political maneuvering to keep their efforts clandestine and effective to revealing the terrorists’ escape routes and botched plans due to the narcissistic desires of their leader who calls himself the Lion of al Qaeda.

When Rapp’s partner and friend Mike Nash shows signs of cracking under the pressure of what is required of them, Rapp figures out a way to get Nash “out” which will allow him to keep his beautiful family intact. The unexpected consequence of trying to keep Nash and his family safe results in a new kind of terror.

From the writing standpoint, Flynn shifts POVs against the “rules”, and it’s no problem whatsoever. From the language standpoint, this is a man’s man book and the f-bombs prevail along with other profanities. However, the language flows without shock value just as you would expect to hear it in each instance. If I had written it, I would’ve chosen to write around the specific uses of the cuss words, but I’m certainly not condemning Flynn’s writing for his choices. Even though this is one of the reasons I’ve eliminated secular novels from my reading, this story is too important, Flynn’s storytelling too good to be missed. I’m so glad I read this novel. I hope we get to see the movie. It’ll take one special actor to play Mitch Rapp.

If you love this country and understand the dire position of keeping it defended, you will love this book. If you understand the basis for concealing certain critical information—even at the risk of some of it being polluted and leaked by politicians and used by traitors—you will appreciate this story. If you enjoy do-or-die concepts in action-driven novels with a hero who commands respect with just enough charisma to keep his killing-machine persona admirable and attractive, Pursuit of Honor is the book for you.

Father, you have kept the USA in your hands, and I pray you would not abandon us yet. I ask for your personal blessing upon Vince Flynn. I pray you would give him insights into who you are. I also pray that you would continue to give him meaningful important stories to tell. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

The ol' "What you see is . . .

. . . what you get." But what do you see anyway? Sometimes I think it’s more a case of “What you hear is what you get.”

If you see an individual with purple spiked hair, several pierced places on the body, inked designs displayed for view and alluding to hidden areas as well, chances are you’re going to make assumptions as to the person’s values, attitudes, and/or character.

If you see an individual on a bicycle in black slacks with a white shirt and black tie, most of us will piece together what we know of a particular religion and attach it to the young men riding those bikes.

If you see a man in an expensive suit with a designer briefcase who seems to carry himself with an air of importance, most people will also assign certain possible occupations to the guy.

Who knows if anyone will make the right assumptions by simply seeing these people? The young men on the bikes hold the most likely odds for correct evaluations. The other individuals get viewed with pre-conditioned responses. If someone despises body piercing, tattoos, and any punk-ish replications, the usual immediate reaction is disdain with an attachment of criticism for the character of the person based on what is visibly displayed. If someone else resents corporate types, lawyers, or anyone else who effuses money in their appearance, the same disdain and negative evaluation will surface upon that first glance. And even viewing the kids on bicycles peddling their cult beliefs will arouse disdain or dislike from some.

If that individual with spiked hair and the like spews out f-bombs in casual conversation while sneering at passers-by, well . . . if someone didn’t have a negative to reaction to his decorative attire, the behavior might inspire a not so favorable reaction.

The young men on the bicycles will inevitably be polite in their desire to indoctrinate, but chances are some people will only be offended by their proposals without being offended at their personas.

If the well-dressed man demonstrates a snobbish or curt reply to the simplest of greetings, he will inevitably be downgraded to not so complimentary status by the average person who’s just trying to be cordial.

Words do great or horrible things. They encourage or they damage. They bring laughter or elicit tears. No matter what your appearance might be, your words will ultimately define you. And when you contemplate another individual, so often what you hear is what you get. Cruelty? Comfort? Lies? Truth? Deceit? Integrity?

Do your words match your appearance? Do they supersede how you look?

When writers write, they tell so much about themselves. Their worldview is present somewhere in the story. And because of how they write, readers will determine if the worldview, the ways of those words, will captivate them. It’s not a simple thing to write a novel. As in all written words, communication must be accurate. Whether funny or sad, dangerous or frightening, thoughtful or profound, the written words speak about the author of those words. The readers hear those words and either choose to listen or choose to disregard.

So . . . sometimes what you “hear” is what you get.

Father, your words are true. Inarguable. We need your Truth. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Great stuff.

Okay, today I'm sending you on a trip. Just because you'll enjoy this so much more than anything I could come up with for today. This is the fun stuff. Really.

http://www.noveldoctor.com/

(I don't know why this link isn't working, but if you go down to the Technorati Tag and click on it, I think you can get there from here. If not, take the time to go anyway. It'll be worth it.)

Lord, I'm desperate for you. Jesus, you are it for me.

The Grind

Few of us have avoided slipping into the grind of life. It often comes to us via our jobs. For others it arrives on Monday morning when we must head to school. Still others face it making endless lunches and sorting through mounds of reappearing laundry.

Needless to say, life presents the opportunities for, or hazards of, slipping into “the grind”. It seems there are multiple reasons for this occurrence.

Number one, there is nothing new under the sun according to Solomon. That means it’s difficult to experience something unusual to us on a regular basis. The older we get the more we’ve seen and done which also suggests we can become cynical if we’re not careful, or hopeless at our worst.

Number two, when the mundane of the everyday dominates our existence, we tend to forget the basis for seeking inspiration. That inspiration sometimes awaits us in silent and obscured places. The reason for this can be as simple as finding value in the ordinary requires a certain faith with a measure of determination. Will we look for it?

Number three, when the options are few or significantly limited, we can feel boxed in, our directions stunted, our desires for change shoved away in frustration.

And these are just the normal hindrances. What about when “the grind” hits our creative energy and brings it crashing to the basement of our brain. No ideas. No right words. No nothing to lead us to that place where our spirit elicits fresh images which are transmitted to our fingers. The stale odor of overused words permeates our efforts, and the stinking results convince us we failed our attempts at recovery.

The grind comes in multiple forms, and, as so many facets of this journey through life, we simply must experience it to appreciate when it is lifted and the freshness of anticipation re-enters our psyches.

As Christians, we understand that every good and perfect gift comes to us from God through His Spirit. But sometimes I think we overlook the gifts because we disregard or ignore the obvious provisions of breath and abilities and thoughtful considerations. We assume these blessings must come in mega doses, enclosed in the gift wrap which assures us when we open them up, they’ll contain a material item we can enjoy.

Some days, the wonder of waking up is amazing. And truly it is a gift to experience life. But yet we can’t help but wonder why some wake up to suffering and pain. We can’t control the grind in others’ lives. We can only learn to appreciate the provisions in our own. The conundrums of the world are not ours to solve.

If today you write one sentence which feels right, the grind has passed you by for that moment. Be grateful. In fact: be grateful anyway. For all the pain and frustration you experience in this life, God has provided a way to spend eternity in perfection. There’s an end to all of this. Pick your place. The grind will end. Eventually. Anticipation will return and inspire your work and your words. And Jesus will see you through the maze of mental calisthenics if you let Him.

These certainly do seem like Monday morning thoughts on a Sunday night . . .

Father, I need to trust you above all. I need to listen, love, and obey. I love you, Lord. In the Name of Jesus.

Sunday's Offerings

Good and upright is the Lord;
therefore He instructs sinners in His ways.
He guides the humble in what is right
and teaches them His way.

Psalm 25:8-9 (NIV)

Saturday Sample

Ten o’clock finally rolled around, and Hutch walked into Mick Webster’s barn with his tools. Nelson had four head for him to shoe, and instead of having the grooms hold them, Nelson held every one of them.
“So, Nelson,” Hutch began as he shaped a foot, “you know a place a guy could rent? Don’t much like stayin’ in the motel plus it’s too expensive.”
“As a matter of fact, there’s a duplex right next to my place that has a vacancy. And if I’m not mistaken, an elderly man lives in the other half of it so you probably wouldn’t have to deal with a lot of noise and visitors. It’s not a new place by any means, but I’ve been inside the units, and they’ve got a decent floor plan. The landlord is the hands-on type, and when I looked at them they were really clean. I almost rented one of them, but I had a roommate at the time, so we went for the two bedroom house instead. For some reason, I couldn’t give up the space when she moved out of state. Must be because of all those years livin’ in tack rooms. I lease my house year round. It’s only a couple miles from here. Quiet neighborhood. There’re only five houses left in the area. Mostly tilt up warehouses goin’ up around there now or office buildings. I’ve got the guy’s number at home. If you want, drop by the house when you’re done and we’ll give him a call. I’d ask you to stay with me—and you certainly can till you find a place—but I’ve gotten kind of used to the solitude, no offense.”
“None taken. I’m afraid I’d be lousy company anyway. Besides I rented my motel room for a week, but I’ll set up a time with ya so I can take a look at the place. Man, that would take a load off, ya know?”
“Yeah, I do. Comin’ into a strange town trying to work and make a friend or two.
That’s why I stayed in tack rooms so much in the early years I think. Just didn’t want to deal with trying to find a place. Then once you live in a place like when you’re married, man, you just don’t want to go back to that tack room.”
“That’s a fact.”

For some reason conversation came easy for these two men. Nelson had a reputation of not saying much to anyone unless it pertained to specifics with the horses, so his grooms were a little surprised that he was holding their horses to be shod in the first place and then to hear him talking and sharing racetrack stories with this new horseshoer—nothing short of unusual to them.
Hutch wrapped it up at Mick’s barn, made his plans to meet Nelson later that afternoon after chores, and then went on to Brady York’s barn arriving about 20 minutes sooner than he thought he would. As he sat in his truck recording his billing information about the horses he’d just shod, Michael Lawrence walked up to his truck and introduced himself.
“Brian Meriwether said to look you up—I’m in the same boat as Brady. He and I used the same shoer. I don’t know what you said to Brian, but you certainly impressed him, and, believe me when I say Brian hasn’t had much good to say about any of his fellow shoers,” Michael explained with a smile and a little trace of bewilderment.
Hutch laughed. “Yeah, I guess we kinda hit it off a bit. Well, sure thing. Did you need me today? I’ve got six head I think here at Brady’s.”
“No, not today, but I sure could use you tomorrow at around 10:30 if that’s possible.”
“Yeah, I can do that. How many you got?”
“I’ll just have two tomorrow. My wife and I do most all of it ourselves. Just a small stable. If we could maybe catch two a day, that would be good for us.”
“Yeah. I’ll fit you in. Tomorrow at 10:30 then?” he confirmed as he wrote it in his book.
“Thanks. Really appreciate it.”
“Good, then.” Hutch got out of his truck and went to the back to get his tools. “Business as usual,” he said to himself with some satisfaction.

(For His Glory; sequel to Hope Of Glory)

The devil in your eyes.

I’ve seen the devil in your eyes.
Lovely and cruel
Sweet and vicious.

I’ve heard the devil in your voice.
Kind and cutting
Whispers and threats.

Your skin is taut with fire.
Touching you is like being singed—
Skin peels back inflamed
In pain.

You wrap around them like a boa.
Striking like a cobra
After the mesmerizing dance
Venom, fatal.

The glee pervades your defiant stance.
Unleashed control
Head back howling
Exacting revenge.

The prettiness is encased in ugliness.
No longer do those blue eyes glimmer.
Instead they shout obscenities
In meager tones.

You are a shell.
Vacant.
Wicked.
Empty.

God, please resurrect. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

The difference in opinion . . .

When reading novels, writing my “reviews”, and finally sometimes checking others’ reviews, it’s fascinating to note the differences in opinions from myriad readers. We all read the same book, and yet we can experience it so differently. Not always of course but sometimes. Enough times to make one wonder about how opinions are formed.

If you read my review on Monday of Christa Parrish’s new release Watch Over Me, you’ll remember I said there was enough “light” injected into the story to keep it from being totally “depressing”. And I meant those precise words. Another reviewer referred to the story as “dark” and implied that some of it was difficult to read even though this reviewer really enjoyed the story.

That response got me thinking about what we bring to a story. I wouldn’t have categorized Christa’s story as “dark” unless it had taken some unexpected turns into truly dark places. Yes, the characters suffered emotionally in soul-crushing ways, but they were not foreboding characters. This of course results in semantics. I associate “dark” with evil or psychologically foreboding states of mind—like serial killers or demonic beings.

I grew up in a loving home with a brother who was nine years older than me. A solid family, strong work ethic, established moral fiber, genuine love from my parents, encouragement to pursue dreams. The good stuff. As I was growing up, my brother’s and my lives became more distant because of the age difference. I was still a young girl when he took off for the Navy. By the time I got to college, the conflicts of war and the Cultural Revolution raged in this country. And it changed me. Slowly but steadily it robbed me of things I once held sacred. Not rooted in Jesus or even knowing how to be, my experiences exceeded the boundaries I once believed to be valid and important.

So when I enter into a story, this is the background which influences how I interpret someone else’s word pictures. This background also determines much of how I write my own. I wonder if the reviewer who tagged the “dark” designation to Christa’s story might have grown up in church and might not have experienced a serious temptation to stray. Or perhaps this person is very sensitive to those things which present a crisis of faith.

I consider myself a tender-hearted person and sensitive to the Lord’s touch whether by word, thought, or deed. I’m an animal lover but have no respect for outfits like Peta. (I don’t even know if I spelled it right and refuse to dignify the group by checking on it.) Yet my preferred television programs are things like CSI (all of them), Bones, NCIS, Criminal Minds, and the like. Go figure. Now most of their episodes are “dark”. Contrast that with I hate, and always have, horror films. In fact, I think I’ve only seen two in my entire life—when I was in junior high school!

Anyway, it’s interesting to read the same books and see them through different eyes. When we write them, we intend to communicate certain things depending on our particular objectives for the story. Some authors have few, others have many. One thing most of us writers can count on is readers having differences of opinions on how well we accomplished those objectives.

Lord, thank you for helping us to desire to see your ways above all others—not something that comes naturally to us. Holy Spirit, we need your interpretations on a daily basis. Thank you for loving us enough to help us navigate through this time on earth. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

What does it take?

Many years ago Jr. Walker and the Allstars* did a fabulous tune called “What Does It Take?” The saxophone he played in the song sent the emotional reactions to the wonderful lyrics soaring. The words which followed “What does it take” were “to win your love for me?” Then the song goes on to say: “How can I make this dream come true for me?” A little farther along, he sings, “I tried, I tried, I tried, I tried, in every way I could . . . to make you see how much I love you. I thought you understood.” Then finally, “So you gotta make me see, what does it take to win your love for me?” The lyrics aren’t complicated, but the music is moving and beautiful. It’s a great love song.

For those of us who’ve been writing awhile, we start to ask this very simple question: What does it take? We’ve tried and tried and tried and tried in every way we could rather to seek a way to engage someone in our work and we conclude with the slight modification: So you gotta make me see, what does it take to win your love for . . . my work?

There’s a reason for the . . . season. Whether we’re in a waiting season or the season of improvement or the season of establishing contentment, there is a reason for being ignored or rejected. Sometimes we concede it makes sense—maybe not willingly but deep inside we understand there are “things” which need to be done before we become an “established” author. Other times we are literally forced into accepting the plan God designed for us at this time. Trusting Him should be automatic but rarely is—and that’s a topic for another day.

Getting published is the usual dream for writers, and, actually, it’s easier today than it’s ever been. There are “free” opportunities for those who want to bypass expenses and quality. For those who can pay for publication, there are top drawer custom publishers available.

Most people hold out for being accepted by a good agent and contracted to a well known publisher. This provides validation for most writers. After all if you can get your work in the hands of a reputable agent who sells it to a recognized publisher, you’ve “made it”. Right? Well, it depends on the number of sales, and that depends a lot on good marketing, and that can depend on the amount of money you and your publisher spend to promote the book, and sales can depend on if it all combines to sell enough of your work for the consideration of future books. You might get two books contracted right off the bat, but vibrant sales will improve your ability to continue to write for your publisher.

I have no idea what it takes to “win the love” of an agent, editor, or publisher. That sultry saxophone can wail my tune all day long. I only know this: I’ve tried to win that love and failed to do so. And I’ve survived the experience. Yeah, I’ve been annoyed, hurt, and cemented the obvious factor of subjectivity into the equation. And I’ve determined it’s all okay. Keeping it in perspective reigns supreme.

Father, you hold the keys to all the doors. I only want to walk through the ones you open for me. Thank you that I can always trust you—even when it’s hard for me. I love you, Lord. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

*Allstars also appears as All Stars and All stars