Into the Fire

Submission

submit: 1.to yield or surrender (oneself) to the will or authority of another or others 2.to subject to some condition or process 3.to commit (something) to the consideration or judgment of another a.to yield to the opinion or authority of another; to give in b.to allow oneself to be subjected to; to acquiesce

Now we could very well be discussing the role of a husband to the Godhead or a wife to her husband here. But we’re not. Today.

It’s an ongoing revelation for me as a writer when I understand more of the process which leads to publication. I share the journey with you who stop by to read my thoughts and opinions, presenting a mini-travelogue of the experience.

Many of you are familiar with the “Submissions” process. You need to be informed as to who will accept your manuscript without an agent: very few, you soon learn. However, if you happen to attend a writer’s conference and make contacts/friends with people in the know, in the industry, in the multiple factions of “the biz”, the professionals insist it gives you a head start on others who wish to populate the world of reading with their fiction.

Many top rate literary agents now insist you have a known/respected author’s intro to approach them. Indeed, it is as difficult to get an agent as it is a publisher.

Each individual, each agency, each publishing house has their own set of rules to “submit”. Any way you look at it, you need an invitation of some kind. And when you do finally put together the required material, read the definition above to make sure you understand what will be expected in the process. Now you understand why the process is called “Submissions”.

Titles, words, stories—if accepted—might not remain the way you initially intended. Yes, editors work with authors to insure the message, the gist, the purpose, the theme, the whatever you hoped to convey will stand strong in the story. You’ve read the interviews with three different professional editors on this site. You know their desire is to make your story the best it can be—and I think their primary reason for that is because they love stories. Secondly, they have a knack for knowing how to enhance, rearrange, or find weaknesses in stories. The best ones work closely and affectionately with their author friends, building a relationship alongside building the story.

But even they have to submit to the publishing powers, to fine tune the work to “fit” the intentions/needs of their houses. So you must find what is valuable to you as the author, what you can and can’t live without in the story, how you can compromise if necessary and when you can’t budge—if that’s the case. Where will submission be required?

Only the absolute beginner will insist his writing is flawless and sensational. Why? Because so few writers ever become flawless or sensational, that’s why. Some can tell a story better than others. Some have an indomitable style to draw readers like moths to night light. Fascinating, imaginative, lyrical, or just plain good—there are many kinds of writers. But some of us after completing a few novels realize this is how we tell stories, and chances are without a mighty work of our Lord’s hand, we aren’t going to change a whole lot. We’ve found our voice and our style, and while we seek to always improve our language and our stories, we are finally who we are.

So, this is where the submission process becomes a critical decision. We’ve talked here about so many things identifying who you are as a writer, as an author of fiction. Your motives now come into play. If you believe in the process of becoming a published author, you will fine tune and spit shine that query/proposal/synopsis/pitch, not to mention that manuscript, and get it to the right professional—their preference seems to be via a writer’s conference. You will do whatever it takes, and generally speaking for most people, it takes a lot. A lot of submission in all its various forms. For as long as it takes.

But it’s your decision. Who you ultimately submit to as a Christian is the Lord Jesus Christ. You follow what He has for you to do. And it might not involve the same kind of submission process another writer must do. That’s why you need to know who God wants you to be. Then . . . you submit to Him.

Father, I thank you for the path you’ve designed for me. Help me to submit to it willingly. Steadily. Obediently. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Hawk

The high pitch—up high—scream, probably a call.
Sun pierces my gaze, blinding me from partial sky.

Aahhh, there it is. Soaring. Turning perpendicular!
Red tail with streaming sunshine lighting it up.
A song all its own, command of the air currents.
Confidence in the swerving rotations. So high.

The hundred foot cottonwood held its home,
Raised its offspring. The child-like cries echoing the adult’s call.

Magnificent in its being. Simple. Audacious.
Sharing it silently with God’s appointed season.
Just an observer, respectful of the power.
To fly in the heavens—life’s call.

Lord, thank you for the stunning life you've created on this planet. I am in awe. So often. Grateful to participate. Privileged to belong to you. Undeserving. Transformed by your Blood. Jesus, thank you. Holy Spirit, make me better. In all ways. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Honestly.

Writing is an emotional journey. Not that it doesn’t include plenty of practical purpose time along the way, but, simply, if it’s your passion and your call, there will be some moments of unguarded mood swings, self-realizations, self-incriminations, comparison games, something akin to sorrow, and times of exceeding joy.

Who knows the absolute whys as to the timing and authorship of your first novel? As a Christian, I do believe you will be inspired to do it when He desires it for you. Beyond that depends a lot on you as a writer. Will you stay close to your Lord as you struggle to create what appears in the scenes in your head? Will you seek after His touch, His divine anointing on your work as you labor to tell the story just right? Will you pray for His will, not yours to be done if they seem to conflict? What will you do as a Christian writer?

How the Lord implants things in our hearts is as unique as the way we put words on a page. Although we cannot come up with “anything new under the sun”, we will each have a different way to tell it, courtesy of our Lord: the extraordinary Author of Life. I have told you he spoke words directly to me about the subject of my first novel about horse racing. And, somehow, He made me aware of self-publishing that first novel. He already knew what I did not: no publisher in his right mind would’ve taken on that huge saga which would be more or less centralized around a potentially “small market”.

Had the Lord elected to make me aware of the cost of publishing that book, I easily would’ve lost heart and become fearful—which is my specialty when it comes to how expensive things can be. But when I finally understood if it was the right thing to do to step out and publish that book, suddenly the terror of spending the kind of money it would cost on something that was guaranteed no monetary/commercial success whatsoever . . . disappeared. Instead, it became a must do thing.

Once the novel was done, it seemed I read with a different intent. The killer “comparison” thing rose up in me and caused great consternation. “I can write as good as he/she can!” Ooohhh. That’s an ugly thing, folks. Because the bottom line amounts to this: So what? It reminds me of Peter asking Jesus about John’s future in Him. Jesus replied to Peter, paraphrased: “What’s it to you, Peter? What I have for him doesn’t have to be the same thing I have for you, now does it?” It’s a humbling exercise I can only urge you to avoid. The plan for each individual is custom-made. Do we question the Creator of The Plan? Not in our saner moments.

I can tell you now that I read with a different perspective. Some novels are disappointing, and some are wonderful. Some are fluff—not usually the ones I read—and some are challenging. I read for enjoyment and to absorb anything the Lord would put into me.

My first novel is technically imperfect. My son had just acquired the first computer in our household as a graduation gift. I had no idea about the “technologies” of “bold” print and “italics”. No kidding. Plus, it’s just plain a first effort. You learn as you go. I wouldn’t change the story, but I’d change some of the technique and, of course, edit it some more. Honestly, I’m content with it overall.

I got to help design the cover. There were some excruciating mistakes made print-wise before it became the product it now is, but the rewards of having this book as a ministry are really immeasurable. I have given this book away to strangers, mailed it to e-mail friends, and have been humbled by the responses of those who’ve read it and know nothing about horse racing. So there ya go. God has always been at the forefront of this book, so it’s His to do as He pleases with it. It’s an adventure.

Six novels later, the stories and their futures are still in His hands. What can I do without Him? Nothing. I had to get to that place, though. I had to know in my heart that my journey might be different from another writer’s steps. I have to walk the path God has laid out for me. I have to learn to be content with my course and to understand that if and when it deviates from what might be considered the “norm”, God is more imaginative than I am and doesn’t need my assistance to make something pleasing to Him—he just uses my obedience and cooperation for His glory. And isn’t that the objective of it all? Honestly?

Father, thank you for allowing me to write for your glory. To give me words and stories, characters and dialogue, scenes and places . . . thank you for it all. Use it, I pray, to the Glory of God. For Jesus via the Holy Spirit. Be in it from start to finish. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Sunday's Offerings

Surely goodness and love will follow me
all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the house of the Lord
forever.

Psalm 23:6 (NIV)

Take a look back . . .

If you drop by today, please take a moment to check out a few Saturdays back to the writing entries of Mark Harbeson's WIP Samaritan, Rebecca Luella Miller's The Lore of Efrathah, and Jason Joyner's WIP (tentatively titled) Beauty of the Broken. Talented and as yet unpublished but well worth your time to read them on "Saturday Sample . . . " Enjoy!

Uptight

What does it for you? I find a few things get me instantly agitated.

One of them is the down-your-nose, matter-of-fact explanation of evolution. Puh—leez.

Another is the same down-your-nose, matter-of-fact explanation of a certain theology. Unfortunate as it is for us Christians, we simply are not going to agree about some doctrinal issues. No matter how smug those particular scriptures make you feel as you recite them to prove your beliefs.

Global warming. I mean, c’mon. Don’t you think man is more than capable of igniting nuclear weapons to incinerate earth as we know it if he wasn’t afraid of the desolation that might get to him, too? Man isn’t going to destroy this earth. God is. Every scientist worth his credentials knows this earth has gone through climate changes and shifts. This nonsense that man can in any way “control” the outcome of climate and the survival of our planet speaks of the same arrogance evident in the natural selection crowd.

The absurd campaign to withdraw our troops from Iraq by those who unequivocally support the abortion of millions of children.

Racism of any kind. How can ANY human being think he is better than another human being? Flesh and blood.

God, help us. Through the last days, may we remain faithful, always seeking after you and your ways. Please, Lord. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Just thinkin' . . .

I don’t think you know who you are as a writer (of novels) until you’ve finished two unrelated books. The first one is a bear for some of us. Squeezing it in between life demands, compelling ourselves to write it down before it slips away, giving up and letting those bits of characters and plot thoughts seep into deeper membranes maybe never to be recovered again while whining “Why did I think I could do this?!” Writers press on. They have their down times, their productive times, their whattheheckisthis times. All of us different. All of us handling each experience, each step, however we know to do. Sometimes not having a clue.

But the story won’t die, and therefore we keep after it. I’m tellin’ ya when you visit writers’ websites or blogs or blog tours and you read interviews with creative types, you’ll either rejoice in finding someone who extracts words the same way you do (!) or marvel at another who couldn’t be more different from you if they attempted to capture your polar opposite.

The second book might come on the heels of the first or much later after all is said and done with that initial effort. The idea may have invaded your space long before the first one was finished, but now you’ve given yourself permission to pursue it. Who knows? It might roll off the keys or screech from the pen in magnificent fluency. Or not. No matter how it comes, it’s certainly different from the first one in so many ways—and maybe not so many.

There are certain qualities a writer must have—these are inarguable. Don’t know if they can truly be learned, but they can certainly be refined if you have them. The main one is you have to be able to write a story. Now how you want to tell that story, the words you choose, the pace you pick, the locations, scenes, dialogue, theme and characters will be your decision, and will hopefully present themselves based on your understanding of grammar and craft principles. Once you genuinely understand them, you can break the rules. If you break them without understanding what they are and how they apply to putting together a story, it won’t look clever. It’ll look dumb.

I am a bit of a lone ranger when it comes to style. I like a lot of different styles. I used to not enjoy stories written from the first person POV. Then I read a couple I enjoyed, and, whaddayaknow! I ended up writing one. It simply had to be told from that point of view.

My first novel about horse racing is a monster. Hope Of Glory in all its glory is 744 pages including a Glossary of Terms for the interpretation of authentic language in the book. It starts out just before the race meet begins, and, once the meet starts, is a day by day account of one season of racing. There are more characters than I could count to illustrate the collage of people involved and interrelated in the sport. I didn’t set out to write it that way. I set out to write a Christian novel about horse racing because those are the exact words the Lord spoke to my heart when I told him I would write if I had something to write about. If you want to roll your eyes at that assertion, be my guest, but it’s the truth. I started the book in the summer of 1993 and finished it longhand sometime in the spring of 2002. There were 6 to 9 month periods of no writing at all while I worked 7 days a week at the track, home-schooled for several of those years, and did ministry at church.

I will never teach on craft. I will never teach on writing at all. My stories come to me with characters first. The Holy Spirit delivers them to me—what else can I say? I am not creative enough to make them up, but it’s like I know them from the inside out. Who they are, why they are . . . what they are as people. And, yes, I break most of the rules. I know what they are. I was an A-student in all things English, grammar, literature. I read a bunch of novels whenever I’m not writing. Lots and lots of them. So I know what I’m “supposed” to do. I just can’t do it the “normal” way. It’s not the way I write. I’ve read the craft books. They’re good. Reasonable. Informative. Helpful. They’re great assets for indicating what publishers seek in general. They presume to speak for what most readers desire in a novel. They don’t happen to completely speak for me either as a reader or as a writer. I guess I’m the exception. It doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy a lot of the books I read. It means I don’t find a lot of novels that I really love. Sooo . . . I write what I love.

And I think that’s important. I think it’s also important to define for yourself what you hope to achieve with your writing. If your sole goal is to be published, study those craft books until you’re positive you can do what they instruct. Make those first 5 to 20 pages charged with action, conflict, tension, and drama, humor, thrills. And keep it going for 80-100,000 words or thereabouts. Tall order. And read, read, read, particularly in your preferred genre.

If you desire to write to satisfy your soul, do it. And do it well. Share it with those in your section of the world. If the Lord leads, seek publication. And read, read, read.

Above all, if writing is what God has given you to do, write away. You make the effort, He’ll make the time. Your first responsibility is to Him. Let Him supply your words, fill your heart with story, breathe life into those characters. He has a plan. It might be different from any plan you know or have considered, but His is the best. Follow it.

God, thank you that you have a plan. A good plan. A custom-made plan. Help each one of us to pursue your plan and no other and find contentment in your ways and in our obedience. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Peeves

I don’t get why the author’s NAME has to be so big on the covers of books to where sometimes you can’t even find the title. I prefer the TITLE to be bigger. Interesting to some, not so much to others, is that a large number of readers only remember titles, not authors, of books. (But I suppose the reverse is true, too.)

Back cover copy again. Man, just tease me. Don’t tell me “whodunit”. I don’t want to know. What I want to know is the bare minimum. You know what I mean. When you’re required to write those 30 word blurbs about your novel? That’s hard to do, but when you’re finished, it does manage to tell what your book is about. “About” is the key word. Not why, who, what, and how. Just what it’s about.

Sequels and series—if that’s the plan in the beginning, then have them written and ready to release in the 6 or 7 month time frame after the first one. If the idea for a sequel or series comes later, make sure the first one can stand alone. Make references to the first book in the second one so readers can reconnect but allow book 2 or even the following book(s) to have some ability to stand alone even if you end up leading the reader to the next one.

When the first book in a series is just a setup for the second book, I’m disgusted. If that’s the case, combine the first two into one book.

More than one proofing error. I don’t understand how this happens with so many professionals involved in the various stages of producing/editing a novel.

Unimaginative covers or similar images/photos of the same people on completely unrelated book covers.

The “study” or “discussion” questions at the end of novels. C’mon. If you must have them available, list a website to visit to obtain them or an address to write to with a tear-out postcard. These are novels, for crying out loud, not research books.

The lack of creative marketing for Christian male readers.

Pages of endorsements. Overkill. One or two by notable names gets the point across.

Okay. I’m done for now.

Father, we are your imperfect children but made in your image, transformed by the Blood of your Son. Help us to grow in you daily and to not shrink back from what you desire us to be. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

If you're going to write a series . . .

Here’s the thing. If you intend to write a series—let’s say three books or more (and of course we’re talkin’ novels here, and, yes, Christian novels, as usual)—please have them all done before the first one is published. Generally speaking, unless you’re focusing on an individual character in each book (like about a family member, i.e. the Baxter family in Karen Kingsbury’s Redemption, Fame, now Sunrise series), you will be writing about fairly complex plotlines which either involve the protagonist in the first one throughout the series or branches off with a known character(s) in the first one expanded upon in the next two or more. If the protagonist remains the focus and the storyline continues where it leaves off in Book One, you just don’t leave a reader dangling for a year until the next one is available.

Some readers, if they really enjoyed the book, will go back and reread the first one to refresh themselves with the story before or after purchasing the next book. There might be a few who enjoyed the first book but decided they didn’t really enjoy it enough to read through it again, and since the story isn’t really clear in their minds anymore when the next one shows up, they don’t buy it. The third group is anxious for the next book and impatient at having to wait so long to continue with the story.

I think this is more a publisher’s problem than an author’s. Publishers issue contracts and deadlines.

I read a novel a couple of years ago that I was crazy about. The male and female characters grabbed me and wouldn’t let go. I loved them in their uniqueness, their individual strengths and so human vulnerabilities. I didn’t know there would be a sequel when I read the first one which is a stand alone story by an author I truly enjoyed. When I learned there would be a sequel and waited with excitement for its release, just before it came out I reread the first one. This was a first for me. I just don’t reread novels as a general rule—too many more to get to—but I made an exception with this one because I was hook-line-and-sinkered into these characters and the story. I was not disappointed. I read them both three times each—never have done it before or since. Two amazing books. And I still hunger for just one more.

On the opposing side of this, last year I read a book which I mistakenly bought thinking it would be something other than it was. My fault, not anyone else’s. Let me say I would not be the target audience for this novel, and although it was written well enough, I had to make myself finish it. The other major disappointment in the book was that it was a totally unresolved cliffhanger which occurred on the LAST page where I also learned there were two more books to come in this series. Talk about irritation. I trudged through this novel which, had I known it was a genre outside my preference, I wouldn’t have purchased it, only to find out it didn’t end when it was over and there were going to be two more books before real resolution could be found. There is a slim possibility if the second book had been shortly available I might have bought it because I want resolution. However, I have since learned that the second book, which I believe took about a year to be released, has an even less satisfying, more of a cliffhanger ending—if that were possible—than the first one. Count me out.

There are ways to leave a reader dangling and hungry for more in a series, but there has to be some kind of resolution afforded to us, especially if we have to wait a year for another book which I think is a bad marketing approach. Too long. It’s easy for the storyline to become fuzzy and indistinct, for characters to blend together causing us to forget who’s who. As the publishing world keeps insisting, readers don’t have time to read, so why delay in getting them the follow-up books they want if a series is what is being offered. I think 6-7 months is just about right between books in a series.

I just now visited Rebecca Luella Miller’s (guest author on “Saturday Sample . . .”) blog, “A Christian Worldview of Fiction”, after having written the above paragraphs to find she holds the exact opposite opinion! It made me laugh. Our minds are working on the same topic in different wavelengths. So much for diverse opinions for readers and writers.

So what’s your opinion?

Father, you have something for everybody. You have mountains and oceans, hot and cold, opera and rap, and unlimited beauty in your kingdom creation. Thank you that we never have to leave your presence empty or unsatisfied. You are the key to ultimate fulfillment. Please help me to contribute to the beauty in this fallen world. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Another "No Review"

I’m doing this for fun, not because I plan on reviewing books on this blog. If you recall the post “No Review”, I told you about Randy Alcorn’s Deception, third novel in a series that began with Deadline and was followed by Dominion. These three books are really exceptional and well worth the time invested in reading each one of them.

So, I just finished reading the third and final (at least for now) book in the Mars Hill series by Austin Boyd. I guess you classify these as “space thrillers” or a kind of sci-fi, but although they deal with space travel, aliens, and take place a few years in the future, they are not at all unbelievable. On the contrary. The author’s familiarity with all things “space” brings a plausible authenticity to this very ambitious multi-faceted plotline. And he pulls it off.

You’ll come to appreciate the extreme dedication of the hero John “Hawk” Wells as he once again leaves his family to travel to the red planet on a mission to expose or reveal the true or false existence of aliens in The Evidence. The horror of plot twists late in the middle novel (The Proof) demand an immediate read of the final book (The Return). If you want to be thoroughly entertained by a fascinating subject handled very well by an expert in the field of space travel, pick up The Evidence and read all the way to the end of this interesting series.

Father, Austin Boyd went to great lengths and sacrifice both in his career as a military man and in his pursuit of space travel. He brought that same determination to getting published, and you have blessed his efforts. I pray he would always first and foremost follow you wherever and however you lead him in whatever endeavors you have for him. Please bless him for his confession and testimony of how you’ve worked in his life and in his writing. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Sunday's Offerings

Submit yourselves, then, to God. Resist the devil and he will flee from you. Come near to God and He will come near to you. Wash your hands, you sinners, and purify your hearts, you double-minded. Grieve, mourn and wail. Change your laughter to mourning and your joy to gloom. Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will lift you up.

James 4:7-10 (NIV)

Saturday Sample . . .

ONE YEAR LATER . . .

It had been a long drive. He was surprised at how hard it was raining even though that’s all he’d heard about this area from the time he’d mentioned he was thinking of trying out this track clear across the country.
“Hutch, you’re going to hate it, I’m tellin’ ya.” He could still hear his cousin Rhett emphatically telling him and then spitting out his chew and shaking his head. “You’re just gonna hate it. You got plenty of mud caulks?”
Well, he was here, and it was midnight, pitch black, and raining hard enough that he had to put his wipers on the extra fast mode.
“Geez,” he said under his breath.

MONDAY
Harry Dawson was having trouble sleeping again. The rain pounded on the roof in a steady downpour. He stared into the darkness of his bedroom and listened to his wife breathe deeply but quietly. He turned his head to look at her. She was beautiful even in the dark he mused thankfully.
“God, it’s hard for me to fathom how much you must love me. There is no way I deserved her. No way I deserved her love—or Yours,” he emphasized silently. “Oh God. What is it, Lord? I know this unrest. What do you need, Lord? You know I’ll do it. You know I will. No matter what.”

“Cee!” Dick shouted frantically. “Cee! Wake up!”
“Dick, wake up,” Cee said softly, gently touching her husband’s arm. “Are you dreaming again? Wake up.”
Dick came out of his dream abruptly. He was sweating, and he’d had this same nightmare again. He turned and lay flat on his back reaching for his wife’s hand.
“When are you going to tell me what this dream is all about?” she asked quietly.
“As soon as I figure out why I’m having it. I’m sorry to wake you, beautiful.”

Two large cups of coffee and still Dick was tired and a little crabby. He shut himself in his office until Elena knocked lightly on the door.
“Come in,” he called with a little tinge of irritation.
“This can wait, Dick,” Elena said quietly as she poked her head inside the door.
“No, no. I’m irritated with myself, Elena, not you. I’m sorry I sounded like that.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“Yeah, I do, but I can’t.”
“Too personal?”
“No, not really. It’s just a dream I keep having—a bad one. I need to figure out why I keep having it. I’ve prayed about it, but the Lord seems to be kinda quiet on this one, and, to tell you the truth, I can’t figure that out either,” he said with disappointment.
“You know, I’ve read that recurring bad dreams are because of unresolved fears. I had a dream several times before Bill got so sick.”
“So, was it prophetic?”
“Bill is alive and well as you know. Miraculously healed. So, no, it was not prophetic, although in all honesty, there were times when I thought it was going to be.”
Dick stared at her.
“It’s about Cee, isn’t it?” she asked quietly.
“Yeah, it is, Elena, and I’ve had it three times since we got married.”
“I believe the Lord will make it known to you, Dick. You seem to have that kind of relationship with Him. He shows you things. Hasn’t He used dreams to show you things before?”
“Yes, He has. Maybe that’s what I’m afraid of. What He’ll show me, I mean.”

Grady Hutchinson sat in the kitchen nursing 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 that Robert Sanders had come 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 kitchen and saw someone’s rig parked on the side of the nearest barn to the south side of the kitchen out of the way of the hotwalking machines. It had to belong to another horseshoer. As he stared 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 could tell he was grabbing a couple sets of shoes and then he disappeared back into the shedrow.
This wasn’t 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. He was grateful for that because when it came time to collect money, he discovered that 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, and he was so confident in his work that he would 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 be able 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, he thought, still staring blankly out the window.
Glancing at his watch, he decided to head to the commission office to get his farrier’s license. Then he’d start cruising the barn area and 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, he thought a little dubiously.

Taken from the sequel (WIP tentatively titled For His Glory) to Hope Of Glory (2003-200?; written by Nicole Petrino-Salter)

BLOGS, Blogs, and more blogs . . .

Everyone has one for one primary reason: to communicate or express something. Beyond that, there can be any number of reasons people have them.

Well, here’s something you might not know about mine. I appreciate comments. However, if you’ve been visiting this blog for any amount of time, you will notice that there are very few. The one post which generated the most comments was “Friday Fun” for June 1st for which I polled some people on movies.

I know my participants for “Saturday Sample . . .” would’ve appreciated a little more feedback. Put yourself in their places: wouldn’t you?

I know there is a time and a place and often good reason(s) for “lurking”, but there are probably equally good reasons for contributing now and then. A simple comment. Make somebody’s day.

If you haven’t taken the time to read the excerpts of the past three “Saturday Sample . . .” posts, please do. Then leave a comment. There are some good yet to be published writers out there. We should encourage them. Support them.

I have no volunteers for this Saturday. It’s not too late, writers . . .

Father, let me remember to always encourage, to speak the truth in love, to be courteous in disagreement, and to love people. Help me with all of that, Lord. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

In the throes of conviction . . .

You hear it. You read it. You see it. The result: Instant Guilt. You reassess. You rationalize. You re-examine. You justify. You ponder. You argue in silence. You are in the throes of conviction. You first hate it. You then question yourself. You rise to your own defense. What conclusion will you ultimately come to?

Now some of you feel guilt no matter what happens—to you, to a stranger, to anyone in the world. It’s got to be your fault. You did something wrong sometime to someone, and here is the result. It’s always your fault. Punishment is sure to follow. You volunteer to be taken away. You apologize profusely for all the sins on earth. You know you were wrong, in error, not right, sinful.

Others of you couldn’t possibly have made a mistake. No, no. Someone else is responsible for making you look bad. It’s their fault regardless of the fact that they were nowhere in the vicinity of this infraction. Doesn’t matter. They could’ve been, should’ve been, would’ve been—except they weren’t. Irrelevant. There had to be someone who interfered in the situation to make it seem like you were wrong, in error, made a bad decision . . . sinned even. It couldn’t have been your fault.

The rest of us are somewhere in between. Dang!! Tell me I didn’t do that. Someone, please! Did I really say that, think that, do that? I mean, didn’t they have it coming? Well, someone told me to do it that way. I thought it wouldn’t be that bad, you know? Uh-huh. Then finally. God, I’m sorry. I’m just so sorry. Please forgive me. I was wrong.

Christians, all. Sin is not uncommon to us. We are much too familiar with how it all goes down. And, oh how I hate it when it’s me who’s wrong. Don’t you?

The interesting thing is when you’re an observer and a listener to someone who is describing something close to them—let’s just say . . . their business. They rumble on for a few minutes about the negatives—a little injustice here and there, an occasional “false front”, one or two unfair advantages taken, a couple of prime people who lack integrity, several discriminatory practices in selection of people and product. No big deal.

However, when you note the unfairness in what the speaker has just expounded upon, declaring your surprise or empathizing with the trials of such wrongdoings, immediately the speaker goes into defense mode. Suddenly all he’s said is minimized to near non-existence. By the time he concludes, his words have become a simple misunderstanding: yours. His business is, in fact, perfect. There are no shortcomings. No need for improvements. No people who need to re-evaluate their values. No errors in purpose, no preferences of people, and only the best selection of product with nothing to necessitate changing or amplifying selections.

The throes of conviction before the release of repentance. Guilt by association and condoning the lack of betterment that change affords.

Maybe you get my drift here, and maybe you don’t. I’m not going to get any more specific.

Being wrong is no fun. Depending on how big the error is, it can be life-changing. Anyway we look at it we have to be on guard for the sin which so eagerly waits to devour us daily. Always need to be doing the heart-check. Listening to the Spirit’s voice instead of ignoring His gentle revelations. Coming humbly into the throne room seeking forgiveness from the One who so graciously gives it. Always. Amazing Love . . .

So, individuals and professionals alike: Sin is sin. If you’re twisting in the throes of conviction, straighten up. Give it up. Get real. Get cleansed by the Blood of Jesus. You’ll be better off for it.

Forgive me, Lord. Help me to quickly confess my sins to you. Fill me with your mercy and grace. Let me see through your eyes. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Antagonistic

It has occurred to me that I may sound antagonistic at times. Not something I want to do. Not something I intentionally set out to do.

To disagree with an established practice, a tradition, a set way of doing something, does not have to be done with antagonism. In fact, when it is, it’s usually met with acute resistance and a form of defensive aggression.

So, once again I would like to set things straight as to my opinion of some of the publishing world’s procedures. Number one, I know very little about the intricacies of how the major Christian publishing houses conduct their “bottom-line” business dealings. I’m an observer for the most part, having never been offered a contract for any of my books. What I have learned has come from some minimal, some enlightening, discussions with a few editors, a few agents, and several authors—and none of these have been in-person contacts. Some of what I’ve discerned has come from agents’/editors’/authors’ websites or blogs.

Here is what some of these professionals have discussed, professed, admitted, inferred, or said:

1.Don’t take rejection personally. “It’s a business.”

2.Literary novels don’t sell well. This both grieves and/or gripes some editors.

3.For the most part, novels should be in the 80-100,000 word count bracket, but there are exceptions.

4.Fantasy doesn’t sell well, but there are a few current editors who are pushing for it and a few houses leading the charge.

5.Under the radar, some will admit that the main marketing dollars go to the big name authors. The powers that be are asking/requiring more marketing/investment ($$) from their authors. Authors don’t have a clue what kind of marketing will sell their books.

6.Platform isn’t necessary—it’s good writing that makes an author attractive. However, an author with a platform is far more likely to make it to the top of the slush pile, better writing or not.

7.Trends, projections, and statistics/sales determine more about what is published than actual knowledge of the reading audience, perpetuating more of the same.

8.Some methods used in certain publishing businesses are short on integrity and some of the people involved are minimal, if at all, Christians.

9.The almost identical mantras from nearly all the professionals echo the Donald Maass concept of Writing the Breakout Novel, coupled with Self-Editing for Fiction Writers by Browne and King.

10.You must go to a writers’ conference—at least one a year.

I didn’t come up with these. These are not my ideas, suggestions, or opinions. These are the gist of comments made on blogs, websites, e-mails.

I happen to disagree with some of these. Not that it particularly matters. Except for the fact that I am a writer of Christian fiction. And I am a reader of Christian fiction. And I am a consumer—as in pay money for—Christian fiction.

The only time I can become antagonistic is when it is insisted that the current way of producing books—and by that I mean the “controls” which determine what is published—is the best, the only-without-exception-way to provide quality in Christian fiction. I disagree.

God, I trust in you. You are the judge and jury of all that’s right and holy. I fall so short sometimes, but you lift me up and dust me off and place me back on the path ordained for me. Thank you for your benevolence, your kindness. Help me to stay the course, remain on the path. I want more of you, Jesus. Teach me, Holy Spirit. Lead me. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Why I Read Christian Novels . . . Exclusively

Many of you grew up “in the church”. Although I’ve always believed in God as did my parents, I didn’t know Jesus Christ was the way to KNOW God until I reached the age of 30. You can pack a lot of sinful living into 30 years of life—especially growing up as a teenager in the late 60s and early 70s.

I grew up in a moral, hard-working environment. But I succumbed to the immorality of those explosive years when “free love” and LSD promised things they could never deliver, none of which produced anything remotely resembling freedom. I read some of the classics and took primarily literature classes in my 5 quarters at the U of W. I happened to love Ken Kesey’s writing in both One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest and Sometimes A Great Notion. I have read some of the authors proclaimed still to be “the best”.

I’ve let you in on some things about me. Maybe one day the Lord will have me give my more complete testimony. It’s hard to do. Not so pretty.

That’s probably why I have a problem with Christians who always want to push the envelope and label it “freedom”. I remember the last time I got drunk—I was a cheap drunk, too. Two stout cocktails were enough to float my boat. Much more than that and I could be found emptying the contents of my stomach over the nearest toilet or whatever became handy—which I did more frequently than I care to remember. Praise God for that—it kept me from becoming an alcoholic.

When you see friends as hardcore alcoholics in their 20s, suffering from alcohol-induced epileptic seizures at 30, and dying in their late 30s from cirrhosis or early 40s because they just couldn’t quit even after treatment, it has a sobering effect on the practice of drinking. When you learn that some individuals will become alcoholics with their first tastes of drink, you shudder at the thought of being a bad example or a reason for them to pursue something that will eventually kill them. Think about it. That isn’t “freedom”.

I know what it’s like to be addicted to cigarettes, and somehow I quit the year before I met the Lord. My husband smoked since he was 9 years old—Camel straights. Then one day not too long after he was saved, the Lord delivered him: Poof! Threw his pack of Camels in the garbage and never smoked again. A miracle. Yet I know some Christians who have diligently tried with their whole hearts and much prayer and can’t seem to shake the addiction. That, my friends, is not “freedom”.

The worst book I ever read was a paperback entitled Boys and Girls Together way back when. I have no idea who wrote it. All I remember about it was that it was filled with vulgarity and was totally disgusting. I can still see the cover in my mind’s eye, but I couldn’t tell you anything more about it except that I felt dirty reading it. Some guy gave it to me to read—I don’t remember him either.

Okay, there’s the history. Here’s the point. I now write Christian novels. In those novels are characters just like I was; people, male and female, young and old, who are lost, empty, self-satisfied or dissatisfied, deluded or discontent. People we’ve met or people we’ve been or people we are. Within the pages of these novels there are also those people who’ve been redeemed. There is a contrast. There should always be a contrast between the lost and found. Not a holier-than-thou contrast. But a heart and conduct contrast. Motivational contrast. Conviction contrast. If we believe the gospel, if we live the gospel, we are CHANGED when the Blood washes over us and makes us clean, when the Spirit of Truth begins to renew our minds, and God takes His original fallen creation and touches us with His Son, while we begin to see Jesus as not only our Savior but our Lord, our Friend—perhaps our only true Friend. Transformed. Daily. The Holy Spirit moving us closer to our Father, the desire to be more like Jesus.

I’ve lived the life the world has to offer. It comes up short. Lacking. Empty. Miserable. If I didn’t think so, why would I become a Christ follower? Don’t ever think some of the stuff I did wasn’t fun at the time. If sin wasn’t fun and pleasurable, no one would be so inclined to do it. I really enjoyed wine. Good wine. I didn’t drink it to get drunk. However, I know people who did and do. If they look at me having a glass of wine and decide because I’m a Christian, it’s okay for them to drink, too, I’ve misled them. I can’t afford that. I can’t risk it. I gave up wine. And other alcohol.

I read Christian books exclusively because they have the best (notice I did not say the “only”) chance of presenting truth. I have no desire to sift through the creativity of the lost and the philosophies of men to try to mine for some trace of God’s wisdom and truth. It’s not worth it to me. Been there. Done that. Great works of “art” are subjective. Who cares if the majority of “the world” declares something worthy? Who are they to judge? Would I trust any evaluations made by the “New York Times”? I would not. While they could be right, most of the time they are not.

Words on a page are not idols to me. Yes, some writings are clearly anointed by the hand of God. I strive for the anointing and what it produces—but not for me: for HIM. I’ve given you a piece of my history. I’m unworthy of that precious Blood, but it washes over me more often than perhaps it has to wash over you. I hate sin, but it happens to me. I am weak. He has to be made strong in my weakness because that’s all I have. Nothing of value to offer except what He is able to produce in me. Then clearly all kudos goes to HIM.

So, does that mean everything in Christian fiction is admirable? Excellent? Noteworthy? No, it does not. My opinion and what I choose to read are just that: my choices.

But, now you know why.

God, thank you for those who honor you in all their unique ways of writing, of serving, of living for you. Jesus, thank you for each one who looks to you for all they need. Holy Spirit, be close daily—get through to me, please. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Like so many dresses on the rack . . .

You know what I mean. They’re cute or pretty or stylish or tailored, attractive, so many of them in a number of different sizes but the same dress. And it can be the same situation whether you’re shopping at Wal-Mart or Nordstrom’s or Neiman Marcus.

Most of us can’t do designer duds. Too expensive. Some of us wouldn’t buy the elegant clothing even if we could. It just isn’t that important to us to be clothed in chic apparel.

A lot of people don’t concern themselves with how many of what they like are on the rack. If they want it, they’re just glad it comes in their size. As a result, if it’s a particularly popular item, a lot of them will sell.

Those usually smaller shops or boutiques that offer more unique styles, maybe one-of-a- kinds, are also generally more expensive than the larger chain stores and a bit harder to find. No guarantees the dress you like will come in your size, but maybe they’ll have another one to suit your taste.

Once in a lifetime there crops up a one-size-fits-all piece of clothing that is so useful while being amazing to think that a size 2 and a size 22 can somehow share an outfit. I can’t think of such an example, but now and then you’ll see something that boasts such a feat.

So, are we talking about apparel today? No. We’re talking about novels. Again. Still. Christian novels, of course.

The stylish and attractive stories, be they romance, historical, suspense, thriller, or you-name-it, are “hanging” on the racks. They’re popular because a large percentage of buyers believe they are what’s “in”. This has been established by an author’s previous work, current appeal, or they happen to fit what people have come to expect from today’s Christian fiction.

Publishers tend to think the consumer decides what’s popular and sells. I tend to think that if you offer a predominant supply of one style, consumers adapt. They buy it because the selection is limited, and they want one. I think it’s a Catch-22 situation. The “boutique” books aren’t promoted particularly well, and they are “hidden” like the quaint little shops with the unique styles. Then it is decided that this “style” doesn’t sell well and is systematically dropped or eliminated from the selection when in actuality the books were hard to find amidst the several copies of the popular one ahead of it on the shelf and with nothing in marketing to set it apart, it languishes in obscurity.

Ask the editors of prominent publishing houses if Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, Melville, or Dickens would’ve been published today without those stories being edited down to a skeleton of their form. Yet today’s supposed market demands those kinds of novels are in serious need of the red pencil’s slash. Will not survive in our e-fast mentality.

A professional might insist that only the best make it to the shelves after complying with the requirements of the editing process. Yet we hear the ongoing complaints from certain editors that they can’t get the pub boards to go for “literary” manuscripts. Fantasy writers are marching shoulder to shoulder to out-shout the pub boards, urging their fans to vote with their dollars. Because “dollars” are what ultimately make a book “good”, right? After all, if it doesn’t sell, the novel is assumed to be unappealing.

Once in a great while, there is a book that falls into that one-size-fits-all. Destined to be a classic. Mass appeal. Men and women love the book. They’re few and far between. Often unpredictable. The Lord decides which ones they are.

Some authors have established their prominence by connecting with readers. One way or another their stories are written well enough, their topics substantive enough, to resonate with a large crowd of dollar-brandishing consumers. Those authors have a loyal readership who eagerly wait for their next new book and snatch it up the day it comes out. They probably won’t tire of their favorite author(s). But if a marketing team could piggyback another author who writes similar types of stories but is lesser known, they could help their sales.

Because . . . some shoppers look at the rack of dresses and wish there was one just a little bit different to buy. A different collar, sleeves, color, length. Something that was more to their liking. When they don’t find it, but they need a new dress, they settle for that just another dress on the rack.

Father, you are the guideline. I must follow you by your Spirit. That’s all that matters. Help me have the faith to step out when that’s what you desire, to wait when it’s what you’re telling me, and to always know you are ever with me, faithful and true, and will work even my mistakes together somehow for good because I love you and am called according to your purpose. Thank you, Jesus, for every day you give me to walk with you. In the Name of Jesus, the Savior of the world, Amen.

Sunday's Offerings

Psalm 53

The fool says in his heart,
"There is no God."
They are corrupt, and their ways are vile;
there is no one who does good.

God looks down from heaven
on the sons of men
to see if there are any who understand,
any who seek God.
Everyone has turned away,
they have become corrupt;
there is no one who does good,
not even one.

Will the evildoers never learn--
those who devour my people as men eat bread
and who do not call on God?
There they were, overwhelmed with dread,
where there was nothing to dread.
God scattered the bones of those who attacked you;
you put them to shame, for God despised them.

Oh, that salvation for Israel would come out of Zion!
When God restores the fortunes of his people,
let Jacob rejoice and Israel be glad!

(NIV)

Saturday Sample . . .

As promised on our “Saturday Sample . . .”, we have Jason Joyner sharing Chapter 1 of his WIP tentatively titled Beauty of the Broken. You’ll appreciate his authenticity, a big plus in writing endeavors.

Jason shares some of the same writing concerns as Mark Harbeson—trying to find time to do this creative project while being a husband, father of three boys, and working full time in the medical field. You can find out more about Jason over at his blog “Spoiled for the Ordinary”. He stated in his brief bio for me that he is often on the soccer field or watching a certain football team in the autumn. The name of that particular football team sticks in my throat, but to be fair I shall admit he is a dallas cowboy fan. (Note the lower case mention.)

Here is his teaser/blurb for Beauty of the Broken:

When medical student Jenna Dawson hears about her missionary brother’s death, she impulsively travels to Thailand to discover what happened. When a villager girl disappears, Jenna stumbles upon a larger evil that threatens to engulf her.

Chapter 1

“CLEAR!”
The paddles pressed firmly on the man’s bare chest, and electrical current flooded the body. He jerked on the gurney from the shock, then lay there still once again.
“No change on the monitor!”
The young woman reached over and continued to press down on the man’s chest in synchronized movements. A nurse holding a bag mask blew air into the lungs every time she paused. The doctor stood at the head of the bed, watching the scurry of activity as the ER crew worked to save another life.
“Ms. Dawson. What next?” he asked the young woman.
Jenna brushed a wisp of dark hair away from her face as she rested between compressions. There had been no response as the patient had received another shock. His EKG continued with a jagged pattern that signaled his heart was in serious trouble. A few more minutes and his brain would be gone.
“Epinephrine 1mg IV push,” she panted. Her own adrenaline coursed through her as well. Between it and the work of compressions, it stole her breath. However, she thrilled to be leading a code, doing what she’d dreamt about for so long.
The supervising physician nodded in approval as another nurse started the medicine into the IV. Other nurses worked in a careful dance around the stricken patient as the team tried to revive him.
“What next?”
“Another shock, 360 Joules,” she replied with a moment of hesitation. Her mind raced through the guidelines that she relentlessly reviewed in class. The knowledge was all there; the excitement made it elusive.
The nurse readied the paddles and counted down to the shock. On one, everyone made sure they didn’t touch the table, so as not to share in the voltage. The nurse pressed the paddles down, and with a “THUMP”, the man twitched again.
Jenna held her breath as she waited for a response. To her it seemed like minutes counting by. She didn’t want to lose this patient. She wouldn’t let the family down.
After only a moment, there was a flicker on the monitor. Her eyes widened as the irregular, unstable rhythm shifted into the regular pattern of a functioning heart. The patient then gasped on his own, and a soothing “beep, beep” signaled he was out of immediate danger.
The crew cheered for the battle they had won this time. It wasn’t always the case, but today they had beat back death. Jenna looked at the supervisor, who gave a hint of a smile before he barked out more orders to stabilize the patient.

“Well done,” Dr. Ravi said as he walked briskly down the hall. Jenna kept her excitement in check as she trailed a step behind her preceptor. Dr. Ravi was known at the medical school as a tough man to impress. She knew from students previously with him that he rarely let a student lead a code. Many residents even had trouble with him.
“There is more to medicine than saving lives. You have to deal with the families who are worried about their loved ones. I’d like you to tell the family how the patient is doing.”
They turned the corner into the waiting room. A middle-aged black woman was clutching her adult son’s arm with one hand, and a Bible in the other. At the sight of white coats, they jumped up for news.
“Mrs. Carter? I’m Dr. Ravi, and this is my medical student Jenna Dawson. She has some news for you.”
Jenna extended her hand and shook firmly. “I’m pleased to tell you that your husband is stable. He did have a heart attack, but his heart has been stabilized and he is doing well at the moment. As far as we can tell right now, there has been minimal damage, and he’s expected to make a full recovery. He’s being transferred to ICU for observation. You should be able to see him shortly.”
The woman wailed with joy. “Oh thank you for the news!” She turned to her son. “God is so good! He still does miracles!”
Jenna smiled thinly. “We worked hard to save him, Mrs. Carter. If it weren’t for modern medicine, he wouldn’t be here right now.”
Dr. Ravi gave a look of disapproval. He directed the woman to the floor where her husband was being monitored, and briskly went down the hall. Jenna again followed, this time like a scolded puppy. They took a detour to his office, and he motioned for her to sit down. He took a moment to peruse his paperwork, while she stewed over what he was going to say. The rhythmic ticking of the second hand prolonged her agony.
Finally he took off his glasses and turned to Jenna. “You did fine work on the code today. You have good intellect and great instincts. But I don’t know what happened with that family afterwards.”
“I’m sorry sir. It wasn’t right, and I don’t know why I blurted out like that. It won’t happen again.”
“It better not. Some of my colleagues don’t concern themselves with the fact that their patients are people, with families. I don’t let my students get away with that. Treat people with respect – even the ones you disagree with. We don’t judge what is important to some people. That’s not our job.”
“Yes sir.”
He looked at his pager. “Now go report to the attending and see if you can get some of our triage caught up. Looks like I’ve got a meeting.”
Jenna’s shoulders sank at the sound of her penance. Dr. Bedke was the chief resident and local overlord. She could foresee an evening filled with ingrown toenails and enemas. He delighted in tormenting students with the worst cases. She patted down her scrubs as she fought through the crowds of staff to get to the triage board. The large white surface was almost full of names and conditions. She hoped to find something interesting before he showed up.
“Miss Dawson!”
Too late.
Dr. Bedke swept into the station as nurses and attendants scattered to be somewhere else. She slipped into the persona of the humble medical student, but her brown eyes narrowed as she regarded the pompous resident.
“It’s about time! Have you seen that waiting room?”
“I’m sorry sir. I was with Dr. Ravi,” she replied.
He rolled his eyes, and Jenna bristled with dislike toward him. Oh, he’s so arrogant.
“Never mind then. Let’s see what we have for the likes of you.” He checked down the list. “Trauma – needs a doctor. Chest pain – needs a doctor. Ah, here we go! Looks like Mrs. Nezbit has another cat bite.” He shook his head at her name. “Why am I not surprised? Anyway, I think a 4th year can handle that. Now get her out of my ER and we’ll have something else for you.”
She trudged off to face her punishment. She had only been in this rotation a few weeks, but she had already found out who some of the frequent flyers were. She agreed that the lady was a character, but Dr. Bedke looked down on anyone who didn’t match his standards.
Mrs. Nezbit did not disappoint tonight. She had another cat bite that needed cleaned and treated. This woman never seemed to realize that trying to care for all the stray cats in the Seattle area could cause problems. She had even managed to get bit in her ample rear-end. Jenna wasn’t sure she wanted to know how that happened. At least she didn’t have to look at her gaudy make-up. The woman never met a blush she didn’t overuse. Her lipstick was similarly garish. Her do-it-yourself dye job showed as her hair changed from black to white halfway from the scalp.
“Oh darlin’, you just be careful back there!” she shrieked from the head of the table. Her voice matched her make-up: loud.
She irrigated the wound with a syringe, being careful to avoid backsplash. “Don’t you worry. We’ll get you patched up. You’ll need some antibiotics for this…again.” She tried to sound diplomatic. “Did you ever think of cutting down to a manageable number of cats?”
The cat lady fidgeted, causing saline to spray back on Jenna. “Well, I can’t leave the poor critters out there to fend just for themselves! My son says the same thing, but I just tell him to shush up.” She craned her neck around to get a glimpse of her caregiver. “You know, you should meet my son. He’s single, and you’re sure good-looking. With your dark hair and big eyes, you would sure give me some pretty grandkids!”
Jenna cringed and ducked a little farther down, hoping that no one was hearing this conversation. “I’m a little too busy with school to be in a relationship, I’m afraid.” She breathed a sigh of relief. At least she could be truthful while dodging this potential set-up. She put the finishing touches on the wound dressing and helped her off of the bed. “I think you’re back in one piece now.”
The eccentric woman adjusted her gypsy skirt. “Thank you darlin’! I appreciate you putting up with an old lady. Let me give you a hug!” With that, she pulled her neck down in a tight squeeze. The pink lipstick left a large smack on her cheek, then Mrs. Nezbit headed toward the discharge desk. Jenna gave her a smile, even as she reached for a spare gauze pad to wipe the mark off.
She stopped to glance into a window to check her face. I’m never going to get this lipstick off! She scrubbed hard a couple of times, until Dr. Bedke’s scowl appeared in the window. She startled backwards.
“Maybe you could stop primping for a minute and get my triage board caught up, Ms. Dawson?”
Glare. Remember, humble medical student. She tried to look sorry. “Yes sir.”
“There’s a sick baby in Twelve. Go on!”
She looked up at the board. Fever and vomiting. How exciting. I ran a code today, and now I’m cleaning up the crap at the end of the line. Jenna brushed some more strands back and stomped off to see the child. It couldn’t be that bad, after all.

The faded blue Toyota had seen better days. Then again, so had its owner. Jenna fumbled for her key and after she wrestled it open threw her bag into the passenger seat. A mini soccer ball hanging from a net around the rear-view mirror bounced back and forth. She shut the door and rolled the window down immediately for some fresh air. She still reeked of vomit. How can such a small kid hurl so far? Thoughts of the day assaulted her. She really hit a homerun with the code and her impression on Dr. Ravi, but Dr. Bedke killed the rest of her day.
The key turned in the ignition, and the car started after complaining for a moment. Dad had offered to get her a newer car, but she didn’t like using him any more than she had to. School was one thing. But she could live with a beater car for a while, and she didn’t feel like she owed him anything extra in return. Ugh. She was already having a bad day – no need to dig up more mud to wallow in. She pulled the car onto the road and headed toward home.

Taken from Beauty of the Broken (200?; written by Jason Joyner)

Review and Preview

Alright. In our third week of "publishing" excerpts from our unpublished authors, tomorrow you will be reading from Jason Joyner's first novel, his WIP with the tentative title: Beauty of the Broken.

I hope you'll go back and read Mark Harbeson's excerpt from his first novel Samaritan and Rebecca Luella Millers's 2nd chapter from her trilogy The Lore of Efrathah.

Each one of these authors has demonstrated his/her talents in these brief samples. Check them out.

Father, I pray for each one of these writers, that you would lead all their efforts--in writing and in life. Spur them on toward love and good deeds. Inspire and guide them with your Spirit. Help them to hear your voice, Jesus. Speak into their hearts. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.