Into the Fire

Time Standing Still . . .

2007 marks the fifth year my husband and I did not take a horse down to the track. It chokes out of my mouth and is never uttered from my husband’s mouth that we are “retired” from horse racing. He literally grew up “there”, spending his summers at Longacres living in tack rooms, from the age of 15 to when we left. In the latter years and during the break between when Longacres was closed and Emerald Downs was built, he took on another profession which he is still doing. He left it for one season to train full time again and returned to it afterward. We had a couple of horses for the last few years before we quit, and my husband would come down early in the morning before his “real” job and exercise ours, then head on to work.

Today I called one of our veterinarians that we rarely have to use anymore with our two horses at home—and I thank the Lord for that—to obtain some cough-aid stuff for our gelding who seems to get a bit of allergies in the summertime. When I went down to the track to pick it up, I was able to give away one of my novels about horse racing to a jockey who rode a couple of horses for us years ago. Then I told the lady who’s been selling my novels at the “kitchen” to keep the money she’d made from them and to dispense the remaining books to those she thought would read them. She was shocked and asked why, and I told her because I wanted people to read the book, to know there was an alternative to the way they lived without leaving what they know, what some of them have done their entire lives. She understood then because she knows the Lord. She told me I had captured the track, that she cried in places, and how it had moved her. Yay!!

As I left the kitchen and headed to the vet’s trailer, I saw many familiar faces. Some of them recognized me with a smile and greeting, and others I passed wondered who the smiling blonde woman was. My hair is very blonde and quite short compared to long and not so blonde when I left. The horses traveling to and from the track made me thoughtful of how many different personalities we’d trained over the years. Some meander to the track, others nervously sidestep their way to it. Coming back, some are sweating and in a restrained jog back to the barn while others are plodding, chewing or jingling their individual style of bits in their mouths. Horses with coolers (blankets) are dragging around the hotwalkers with their counterparts leaping and rearing and enjoying the chaos they’re creating.

The looks on different faces . . . some still haughty and view themselves above the rest, others still seared with the fatigue and limitations of a never-ending 7-day-a-week lifestyle . . . haven’t changed. I doubt they ever will.

Emerald Downs was never to be the familiar place of Longacres, the racetrack I fashioned my track in Hope Of Glory after. It’s modernized, asphalted, less aesthetically pleasing. Longacres was a beautiful racetrack, filled with nostalgia of a bygone era of racing, the history of its origin and survival fascinating. Yet, at Emerald Downs there remains the ambiance of horse racing, the faces, attitudes, animals, and challenges of a sub-culture within its fences.

So many stories, so many lives—both human and equine—walking through time. For me, as I cruised through the backstretch smiling at the various laborers in the sport, time was standing still. Like I’d never gone but yet had left it all behind in the physical realm. Spiritually, my heart returns there in the pages of Hope Of Glory, reaching out to the lost who might just dare to read a story about the sport. Emotionally, it’s tough sometimes to experience the end to such a consuming number of years, growth, beauty, joy and pain of training the magnificent equine athletes.

I’m back in “real” time now.

Father, thank you for those years, some tumultuous as I floundered in being lost, others a struggle as I learned my Christianity in the trenches. You were faithful then and are faithful now and will always be the Faithful One. I can’t thank you enough for my life, crazy, dramatic, lost and found, and utterly redemptive and gracious as it’s been and you’ve been to me. It’s a journey. You are my inspiration, Lord Jesus. I love you with my whole heart and desire to please you above all others. Help me to do just that, Spirit of God. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Hip Hip Hoo . . .

One would think upon completing another novel there should be some excitement, contentment, a little celebration perhaps? One would think . . .

I’ve nicknamed this one “the Ugly thing”. The reason for this is probably something that makes little sense to anyone but me. This is the novel I was working on when I quit it just near the end to write and easily complete Breath of Life which was technically my 7th novel. The ugly thing is number 6, and it’s real name is The Fixer.

Here’s the blurb:

The long affair between a photographer and his beautiful model produces three illegitimate daughters and a legacy of heartbreak. One sister bears the burdens for her other two as their lives are in crisis from a warped concept of relationships.

You know, I liked the characters and the story, but I really tried to write it to “fit in” with the desired word count and a meshing of chick lit/women’s fiction/romance formula. I succeeded in the word count: 88,516 which is an all time record low for me. I doubt it will ever happen again, and I’ll tell you why.

This is a simple little tale of three sisters and the men who love them. However, in order to keep it within the prescribed parameters of current publishing trends for the genre, I had to restrict my style and limit my story to the point where it became so difficult for me at times, I kept taking breaks from writing it, and those breaks were longer than normal for me. When I got the prologue for novel number 7, I was near the completion of The Fixer and knew the ending. But I couldn’t write it. I never finished it and went on to write the next one with little trouble.

Something came up which made me think I could finish “the ugly thing”, so I set to re-reading the story and completed it this afternoon. All done. Seven novels finished.

You can find my “voice” in The Fixer, but it isn’t my kind of story for the simple reason that although we get to know the characters, we only really know them in the present. I want to know so much more about them to feel satisfied.

On the other hand, it’s cool that I was able to go back to it after all these months and get the ending done. Add it to the list. So, Hip Hip Hooray, I guess.

Lord, thank you for this. I learned something about being me. I have to be the one you made me to be, with me ever decreasing and you ever increasing. Help me in that, Jesus. God, you are so gracious to me. Thank you for it all. Holy Spirit, keep pushing me onward, closer to you. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

A Look at Jason Bourne . . .

As you know, I don't do book or movie reviews here because I don't like to "spoil" either for the readers/viewers. So, this is just a glance at the new film which I would probably give 2 and 1/2 stars out of a possible 4.

Saturday night we saw "The Bourne Ultimatum", possibly the final one in the Bourne trilogy. And it should be. The way they wrapped it up gave the feeling of conclusion. If you're going purposefully to see the action, there is plenty of it, but I think they hyped more action than they actually delivered. It started a bit slowly which was surprising because of said hype.

There is a long car chase scene, but for me it wasn't as "believable" as the one in "The Bourne Supremacy".

Suspense was ever present, and at times I really did wonder if the bad guys would be caught and brought to justice. It didn't look good for awhile. Joan Allen ("Pam") was once again Jason's advocate but seemingly to no avail. In her character's brilliance she began to figure out the corruption ran deep and consequently the danger to Bourne and to herself. Her ability to deceive her enemies was exhilarating.

While I appreciated Julia Stiles's understated presence in the film and even enjoyed her character, some of the scenes with her seemed a bit forced, almost like an add-on for a slightly romantic touch where one really didn't fit. However, the final scene was just right.

Ultimately, it's an entertaining film, and I think it's important to note that there was only one instance of swearing in the movie if I'm not mistaken, and I think that's downright amazing and commendable.

If you're a Bourne film fan, you won't be disappointed. I prefer "The Bourne Supremacy" of the three. I've talked to one friend who liked "The Bourne Identity" the best, and my youngest son preferred "The Bourne Ultimatum". So, like I said, if you're a fan of Bourne, you'll be glad to see the series wrap up well. As it should.

God, once again I pray for those who desire to write, make, and direct films. I pray you would raise up your people to contribute to this medium in an outstanding way, to glorify you in the process, to represent your Truth in a radical and profound way with your blessing and direction upon it. To reach the lost, to strengthen the body of Christ, to speak of love, purity, and compassion and to exalt You. In the Name of Jeus, Amen.

The "Meme of 47"

Not that anyone on earth would be interested in 47 things about me, but then I'm trying to be a good sport. No more, guys, okay? Please? And this time I'm not tagging anyone else.

1.WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE? Supposedly a French actress named Nicole Ray—but only because of her name, I think.
2. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED? This morning and last night at church.
3. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING? Yeah, it’s fine. I print in capitals a lot, though.
4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT? Not a big sandwich eater, but either rare roast beef or pastrami.
5. DO YOU HAVE KIDS? Yes. (Adult kids.)
6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU? Well . . . yes. I’m passionate about friendship, love deeply, and am loyal to a fault.
7. DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT? A lot? Moi?
8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS? No, the evil things were removed in 2nd grade, and I quit having ear aches.
9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP? To quote Becky here: “They say, never say never, but I’m making an exception here. NEVER.”
10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL? Oatmeal, Cream of Wheat (which I never have), and Cinnamon Life
11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF? Not usually.
12. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG? I used to be when I worked at the track, but now my strength is relegated to the resilient spirit God has given me.
13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM? Not a huge fan of ice cream, but Baskin and Robbins “Pralines and Cream” if I had to have one.
14. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE? Hmm. That’s a tough one. Probably their overall looks and if they’re smiling.
15. RED OR PINK? Depends on what it is. A car? Red.
16. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF? Mercy, you mean “things”?
17. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST? My Mom and Dad, but they’re with Jesus, so it’s better there than here.
18. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO LINK THIS BACK TO YOU? Is that a tech question?
19. WHAT COLOR PANTS (Or Kilt) AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING? Grey; no shoes
20. WHAT WAS The LAST THING YOU ATE? Umm. It was last night, who knows?
21. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW? The refrigerator and the occasional cars driving by out front and the sounds of construction.
22. IF YOU WHERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE? Probably gold.
23. FAVORITE SMELLS? Cinnamon, fresh alfalfa, newly mowed grass, evergreens, the ocean.
24. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE? My oldest son.
25. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO LINKED THIS TO YOU? We’ve never met except online, but, yes, she loves the Lord and has integrity and is a determined writer.
26. FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH? Football, live or on TV; baseball—prefer live; Horse Racing—the big races
27. HAIR COLOR? Blonde, of course. (We won’t discuss the color underneath it.)
28. EYE COLOR? Blue
29. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS? Nope. (Glasses when I read.)
30. FAVORITE FOOD(S)? Steak, pasta, all the fattening, sugary desserts, etc.
31. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS? Happy endings.
32. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED? “The Bourne Ultimatum”
33. WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING? Black with Hawaiin Print ( I did have jeans on, but now I have the grey sweats on—it’s not too summery here today.)
34. SUMMER OR WINTER? Summer
35. HUGS OR KISSES? Kisses if it’s my husband, hugs from everyone else.
36. FAVORITE DESSERT? Oh, pie, pie, and more pie. Preferably homemade.
37. MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND? Not passin’ it along, sorry.
38. LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND? ---
39. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW? Steal Away by Linda Hall
40. WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD? Dell
41. WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON T.V. LAST NIGHT? Zippo. Not keen on re-runs.
42. FAVORITE SOUND? Horse’s nickering, the ocean, my husband’s voice
43. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES? Too long ago, too many memories.
44. WHAT IS THE FARTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME? Venice, Italy
45. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT? Well, since the Lord gives talents and gifts to His people: yes.
46. WHERE WERE YOU BORN? Seattle, Washington
47. WHOSE ANSWERS ARE YOU LOOKING FORWARD TO GETTING BACK? Ain’t gonna happen.

God, thank you for your originality, your uniqueness, your creativity. We are honored that you share it with us. Help us to be more like you. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Is it really about "Art"?

One of the major topics on writers’ sites is the “art” of writing. Back in the archives I wrote a post entitled “I Am Not an Artist”. And that still stands. I quoted one dictionary’s definition of art and noted that not once was there a mention of subjectivity in the perception of art.

Sparse language lovers rave about Hemingway’s writing. Stephen King called Faulkner a *%#* genius in his book On Writing. Marilynne Robinson seems to capture the admiration of the literary types in Christian fiction.

On sites such as The Master’s Artist or Mick Silva’s Your Writers Group and in past commentaries on Dave Long’s Faith*in*Fiction blog, you will see the literary types en masse. Their focus is creating art from the depths of writing, to make it more than just a story, or something to read, or merely entertainment. Rather, it is to make the words exquisite, to elevate them to the level of “art”. Be it prose or poetry, the reading of such literature must aspire to an experience nearing ascension to the heavens.

So, are the admirers of Hemingway or are those who insist D. H. Lawrence is a king of artful writing the correct selectors of fine art?

Some insist that God is in the creation of any art, be it in writing, photography, painting, music, etc. My opinion is that God is in the giving of talents and giftings in specific areas, having a plan for each of His creations. However, just because something is created by a human being, be it beautiful or horrific, does not suggest that God is “in” the “art”.

I doubt any Christian would argue that we are a selfish lot. Try as we might, we fight it regularly—it is our “self” that demands to be pleased, pacified, thrilled, sated. Yet, it never is. No matter what we feed our senses, satisfaction is fleeting like a summer storm: intense but passing.

Selfishness surfaces without our permission—and much too easily—as we discuss our opinions, our passions, our rights. We assert our knowledge, our intellect, our “deep” and inner strivings to create “art”. We press the importance of such things with the intent to widen the scope of the human experience here on earth, challenging others to come on up to the pinnacle where they can see more clearly, more astutely, more beautifully. We equate art to the applause of heaven. We have labored to produce excellence, and surely everyone will notice . . . and be impressed. And shame on them if they can’t see the beauty in what we’ve done.

Do we really think our Lord is so callous as to select our “art” over that of another’s mere writing? Since He proclaims He is no respecter of persons, how can we claim His favor just because we believe the writing produced is superb and melodious? We learned and studied and searched and struggled to construct these immaculate words to express the elegance of language and story be it sorrow and tragedy or joy and triumph. How could He not notice?

He notices. He notices the heart that’s striving to do Him honor with those talents, the heart that offers every effort to Him, something borne of His gifting but given for His pleasure. And the heart who writes for Him, regardless of the glorious language or the simple telling of a tale, will not be denigrated or chastened for having produced something with less show than tell, more passive than active verbs, or an abundance of adverbs.

Yes, it is important to perfect anything He has given us, put into our makeup to be produced—but to whom and for what reason? We are to bear fruit and reach out, not to rot, withdrawn and coveting. For whom are we ultimately creating? Yes, when we’re finished, we must be at peace. Maybe we fear it is inferior—this thing we’ve jockeyed about, invested in with the hours and hours, churned our insides over, and crafted with our devotion. With a clean heart we offer it up anyway because we’ve decided it was the best we could do.

You make your own motivations to write. What you write, who you desire to please, how you create—it’s yours in the end. Who do you give it to? Where does your obedience lie? What matters the most to you—and who?

Is it really about “art”? I mean, really?

Father, let us bring our gifts to you in thanksgiving. Without you and apart from you, we can do nothing. Do we realize that, I wonder? Do we really realize that so much of what we do is useless chaff? God, help me recognize my pride and kill it. I don't want to produce anything that's not glorifying to you. I don't want to watch what I've done "on my own" burn up as useless. I want to do what you want me to do. To bring you blessings, and honor, and glory, somehow, some way. In obedience to you. Help me, Lord. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Sunday's Offerings

We do, however, speak a message of wisdom among the mature, but not the wisdom of this age or of the rulers of this age, who are coming to nothing. No, we speak of God's secret wisdom, a wisdom that has been hidden and that God destined for our glory before time began. None of the rulers of this age understood it, for if they had, they would not have crucified the Lord of Glory. However, as it is written:

"No eye has seen,
no ear has heard,
no mind has conceived
what God has prepared for those who love him"--

but God has revealed it to us by His Spirit.

1 Corinthians 2:6-10 (NIV)

Saturday Sample . . .

Katie Hart is our featured author for today's sample. In yesterday's post I introduced you to the ambitious 24 year old Pennsylvania native and listed her contact sites where you can find the first chapter of her romance novel Evergreen Secrets. Today you will read Chapter Two. She has written two novels and is working on her third effort.

Check out the interesting blurb and enjoy the writing of Katie Hart.

How do you reach someone whose pain seems to increase with your presence? How can you forget the past when you feel guilty for not remembering?
The last things Winter Randolph wants are reminders of her sister’s death - whether it’s the smell of Christmas trees, interaction with eight-year-olds, or a certain perceptive, annoying man at her new church. Rob Anderson knows Winter’s hurting, and his own past has taught him that keeping pain locked inside never helps. A Christmas gift program brings the two together to find the perfect job for a single mom, but explosive secrets threaten to ruin their tenuous friendship. Add a handsome guy who seems interested in Winter but hates Rob, a pair of mischievous twins, and a convicted kidnapper looking for work in this small Pennsylvanian town, and you can be sure this will be a holiday to remember.

Chapter Two

Winter hurried toward Rob’s jeep that Sunday, feeling the cold air slice around her. Rob leaned across the passenger seat and opened her door from the inside. Winter jumped in and slammed the door behind her. “It’s freezing.”
Rob backed the jeep out of the parking slot and glanced at the gray sky. “I guess I picked a bad day to go visiting. But food should warm you up. Which would you prefer, fast food or a restaurant?”
At least he was thoughtful – or hungry himself. Though she hadn’t planned on going out to eat with him. “Fast food is fine.”
“Any in particular?”
“Wendy’s?”
“Suits me. But I don’t think we’ll want Frostys.”
Rob insisted on paying for their meal as they parked. The restaurant was crowded with the usual after-church rush. Winter filled the drinks and found a table in a back corner while Rob waited for their order. He walked over a minute later and sat the tray down, bumping her cup. She caught it before it tipped.
“Sorry.” A hint of red stained his cheeks.
Poor guy. “Why don’t you pray?” She wrapped her cold fingers around the cheeseburger as Rob blessed the food. It was a short prayer, simple without being rote.
Winter pondered it as she took a bite. Rob was such an enigma, as boisterous as a child, yet surprisingly mature. She liked the people with whom she spent time to be more predictable, like Gordon. Gordon reminded her of a balmy summer day, while Rob was a hurricane.
“Did you find any job possibilities for Mrs. Cooper?” Rob grabbed a napkin to pick up the pickle he had dropped.
“I’m not sure, but I read over my list of job openings and bought the paper on the way to church. Do you have any idea what kind of work she’s qualified for, or even likes? What’s her personality?”
Rob grinned. “That’s right, you’re a career counselor. God sure knew what He was doing when He had you pick Natalie.”
“And your divine part is . . .?”
“Making you go out to the house and watching the kids while you and Cassie discuss careers.”
“We’re telling her about what the girls wrote?” Winter set her sandwich down.
“That seems the most direct way. How else will we explain our visit?”
“You don’t think it will offend her?”
“Not with you being a professional career counselor. You’re offering your services free as Natalie’s gift, aren’t you? I’ll make sure they don’t get evicted, help with the job search, and buy something for the girls to stick under the Christmas tree.”
Tree. “Do you think they have a tree?” She didn’t want to smell pine all afternoon.
“That’s right, they might not. Maybe we could go to a tree farm and pick one out for them.”
“Or get a nice artificial one from Wal-Mart.”
Rob raised an eyebrow, and Winter realized she hadn’t said that last line as nonchalantly as she’d hoped. “We could,” he said slowly.
“It’s just that the smell of evergreens bothers me,” she admitted.
“Oh, you’re allergic to them.”
Not exactly, but she let it go.

They pulled into an uninviting trailer park, but the building Rob parked in front of stood out from the rest. It appeared tidy and fresh, with a sunporch entrance and candles in the windows. Rob reached behind him and grabbed a tray of cookies from the back seat.
“You bake?” Winter asked.
Rob smiled. “A little, but these aren’t mine. I asked Mrs. George on Thursday to make some cookies for the Coopers.”
Thursday. “She was at the get-together?”
“Yes. She won the checker tournament.”
Oh. “I still don’t know all the people at the church.”
“It’ll come.” He hopped out of the jeep and slammed the door. Winter fumbled with her buckle, but Rob opened her door before she could.
“Thank you,” she said, a bit annoyed. The only men who opened doors for her were her father and guys who wanted to ask her out. She grabbed the newspaper and climbed out of the vehicle.
They stepped inside the sunporch and Rob knocked. A petite woman with a bright smile opened the door. “Come on in, Rob! Who’s your friend?”
“Winter Randolph. Winter, this is Cassandra Cooper.”
The woman’s eyes sparkled even as she glared at Rob. “He delights in using my full name to torment me.” She grinned at Winter, and stepped aside to let them in. “Call me Cassie.”
“It’s nice to meet you.”
Two girls with brown ponytails and shy grins stood just inside the door. “Hi, Rob,” the one in red spoke. Winter was glad they’d dressed differently. She would have a hard time keeping them straight.
She stooped down a little to talk to the girl. “Which one are you, Natalie or Nichole?”
“Nichole. Natalie’s wearing green,” she replied as if Winter should already know that.
“Hello, Natalie.”
The other twin stayed back but smiled.
“Here are some cookies, Cassie.” Rob handed the woman the cookie tray. “But you must be sure that only good little girls partake of them.”
The twins giggled, and Cassie took the tray into the next room. Rob followed her, and Winter took a few steps in that direction, unsure whether to go with them or stay here with the twins, who stood and watched her uncertainly. The living room held a cozy appeal – dark paneled walls, oversized couch, Christmas knickknacks on bookshelves. Fortunately the Coopers had an artificial tree.
“Did you get a chance to look at the girls’ Christmas wishes?” Rob asked Cassie quietly.
“The church ones? No, why?”
Winter walked over to the doorway. Drying herbs, a row of Christmas potholders hanging on the wall behind the stove, and cheery curtains gave the generic kitchen an old-fashioned air.
Rob had his hands in his pockets. “See, I got Nichole, and Winter picked Natalie, and we’ll need your help getting them what they want.”
Cassie set the tray down on the kitchen table. “Don’t tell me they asked for real expensive stuff.”
“No, not that. It’s just that we need your help.”
“Okay.” She went back into the living room. “Natalie, Nichole, I need you to finish cleaning up lunch, then play quietly in your room for a little while.”
“All right.” They ran into the kitchen.
“We can talk in here,” Cassie said, motioning to the couch and some chairs. Rob took one end of the sofa and Winter took the opposite. Cassie pulled up a chair. “Now, what’s this about?”
Rob got out his slip of paper, and Winter found hers in her purse. Rob handed them both to Cassie. “Just read these, and you’ll understand.”
Cassie’s cheeks got a little pink as she read, but she sent a watery glance into the kitchen before turning back to them. “I had no idea they wrote something like that. But you shouldn’t be worrying about my problems. Just get them a doll or something, whatever you think they’d like.”
“We already know what they’d like. They wrote it right there.” Rob pointed to the papers.
Cassie shook her head. “But I can’t have you going around job hunting for me!”
Winter pulled out a pen and writing tablet. “Mrs. Cooper, I’m a professional career counselor. Would you allow me to offer my services as Natalie’s gift?”
“We’re all done,” Nichole announced as the twins marched into the living room.
“Thank you, girls.” Cassie squeezed Natalie’s hand. “You may go play.”
“Can we show Rob our Lego castle?”
“I’m afraid not. We’re busy talking right now, but maybe you can show him before he leaves.”
Rob stood up. “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll go back with the girls and leave you ladies to discuss the job issue.”
“All right.” Cassie turned back to Winter.
Winter set the newspaper on the table and twisted her pen open. “So, Cassie, what do you enjoy doing?”

Winter pulled her tablet back out as Rob drove out of the trailer park. “Cassie prefers a semi-active job, not hauling bricks but no desk jobs. She majored in elementary education in college, but since the twins were born soon after she graduated, she’s never taught. She enjoys being around people and helping them, but she doesn’t want to get emotionally attached to them.” She felt a tightness in her throat with that last phrase.
Rob nodded. “She’s been shy of any relationships past acquaintanceship since Jeff died. So I guess that cuts out tutoring and the like.”
“She also wants the twins with her after school. So that means a well-paying part-time job or one informal enough that the girls can hang around for a few hours.”
“If she can’t find work like that right away, I could always watch them at Jungle Safari.”
Winter looked at him. “I thought you were looking for something new.”
He waved the subject away. “That was just talk. I’ve not found a job yet that I’m completely satisfied with.”
“What have you done so far?”
“Supermarket clerk, pet sitter, burger flipper at McDonald’s, clerk at a Christian bookstore . . .”
There was only one in the area. “The same one where Gordon works?”
He grimaced. “Yeah. We didn’t get along very well. He wanted to do activities for adults; I wanted to do them for kids. Adults have the money, so the store usually went with his suggestions. I also spent more time talking to people than he thought necessary to make the sale. I did like the perks, though.”
“What kind did you get?”
“Free and heavily discounted CDs, books on consignment, 20% discount on everything in the store, lots of stuff.”
“Sounds great.”
“It was.” He pulled his CD case off the visor and handed it to her. “Do you like Christian music?”
“Of course.” She looked through the case. He had some great CDs.
He braked for a red light and looked over at her. “What are your favorite artists?”

Winter shut her apartment door behind her. She and Rob had talked about music and books the rest of the trip. In all, the excursion had actually been enjoyable.
She flopped the newspaper on the coffee table and looked around her apartment. It was pristine, as usual. Cleaning gave her one thing to fill her evenings. Most of her furnishings were black to contrast with the off white walls and carpet. The result was a bit stark, so she’d added royal blue and mulberry accents. They brought a hint of respite, but not too much.
She didn’t have any solid ideas for Cassie yet, but the energetic mother seemed suited for many different jobs. Finding one quickly would be the highest priority. Many companies would be laying off, not hiring, at the end of the year.
Rob was able to pay the Coopers’ rent for a few months, but Winter knew Cassie wouldn’t accept it as a gift. She didn’t want the mother to start the new year with a loan to pay off, either.
Then there was Rob’s job. It would be hard to find a career fitting his gifts and personality, but Winter liked challenges. She could make it a sort of Christmas present in return for the meal and ride. Any other type of gift might give him the wrong idea.

Winter hung up and crossed another business off her list. All the jobs that seemed perfect for Cassie didn’t have openings. She had gone through the entire newspaper, then started on the phone book, but the only available positions were bussing tables and the like. Winter knew Cassie would make an excellent waitress, but the changing shifts would make it impossible for her to watch the girls.
She took a swig of tea from her thermos and let its warmth seep through her. She hated coffee, so she got her caffeine in other ways – hot tea in the winter, pop in the summer. The office was a bit drafty, but it was empty and quiet. She missed Helen’s steady chatter. Melanie’s uncle only hired a secretary during the busy season, so in the off time Winter and Mr. Beeson took turns manning the phone while Mrs. Beeson handled the paperwork.
The arrangement gave her a lot of free time in the office, surfing the web or writing. Usually she wrote articles on career management, but sometimes she penned stories, stories that never quite got finished, stories that always seemed to have a car accident in them.
Winter threw her pen down. That was the worst part about an empty office; her only company was her thoughts. She liked being alone, but she hated having nothing to distract her.
The phone rang. Finally, a diversion. “Hello, Career Choices. How may I help you?”
“I’m looking for a job for Cassie Cooper. Found one yet?”
Rob. “No, I’m afraid I can’t help you, sir, unless she’d like waiting on tables.”
“I don’t think so. I’m sure she’d rather do without long hours, tired feet, and high babysitter fees.”
“Me, too. Did you find any possibilities?”
“No good ones.” He sounded discouraged. “I’ve been pounding the pavement since nine.”
Nine? “You’re off today?”
“Mondays and Fridays. It makes up for having to work on Saturdays. Have you had lunch yet? I’m moving slowly toward your part of town and could pick something up.”
“Not yet, but don’t bother. I’ll get something when I’m hungry.”
“It’s no bother. Besides, we can compare notes over lunch. I don’t want to bug the people you’ve already called.”
“All right.” Boy, he was persistent. Why couldn’t Gordon have picked Nichole Cooper?
“Anything you’re hungry for?”
“Just go with whatever’s between you and the office.”
“Subway?”
“Sounds great.”
“Your order?”
“Steak and cheese, no dressing.”
“Got it. See you in a few.”
Winter set down the phone with a sigh. Just what she didn’t need. Oh, Rob was nice enough and she did prefer company to solitude at the moment, but sharing lunch with him two days in a row? Even if he wasn’t interested in her, others might think he was, including Gordon.
She opened the phone book again. One more reason to find Cassandra Cooper a job posthaste.

Rob walked in the office door and promptly dropped the food bag. Winter stifled a laugh. “Let me get that for you.”
He shifted a stack of newspapers to his other arm. “That’s all right, I’ll get it.” He presented it to her with a bow. “Your food, madam.”
His French accent brought a smile. “It’s mademoiselle, but thanks.” She took the bag and handed him a five. “It smells delicious.”
He stared at the money. “Ah, but mademoiselle, it is a gift to bring food to a lady such as yourself.”
“And an expert French delivery boy deserves a tip.” She cleared off one end of the desk. “Pull up a chair, garçon, and let’s eat.”
He allowed her to bless the food, and she used a variation of her standard mealtime prayer, adding a petition that a job might be found quickly for Cassie.
“So did you find anything?” Winter asked as she unwrapped her sandwich.
Rob passed her a can of root beer. “Not really. A few desk jobs and one for a seamstress.”
“None of which fit Cassie.” She’d brought root beer to the Thanksgiving get-together and ordered it at Wendy’s. Odd that he’d noted it.
He nodded and told her which blocks he’d covered. She scribbled down the info and he opened his Mountain Dew. “I did pick up newspapers from the surrounding areas so we could look at them.”
She frowned a little. “I’ve been trying to find something in this school district, if possible. That way the twins could be dropped off right where she works.”
“Good idea. Did you check if the school itself is hiring?”
“Yes, but the only position is a dramatics teacher. Apparently the person they started with isn’t doing a good job, and they want someone new for the rest of the school year. Is she any good at that?”
“No, I don’t think so. She thinks plays are boring and doesn’t like the fuss of getting everyone ready.”
Winter glanced at him. “How well do you know her?”
He shrugged and looked out the front window. “I’ve know her for a while.”
“Hmmm.” She waited for him to add something, but he didn’t.
They munched silently for a few minutes.
“It doesn’t seem like you have much business,” Rob commented.
“Not many people are looking to change jobs in December.”
“Which makes it all the harder for Cassie. What seasons are you busiest?”
Winter swallowed a bite of her sub. “Anywhere from spring to early fall. We get a lot of high schoolers and college freshmen seeking career guidance. Sometimes we go into the schools and meet with students one-on-one.”
“Have you ever thought of doing something different?”
“No, I’m happy with my job. Why?”
“It just seems like something’s bothering you and I’m not sure what.” His gaze pierced right through her.
He’d have to have noticed that. Winter took a deep breath and looked away. “Things do get kind of monotonous in the winter, but I try to do other things while I have a lot of free time in the office. I write articles on career planning and stuff.”
“Hmmm. Do you plan to spend Christmas with your family in Tennessee?”
She sat up straight. “Where’d that come from?”
“You mentioned lots of free time.”
She relaxed, then hoped he hadn’t noticed. “Oh. No, I’ll be staying here. This is my home now.”
“It’s a great area.” He wiped mayonnaise off his face.
“Is that why you decided to stay?”
He swallowed before replying. “Yep. I went to college here and liked it.”
“When did you graduate?”
“Two and a half years ago, from the junior college.”
She took a sip of pop. “Do your parents live in the area then?”
“No.”
Winter waited for him to say something else, but he merely finished his sandwich and folded up the wrapper. All right, she wouldn’t pry into his personal life. Hopefully he would return the courtesy.
She pointed to the stack of newspapers. “Where do we go from here?”
“I’m not sure. Any ideas?”
“Well, I’ve left messages at several places, asking to be notified if a suitable position opens up. I suggest we wait a few days and continue to scan the papers. Maybe for now we could just find something temporary.”
“All right.” He grabbed his coat. “Keep up the good work.”
He was leaving already? So much for comparing notes. “You too. And thanks for bringing lunch.”
“No problem, milady. See you at Bible study.”
Her smile faded as he went out the door. Rob three days in a row seemed more than she could handle.

Rob took a deep breath as he started the jeep. That had not gone well. First, he’d brought the pain back in her eyes with his comment about her family, then bolted like a scared rabbit as soon as she’d asked about his.
He pulled away from the office. He wanted to tell her about his family, but he didn’t feel ready. There wasn’t much to tell, anyway. My mom died from a drug overdose and I don’t even remember my father. Great way to begin a relationship.
And how could he explain his feelings of abandonment as he was shuffled from foster home to foster home for fifteen years? Thankfully the strict Christians he’d stayed with when he was eight gave him enough of the fear of God to keep him steady until Cassie’s parents took him in at fifteen. Cassie was married and expecting the twins at the time, but though they didn’t see each other that often, she became the sister he’d never had. When he enrolled at the college near her house, her parents fulfilled their lifelong dream of becoming missionaries to the deaf in Ethiopia.
Only one person in the church knew his background, and he preferred to keep it that way, with the exception of Winter. Somehow he felt like her understanding would mean more than anyone else’s criticism, if he ever got up the courage to reveal his past.

Taken from Evergreen Secrets (200?; written by Katie Hart)

Review and Preview

For those of you who've enjoyed the Saturday Samples of Mark Harbeson (WIP Samaritan), Rebecca Luella Miller (2nd Chapter of the first book of the trilogy The Lore of Efrathah), and Jason Joyner (WIP Beauty of the Broken), this Saturday will feature Katie Hart's work, the second chapter from her romance novel Evergreen Secrets. You can read the first chapter here: http://waterfallbooks.talkspot.com/aspx/templates/blank.aspx/msgid/207666.

She's a busy young woman, a freelance writer of two novels, working on a third, with dozens of published book reviews, several articles and poems. Katie has plenty of reference sites so check her out at the following places and come by on Saturday to read her sample:

http://writingchristiannovels.blogspot.com
http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=680851912
http://www.myccm.org/waterfallbooks
http://www.shoutlife.com/waterfallbooks
http://www.myspace.com/waterfallbooks
http://www.katiehart.net

Father, please bless Katie's writing endeavors. Help her to persevere through the challenges, to be steadfast in her efforts and always to put your desires for her first. Teach her your ways everlasting. Be there with her as you always are through all the trials to encourage her and strengthen her. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Drive-by Critics

You know them. They show up on your Christian writing blog or website and leave cryptic messages about how untalented, copycat-ish, preachy, and nearly illiterate Christian fiction authors are. When you challenge them to name the recent titles they’re referring to in their deluge of negative critiquing, they disappear into the blogosphere because they haven’t read a Christian novel . . . probably ever. Maybe one or two of their friends read one, once, and thought it was all of the above. So, they base their elitist, high-minded criticism on hearsay. Or they play it cool and say that the only “real Christian” writers are Flannery O’Connor or Anne Lamott.

Or they appear in newspapers with their sardonic, condescending tones of “informed” disdain for the Christian market as a whole without truly being knowledgeable about which they speak. But they know no one who’s reading their columns gives a rip about Christian fiction anyway, so they figure they can get away with it. Since a large percentage of the news is slanted to the left, their articles will feed the hungry for more ammo to hurl at the right wing Christian Conservatives who read the pathetically written trash known as Christian fiction.

Journalism of all kinds has taken a hit in recent times. There are a few true journalists, talented individuals who know what reporting is all about: reporting. Yes, they have their own voice as they do so, but they keep their opinions at bay because their duty is to report what is actually happening, not what they wish was happening so they could further their particular ideas or group’s agenda.

And more often than not “the arts” also have an agenda. That’s not a recent thing. People of power usually like to color their creations with their own opinions, and isn’t it nice that they get to do that here in America? The privilege of freedom. Hard-fought-for freedom. Bloody battles. Lives lost. To pay for it.

So, if my “agenda” in writing fiction is to exalt the Lord Jesus Christ in some way, why should a secular humanist bemoan my right to do so? While secular humanism is a religion full of its own worship of humans, although they equate them with animals, strict in its doctrine: NO GOD! NO CREATION!, and filled with music: anything that doesn’t mention or allude to GOD, Christianity is not in fact a religion. On the contrary. Christianity is being known and accepted by The Creator through the surrender to His Son’s sacrifice given as payment for each human being’s sinful conduct. Of course, in the religion of secular humanism, sin is not sin. Sin is equivalent to a four-letter word. Do not speak it, do not define it, do not pay any attention to it because it’s rank and rigid and restrictive. Hateful, even. “Free” speech only applies to secular humanists apparently.

Point being, if you’ve read any of the current menu of Christian authors who write in a variety of genres, then you know the grounds for criticism are slim. Especially, and I do mean especially, stacked up against a current menu of secular authors. Take the “best” of both worlds and chances are you’ll have a draw. Because talent is displayed in multiple forms, and just because the plot has to do with the possibility of a character meeting, considering, or actually knowing Jesus Christ, does not make the novel something less by default. Subject matter is not a factor here. We’re talking writing.

Sometimes we Christians cower at the accusations of the world using various excuses and disclaimers concerning why or what we write. You know what? We don’t need to do that. We can speak with the authority of a believer in the Risen Christ when we have opportunity to acknowledge that we write for Him. Maybe our books will only reach other Christians, maybe God will use some of them to reach or stir the lost, but whatever He decides to do with them should be the reason for our joy and satisfaction of being a “Christian” writer/author. Don’t we write for His pleasure, for His glory? We have nothing to hang our heads about: we know the Truth of salvation available to all. We’ve been rescued from certain destruction! We’ve been given an opportunity to point hearts to Him however He decides we should. We are blessed by the Living God.

So write. From your heart. For Him. And be glad you have true freedom in Christ. And don’t be hindered or ashamed to proclaim it from the housetops with love, compassion, humility, and grace.

Praise you, God Almighty. Give me words to assemble for your glory. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.