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These are the original novels by the late great Vince Flynn. We are grateful that Kyle Mills has taken up the mantle for Vince's creation of the unequaled Mitch Rapp. Throughout the stories of Rapp, I've never cared for the women he's fallen for, so just for my pleasure and fun, I've begun some Fan Fiction to present The One with whom I believe Rapp should spend the rest of his life. My fun continues:
(You can catch up here and here.)
“How long have you known Irene?”
She cut her gaze away from the mirror to look at him and followed it with staring out the windshield. “About 18 years or so. I don’t get to see her often, but we try to communicate fairly regularly and if possible to have lunch once a month. Doesn’t always happen, but it’s always good when it does. She’s recommended several clients over the years. It’s rewarding to have someone like her have that confidence in me. Truthfully, for her to recommend me to you? Priceless. I didn’t think you’d show up.” She quickly shot a glance at his profile.
“Not sure why I did,” he replied after a few moments passed.
She gave him further directions. He pulled into the tiny parking lot and backed into a spot near the entrance to what resembled a small restaurant where he once had dinner in Rome. Strange to have that memory surface.
Christine collected her purse from the floor and began to open the door.
“Sit tight, Doc.” He got out and did a careful but casual assessment as he rounded the front of the car to open her door.
Once inside the restaurant, they were greeted by a man who immediately extended his hand to grasp Christine’s and bring it to his lips.
“So good to see you again, Christine.” Returning her hand, he extended his to Rapp. “It’s a pleasure, sir." He shook it firmly.
“Follow me. I have your usual table available, cara mia.”
“Thank you, Paolo. How is Rose?”
He led them to the table as he spoke. “She is wonderful as always.” A genuine smile accompanied his words.
Rapp noted it was situated so both of their chairs faced the front door and maintained a clear view of the kitchen’s entrance. He ordered a black espresso, she a tonic water with lime.
“You come here often,” he stated.
“Often as I can which hasn’t been often enough lately.”
A young man with olive skin and a dark ponytail tied back low on his neck set their beverages and menus before them, nodded and left them alone.
Perusing the menus, they closed them simultaneously and sipped their drinks.
“I’m not great at making conversation.”
“A man of few words. I can appreciate that.”
“What about you?”
She gave a brief laugh. “I have a tendency to spill my guts with little provocation. An open book mostly. Except where work is concerned.”
She noticed he gave her that almost smile.
“Husband, boyfriend?” He caught her quick look away and back to him.
“I believe we share a similar circumstance in our distant pasts. My fiancé was KIA. We were told it was in Afghanistan, but I suspect that was a ruse.” She adjusted her posture. “No one even remotely serious since.”
He studied her. She didn’t flinch. “But many have tried?”
She smiled, slightly embarrassed. “Some.”
The young man returned with pad and pencil. Rapp nodded at Christine and she gave him her order. Rapp followed with his. He thanked them and quickly returned to refresh Rapp’s coffee with the dark brew.
Thank you, Lord. This has been rejuvenating and so much fun. Thank you is never enough. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
Yup. This is pretty much how I felt today. Apparently, I've always been a drama queen.
Sorry to repeat so many of these, but they make me laugh. Laughing is a good thing these days.
Father, thank you for the best parents, a great older brother, and a fairly idyllic childhood. I love you, Lord. Thank you for rescuing me when I strayed. Apart from you, I can do nothing. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
Writers often face times of not being able to put the words on a page. Sometimes it's under pressure when they know they have to perform, to write those elusive words. Other times it's after starting something and suddenly the words won't surface. And still again it's when the desire is strong but the creativity lags. This is the peril of being a writer.
When the struggle comes, and maybe for some it never will, I have no suggestions. If possible, take the break from words. Breathe deep. Pray. Continue however you must. If you can, ignore the quandary. If not, press on. Is there a foolproof solution? I highly doubt it, and I'm relatively certain there is no one-size-fits-all.
The words will come at some point. You know they will.
Father, please bless your writers and help them through every obstacle. Continue to reassure and lead us through all the struggles and all the joys. We thank you for the privilege of writing words. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
The Record Keeper is the third book in Charles Martin's A Murphy Shepherd Novel Series, the meaningful and gut-wrenching stories of two men and unlimited numbers of their rescues from that horror of human-trafficking or "the flesh trade".
This review is going to be a short one for me. There are just too many ways to unintentionally give away spoilers, and that's the last thing I want to do. What I will say about this trilogy is to strap on your toughness cloak - or whatever you use to fight off heart-rending cases of emotional turmoil - because you will be challenged at your most basic level of despair over man's inhumanity to man. You will be given a close look at the sex/flesh/human trafficking/trade and the absolute diabolical, demonic filth of those who engage in it, use it for blackmail, and ply it to make money hand-over-fist as the saying goes. There is just no logical way to prepare for it.
Within the latter pages of this third installment, Charles, who is often vague and/or symbolic about faith/God issues in some of his stories, in The Record Keeper pulls out all the stops and uses what biblical scholars call a "type" when going through figures in the Bible that represent or show the characteristics of the Christ. If this awareness hits you any harder than it does "Murph", you will feel it deep in your spirit. There will be tears. Charles Martin's exquisite writing will bring you to your knees.
The Record Keeper is a story of all kinds of heartbreak, recoveries, and more heartbreak. To be truthful with you, I had to set the book down frequently and regroup, take a breather. I could've finished it faster had it not done what I suspect is its intent which is to feel it. It's not just another collection, another trilogy. It's a full-on contemporary identification and account of an ongoing horror and struggle that is taking place all over this world under none other than Satanic direction - because the trade is bona fide evil, and there's absolutely no getting around it. Buckle up if you're going to read it. I recommend you start at the first (The Water Keeper) and diligently press on through the second (The Letter Keeper) to get to this one. You need to know about this, and there's simply no way to "pretty" it up.
Lord God, you see it all, the horror and pain, the vile and evil. Many wonder why you don't "fix" everything, but they don't understand the workings of the curse of sin - and we always want to ignore our own capabilities to commit our sinful ways and inclinations. I pray you would continue to use the gift you've poured out in Charles, and fill him with more touching, meaningful tales that tell so many truths. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
As you know, I'm a rabid fan of the late Vince Flynn and grateful that Kyle Mills has picked up where Vince left off. The primary reason for my love of the series Vince began is his hero Mitch Rapp. Even though there have been many of his "type" come after him, none has matched his status. He's my all-time favorite in the thriller genre - and beyond. Having said that, I've never been fond of the ladies who captured (Vince's) Rapp's attention/heart, so I've decided to create "The One" he needs to love above all others. (It turns out I need to write something while I wait for another story to take hold, so this is it.)
(To get to the beginning of this, go here.)
She stood, carefully judging her motive first and then her next move. "Mr. Rapp--"
"It's Rapp or Mitch."
"Rapp, would you consider having lunch with me? I'm starving and it would be good to have lunch in a non-professional environment. If you have time. I'm not the kind of girl who's going to analyze your every word and response in conversation. I usually eat alone. It would feel good to spend some time having a 'normal' lunch. Are you game?"
He gave her a look with a barely there smile. "Can I trust you?"
She let out an abrupt laugh. "I don't know, can you?"
Rapp started for the door and looked back, “Coming? I’ll drive.”
“We can go in separate vehicles if you’d be more comfortable,” she offered, suddenly feeling a bit intimidated by the prospect of having asked this man she’d long admired to lunch.
He paused with his hand on the doorknob. “I thought you said you wanted a ‘normal’ lunch. I’m taking you to lunch. Is that ‘normal’ enough for you?”
She walked quickly toward him. “Yes, sir, it is.”
He gave a rare laugh and held the door open for her. She walked out in front of him.
Once inside his armored BMW X8, he asked, “Where to?”
“It’s fairly out of the way. You like Italian food?” she asked hopefully.
“I do.”
“Head south.”
He noticed as he repeatedly and routinely checked his mirrors she did the same. Conditioned probably from an early age by her father and now because of who her father was. Rapp knew there was simply no way you could hide from everyone. No matter how much you wanted to or how hard you tried.
“How long have you known Irene?”
She cut her gaze away from the mirror to look at him and followed it with staring out the windshield. “About 18 years or so. I don’t get to see her often, but we try to communicate fairly regularly and if possible to have lunch once a month. Doesn’t always happen, but it’s always good when it does. She’s recommended several clients over the years. It’s rewarding to have someone like her have that confidence in me. Truthfully, for her to recommend me to you? Priceless. I didn’t think you’d show up.” She quickly shot a glance at his profile.
“Not sure why I did,” he replied after a few moments passed.
She gave him further directions. He pulled into the tiny parking lot and backed into a spot near the entrance to what resembled a small restaurant where he once had dinner in Rome. Strange to have that memory surface.
Christine collected her purse from the floor and began to open the door.
“Sit tight, Doc.” He got out and did a careful but casual assessment as he rounded the front of the car to open her door.
Father, only you know what happens tomorrow and today. Help me to do what you ask today and tomorrow. And to honor you in what I do. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
My first year at the track. The now defunct Longacres Racetrack, Barn 4B. Many years ago . . .
Father, many more years later you rescued me from myself and gave me purpose. Thank you is never enough. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
FBI Special Agent/Interpol/DGSI Adele Sharp is still healing from the brutal stab wound done to her by a mysterious intruder in her apartment. Agent John Renee, her partner and boyfriend, has been making sure she takes it easy. When their boss (Foucault) assigns them a case and asks to make sure Adele is up to the task, she does her best to cast any doubts aside. The truth is she's still hurting, and it feels like certain simple moves are ripping her stitches open.
The case involves a murder with evidence left in a locker room at a train station in Paris. A single finger and a burner phone provide little evidence to this killer's agenda.
The parallel mystery running in the background has revealed to the reader who Adele's attacker is and his objective. He's filled with hatred for Agent Renee, blaming Renee for his present condition from a distant past action and determined to execute his vengeance. Neither John nor Adele has any idea about the identity of her attacker.
The case Renee and Adele are working takes them from Paris to Germany where the killer is quick to repeat, leaving a different body part in his next murder. When a vague connection is made to a particular jewelry line which is now out of business, the macabre revelation of the former owner finally produces a viable lead.
There are few authors as prolific in their story writing as Blake Pierce. With multiple series and many books in each one, I'm sure readers have picked favorites from the long list of novels written by this author. The Adele Sharp Mystery Series has been my favorite of the few others I've started, but things are changing for this couple in this series, and these last two installments have ended with extreme cliffhangers. Left to Harm seems shorter than previous books and leaves more than one plot point unrealized.
As I said, this series is my favorite, but it seems it might be nearing its end.
Father, you are the soul searcher, knowing what you will find, and still desiring to rescue each one from sin. Thank you for rescuing me. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
I haven't had an interim like this in a long time. While in the throes of writing my first mystery Race where I was completely out of my element, I froze up on the story several times greatly intimidated by the thought of making a mistake in the police procedural parts of it even though I had sterling help and encouragement from a detective when I needed it. During those episodes, I started two different novels which eventually were completed after I regrouped and finished and published Race. Those two novels were Seeing . . . and . . . in a love song.
So what am I doing now writing-wise in the interim of finishing and publishing Then . . . you? Playing with the character I've long imagined Mitch Rapp to meet and fall in love with (since I'm from the contingent who has mostly despised his loves in the books) in a Fan Fiction endeavor. From the standpoint of value? It has none. No point. Do I actually expect this character to be noticed by the Mitch Rapp powers-that-be? I do not. But wouldn't that be fun!
I do have a chapter started in a potential new story, but . . . not sure yet. Waiting is not my specialty. I do have a title for it if it ever morphs into a book. Funny how I can get titles before the stories . . .
That's where I'm at . . .
Lord, please give me my next step, those words you inspire. Lead me in what you have for me. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
Rising Tiger by Brad Thor is book #21 in the Scot Harvath Series.
There's a new weapon used after an attempt to slaughter a particular group known as the Snow Warriors. Due to an age-old tradition, the battle is fought with brutal hand to hand combat. The weapon is unleashed by the losing effort to make sure their remaining people can escape.
Scot Harvath is fresh off a rescue mission in Afghanistan that tried every which-way to go south and waited until the last possible moment to be successful.
American Eli Ritter comes out of retirement after being summoned by the POTUS for one final shadow diplomacy mission to Jaipur, India.
The Indian Air Force helicopter carrying 14 passengers including the chief of Defense Staff of the Indian Armed Forces lost all contact with the Sulur Air Base while en route to Wellington in Tamil Nadu.
Nicholas (aka The Troll to his enemies) is relaxing at his secluded home after his very pregnant wife Nina is visiting friends one more time before giving birth and after getting Harvath back safely from his harrowing mission.
Scot is summoned immediately by his boss at the Carlton Group to go to Jaipur, India.
How all of these tie together are made clear in pieces as a U.S. Embassy Foreign Service National/Investigator and ex-Indian Police Service officer Vijay Chabra swaggers into Harvath's life to assist him in what becomes an occasionally fun but mostly dangerous adventure. They unintentionally meet up with a beautiful woman (Asha Patel) on a black ops mission which coincides directly with theirs. Eventually, through the interrogations, they learn of one of the targets which gives the title to this novel its significance.
There are many things happening throughout the chapters in this story which move back and forth establishing the villains, their perversions, their hatreds, and their unscrupulous acts for power, money, thrills, and just plain evil. Keeping the characters straight can be a challenge, but not to worry because the good guys (and gal) have only one intention: to make the bad guys pay one way or another.
Harvath is a focused, calmer version of himself. His emotional state is stabilized, quieted, more or less it seems because of his engagement. He has a more peaceful demeanor in this story while being no less formidable.
Rising Tiger will keep you entertained while informing you of important and troublesome liaisons in the world today.
Father, as I've said so many times, only you know hearts and minds, only you save souls, only you. Please continue to bless Brad as he creates poignant thrillers about today's world. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
This is the woman for the hero of heroes Mitch Rapp created by Vince Flynn and his legacy kept alive by Kyle Mills. Celebrating Fan Fiction.
Her name is Christine Ravenswill, but it's not her real name. She's a psychiatrist who specializes in counseling veterans and operatives in elite warrior positions whether government sanctioned or not. Christine is tall, close to 5'10" with a deep blue to her eye color that sets off her long wavy natural honey blonde hair that she wears parted in the middle with bangs. With elegant, efficient movements, Rapp wonders if she's athletic when she strides toward him to shake his hand. He deduces she's close to his age, her handshake takes a firm grip of his larger hand.
When she introduces herself, he smirks. "I assume that's not your real name."
She knows he doesn't want to be there in her office, nor does he want to talk to or confide in her. She recognizes he probably realizes he should be willing to do so, but that doesn't carry any weight as to him determining he will. She decides to go on the offensive.
"Mr. Rapp, I'm smart enough to know you don't want to be here. I get that. You're right about my name. Although Christine is my actual middle name, I chose Ravenswill for my last name when I came to terms with my dad's occupation. He too was a warrior with a similar job description and assignments as you've experienced. The last time I saw him was on my 21st birthday, but occasionally I discreetly visit his star. You would no doubt be familiar with his name if I was allowed to reveal it to you, so I apologize for not being able to share it."
She sat in one of the chairs in front of her desk that faced the one he stood stoically behind, picking up the pen and pad on it and setting them on her lap. "If you prefer to stand, I understand. I'm not here to play games with you. I respect you and what you've done for our country far too much to attempt any kind of coercion to speak with me. I of course hope that you would acquire a trust - or perhaps that's too strong a word." She briefly faltered but regrouped. "Let me put it this way: I have no way of knowing if I can offer you anything you can use or might need until I listen to what you have to say about anything that you care to offer in conversation. I've cleared my schedule for the rest of the day in order not to adhere to any annoying time requirements." She briefly looked down at the pad on her lap. Then looking directly up at the focused stare looking back at her, she said, "This is the absolute truth. I've admired you for a long time, and it's an honor to finally meet you face to face."
She noticed the brief surprise in those dark eyes, the quick parting of the lips before once again sealing shut.
"I'm very familiar with the standardized version of life in your profession. As for my life, I'm a fair marksman, know Krav Maga and Brazilian Jui-jitsu. I'm armed with my trusty Glock 19, and haven't had to kill anyone yet. I've been attacked once on the way to this office when I decided to jog to work. Fortunately, I subdued my attacker so here I am. Here you are. If there's anything you want to ask me, please do."
Rapp moved around the chair and sat in it folding his arms against his strong chest. "How much did Irene tell you?"
"Irene told me she would suggest you come to me, 'try me on for size', just for the purpose of releasing some of the pain you carry around with you because she believes it's intense. She said it in no way has affected your work, but that . . ." She stopped and studied his expression before continuing. "But that it hurt her to know you kept a lot of that pain as a constant companion in your everyday life and that just maybe you might be willing to discuss it with me - but not to count on it." She pushed herself farther back in the chair and crossed her right leg over her left.
Rapp examined her and noticed she met his gaze with an expression he rarely saw from women who looked at him. If he had to identify it, he’d call it empathy. Maybe because she’d come as close to experiencing the content of his rare lifestyle without ever physically having to live it. He dropped his defensive posture and cocked his head slightly to study her features.
Finally, he said, “You look like him, you know.” He paused. “Your father.”
Her lower lip dropped slightly, and tears instantly formed in her eyes. She reached behind to her desk for a Kleenex and blotted her eyes. “Thank you,” she replied quietly. “I didn’t know . . .”
“It can be a small world sometimes.”
Silence permeated the realization. He decided to let her take a moment, knowing the anguish that came from the remembrance. He watched her as she regained control. When he was sure she'd managed it, he added, "He was one of the few real heroes. He had a heart. That's one of the things I admired about him." Rapp stood again. "Thank you for understanding I don't want to be here, don't want to talk about myself, my pain, my life. It's not you. Seems pointless. It's done. It's not going to change. I chose this life. I'm sure the exit won't be . . . pretty."
She stood, carefully judging her motive first and then her next move. "Mr. Rapp--"
"It's Rapp or Mitch."
"Rapp, would you consider having lunch with me? I'm starving and it would be good to have lunch in a non-professional environment. If you have time. I'm not the kind of girl who's going to analyze your every word and response in conversation. I usually eat alone. It would feel good to spend some time having a 'normal' lunch. Are you game?"
He gave her a look with a barely there smile. "Can I trust you?"
She let out an abrupt laugh. "I don't know, can you?"
Rapp started for the door and looked back, “Coming? I’ll drive.”
“We can go in separate vehicles if you’d be more comfortable,” she offered, suddenly feeling a bit intimidated by the prospect of having asked this man she’d long admired to lunch.
He paused with his hand on the doorknob. “I thought you said you wanted a ‘normal’ lunch. I’m taking you to lunch. Is that ‘normal’ enough for you?”
She walked quickly toward him. “Yes, sir, it is.”
He gave a rare laugh and held the door open for her. She walked out in front of him.
Father, thank you for fun with words, thoughts, writing, everything. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
Things have changed in the last year. And not for the better. Publishing has taken the hit along with everything and everyone else.
So. It's very possible that some of my novels in the not so distant future may no longer be available on Amazon. Not because I don't want them there but, because in order to make them sell at a reasonable price, it simply won't be possible. The costs to print books has skyrocketed.
As far as I'm aware, the ebook prices will remain the same. I know how much most of us prefer an actual book in our hands, but they are becoming a very expensive commodity to purchase.
Here's my offer to you. At my publisher's website (Redemption Press), you can purchase some of my novels including Then . . . you for a much more reasonable price than you can on Amazon for the print book. Although the ebook price is the same there as on Amazon, the profit margin from Redemption Press is greater for me.
There. That's it for business. It's a sour note to publishing - an unexpected gash. And I'm sorry.
Father, you always know the big picture. We trust in you. Thank you is never enough. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
What does my writing tell you about me? I'm an open book. My tagline and product description lay the ground work for who you can learn I am from my stories. "Passionate: right or wrong" & "Raw Romantic Redemptive" conceal nothing.
The simple and the obvious are: I love certain Ford vehicles. I love Coca Cola. I love longer hair on men. Those are the fluff parts of me that surface in most of my novels.
I write about locations that are familiar to me.
I truly respect men and diligently try to give them a believable reality in my novels from thought processes to actions to dialogue.
I understand the pain of being female and making mistakes one never forgets.
I know the before and after of meeting Jesus. I give both sides equal expression.
I love romance because I believe it's designed to be the preliminary approach to love.
If you've read my work, these are probably what you've learned about me.
Father, any good in me is you. Thank you, Jesus, for rescuing me from myself. Holy Spirit, continue to make me the better me. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
Some authors refrain from exposing themselves too deeply and maybe some can even write fiction without revealing who they really are, but there's something about writing stories, developing a fictional plot and characters, and believing in the novel enough to either self-publish (indie) or persist in the hoop-jumping to get it traditionally published that indicates the author hopes some kind of relatable truth will attach readers to the story. Whatever the process and however the story is told and made available, those books tend to tell us things, often subtle implications, about the author who writes them.
Francine Rivers tells me she knows the content of character and conduct of those in the world. Let me just say it's difficult to truly know and capture the depths of those who've lived or live in the world without having experienced it for yourself. Not saying it can't be done, but it's unlikely you can portray the core of it as Francine does. If you've been raised up well in the church and never strayed, you naturally don't fully know it. Her writing also tells me she understands real romance, sexual attraction, and falling in love. She portrays the attraction, descriptions of her characters, reactions to/from the opposite sexes, all of it. She gets it. And while living in the world is not the way we'd prefer to have experienced those things, it does provide the education to write about them truthfully from that point of view.
Becky Wade shows me she's a true romantic with a knack for storytelling. Her background in the church gives her a natural, or some might say an organic, touch to weaving in the spiritual aspects of her stories. She's all female but understands the interactions, confusions, reactions, and the differences between men and women in their approaches to attraction and romance and their resistances to both if pertinent to the storyline and is respectful to both sexes in her portrayals. I can also recognize that she invests in her research of multiple locales and occupations which includes those observations of how males and females relate to each other. She celebrates and enjoys portraying the attractions of the opposite sexes. And does it well.
Kristen Heitzmann indicates to me there are two primary things she wants to convey in her writing. Like me, she enjoys writing about the male psyche, the male reactions to females that attract them, capturing the boldness of a man's man in that process, and is not afraid to keep it real. Secondly, she wants her characters to stand out, to be "different", unique, to not fit into a mold. When she does romance, she makes it strong, giving it power with words, thoughts, and actions to convey how overwhelming it can be. I love the way she writes romance.
These are three authors I've read repeatedly and respect immensely because they "get" romance. Each has her own voice and approach to writing a novel. I've given a partial picture of what I've learned about these three female novelists from reading their stories.
I'll save what I have to say readers might have learned about me from my writing for Monday.
Father, once again I thank you for your authors/writers. It's a pleasure to read the work of those who choose to honor you in their writing. Please bless them with more meaningful stories and encourage them in all they do. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.