You are not a God who takes pleasure in evil;
with you the wicked cannot dwell.
The arrogant cannot stand in your presence;
you hate all who do wrong.
You destroy those who tell lies;
bloodthirsty and deceitful men
the Lord abhors.
Psalm 5:4-6 (NIV)
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Authors In Crisis . . . is a real thing. No one expects or looks forward to a real crisis. Some crises affect everyone, some affect only certain people, and others are strictly personal. Authors are people with the same personal issues as everyone else. Some authors will discuss them. Others will not.
But let's take a brief look at the personal part of "crisis" for an author. What might that be? The term "writers block" has been tossed around for a long time because it can be excruciatingly real. Some authors never have to face it and, as a thoughtless result, often offer ill-advised casual advice which borders on the ridiculous. To an author who wants to write but sits with either pen in hand or hands on the keyboard and nothing comes to mind even when every effort has been made to find words to string together, the anxiety level amps up considerably with each passing day. After some time, it becomes a personal crisis.
After finishing a book and experiencing the wonderful satisfaction that accompanies it, as time moves on and no new story material appears to take shape, the author begins the fearful consideration of having written their final manuscript, finished their final story. It's a personal crisis if time lingers with that writing emptiness.
Now non-writers/authors can pooh-pooh these situations as being nothing like a real crisis, but they have no idea of the emotional dread that's involved.
Keep in mind authors deal with the everyday of whatever comprises their lives and loves. They're not immune to hardship or trauma or physical pain. Human beings do face crises from time to time, some way more than others. Having said that, a personal crisis for anyone is exactly that when the anxiety, fear, and/or self-doubt in abilities to handle circumstances enter and hang around their daily lifetime routines.
As a Christian author, my only "go-to" is God. Jesus is the friend that sticks closer than a brother. The Holy Spirit speaks the inspirations into my heart. I know "apart from Him, I can do nothing". That doesn't eliminate me from personal crises nor does it imply that the solutions are instantaneous. Sometimes the paths need straightening, and until the Lord deems it's time to get out the bulldozer and make them level, we worry in the waiting. We are not excluded from the same pain, same concerns, same trials as any other authors and writers – or any other people.
Authors and writers, keep checking your radar and stay in touch with those authors and writers you know. Never be afraid to check in once in a while and/or to ask if things are okay if you suspect there could be a need. This is the next step after AIN, a follow-up, "the extra mile", to encouragement and affirmation. Crises do pass, but the endurance level can feel undoable and the complementary guilt from feeling weak is an added burden. And if you're experiencing a personal crisis, please do share it with someone you've found trustworthy. It can mean a quicker "fix".
Father, you know your authors and writers. You know exactly what they need and what they don't. Please show them your mercy and lead them through the hard times. And may we always be available to help or receive help when needed. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
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Written like a fictional biography, the blurb for The Famous One goes something like this:
Joey Parr’s journey from a troubled childhood and rebellious adolescence leads him into a career in film and reluctant celebrity. The Famous One chronicles his life and allows the reader to share in his beginnings, his awkward fame, and the love which finally finds him when he least expects it. As his dream of having a family unfolds, he is stunned to learn something is still missing from his near perfect life.
The Famous One takes an introverted yet passionate character of few words and deep running emotion and puts him into the spotlight of fame where he is hungry for value, substance, and real love but struggles to find them.
You can find this novel here or here.
Father, thank you for the incredible hard-hitting inspiration for this novel when I had no idea this would become a story. Thank you for it all – every story, every word. Apart from you, I can do nothing. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
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AIN aka Authors In Need. Yes. Authors. Many successful authors probably experience the same things those in the shadows face. Maybe with them, there's more potential for burnout, stress. But all authors need different kinds of help and affirmation. Those starting out need to understand what they're facing. If they desire to go with traditional publishing, they need to know it could be a long journey and what it takes to make the proper steps to advance the process. Those who decide to go the indie or vanity publishing route need to know those very same things in addition to several more.
If you have those answers and experiences to assist a beginner in any way you can, shouldn't you? Whether it's simply a post on your website, an article on your blog, Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads, Instagram, a podcast, or whatever social media agency you traverse, shouldn't you throw one out there once in a while to help that random author hopeful?
If you've met a future author and have had the time to read their manuscript or a partial of something they're developing, and if you have a connection to someone who might be interested in them, wouldn't it be benevolent to make contact possible between the two?
The world labels it "giving back". The Bible calls it "reaping what you sow". Simplify it to offering your help to someone who might need it when you become aware of it. It's a kindness, a considerate act, a remembrance of how hard the journey's been for you or would've been if you hadn't had a measure of help along the way.
AIN can often apply to any of us when a note of affirmation is just as important as a good review.
Father, help us all to do the right things by each other, to be helpful and benevolent if there's any way we can. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
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These two had fabulous voices, incredible harmony, and some dynamite love songs for the drama-filled teen years. Great songs for that era.
Father, only you know hearts and minds. Only you save souls, love unconditionally, and can forgive us. Thank you for rescuing me. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
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AHA . . . Authors Helping Authors: Authors who promote other authors when they have a new release. Authors who intentionally read those authors' new releases so they can review them or tell their readers about those books. Authors who make a point of keeping in touch with other authors just to say "Hi" or to encourage them when they see they have a new book to be released or just after its release. Authors who randomly feature other authors on their websites or blogs or podcasts, etc.
Those bestselling authors are busy people. They have their own book promotions/marketing tasks/book signings/appearances/conferences. And not to mention those contracts for the next book or three. Still . . .
Authors, when you can offer an encouraging word, a promotion of some kind, possibly reading a novel from an author you might have communicated with but don't know personally – the effective moments you can offer another author cannot be measured in value. Sometimes even a mention of their work will mean so much and possibly increase their sales.
Authors Helping Authors is a meaningful endeavor and whatever an author can do to help another is incredibly appreciated.
Father, please guide your authors to be benevolent to others, helpful, encouraging, a blessing. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
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Yet at the same time many even among the leaders believed in him. But because of the Pharisees they would not confess their faith for fear they would be put out of the synagogue; for they loved praise from men more than praise from God.
John 12:42-43 (NIV)
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When an author is not a household name, it's easy to feel anonymous. It's easy to question ability, choices, approach, the works.
When an author goes from first novel to the several that follow, each one unique in its own ways, the jubilation can be short-lived when it seems the responses are more private praises than publicly expressed appreciation.
Authors Anonymous – a group of serious writers who can't quit because they love what they do, and they know in their hearts that they've written some good books. They also might admit they haven't done enough to expose their work – especially if it's a genre that's flooded with other authors' books.
Welcome to Authors Anonymous. You're welcome to sign up in the comment section. No coffee or tea tonight. But lots of empathy offered for free.
Father, I'm whining. You've blessed me and protected me my entire life – even when I didn't know it. I can never thank you enough. But I'm truly grateful for it all. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
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Chapter One of my as yet unpublished novel written several years ago titled The Fixer.
CHAPTER 1
The rain assaulted the trees, the gutters, the double-pane windows, hard and cold, leaving even the midday seeming like the darkness of evening. Unpleasant to watch, she twisted the blinds closed and decided it could be just as gloomy inside as it was outside.
Miserable. Chilled inside herself. Darkness triumphed.
A single tear wandered down her cheek, but she waited until it tickled the line of her jaw before she hurriedly wiped it away. Before she could stop them, they bunched in her eyes and flooded her cheeks and inevitably she gave way to sobbing. Without wanting to acknowledge it, she’d been living the last four years of her life for this day. Waiting for it. Almost but not quite ushering it in. She’d expected it, and therefore in her own way she’d made it happen. Knowing as the time progressed how deeply it would hurt. But not really knowing. Because this was way beyond any feelings and all reactions she’d tried so diligently in the back of her mind to simulate. So much more painful than she had inadvertently prepared for—in all that make-believe way she’d anticipated him leaving her—even dared him to do it, she realized now. Too late to correct. Too late to rework in her convoluted mind games.
Of course the telephone rang. Which sister would it be? One or the other she was sure. It wouldn’t be Dean. No matter how much she wished it was.
She glanced at the Caller ID and considered whether or not to pick it up, but why prolong the inevitable?
“Hi, Lamb,” she answered quietly, knowing her voice betrayed her tears.
“I’m coming over.” Her sister’s voice sustained the quiet.
“Don’t,” she instructed without much authority.
“Fifteen minutes.”
She’d hung up. Darn it! She hurried into the bathroom to repair herself—not going to look the victim here.
To the minute came the knock on the door before her sister opened it and came inside, almost soaked just from hurrying up to the cozy but spacious screened porch from the gravel driveway.
They hugged each other after Lamb removed her dampened coat and walked to drape it over one of the kitchen chairs. “Why, Doe?” Tears visible in her eyes. “Dean loves you. You love him. What’s the deal?”
The questions she didn’t ask were the ones that blared.
“’Why don’t you want to marry him? Why in the world would you ever want to emulate Mom and Dad’s life?’ Those are the real questions you want to ask, aren’t they?” the older sister clipped out a little more loudly than she meant to.
Lamb looked slightly upward at her taller sister, who of the three of them looked the most like their deceased mother. She kept quiet for an extra moment as she forced herself to take control. “Alright. Why?”
Doe walked over to the couch and plopped into the soft leather. “It wouldn’t work,” was all she said.
Lamb sat on the nearest chair. “Because you wouldn’t let it? Why’d you start the relationship, Doe? Why’d you let yourself and Dean fall in love if sabotage is what you had in mind? I’m sorry—I don’t get it. Help me out here.”
“I can’t explain it.”
“Huh-uh. That’s not going to get it. Not for me. And it probably didn’t get it for Dean either, Doe. You can’t tell me you don’t love him.”
“He would’ve left me someday anyway.” Her defenses up, her voice resigned.
“Why would you say that?”
“He would’ve, Lamb. Trust me.”
“I see. Because you would’ve driven him away? What—you’re assuming all men are like Dad was?”
“Aren’t they? In their own ways? You know Dean. Women are drawn to him.”
“And he was drawn to you,” Lamb said, her voice strained.
“For now.”
Lamb bolted out of the chair. “Well, it just so happens that now is what we have, isn’t it? Now is it! He wanted to extend the here and now. Make it legal. Make it stick. How could that not matter to you?!” She regretted expressing her exasperation with her sister’s twisted view of relationships as she failed to stop the outburst. “You are not Mom, Doe. No matter how much you loved her or even admired her—you’re your own per
son. Mom was . . . well, Mom was different. You know that. In some ways she was downright weird, Doe, and I don’t mean that disrespectfully. But she was. Who would name their three illegitimate daughters after animals? Who would stick with their unfaithful father until he left us all? Come on, Doe. You had a chance to have a man who loved you and you alone marry you and settle down with you. You’ve been living like a married couple for four years, Doe. Tell me you’ve fallen out of love with him if you have. Tell me!”
Doe expected her sister’s onslaught, but what she hadn’t anticipated was how the words would ring so true. The emotional brick wall she’d taken years to erect began to slide and shift under their earth-quaking reality. The tears she fought so hard to control
came rushing once again.
“Look at you!” The exasperation merged with compassion. “You’re a masochist. Just like Mom.” She observed it in wonderment. She sat beside her beautiful older sister and held her as she cried. After a few moments, she said, “We’re going to fix this, Doe.
We’re going to talk to Dean and fix this.”
“No!” Doe pulled away from her sister’s embrace. “No. I can’t. I need time to figure this out, Lamb. You may think it’s just a stupid mistake on my part, but you don’t know how ingrained these feelings are. I can’t shed them overnight.” She paused and sobbed. “If I could’ve, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
Lamb stared at her sister with a numbness settling over her emotions. She didn’t understand. Not at all. As hard as she might try, she didn’t think she ever could either. Why fall in love if only to plot its demise? And that’s exactly what Doe had done. Slowly, methodically, the deeper she fell, the more devoted Dean became, Doe had put the screws to their relationship. Forced him to make a decision when she held back on purpose. He made the only one he could make. This was the result.
“How’d you find out so soon anyway?” Doe cleared her throat and made her voice firmer.
“I stopped at the shop on my way to the store. Tim told me I better check on Dean and when I asked him why, he told me you guys were over. So I went back to the garage and he was elbow deep in an engine. You know what he said to me?”
Doe shook her head no.
“’Lamb, I tried. I wanted so badly for the answer to be yes, but it wasn’t. It took me a long time to figure out I actually wanted to be in love and get married and start a family. She didn’t want that. I had no choice, Lamb.’ Then he had to excuse himself before he broke down right there in the shop where the guys could see him.”
The tears drained out of Doe’s eyes. “I didn’t think it would hurt this badly.”
Lamb threw her arms up slightly. “Doe, I am not getting this. This is crazy!”
This time Doe stood. “Well, maybe I’m more like Dad than you think,” she replied, kidding only herself.
“That’s ridiculous, and you know it. You know what I think? I think you loved this guy so much you were just plain afraid everything would turn out like Mom and Dad’s relationship. You locked that thought into that stubborn mind of yours and refused to let your love surpass theirs. You never gave Dean a chance. Just because he reminded you of Dad doesn’t mean he was going to be like Dad. You judged him and condemned him and let the greatest guy just walk out of your life because every time he tried to advance the relationship you put up some phony manufactured barrier. Alright, Doe. I’m done here. You plotted and schemed the demise of this, and now you’re reaping the ‘benefits’ of that grand plan. I know you don’t believe in a real God, but I’m tellin’ ya, big sister, you better pray you find Him because He’s the only one who can help you get out of this cycle of desecration our parents left us. Have a great day,” she said heading over to grab her coat and shutting the door behind her with a harsh whoosh.
Doe shivered involuntarily as her sister’s words seemed to surround her with a fresh chill. Leave it to Lamb to hit a home run. Darn her! I wish she hadn’t come over.Lamb Landon-Anderson drove with her hands clenched around the steering wheel, nearly shouting out loud. “God! This is so absurd! My family just keeps this stuff goin’ on. Man!” The frustration roiled in her gut. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she
said quietly, the tears beginning to drip.
She pulled her yellow Rav 4 over to the gravel shoulder of the country road and put it in park letting it idle. She reached for her purse and found her cell phone, punching in her younger sister’s number.
“This is Megan. Talk to me.” The familiar message spoke in her sister’s staccato businesslike voice.
"It’s Lamb, Meg. Doe broke up with Dean. Get this—because he wanted to marry her and settle down, raise a family even. She’s a mess. He’s a mess. End of story. Bye.”
She ended the call and stared out the windshield. The accumulated drops made it difficult to see anything clearly. The heat in the car surged to comfortable now and with the rise in temperature she felt a fresh rush of anger. Doe could have anyone she set her
sights on, Lord. Then she comes up with this phenomenal guy—a regular guy who works hard, is like eye candy—you know he is, Lord—falls hard for her, decides he wants to move beyond shacking up and have a real, legitimate relationship, have kids and the whole bit, and she turns him down! She loves him, and she turns him down! It makes me sick, Lord! What about me? I want a guy like that! Oh, forget it. This is stupid. She doesn’t know you. What can I expect with the examples we had?
Lamb sat quiet for a few minutes staring without seeing anything but smeared raindrops converging one on top of the other. God, help me to help my sisters find you. That’s the only hope our family really has, what’s left of us. Jesus, please.
The tears came and matched the raindrops on her windshield in volume.“Wow, Megan, it’s just so good with you,” he said in the aftermath of their interlude.
She laughed. “You say that to all your women.” She stood and stretched.
“Honestly, I don’t.” He smiled as he propped himself up on his elbow and admired her body. “You’ve got it all, you know that?”
“Flattery isn’t what got you here, bud,” she said matter-of-factly, picking up her cell phone from the night table to take into her bathroom.
“She’s all business,” he said under his breath as he lay back against the multiple lush pillows. He heard the shower start and wanted a cigarette. Reluctantly he got out of her bed and pulled on his sweats to step out onto the small townhouse balcony to smoke.
The rain had mercifully stopped, and even though the cold grabbed him on the covered balcony, the clean air refreshed him after the passionate session with Megan. Just as he was ready to extinguish his second cigarette, her arms wrapped around him
from behind. “I am glad you’re here for the weekend,” she said.
The feel of her body against his, even clothed, was just about enough to ignite him all over again. “I’m glad to be here.”
“I’ve got a few hours at work, and then I’ll be back. We can go out to dinner if you’d like,” she offered as he turned around and fastened his hands around her.
“You just like me for my body,” he said.
She smiled up at him. “Pretty much, yeah,” she replied.
“Are you the man in this relationship?” he questioned, feigning perplexity.
“You tell me,” she answered as she turned from his embrace. “Gotta go.”
“Who was on the phone?” he inquired, a bit of a smirk on his face.
She cocked her head. “Why?”
“You frowned noticeably.”
“Sister stuff. The latest drama. No big-ee. See ya later.”
“Yeah.” He smiled.
Grabbing her purse, she was down the stairs and out the door. While she warmed up her one-year-old silver BMW Roadster, she dialed Lamb’s number.
“Hey, Meg. You got my message?" “I did. You know Doe. She’s flaky. I feel bad for Dean because he’s a genuinely cool guy, but if she’s such a head case about relationships, he’ll be better off with someone else anyway,” Megan said without emotion.
Lamb forced back her immediate response as she briefly held her phone out and looked at it in shock. “Well, head case or not, they loved each other, and Doe’s a wreck. I know, I know—it’s her own doing, but, nevertheless, she’s feeling the pain right now.
And, Dean, well, the guy’s really hurt. It’s genuine. I honestly don’t think he saw this coming. I know it’s pathetic, but I thought you might want to know.”
Lamb heard Megan take a breath before she said, “Thanks, Lamb.” Megan paused again. “Terry’s up for the weekend.”
“How’s he doin’?”
“Same as always. It’ll be fun, and then I’ll see him off. It works best for us this way.”
Lamb rolled her eyes thinking it probably only worked best “this way” for her sister.
“Well, good,” was all she could think of to say. “Give him my best.”
“I will. Feel free to drop by if you’re in the neighborhood. I’m sure he’d like to see ya. We’ll probably go out to dinner tonight, but I’m sure we’ll be home for most of the weekend.”
“I might just do that. I’ll call first.”
“Alright. I’m on my way to work for a few hours. Talk to you soon.”
“Bye, Meg.”
Lamb subdued the sudden urge to roll down the window and heave her cell phone into oblivion. “My God.” She turned on her wipers and once the windshield cleared, she
pulled out onto the road and drove to the shop.Father, thank you is never enough. Please lead me always. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
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I could tell you it's all about the action, the espionage, the underhanded political scandals and maneuverings, the weapons used, the thwarting of evil people's terror and schemes – and that would definitely be a part of why I love thrillers. The perpetual battle of good v. evil on this earth comes in unimaginable efforts which is why thriller authors need impeccable sources and must do their research to make their novels convincingly authentic. I could add that the writing must be done well to accurately capture all the above listed reasons for loving thrillers.
But . . . the primary reason I love thrillers is the hero. And everyone knows my true number one favorite is Mitch Rapp created by the late Vince Flynn and continued by Kyle Mills. He remains at the top even so many years after he appeared on the scene in Transfer of Power long before the two prequels (American Assassin and Kill Shot). He's the consummate project, discovered by Irene Kennedy, trained by an ornery spymaster Stan Hurley who challenged him at every level and never allowed him to feel like he'd achieved anything special. Irene battled Stan throughout Mitch's training and assignments, but over time Rapp won him over. That's just a small piece of Mitch Rapp. He's an exceptional hero, and in my plentiful reading of thrillers and their heroes, there have been many good ones but none that measure up to Vince's uniquely motivated, clear-minded, gut-level communicator, no-nonsense assassin with a heart. None.
And he is the reason I'm a lover of thrillers.
Father, you know Vince. You gave him his abilities and desires to write in this genre. Thank you for allowing him great success while he was here. Please continue to bless your writers and in particular Kyle Mills as he continues this amazing continuation of the iconic Mitch Rapp. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
