Fun oldie from the early 70s.
Father, thank you for music and all the memories and feelings it inspires. May those who create it recognize the One who gave them their abilities. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
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When you've seen the depths of human depravity, I understand why you might want to portray it in its emptiness, ugliness, and fullness to create a realistic crime novel. George Collord does exactly that in Hear The Wind Blow – and it's brutal to read. It's full of profanity, vulgarity, depravity, and cruelty. But it's also a story with an older wounded, humbled, sensitive hero in Delroy Church, a bit of a living legend in Los Angeles homocide detective work, who has opted for the lesser fanfare position of a deputy sheriff in a small northern California town where virtually nobody knows his past celebrity – until a single human bone is discovered amidst a bunch of animal bones by hikers who think they should tell law enforcement about what they happened to find just in case. And that is one reason why I finished it which I admit was difficult for me. I also waded through it because this author's "creds" are exceptional and an author friend (former law enforcement) announced the novel written by his friend.
Roy Church puts off for as long as he can investigating the identity of the single human bone found in the foothills of Mt. Shasta by hikers. But extenuating circumstances require his expertise and he grudgingly accepts the assignment when less seasoned detectives muff another possibly related homicide first thought to be a suicide. Throughout this tangled, stretched, and crazily intertwined saga, there is one common thread: a man who's been in and out of "the pen" twice, who takes care of his frail mama, who desires his dead cousin's wife, who can speak like an educated man but just as easily revert to crude slang, and is no dummy when it comes to how law enforcement works.
One of the highpoints of Roy's investigation is his hiring of an intern "Kat" who is studying forensic anthropology. Her enthusiasm is boundless, her intelligence and aptitude for learning detective deductive reasoning are all refreshing and encouraging to Roy for a variety of reasons. She's a much needed character in this story of excessive darkness.
Hear The Wind Blow is an ultra-complex police procedural demonstrating the extreme effort and determination it takes to solve intertwined crimes with multiple victims and contributors to their deaths. Many peripheral undesirable characters permeate this story, a few psychopaths (both male and female) among them. It demonstrates how brilliant and in contrast how utterly stupid the same characters can be in their criminal exercises. Hard, depraved human beings fill this book, and I can't recommend reading it to anyone I know. However, those that read and enjoy these kinds of novels have given it the 5 star treatment on Amazon.
Father, there are portions of this world who follow the enemy of our souls and seem to relish it. Evil does exist and flow through some who've allowed it to become the largest part of them. May we all repent for anything we've done wrong and stay close to you at all times. Thank you, Jesus, for providing us with the Way, the Truth, and the Life, the only way to our Father. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
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Through Jesus, therefore, let us continually offer to God a sacrifice of praise – the fruit of lips that confess his name.
Hebrews 13:15 (NIV)
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(From WIP: in a love song . . . )
Six
When he turned back to the counter, she placed the plate in front of him. “Don’t pay any attention to Keith. Especially when he’s hungover which is usually every Saturday morning for as long as I can remember.” She said it without malice.
“You guys more than friends?”
“A very long time ago. High school. First love and all that jazz. It ended badly. And it wasn’t love at all.”
“I think he’s still hangin’ on to that first love thing.” Dale captured her gaze and spoke straight over some love song.
She surprised him when she laughed. “You see those babes last night?”
“Hard to miss them with the guys gettin’ whiplash lookin’ at them. Why?”
“Keith left with the one showin’ the most skin. That’s his MO. Has been for as long as I’ve known him.” She ragged off the counter next to him, holding Keith’s dirty dishes in her other hand. “I don’t work tonight. Want to take me to dinner?” She grinned at him.
“Yeah. I do.”
“Don’t expect much more than good conversation, and you got yourself a date.”
“Where and when?”
“Pick me up here at around 6 o’clock. Alright?”
“Sure.”
“Let me know if you like your burger.” She walked back into the kitchen.
Dale had no idea where they’d be going to dinner, but he cleaned up the Jeep and put the top on it. He dressed in pressed jeans and a nice shirt, shining his boots again for the occasion. Pet, or Patricia as she must’ve preferred for him to call her, presented an enigma. Having been warned away from her by his coworker, he suspected a little jealousy remained. And perhaps Keith figured Dale wanted or expected what Keith aimed to get on a first date. Not that he’d refuse if it was offered to him, but Patricia made it clear they were going to get to know one another tonight. Sounded better than an empty room at Eva’s Inn to him.
“Mr. Rivers, you clean up well.” Eva smiled at him, genuine instead of mocking.
“Thank you, Mrs. Johnson. I’m taking a nice lady to dinner tonight,” he offered.
“Eva. And who might that nice lady be, if you don’t mind my asking?” Her voice was sweet, and he could tell she just enjoyed talking to him now.
“Patricia Edison. People around here call her ‘Pet’, I guess.” The surprise on her face came in an instant, but she managed to pull up her smile quickly.
“My, my, Mr. Rivers—”
“Dale.”
“Pet don’t go out much. She must’ve seen somethin’ quite special in you.” She was serious.
“Huh. Is there something I should know about her?”
She hesitated before answering. “Pet’ll tell ya what she wants you to know. You have a good time, Mr. Rivers.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Johnson.”
“Eva,” she said as he walked out the door.
He smiled.
He turned into the parking lot behind The Tavern and found a spot at the far end. He quick-checked his appearance in the mirror and got just around the back end of the Wrangler to see her already halfway to him. He checked his watch to make sure he wasn’t late, knowing he was at least five minutes early. He waited at the rear of his rig and admired the view. Something about her jolted his testosterone into overdrive. Already.
“Hi, Dale Rivers.” Her smile was sweet but her voice teasing.
“Hi, yourself, Patricia Edison.” He walked to the passenger side and opened the door. She climbed in like she knew Jeeps.
Once he was inside, she said, “I like a man who drives a rig with character. You’re too fond of this one to get another one. I’ll bet you put the top on for me.”
“You’d win that bet,” he said as he turned the key. “Where we headed?”
She sat sideways and grinned. “Can I drive?”
He opened his door and headed around the back. She jumped out and nearly collided with him. He stepped aside, pressed against the adjacent car.
She turned to him, squarely facing him and looking up. “I don’t bite, Dale.” She studied his face, and he did likewise to hers. Desire crawled all over him.
“Maybe I do,” he offered with a slight smile.
She laughed, pleasure in the tone, and continued around to almost throw herself in the driver’s seat. “Ready, big guy?”
“It’s all yours, lady.”
Father, thank you is never enough for all that you do for me. Never was and never will be. Thank you for every word. May they always be in obedience to you. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
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("Touched" originally posted on 10/12/14)
The human touch. Reaching out. To another person. To a pet. Touch is important to us. We either welcome it or repel it. The situation determines our reactions to touch.
As a writer/author, touching a reader is paramount to me. I don't write humor or horror so I'm not necessarily trying to make someone laugh out loud or scare them to the point where they'll be sleeping with the light on for a few nights. I want to touch that emotional place – and hopefully one that reaches the spiritual heart – to incite involvement, investment, and interest in my characters and their circumstances. Without those reactions to my words I've failed to touch the reader, to make them care about the story.
Most writers can't make all readers happy. Few novels have universal appeal. But for those willing to take the time to read my books, I definitely want to leave them with having felt that special touch only words and a good story with amazing characters can evoke.
Touch is more than a tap on the arm or a hand held in affection. Touch is personal. To welcome touch means someone invites that communication. A mere handshake can convey all kinds of feelings just from two hands interlocked, positive and negative. Like touch, words have all kinds of innuendoes, again both positive and negative. Implicitly or explicitly, authors want to touch people – because without touch we have no connection to each other.
Father, thank you for repeatedly touching me with the awareness of your beauty, love, perfection, forgiveness and grace. Nothing compares to you and your touch. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
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Hawaii's North Shore on Oahu. Gorgeous, huh?
Father, love to gaze at the beauty you've created. Thank you for it all. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
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Smoooth Jazz. "Kiss of Life" by Rick Braun off the album "Yours Truly" (2005).
Father, so much talent. May each one find your Son. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
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Fiction gives us various views of reality. Different genres depict different aspects of life. Of course if you enjoy the fantasy genre or sci-fi or some horror, you're getting an artist's take on other "realities" that don't necessarily exist.
Here's the deal: if an author depicts a graphic sexual encounter with all the explicit use of descriptive language for body parts, the senses, the individuals' responses – okay it's "real" in the sense of letting the reader know exactly what is happening in this scene. But is it "right"? I'm trying to think of one reason why this could be a "right" choice. Please respond if you can think of one reason or more because I really can't.
We could do the same with the graphic language scenario. I totally understand the reason for the use of some language in certain situations, and I do believe in a limited amount it can serve a purpose. Is it necessary to use the graphics rather than refer to the words in a clever way over actually spelling them out for the reader? Necessary? No, it is not. But the repetition of graphic bad/vulgar language over and over throughout a novel just because it's "real" definitely does not make it "right". It's degrading for a lot of us readers who might be appreciating the story overall but also consider not finishing it because, frankly, the repeated bad/vulgar language takes away from – not enhances – the story.
Tackling violence in a thriller, mystery, or suspense is a bit of a different discussion regarding graphics primarily because there are so many ways for it to be inflicted to achieve whatever the desired purpose of that violence turns out to be. Is it torture of a prisoner? Is it a serial killer in action? Is it a fight that turns deadly? Is it a violent accident? Description is inherent in murders/deaths that are not straight shots to the head or heart. Just as in film, the author must determine how much is essential and how much is written purely for shock "value".
Some realities are private and exposing them can be unnecessary and even uncouth. Other real situations don't warrant graphics to convey their reality. It's a choice authors make. General market authors often choose the graphics, but many times being "real" doesn't make it "right" or even appealing to all of its potential audience.
Any thoughts?
Father, we make our choices in obedience to you – sometimes we fail badly and need to repent. Help us to write the way you want us to write and please keep inspiring us with the stories you want us to tell. We're desperate for you – whether we know it or not. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
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May the God of peace, who through the blood of the eternal covenant brought back from the dead our Lord Jesus, that great Shepherd of the sheep, equip you with everything good for doing his will, and may he work in us what is pleasing to him, through Jesus Christ, to whom be glory for ever and ever. Amen.
Hebrews 13:20-21 (NIV)
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LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS [Chapter title]
Seemed like no matter how early or late he went to sleep at night, he would wake up at or right around 5 AM. But just the same with the summer sun seeping through the white pine shutters into the shadows of his magnificent room, he reached over to the nightstand and checked his new pocket watch. Five o’ five. He’d always wanted a pocket watch, even as a kid, but he’d never had one until he got out of prison. He hated the sound of the words “out of prison”, but it was foolish to deny the reality. Besides, it hadn’t all been bad. And he knew shortly upon arriving there he had a debt to pay. Funny thing was he learned he couldn’t pay it. Ever.
He got up and took another shower, so thankful he could in the privacy of this splendid home. He was ready to work, to get his hands dirty, his muscles sore, to sweat. Sweating would be no problem in this eastern Washington desert heat. He put on a pair of his oldest worn jeans and another T-shirt to start with, and he walked out to the kitchen barefoot. He wasn’t sure what to expect from Grams at this early hour, but he suspected she might be up and about, and he was right about that.
“Mornin’, son. You an early riser?” A hint of humor danced in her voice.
He looked at her expression. “You don’t think this is early, Grams?” He smiled at her.
She took a drink of her Coca Cola. “Ah, I suppose it’s not late,” she conceded. “You know how hot it gets here so early in the mornin’ and all. Truth is I just can’t sleep past four, you know? That Lord is pretty persistent about me tending to my prayer time. He gives me an extra half hour in the wintertime—big of Him, huh?” She laughed.
Thomas smiled at the petite woman, feeling better than he’d felt since . . . maybe since he was a boy comin’ over here to visit all the time.
“Coke?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am.” A woman after his own heart. “I can get it.”
“No foolin’ you can,” she said matter-of-factly. “Look, Tommy, I’m only goin’ to say this once,” she began with a look that could’ve brought a soldier to attention.
He stopped in his tracks.
“Everything in this kitchen belongs to you and me. You want something to eat—you fix it or look for it or ask where it might be. When we go into town to get groceries or anything else for that matter, I expect you to get what you want as well as what you need, and don’t be askin’ me if it’s alright. I ain’t your momma. Turns out I’m your friend—in fact, I’m more like your sister, you know? In the Lord? So, you and me are goin’ to live here for as long as you want to or as long as you need to, and you’re goin’ to have everything you need to live your life while you’re here. It’s nice havin’ a man in the house again. I raised two sons and had a helluva man—pardon my French, Lord—for a husband. The Lord Jesus has kept me company since, and it’s been good, but I figure He knew when I needed a friend again, and He sent you, Tommy. So, don’t go gettin’ all syrupy about bein’ here and bein’ in my debt—I won’t stand for it.” She actually tapped her cane on the floor to emphasize her point. “Now I know I called you hired help yesterday, and, believe me, I’m goin’ to put you to work. Stupid darn hip goin’ out left me in a fix tryin’ to get some things done, so I’m happy to have your help. But this thing between us is more than just boss and servant—you got that?” and she glared over at him.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Now I know with your kind of conscience, it ain’t goin’ to be easy at first gettin’ all comfy cozy here right off the bat, but I ain’t kiddin’ ya when I say make yourself at home. This ol’ place has been empty and way too quiet for too long. I expect you to live here, you understand?”
“Alright, Grams,” he said quietly. “I’ll try.”
Grams softened a bit. “Son, I don’t know what all happened to ya over there in Seattle, but it’s over. You better start livin’ your life anew now because, let me tell ya somethin’,” and she paused and took in a breath. “You of all people know that sometimes it just up and goes away. Life is a precious thing, Tommy. We only got so many days. Make the most of ‘em, son, because if ya don’t, your time here has all been wasted. The Lord has somethin’ special for you, Tommy. Mark my words. He does. So you better be settin’ your mind to findin’ out what that somethin’ is or you’ll be miserable for the rest of your days. You hear me?”
“I do.”
Excerpt from Destination
Thank you, Lord, for every word, every inspiration, every novel you've given me to write. You're amazing, and I'm always desperate for you. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
