Into the Fire

                      What do heroes look like in words?

Let's start with the thriller heroes. And who else is the icon of heroes in the thriller genre? None other than Mitch Rapp. Words tell us he's basically tall, dark, and handsome but not in those simplistic ways. Spread out through descriptions that surface when there's a reason to tell us about his physical status, we form a picture of this man. We know he's multi-lingual and intelligent because to do what he does you have to be intuitive, quick to react, innovative and able to figure out every avenue of getting the job done while picturing every possible escape route. This information usually arrives in deadly situations where the tension is laced with inner thoughts/dialogue happening in a rapid-fire execution because of intense training on how to process in no time flat. We also learn he's not always going to follow the "protocol" or the plan for the operation because, after all, he's the one who has to do it so the authorities who've set the parameters really don't matter to him.  

We form a picture of our favorite heroes by the words used. I confess I like the covers showing the back of the heroes either on a street or elsewhere walking, running, etc. Not attaching a detailed face to him leaves him to my imagination, vague but effective as it should be. 

We understand the thriller hero because of his actions, his escapes, his methods. Dire circumstances define him. We might shudder at times at what he chooses to do in certain instances, but because we've grown to know and respect him, we grit our teeth and trust his actions to get the needed information to proceed. 

Other than in the thriller genre, we learn the emotional idiosyncrasies of these heroes along with their physical appearances, gestures, and perhaps even their tones of voice. The difference in communicating who these heroes are is based more on their internal makeup, personalities, everyday conduct, and visceral responses rather than on their physical reactions under duress and to various situations. 

Book covers for these heroes often use pictures of men poised in different settings with or without a female communicating something about their personality and/or emotional content. Can't say I particularly like this approach, but I understand it. 

How do you learn about your literary heroes? What do you notice about them from the words?  

Father, thank you is never enough for all the "heroes" you've given me in my novels. Apart from you, I can do nothing. In the Name of Jesus, Amen. 

     At that time the disciples came to Jesus and asked, “Who, then, is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?”

    He called a little child to him and placed the child among them. And He said: “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. And whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me.

     “But if anyone causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him to have a large millstone hung around his neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea. Woe to the world because of the things that cause people to sin!" 

Matthew 18:1-7 (NIV)

This is from Chapter 5 of my latest release Then . . . you available in both Kindle/ebook and paperback. 

(From Chapter 5)

     She buttered a warm biscuit and dabbed some honey on it, savored the taste. She put a small portion of scrambled eggs on her plate and took a strip of bacon. “This is a treat, Stone. It’s rare when I eat a real breakfast. Thank you.”

     “You’re welcome. I’m a breakfast junkie.” He shook some green Tabasco on his eggs. “Probably because I tend to eat early in the evening but rarely get to bed early. So I wake up hungry.” He stopped eating and talking and looked at her. Serious.

     “What?” she said, intimidated.

     “It’s weird talking to you. No one’s ever here. I’m surprised we’ve had a conversation.”

     “Really? You seem really easy to talk to. I wouldn’t normally admit to just anyone all the stuff I said to you last night. I mean, I did of course owe you an explanation for the intrusion, but I could’ve opted to tidy it up a bit, I guess. That didn’t even occur to me. I do apologize for being such a wreck.” She felt the color heat her face.

     He kept his eyes on her and took another bite of eggs. His stare did tend to unnerve her, but she did her best to hold his gaze.

     “Your eyes are green,” he said.

     “You walk with a limp. Your right leg. It’s permanent. Some atrophy from a serious injury.”

     “Shattered the femur. Enemy sniper. He missed his target. Should’ve been my head. Hardware keeps it together.”

     Her professionalism kicked in. “Please understand how I say this. A massage could help you. And by that I mean it could give your musculature some stimulus to increase the circulation, the blood flow, plus there are other specific techniques which could relieve pressure areas. I would love to help you.”

     Her sincerity and business-like delivery impressed him, but she had no idea what her words actually said to him. He kept his eyes focused on her, trying not to watch her lips speaking them. He almost missed when the words ended. He continued to look her in the eyes for an extra couple of moments.

     He finished his nearly full glass of milk in one large, quick gulp. “Understand how I say this: under the circumstances it probably wouldn’t be a good idea. But, thank you.” He said it quieter than he normally spoke and with a respectful consideration to his tone.

     His look once again unnerved her while the flame consumed her entire face. She hurried and collected their plates and rinsed them in the sink.

Father, thank you is never enough for the stories you've given me. Thank you for these characters who touch my heart as they come alive in my mind and on the pages. Apart from you, I can do nothing. In the Name of Jesus, Amen. 

I'm not that smart. I could give you lists of things that don't interest me. And, if they don't or didn't, I rarely retain(ed) the information beyond the minimal. I never liked classical or country music – and, yes, complete opposite types of music. Therefore, although I might recognize the music or a song, I cannot identify the composer or the singer of either. Now if you're talking "classical" rock? Different story. I can still remember the lyrics to myriad songs and who did them. 

The point being: I limited my intake of memorable knowledge. I've always had "tunnel-vision", been "single-minded." I've read many novels now considered classics, most of which I enjoyed. But I also didn't read a lot of what are considered classics. And my tastes in reading and writing have been contemporary literature for years now with very few exceptions. 

I did well in school from the beginning to the end, but, as fun as it was to enjoy my friends there and some of my teachers, I never truly liked school. I didn't want to go to college, but I went for a year because my parents wanted it for me. I took as many literature/writing classes as I could – that first year they give you irrelevant review classes which you should not have needed, but you had to take them anyway. 

When I got to the racetrack (Thoroughbreds) at the age of 20, I abandoned learning anything other than horse racing, breeding, and everything to do with all of it. Soaked it all in. I had written a lot before then, but the 7-day-a-week work curtailed much of that only eliciting a rare return to an occasional free verse. 

Most people love to learn new things. Generally speaking, I don't. There are very few things that inspire me to apply my learning skills to them. I took some time to enjoy and experience my Konica 35 mil camera with film back in the day until I became comfortable with it. Took some fabulous snapshots during my trip to Europe and beyond. Many years later that camera was stolen. I have a nice Rebel now, but it's digital and it frustrates me. 

My serious writing – as in novels – began later in life than many authors. I'm not one to enjoy research, but I've had to do some to enhance my characters and make them realistic. Email conversations with people in the professions my characters chose to be (i.e. film critic, architectural designer, computer forensics/etc., police detective/procedures, etc.) proved to be fascinating and beneficial. I would say it was because I dealt "directly" with those people who were willing to subject themselves to my questions and respond in detail. I loved that part. 

All that to say, many authors are fluid in so many areas and subject matter. Not me. Many authors are disciplined in their writing habits – some because of deadlines and some because that's who they are. Not me. In no other area can I be called what's inferred by the term "free spirit", but in writing my novels I guess it fits. Once I wrote three novels in one year, and these weren't those 80K word counts. These were all over 100K in word count. During another segment and more recently, it seems one a year is the most I can do – although while writing Race, I started two others so I basically had three going at once which is definitely not normal for this sequential lady. 

Now you know a part of who I am and was. Definitely nothing special. But still an author of novels. Raw Romantic Redemptive

Father, you've watched over me the entire time both before and after meeting you. Jesus, you rescued me. Holy Spirit, I will never forget the creative ways you showed me Jesus. Thank you is never enough. In the Name of Jesus, Amen. 

Cold Fire by Dustin Stevens is Book 1 of the 9 Jeremiah "Hawk" Tate Series. I didn't know this was considered Book 1 because I've read all of them so far but this one. Dustin made some editorial changes to this novel – but it isn't a story easily forgotten.

Hawk is readying the shutdown of his Montana Yellowstone/mountain guide outfit for the winter when a nice-looking woman stops by the office to hire him to help her find her brother who hasn't contacted her or her mother in several days. Supposedly from New Mexico, she won't take his standard refusal due to the encroaching weather conditions and keeps multiplying the zeroes on the price tag she's offering him. Although he hears the slight eastern-European accent in her voice, the money seals the deal. Gathering all the information he can about the man's last known whereabouts, he plots their course on his maps. 

As they're hiking the considerable distance, the woman is relentless in pursuit furthering Hawk's suspicion that something isn't quite right. It isn't until they locate the man that Hawk finds out just how not right the entire trip has been. 

When he finally makes his way back to his office, he knows where he needs to go and who he has to see. His old boss and friend, Hutch, still in his position in the DEA that Hawk left five years ago, listens as Hawk explains the totality of what happened in his bad adventure with the woman. A plan is launched, but nothing is working right. When Hawk teams up with his colleague Diaz, they're always one step behind. When they are forced to split up to solve this conundrum, Hawk heads for the head of the snake . . . in Russia. 

A similar story in some ways to The Terminal List (Jack Carr), Hawk finally figures out who's at the top of all he's experienced. 

There are some errors in places of this novel that better research would've made right, but the story is basically a good one. 

Father, only you know the hearts of those you've gifted. Please help them to understand that apart from you, no one can do anything. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.  

Sensuous smooth jazz by none other than Brian Culbertson. A song from the Trilogy red "album" recordings. 

Father, music is a gift to us. Thank you for it. And may each one who has received the gifts of music realize from whom theirs comes. In the Name of Jesus, Amen

A Hint of Murder by Karin Kaufman is Book 4 in A Kelsie Butler Mystery Series. 

While Kelsie Butler is enjoying her coffee on this rainy morning, standing with her dog Stella looking out her front door, she spots an unusual something tied around her crabapple tree. She retrieves a wrapped in plastic note in a creme colored envelope with matching stationery inside. After reading it, she's sure it's a prank written with a Shakespearean quote and talking about a committed murder with another to follow. Anyone who knows her would know she was an adjunct English professor before she came to her current home in Fairwood, probably assuming she would recognize the quote which she does. But to be sure, she opens her huge book of Shakespearean quotes to the page where it's located to find another note with a second "hint" to the next murder. That's when she realizes someone has broken into her home and stashed this second note either before or after posting the first one outside on her tree. 

And so begins her search for the person who would violate her residence and plot murders with clues and a timeline to discover who it is that's doing this. 

When her friend and fellow sleuth Angela get together to discuss the clues and break-in, they later inform their third partner in mystery-solving, Gwen, owner of Fig's pastry and coffee shop. When she races over there to help plan their next steps, Kelsie knows she must take these to the police to report the break-in, still not convinced the notes aren't some sort of prank but drawing the line at someone being in her home. 

It's as she's leaving the precinct, after reporting the crime and allowing photocopies to be made of the notes since she wasn't allowed to speak directly to Chief Sinclair at that time, that what she sees suddenly changes her mind about the notes being a prank.

Things begin to escalate, a neighbor helps identify who planted the initial clues, and indeed the body count rises along with enough gossip to implicate more suspects. 

A Hint of Murder is a very quick read full of interesting twists and guilty parties – but not of murder. There's one person to find, but Kelsie's done with the game. When Gwen decides to charge after the next clue by herself, nothing goes as it should. 

A fun read and very well done by Karin Kaufman, the Queen of Cozy Mysteries. 

Father, thank you for the gifts and talents you've given Karin. I pray your blessing over her in every way – that she can feel it, body, soul, and spirit. In the Name of Jesus, Amen. 

Death and Destruction are never satisfied,

     and neither are the eyes of man. 

Proverbs 27:20 (NIV) 

Running on empty at the end of this week.

Monday Musings touched on the sloppy lack of editing/proofreading in a bestseller's novel. 

Tuesday Tunes went way back to a big hit of a long time ago by Paul Anka. 

Wednesday took a swipe at the lack of benevolent promotion by mid-list to A-list Christian authors of their lesser known colleagues. 

Throwback Thursday reminded me of a special and unique group of friends that meant so much to me for a brief season of my life. 

And now Friday is here, and all I've got left are the fumes from the fires I hoped to light during the week . . . 

Wishing you all a wonderful weekend where you focus on that which is unseen.

Father, help us all to do the right things when you ask, to hear your voice better, and to always be thankful for your rescue of our sinful souls. In the Name of Jesus, Amen. 

You probably wonder why I keep posting these pictures of myself from a very long time ago. I've come to the conclusion it's because they remind me of a very special – but brief – time in my life where the people in my circle of friends were not only special but unique, and for that short season I treasured experiencing their incredible talents and friendships. This photograph captures who I was at that time, still retaining some innocence, didn't yet know Jesus, trying to discover what my life was supposed to be about while still learning the ins and outs of "being." Very few photographs of me capture who I feel I was or am. This is one of them that did. Memorable times and people for me.

Father, you let me go for a while until I came to the end of myself. Thank you for rescuing me. I'll never forget the day I surrendered to you, Jesus. Thank you is never enough. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.