Into the Fire

Passionate thoughts about the world of writing and the Power of God

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Passionate: right or wrong. Writes love stories with a passion. Raw Romantic Redemptive

  • Sin Full

     

    Most of us who are fans and friends of Tosca Lee (Demon . . . a memoir; Havah, The Story of Eve) await her next great and seemingly impossible endeavor Iscariot. I’ve been contemplating the state of mind which leads us to the place of reprehensible conduct and the very forfeiture of our souls. What would it take to tip us over into the willing and waiting hands of our hateful enemy?

     

    Haven’t we all been on the verge of backsliding during certain periods of our lives? Haven’t some of us plunged off the deep end and found ourselves paddling around in the sewage of a life we once embraced as “normal”? We went backwards. We sold out on what we knew to be right and true. And, admit it, we expected the Lord to forgive us whenever we got tired of our filth again. What we didn’t anticipate was the weight of the guilt, the difficulty in grabbing a hold of that lifeline once we turned it loose, and the constant barrage of fresh temptations as we’re crawling in the dirt trying to make it back to grace. And who can know the wicked heart? Are we repenting for sure? Do we plan on putting an end to this revisited lifestyle of the lost and evil—now that it fits us like a custom calfskin glove?

     

    If not in ourselves, we’ve seen those we’ve known and loved turn away from what appeared to be a solid walk with Jesus. Not a flimsy, half-life with Him. A walk where their prayers accomplished things in the Kingdom, their words of knowledge proved accurate, their efforts in ministry matters produced fruitful results . . . And then the slide begins, so subtle we don’t see it, gliding softly, turning gently, slip, slip, slipping into all out sin.

     

    Why? What temptation proved too great? The love of money? The fear of not living a full “life”? Not getting our own way? What is it?

     

    It’s our nature. When the flesh is not subdued we are sin full. Licking it. Loving it. Inhaling it. Touching it. Wrapping it around us like a filthy blanket. Our eyes reveal it, mirroring the iron-hardness of our souls. In spite of our smiles, our laughter, our devil-may-care attitudes, we fill ourselves up with justification and rationalization, our reasoning skewed by demonic pride. We have forsaken our holiness in Christ for our wickedness in Satan. He owns our minds and our bodies because we’ve yielded control to his wayward ways. We’ve believed him who seeks to steal from us, murder us, and accomplish our eternal destruction. We are fools. Fools.

     

    Slaves to our lusts. Disobedient in our spirits. Serving no one but ourselves. Puppets for the evil one.

     

    Loved ones pray for us, come against the spiritual forces of evil in high places, contend for our return to Jesus, to His available grace and forgiveness, but only God knows our hearts and intentions. Only God knows for sure. Faithful and just as He is to forgive us for our sins, only He knows if and when we mean our supplications. Risky business. Eternal destinations await. Who knows the number of our days? Only God.

     

    Sin full. And pitiful. Duped. Deceived. Decimated. Will we return? Only God knows.

     

    Deliver us from evil. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

  • The Blank Page

    A common topic circulating around the blogosphere recently (and periodically) is “writer’s block”. That blank page looking back at you. Unflinching. Passive. White. Empty. As your mind.

     

    I’ve been there with blog posts, that’s for sure. An almost daily chore I’ve embraced runs lean on different days, often weeks. But what about the novel writing? Where’s it at right now? My novel writing stopped at seven. Not too long ago it started again with number eight, was interrupted by a partial number nine, and is back on track with number eight. S l o w l y. Pedestrian sight-seeing walking mode—definitely not power walking mode. Which is fine.

     

    I’m not a one-size-fits-all lady. Too many people write too many rules for how people should live their lives, write their pieces, walk their talk, and just generally be a member of the human race. The only reliable source for living life is the Word of God and within that perfect framework lives a lot of liberty whose goal is to produce the fruit of the Spirit sanctioned by an ever-growing relationship with God through His Son Jesus Christ while sharing Jesus with those who don’t know Him.

     

    I’ve learned that in my writing times there are breaks. Sometimes I have no idea why. I just know to take them, not to strive to work writing into them, and to rest in whatever the Lord requires of me during that time. I don’t understand why sometimes I can barely write/type fast enough as the words tumble over each other frantically racing each other onto the page. And other times they come in one sentence intervals. I do know there’s no forcing words as some are prone to do, content to return later and weed out the ones which cropped up and snuffed out all the better ones. This is me. Forcing anything doesn’t work in my life.

     

    Those who easily adapt to structured discipline and sit in the chair until “X” number of words decorate the page instruct others to do the same, insisting that “real” or “serious” writers write regardless of unflinching, passive, white, empty, as your mind pages stare back at them. Their iron will insures that a word quota will be met. My iron will assures me not one word will exit my mind by force—but, sure, go ahead and try to write: I dare ya.

     

    Writer’s block comes to most of us at some point. Who knows why? Or really even cares. Well, of course you care if you’re on a deadline and your mind is in a white-out crash, but if you’re simply not inclined to come up with words in a creative fashion, take the break this condition affords.

     

    Those of us who know the Lord learn to trust Him by trial and error. Even in the midst of writer’s block, we can rely on His returning our gift to us if that’s what He has for us to do. And if He doesn’t? I can’t answer that . . . But He can.

     

    Lord, as always I’m desperate for you. Thank you for each story, plot, character, word. Apart from you, I can do nothing. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

  • Thoughts . . .

    I’m quite certain that no matter how much we expound on who God is, there is so much more we just don’t get. We look at Him through our fallen perspectives, through our mankind reasoning, through our acceptable interpretations of His word, and we can only grasp a portion of His magnitude and majesty. Some writers capture Him in beautiful language, the depth of their writing skills portray a piece of Him which touches them in those places other men can’t reach. And yet it’s just a tiny segment of who He is.

     

    We do not do Him justice by choosing His Love and not His Judgment. By celebrating His Grace without His Discipline. By focusing on His Mercy without His Warnings.

     

    Whatever we think of the Lord God Almighty, He is so much more. So much more. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

  • Headed for a . . . Dead Reckoning

    (Dead reckoning: 1.Navigation. A method of estimating the position of an aircraft or ship without astronomical observations, as by applying to a previously determined position the course and distance traveled since.)

     

    [Before I review Ronie Kendig’s first novel Dead Reckoning for the CFBA Tour, I just want to mention how much I admire, respect, and hold in high regard those members of the military, Special Forces, FBI, and CIA operatives. Why? Because not everyone can do the things which are asked of these people. It’s a choice individuals make to dedicate themselves to either partial or full time service to protect the citizens of this country, and each performs a noble task.]

     

    Shiloh Blake is the daughter of two high-level operatives in the CIA. Because of their occupation, her mother is killed and Shiloh’s life is almost taken in the process of eliminating her mother. The perspective of a child’s trauma lodged firmly in her memory, Shiloh separates herself from her father for 15 years, forging her education and perfecting her archeological diving skills while she holds fast to blaming God and her father for her mother’s death and her own affliction.

     

    Her Pakistani friend from childhood Khalid Khan joins her in a University of California-San Diego historical team “dig” in the waters of Mumbai Harbor in India. Upon discovering a small stone artifact, she takes another few allotted minutes to dive down and finds a strange canister. Before she can surface with the object, chaos erupts in the water with blood streaks and a dead student floating near her. Khalid arrives in the water with more blood streaming from a wound and Shiloh drops the canister to save her friend and flee the waters.

     

    And so begins the story Dead Reckoning which introduces us to an incredibly headstrong, naïve, and highly strung young woman known as Shiloh Blake who uses her strengths to disguise her vulnerability. It isn’t long before we’re introduced to CIA operative Reece Jaxon who has the unenviable job of keeping Shiloh Blake in hand and safe while trying to thwart a major act of terrorism which is yet to be fully disclosed.

     

    The chasing, hiding, running, and cunning which take place through the pages of Dead Reckoning require a reader to keep up with a storyline which branches off into some confusing alleys and adventures along with meeting all kinds of characters who invoke distrust and procure outright contempt. 

     

    Unable to fully shake the props from her spy upbringing, Shiloh watches carefully and attempts to protect herself when nothing and no one prove to be what or who they seem. Her instincts serve her right most of the time, but she reveals her inability to correctly judge character when it comes down to the one person she should trust.

     

    Ronie Kendig tells the story from rotating POVs between her heroine and protagonist. It’s an ambitious plot, even for a thriller, which makes it a tad hard to follow during certain parts. I think the portrayal of Reece Jaxon serves the story well—right off the bat we’re in his corner with a boatload of respect for how he handles the flighty Shiloh with his cool, unflinching demeanor and his stalwart faith.

     

    Shiloh is written as a capable and beautiful, self-righteous, highly hormonal female, and at times I’d like to slap her—but that’s just me. I think her character is often over-dramatic and her conduct around Reece is so high-schoolish that it makes her heroic moments less believable except for her background as the daughter of spies. The God-and-father-hatred-thing contributes to her immaturity and self-absorbed persona, and although we respect her efforts to do “right” things, we question her judgments along the way. And if it wasn’t for our established trust in Reece, we might wonder why he falls for her as hard as he does, but then there’s this “You can’t help who you fall in love with” thing goin’ on.

     

    Dead Reckoning is an entertaining, romantic, and suspenseful first effort by Ronie Kendig, published by Abingdon Press. We can expect and look forward to more from this combo in the near future.

     

     

    700583

     

    http://http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/142670058X

     

    Father, you know Ronie’s heart’s desires and that includes her desire to serve you through her writing. Continue to provide her inspiration and direction and lead her in your ways. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

  • Sunday’s Offerings

    They laughed at him, knowing that she was dead. But he took her by the hand and said, "My child, get up!" Her spirit returned, and at once she stood up. Then Jesus told them to give her something to eat. Her parents were astonished, but he ordered them not to tell anyone what had happened.

    Luke 8:53-56 (NIV)

  • Reader or Writer?

    If you’re a reader or if you’re a writer, you have a responsibility to share the beauty of a good book. Let’s stick to novels. A previous post emphasized how vital readers are to the time tested successful marketing technique “word of mouth”. The lifeline to publishing, readers provide part of the objective of writing. Writers want to be read. And without readers they will not achieve that critical part.

     

    I want to reiterate that many readers don’t seem to realize their importance in the process. They read frequently and close the cover satisfied or disappointed. Sometimes they share their feelings about the book(s) and sometimes they don’t. Since a good portion of my life at present involves reading novels, I not only share my opinions and feelings about novels I’ve read in reviews on the internet, I tell friends, acquaintances, and anyone else who wants to talk novels about these books. If their responses indicate similar tastes, I mention my work to those who don’t know I write.

     

    Authors need to champion other authors’ novels. They need to define their tastes and let other readers know why they like certain books. Some endorsements stop with their blurbs inside book covers. Nothing sells books like a favorite author talking about a book.

     

    Recently a multi-published author self-published a novel. He bought and paid for a certain amount and is selling them privately and through Amazon. I’ve read three of his novels and plan to read more. I bought the self-published novel directly from him because I wanted to support his venture. I understand the reasoning behind the process. Hopefully I’ll get to the book soon and will post a review afterward.

     

    If you’re a reader and a writer, don’t neglect your fellow authors. Be alert to prospective readers who might enjoy books you’ve read. Don’t hesitate to mention them. We all know it’s a tough business, but there are potential readers everywhere just waiting for someone to mention a good book to read.

     

    Lord, give me insights to others and help me to be an asset to them. Ultimately may you receive all the praise for work done to honor you. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.    

  • Thursday Thoughts . . .

    Some believers prefer pageantry, rituals, and solemnity in their worship. Did you ever consider the clothing of Old Testament priests? The symbolism and representations of their garments gave purpose to every piece of adornment and every step to seeking atonement for the nation of Israel.

     

    Flash forward to the Highest Priest: Jesus Christ. Nothing fancy about his clothing. Nothing stoic or somber about His worship, His preaching, His teaching, or His friendship. He observed the feasts, but he discussed His Father’s business with priests in the synagogues when he was only 12 earth years old. Our God in a boy’s body. Neither wealthy nor specially dressed.

     

    Did the garments of the Old Testament elevate the priests? Cover their sinfulness? Add anything to their character? No, they did not. So what was it about the fancy garments? Their Designer gave them their meaning. It wasn’t the cloth and the accessories themselves that became sacred when worn by a man. The intent of the Designer packed each article with the symbolism of His holiness, love, and mercy. The ritual was given to impact not just the people but the priest who offered the sacrifices, knowing full well that the sacrifice alone was only part of the requirement. A man dressed in fancy duds better enter into the Holy of Holies with a right spirit or . . . Adios! God’s mercy and forgiveness stretched to its limits every time a mere man walked into that sacred meeting place. Some never made it out.

     

    Perhaps it’s easier for some people to think of another man/person to go before God on their behalf rather than approaching Him alone. Maybe it’s easier to believe God will accept a “holy” man before He will accept a sinner-man. Without Christ there are no “holy” men or women.

     

    I’ve never warmed up to ritualism. And if I can’t approach God in my feeble, helpless state, then what’s the point? I don’t want someone else speaking for me. I’m broken and unfixable by human hands. I need the Master. I need the prayers of the saints, my brothers and sisters in Christ, but not one of them can atone for my life’s sins. Only Jesus knows me from the inside out, and only He can cleanse me with His sinless Blood when I seek God’s forgiveness. There’s no pomp, no glory, no fanciness in seeking the Lord. All the glory radiates from His response, His gracious attention, His devotion to mankind.

     

    The clothing was never meant to give man meaning but to help man understand the depth of what they sought from a sinless holy God.     

     

    Father, I’m in awe of you and desperate for you. Everyday. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

  • It only happens . . . Once in a Blue Moon

    Leanna Ellis, author of the CFBA Tour novel Once in a Blue Moon published by B & H Fiction, creates the divorced obituary writer Brynda Seymour with such spunk, sorrow, self-confidence, and self-loathing that we can’t help but find a way to care about her, to root for her, and even to somewhat admire her for her desire to find a way to make peace with her single mother’s death which occurred when Bryn was only nine years old. Bryn faithfully visits her widowed grandmother, who finished raising her, at the nursing home where the woman languishes with Alzheimer’s, unable to provide the comfort Bryn desires but can no longer receive from her. Bryn’s younger lover Eric occupies a place in Bryn’s life but not in her heart, and Bryn’s daughter Ginger is stepping up her independence as a college student. 

     

    Before I fill in a few blanks about this engaging, unusual story, I simply must say Leanna Ellis nails this one down. The writing from Bryn’s first-person POV is cryptic and cynical, honest and hilarious, while being filled with sorrow and sarcasm. Leanna Ellis writes an amazing, quirky plot with candor, empathy, real romance (but it’s not a romance novel, folks, it’s so much more), and literary skills which keep the story down to earth while expressing humorous and pathetic situations with beautiful language that dives deep into pain and motive.

     

    When Bryn meets an old bizarre genius-type high school friend of her mother’s at a NASA anniversary celebration of the moon landing, which also marks the day of her mother’s death so many years ago, his mysterious knowledge of her and her mother and his secretive invitation to visit him in another Texas town several hours away piques her curiosity and sends her on a journey which she hopes will dispel the secret she’s carried since her mother died. This trip to Marfa delivers answers Bryn never expected to find about her mother and about herself. 

     

    To tell you more about this unusual but fulfilling novel would spoil the adventure. It’s a rare time when a reviewer can say a story captures a unique take on the human condition and expresses it so well that it feels brand new, but Leanna Ellis manages to do just that in Once in a Blue Moon—the title fitting the story and reading experience in so many ways. Highly recommend this novel for fans of literary novels, quirky plots, and for those readers who desire to see characters portrayed with raw authenticity and built-in need plus a beauty which comes from the honesty of human frailty.

     

    So very well-written in a unique story with just enough heaviness and heart to drive a reader to a meaningful conclusion with a dash of humor.

     

    449884

     

    http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0805449884

    Father, you’ve clearly gifted Leanna. What a pleasure to read her work. I pray you would continue to give her insights into the human soul and expand her audience to share in her redemptive work. Bless her efforts to honor you in her writing and all those things in her life done to bring you glory. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

  • Fashion or Foolishness?

    I used to faithfully watch the Academy Awards, eager to see which actors and movies won awards. Now it’s rare when I’ve seen two or more of the nominated films. To quote the ending credits’ line from “Bones”: “What’s that mean?”

     

    What it means for me is simply for the most part there are less appealing movies selected than there used to be. This year I didn’t see any of the Best Picture nominees, having watched a half hour of District 9 and abandoning it. I will eventually see (on DVD) Blind Side and Crazy Heart. What pleased me about Hurt Locker winning Best Picture and Best Director was that Avatar didn’t. And I was glad the female director (Kathryn Bigelow—ironically one of James Cameron’s exes) gave credit to the troops “who protect us”, although I heard that the actual bomb defusers she interviewed and researched got no credit, payment, or honorable mention from her. Not sure if that’s true or propaganda. I’m fairly sure my “boys” will eventually view Hurt Locker and give me their evaluations.

     

    Today, however, I must comment on the fashion statements made by most of the celebrities that I saw since I didn’t tune in to the Awards until they were half over. What in the world?! If nothing else, usually the Awards provide some elegant gowns with maybe one or two horrendous faux pas—think back to Cher’s famous dress, but she certainly isn’t alone. Plus there are usually some gorgeous hair-dos and lovely examples of perfect makeup. Um, not this time. This time it looked as though the designers decided to wash out the actresses in steel grays, dull silvers, or crimson colors to electrocute the eye sockets after seeing all that gray, silver, and vanilla whites.

     

    There were huge ruffles which protruded like giant waves seeking attention. There were gowns that clung to the wrong places wrapped too tight like cellophane. Charlize Theron’s dress looked like someone drew circles around each breast to amplify their normal size and draw the eyes to them like targets. Sandra Bullock’s gown washed her out so all we really noticed was her dark brown hair and bright reddish-pink lips. Unfortunately, her real beauty seemed hidden and her mouth reminded me of the Red Queen’s.

     

    The hair on some of these lovely women made me wonder if the hairdresser decided he/she could make them wear anything and so sought to design something horrific as a joke. Truly there were some corrupt uses of beautiful hair.

    And so, as usual, it became a spectacle with fans and critics of all sure to give their commentary just as I’m doing. I have no problem with awarding films and actors. Politics (of all kinds in this case) play a part in the selections just as they do in nearly every category of dispensing awards. People have their favorites, and those who run the awards establish the criteria which must be met to be eligible. Subjectivity enters and infiltrates the entire process. The dispensing of awards follows whether it is an Oscar or a publishing contract.

     

    I guess it just seems to accentuate a certain foolishness when the pomp and circumstance of these respected awards presented to talented actors and other people in the motion picture industry display such expensive gowns which do nothing to accentuate grace and beauty but rather seem to point out how decadent and wasteful such extravagance can be. One fashion critic called the gowns “muted” for the most part, but some were so unattractive they shouted “Fool!” The same or similar colors worn by most did nothing to distinguish the dresses or those wearing them. The bright colors served more as neon intrusions with crazy whirls or ruffles. Hair seemed either stuffed up and sticking out or down and lacquered so as not to be moved by hurricane force.

     

    With the exception of Jeff Bridges’ rambling acceptance speech, apparently the recipients were strictly forewarned to keep their thank-yous brief and adhered to the rules for a change.

     

    The “human video” dance interpretations to the nominated songs proved only that something was lost in translation.

     

    I missed the entire first half so I couldn’t tell you if the chemistry worked between the emcees—they were all but absent in the second half of the ceremony.

     

    All in all the spectacle of the massive glittering stage décor outdid all of the other razzle dazzle, even though many who won awards seemed to lose track of where they were supposed to approach said stage to receive their little golden man.

     

    Much of the frou-frou looked foolish not glamorous. Truly one of the most unattractive Oscar ceremonies I’ve ever seen.

    Lord, so much of what we do here has so little value. Please help me to listen to you so I can accomplish something of eternal worth. Apart from you, I can do nothing. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

  • Returning Alice to Underland!

    I was among those who contributed money to Tim Burton’s and Johnny Depp’s umpteenth collaboration in the film Alice in Wonderland on Friday. As with novels, I don’t generally read the reviews of movies I want to see until after I’ve viewed them for myself. However, I did take a brief peek at two reviews this morning before going to the 11:00 AM showing of the 3D film. One reviewer seemed incensed at the nerve of Tim Burton to try something different with the story by giving it a new twist and totally irate at Johnny Depp for hamming it up as The Mad Hatter. The other critic watched it in the right spirit and gave it a sterling review.

     

    I found the movie entirely entertaining which is fairly remarkable for me because I’ve admitted to you that while I appreciated the CGIs and amazing special effects in the Lord of the Rings Trilogy and in the two Chronicles of Narnia flicks, I didn’t particularly enjoy those movies. But this Alice in Wonderland captured my attention and refused to let go. It was a fairy tale with a heart, a solid good vs. evil conflict, and a few laugh-out-loud moments, one at the end which caused more than me to erupt in laughter.

     

    The use of 3D glasses was a new experience for me and kind of fascinating, although low key I’m sure compared to what I’ve heard about Avatar. [Alice in Wonderland was converted to 3D after being shot in 2D while Avatar used all the newest technological bells and whistles to shoot in 3D.] I managed to only flinch twice. The creative genius of Tim Burton presented an older Alice who is conflicted by an arrangement in which she is pressured to agree. She escapes her predicament by following the white rabbit and tipping over into the hole which leads her to Underland. Forced into conflict from the moment of her crashing arrival, she attempts to evade conquering the problem only she can fix.

     

    There are some scary creatures but very few of what I call Tim Burton-moments where he just can’t resist including a grotesque image or two, but overall there is nothing terribly foreboding about this film. Parents of young children might want to preview the film before taking them to this lively adventure so they can be the judges of what might frighten them. The film itself is certainly no more threatening than either The Lord of the Rings Trilogy or the two Chronicles of Narnia films. There are far more delightful and imaginative images and characters than dark, and some of the props reveal astounding and hilarious attention to creative detail.

     

    Johnny Depp somehow gives the crazy Mad Hatter a sensitive spirit and a heart for doing right. And quite frankly he’s fabulous and so fun to watch. Helena Bonham Carter is perfectly pouty as the dark Red Queen and Anne Hathaway gives her ethereal White Queen the lightness of movement and hand gestures to make us wonder if she might take flight at some point, and her proper and joyful descriptions of some rather gruesome elements to concoct the shrinking potion makes it almost palpable. Almost. Mia Wasikowska as a grownup Alice pulls off both fear and courage while coping with her challenges by insisting her experience is merely her dream. By the time she accepts her mission, we have confidence she will continue to make the right decisions in spite of the difficulties involved. It’s a good performance but not particularly inspired.

     

    For sheer entertainment purposes, Tim Burton’s production of Alice in Wonderland is a rousing and enjoyable success.

     

    Father, at your direction I’ve carried burdens for the souls of Hollywood people because your love for them overwhelmed me. Please continue to give me burdens for souls in the entertainment industry. You’ve given them their talents. Draw them to the Cross, to the real Jesus. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.