For it is God’s will that by doing good you should silence the ignorant talk of foolish men. Live as free men, but do not use your freedom as a cover-up for evil; live as servants of God.
I Peter 2:15-16 (NIV)
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As Hutch shod his second horse at Brady’s barn, it started to rain, proving the forecasters right.
“Man, I’m sick of this rain,” Rob Connors groaned.
“I’ve heard it rains a lot out here. The night I arrived it was pouring.”
“I’m from Arizona. This stuff drives me nuts. Last year it was pretty nice, even early on. Some of the local guys said this is more like what it’s really like.”
“We get all kinds of weather back east. One year on the first of March it was 83 degrees. The next week it was snowin’.”
“We’ll get rain once in awhile—kinda like the flash flood stuff. The rest of the time we got the sun, man.”
“So what brought you up here?”
“Well, I got a job with Brady a couple years ago when he came down to race in Arizona. He invited me to come up here with him so I did. He’s a good guy, and he pays good. At the time, I just broke up with my girlfriend and wanted to get outa there anyway. So I stayed on and went down to California with him. He didn’t go back to Arizona—he didn’t like it. Too hot for him. Too many bugs. I mean he really didn’t like it, and he said the purses weren’t good enough. I don’t blame him. You gotta like a place to stay there. This place is great when it’s not rainin’.”
“Why’d you break up with your girlfriend?”
“Ahh, well, she wasn’t a racetracker, and she was always after me to spend more time with her. When I had to run horses, she’d come down and watch ‘em run for awhile until the newness of it wore off. Then it just became a big problem eventually, so it was time to call it quits.”
“So the racetrack won out over your girlfriend?”
“Yeah. She didn’t respect what I did, you know? Hey, I worked other places. I was even asked to manage a small hardware store when I was only 21, but it wasn’t me. When I found the horses, I knew this is what I wanted to do. In another year or so, I’ll have a couple of my own to train. If I have to start out with them in Brady’s name, I will. He’s already assured me he’ll help me when I’m ready. Like I said, he’s a good guy.”
“So, how old are you, Rob?”
“I’m 24. At the end of this year, I’ll be 25. I’m learnin’ as fast as I can. Brady’s a good teacher. He’s got lots of patience, and he loves to tell people about this, that, and the other. If you show any interest in this stuff, he’ll pour it into you, you know? So he and I are a perfect fit.”
“Sounds like it.”
Hutch finished six head at Brady’s barn and headed out to his truck. As he put his tools away, a man drove up in a new red Dodge pickup with custom compartments built onto the bed.
“Name’s George Rogers. Brian said to introduce myself—that you’re okay.”
“Call me ‘Hutch’. Name’s Grady Hutchinson. Glad to meet you.”
“Look, I been shoein’ for a small stable. Deborah Pattison is the owner-trainer of almost all of them. She’s a wench, but she’s good pay. Very particular. It’s hard for me to get to her now cuz my bigger stables are fillin’ up with the meet just a month or so away from startin’. She’s in Barn 11. She’s no fun, but maybe she’ll give you some respect since you’re from back east—she’s like that. Anyway, if she likes you, she’ll treat you good.”
“Well, thanks, George. Appreciate it. She there now?”
“She’s there a lot. If she’s not there, Jipps’ll be there. He’s an older guy, does most of the work. I told her I was sendin’ someone down because I just couldn’t fit her in anymore.”
Hutch extended his hand to the shoer. “Thanks again.”
Hutch parked his truck and headed into Deborah’s shedrow ducking under the 2×4’s she had up around her area. Just as he got to the first tack room, she came out the door.
“Grady Hutchinson. George Rogers sent me down.”
Deborah sized him up without a smile. “Oh. Well, George has put me in a real bind. My good horse popped a gravel, and I need a good shoer.”
Hutch could tell this was a no-nonsense gal, so he responded appropriately. “Ma’am, I’ve been shoein’ horses on the east coast at the best tracks since I was 19 years old. I’m 30 now. I’ve been in most of the good barns for quite awhile. Quite frankly, the only reason I came out here is because my wife and I split up. It certainly wasn’t for lack of work. I’ll step out on a limb here by sayin’ you won’t find a better shoer or one more willing to work with a problem than me. It’s up to you.”
Deborah turned and as she started down the shedrow, she said, “Follow me.”
Hutch told her what he would do and why with her good horse and then proceeded accordingly with her permission. After him, he caught one more for her. She wanted to know all about the new material in the pads he had. She was impressed although she tried to hide it, but Hutch had worked with her type before. They never wanted you to think that you might actually know more than them about anything. That was fine. Whatever worked for them as long as they didn’t degrade you and paid you in full—they could think whatever they chose to think about your intelligence. Didn’t matter to him.(cont. For His Glory; sequel to Hope Of Glory)
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Writers are continually instructed to hook the reader with a powerful first sentence and the dynamite first few paragraphs to set off a spectacular and enticing first chapter. All of us could give examples of authors who’ve done just that very well. The Ty Buchanan series by James Scott Bell comes to mind in Try Dying, Try Darkness, and Try Fear, particularly in the start of Try Darkness. So incredibly clever and well-written. But I think the major part of the instruction which Jim Bell successfully accomplishes in his series is that if you throw the knockout punch in the first few sentences and continue it throughout that first chapter, then you better be prepared to carry the reader with incredible writing all the way to the end of the story because if you use it up in the beginning, and it sags or wanes on the following pages, you’ve just created the sinker to drive that story into tedious mediocrity.
If I get jaw-dropping writing in the first chapter, I expect it to continue throughout the book. If I don’t, I’m perfectly content to either wait for it as the story develops or continue with or without interest depending on the story itself and how it’s ultimately composed. We all can agree there are some “ordinary” writers out here in literary land who won’t surprise us with their incredible prose, fantastic metaphors, or to-die-for characterizations, but they do a pretty bang-up job of telling a tale—enough to keep us turning the pages anyway.
The major hook is usually a necessity with thriller, mystery, or any kind of suspense novels. We need to be enveloped into the intrigue quickly, and with these genres we expect that intrigue to be sustained—intensely with thrillers and moderately within the other categories, depending on the story of course. If after a snappy opening, the story gears down instead of ratcheting up, we might not get amped up again until it’s too late to care. A writer sets a tone and if it’s hot and heavy from the start, he must be very careful how he gets the reader to relax through the course of the story because he risks lulling them into a snore.
The hook for a romance novel needn’t always be intense. Most romance readers are patient, waiting for their protagonists and/or heroines to emerge from good characterization. The conflict can be subtle or pronounced, but it doesn’t always have to be intense in the beginning. Good development of scene, scent, and savor—referring to the hero or heroine—requires certain attention to details. These details are far different for stories of romance than they are for stories of major mayhem. Nevertheless, the same premise applies: if you capture the heart of the reader in the first sentence, paragraph, and chapter, you better keep giving them palpitations throughout the story. Not always easy to do in a romance novel when a lot of character establishment consumes the words.
So, my conclusion? The hook and first lines should be enticing in their own unique ways, but if they’re too clever to maintain throughout the story, to be equaled in the following chapters, the result will be a “sinker” in the interest of a reader. Consistency throughout a story requires diligence. Almost all of us could write a sterling first line, paragraph and/or chapter but sustaining near perfect writing? Not so much. Find your voice, set your tone, write from who you truly are, maybe not who you perceive yourself to be . . .
Father, guide my words, my hopes, my writing, my heart. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
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I’m thankful for you.
God, thank you. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
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Resilient. That’s the word that comes to mind when I think of how God made me.
In spite of being prone to discouragement, I’m not a person who gets depressed.
I caused a lot of my own problems earlier in my life, and, yes, there were times which felt like they’d never recover, improve, or regain order or joy, but I bounced back because of the way God made me. Even when I didn’t know Him.
He implanted a kind of inner toughness which certainly didn’t manifest itself in physical strength although I handled rambunctious Thoroughbreds and worked on the track for many years.
Whatever positive qualities I might possess I owe to the Lord’s design. He alone gets any credit for the good in me. And the resilience He gave me.
Father, you have been so gracious to me. I am so thankful for your mercy when I don’t deserve it, your grace when I so desperately need it, and your love forever and always. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
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I’ve been a Christian for over 31 years. Wow. Since I came to know Jesus as an adult, readers will note I’m not young anymore. My brain might be stuck in my late 30s at times, but my body clearly has been advancing day by day with the calendar.
Many of you became Christians at early ages. Some of you grew up under the umbrella of a Christian family or the church. A few of you who did strayed wildly and then returned to the One who drew you back to Himself, or the other few of you walked in complacency until something or someone shocked you back into your spiritual reality.
Let me tell you a little of what I’ve observed along the way. Some Christians are as excited about the Lord as they are about going to work on Monday mornings. Some Christians secretly (or so they think) regret they’ve never experienced what the world has to offer so they make concessions in their walk in order to accommodate some of those desires. Some Christians perform their faith for others to see and maintain a legalistic approach to every aspect of their denomination, making it all about religion and little about relationship with Jesus. Some Christians arm themselves with a pseudo-grace in order to enable themselves and others to harbor sin and condone what they want to be okay in direct opposition to the gospel message. Some Christians manipulate the Scriptures to use them to pave the way for their hoped-for lifestyles. Some Christians have little knowledge of what the Bible really says about much of anything and choose to participate in the things they like in their respective churches, ignoring the rest of biblical truth.
What I’ve learned throughout the years can be summed up in I have no idea how big, how great, how unique, how perfect, how beyond what any man can say, describe, or articulate is God. Though He will not violate His word, He is not bound to man’s feeble interpretations of its parts. Yet there are undeniable and unmistakable necessities within His word which will not be compromised by man’s sinful desires to expand its meanings or promises. Jesus is the Way, the Truth, and the Life and no man comes to the Father except through Him. Period. Unmovable. God’s definition of sin will not be changed or deferred or manipulated.
Having participated in much of what the world offers, I can testify the results of that participation leave one empty. Maybe not for a season, but eventually the hollow rewards turn to dust and the effects cause a search for a deeper experience, one that will anchor a vapid soul to something other than a fake prop that crumbles under the weight of examination.
I only realize the longer I live the less I know, the more vital the Lord becomes to my well-being, the more unattainable the words to depict Him, the more heavily I press into Him, and the more powerful in Him I wish to become by leaning and depending on Him alone.
Lord God Almighty, please help me to do this. I’m desperate for you. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
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The CFBA Tour took a unique turn in its November selections by including self-published books. If I’m not mistaken, there were three of these novels listed and distributed to readers this month. As you know, I intentionally picked a Marcher Lord Press entry to assess and in my review gave the guys two thumbs up for an entertaining story and well done book. Today I’m going to tackle a no-frills novel written and published by Russ White titled Loss of Carrier.
I checked out Russ White’s website which offers little information about the author or the origin of this novel other than to say Russ has been a network engineer, evident by the geek-speak throughout this heavily tech-laden story. On a brief dedication page in the front of the book the author gives credit to his apparent editor, bringing me to the conclusion that the story was actually edited before being printed into book form. Before I begin the review, I’d like to say I appreciate the expense of sending out books to the CFBA readers. Even choosing media mail to transport several books indicates a willingness to invest in and market his book.
Let me remind you I know all about first novels, and those of you who follow this blog have read my commentary on how some of us without a lot of initial writing experience tend to produce that “first novel feel”, especially if we elect to self-publish our work. This is precisely how self-publishing got its bad name or the stigma that’s still attached to a self-published novel. Let’s face it, the enormously successful self-published The Shack did not sport the best writing, was one long sermon couched in mostly dialogue, but it struck a chord and attained huge success. In doing so it was the exception not the rule.
Loss of Carrier is a tech-babble story with several weak plot points and a somewhat emotionally fragile protagonist whose personal pain either seems too exaggerated at times or insufficiently explained to warrant his complete lack of trust issues. The copy-editing errors are numerous indicating inferior final proofing before printing unless this ARC was not the final version of the book. Combine those editing misses with occasional poor and extensive dialogue, some grammar issues, and a conflicted protagonist who can handle a gun but not a woman and you’ve got a first novel which smacks of amateurism. The repetition and over-explanations, identifications, and manipulations of computer networking might serve the geek readers well, but the average reader will skip over much of it in search of more plot revelations.
The protagonist Jess Wirth happens upon a murder in the basement of his workplace where all the servers and the cables keep his Opti-data workplace operational. Down there to fix a technical problem, he sees a bunch of the tiles disrupted which cover the massive series of cables and when he begins to return them to their proper positions, he finds one of his coworkers strangled in a mess of yellow cables. The police are called and the man’s death is ruled a suicide. Sometime later a cleaning woman is murdered in the facility and suddenly the police are paying attention to what Jess has thought all along: the first man’s death wasn’t a suicide. There’s an additional investigation going on behind the scenes coinciding with the murders and unknown to Jess involving an attractive woman who’s caught his attention.
The setting is there for a decent mystery, but this particular story is bogged down with exorbitant tech-babble, some silliness involving flower deliveries, the extreme overuse of the initials PWC, a too-talky, preachy romantic situation, weak plot points specifically concerning the suicide/murder conflict, and some needing-more-development characterizations. Precede this with a pointless prologue featuring the first dead man’s dying moments.
I don’t know Russ White’s writing experience, but he’ll improve dramatically from this effort if he studies the work of other writers in his chosen genre. Some people need the craft books to help their writing. Others need to read more novels and absorb the techniques of the good writers. Right now Loss of Carrier is a fairly typical example of a first-time self-published novel.
Father, you know Russ’s heart. You know what you have for him to do. Lord, I pray you would direct his steps and his stories. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
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Some became fools through their rebellious ways
and suffered affliction because of their iniquities.Psalm 107:17 (NIV)
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Harry Dawson was excited about the Tuesday meetings starting up soon. Although Pastor Ron wouldn’t be able to attend as regularly as he did last year, he’d assured Harry he would attend at least once a month for sure. Pastor Gary Austerand was good for at least two a month. Both Bob Jesson and Nick Corroway were returning, having made permanent arrangements at their jobs last year for this year. The racetrack ministry had become that important to them. Cee had already completed all the new signs, and Harry and Helen would be down Saturday morning to get them put up in the barn area. The Kensingtons were hosting the inaugural meeting in the Turf Club and providing all the food for that one. Most of the worship team from Jesus Is Lord Pentecostal Assembly were coming to perform with Cee for this first meeting. The one question mark was if Julia Kensington could hold off long enough before having her baby. Her due date was supposed to be the day after the first meeting.
“Helen, could you come here a minute?” Harry called into the kitchen from the living room.
“What is it, honey?” she asked as she came around the corner.
“Is there something going on in your spirit?”
“Funny you should ask.” Her voice was quiet..
“What’s going on?”
“That’s just it. I don’t know.”
“Me either. Is it good or bad?”
“I don’t even know that, Harry. I just feel stirred up inside. I don’t know what about, and I’m not going to guess.”
“I woke up the other night asking the Lord what this is all about. I told Him I’d do it whatever it is. He hasn’t told me a thing, but I know it’s coming.”
“I would agree.”WEDNESDAY
“Hey, Mike,” Hutch greeted him.
“Grady Hutchinson, this is my wife Sarah. She’ll be holding the first one for you. Call him ‘Hutch’, Sarah,” Michael remembered.
“Nice to meet you, Sarah.” Hutch shook her hand.
Sarah led the first one out. “This is Final Endeavor. She’s a 3 yr. old.”
“Wow, she’s a big, strong girl, huh?” He picked up her right front.
“Yeah. She’s a Kentucky-bred, and she’s got a lot of talent. Hopefully, the Lord will continue to bless her career. We were able to win two with her last year.
“Michael said you were from back east. Did you know Robert Sanders?”
“Yeah, great guy. Really like Robert.”
“He rode her and this other nice colt we had—he slabbed his knee, unfortunately.”
“Oh, man, that’s too bad.”
“Yeah, that was hard for us. That colt was our first stakes winner. Somehow the Lord got us through it. We were grateful for the experience and all, and he’s got a great life now.”
“You know, I was talking to Pete Keppler, the vet, the other day. He said somethin’ about Robert gettin’ married last year, and that he and his wife are Christians now. Is that what you are, too?”
Sarah smiled to herself. “Yeah. It was weird, Hutch. Within a very short period of time last year at this meet, a bunch of us met Jesus Christ. You know, Pete probably told you that Melissa, Robert’s wife, got hurt. Well, she was unconscious for a day or two, and she had this incredible experience that basically showed her what hell was like. Robert was already a Christian at that point but just barely. Anyway, she met Jesus in this experience, but the absolutely incredible thing was that later on in the meet this bug girl named Nancy West was in a terrible spill—the filly she was riding won the race and snapped her leg off right at the wire, fell on Nancy and a bunch of horses ran over her. She should have died. Nancy goes into a coma. Melissa goes to visit her fairly early on in the coma and spends time with her telling her about her own experience while she was unconscious. While she’s telling her, she feels this trace of a movement with Nancy’s finger when Melissa asks her a question, and Melissa knows she’s responding and that God’s going to heal her. Well, like Melissa, Nancy wasn’t saved when she went down. In fact, she was only just barely married to another rider named Rick Masterson. Anyway, she wakes up knowing Jesus Christ, too. I could tell you a bunch of incredible things that happened here last year. Real bona fide miracles. If you didn’t have the people around to verify them, you would never believe them. God was just amazingly present at The Willow last year.”
“I gotta admit it sounds a little strange.”.
“I know it does. Do you believe in God?”
“I don’t know. I guess I believe there’s gotta be somethin’ better than man.”
“Yeah, that’s where I was at exactly. Beyond that, I didn’t know what to think, I guess.”
“You serious?”
“Oh, yeah, absolutely.”
“Well, how did you get from there to here?”
“Are you sure you want to hear this story?”
Hutch laughed. “Hey, I’ve got three and a half feet left on this one. You’ve got a captive audience.”
Sarah laughed. “That’s the best kind. Seriously, though, there’s nothing I’d rather tell you about, but I don’t want you dreading coming to the Lawrence barn because ‘they’re just going to shove Jesus down my throat’.”
“Hey, one thing I will do,” Hutch said, standing up and turning to face her, gently draping his arm across the big filly’s back. “I’ll be honest with you. I’m not the greatest guy in the world, but I’m not going to lie to you. To tell you the truth, you’ve got me curious now. I mean, Robert Sanders is one of the few people in racing I’d come to admire—no offense by that either. And don’t get me wrong—I love the people—but, geez, some of them are just so dirty low down, and I just haven’t found a lot of ‘em to look up to, ya know?”
“I know exactly what you mean, and I agree 100%. Here’s my story.” Hutch returned to his foot as Sarah went all the way back to the reasons for her and Michael’s separation, led him through Harry and Helen’s wedding ceremony, the personal results of that, and all through the miraculous events of last year at The Willow up to their current conversation and why she knew it wasn’t a coincidence.
Inside one of the stalls as Michael groomed the last horse, he listened and prayed that Sarah’s words would have an impact on this horseshoer from far away who had been sent into their lives at this particular time. Soon it would be his turn to talk to him.
“Wow, you do nice work. Her feet look really good. She doesn’t hit the ground hard—just the opposite, really, but I bet she’ll appreciate that pad. That’s a new material, isn’t it?” Michael asked, viewing the finished product before Sarah put the filly away.
“Yeah. This old fella, retired horseshoer, lives in upstate New York. He’s got his own shop, and he’s always tryin’ to come up with new ways to make it easier on these horses. He actually had to manufacture this material. He knew what he had in mind, but he couldn’t get it right for a couple years. Combined materials and worked on their fabrication. Anyway, this is what he was striving for, and he’s got a patent on it. He tried it out on the bush tracks in the winter. Said it was phenomenal—that it’s exactly what he was searchin’ for. He actually gave me my first supply, then I bought a bunch before I came out here, and I can see I’m going to have to re-order already. Everybody wants to try ‘em out. So, we’ll see if it satisfies people out here.”
“I’ll get the 2 yr. old for you.”
“Hutch, it was great talking to you. Thanks for listening to my story.”
“Hey, it was my pleasure, and I appreciate you tellin’ me.”
“Michael, I’m going home after I set feed.”
“Okay. I won’t be too far behind.”
“You guys seem to work pretty good together,” Hutch observed as he started in on the colt’s foot.
“Yeah, for the most part, we do, but we have our moments. A whole lot less of them than we used to, that’s for sure.”
“My wife and I didn’t get much time to work together. I was always so busy shoein’.”
“Oh—is your wife here?”
“No. We got divorced just before I came out here. Actually, that’s why I came out here.”
“Wow, I’m really sorry to hear that, Hutch. You okay with it?”
“No, I’m not. I screwed up. Didn’t mean to but I should’ve known—should have seen it comin’. I don’t know. I get so danged wrapped up in my work—it’s like that’s all there is. The hours slip away. The people keep demandin’ more time. Ahh, hell, there’s no excuse. I screwed up.”
“Tell me about it. Man, I came so close to losin’ my wife it scares me. She’s the only woman I’ve ever loved, you know?”
“Yeah, I do know. Same with me. Only I wasn’t so lucky.”
“Any kids involved?”
“No, fortunately, but we were contemplatin’. Man, I just really blew it.”
Michael could hear the deep regret in the shoer’s voice. He empathized, too. He remembered that feeling just like it had happened yesterday.
“Any chance she might reconsider?”
“Not her. She was dead set on it. Mostly I think because she didn’t believe me. I was a jerk before I met her. Really chased the ladies. Well, I was shoein’ for this one gal, and this strange incident happened—like I said, I should’ve seen it comin’. Anyway, my wife saw just enough to assume the worst, and I don’t blame her for that. But the truth is I didn’t do anything—I just allowed myself to get caught in a compromising situation. I woulda thought the same thing if it had been her instead of me. I can’t blame her, but I didn’t lie to her. I guess under the circumstances the truth seemed stranger than the lie. It was ugly. So, here I am in Washington. Seems like a lifetime away. Sometimes it doesn’t even feel like it’s me here.”
“I can relate to that, man.”
Michael listened as Hutch began to express some of his pain and regret. Occasionally, he’d ask the shoer a question, but mostly he just let him talk. When he was done with the colt, Michael asked him if he’d like to come over for dinner sometime.
“Sarah’s a good cook, and we love to have people over.”
“That’d be alright. It really would. You need me tomorrow, right? We got two more then?”
“Yeah, if you could. Is the same time okay?”
“You bet. I’ll be here. And thanks for listenin’,” Hutch said, his embarrassment apparent.
“That’s easy, Hutch. See ya tomorrow.”(cont. For His Glory; sequel to Hope Of Glory)
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. . . is what you like. None of us should have to apologize for what we like to read. Well . . . most of us anyway. Yes, we can indulge ourselves in guilty pleasures and admit the folly of our ways to our friends and fellow readers with all the pat and reasonable excuses for wasting our time with such novels. Or we can refuse to be ashamed of anything we read and dare anyone we tell to give us a raised eyebrow or a condescending smirk.
My guilty pleasure has been reduced to romance novels, which is very strange to regard them as such since I write them. However, my romance novels don’t fall into category romance, and I’m not sure I read many of those anymore. And, really, I don’t feel guilty for anything I read. Perhaps it would be more understandable to admit my new guilty pleasures are Vince Flynn’s books, but I’ve only read his latest and enjoyed it very much. No, I didn’t enjoy the f-bombs, but the story was a thrill, dynamic, patriotic, and entertaining. So there.
Within the genres I read I love variety—in everything. Voice, style, POVs, you name it. I applaud creativity and daring. I’m a rule breaker and when it’s done well, hurray for the author.
This leads me to a conflict I seem to have with certain editors. Not all by any stretch. Just the comments of a few indicate they adhere to their rules and assume their opinions of writing are irrefutable. Unbending. Their explanations for their opinions make sense of course, but their insistence that other methods are inferior just rubs me the wrong way.
So many different stories and approaches to writing them out there . . . So many opinions of what’s good and what isn’t. Variety is necessary. Formulaic is not attractive. I celebrate the differences in writers. If I don’t care for a novel, it doesn’t mean someone else won’t love it. After all, you like what you like. That’s all there is to it.
Father, help us to not pick each other apart. To be fair. To be kind. To be honest. I’m desperate for you, Lord. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
