For all you "seasoned" citizens, we've been there, done that, thought that. Memories . . .
Father, thank you for all the talent and gifts you so benevolently give. May each one know from whom their talent comes. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
Into the Fire
Passionate thoughts about the world of writing and the Power of God
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I'm currently reading a novel which shall remain nameless at the present time because it is filled with all kinds of mistakes. Okay, you say. So who is this inept author? A bestselling novelist, writer of multiple series in the mystery/thriller genre.
Here's the thing. With so much personal success, does it matter enough to stick to a high standard of publication?
Does this author (or conglomerate of authors) care enough to use an editor, a proofreader, a beta reader, or any of the safeguards generally used before publishing? Because if this book is indicative of self-editing, it's a major failure in that department. Overused phrases appearing very close to each other. Descriptions "borrowed" from previous novels in the series whose storylines are too similar to this one. Words left out of sentences. Habits previously attached to one character show up in another character doing it when they never have before. And, frankly, the list goes on.
Believe it or not, as an author, I'm capable of overlooking some errors. No publishing professional is perfect, and mistakes do get overlooked. But this? This looks like a first draft which no one felt needed to be reread.
Father, I know this: apart from you, I can do nothing. Help me to be the one you designed me to be, to give it all my best. Thank you is never enough. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
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The Lord is the everlasting God,
the Creator of the ends of the earth.
He will not grow tired or weary,
and His understanding no one can fathom.
Isaiah 40:28 (NIV)
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Chapter One from my novel Race:
Race
MONDAY
One
It was hard to say what witnesses noticed first—the shrill piercing screams or the nearly naked young woman uttering them. Apparently she woke up next to a dead boyfriend, both of them allegedly passed out from too much alcohol consumption. The designated “sleeping” tack rooms at the track were located at the end of the long shedrows. Though not large this couple’s was tidy with a few creature comforts such as the mounted flat screen, a queen-size bed, a sturdy and colorful throw rug, a small locked black metal file box, and what looked like a well-preserved near-antique chest of drawers with a pole rigged above it to hang clothes on.
When I arrived at the scene at 3:30 AM, Carmella Ortiz stood barefoot on the dirt in the shedrow, now clad in the couple’s bedspread concealing her apparently barely there lingerie. She spoke fast with intermittent tears and a hint of a Latino accent. Her story was she’d gone over to her sister’s place for some girls’ night-out event and proceeded to get too drunk to drive back, so her sister dropped her off at one of the racetrack gates, and after she staggered into the tack room, she passed out. When I spoke to her I asked if Mr. Wonderful was present at the time, she said she thought so but couldn’t really remember. Must’ve been some girls’ night-out. Easy to verify.
After speaking with the young woman, I took a few moments to survey the group huddling behind the tape and to inhale the familiar fragrant aroma of horses, listening to the whooshes of their nostrils, some of them pawing their hard rubber mats at the fronts of stalls wondering what all the commotion was about. Brought back memories of high school summers spent working at the track, of underage drinking and girls who liked taking their clothes off, guys who loved it when they did. Funny how some things never change.
Next I needed to ascertain Mr. Wonderful’s whereabouts the previous night and wait for the determination of cause of death. Turned out his name was Roman Diego, the assistant trainer for Walter Casey who was kind of a local big-shot, perennially in the top five leading trainers. Lying on his right side at the edge of the bed, Roman’s only clothing was the beige sheet covering his manhood, no blood anywhere, and it looked like he fell asleep—or passed out—and never woke up. Long dark wavy hair obscured his face, but his torso and left arm bent at the elbow and resting on the mattress were well-muscled which made me think he probably exercised the Thoroughbreds at his barn.
The crime scene tape forbade entrance to the immediate area which would surely annoy the people who had to work at this end of the barn and live in the neighboring tack rooms, not to mention spook a few Thoroughbreds with its unfamiliar yellow color flapping in the cool breeze.
Death always presents an inconvenience.
Father, thank you for all the help on this one, for giving me what I needed to get it done. Thank you is never enough. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
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Anyone remember this summer replacement series that CBS kept switching the nights it was on? Reckless (2014) only lasted one season. It was incredibly cast, superbly written episodes, terrifically well-acted, and ended on a cliffhanger. So angry that it didn't become a regular.
Lord, you've dispersed talents and gifts. May each one realize from whom their talent comes. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
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I do judge books by their covers frequently but not by their first lines. As far as I know, there's no hard rule concerning those first lines. Of course we want to make them intriguing, but sometimes it's not really necessary, is it? Do you have favorite first lines of novels you've read? If you do, please share them in the comments.
Here are my novels' first lines.
WIP
She showed up with a bewildered look on her face, having braved the tree-shrouded gravel drive to the isolated cabin I occupied on my heavily forested 30 acres.
"What the hell?"
The first time he looked over the half-empty pitchers of beer on the oblong rough-hewn table and past the cheeky smiles and loud laughs of the men seated there, he caught a glimpse of her pulling the tap lever while smiling across the counter at a kid he’d swear was under 21.
I was 8 years old when I saw Jesus Christ in the flesh.
It was hard to say what witnesses noticed first—the shrill piercing screams or the nearly naked young woman uttering them.
She could make smoking a cigarette look elegant, seductive . . . and dangerous even.
Now he wondered why he thought this would be a good idea as he stepped onto the first of five stairs that led up to the front door.
Claudia Madelyn Rutheford hated her name.
Attending this funeral on Easter Sunday seemed especially sad to me — but fitting, nevertheless.
Hope of Glory
The colors were awakening beneath a sky filled with the intensity of a striking sunrise.
The Fixer (unpublished)
The rain assaulted the trees, the gutters, the double-pane windows, hard and cold, leaving even the midday seeming like the darkness of evening.
Wounds . . . and Healings (unpublished)
Faith Daniels looked up as the tiny bell over the door tinkled quietly.
Father, you are the Author of Life, every good and perfect gift comes from you, and we are all desperate for you whether we know it or not. Thank you is never enough. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
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This man is a master of music, mood, and smooth jazz. Love his music.
Father, please bless Brian for the beauty he creates with your talents and gifts. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
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Dark Waters by J.B. Turner is Book 2 in A Deborah Jones Thriller Series.
Deborah Jones is back at it when her journalist spirit is intrigued by the anonymous call she receives from a young hacker (John Hudson). The action that follows that call starts her on another investigation which will result in several deaths – and nearly her own. John Hudson is her boss's and boyfriend (Sam Goldberg) godson.
In this second novel in the post-9/11 series, the "Conspiracy Theory" regarding the setup of 9-11 is validated by the discovery of the missing 28 pages of a report. No one in the CIA wants any of this report to become public knowledge, meaning whoever ultimately is in charge of all of "it" will do anything to silence those researching it and those who have the information and aren't willing to keep quiet any longer.
As the body count begins, the serious warnings follow. This story is NOT to be published and Sam's boss is pressing hard. Deborah can work on it at home, but she's unaware of how compromised her home has become. Her contacts in this investigation impress upon her that neither she nor they are safe.
As is often the case – certainly visible in the present day – the lust for power slash money governs these wicked hearts who desire to control/rule the world. Eliminating obstacles – people, namely – comes with the territory and they use a former soldier (Nathan Stone) who they've molded with MKUltra techniques and drugs, using his mentally ill sister as leverage to manipulate him to do their bidding.
For many characters in this story, their past or present sins are used as formidable blackmail agents to engineer the results desired by this cagey cabal.
Probably more realistic than many readers might want to believe, Turner captures the essence of the current and past CIA and the corrupted leanings of the alphabet agencies.
(Profanity present.)
Father, since the Fall of man, the lust for all kinds of sin has existed on earth. You are the only reason we're still around to depict it. Thank you for rescuing me. Apart from you, I can do nothing. Please bless J.B. and help him to write the stories you have for him to tell. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
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Jesus said to her, "I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?" John 11:25-26 (NIV)
Jesus answered, "I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me." John 14:6 (NIV)
HAPPY RESURRECTION DAY.
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J.B. Turner's Miami Requiem is Book 1 in A Deborah Jones Thriller Series.
The murder of Senator O'Neill's only son (Joe) by a man named William Craig has Craig days from being put to death in the Raiford Jail.
William Craig is now an old man, but his case is being investigated by Deborah Jones, a rookie reporter in the "Features" department of the Miami Herald newspaper. What she learns puts her in grave danger and rehashes all of her very personal reasons for wanting a reprieve for William Craig.
Turns out the Senator had been carefully concealing the crimes of his son from the start with the help of a lifetime friend of his family who has financially built the Senator's career. Headed for re-election, he is overwhelmed with the underlying facts of the Herald's investigative reporter, and the execution date of William Craig can't come fast enough. The problem is the story is gaining ground and the young reporter is determined to see all the layers of corruption surrounding the Senator and the trial of the old Scottish war hero, having won the Victoria Cross, exposed along with the lurid and repeated horrors of the crimes Joe O'Neill committed.
Her boss and managing editor, widower Sam Goldberg, is thoroughly impressed with her work but has become very protective of her when he realizes the danger she's facing. He wants to reassign her, but she digs her heels in and insists this is her story.
Danger hits hard, but so does help from more than one unlikely source.
The story moves in twists and turns introducing new characters both good and bad and those who've been victimized, paid off, paid for, and every other means to silence them, but with the heroics of Deborah Jones, they're inspired to be forthright with one of those unlikely and surprising sources providing the much-needed proof to nail the evildoers.
It's a good story, set back in the post-9/11 era with the filth of politics and prejudice evident throughout.
(Some profanity.)
Father, I've said it a thousand times, only you know hearts and minds. Thank you for writers and authors and may each one know from whom their amazing talents come. Please keep inspiring them to tell the stories you have just for them to tell. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
Into the Fire 