Into the Fire

If left to my own discretion, I wouldn’t have picked up this novel by Jenny B. Jones. The title is okay (and just okay), but the cover alludes to a bit of chick lit and vapid romance. It was substituted for a novel I ordered for the CFBA Tour in place of the new release from Susan Meissner which wasn’t ready for the tour. Most of you know I’m a die-hard romantic, but my romance readings require more than the “average” romance novel offers, so admittedly romance novels took a back seat—like at the very rear of a stretch limo—to thriller, horror, mystery, and romantic suspense this past year. The reason for those choices? The previous listed genres were written better for the most part. The exceptions were just that: exceptional. Such as Lisa Samson’s The Passion of Mary-Margaret and C. M. Burney’s Zora and Nicky to name two outstanding romance novels which were so much more than just romance but not adequately described by the tag “Women’s Fiction”.

So, if I had passed on Just Between You and Me, I would’ve missed out on a very good story. Yes, it was predictable, angsty romance, but the clever wit of Jenny B. Jones visited upon her heroine, Maggie Montgomery, along with the gut-level conflict based on the character’s painful upbringing pushed the story past its innate obstacles for me. We’re probably all tired of the “dysfunctional” label attached to families because the Lord knows we all qualify in some capacity. Dysfunctional isn’t quite extreme enough in defining the family matters of Maggie Montgomery. She did her best to leave behind the tormenting memories of her mother’s drowning, her sister’s hatred of her, and her dad’s indifference coupled with his incendiary verbal abuse, when she left small-town Ivy, Texas, to travel the world as a talented cinematographer and producer of a cable travel show. So when her dad calls desperately seeking her return home to help him with her niece because of her sister’s drug-induced abandoning habits, she succumbs because of guilt rather than desire.

Of course she doesn’t plan to stay and of course those plans go awry. But the experience Maggie must endure physically, emotionally, and spiritually to change the direction of her life go beyond the compulsive stressful consumption of candy, Twinkies, and those little chocolate donuts, the absolute ineptitude of her cooking skills, the necessity of wearing her pushup bras, and suffering the remnants of nearly everyone’s recollections of her either wild or snobbish stunts in high school.

She’s as flippant as her niece is rebellious, and both the internal and external dialogue makes for some very entertaining reading. Maggie’s one year old faith experience with the Lord is not enough to subdue the fears which keep erupting in different situations, sending her control issues scrambling for a new hold on a shifting reality and adding another area of potential inadequacy to her ever-expanding journal of life in Ivy, Texas.

With a heart for the suffering of children she’s witnessed, Maggie continues her editing of worldwide compilations of tragic recordings for a future documentary. But nobody wants it. Except her. More than anything she’s ever done.

A good story with clever, efficient, sad, but immensely humorous writing at times, Jenny B. Jones makes what could have been a typical romance novel something very special. I think the novel will appeal to a fairly broad (no pun intended) age bracket of female readership, but I’d probably zero in on the 20 to 40 range. There’s some good romance in this meaningful story, and we all know where it’s going, but it’s fun getting there just the same. A quick good read.

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0373442726

Father, you know the investment Jenny makes into her work. You know her heart. You know the things you have for her to do. I pray you would continue to direct her paths, making them straight and providing encouragement all along the way. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Susan Meissner in The Shape of Mercy (Waterbrook Press), Tom Morrisey in Pirate Hunter (Bethany House), and now Athol Dickson in Lost Mission (Howard Books) each elected to do a historical/contemporary novel where the story vacillates between the past and present. All very good writers and researchers, it’s no surprise that their publishers stepped up to publish their stories.

Since there is “nothing new under the sun”, we know this has been done multiple times before these authors decided to take this approach to their tales. This method opens a potential for expanding their readers, although I’d have to say with these particular authors, they have devoted fans of their work who consistently recommend them to others. In other words their regular readers will most likely read whatever they write.

However, most readers aren’t as rigid as this one in defining their genres. It’s a rare time indeed when I concede to read an historical novel. So mixing the contemporary with the historical might broaden the attraction for me since without the contemporary I’m less likely to pursue the novel. But then when these three authors present a new release, I’ll be there unless they resort to the pure historical.

Trends? Hard to predict or even prove. Three different houses released these similarly styled novels within a year of each other. Another possible trend in recent years is the number of novels written from the first person POV. When an author decides to use this POV, they must have an interesting protagonist with an enticing voice. I never used to like first person, but I don’t think I’d be reading very many novels of late if I hadn’t acquired a taste for it. After reading a number of stories in the first person POV, I wrote one novel using it as the primary voice.

In the last few years thrillers gained great ground in CBA publishing from Robert Liparulo’s novels along with a touch of horror showing up in Mike Dellosso’s, Travis Thrasher’s, and then Steven James’ novels falling somewhere in between thriller and horror.

What, if any, trends do you see?

Father, continue to give your appointed writers the kinds of stories and styles you designed for each of them. Help all of us who write to receive from you first and above all others. In the Name of Jesus, Amen

Labor Day is here again. One day of the year set aside to honor the objective of labor—or work as we have come to know it. Many people work on Labor Day. Mostly retail and food businesses and racetrackers . . .

While labor unions strive to gain more days off with higher wages for their members, they often fail to take into consideration that something for nothing rarely works out well for anyone.

Since work comprises a large portion of most people’s lives, it’s a good thing to pursue a job you can enjoy.

I wonder why some folks think that other people should work to provide for them while they do nothing but sponge off the government. I’m not talking about those folks who are unable to work. I’m talking about those who continually seek entitlements but contribute nothing to the work force, economy, or other people.

One of the best things about working is being able to pay one’s own way. It generates a source of gratitude to labor, to produce, to present, to purchase, to be dependable, and to please God by giving honest effort and being generous.

Enjoy your labor . . . whether it’s at home, at an office, in the great outdoors, wherever. And thank God you are able to earn your way in a wayward world.

Father, thank you for all those years of labor. I’m grateful I was physically able to work hard and long. I owe it all to you. You sustained me, and I’m thankful for it all. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

I want you to know, brothers, that the gospel I preached is not something that man made up. I did not receive it from any man, nor was I taught it; rather, I received it by revelation from Jesus Christ.

Galatians 1:11-12 (NIV)

. . . isn’t always right. And what feels wrong is sometimes right. And how do we determine the difference? If you’re an emotional person like me, it’s impossible to take that emotion out of the circumstance unless you have virtually no opinion on a matter. In certain instances it can be subdued, but rarely eliminated. Things that don’t matter a whole lot to me take much less to assess, and if I have zero knowledge of the particular incident, I don’t even try to involve myself in an “opinion”.

Objectivity doesn’t exist in my world. And if the truth be known, I doubt it exists much in others’ worlds either. We favor one way or another unless we flat don’t care about something. The problem is sometimes we favor the wrong thing and the reasons for that usually involve the flesh in some capacity. And no one knows better than the Lord of heaven and earth when the flesh is involved and how any shade of objectivity disappears within the darkness of the matter.

Every Christian learns fairly early on that “feelings” can’t be trusted. They also learn that feelings can’t be instantly ejected to some compartmental trash can in the brain either. Yes, some people are far less emotional than others and practice the discipline of keeping said emotions in check. However, other than those in Special Forces I can’t imagine there isn’t something that will toss that control right out the window of the soul if pressed or targeted with the right/wrong trigger or alarm. Although I’ve met one or two people whose control issues bordered on sociopathic . . . never mind.

I’m going to take a large leap here into the writing world and see if I land on anything. Do right and wrong feelings hold a place in the biz? How ‘bout objectivity where subjectivity reigns? Some individuals write as a business. They pour themselves into it, and it is their passion. But somehow, either through their experience or because of their temperament, they have seized upon the mindset of maintaining it as a business. It’s their day job. And their night job. And their everything job. They make a living at it, and they know how the game is played. They do get occasional rejections on proposals, but they secure more acceptances. These particular authors study craft, style, genre, and have an established voice which varies little over the years. I would venture to say that “feelings” for the most part have very little to do with their practices and successes, but that’s not to say they don’t carry any emotion about their individual stories. I could name names here, but I don’t think I will.

As far as my own writing goes, I cannot be objective past saying I’m not the best writer in the world but neither am I the worst. I can say I do character development and dialogue pretty well, and those seem to be my strengths. I have an original voice, but who can predict who will like it and who won’t? Subjectively, I love the stories, and I’m invested in the characters, knowing some of them as unique and dynamic. I “feel” like my novels have something to offer particular readers. And I don’t think that’s wrong.

I know it’s not wrong to market one’s books, but I have yet to find the right tools which don’t “feel” wrong for me.

In the beginning of this post I was speaking of more important matters. But either way the spiritual side of discernment and decision making must always take the forefront. Without engaging the spiritual in every process of life, the carnal ways overcome what’s right and make it wrong . . . even when it feels right.

Lord God Almighty, I need to think, speak, and do what the Spirit directs. Help me to do just those things that are pleasing to you. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Well, I just put together some questions for a future interview with one of my favorite authors. So one of these days, you’ll get treated to the thoughts of this gifted novelist.

I refrained from picking up a novel out of my TBR pile today while I wait for the one that’s coming for review. It wasn’t easy. We’ll see what happens tomorrow. I watched two re-runs of “Bones” instead. I’d only seen them twice before. Geez.

Chilly morning but beautiful afternoon. The air felt like summer once the sun appeared.

Hey, I’m obviously tapped out this evening. So I won’t bore you anymore.

Father, you are the Author of Life. Thank God. I love you, Jesus. Speak to me, Holy Spirit. I need you. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

. . . I could delve into my TBR pile, I accepted another book to read and review. I’ve got two novels waiting in the cue for their reviews to be posted, and up until today I was caught up. But, hey, when Hachette Book Group’s perky publicist emailed me with an opportunity to take on Windblown Media’s new edition entitled Bo’s Café, I couldn’t resist for a number of reasons.

You remember Windblown Media, right? The publishers of The Shack? Is it coming back to you now? Hachette Book Group made a deal with Windblown Media after acquiring The Shack. Rumor has it they paid a bundle to allow Windblown to publish a few books a year. I don’t know the particulars of how they actually did the deal, but I do know they weren’t the only group vying to gain control of the blockbuster The Shack.

Another point of interest: three authors are listed on the book’s enticing cover. Here are their rap sheets or creds, if you prefer.

Bruce McNicol is president of Leadership Catalyst, Inc. and an international speaker and consultant. He holds a master’s in theology and a doctorate in organizational and leadership development. Previously he served for ten years as president of the international church planting organization Interest Associates.

Bill Thrall serves as vice-chair of Leadership Catalyst, mentor, and coauthor of the bestselling TrueFaced resources (www.truefaced.com), The Ascent of a Leader, and Beyond Your Best.

John Lynch is a national conference speaker and writer for LCI, holds a master’s of theology from Talbot Seminary, and has twenty years’ experience as a teaching pastor of Open Door Fellowship. He’s also cofounder and playwright of a theater troupe in Phoenix.

The third reason I accepted this novel is because the excerpt I read wasn’t bad. So we’ll see how it turns out. Can’t help but wonder what kind of theology we’ll encounter in this novel since some of The Shack’s questionable concepts created such a stir . . .

Hmm. I have a few days until it gets here. Should I squeeze one in?

Lord, I love you. Watch over us. Direct my steps. I’m desperate for you. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

There are those who embrace change and hunger for a new adventure. Adventure appeals to me as long as hot water, electricity, and a flush toilet are involved. Change for the sake of change has never been my forte. However, change has been in the wind around here for some time, but it’s currently in the not available mode, confounding us with its teasing ways.

No, I know God isn’t teasing us. We’re in preparation for whatever’s next. Whenever that is. Yes, I know about the waiting game. And patience. And all that. Never been any good at them. In fact, it’s a genetic deficiency in my family to enjoy waiting. For anything. At all.

Everything right now feels non-permanent. We’ve lived in our home for almost 25 years. Loved it here. Until development encircled our little enclave and turned rural to urban. Not good for us and our horses. Our city has confounded every contract we’ve had with developers and meetings which went on for six long months came to a disappointing halt when said city voted to override every plea we and our neighbors made to them. The Mayor is promising it will work out. The developer has taken a hike until he’s convinced the Mayor’s promises are for real, and we are victims for the THIRD time of the city’s politics. Three voided contracts.

There are also some bizarre and sorrowful things going on in some of our family’s dynamic. Totally unpredictable and so out of character. Whacked for sure. And sad.

We enjoy our current church but have not plugged in like we usually do. Because it seems temporary. It’s that indefinable undercurrent one gets used to from the Spirit of God. The waiting is difficult because only ideas dangle in the distance.

In this process sometimes I look at writers and writing and shudder. Strange thing to do. It’s just that it all seems so insignificant at times. I concede it’s not, but the vanity which seeps into the profession appears more like slimy mud than confident marketing. How many times do we have to shout out about our latest projects? What about when people break and emotions blast apart like shattered shards of crystal slammed against boulders? How many novels do you read when your heart crushes against the weight of trauma? Perhaps you resort to non-fiction and bury your confusion in self-help tomes? Searching desperately for something to ease the gnawing ache in your gut or appease the blame?

Life is a beautiful thing, but it’s also cruel at times. Wicked. Ugly. Mean. The only constant is God doesn’t change. He doesn’t tell us one thing and do another. His vows get done and remain permanent while people crumble promises like the topping on a Dutch Apple Pie.

Writing can be a release. Words come out profound. Meaningful books are made. So many of us take the credit for all the hard work, perseverance, efforts. We just don’t get that it’s God. All the way. His abilities manifested in us. Allowed in us. Why must we seize the credit, snatch it away from Him? We’re an instrument He chooses to design and incorporate into His magnificent story.

Sometimes we just get carried away with ourselves.

So . . . this is the way my mind wanders this time.

Father, you are the answer. The total, all consuming answer. To all things. Work in me what is pleasing to you. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

I wonder what that means. I mean really. South like to Antarctica? South like to Arkansas? Or south like all the way to hell?

Walk the Christian walk long enough, and things go south. Tragedy, crisis, fear, mistakes, all kinds of unholy hellish ways pop up like ducks in a shooting gallery. Seem to happen when you least expect them, too.

When the world throws the curves, we get it. Okay. We expect chaos from those who don’t know Jesus. The viewpoint is skewed, tainted by whatever sinful mode an individual looks through in their darkened virtual reality.

But when a solid Christian goes way over the edge, when the about-face kicks us directly in the teeth, we tend to lose our footing. Reeling in the aftermath. Choking down the odd sensations before the gut absorbs the tautness of the blow and regurgitates our most recent meal. What the . . .? Hell.

The behavior comes directly from hell. And we stand with our mouths limp, our voices stunted, our wind knocked out of us, leaving us gasping as we try to gain oxygen.

People can lose their faith when these things happen. Some rage at God for allowing them. Some just rage. Some refuse to acknowledge that God is good in the middle of horror. And others wonder if He is who He says He is—but not out loud.

Deception slithers like a silent snake waiting for the minimal opening to suck us into his venomous fangs. Will we believe his cunning ways and succumb to his clever schemes? It’s possible. None of us are immune from the serpent’s evil. After all, our bloodlust runs in our veins. Known as sin. The flesh covets it, desires it. Will we follow that snake?

What are you doing to protect yourself? Praying structured prayers? Praying period? Doing faithful devotions? Attending church regularly? Leading a Bible study? None are guarantees to be effective. Sin finds its way wandering through our neural pathways, lighting up synapses, delivering sensations which appeal to our bodies. Oh, the mind is a powerful thing. Arguing with Truth, justifying evil, rationalizing wrong.

If you are diligently serving the Lord, if you love Him with your whole heart, watch out. Be careful. Listen to His voice. Be sure of the Truth that brought you out of the kingdom of darkness. Stay steady in His grip. Fight off the temptations. Apart from Jesus, you can do nothing.

Except return to the flesh . . . the evil and corrupted flesh. And go south.

Father, help us to stay in you. Lord, don’t let us stray. We are desperate for you. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

For the kingdom of God is not a matter of talk but of power.

I Corinthians 4:20 (NIV)