Into the Fire

Many of us have things in our past we don’t want the world to know. Some of us even have things in our present we don’t want the world to know. I’m not talking about losing our temper and yelling at our children or using a cuss word at the outer limits of our patience or being so frustrated in traffic that we returned the middle finger salute after receiving the gesture.

I’m talking about the ugliest and most personal of offenses—those things we’d rather forget ever existed in our lives. For Christians we can take solace in the Blood of the Lamb if we were directly responsible for the particular circumstances because we are cleansed by its purifying power. However, the memories still often sting or remind or torture us with the fact(s) that we committed certain acts and cannot deny they were once a part of who we were at the time.

This does not refer to those victims of heinous acts committed against some such as sexual abuse, rape, incest, physical or emotional abuse—any of those things which victimized and destroyed lives, leaving permanent scars. The only healing for those is through the love and mercy of the Lord Jesus Christ, and those victims of such things frequently seek His grace to go on throughout their lifetimes.

No. I’m referring to our own messes. Those things we have done either purposefully or spontaneously which have netted ugly results and remain a nagging reminder of what we could be since we once were.

I spent 30 years of my life without Jesus Christ. Some of you can’t imagine or remember life without Jesus. If we compared notes of our worst moments, you might be stunned at mine, and I might laugh at what you regarded as “bad”. I’m aware that sin is sin. There isn’t a rating for offenses. One act of disobedience constitutes sin. We’re all born into corruption. Some of us just stretch the boundaries of that farther than others.

Unlike some, I wanted to be “good”, but the extenuating circumstances of not knowing what I lacked in a relationship with the Savior led me down the wrong path, slowly but surely. It’s hard to believe at times some of the things I did because in my heart they were so contrary to who I really was. The thing is . . . being “good” didn’t make me happy so maybe being “bad” would. Honestly, nothing did. “Happy” was elusive. That’s not to say I didn’t have some fun being bad. But it was fleeting. And the regrets piled up so high, it seemed they’d never be overcome.

Those parts of my life directly affect my writing. They are seen in characters, captured in situations, noted in conduct. They are fully exposed although incognito, written into novels and contained in composites of people, places, and things I have known or experienced. If I failed to use them in some way, all they would remain are markers of sinful activities which suited no purpose other than to mess up the lives involved. By including them in stories, perhaps they might ring true for someone else who lives “bad” but desires “good”. Just maybe God can use them to turn someone away from the emptiness of being lost.

Suffice it to say: I won’t be running for office. I’d have too much upfront confessing to cover before they could dig it up, you know?

Father, your forgiveness is superior to all sin. How can that be? I love you, Lord. I’m desperate for you. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Everyday we witness or hear of extremes. Some sports are even called “Extreme” this or that. Sometimes we are “extremely” something whether it’s good, bad, sad, or mad. Or whatever.

Here’s the thing: sometimes we’ve got to make a decision. Pick a place to stand up, stand out, or stand for something. Commit to a target issue. Speak the truth, don’t forget the love. The thing about “love” is that it often includes chastisement, discipline, even punishment. Check out Hebrews, Chapter 12, if you don’t believe me.

Christians are supposed to be careful about what they say, but it seems some would require us to be mum on those things we don’t like. I think we need to be careful how we express our dislike for something, but there are times when those expressions can be useful, necessary, humorous, or meaningful.

If we choose to write, some people aren’t going to like our “stuff”, and they’re going to say so. I’m a total wuss when it comes to criticism. Fall apart like a two dollar watch, to sound cliché. However, if someone is kind enough to point out that they aren’t the target audience for my writing style, it softens the blow. A little. Well, maybe not at all. But, hey, I do know that my writing is definitely not for everyone, and I’d much rather not have somebody read my work than to read it and not like it. That’s me.

I’m one of those readers who will labor through a novel even when I don’t like it because I will give the author every possible chance to prove their book is worth my time. Normally I don’t discuss those novels I don’t like. I’ve explained to you when and why I break that general rule.

A publicist once asked me if I wouldn’t mind reviewing a novel or two on my blog. I picked one that sounded interesting but asked about what to do if I didn’t like it. Did the publisher still want a review? The answer was a definite yes. An editor I know told me that criticism was good—there should be more of it.

So should we or shouldn’t we? It’s your choice.

Father, obedience is key. Help us to be honest without being hurtful. Help us to do what you ask of us. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Use them wisely. Mark Harbeson can tell you that even when you’re trying to be funny, sometimes it backfires. You mean no harm, but someone decides you’re being unkind, rude, mocking, or judgmental. You as a writer in this blogosphere might have been all of those but in reality you were pointing those words at yourself, not at others. Poof! Someone’s incensed, hurt, bothered, or outraged. Just like that. With only a few words.

Clarity with words: we writers are charged with that responsibility. The desire and ability to communicate purpose, emotions, feelings, intent, analysis, criticism, spiritual matters, insightful conclusions, personal revelations—any of it, all of it—becomes our duty to display, to say, to write, to communicate through story or fact-filled rhetoric. It’s what we do. And don’t do.

Words can burn up a screen, subdue a predator, convince an opponent, or woo a woman. Whatever we want them to do, we labor to make them perform in conjunction with our purpose for selecting them and their purpose to deliver the meaning of our efforts.

But words are fickle little monsters. They move and shift in people’s minds and can wind up turning against us with misinterpretations of our use of them. They gleefully display their chameleon tendencies when someone else decides we wrote something we didn’t mean to say. In fact we’re darn sure we didn’t even come close to their conclusions. No matter. We’ve done it now! And then we proceed to dig our way out of this mountain of youknowwhat because of those stinkin’ little words getting all twisted up in someone’s craw.

Unavoidable sometimes. Unpleasant most of the time.

The tools of our trade rise up and smack us, like getting hit with the backside of a shovel. It takes a minute to recover from the shock and then more than a few to allow the pain to pass. How did that happen?!

If you blog long enough, and if you venture into any kind of literary, political, spiritual, or let’s face it general opinion topics: Look Out! Words forget their place sometimes. They are designated to serve the writer, but oh how they love to tease the reader while causing said writer all kinds of discomfort, apology, grief, regret, or contrition.

Yet, we can’t escape them. We must press on with them, trying to form an alliance with them, sometimes wanting to beat them into submission, other times willing to sweet talk the little varmints into perfect expression. All the while they know how much control they have over us and over our readers. They sneer and snicker at our perplexity with them. And, as it turns out, we are usually the ones beaten into submission by their wicked cackling and assumed threats.

Those haunting, daunting, flaunting, taunting words . . . Use them wisely.

Or they’ll getcha!

Lord, help me to communicate what you’ve given me to write, to say, to know in my heart. I love you, Lord. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

The first book I read by Travis Thrasher was Isolation reviewed here for the CFBA Tour. From what I understand Isolation was Travis’s first attempt at horror. Ghostwriter follows in the same genre and I’d say Travis has found his niche. I have one of his earlier novels in my TBR pile.

Ghostwriter is written in every point of view known to authors, and may I say it is done well. While editors can be sticklers about kinds of and shifting POVs and where they’re used, Travis ignores the rules and plugs in different characters’ thoughts within and without chapters, and I guarantee his readers will raptly follow along deciphering who’s who and trying to unravel this horrific tale of plagiarism, serial murder, manifestations of an angry young man who is supposed to be dead, and a widowed author of horror novels who suffers from sorrow and severe writer’s block.

I must admit I kept thinking of two things as I read this book: David Ryan Long’s (Bethany House editor) first novel Ezekiel’s Shadow about a horror writer and the film adaptation of a Stephen King short story “Secret Window” about a writer who slips into a delusional state while in the middle of divorce and writer’s block. There are a few similarities to both. The protagonist of Ghostwriter, Dennis Shore, is lost without his wife who has been gone almost a year when he reluctantly sends their only daughter away to college. Soon afterward the nightmarish visions-slash-delusions begin with a zombie-esque young woman at his door who warns him not to allow his newest novel to be released as scheduled. This is only the beginning of the ghostly encounters he faces reminiscent of scenes in each of his novels. The final episode from this newest book which is at the crux of these terrifying visits, telephone calls, texts, and emails from a young man named Cillian Reed, who seems able to read his mind, involves his daughter and finds Dennis at the end of his ability to seek a plausible solution to an irrational set of frightening circumstances.

Travis did a worthy job of capturing the explicitness of repressed grief, the dire need for controlling life issues after losing the love of one’s life, and the anger and stunted abilities associated with an unbeliever who has lost the sole person he associates with his inspiration and reason to write, to live, to enjoy anything. Dennis’s love for his wife and daughter is palpable. In spite of the protagonist’s bitterness and rage at a God he insists isn’t there, even though his wife and daughter are believers, Travis has made Dennis an empathetic character precisely because of his depth of love.

There is a lot of bona fide horror going on in this novel, so if your heart grows weak at the hint of brutality, I wouldn’t recommend this book for you. However, if you enjoy a novel where you’re kept guessing at reality and are under a constant barrage of intense psychological mystery, Ghostwriter is just the book for you.

(Noting my copy is an ARC [Advanced Reader Copy], there were several typos and wrong words which started as early as Page 17. Hoping these were corrected in the final copies.)

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0446505587

Father, you designed Travis Thrasher and you know his heart for you. Please continue to watch over him and his family and lead him in all of his writing endeavors, blessing his efforts to glorify you. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Sow for yourselves righteousness,
reap the fruit of unfailing love,
and break up your unplowed ground;
for it is time to seek the Lord,
until He comes
and showers righteousness on you.

Hosea 10:12 (NIV)

Okay. Patti Lacy and Andi Newberry commented on different posts regarding the opinions of novels and the writing of reviews. Patti, published author of An Irishwoman’s Tale and the new release What the Bayou Saw, suggested that since the CBA writing community is quite small, she has opted for the kinder, gentler approach to any reviewing she might do. Implying that she has been somewhat battered and bruised for possible other kinds of responses to fellow writers’ novels, she has chosen the high ground for the building up of our Christian brothers and sisters in the writing arena, coming to the truthful conclusion there are always plenty of the negative types of reviews out here in webdom and elsewhere. Interesting that she posted the identical comment to a negative review of the same novel on someone else’s blog. Andi was sweet in chastising me for writing what she supposed was unintentional but nevertheless “harsh” stuff in some reviews.

Since I doubt either one of these ladies has been visiting this blog for long, I’m guessing they’re referring to my recent review of a novel for the CFBA Tour, one I confess I didn’t really want to write precisely because of the reasons covered in the review. I checked with several other reviewers to find one other reader agreed with my assessment (mentioned above) and many others absolutely loved the book. So there you have it.

Writers never want to admit it—okay, some writers don’t—that we can’t please all readers. It’s impossible to satisfy everyone’s reading taste buds (shouldn’t that be one word?!). Anyway, the logical conclusion to that is I will love some books you can’t stomach and the reverse will be true as well.

I read very specific genres. I know what I like. I love to find new authors—whether or not they’re “new” or just new to me—with amazing voices and different styles. I could give a great review of a novel you will absolutely loathe and detest a novel you absolutely love—which obviously has happened here with the few I’ve given a poor review to—as Patti noted in her comment about herself. But Andi told me I came off as harsh when I expressed my reasons for not liking a novel. Geez.

My first novel (Hope Of Glory) is a critic’s nightmare—or fiesta. First novel-itis to the max. I know that. The whole point of that novel was to finish a specific assignment to me from the Lord. Roll your eyes, tsk tsk all you want. It’s true. I know He is pleased that I persevered over the 8 and ½ years when I never thought it was ever going to get done—but it did. Racetrackers and non-racetrackers have been touched by its story in spite of all the negligence to the rules of writing. It served its purpose. I did what the Lord asked of me.

My second novel begins in the omniscient voice/POV which eventually fades as the protagonist matures. It’s really written like a fictional biography. One individual criticized the approach and didn’t get through even 50 pages. It stung. I won’t pretend it didn’t. But there’s a difference between someone not getting your approach to a novel and someone who can’t relate to how you wrote the book. Maybe those two things don’t sound very different from each other, and perhaps I could’ve figured out a way to express them better, but so be it for now.

The primary reason I won’t like a novel is because I can’t relate or connect to or establish some minute kind of rapport with the character(s). That’s number one for me. So if you write a novel, and I don’t like your character(s), then I’m going to say why I don’t like him/them which I know translates to the way you wrote them. I’ve written seven novels and have two others started, so believe me when I say I know how important these “people” become to us. If we put our heart and soul into writing them and then some dipstick like myself says she hates them, well, sackcloth and ashes seems the appropriate garb to the funereal feelings.

Bottom line: I don’t want to hurt people. I take no pleasure in doing a bad review. It’s just my opinion. I might be the only one in the audience of readers who doesn’t like the book. I’ll try to keep “harsh” out of them, but I guess I have to tell the truth about my own feelings or experience with the novel, and I hope I don’t ruin any writer’s day with my solitary opinion.

Father, you know my heart. Please correct where it needs correction. I ask it in the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Jessica Thomas got me thinking with her comment to my post “Am I so hard to please?” Here’s what she wrote:

“I know I tend to be a tough reader. After years of being uber critical of my own writing, it is hard to turn it off and read simply for pleasure. If anyone out there has mastered the art of making a clean switch from writer/editor to reader and vice versa, I’d love to hear how they did it.”

I wrote my first novel with no knowledge of the internet and with no typewriter or computer. That 744 page monster took 8 and ½ years to complete. When my youngest son received a computer from family for his high school graduation, Mom (me) learned that typing on a computer beat the heck out of a typewriter any day of the week so she (me) pressed on for another I-don’t-remember-how-long to get those hand-written notebooks transferred to this new-fangled machine which didn’t involve slinging the carriage after every line. (I know some of you children don’t have any idea what I just said.) Point being: the only knowledge I had of the “rules of writing” was from the absorption of many, many years of reading some of the best novels ever written and some of every other kind, too, and a devotion to writing which originated at a very young age and persisted through high school and my brief stint in college, popped up occasionally at the racetrack, and culminated when I began that first book. I had a solid lock on grammar usage and structure, kind of a knack for dialogue and basic storytelling, and a real love and penchant for long involved novels.

Fast forward to my beginning knowledge of the internet and its amazing doorway to writers, agents, editors, and the overall publishing gig. Keep in mind I’m still hammering away on novels two, three, four, and five during these new discoveries. Blogs opened new arenas of information, instruction, and explanation. And some of them served as the catalyst for dissecting my writing, holding it up for measurement against this supposed standard which established the current “rules of writing”. Well, call me stubborn—actually please don’t in spite of it being the truth—but some of these so-called rules made little sense to me, and I could confidently state that if they were followed to the letter by all authors, it would make for some very boring and formulaic writing. (Note: I’ve read the novels which religiously stuck to these “rules”, and that’s exactly what happened to them.)

It took some time before I understood that these were guidelines (don’t you just see Captain Barbossa every time that word is said?) for newer writers who were just feeling their way through the process of their desire to write. For those who maybe weren’t paying attention in their English/Literature classes or had to suffer through poor curriculum or bad teaching, the rules of writing began to put an order to their words and gave them a focus while writing their stories. Then with all the Donald Maass, Sol Stein, and Renne and King instruction manuals plus those more autobiographical directives by Stephen King and Anne Lamott, newer writers gained perspective and realized there could be a general expectation from the professionals. Until of course they read several novels from those well known authors who decisively broke the stinkin’ rules at their leisure and as a result threw the newbies into spitting spasms of finger-pointing shrieks.

Anyway, Jessica, there was a period of time after soaking in the tub of writing rules that I emerged shriveled and critically aware of all stretching, bending, and breaking of said rules by any writers—good, bad, or indifferent. Novels became almost painful to read, and the experience became decidedly un-fun. So there was a definite solution needed for this dilemma, and it had to be a good one. Something reliable. Workable. Real.

I trashed the rules of writing. Shucked them like corn husks. Picked out the ones I liked and kicked out the ones I didn’t. So long “he said, she said”! You’re monotonous! If you adverbs want to hide out in my stories, come on over. I’ll find a place for you. After all, you’re words, too—you have rights! I can follow shifting POVs, can’t you? Challenge me! I can follow when the scene and characters’ thoughts jump around: I’m up for it! Okay, active verbs, you’re useful, but you can get a little out of control when you start usurping your authority in sentence after sentence after sentence. You’re not any better than, say, a preposition. Play nice. Be fair. Other words want their turns, too. Okay?

I’ve had the privilege of reading several friends’ novels not yet published, offering any assistance I could—if I could. I’ve read some good stuff in their work. They’re writers. Each has a different voice, a style all their own. And it was just plain fun to serve them in any way I could. The last thing I wanted to do was tear apart their efforts. Fortunately there was no need to do so either. Now when a novel has passed the test(s) and gotten published, we have been programmed to think the standard is way high. Realistically we learn this isn’t necessarily so. In order to live with that we must remind ourselves that this entire industry is based upon subjective reasoning and opinions of what will appeal to either a particular audience or to the most readers. Those who make the decisions can be wrong. Or we can enjoy what others hate and vice versa.

My “opinion” on the whole matter is life’s too short to waste time looking at novels with a super critical eye. If you don’t have to review the novel, it makes more sense to ignore what you don’t like and enjoy what you do like while maintaining respect for the author as a person who has taken the time and made the effort to create something to share. If you hate it: tough. Move on to the next book. Maybe it will be better. And forget the rules of writing as a measuring stick for talent. Talent comes in all forms and in so many varied uses of all things in the English language. Create, write, and read in freedom. Celebrate the abilities of each.

Yeah . . . that’s my take on it.

Father, you are the fine-tuner. You are with us, don’t give up on us, keep us humble whether we like it or not. Everyday I need to thank you for who you are because of your love and grace and gifts. I’m desperate for more of you–always. Help me to be diligent in my pursuit of all things you. I ask it in the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Just as I suspected, Mike Dellosso’s second novel Scream demonstrates the improvement of his writing skills from his first novel reviewed here a year ago titled The Hunted. I felt The Hunted showed Mike’s potential in the supernatural thriller/suspense/horror genre but left several plot points dangling in his enthusiastic, ambitious plot. He’s tightened up as a writer and his second novel is stylish and well written.

Mechanic Mark Stone is separated from his wife because of an illicit kiss shared between him and a waitress which he concedes probably would’ve ended up in a full blown affair if his wife hadn’t happened to see him engaged in the kiss outside a restaurant in the parking lot. Now he’s living alone full of remorse and regret and not quite sure why he ventured into the attraction to the waitress when he loved his wife so much.

As he’s driving home from work one evening, he receives a call from his close friend, also on the road, when the screeching, outrageous, tortured screams of what sounds like a huge group of people intrude into their conversation. Both men hear the horrifying sounds and as they’re asking each other what they could be, Mark hears another terrifying sound which sounds like his friend has just crashed. He dials 911 as he rushes to where he thinks his friend might be. Thanks to his call, the EMTs, ambulance, sheriff and deputy are on the scene but with one glance, Mark knows his friend is dead.

So begins the occurrence of paralyzing, tormented screams which invade the telephone conversations between Mark and other people. After twice hearing the screams with other people on the telephone followed by their death, he now associates impending death with the screams. Having been raised in what he considers a hypocritical “Christian” home, he’s abandoned any relationship with God, transferring blame and accusations upon God for just about every human failing, including his own. But he is also sufficiently alarmed by the screams and wonders if they’re an indicator of the destination for those who have died following his conversations with them.

Running simultaneously with the screams, a determined and organized kidnapper with a misplaced sense of justice is seizing young women he has stalked in order to grab them without being noticed, hauling them off and depositing them in a deserted barn. The Sheriff is unwilling to call the perp a “serial” kidnapper much to the dismay of his female deputy even though the women were abducted without a trace of evidence left behind. The clues to this meticulous kidnapper, soon-to-be murderer, eventually lead the serious readers to his identity.

The different plot points collide when one of the kidnapping victims turns out to be Mark’s wife and in a second brief and sobbing cell phone call with her after he has contacted police, Mark hears the wailing screams and then silence as the connection is broken. With the limited information he receives from the tech guy at police headquarters, Mark takes off against the better judgment of the female deputy to locate and rescue his wife and the other women.

Mike Dellosso brings the frustrations of former believers and the scoffing attitudes of unbelievers into a harsh reality, challenging Mark to determine where he stands with God and to decide what he truly believes at the heart of it all. Is it heaven or hell? Is it Jesus or the devil? Why is he hearing these wretched screams and is his wife going to perish for eternity? All these questions are answered for the protagonist in the final few pages of accelerated action.

I will say I thought one portion of a final graveside address seemed too cliché. Not the burning desire in the protagonist’s heart after these over-the-top challenges he’d experienced, but his choice as to how to implement that desire. I much would have preferred he continued from where he was and carried on with his passion. But that’s me.

Good second effort.

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1599794691

Father, you have Mike in your tender care. You know the ravages and “rewards”, by Mike’s own admission, of cancer. Please continue to touch his body and make him whole, and continue to supply stories for him to write with the messages you have for him to share. Bless him and keep him safe from all harm. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

I mean, think about it. If you had to describe yourself without a tagline, what would you say? Be reasonably brief. Don’t just tell me what kind of genre you write. Tell me what’s in your gut. Who are you as a writer?

Those of you who’ve been with me awhile know my tagline is Relationship . . . Romance . . . Redemption. And of the novels I’ve written thus far, those words capture the content of my stories. Recently I added this phrase as a kind of “branding” statement: Bringing passion to life. These really do describe my work.

But who I am as a writer? Not so much. I write real. From my point of view, from my life experiences, from the kinds of places I’ve been, from the people I’ve known: I write real. Not fancy is it? I will concede my “real” is not everyone’s real. But it is real from where I live, where I have been, and what I’ve seen and learned in my life’s journey.

I do write passion. And I do write passionately. That’s me. No holds barred, but no graphics either.

But who I truly am is a writer who is compelled to include Jesus in my writing. He must be in the story somewhere; real, an integral, organic “person” within the framework of the story. Not a religious figure. Not a distant holy name. But as much a part of the story as any of the characters. Somewhere He will be there.

So, tell me: what kind of writer are you anyway?

Father, you make us all unique but with so many similarities. We shine with your light in our souls. We desire to honor you with what you’ve given us to do. We take no credit for any good thing. You are the source. Thank you for allowing us to participate in your plans. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Or am I too out of touch?

Time and time again I lash out at the clichés and platitudes offered by professionals in the publishing industry. Sometimes I’m amazed at the stable of authors certain reputable agents manage because there seems to be such disparity in quality between the best and the . . . not-so-best.

Not so often I read certain novels and truly wonder why and how they made it into print. Please understand this is not a statement borne out of a critical spirit. Honest. I don’t begrudge any author who jumps through all the hoops and works hard enough to be published. More power—and reprintings—to them!

What puzzles me the most is when I do encounter one of these novels which I consider to be inferior winning lavish praises from other readers. And I’m not talkin’ about novels outside of my preference zone. I’m talkin’ about novels which appear amateurish in use of dialogue and characterization.

So this conundrum furthers my opinion that the average reader of either CBA or ABA fiction could care less about the things we writers work so hard to perfect. If there’s something within a story for the individual reader to latch onto and identify with, they’ll like the book. If it happens to be a glorified short story and they prefer novellas, they’ll like the book. If it’s a saga, and they love long novels with all kinds of characters and side stories, they’ll like the book. Written well or written poorly, if the ingredients are there for them, they’ll have a new favorite book and author. No wonder the publishing industry is a crap shoot. And no wonder editors with literary skills and tastes insist that “literary novels” don’t sell.

Of course there are always exceptions—to nearly every rule or opinion. But just when you think there is a huge response to a “well-written” book, another not-so-well-written book with far-out God concepts like The Shack plunges the entire industry into confusion and chaos. Who knew?

The problem with reading a lot of novels is that few become exceptional. They fall into four-star categories: great, good, average, and poor. The thing is, this is based on opinions, and the opinions of writers will differ significantly from the opinions of the average reader, and it’s very possible that either of these opinions will differ again from the publisher’s opinion.

Since a writer/author struggles to get his words right, labors over plot, character, theme, dialogue, pace, and everything else to do with his story, all in an effort to create to the best of his ability and to catch the eye of an admiring editor/pub board, we who do this tend to be the harshest critics of our fellow writers/authors. We don’t like it when we see others’ errors staring at us from the published page as we wallow in writing obscurity.

So, anyway, I wonder sometimes if I’m too hard to please as a reader now that I’ve written several novels. The Lord knows my writing won’t appeal to all readers and that other writers’ scornful eyes wait to dissect my words and ways and figuratively spit on them. I try to be careful for precisely that reason in how I take apart a book I don’t like. Because I trust the author worked hard and attempted to do all they could to make it right, to make it good.

So, then I wonder if I’m out of touch with the publishing reality. It’s unpredictable and it’s based on personal opinions, preferences, and possibilities. Sometimes I think the industry is out of touch with the readers. Most of the time I just don’t know.

Father, I can trust that you know all things, and that you have reasons for what happens in this life. Leaving it in your hands is the best thing I can do, and I’m grateful for that. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.