Into the Fire

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

  •                                 Excerpt

                           This is Chapter Two of my novel Sweet Release.

    CHAPTER TWO

    Matthew Preston pushed his handsome 6 ft. frame out of the chair and stood, looking down at the woman he loved—more like a girl in a lot of ways. Truthfully, he was relieved to see her choked up. He’d half expected her to congratulate him with an enthusiastic smile and wish him well. He reached down and pulled her up to him.

         “If you change your mind, I’ll be waiting.” With a sad expression he took her face in his strong hands and kissed her lips tenderly. “I love you, CM.” Then he walked out of the room and down the hall, leaving her to her life.

         Matthew Earl Preston decided a month ago to take this new job—to relocate back in his home state of California. So by the time he told his company he’d accept their lucrative offer, his younger brother James had agreed to take over his lease and apartment, and they squared it all up with the manager. His parents looked forward to spending time with Matt and having him around the area again. 

         Matt’s first thoughts upon receiving this promotion went immediately to CM. He’d already determined she was the one with whom he wanted to spend the rest of his life—no one had achieved that status in his life, although many had certainly tried. Until she dropped her Tully’s double mocha on his brand new shoes as she rushed out of the coffee shop one early rainy morning on her way to work, he’d convinced himself he was having fun playing the field. He smiled as he remembered the mixed expressions instantaneously crossing her face at that moment. First, there was utter disdain that someone had gotten in her way and wasted her full mocha when she was in such a hurry. Then as she looked up to see who this scalawag might be, she was obviously taken aback by his handsomeness – this blondish tall guy (compared to her petite height) dressed in a black cashmere overcoat, exposing a pinstriped suit. Those shoes had cost him plenty.

         “I—oh, I’m sooo sorry,” she stammered, her hands almost transfixed in a surrendered position. “Uh, let me get some napkins,” she said as she turned around quickly to head back into the shop and nearly separated another patron from his fancy cup of coffee.

         At that point, Matt smiled at her and gently led her by the arm out of the way and back into the coffee shop. “It’s alright,” he’d said. “They’re just shoes, you know.”

         She’d blushed a hot shade of red and apologized again. “Is there anything I can do?” she asked, exaggerating her hand gestures in complete embarrassment.

         “Well, yeah, now that you mention it, there is,” he’d replied with some seriousness and then nearly laughed as he watched a new expression of pure panic appear on her face.  “You can let me replace what you dropped.”

         His proposal didn’t register on her face for a few seconds, but when it did, she replied, “Oh, no.  I couldn’t let you do that—it was my fault. Too big a hurry as usual. Always cutting it too close, you know? No—let me buy yours this morning,” she’d added, fumbling in her purse for her wallet. “It’s the least I could do.”

         Gently he stopped her search. “I insist.”

         She blushed again and remained silent.

         “Since you’re in a hurry, I won’t keep you, but here’s my card,” he offered, reaching smoothly into his inside coat pocket. “I’d like an opportunity to talk to you. Do you come here every morning?”

         “Well, yeah, but—”

         “Then I’ll meet you here tomorrow, say 6 AM?” he suggested, looking at his watch.  “What are you having?” he asked as they arrived at the counter. 

         Once they got their coffees, he gave her his last pitch. “I know you’re in a hurry, so I’ll be waiting here tomorrow morning. See you then, alright?” He hadn’t waited for her answer.

         She’d stood there with her mouth ready to make an excuse but unable to get one formulated in the brief time he gave her to decide.

         Matt smiled at the memory. It was a year and a half ago – seemed like a couple of weeks ago in more ways than one because he remembered the way he felt when she finally looked up at him after dousing his shoes. She wanted to snarl but was overcome by what he looked like, and it gave him a charge he hadn’t expected – not because of the effect he had on her because, honestly, he was used to getting the double takes from females but rather because of the effect she had on him. There was this undeniable look of innocence in her eyes, something so rare in nearly every woman he knew these days. She was only 5’ 3” tall and had a slender frame. Her medium brown naturally curly hair was still wet from a morning shower or from the rain outside, and her blue eyes were absolutely penetrating when she’d looked up into his. He was captivated by her being flustered and couldn’t wait to have some time with her, but he sensed the only plausible thing to do with her would be to meet her in a public setting on familiar turf – asking her out would’ve endangered any further contact with her, and he was right about that he later learned once they’d started dating. But, it also seemed like their first encounter had only been a short time ago because once they’d gotten to a certain point in their relationship, CM shut down and what might have grown into true intimacy never materialized on her part. She drew this invisible line in their relationship and refused to cross it, and although she kept redefining the line for Matt, she would never let him cross it either.

         The last couple of months had been especially hard. He was convinced he loved her and wanted to marry her, but talk of any commitment was beyond that sacred line, and rather than risk her running off, he remained quiet and endured. Until he just couldn’t do it anymore. When the job offer came up, he waited for the opportune moment to bring up the possibility of her joining him in his endeavor, but it became clear to him that special moment wasn’t going to happen, and he began to realize having her only partially involved in his life was not what he wanted. He couldn’t take the casual relationship anymore. He was a firm believer in moving forward—treading water was tiresome and pointless—something you did only when you hoped to be rescued. Clearly, she wasn’t throwing him a lifeline.

         It was a perfect day for driving. No rain. Clear blue skies. Lots of time to think. He reflected back and tried to decipher when CM seemed to shut down and draw that decisive line leaving them in a perpetual state of status quo. When was it exactly? Or was there ever really a defining moment?

         Passing through Portland and continuing south on I-5, he began to experience some clarity in his memories. At their first official meeting in the coffee shop the following morning, CM was 10 minutes late causing Matt to wonder if she would stand him up, something that had never happened to him. She apologized for her tardiness explaining she was not a morning person. Matt had thanked her for coming at all.

         “I was hoping you wouldn’t think my invitation was just another come on,” he admitted.

         She’d started to reply but stopped. She told him only a short time ago she didn’t think it was a come on because she couldn’t understand what someone like him would’ve seen in her. He was shocked by the admission because he’d been instantly attracted to her. The look of innocence in her eyes had done him in, no doubt about it—but he never told her that. 

         “So what’s this job you were hurrying to get to when I so rudely got in your way?”

         She laughed for the first time since he’d encountered her.

         “You noticed that look, huh?” she replied with a blush.

         He smiled back. “Well, yeah. Frankly, I was glad you weren’t armed with anything other than coffee.”

         She laughed again. “I am sorry for that. I do it to myself, you know. Like I said, I’m not a morning person. I’m always putting myself in a pinch getting ready in the morning—as you’ve seen for yourself, punctuality is not my strong suit.”

         By the time they’d finished two coffees each, they made plans to have dinner together the following Friday. CM agreed to meet him at an expensive Mexican restaurant called “Carrera’s”. Their time at dinner was a complete success as they talked about their youth and learned each other’s backgrounds. Afterward when he walked her to her car, he sensed she became uneasy, so he quickly thanked her for joining him and asked if he might call her for another date. She seemed relieved and wrote her telephone number on a piece of scratch paper she pulled from the outside pocket of her purse. He waited until she got in and started her car and waved a goodbye. Her smile evidenced nothing short of grateful, and as much as he’d wanted to take her in his arms—really he’d wanted to take her home with him—he was glad he’d used restraint. He knew there would be more opportunities with CM, and he couldn’t wait for them. That was early September, and he remembered the fall weather had come suddenly and on time and had been wet from the start. No Indian summer that year. 

         The weekend before Christmas, he took her to his company’s formal Christmas party. She was breathtaking in a black sequined dress with a high neck and long sleeves and a bare back and patent leather stiletto sling-back heels that brought her up closer to his shoulder. She’d put blonde highlights in her hair, and although it was up, several strands hung down the side of her face irresistibly. Matt’s heart stirred at the memory. It seemed like it was that very night when he decided he was falling in love with her, but he knew he couldn’t tell her then—she had already been setting parameters he’d been respectfully accepting, one of which was she wasn’t sleeping with him even though they’d been getting more physical as time went on. His co-workers were fascinated with her being a film critic, and she was the center of attention for most of the evening. She was extremely gracious answering their many inquiries and listening to their opinions of popular movies and, of course, all about their favorites. A lot of laughter prevailed along with several glasses of champagne. They left the party for Matt’s apartment at a reasonable hour. CM insisted on driving over to Matt's, bringing a change of clothes for after the party. 

         When they arrived, she went to her car and grabbed her bag which he carried for her and together they went up the elevator to Matt’s apartment. He remembered he knew she would be his that night and he could hardly contain himself—the anticipation of finally making love to her causing all kinds of physical reactions. Once inside to his surprise and utter delight, when he set down her bag, she reached up and put her arms around his neck.

         “Kiss me, Matt,” she’d said softly.

         He was more than happy to oblige—his heart was beating on tilt as it was. The desire transmitted through that kiss was beyond anything he could resist. The process of their lovemaking began right there until finally he picked her up in his arms and carried her into his bedroom where the passion he’d been holding back since the first time he’d taken her out to dinner was loosed and satisfied. When he was younger, he’d been with several girls and since with many women, but being with CM hit him in a place he’d never been with anyone. Somehow the innocence he’d been so drawn to when he first saw her came through in their encounter. He actually wondered if it was her first time.

         The first girl he slept with in high school was two years older than him and wise to the ways of boys. She gave him a fair education about how to turn a girl on, and once he figured he could handle it without her, he moved on to his next “girlfriend”.  Not one of the females he’d been with was a virgin, nor had any of them retained even a hint of their innocence.

         CM had fallen asleep in his arms, and he’d never experienced such contentment in his entire life. He felt like she was his, and there was no doubt he was hers.

         As he was reveling in the memory and noticing the Corvalis road sign as it flew by, it hit him like a brick through his windshield. Without thinking he put on his brakes and then quickly recovered to speed up before someone rear-ended him in the fast lane.

         “Oh no,” he whispered. “That was it.”

                                  Sweet-%20releasecover

     

    Father, you are the origin of my stories. Apart from you, I can do nothing. Thank you is never enough. In the Name of Jesus, Amen. 

     

     

     

  •                                                       41ue0ZGeWRL._SX331_BO1 204 203 200_Large

    Breath of Life is only available as a softcover (Paperback). 

    This novel was my first effort written primarily in first person POV by the male protagonist:

    "Breath of Life tells the story of embittered, wounded, and divorced Michael Jamison, who, after a prolonged period as the casual observer of a lovely woman, discovers his attraction to her supersedes remaining a stranger. With a smarting ego and nothing to lose, he figures out a non-threatening way to introduce himself and is overwhelmed with her pristine beauty and challenged to change everything about the way he's lived his life so far."

    May I also say the author blurb/endorsement on the back cover by one of the finest authors (male) I've ever had the pleasure to meet in person meant the world to me. 

     

    Father, thank you is never enough for the inspiration, characters, and love stories you've given me to tell. Help me to continue as you direct. In the Name of Jesus, Amen. 

  •                                       8b4d89ac4f4208edf3cec49fb2b54071--water-well-water-gardens-2062047837

    What do you do when the well runs dry? Emotionally spent? Spiritually exhausted? Creatively stunted? 

    You can find a million solutions from secular self-help books or manuals. You can find a million more from biblically based self-searching books or studies. 

    But what can you really do in the midst of the refreshing-less time and space where you find yourself? 

    If you're a Christian, you submit to prayer even when, frankly, you don't feel like it. God knows where you are – it's no surprise to Him. And He's well aware of what you want to say but probably won't, the frustration that results, the questions on the tip of your tongue that begin with "Why?" Pray anyway.

    If you're not a Christian, you can choose to do every instruction known to man and find a conclusion that sustains you. Probably. God created you to be resourceful even though He also created you to trust and depend on Him for truthful answers. 

    There's no one-size-fits-all when the well won't serve you the waters of life if you're looking for "If I do this, I can accomplish this and it'll turn out fine." Sometimes the lesson is harder, the time it takes feels relentless, and all too often we look for the shortcut to this substantial interruption. 

    As a Christian, I can tell you Jesus has the answer(s) you need. There's a reason they're proving to be hard to find. Everything has a purpose. It's not a waste of time or energy to seek truth in a hard situation. There aren't many truths. Only One. He wants you to have it. Whether that's now or eventually, when He fills the well, it'll be a new and vital refreshing, tasting like the very essence of life. Drink up. 

     

    Father, you know how we are and can be. You know when life is hard for us. You know exactly what we need and when we need it. Help us to learn the purpose and reasoning in the dry times. We're desperate for you. In the Name of Jesus, Amen. 

     

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    Just had to get some oldies but goodies in for this Tuesday. So many different and great artists. What a time it was. 

     

    Father, only you know hearts. Only you save our souls. Thank you for rescuing me. In the Name of Jesus, Amen. 

     

     

  •                                                                         9_11_Cross_copy

    We shall never forget. The picture shows more than we can say. The latent information about this horrid event is becoming equal to the event itself. A travesty and great sorrow.

     

    Lord God, you know all the Truth. Jesus is the Way, the Truth, and the Life. No one comes to you except through Him. Help us, Lord. We're desperate for you. In the Name of Jesus, Amen. 

  •                 Misfitblackhat_1024x1024-2872217544

    I had the utter pleasure of having many friends in my early life, two BFFs, and several other wonderful young people in my life. I also had the best parents God could've ever designed just for me. And I had a brother who teased me unmercifully while we were young but became a super big brother when he got older (he was 9 years older than me). 

    But then there was 7th grade. It was junior high school then. And to this day I claim it as being the worst year of my life. I got the worst haircut of my life – even wore a scarf to school to try to cover it. I had no classes with my BFFs. I was in an "accelerated" math class which to this day I have no idea why and that singular class began the terrible habit of biting my fingernails which I still do this many years later! Yes, I still had friends, but they were changing, and it seemed they suddenly all wanted to grow up – which I distinctly did not and was unprepared for leaving a blissful childhood. First inklings of "misfit." 

    With 7th grade behind me, this horse crazy girl and her family moved from the closeness of her two BFFs farther north of my childhood home – which, when you don't drive, seems like a ridiculous distance away – and began the process of finding new friends which wasn't really that difficult. There were plenty of them to be found. And so the growing up process continued through high school. 

    Then my first year at the University of Washington began. That was another year of interesting – and some exciting – changes which ultimately decided for me that I was done/finished with school. I didn't want to go to college, but my parents wanted it for me. I owed them to make the effort. The educational highlights were an A in playwriting and an A in one of my English classes. The other highlights were a flurry of quickly established and quickly adjourned new friends. College was a misfit for me. 

    The next chapter involved a mission to travel to Great Britain and Europe, so I set to work in retail after talking a friend into going with me. She too got a job, and we worked for a year while we saved the necessary funds to travel and organized our trip. When our nearly 3-month adventure to foreign lands came to a close, I felt lost. Floundered. 

    Finally, a series of events led me to Longacres Racetrack. It felt like finding my niche. But, alas, I was a misfit. A city girl learning the ropes of racetrack life. An outsider. A few people to the end of over 30 years there, me having fully participated in the process of horse racing, continued to view me as an outsider. A misfit. 

    Skip ahead all those years and after finally doing the only other thing I was designed to do, I followed the Lord's instructions to write my first novel. Then another which led me to into the search for a publisher, writers conferences, contacts, only to learn that I was a misfit in my chosen genre. 

    The sole and soul place I've found where I am not a misfit is within the love of the Lord God Almighty, the family He's given me, and the friends I've made over the years who, though much different, don't consider me a misfit. There is no thanking Him enough for all of those things. 

     

    Father, I know our ultimate home is with you. It still can be puzzling to experience that misfit feeling when you know you're doing what you're supposed to do. But I thank you for watching over me and eventually rescuing me from myself. Thank you is never enough. In the Name of Jesus, Amen. 

     

     

  •  

         "They will say, 'The fruit you longed for is gone from you. All your riches and splendor have vanished, never to be recovered. The merchants who sold these things and gained their wealth from her will stand far off, terrified at her torment. They will weep and mourn and cry out: 

                   "'Woe! Woe, O great city,

                     dressed in fine linen, purple and scarlet,

                     and glittering with gold, precious stones

                     and pearls!

                    In one hour such great wealth

                    has been brought to ruin!'

         "Every sea captain, and who travel by ship, the sailors, and all who earn their living from the sea, will stand far off. When they see the smoke of her burning, they will exclaim, 'Was there ever a city like this great city?' They will throw dust on their heads, and with weeping and mourning cry out:

                   "'Woe! Woe, O great city,

                     when all who had ships on the sea

                     became rich through her wealth!

                   In one hour she has been brought to ruin!

                   Rejoice over her, O heaven!

                     Rejoice, saints and apostles and prophets!

                   God has judged her for the way she treated you.'"

     

    Revelation 18:14-20 (NIV) 

                  

  •         Excerpt

                This is from Chapter 9 in my novel Seeing . . . 

     

    On his way home that evening after what had been a long day, he called his house. Bonita answered on the third ring. “Jones’ Trucking,” her delicate voice said with a professional tone.

         He couldn’t help himself—he laughed. “Wow. That has a nice ring to it. I like it.”

         “Micah Jones! I didn’t recognize your number yet.” 

         He heard the fluster in her voice, and it made him smile. “How’re you, Bonita?”

         “I’m fine, Micah Jones. How are you?” 

         He could hear a smile in her tone. “Well, I’m frustrated by all the typical traffic, but it’s always like this. I shouldn’t let it bother me. Anyway, it’ll be probably another 45 minutes before I’m home. I just wanted to let you know.”

         “Thank you, Micah Jones. I’ll keep your dinner warm.”

         “Sounds good, Bonita. See ya a little later.”

         His cell phone rang immediately after the call. “Micah, here,” he answered, expecting it to be Bonita calling him back.

         “Hi, little brother.”

         “Mary, Mary, what’s up?”

         “Did Marin get in touch with you?”

         “I’m fine. How are you?”

         “Very funny, Micah. Now answer my question.”

         “Yes. She’s taking me to dinner a week from Saturday. Now do you want to tell me what to wear and not to chew with my mouth open?”

         “Why not this Saturday?”

         “Because I can’t.”

         “Why not?”

         “Mary, you’re not my mother.” 

         “Wow. Is there another woman in your life?”

         Leave it to Mary to zero in on the situation.

         “Why would you ask that, Mary?” He was baffled by her intuition.

         “Uh, let me see. My cute little brother doesn’t do like . . . hmm, anything ever. He usually sees his friends on Friday evenings or Sundays after church. Usually, the only thing he does on a Saturday night is visit his sister and her husband or holes up at home watching movies by himself. Uh, there isn’t a special event going on at church. And you can’t go out to dinner this Saturday night because?”

         Micah was silent. His sister was right. Down to the last detail. There had been nothing unpredictable in his life for years—other than the spiritual occurrences. 

         “It’s alright, Micah.” 

         He heard the apologetic regret in her voice. “You’re right, Mary. I have a guest at the house. It’s a woman. She was beaten up pretty bad. I brought her home for a week.” 

         “Is it safe?” Mary asked after a few moments.

         “How exactly do you mean that?”

         “I mean, whoever hurt her won’t find you or her, will he?” 

         The genuine concern filled her question.

         “No.”

         “I’m sorry for her.”

         “Yeah. She’s healing. From the beating anyway.”

         “Meaning?” she gently probed.

         “She’s had a lousy life, Mary. From early on.”

         “How old is she?”

         “Not sure. Somewhere around my age, although I’m pretty sure she’s younger.”

         There were a few more moments of quiet before his sister asked, “Attractive?”

         Micah hesitated. His sister waited. “Yeah. She is, Mary. In her own way, she is.”

         There. He’d admitted it. Rough-hewn, street smart, hardened by life, yet . . . attractive to him.

         “And you’re okay?” 

         His sister loved him. She asked the hard questions because of her love for him. No matter what he did or said, she would never stop loving him. He could always tell her the truth. “Yeah, Mare. I’m okay. It’s been . . . different. In a good way.”

         “I love you, Micah.”

         Her voice mixed sadness with joy—he didn’t know how. Sorrow and hope. She wanted the best for him, but he knew instinctively if she engaged in comparisons, Marin would stack up more favorably than Bonita for her little brother. The thought brought regret.

         “I know you do. And I love you for it.”

     

    Father, you know the words to all my stories. You give them to me as I go. Apart from you, I can do nothing. Thank you is never enough. In the Name of Jesus, Amen. 

     

                                      6a00d83451d62469e20240a4f36273200d-800wi

  •                         2020-04-08 203020

    Playing with the mirror again. Self-portrait. A throwback to many years ago.

    Memories flash with the photo, dissolved in time past, lives changed, and a simple moment in time brings it all back. 

     

    Father, I can never thank you enough for rescuing me from myself. Redemption is what I was missing. Please help me to continue in the design you have just for me. In the Name of Jesus, Amen. 

  •                               Download

    Storm clouds deciding whether or not to bear down and create havoc with thunder, lightning, and hard rain. But there's also the possibility they could move on and not settle on the area. 

    Point being, these storm clouds are indicative of the chaos in my head concerning this latest novel. It's going to be a story some will love and others will hate. I'm too far along to dump it. Besides, I love the hero and heroine. I'm too attached to not let them finish their story. 

    Stormy. Or not. 

    Crazy novelist. 

     

    Father, only you can get me out of this. You know this story better than I do. Help me. Apart from you, I can do nothing. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.