At Longacres Racetrack a very long time ago. A more solemn moment during my first year at the track. Some days are like that.
Father, in spite of me, you protected me until I'd had enough of myself. Thank you for rescuing me. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
Yes, let's get back to the "audience" for our novels. It's fairly easy to identify and market to the audience of non-fiction and memoirs. They're relatively easy to pigeon-hole according to specifics of "genre" in the non-fiction category of books. That's in no way an insult to non-fiction readers – although those who read "only" non-fiction tend to be a little smug and condescending to those of us who read and write novels. Just sayin'. (Side note: it's usually those non-fiction readers who think all romance novels are the same with Fabio covers and meaningless male/female banter/shenanigans/sexual escapades/crying and ranting, etc.)
Marketing might be key to finding the audience for my novels. However, within the Christian community of readers, there are so many variables with my stories it makes it a bit more difficult to find my particular audience. Out of my nine published novels, I have two, possibly three, that could be marketed to men as well as women. It's fairly common knowledge that most men don't prefer their fiction to be in the love story/romance genre. Okay, so we gear our marketing to females.
What age bracket? I stipulate its importance because if you're a young lady (especially a Christian young lady), you really might not have lived a lot of life yet, and my novels definitely depict some characters who've managed to indulge a lot of what the world has to offer. As a more mature Christian, you've observed a lot of life and hopefully haven't experienced it personally, but, if your history includes a season of rebellion, you'll understand how the world operates more easily. I don't "pretend" that worldly conduct is a good thing, but I do write it like it is without judgment. That has proven to be a point of contention for some Christian romance readers. It can also disqualify my writing (unjustly) from the trendy, shouldn't-be-a-thing, label of "Clean Fiction" for Christian fiction readers.
Okay, so does that mean my novels have a place within a "niche" market? I don't know. My love stories don't follow the "norm" formula for romance novels which is why I categorize them as "Love stories heavy on the romance." Romance novels tend to be loaded with conflicts – many of them overdone misunderstandings between a couple or those who will become a couple. Those drive me crazy. As I've said ad nauseum here: I only read a very few authors of romance and my main reading consists of thrillers, mystery, and suspense novels. Point two: romance is a real thing and to deny its sexual component/temptation/mutual excitement is to ignore the definition of romantic attraction for both males and females.
My stories contain both worldly and Christian protagonists and heroines and secondary characters who are also either. True redemption is always included no matter the struggle to get to it. Jesus is evident, but He might take His time to join the story.
Here's my projected audience: Ages 30+; mostly female; primarily Christians (but a few non-Christians have praised the stories without their adherence to the "religious" parts)
So. You tell me. Who is my audience? The challenge to my readers: tell me who you think my audience is.
Raw Romantic Redemptive Love stories with a passion.
Father, you know all the answers to my questions. You know my questions before I ask them. I know this: apart from you I can do nothing. Thank you is never enough. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
My favorite Christian Music star has joined Jesus in heaven. With his humble testimony of a rebellious season that forced him to deal with His Savior, he became an amazing man who preached the Word and made fabulous music with his band Broken Heart. He will be missed.
Father, you send the Holy Spirit to give comfort as only He can do. Please bless the LeFevre family as they deal with their huge loss. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
Have gotten back to occasional free verse "poems". Here's one more:
Missed
Refusing the feeling,
fear overtook me. I ran.
Seeking the nearest, the most familiar,
I clung to it and let it drive me.
Tricked and manipulated,
suffering consequences of lies.
Forgotten directions, ignored warnings.
A past of pain. A present of sorrow.
Craving light from the darkness.
I missed it.
Father, words, inspiration, apart from you I can do nothing, have nothing, produce not a single breath of life. Thank you is never enough. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
Then I heard what sounded like a great multitude, like the roar of rushing waters and like loud peals of thunder, shouting:
"Hallelujah!
For our Lord God Almighty reigns.
Let us rejoice and be glad
and give Him glory!
For the wedding of the Lamb has come,
and His bride has made herself ready.
Fine linen, bright and clean,
was given her to wear."
(Fine linen stands for the righteous acts of the saints.)
Then the angel said to me, "Write: 'Blessed are those who are invited to the wedding supper of the Lamb!'" And he added, "These are the true words of God."
At this I fell at his feet to worship him. But he said to me, "Do not do it! I am a fellow servant with you and with your brothers who hold to the testimony of Jesus. Worship God! For the testimony of Jesus is the spirit of prophecy."
Revelation 19:6-10 (NIV)
This is Chapter One from my novel . . . in a love song available for ebook purchase only.
One
The first time he looked over the half-empty pitchers of beer on the round 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. Immediately his mind drove straight to the recollection of how long since he’d been with a woman and parked there.
Not much of a drinker anymore he’d agreed to accompany his coworkers on this Friday night macho session simply because he knew the drill. His construction buddies wanted to christen the new guy with the camaraderie of drunken manhood, share a few more crude jokes, flirt with the barflies, and assert their praiseworthy abilities to hold their liquor. Only one of the group was married, but it didn’t slow the guy down in the beer chugging or flirtations, though he didn’t seem serious with the teasing and the girls didn’t take it so.
He felt the beer gaining momentum along with the usual accompanying bravado, one of the primary reasons he’d decided to leave drinking behind for the most part. The crazy stuff was far back in the past, but the tendency to strut, which he buried when sober, always seemed to display itself like some posing peacock if the alcohol gained any authority in his bloodstream. As his eyes locked onto her, that rebel urge surfaced in full peacock hue. He grabbed a couple of the near empty pitchers and sauntered up to the bar placing them on the counter beside the youngster’s barely touched glass of dark brew.
“Refills, please.” He kept his voice level in spite of the noise, not wanting to appear as shouting his instructions. She hadn’t seen him until then, and the feathers felt full and mighty fine when she looked into his eyes because he caught the fleeting surprise in hers which he was sure ended in a blush concealed by the low lights of the bar.
“Yes, sir.” She emphasized the “sir” and gave him a sideways smile, fully recovering from her emotional lapse at what he assumed—or rather—hoped was a pleasant view for her. She filled the two pitchers, and he paid for them with a $50 tip. She started to protest, but with a slight tilt of his head he stared her into submission. She pushed it into her black jeans’ pocket, a bit flustered.
“Thank you,” he said and walked back to the table full of raucous high-fiving guys beginning to feel their beer. After he sat down to a couple of good-natured shoulder shoves, he looked back to catch her watching him. It felt good to be a man at that moment. He gave her a subtle smile before she turned away.
“Will you look at that?” The words were delivered in slow motion as the vintage jukebox belted out the old Rolling Stones tune “Honky Tonk Woman”. The stoutly built and curly blonde-headed guy named Keith who sat next to him on his right fairly panted as three young women entered the bar with a lot of exposed legs perched on spindly heels and possibly even more revealed breasts. Heads turned at their table and at a few others occupied by male patrons eager to share in the view.
“Never seen them here before,” Dave on his left drawled, his eyes transfixed on the laughing girls who were well aware of the attention they’d garnered. They meandered their way to the bar, taking in the stares, bending their heads toward each other in secret summations and covert giggling.
He looked around his table and smirked at the inebriated men who’d been hooked and landed like a bunch of hungry fish. His eyes searched for the gal he’d admired earlier. He watched her approach the newly arrived women at the bar, seeming to hunt inside herself for a pleasant expression. Joining her to wait on them was the bartender, a guy he figured to be near his age and clearly anxious to assist these new customers.
The conversation at the table descended into the discussion of the size of body parts and what they hoped to do with theirs. It was time for him to go, so he got up to head to the rest room before saying goodnight to the boys and wishing them a good weekend. They made a big show of wanting him to stay, but he kidded them about how hangin’ out with an old guy might cramp their style. They guffawed and a couple of them chided him with a toast and a “’Night, Gramps” knowing he was only five or six years older than most of them.
At the door, he looked one last time toward the bar and found her eyes on him. He smiled at her and walked out.
Father, thank you for the intricate ways you give me stories to tell. Apart from you, I can do nothing, and, as always, thank you is never enough. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
My one and only Audio Book with the melodic voice of the great Joseph Courtemanche. Race is also my one and only mystery and debuted in 2018 which isn't that long ago, but still qualifies it for Throwback Thursday.
Father, you're my source for all things good and inspiring. Apart from you, I can do nothing. Thank you is never enough. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
Code Red is the final Mitch Rapp Novel for Author Kyle Mills. He's back to creating more of his own novels. It's bittersweet to see him step away, but Author Don Bentley is primed to take over the Mitch Rapp saga.
Mitch Rapp is a man of his word among other things. In order to protect his love Claudia Gould, he had to deal with the devil – or one of his minions – the ruthless Damian Losa, who provided the information needed to prevent Claudia's murder. Rapp knew that one day Losa would expect the "favor" to be returned and that date came due with a trip to the volatile and shattered country of Syria. Posing as Losa's lawyer, his mission was to discover what a new even more powerful version of fentanyl contained and who Losa needed to negotiate with to merge their common interests of exporting drugs to Europe and the USA.
Simple enough as hard and untrustworthy missions go, Rapp had no backup, not a single person who wasn't corrupted or could help, and nothing felt right about this mission once he was in country. Fortunately, there was one thing that went right and that was no one seemed to know who he really was until . . .
Not a lot went according to plan, and when a scorching betrayal takes place, Rapp contemplates the possibility of impending doom. However, he is Mitch Rapp after all, and he figures when certain things fall into place, his debt is paid and he can call in the cavalry for assistance to put a stop to a very ugly and depraved operation run by a Russian faux-general. Organizing it depends on an individual who's had everything stripped away from his life including some of his brain power, but having been a very intelligent person in his past, his knowledge of elements of the plan and his determination to avenge all that was stolen from him, make him the logical choice for what is supposed to happen.
Kyle wraps up this story with plenty of action from Rapp and his team, an uncomfortable Damian Losa, and a submissive faux-general. With Losa's discomfort there's an open door to possible future adversarial contact, but that will ultimately be up to Don Bentley as he begins his Mitch Rapp tenure.
Wishing both Kyle and Don the very best in their writing endeavors.
Father, you know the hearts of those involved in creating these novels. You give each one any and all gifts and talents. Thank you for the amazing talents of Kyle and Don and may each of them know from whom that talent comes. Bless them and their families and keep them safe from all harm. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
Typical of the lyrics back in the day. Ambiguous and leading. Good band.
Father, you know all hearts, always have, always will. Thank you for rescuing me, Lord. Can never thank you enough. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
One of the first questions fiction authors often hear once a person learns that they're speaking with an author is: "What do you write?" An author will answer appropriately describing the genre or genres which explains their type of novels. If the conversation progresses, the person asking questions might inquire how the author chose that genre or genres.
I'm not sure I've ever been asked that specific question, but if I had been asked, I would have to say the genre chose me. Never once did I sit down to write that first book thinking I would write love stories – plural – or romance novels. Since I'm primarily a reader of thrillers, mystery, and suspense, it would seem more logical to me that I'd write in those genres. But, no. Romance is somehow in my blood, and if I do say so myself, I'm good at writing it.
My one mystery (Race) has a romantic thread, but it's not the focus. It was difficult to write because it was a gut-level effort to get the police procedural correct enough that if any LEOs happened to read it, they wouldn't throw the book against the wall because of its ridiculous assumptions. I tried to give high praise to the detective at the time who helped and encouraged me.
My heart is in the stories of love, the element of romance, the temptations, the flirtations, the chemistry, the hidden fears and dreads of falling in love.
Raw Romantic Redemptive Love stories with a passion.
Father, only you provide my inspiration, characters, stories. Apart from you, I can do nothing. Thank you is never enough. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
