Paul R. Lloyd - Author

How Do You Create Suspense in a 2,000-Year-Old Story?

2011-12-22T09:24:00.000-06:00

Here's my commentary on the writing challenge of creating suspense in a story that most readers are familiar with.

Launch into my new full-length novel
Mary is a teenage girl with a lot of moxie who's just a tad pregnant and has an ex-fiance who says, "Ain't no way that's my baby in there." What's a girl to do? What does she say to her dad? And how can she fight off Satan, the ultimate demon bent on killing her to keep the baby from being born? It's okay to read my scary story late at night with the rain pounding on your windows and thunder and lightning outside, but leave the light on. You’ll need it. Fulfillment makes a great stocking stuffer! Only $1.99 for your Amazon Kindle. Purchase by clicking here. You can obtain more information, read a sample of the book, and order the slightly higher priced PDF version or the whole lot more priced 288-page paperback version by clicking here.

Enjoy this blog post? Be sure to share it with your friends by clicking the social networking links below. Thank you.

What Was the Inn Like in Jesus' Time?

2011-12-21T09:17:00.000-06:00

This video describes the different types of inns at the time Jesus was born and how I chose to describe the inn at Bethlehem in my story.

Launch into my new full-length novel
Mary is a teenage girl with a lot of moxie who's just a tad pregnant and has an ex-fiance who says, "Ain't no way that's my baby in there." What's a girl to do? What does she say to her dad? And how can she fight off Satan, the ultimate demon bent on killing her to keep the baby from being born? It's okay to read my scary story late at night with the rain pounding on your windows and thunder and lightning outside, but leave the light on. You’ll need it. Fulfillment makes a great stocking stuffer! Only $1.99 for your Amazon Kindle. Purchase by clicking here. You can obtain more information, read a sample of the book, and order the slightly higher priced PDF version or the whole lot more priced 288-page paperback version by clicking here.

Enjoy this blog video? Be sure to share it with your friends by clicking the social networking links below. Thank you.

Did Mary and Joseph Live in Poverty?

2011-12-20T10:21:00.000-06:00

Because Jesus was born in a stable, people sometimes assume Joseph and Mary must have been impoverished. But the Bible doesn't say they were poor people. Here's my take on this topic that formed the basis for my version of the first Christmas in my novel Fulfillment.

Launch into my new full-length novel
Mary is a teenage girl with a lot of moxie who's just a tad pregnant and has an ex-fiance who says, "Ain't no way that's my baby in there." What's a girl to do? What does she say to her dad? And how can she fight off Satan, the ultimate demon bent on killing her to keep the baby from being born? It's okay to read my scary story late at night with the rain pounding on your windows and thunder and lightning outside, but leave the light on. You’ll need it. Fulfillment makes a great stocking stuffer! Only $1.99 for your Amazon Kindle. Purchase by clicking here. You can obtain more information, read a sample of the book, and order the slightly higher priced PDF version or the whole lot more priced 288-page paperback version by clicking here.

Enjoy this blog video? Be sure to share it with your friends by clicking the social networking links below. Thank you.

How Come Mary Can Read in Your Novel Set in the First Century?

2011-12-19T11:11:00.000-06:00

Here's another video about Fulfillment, my novel of the first Christmas. One of the issues I had to deal with as an author researching the first century AD was determining if the characters were able to read.

Launch into my new full-length novel
Mary is a teenage girl with a lot of moxie who's just a tad pregnant and has an ex-fiance who says, "Ain't no way that's my baby in there." What's a girl to do? What does she say to her dad? And how can she fight off Satan, the ultimate demon bent on killing her to keep the baby from being born? It's okay to read my scary story late at night with the rain pounding on your windows and thunder and lightning outside, but leave the light on. You’ll need it. Fulfillment makes a great stocking stuffer! Only $1.99 for your Amazon Kindle. Purchase by clicking here. You can obtain more information, read a sample of the book, and order the slightly higher priced PDF version or the whole lot more priced 288-page paperback version by clicking here.

Enjoy this blog video? Be sure to share it with your friends by clicking the social networking links below. Thank you.

Superstition in Fulfillment

2011-12-16T11:52:00.000-06:00

Here's a video on how I used superstition to help tell my suspense version of the Christmas story in my novel Fulfillment.

Launch into my new full-length novel
Mary is a teenage girl with a lot of moxie who's just a tad pregnant and has an ex-fiance who says, "Ain't no way that's my baby in there." What's a girl to do? What does she say to her dad? And how can she fight off Satan, the ultimate demon bent on killing her to keep the baby from being born? It's okay to read my scary story late at night with the rain pounding on your windows and thunder and lightning outside, but leave the light on. You’ll need it. Fulfillment makes a great stocking stuffer! Only $1.99 for your Amazon Kindle. Purchase by clicking here. You can obtain more information, read a sample of the book, and order the slightly higher priced PDF version or the whole lot more priced 288-page paperback version by clicking here.

Enjoy this blog video? Be sure to share it with your friends by clicking the social networking links below. Thank you.

Why Did You Make Zechariah and Elizabeth So Old in Fulfillment?

2011-12-12T15:42:00.000-06:00

As a writer, how do you set the age for a character? Too young and the audience has problems accepting the character's wisdom as beyond her years. Too old and the reader can't relate to his problems and challenges. But if the you set the age at the Goldilocks "just right" point, you risk boring the reader with a character who is predictable and not particularly interesting. In this video, I address the challenge for the characters of Zechariah and Elizabeth in my new novel Fulfillment.

Revisiting Super 8

2011-11-29T12:05:00.000-06:00

Back in July, I wrote a blog post about Super 8. The film is now available in video format so if you missed it in the theaters, put the DVD on your holiday gift wish list. Super 8 is the must see movie of the year. Here's the original post in which I focus on why Super 8 works as a story. I updated it to mention my novel Fulfillment, my must read novel of the Christmas season.

Director J. J. Abrams and producer Steven Spielberg have created a masterpiece with Super 8. This creative film is right on so many levels, it could be the basis for a book on film making and storytelling. Let’s consider one aspect of the film – storytelling.

When I began writing fiction, my favorite authors were the classic writers like Charles Dickens and Mark Twain. My dream was to write “the great American novel” and to become the next Hemingway or Steinbeck. Funny thing happened along the way. Turns out I write suspense stories or speculative fiction, like my new novel Fulfillment. Suspense or thriller is the main focus of my work, just as Super 8 focuses mainly on horror but has elements of sci-fi and suspense.

A horror story is a type of suspense or thriller in that it seeks to put you on the edge of your seat by scaring you and making you ask "what's next?" Most thrillers divide the plot into two parts. Part one takes about one-third of the story and involves discovery. It’s about learning what kind of monster is on the loose. It answers the question: “What is it?” Or “What’s going on?”

The monster, once discovered, may be traditional such as a vampire, werewolf or space alien. (In Super 8, it’s a space alien.) The monster could be a demon or a demonic person such as a serial killer. It could be another kind of monster – a spy ring or terrorist organization bent on world domination or global destruction. This latter kind of thriller is the stuff of the spy or political thrillers. In the mystery thriller, the focus is on "what will happen next" as opposed to the traditional mystery story where the focus is on an action that happened in the past as the hero tries to figure out "whodunit?" Not knowing where the story is headed is the basis of the "thrill" or "suspense."

The second part of a thriller takes about two-thirds of the story. Call it the “Let’s kill it” section. Now that we know we are dealing with a vampire or serial killer or a space alien, as in Super 8, our heroes go about the business of destroying the monster.

Skip this paragraph if you haven’t seen the movie yet. Super 8 represents a variation of the story in which you don’t actually kill the monster. Instead, you set it free because, after all, it’s not really a monster. It only looks like a monster and acts like a monster. It’s a misunderstood, abused, innocent, child-killing space traveler (Super 8) or a 75-year-old "teenage" vampire with a wall full of high school diplomas (Twilight).

Children: Connecting the Super 8 Dots to Fulfillment
I started this blog post by saying that I began writing fiction with one intention and discovered I belonged somewhere else. Instead of writing “literary fiction” (whatever that is), I find my stories landing in the suspense or thriller genre. The other unintended thing about my storytelling that should resonate with Super 8 fans is I invariably end up with a child or teenage hero. There’s something about the monster story that works exceedingly well when viewed through the eyes of a child or teenager.

What literary types call a “willing suspension of disbelief” is much easier to achieve through the filter of an innocent mind. But if the story is only about the monster, than you can skip the child and view it through an adult lens. What the child brings to the story, in addition to the innocent filter, is the innocence-to-maturity theme. You cannot experience the monster and remain the same.

So in Super 8, the children are changed forever. One boy discovers love. One girl discovers love. Another boy discovers unrequited love. And one boy discovers that if you go around blowing things up, there are consequences. I’m simplifying here. Super 8 delivers more than a love story filled with teenage angst, albeit young teens. Watch the relationships of Joe (Joel Courtney) and Alice (Elle Fanning) with their fathers, for example. Nothing remains the same in the story.

Innocence to experience has been the main current in American literature from day one. And it works so well in Super 8 that we almost miss the monster until the creature leaps off the screen, grabs you by the throat, and makes you pay attention. “Hey, don’t forget about me,” the monster shouts.

Why does Super 8 Work?
From a storytelling standpoint, it stays true to its marketing niche, the horror genre, while mixing in elements of sci-fi and traditional thriller. It filters the story through the innocent eyes of youth. It plays the monster in the background of a larger innocence-to-maturity story that is the hallmark of American story telling whether it’s a novel like Twain’s Huckleberry Finn, or my novel Fulfillment, or a movie like Super 8.

As I said, it would take a book to dive into the vast onion layers of Super 8. If you haven’t seen it yet, get the video. Enjoy. And if you have time, check out Fulfillment for your Kindle.You can obtain more information and order the slightly higher priced PDF version or the whole lot more priced paperback version by clicking here.

Suspend Your Disbelief

2011-11-28T09:27:00.000-06:00

Here's another in my series of video interviews in which I discuss Fulfillment, my new novel about the first Christmas.

What's a girl to do?
You're sure to enjoy reading Fulfillment, my 80,000-word suspense novel of the first Christmas. It's about a teenage girl with a lot of moxie who's just a tad pregnant and has an ex-fiance who says, "Ain't no way that's my baby in there." What's a girl to do? What does she say to her dad? And how can she fight off Satan, the ultimate demon who is bent on killing her to keep the baby from being born? It's okay to read my scary story late at night with the rain pounding on your windows and thunder and lightning outside, but leave the light on. You’ll need it. Makes a great stocking stuffer! Only $1.99 for your Amazon Kindle by clicking here . You can obtain more information and order the slightly higher priced PDF version or the whole lot more priced paperback version by clicking here.

Why I Made Joseph So Young in Fulfillment?

2011-11-22T07:57:00.000-06:00

Do you ever wonder what Joseph and Mary were really like in the Christmas story? Throughout the ages, artists have portrayed them as plaster or marble statues frozen in positions of devout reverence. But in real life they moved around. Their lives were filled with the minutia of daily living. They grunted, groaned, complained, praised, sang, and pretty much lived the way you and I do. Joseph was a carpenter. He had to have smacked his thumb with his mallet on occasion. At these times, I'm sure he uttered the first century equivalent of our four-letter words. This video explores why I chose to write my character Joseph as a real person deeply in love with Mary.

You're sure to enjoy reading Fulfillment, my 80,000-word suspense novel of the first Christmas. It's about a teenage girl with a lot of moxie who's just a tad pregnant and has an ex-fiance who says, "Ain't no way that's my baby in there." What's a girl to do? What does she say to her dad? And how can she fight off Satan, the ultimate demon who is bent on killing her to keep the baby from being born? It's okay to read my scary story late at night with the rain pounding on your windows and thunder and lightning outside, but leave the light on. You’ll need it. Makes a great stocking stuffer! Only $1.99 for your Amazon Kindle by clicking here . You can obtain more information and order the slightly higher priced PDF version or the whole lot more priced paperback version by clicking here.

Not Just Any Ghost

2011-11-11T08:39:00.000-06:00

Nancy Palomino from fourth grade visited me in my bedroom. Sister Immaculata Marie I could understand the haunting. She haunted us kids back in fourth grade at St. Agnes School, but Nancy Palomino? Nancy was pretty enough and nice enough in fourth grade. I mean who even notices things like that in fourth grade?

I only remember her because we used to walk home together after school. No, I didn’t carry her books or any of that mushy stuff. We lived in the same neighborhood. Since we left school at the same time, there we were walking side-by-side along the red brick sidewalks of West Chester. And me bumping into the big old horse chestnuts along the way.

I tried to ignore her as much as possible but that wasn't possible with Nancy. She was a first-rate chit-chatter and chit and chat she did. One day she chit chatted herself right in front of a blue Short Line bus while crossing Market Street. Not my fault, but there she was in my bedroom today, two hours before trick or treat even started. Dressed like a Catholic school kid run over by a bus. Yech! What do you say to a fourth-grade ghoul?

“Hey.”

“Hey back at you.”

We stared at each other for about an hour. Okay, maybe just a couple of minutes. Then she said, “Well, that was fun.”

She faded away before I could think of something else to say. I ran out to join the other fifth graders from my neighborhood. Nobody believed me, but it was the truth even if it wasn't the fulfillment of my dreams.

Speaking of Fulfillment - It's better than caffeine
It’s okay to read Fulfillment late at night with the rain pounding on your windows and thunder and lightning outside, but leave the light on. You’ll need it. And it makes a great stocking stuffer! You can order the Amazon Kindle version by clicking here. Or obtain more information and order the slightly higher priced PDF version or the whole lot more priced paperback by clicking here.

Why Is Mary So Young at the Start of Fulfillment?

2011-11-03T16:19:00.000-05:00

One of the readers of a pre-publication draft of Fulfillment pointed out that Mary comes across as too young at the start of the story. He thought she sounded like a little girl in the opening scene. But that's the whole idea. The video tells why I started the story with Mary so young. Enjoy.

Read Fulfillment - It's better than caffeine
It’s okay to read Fulfillment late at night with the rain pounding on your windows and thunder and lightning outside, but leave the light on. You’ll need it. And it makes a great stocking stuffer! You can order the Amazon Kindle version by clicking here. Or obtain more information and order the slightly higher priced PDF version or the whole lot more priced paperback by clicking here.

What Was Mary of Nazareth Like?

2011-10-24T16:07:00.000-05:00

My novel Fulfillment features Mary as the main character in a drama that pits God against Satan. God sends an angel to ask Mary to become the mother of his son, Jesus the Messiah. Mary accepts this honor. Okay, so now she's an unwed pregnant teenager at a time when the punishment was stoning to death. And Satan is out to kill Mary any way he can to keep Jesus from entering the world. Even worse, Mary has to figure out a way to tell her Dad. Learn more about Mary in the video. Buy Fulfillment at Amazon for a buck-ninety-nine.

Munger Road

2011-10-20T16:51:00.000-05:00

Director: Nick Smith (Click here for Trib Local interview)
Actors: Bruce Davison, Brooke Peoples, Randall Batinkoff, Trevor Morgan, Lauren Storm, Art Fox, Maggie Henry, Bill J. Stevens, and Hallock Beals

Munger Road blends traditional horror with The Blair Witch Project low budget film techniques. The filming of St. Charles, Illinois is stunning, especially if you know the town. Who knew it could look so good? Same holds for the Hotel Baker. In its own way, the grainy, low budget stuff in the horror sequences work.

Munger Road is a film of contrasts and what ifs. Are the teenagers in it together to make a film and scare the town? Or is it just two guys trying to scare their girlfriends? Is it two boys trying to scare their girlfriends but the ghosts are real? Is it two guys trying to scare their girlfriends and the ghosts are real, and oh by the way, there’s a crazed serial killer on the loose? Is the crazed serial killer the local priest who escaped from the loony farm or another unknown crazed serial killer? Is one of the teenage boys the crazed serial killer who set the whole thing up to murder his friends? Or is the girl who appears to be the innocent sole survivor actually the mastermind behind this night of teenage fright? And is she the sole survivor or not? Is she pregnant or not? And what does that have to do with anything? There may be more what ifs and crazy contrasts but I didn't find them. Have fun counting them.

Most stories have a beginning, a middle and an end. Munger Road is not one those stories. It’s scary monster horror, a genre where the first part of the movie involves figuring out what’s going on and discovering it’s a monster of some kind. The second part of the movie is the “let’s kill it” section where – you guessed it – the main characters go about the business of killing the beast.

Munger Road does an excellent job of the first part of the story up to the point where you are supposed to figure out who or what the beast is. But it stops just short of letting you in on the who or what. You can’t help feeling the movie ends about an hour short of a complete tale. There’s no “let’s kill it” section at all. And unless you pick up more clues than I did, you’re not going to know exactly what’s going on. However, that’s sort of the point, isn’t it?

Munger Road is the telling of an urban legend. With urban legends you never know for sure who or what the monster is. It’s all based on hearsay evidence. Is it some guy with a hook instead of a hand scratching on your car? Or is it a tree branch brushing up against the roof? You never know because it never really happens to you. You only know about it from the telling. And the story changes every time you hear it.

What you’re left with at the end of Munger Road is an urban legend told in the tradition of campfires and make out sessions in late night parked cars. Don’t expect a complete story, but do expect excellent direction and acting. Living near St. Charles, Illinois, I can assure you that town never looked better. And I can assure you of a good horror movie experience right up to the end, when you’ll go: “Huh? Is that it? But what happened?”

Not to worry. Munger Road is what urban legends are all about – the not really knowing that adds an extra measure of scared to the story. I’m looking forward to seeing Munger Road again to pick up any clues I missed the first time around that point to a more satisfying conclusion. It’s like a computer game where the more you play, the more you learn. Enjoy. But don't expect Fulfillment.

Fulfillment comes with a price: $1.99
Have you had a chance to download my new full-length novel, Fulfillment, from Amazon yet? It's the 80,000 word story of the first Christmas retold with Satan added into the mix.

About Fulfillment
In the drumbeat of a million raindrops comes a darkness marching to overpower the world where you and I live. We stand by without sensing the evil, never hearing the constant din of battle over our hearts, never feeling the bombardment upon our souls, never glimpsing the awesome power of our defenders. How can we live in this world and yet be so ignorant of the other?

In the roar of the beast and the hideous faces of the angry demons scampering across her bedroom floor, Mary became the central figure in a drama that changed the world. Her engagement to Joseph should have been joyful, but instead the secret concerning the baby in her womb attracted evil spirits, a king, soldiers and a would-be lover all bent on destroying her. Mary’s journey, while steeped with betrayal and the foul stench of the ultimate demon, is a setup for an even bigger story. She discovers a lost love found, the promise of a newborn king, and a wealth of new friends from a tiny man with the heart of a warrior to the young mother whose husband and children are murdered in a bloody massacre.

Fulfillment is suspense with a huge twist of horror when Satan discovers he isn’t messing with an ordinary teenage girl. This kid has moxie and connections in high places.

If the thought of Satan out to get you isn’t enough to keep you awake at night, how about reading Fulfillment? It will.

Better than caffeine
It’s okay to read Fulfillment late at night with the rain pounding on your windows and thunder and lightning outside, but leave the light on. You’ll need it. And it makes a great stocking stuffer! You can obtain more information and order the slightly higher priced PDF version or the whole lot more priced paperback version by clicking here.

Read Chapter One by clicking here.

Conducting Research for Fulfillment

2011-10-11T09:55:00.000-05:00

Today's video continues my interview series with a focus on the research I performed over a two-year period as part of writing Fulfillment. Capturing a sense of time and place in a story, especially one as distant from the present as the first century (C.E. or A.D. depending on how you count) is an essential part of the story-telling art.

If you have a question for this series, let me know by commenting here or send an email. If you'd like to read Fulfillment, it's available on Amazon for the Kindle. Or visit my biz website to find a link where you can purchase the PDF ebook version or the paperback. It's a full-length 80,000 word novel (nearly 300 pages).

Why I Wrote Fulfillment

2011-10-06T11:34:00.001-05:00

Okay, Mr. Suspense Writer, why did you write a thriller around the original Christmas story? I'm asked that question frequently, so I decided to answer it as the first question in my video interview series. Each video answers one question. Enjoy this first interview video.

Miley Cyrus for President

2011-09-26T11:52:00.000-05:00

Okay, this one requires an amendment to the constitution or a seventeen-year wait, but stay with me on this. You may be asking yourself why anyone would think a teenage music star is qualified to be President of the United States. Stop for a moment and think about the people running for President today.

I rest my case.

Actually I don’t. That only explains why we need another candidate in the race. Let’s take a look at Miley’s qualifications.

Follow the Money
The first rule in life, especially politics, is to follow the money. Miley is a self-made gazillionaire. How many other gazillionaire made their first gazillion by the time they were eighteen? You can count them on two fingers: The Olsen Twins.

Where did Miley obtain her gazillions? This is the crucial question that more than anything else qualifies Miley Cyrus to be our next President.

Miley’s money comes from her fan base of screaming teenagers. That’s right. Miley’s not owned by the mob, the fat cat politicos, lobbyists, the big corporate donors – none of those scumbags need apply. Miley is beholding to teenage America. People who can’t even vote. It’s not possible for a candidate to be more independent than Miley.

Okay, I hear you. What about Billy Ray Cyrus? Sure, he has some influence and so does her mom, but Miley brings in the bucks. Even Billy Ray has to follow the money.

Higher Intelligence
We expect our President to be a high IQ type. Miley Cyrus qualifies on several levels. Understand, she does not have to be a nuclear physicist to serve as President. She only needs to be more intelligent than the other candidates. As I said above, consider the other candidates in the race. How intelligent are those fine folks? Have you ever heard one of them speak? Have you listened to the debates? Have you heard one sentence that contains an indication of a higher intelligence at work?

Now, consider Miley. Becoming a gazillionaire while still a teenager certainly indicates she has the right stuff, including the smarts to serve and lead. She has a better sense of humor than any of the other candidates, which is a sure sign of intelligence.

Oh, and most important, she decided not to go to college. As a gazillionaire, she realizes that it doesn’t make economic sense to spend $150,000 for a four-year liberal arts degree that qualifies you as a hamburger flipper in today’s economy. How did she get smart enough to skip college? She avoided junior high and high school (unless you count Disney High but I don’t think anyone does).

Miley Cyrus is qualified to call the education emperor naked and lead the reform movement away from classrooms and into cyberspace where education belongs. And she is free to think what she chooses, including having a healthy understanding of what government should be about rather than what it is.

Speaking of Almost Naked
Miley Cyrus has that special quality that all great political leaders possess – the ability to stand on two opposing positions at the same time with no one really noticing or caring. Think Ronald Reagan here. Miley has successfully balanced her good Christian “wait until marriage” pledge with sexting. It’s a delicate balance, but she somehow pulls it off (pun intended).

Sexting – Solution to International Relations
I know you’re worried about how Miley Cyrus would handle the Chinese, the Arabs, the Israelis, and those pesky Canadians among others. Miley has something going for her that no other candidate can match with the possible exception of Sarah Palin – sexting. Imagine the first international crises of her administration. The whoevers are about to invade the what-the-hecks. Miley picks up the emergency hotline (giving it new meaning) and sends a sexting message to the dictator with the invasion force. What can the dictator do but assume the worst and back off. Otherwise they would have to deal with Miley in her undergarments.

Which brings us to Fulfillment
So far this conversation has nothing to do with the release of my new suspense thriller Fulfillment. But Miley Cyrus has achieved a great deal of success because of her moxie. My main character in Fulfillment also has a great deal of moxie and connections in high places. Her name is Mary. Satan gets the bright idea that if you can’t kill Jesus because he is God after all, then what better way to stop the salvation of the world then to kill the mother before he is born?

Fulfillment is the story of the first Christmas retold with Satan added into the mix. Think about it. What was Satan up to while God was going about the business of sending his son to save the world? It’s okay to read my scary novel late at night with the rain pounding on your windows and thunder and lightning outside, but leave the light on. You’ll need it.

Who says you can’t buy Fulfillment? It’s only a $1.99 on Amazon. And don’t forget to vote for Miley.

What is your butt telling you?

2011-08-24T11:41:00.000-05:00

My mistake was buying the smart phone. It gets my email, gives me the weather report, provides a map to wherever I’m going, and I can even get ground positioning satellite service from this thing. Oh, and by the way, I can make a phone call with it.

The phone part is the problem. Why don’t they put a flip cover on the smart phones to shut them up?

If you don’t have a smart phone, let me explain. The face of the smart phone, the part that shows the movies, the games, and the websites, also shows you a bunch of buttons you can push when, let’s say, you want to make a phone call.

The problem happens when you slide the little thingy into your hip pocket after you finish your call. The screen touches your pants as it slides in where it belongs, and so buttons get pushed. You’re sitting there minding your own business when your butt starts talking to you.

I hear this soft tin voice coming from the posterior region. “Hello? Dad, is that you?”

Yes, it’s my daughter talking to me from my pocket. When you get past a certain age, you begin to worry when you hear voices speaking out of your butt. Especially voices you recognize. Talk about scary suspense! I didn’t even hear my butt ringing. Thank goodness I didn’t put it on vibrate.

I’ve known for years that sales people are always talking out of their butts, but now they’re talking out of mine. How can you buy anything from a little voice in your pocket?

My daughter works in IT and assures me I’m not the only victim of butt-talk. It's quite common among smart phone users. I'm just sorry the phone's not as smart as my butt.

Butt-talk… will you be next?

When Becky Florped

2011-08-16T09:39:00.000-05:00

Here's another venture into the world of sci-fi suspense. At least I think it's sci-fi and suspense. Imagine living in an isolated space colony for about a hundred years or thereabouts. Your language evolves as your population lives in isolation. When Becky florped three three times, and Tom grabbed the glinknipper, the conversation went something like this...

“Ouch!” you left the tarnickle exposed again, Becky.
“Twarn’t me. I’ve been busy all day with morkmiter. Why do you think I just florped brinknackly three times.”
Oh, sorry about the pedinkle morkmiter. I was feeding the kerpolusion and forgot about it.
“No prinkmuster. But what about the tarnickle all over the bringbobber?”
“We could just call the pliminator.”
“Too much kerblank. We go through a lot of kerblank these daproms.
If we watch our perniskys, we should be oinkbonker.”
AQ. I can hankrinkle a few daproms without spending a lot of kerblank. I’ll stop eating wormglommers and pishunks.”
“And I’ll stay away from the binkmommer.

Landed Gentry

2011-07-29T06:56:00.000-05:00

Their father was one of the landed gentry in a land without gentry. Without fertile land for that matter. What need of land on a rock being mined for its nickel and small quantities of precious metals? Food you import from the bases on the south side of the moon. Landed gentry, ha. First off, most of them were women and they were company men, or women, as the case may be. Mine supervisors. But we called them landed gentry because they landed first. And they got to take off first at the end of the three-year shift, which now has a mere 13 months, 3 weeks and two days to go. Zelda Gimplocker was of the landed gentry. She owned the land I mined with Zorkgrack, my botdrill. Of the two I preferred Zelda, but she was the bossier of the two. Zorkgrack was the better cook. But Zorkgrack in bed is just something I don’t want to think about, especially with Zelda leaning over my shoulder right now.

Vampire River

2011-07-28T08:56:00.000-05:00

Another episode of my scary suspense theater. Keep your eye on the vampires across the river. They're the ones that sneak up behind you in the movie theater and get you just as you're about to scream at the most frightening part of the film. That's why you'll find me in the last row of the balcony. Which reminds me, when was the last time you were in a movie theater that had a balcony? Let me know where it is.

Something Stirs – Christian Suspense by Thomas Smith

2011-07-22T09:44:00.001-05:00

You know the drill. A family moves into the house on the hill. Everything is cool. Everyone is happy. Then Something Stirs. It’s creepy. Critters drop like flies. We’re talking dried-up-prunes type flies. Read Something Stirs late at night when you are alone. If you dare. Something Stirs mixes suspense with spiritual warfare. It’s devil vs. God and you know who’s going to win that one, but the fun is in how you get there. This novel does a lovely slow waltz build up to a fast-paced, roller coaster ending. Leave the light on, folks. Easier to read that way and a whole lot easier to stay in your skin. Christian suspense by Thomas Smith. Available in bookstores. Try Amazon.

Why Super 8 Works

2011-07-06T14:04:00.000-05:00

Director J. J. Abrams and producer Steven Spielberg have created a masterpiece with Super 8. This creative film is right on so many levels, it could be the basis for a book on film making and storytelling. Let’s consider one aspect of the film – storytelling.

When I began writing fiction, my favorite authors were the classic writers like Charles Dickens and Mark Twain. My dream was to write “the great American novel” and to become the next Hemingway or Steinbeck. Funny thing happened along the way. Turns out I write suspense stories or speculative fiction, like my short story Angel Thorns. I cross the bounds of mystery, suspense, sci-fi and horror. Suspense or thriller is the main focus of my work, just as Super 8 focuses mainly on horror but has elements of sci-fi and suspense.

A horror story is a type of suspense or thriller in that it seeks to put you on the edge of your seat by scaring you and making you ask "what's next?" Most thrillers divide the plot into two parts. Part one takes about one-third of the story and involves discovery. It’s about learning what kind of monster is on the loose. It answers the question: “What is it?” Or “What’s going on?”

The monster, once discovered, may be traditional such as a vampire, werewolf or space alien. (In Super 8, it’s a space alien.) The monster could be a demon or a demonic person such as a serial killer. It could be another kind of monster – a spy ring or terrorist organization bent on world domination or global destruction. This latter kind of thriller is the stuff of the spy or political thrillers. In the mystery thriller, the focus is on "what will happen next" as opposed to the traditional mystery story where the focus is on an action that happened in the past as the hero tries to figure out "whodunit?" Not knowing where the story is headed is the basis of the "thrill" or "suspense."

The second part of a thriller takes about two-thirds of the story. Call it the “Let’s kill it” section. Now that we know we are dealing with a vampire or serial killer or a space alien, as in Super 8, our heroes go about the business of destroying the monster. In my short story Angel Thorns, I play this section in an unusual way in that the people do not destroy the monster. Instead… well, I’ll just let you read it to find out. Point here is the good stories give you a little spin on the genre.

Skip this paragraph if you haven’t seen the movie yet. Super 8 represents a variation of the story in which you don’t actually kill the monster. Instead, you set it free because, after all, it’s not really a monster. It only looks like a monster and acts like a monster. It’s a misunderstood, abused, innocent, child-killing space traveler (Super 8) or a 75-year-old "teenage" vampire with a wall full of high school diplomas (Twilight).

Children: Connecting the Super 8 Dots to Angel Thorns
I started this blog post by saying that I began writing fiction with one intention and discovered I belonged somewhere else. Instead of writing “literary fiction” (whatever that is), I find my stories landing in the suspense or thriller genre. The other unintended thing about my storytelling that should resonate with Super 8 fans is I invariably end up with a child or teenage hero. There’s something about the monster story that works exceedingly well when viewed through the eyes of a child or teenager.

What literary types call a “willing suspension of disbelief” is much easier to achieve through the filter of an innocent mind. But if the story is only about the monster, than you can skip the child and view it through an adult lens. What the child brings to the story, in addition to the innocent filter, is the innocence-to-maturity theme. You cannot experience the monster and remain the same.

So in Super 8, the children are changed forever. One boy discovers love. One girl discovers love. Another boy discovers unrequited love. And one boy discovers that if you go around blowing things up, there are consequences. I’m simplifying here. Super 8 delivers more than a love story filled with teenage angst, albeit young teens. Watch the relationships of Joe and Alice with their fathers, for example. Nothing remains the same in the story.

Innocence to experience has been the main current in American literature from day one. And it works so well in Super 8 that we almost miss the monster until the creature leaps off the screen, grabs you by the throat, and makes you pay attention. “Hey, don’t forget about me,” the monster shouts.

Why does Super 8 Work?
From a storytelling standpoint, it stays true to its marketing niche, the horror genre, while mixing in elements of sci-fi and traditional thriller. It filters the story through the innocent eyes of youth. It plays the monster in the background of a larger innocence-to-maturity story that is the hallmark of American story telling whether it’s a novel like Twain’s Huckleberry Finn, a short story like my Angel Thorns, or a movie like Super 8.

As I said, it would take a book to dive into the vast onion layers of Super 8. If you haven’t seen it yet, go. Enjoy. And if you have time, check out my short story (4,700 words) Angel Thorns.

Irish Vampires

2011-06-30T13:17:00.000-05:00

What happens when the wee people turn into vampires? Another Scary Suspense Theater presentation. Don't watch this at night or when you're alone. Keep the garlic handy.

What's in Your Package?

2011-06-24T09:33:00.000-05:00

What could be in a box four feet on the sides and six feet high? What did I order and forget about? And how could I forget something that big?

Oh, of course, Hazel probably ordered something. She’s always ordering stuff we don’t need. Hey, maybe it’s that TV for the bedroom, the one with the six foot screen. Okay, maybe five foot screen. The box is only six feet and I have to allow for the packaging. But why so fat? Maybe two or three TVs? A TV and computer and… and… and… I don’t know. Electronics for the spare bedroom?

Where is Hazel anyway? She should have been home an hour ago. More importantly, where’s that box knife? Hunting knife will do. In the kitchen drawer. No, not in the drawer. Where did I leave my hunting knife? Wait, there’s a machete in the garage. Next to the tool box. Not here. On the shelf. No. In a drawer? No.

Okay, Will, where did you leave your sharp weapons? Oh, yeah, I worked on that brush clearing project this morning. Funny how I forgot about that already.

And where is Hazel?

The knives and machete… and oh yeah, the axe… they should be in the trunk of the car along with… with… something I can’t remember. Oh crap, I locked the door to the family room from the garage and the car is out in the driveway. I think I left it out there.

Not to worry. I have my trusty ol’ keys right here… Oh no, they’re in the bedroom. No, I think. Yes. I put them down when I unloaded… what was it I unloaded from the trunk out in the woods this morning? Bloody mess as I recall.

And where the blazes is Hazel?

How am I going to open the door to the family room? Oh. Duh. Maybe I’ll just push this button and open the outside garage door. Funny I didn’t think of that sooner.

Bluejeans and Straw

2011-06-23T09:49:00.000-05:00

No matter how much you dress the scarecrow, there’s still nothing to him. He has no brain, no matter how finely dressed. Who is in charge of your brain… and your heart? The tin woodsman, heartless and rusting away? Oz, the fake and powerless? Dorothy, the lost and helpless? The wicked witch, powerful until someone rains on her parade? The good witch, never around when you need her? The flying monkeys, loyal until someone else comes around? Or…

Dust, Ashes and Old Memories

2011-06-21T11:22:00.000-05:00

Have you ever taken a sickle and cut a path through a dense undergrowth of tall weeds, thorn bushes and clinging vines? You can't do it without picking up a few scratches along with some mosquito and spider bites. You also can expect an occasional run in with a poisonous snake. I’ve been a swinger of sickles and it bears a striking resemblance to the work of a fiction writer.

The writer of fiction enjoys exploring the nature of relationships and creating characters out of the dust and ashes of old memories and finding paths through the tangled jungle of the inner self. Who knows where the path leads when we are the creators of the path? Who knows what characters lurk in the darkness waiting for the writer to shine the light of creativity upon them. Better dress for the occasion when you go delving into the secret places of the heart. This is such a place. Welcome!

Oh no! Another Writing Exercise

2011-06-20T09:06:00.000-05:00

The first sentence was given. Write three minutes. What did you write? Share your results in the comments section. Or send it to me for posting later. My result…

Their father was one of the landed gentry in a land without gentry. Without fertile land for that matter. What need of land on a rock being mined for its nickel and small quantities of precious metals? Food you import from the bases on the south side of the moon. Landed gentry, hah. Most of them were women and they were company men, or women, as the case may be. Mine supervisors. But we called them landed gentry because they landed first. And they got to take off first at the end of the three-year shift, which now has a mere 13 months, 3 weeks and two days to go. Zelda Zilroy was of the landed gentry. She owned the land I mined with Zorkgrack, my botdrill. Of the two I preferred Zelda, but she was the bossier of the two. Zorkgrack was the better cook. But Zorkgrack in bed is just something I don’t want to think about, especially with Zelda leaning over my shoulder right now.

Road Ends

2011-06-15T11:50:00.000-05:00

Who knows why the road ends here? And whatever happened to old Naperville? Folks in these parts know the answer but they'll never tell. Men in black suits come around and then folks go missing. But we're not afraid. This video tells all.

Rediscovering the Ring

2011-06-07T10:30:00.000-05:00

The door popped open with a shove from Georgia. She pushed her nose through followed by her cheeks. The rest of her flew into the tiny home thanks to a giant shove from Donna. Donna, always the skinny, size four one, squished herself through the doorway and landed in the teeny hallway that led to a room beyond.

“I said it was a dollhouse.” Donna rubbed her nose.

“Too big. I’m thinking midgets.” Georgia managed to sit up without hitting the ceiling.

“Dwarfs?” Donna crawled into the room at the end of the hall which turned out to be a tiny living room.

“Height challenged.” Georgia plopped on the petite couch leaving no room for Donna to join her.

“Small size advantaged.” Donna sat on the floor and stretched her legs into the dinning room.

“Extinct whoever they were.” Georgia smiled at the row of tiny books on the shelf above Donna’s head.

Donna rubbed her fingers along the mantel. “It’s so eloquently carved.”

Georgia peeked over Donna’s shoulder. “What’s that funny looking ring? Is it gold?”

Donna picked it up and put it on her finger. Immediately she felt her mind blasted by an all pervading eyeball. "Looks harmless."

"Let me see." Georgia reached for the ring.

Donna slapped Georgia's hand away. "Isn't it precious? I think I'll keep it."

The End

Fulfillment is coming. Tell everyone!

Scary Suspense Theater Presents Superweeds

2011-06-06T11:11:00.001-05:00

Introducing a new feature on my blog called Scary Suspense Theater. Enjoy the first video entitled "Superweeds."

I Have a Dream

2011-05-31T16:05:00.000-05:00

Memorial Day is a time to remember the sacrifice of those who have made our freedom possible. They had dreams once, those young men and women who died fighting for us. As did those not so young military personnel who made the ultimate sacrifice on our behalf.

Revisit the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King's "I Have a Dream" speech. Think about your own dreams. And then step back into an earlier time to visit the home front in 1967 during the Viet Nam era.

This is the beginning of the Fulfillment campaign. Watch this space for more Fulfillment and ...tell everyone.

Read a short story: Little Miss Forgotten available at Amazon for $0.99

About Little Miss Forgotten
The time is summer 1967, and you’re soon to be drafted when you meet her. But what is she?

Little Miss Forgotten is a suspense thriller mixed with lively humor and teen angst. Add a twist of horror and mystery. Set in the midst of war and fear of war. Life on the home front during the Viet Nam era. Short Story. 3,000 words.

Story Preview

"Do you wanna dance?" Okay, it was the name of a top ten hit, and today's kids would sneer if they heard me, but in 1967 it worked.

She hesitated. She frowned. She stared for what seemed an eternity, (about three seconds). "Sure, why not?"

I don't remember the song. The band was on break, and the young kids who worked as house deejays were playing records. It was a fast one. You just didn't ask a girl to dance a slow one the first time. You had to dance a couple of fast ones first. At a nice suburban Catholic church hall like Holy Cross, a girl accepting a slow dance was giving you an invitation to climb all over her.

For your Kindle: Little Miss Forgotten available at Amazon for $0.99

Need another format? Send me a buck and I'll send you a PDF. Three bucks gets you the hard copy paper version. Email me to start the ball rolling.

Fulfillment... Tell Everyone!

A Visit with Donna Fletcher Crow

2011-05-24T17:12:00.000-05:00

Donna Fletcher Crow stopped by to chat about A Very Private Grave, her new novel in her series The Monastery Murders. And graciously answered a few questions.

1. Your novel, A Very Private Grave, has a modern heroine, but the plot requires she study the past to learn ancient truths. How challenging was it to delve into the past while staying true to the present? As a writer of historical novels, do you find it easier and more fun to play in the past or to write in the present?

You’re very right, Paul. This is a contemporary novel, but in order to solve the brutal murder of Felicity’s favorite monk and to prevent St. Cuthbert’s fabled treasure from falling into the wrong hands she and her church history lecturer must explore the events of centuries past.

Since most of my novels are set in Britain and I live 7000 miles away in Boise, Idaho, the research is always a challenge— whether historical or contemporary. I have to plan my stories very carefully and do all the research I can from home in order to make the absolute maximum use of my time on site.

Once I’m there, though, I don’t find much difference between researching the present or digging into the past. I go to all the places my characters will be going to and learn everything I can about it— past and present.

Since all of the Monastery Murders books are contemporaries with lots of digging around in the past I think I have the best of both worlds, as you say, “playing in the past and writing in the present.” I would hate to have to choose between them.

2. What prompted you to write this story?

I have wanted to tell Saint Cuthbert’s story since I first “met” him many years ago at Durham Cathedral. That a life of such simple, quiet holiness could have been so influential that it is still inspiring people more than 13 centuries after his death really intrigued me. I had convinced three previous editors to publish a similar story, but something else always got in the way of the writing. I think the time just wasn’t right. When our daughter went off to study in a monastery in Yorkshire and I got acquainted with the monks the background for The Monastery Murders began to take vibrant shape in my mind.

3. Are you writing a new novel at the moment? Can you tell us anything about it?

Oh, thank you for asking, Paul. Writers always want to talk about their current projects, don’t we? Book 2 in the series A Darkly Hidden Truth, which involves such disparate characters from the past as the enclosed mystic Julian of Norwich, Peter the Great and the Knights of Malta will be out this fall.

So I am hard at work on book 3 which I am calling An Unholy Communion as a working title. This is another story I’ve wanted to tell for many years: Wales from the very beginning with the birth of Saint David, Wales’ patron saint, in the sixth century, through the Roman occupation and on into the early 20th century with the Welsh Revival to today.

I have just returned from a research trip to all the scenes I will be developing, but I’ll have to say I didn’t stumble over a single dead body— some things are best left to fiction.

Click here to find her book on Amazon.

Astronauts

2011-05-18T10:15:00.000-05:00

Astronauts risked their lives, living in a tin can in space.
Dozens of astronauts flew this way.
Can you name any? Name two.

No one will remember your success.
No one will remember your failure.

Trust your judgment and your instincts.
Move forward boldly in your calling.
Be yourself.
Enjoy.

Revise for Creative Word Use

2011-04-29T08:07:00.000-05:00

The idea for this exercise came from thinking about hooks. Suspense writers are good at grabbing their readers through action. But if you read Charles Dickens, who knew a thing or two about hooks and action, you’ll find he holds you with the beauty of the language. “It was the best of times. It was the worst of times.”

Part 1, start with a typical timed writing exercise where you are given the first sentence. Jeremy Majewski provided this inspiration from his current WIP. The idea in a timed exercise is to write whatever pops into your head without self-criticizing or editing. Just write it down free-flow style. This is a great exercise for overcoming writer’s block. Over time, doing this type of exercise will improve your writing and grow your creativity.

To create your own exercise, pick a sentence out of any novel. Any sentence will do. Or make up your own. This gives you the first sentence. Or the last if you want to really challenge your writers. Depending on how challenging you think the sentence will be, give a time limit from three to five minutes. I chose three minutes for Part 1.

Part 2, revise your timed writing result for creative use of the language. The idea is to make it more poetic or add literary devices like irony. This part requires time to think so I gave five minutes.

My results

Part 1 – 3 minutes, first sentence given
“Beautiful night isn’t it,” she said to him as she wrapped her arms around his waist.
“Wahooo, your hand is cold!” Roger jumped a foot off the ground and hit his head on the oak branch. He bounced his butt off the pavement.
“Ouch,” she said.
“What do you mean ouch?”
“That must have hurt.”
Roger rose to a kneeling position and rubbed his butt and his head at the same time.
“Do that often?” she asked.
“Only on dates with you.”

Part 2 – 5 minutes, revise for creative word usage
Beautiful as a night on earth’s moon, glowing as sunshine off a rose, Imogene stretched her heart, her mind, her arm to snare love where previously she had least expected it.
Rising precipitously above the grey and hardened deck, Rogere gave a shout of exuberance. “Wahoo. Your hand, like your heart and your mind is of a temperature far below the freezing point of water.”
Rogere’s buttocks rebounded off the wine dark pavement .
“Ouch,” she said.
“Please define your meaning?”
“Obviously, you have experienced excruciating pain.”
Rogere arose to a position based on his knee contacting the hardened pathway.

Subplots

2011-04-28T08:46:00.000-05:00

We've been talking about subplots on the ACFW Suspense loop this week. Is it possible to have a subplot in a fast action, high drama suspense story? My answer is yes. Here's why...

Subplots in suspense happen the same way an actor or actress takes over a movie. Think Lauren Bacall in "To Have and Have Not." Minor character becomes the star.

Sometimes you create a character who has "star power," usually without intending to. This character becomes so interesting you have to explore her life a bit more, especially as it relates to the main plot.

The other way it happens is you plan it.

The main thing is -- It has to work!

Good Friday

2011-04-22T13:45:00.000-05:00

They spin. They whirl. They reel about. It’s a hurly-burly trying to make a big wind with its vanes. But the gizmo has it backwards. The hurry-scurry doesn’t make the wind. The wind makes the fins gyre and twirl.

We live in a backwards world, you and I. It’s a world where winter storms rage and people dress for summer. The world is an unforgiving place. One mistake and you’re out. But the world has a promise maker – a God who offers life even in the face of death.

The blades coil round and round until they are invisible. We hear the hum and see the waves of moving air and know the knife-edges are there. The propellers are not the action’s cause but rather the acted upon. We are like them, twisting and gyrating to no useful purpose until acted upon by a loving, gracious God.

Our God forgives our wayward corkscrewing and sets us in the right direction. We may be upon a flight of fancy but we’re powered by a force that’s real. See. Our slicing knives are rotating. Praise the Lord. He wheels our vanes in the right direction.

Do not resist the pull of the cutting edge. Do not try to brake them. Let the blades, by God’s own hand, take you to the sky. From up upon the highest peak, from up upon a cloud, we’ll flit and dance to God’s triumphant beat.

The world may not be ready for a soul that swivels and gambols, but the soul is ready, when to God it goes. Swirl upon a clear blue sky. Spiral upon a cloud. Whatever passes far below, God provides the ride.

Steam Punk

2011-04-18T09:14:00.000-05:00

Somewhere there is a place where it is always the nineteenth century, where steam powers the machines of commerce. My writer's group asked to do a steam punk writing exercise, and since we had just finished a writing exercise where you put "of doom" after every noun, it made sense. Bill Price came up with the exercise. He gave us the first paragraph. The challenge was to write for four minutes. Here is my contribution.

The evil doctor chortled madly at his lovely assistant. “The train will be along soon dear, and we’ll be free of the evil of doom. “

“But Doctor Smithereens, won’t the Professor just morph into a bat or wolf or something and follow us?”

“Mere rumors, my dear. Professor Motley is as human as you or I. He’ll follow in his airship. Ah, here’s the train.”

The engine wheels screeched to a stop. Doctor Smithereens took Hildegard’s carpet bag.

“Let me take your satchel, my dear.”

“Be careful of the revolvers, Doctor Smithereens. You know how they explode at the least provocation.”

“Yes, it’s those darn bullets with the nitroglycerine. Ah, here’s our state room.”

“Oh, Doctor Smithereens, there’s but one bed in this room. Where will you sleep?”

“Why, my dear, naturally…”

“Oh, Doctor Smithereens…” Hildegard sighed.

“Perhaps the engineer might perform the ceremony, my dear.”

“Like a ship’s captain?”

“Precisely, my dear. Or the conductor.”

“The conductor?”

“Why not? It’s just for the weekend anyway.”

The squeal of the steam whistle drowned out Hildegard’s response.

Noir continued...

2011-04-12T08:13:00.000-05:00

Comments: I'm picking up the noir story where I left off with a bleeding Mike Tankerton wondering if he would make it across the Michigan Ave. bridge before it could be raised. The story needs a title moving forward. A plot would help. For now I'm just having fun as "pantser" -- one who writes by the seat of his (or her) pants.

Tankerton Intro Continued...
Mortenson, O’Leary and Haggerty reached the blinking bridge sign together. They were arguing with arms flailing about until Mortenson pointed at my bus. I bolted from my seat, burst out the back door by jamming my good side against the double door rear exit. I crossed the street running full out for the bridge, the beeping noise and the blinking lights.

I may have made the bridge before it went up but for the hazy blackness that hit me out of nowhere. You can only lose so much blood before you find yourself in dreamsville with no chance for a wakeup call. I was still conscious when my head hit the curb and I bounced in the direction of the cars waiting out the bridge opening. My last memory included the sounds of rough voices and somebody rifling my pocket where I had stashed the PK380.

Organized Chaos Reorganized

2011-04-07T10:00:00.000-05:00

Comments: I revised yesterday's first draft to address the POV issue. Expanded the story a bit to get inside the main character's head. Gave the character the name Robert. Well, he told me his name was Robert. You know how it is with characters.

Organized Chaos
The background noise of conversation in the Ragamuffin Coffee House, located in beautiful downtown St. Charles, Illinois, connected Robert in a spiritual way to the brick walls. And the rhinestone fireplace. Also the rough old finish on the table where he sat, pen poised over notebook with the rest of the writing group.

He loved the red and black rag rug on the floor, which he pretended to be staring at diligently every time he desired a glimpse of Sarah’s legs sticking out of her way-too-short skirt across the room. The house blend coffee, with its fruity, nutty flavor formed a great complement to the coffee aroma wafting through the place.

He sat at the end of the long, mahogony table. When he peered up from his notebook, he caught a glimpse of Sarah gazing at him and then glancing downward when he returned her gawk.

She likes me, he decided. Wow. Finally, a babe likes me. Okay, not a babe. A gorgeous hunk of womanhood likes me. Be nice. An attractive young lady admires my male attractedness. Hmm. Not a word. My maleness. There you go. Wait. Is she checking out Marvin? Marvin who can’t rhyme patootie? Marvin who gives away the solution on page one of every mystery story he writes? How can she like Marvin? No wait, it’s me. It could be me. I have to talk to Sarah. Is she liking me or Marvin? She better make up her mind.

If rag rugs could talk, the faded one on the floor at Ragamuffin would tell tales of loves lost and won, coffees savored and spilled, some in anger, yet others dribbled away in the silliness of youthful joy.

Organized Chaos

2011-04-06T06:29:00.000-05:00

Comments: What follows is the result of a long ago writing exercise from a writer's group meeting at a now defunct coffee shop. The challenge was to capture the mood or atmosphere of the place. You're looking at the original rough draft. Later, I'll edit. One issue I'm interested in pursuing is Point of View (POV). Notice the switch from first person to third between the first paragraph and the second. Another POV switch occurs in the second paragraph as we learn what's on Sarah's mind.

Organized Chaos
I love the background noise of conversation in this place. It helps make me feel connected to the brick walls, the rhinestone fireplace, the rough old finish on this table I’m writing on, the rug on the floor. The tea’s not bad either.

He sits at the end of the group writing. From across the room, Sarah admires his rustic features, but she thinks that guy next to him ain’t so bad either.

If rag rugs could talk, the faded one on the floor at Ragamuffin would tell tales of loves lost and won, coffees savored and coffees spilled, some in anger, yet others spilled in the silliness of youthful joy.

1st Person Noir

2011-04-04T08:24:00.001-05:00

Comments: Noir fiction is often written in the first person. First person creates an immediacy that's compelling. It hints at the survival of the main character because he or she lived to tell the tale. Unless, of course, the tale is being told by a ghost. One of the downsides to 1st person is you don't know who the speaker is until another character happens to mention it. Or the main character has a reason to reveal it, for example, in a phone call. "Detective Larson? This is Mike Tankerton." The introductory scene needs to occur early in the first chapter. Our opening scene doesn't present this opportunity, so it will have to happen in the next paragraph or two after this scene.

The first person character doesn't necessarily have to be the main character. A sidekick can tell the tale. You may want to use a sidekick if your main character speaks in grunts and groans, like Rocky Balboa. Or if your character isn't the brightest light bulb in the cast. Or so brilliant, like Sherlock Holmes, he or she has no need to write a story, leaving that task to lesser minds with a literary bent.

Look for the way I adapted and polished the copy for first person. My editing challenge is to eliminate at least one-half of the uses of "I." Overusing the word "I" creates a feeling of self-focus that can kill your story. You don't need an over-sized ego in the first person. If your main character has a big ego, tell the tale in third person. In first person, scratch out their "I"s. Enjoy.

1st Person Noir
I couldn’t remember how the Walther PK380 ended up in my left overcoat pocket, but it was pressing hard against my side. I shifted my weight around on the bus seat to relieve the pain. As I stared out the window at the Magnificent Mile passing by, I counted how many shots I had fired. One, two, three, four, five. Four bullets left. I leaned my head against the window to rest, but the pain burned. I leaned the other way.

Outside, the darkness closed in like an assault team as the night sky sunk to the level of skyscrapers. Clouds boiled and rolled like flood waters from a deluge. As the CTA bus made its way down Michigan Avenue toward the river and Wacker Drive, I watched for Tomlinson’s men. A large flowered red umbrella blew inside out in the November wind that also lifted the owner’s black skirt near Ontario Street. A man in a tan London Fog stopped to gawk at her.

My right hand rested over the backpack like a protecting mother eagle. I smiled at the thought because the job went over like a diving eagle swiping the catch off a fisherman’s hook. The backpack was worth the five shots fired in anger. Six counting one from their side.

I glanced out the black window again. Neon lights painted a cityscape abstracted by the rain drops. The girl with the upside-down umbrella and flapping skirt was gone like all the other women in my life.

Blood dripped now from under my coat and over the back of my left hand. I let it run between my fingers. If they didn’t raise the bridge, I had a chance. But up ahead I could see the bridge lights blinking in the rain.

21st Century Noir

2011-04-01T08:31:00.004-05:00

Comments: Read yesterday's post first if you haven't already. I revised my first draft to be more consistent with modern suspense writing where you want to open with a strong hook. I'm writing hard boiled suspense so the hook has to grab the reader. I upped the ante on the suspense, adding teasers related to the character's love life, the purpose of his current mission, and the state of his health. I expanded the details to paint a stronger picture.

In the early noir stories, it was okay to say your character carried a 45 or a 38. Today's readers are more sophisticated. They want to know the make and model of the weapon. Details breathe life into the story. I chose a Walther PK380. Knowledgeable readers will know that it's a limited edition, highly refined product of German engineering, imported by Smith and Wesson. This clues the reader that our main character is a professional. What I haven't told you is whether he is a professional hit man or a professional good guy. I also haven't told you if the writer knows his character's occupation. The research on the weapon took about 10 minutes with the help of my friend Google and the detailed content of the Smith and Wesson website. Enjoy.

For critique: What is the correct use of the verb form for "don't" in the last sentence? Should it be "don't" or "didn't?" How does switching the verb form change the story, if at all?

21st Century Noir
Phil Tankerton shifted his husky torso to relieve the pressure caused by the Walther PK380 stuck between his left side and the inside of the bus. The Walther, stuffed into his overcoat pocket, had a way of shifting in the wrong direction whenever he sat down. He tried to remember how many shots he had fired. One, two, three, four, five. That meant four bullets left. He relaxed.

Outside, the darkness closed in like an assault team as the night sky sunk to the level of skyscrapers. Clouds boiled and rolled like flood waters from a deluge.

As the CTA bus made its way down Michigan Avenue toward the river and Wacker Drive, Tankerton watched for Tomlinson’s men. A large flowered red umbrella blew inside out in the November wind that also lifted the owner’s black skirt near Ontario Street. A man in a tan London Fog stopped to gawk at her.

Tankerton turned his attention to the backpack on the seat next to him. He rested his hand over it like a protecting mother eagle and smiled. It was worth five shots fired in anger. He glanced back out the black window. Neon lights painted a cityscape abstracted by the rain drops splashing against the bus window. The girl with the upside-down umbrella and flapping skirt was gone like all the other women in his life.

Blood dripped now from under his coat and over the back of his left hand, running between his fingers. If they don’t raise the bridge, he had a chance, but up ahead he could see the bridge lights blinking in the rain.

Rough Draft Noir

2011-03-31T11:09:00.001-05:00

Comments: What follows is the rough first draft of a story not written. I've been reading Ellroy and Penszler's collection of noir short stories, The Best American Noir of the Century. The noir writers of the first half of the twentieth century focused on setting the dark mood at the outset of their stories, rather than the action. Today's suspense writers begin with the action and let the mood settle in as best it can. The following snippet captures that early noir style. Notice the "hook" doesn't appear until the end of the passage. I'll revise this opening later and present it in twenty-first century noir.

This is a rough draft so try to look past the obvious need for editing. My plan is to show you a bit of my editing process over a few posts. For fun, pay attention to the contrast of dark and light. How does this contrast affect mood? What, if anything, does the light symbolize in this otherwise dark tale.

Rough Draft Noir
The darkness gathers over all as the night sky blackens and sinks to the level of skyscrapers. Clouds boil and roll over the sky like flood waters from a deluge.

At ground level, Phil Tankerton pauses before hopping aboard the lighted street car. A November wind ruffles his overcoat and nearly knocks his backpack from his shoulders.

Phil parks in an empty seat toward the rear. He’s glad no one shares this seat with him. He rests the backpack on the empty aisle seat, resting his hand over it like a protecting mother eagle. He glances out the black window spattered with rain drops. Neon lights paint a cityscape abstracted by the rain.

Phil shifts his body to relieve his side of the pressure caused by the 45 strapped under his shoulder.

Agency Hack

2011-03-30T07:57:00.000-05:00

Before he acts, Worster wants to be certain of the facts. Otherwise he will blow the whole presentation. Relationship building he knows. Selling he knows. Schmoozing he knows. Iron from steel he’s lost. Worster knows he needs to know the facts. Facts rule. Study the facts. Iron ain’t steel. Good. That’s one. Bar stock in, product out. That’s two. Cripes, how many facts are there? Machine steel, stainless steel, carbon steel, brass. Where did brass come from? Oh crap, they have a brass foundry, too? We’re supposed to promote brass? Cripes, I thought this was a steel account. Or is it iron? Google, gotta Google fast. Yeah, that’s it. Steal. No, the other stele. How do you spell the other stiel?

“Hey, anybody around here know how to spell steel?”

(Pause.)

“No, the other steel.”

Crap. Drop forge. Good. Drop forge. Two words. Gotta drop in drop forge. Double word score. Extrusion? No, that’s aluminum. Ain’t aluminum, just soft steel? Looks the freaking same. Not the same. Ok, got it. Lose the extrusion.

“Anybody find out how to spell steel?”

Writing Exercise (3 minutes)

2011-03-29T15:04:00.000-05:00

Use the following six words.
Acolyte
Tiddlywinks
Pickles
Galaxy
Is
Razor

The acolyte genuflected in front of the main alter where he hurt his knee on the tiddlywinks. He screamed making Sister Martha jump from her pew and the entire eighth grade class burst into laughter. Father Smythe, who was watching Galaxy Quest in the sacristy nearly spilled his pickle juice but caught it at the last moment. He bit into the three pickles remaining in his hand, chewed quickly and swallowed. He then gulped some of the pickle juice and headed for the alter where Kevin, the acolyte writhed in pain.

“What is your problem, Kevin?” Father asked.

“Tiddlywinks, Father.”

“Well, it’s not like it was a razor for Pete’s sake. Finish lighting the candles.”

Postmortem: Is it necessary to say "in pain" after "writhed?" Does one ever writhe when not in pain?

Prom Pranks

2011-03-28T07:35:00.000-05:00

My writer friend Krista Phillips once asked our now defunct online writer’s group for advice on prom pranks. She wrote, “I need an idea for a really good prank that a guy and his friends might try to pull to ruin a prom. I was thinking it could be something they would want to videotape for YouTube since teens are all in to that these days.”

My response
1. Stink bombs. Works every time. There's the cloud of dust, the hearty "Hi-yo-Silver and away" as the masked dude runs out of the place in time to avoid any stink on himself. That's how we know he did it of course. He's the one that doesn't smell. He's also the one with the video camera recording the mass exodus for presentation on YouTube.

2. Bug the ladies room with hidden cameras. Not a CBA solution, but it worked in "Revenge of the Nerds. "Ohmigod, a nerd saw me naked!" Of course, it works better if you bug a dorm or sorority. Still, you could catch all those cool conversations the guys would love to hear. "Tony doesn't know it yet, but this is his lucky night."

3. Give drugs to the band. Makes for great song lyrics until somebody tells the principal to listen to the words carefully. Could make for a great YouTube moment.

4. Start a rumor that the prom queen has been cheating on the captain of the football team with the captain of the basketball team while messing around with a nerd on the side. Stand back because the punches are going to fly. Another great YouTube moment.

5. Release a dozen mice while the band is playing that special slow song.

6. Do all of the above -- now you have a YouTube moment no one will ever forget.

7. Almost forgot -- See all those balloons hanging from the ceiling? Some wise guy filled them with paint and the paint is weighing down the balloons so they are about to start dropping from the ceiling any second and omygosh that one just splattered Emily Brickbrine's prom dress. Look out, here comes another one. Do you have your video camera running?

8. Okay, I'm getting warmed up now. Ever see the eighties movie "Sixteen Candles?" Here's the easy variation... a guy swipes a pair of his sister's panties and brings them to the prom. He waits until the evening is about half over (right before the paint balloons start to drop) and then tells all the guy's that the prom queen gave him her panties because she is so hot for all the guys. Then he shows the proof. The prom queen never knew she had so many guy friends and the prom king is about jealous and something interesting has to come out of this. And what with the rumor mill going full force from idea number 4 above... this can't end well.

9. Did you remember to spike the punch with grain alcohol or vodka?

10. Alice B. Toklas Brownies... Spike the desert with marijuana.

11. Or if you are just lazy and mean and don't plan to go to the prom anyway, call in a bomb scare.

12. Some of the guys could get together and hire prostitutes to be their prom dates and then turn 'em loose on the other guys. That has to tick off the girls big time. Stand back because the punches are going to fly and those girls hit hard.

13. When the band is about to go on break, one of the guys jumps up on stage, grabs a mic and announces that somebody important has just been assassinated (former Gov Blogoyovich?) so the rest of the prom is canceled so everyone can go home and watch the news.

14. While everyone is dancing to that special song, sneak around the tables and place a condom at every place setting. Not a biggie, but it is a great ice breaker.

I'm thinking you combine all of them. You'll have a scene out of "It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World." Your book will be NY Times #1. You'll make big bucks on the movie rights including a percentage of gross because you know Lindsey and Britney will play the prostitutes and you'll owe me big time.

Side note: Please keep Krista and her family in your prayers as they await word on a new heart for Krista’s baby daughter. See Krista's blog.

The Pizza of Doom

2011-03-25T09:02:00.000-05:00

My writer's group met at Monterey Place Pizza in Geneva, Illinois, last night. Great pizza. Excellent service. Naturally we had to have a pizza-themed writing exercise, but instead, I selected one of Bill Price's ideas. He said any noun goes better if you put "of doom" after it. So the exercise was to write anything you wanted for three minutes, but you had to include "of doom" after the nouns. Pronouns were exempt. Writing about pizza was my idea. Others wrote about other things, mostly pizza...

The pizza of doom fell on the floor of doom next to the blond of doom. Helen of doom picked it up. “What’s this crap of doom?”

“It slipped out of my hand of doom,” Fred of doom replied.

“Watch where you put your hand of doom. You’ve been drinking too many beers of doom.”

“You are looking pretty good yourself, Helen of doom."

“So you want to get friendly or what?”

“The what of doom.”

Our Special Hideaway

2011-03-24T13:20:00.000-05:00

We share a valley of pines in our hearts and minds. A deep, dark, slow river barely moves as we stroll past. There’s also a lake where the water is still and deep. Here, it is cool, and the pine needles are soft under our feet. Away from the river, where it’s drier, the moss grows in our special hideaway. It’s a room that we enter by crawling through a tunnel shaped by pine branches. The pine trees form the walls of our room and the pine boughs overhead make a ceiling. It’s big enough for the two of us to snuggle. In the hurried, crazy world we live in, I think of our gentle pine forest with you by my side and smile.

Toaster

2011-03-23T09:19:00.000-05:00

Hoo, I’m hot now! Look at me. Yeah. You looking ugly, girl. Putting bread in me with your no coffee smile, morning breath and flannel jammies. What’s that in your hair? I got heating elements with better curl than that. Oh, I’m hot.

Wo, what’s that? Look out. Here I come. POP! Yeah, babe, that’s your toast on me. Don’t pick it up with those fingers. They been in your nose.

Gonna get quiet now. Yeah, babe. Cool. Chill.

White Room

2011-03-21T10:15:00.000-05:00

Ethyl woke up in a white room, which was no surprise because Ralph, her husband, had spent the past three days painting over Justin’s deep purple. Justin was serving in Jerusalem undercover with the CIA.

The story goes that Justin was a pot head in high school, but she had never caught him with the weed. Ralph thought it was a case of teenage angst or so he claimed.

She ducked when the missile plowed through the window, shattering glass. Of course, the floor was no safer than the bed when the thing exploded, but you have to do something at a time like that.

She woke up in a white room. Bags of things were hanging everywhere and she could see the needles stuck in both arms. At least I still have eyes.

My Basement

2011-03-17T08:12:00.000-05:00

Morina banged her head hard against something. She felt her forehead, and her hand came away wet. She wiped it on the something hard and decided it must be a rock.

“Of course it’s a rock.” The disembodied voice was a deep baritone.

“Who? What? You reading my mind?”

“Sorry. I forgot humans can’t see in the dark. Here.”

Morina blinked as a light snapped on. She was in a basement.

“My name is Egdad. Welcome to Berbain Castle.”

“Castle?”

“Also known as my basement.”

“So we’re like in the Bavarian Alps or what?”

“Or what is closer. Naperville, Illinois, to be precise. How’d you get here anyway?”

“I… I… well, I remember falling into a sewer, but I was in Cleveland, Ohio.”

“Dragona Bertforth.”

“What?”

“No. Who. Dragona is… well, you might think of her as a witch but she’s more. Vampire witch perhaps. You earthers have such a limited imagination it’s hard to find a good analogy. Let’s throw in werewolf but take away the fur coat.”

Elbow on Formica

2011-03-16T08:07:00.000-05:00

She leans on the small round table, chin propped in hand, elbow on Formica, in the Geneva Barnes and Noble. Her eyes are warm and she smiles like a lover but the subject of her affection is the little girl across the table. Mom’s tired eyes express her feelings in this look.

No wedding ring. Mom without Dad. Her coat is dark red with a green plaid lining peeking out of her hood. Upon her dark blond hair she sports a bright red velvet hat. Mom home from work.

In mid description, Mom takes off with the little girl, leaving undefined the natural beauty of her eyes, nose, sweet smile, soft chin, high cheek bones and a life lived day by day.

For New Writers

2011-03-14T08:09:00.000-05:00

I recommend the following:
1. write
2. write
3. write

Read novels and some "how to" guides. Stephen King's "On Writing" is excellent. So is Anne Lamott”s "Bird by Bird." Join a local writer's group in your area because like all addictions, writing requires company.

Google is your friend so that when you hear terms like POV or character arc or talking heads -- just Google the term and you'll learn all sorts of stuff. For example, one of my critique partners told me I write in noir style. Well, I kinda sorta knew what noir film was about, but not really. You know, those dark, depressing B movies from the forties, right? Well, I Googled it to see what he was talking about and found a great article on Wikipedia that explained the whole thing in detail. Turns out my critique partner was right. Without studying noir, I had somehow developed that style -- probably from watching old movies. Now that I know what noir is and that it's the way I like to write, I'm better able to focus my writing in that direction. This allows me to write to my strengths.

There's more than enough to learn to fill a book. Hundreds of books in fact. Bet your local library has some books on writing that will help you in getting started.

About college: if you've never been, then try some writing courses at your local community college. The college experience is worth the investment plus you might just learn something while you're there. If you've been, you probably will do just as well saving your money and joining a writer's group. My writer's group has two English majors, a nuclear physicist, two technology geeks, two attorneys, a biology major who somehow ended up becoming a professional trade publication editor and now is a writer/editor by profession. So a writing or English background isn't necessary, but you do have to be willing to learn the craft.

And remember, it's fun so have fun. Otherwise, why do it?

Introducing myself -- again

2011-03-11T09:02:00.001-06:00

Okay, blog, you're about to see a lot more action as I update you with much greater frequency. To kick off my new commitment, here's a re-introduction based on a form Peg Brantley sent to our ACFW suspense writers loop...

Name: Paul R. Lloyd
Where You're From: Warrenville, Illinois -- a suburb of Chicago
Favorite Suspense Authors: Dean Koontz, Travis Thrasher, classic mystery writers like Dorothy L. Sayers, Dashiell Hammett (The Maltese Falcon) and Raymond Chandler ("He wrote like a slumming angel..."). The quote is from Ross Macdonald whose work I can't seem to find anymore. Mickey Spillane who wrote in a style similar to my own (no ego here, right? :-). I recently rediscovered Stephen King after a long absence and have enjoyed his work. J.A. Konrath understands the use of the hook and a well-placed joke. A fairly new author is John Galligan who writes the Fly Fishing Mystery series. He spins a good yarn. I'm a big Brit mystery fan. Julian Barnes is a hoot. Read him carefully and he'll teach you how to switch POV in mid-paragraph and make it work. He's a master at the craft. England, England is one of his books. Neil Gaiman is a joy. Thomas Phillips (The Molech Prophecy) was in my online writer's group for a time. He is an excellent wordsmith.
What you're reading now: Just finished Paranormal America which is a sociology study of the paranormal community in America. Very informative reading for thriller authors. Like what percentage of big foot devotees believe in other paranormal events?
Published or Pre-published? Pre. My wife and I own a marketing business and self-publish books -- our own and for other authors. Planning to self-publish a thriller later this year for the Christmas market. Think Stephan King visits Bethlehem or What was Satan doing while God was going about the business of sending his son to save the world? I have several non-fiction books self-published. And an e-book of mystery short stories.
How many manuscripts have you written?: Fiction: Five. One is publishing ready. Another will be ready very soon. The others are waiting patiently for editing.
What are you working on now?: FULFILLMENT. It's the Christmas suspense novel. I'm finishing an extensive editing process I go through with my novels. We'll be testing some online marketing techniques we've been learning. Should be interesting. Stay tuned.
Where you can find me online:
www.zuklloyd.com

Fiction blog: http://paulrlloyd.blogspot.com

Business blog: http://zuklloyd.blogspot.com

Linked In (I accept all invites to connect): http://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=811644&trk=tab_pro
Twitter: PaulRLloyd

Waiting for Writers

2011-02-09T17:25:00.000-06:00

The Starbucks Café in Barnes and Noble sits green with envy and aging wallpaper with blowups of novels, some classical and some just old. In Geneva Commons Shopping Center, Geneva, Illinois, the store’s team works to the tune of CDs played and offered for sale. Piano music, soft and soothing works with cranberry scone and decaf café mocha. Grande style.

A Visit with Mirrored Image Author Alice K. Arenz

2010-12-04T14:12:00.000-06:00

The cover of Alice K. Arenz’s novel is compelling. When Lynn passed a copy on to me, I had to read it. It takes place in the 1980s which, of course, is a favorite decade because that’s when we started our company, Zuk-Lloyd Associates. Mirrored Image reminds us just how far we’ve come in a few decades with the technological revolution revolving around cell phones, the Internet and social networking. Imagine having to look for a pay phone in an emergency. What a drag.

Two things I look for in a novel: a compelling story and crisp, clean writing. Arenz has accomplished both. Mirrored Image is the story of a newspaper columnist who is assigned to investigate a murder where the victim shares an uncanny likeness to her. Did the killer get the wrong one? Stir in an attractive police detective, along with the usual suspects, and you have the makings of a romantic suspense story that will stay with you after you finished the last chapter.

I invited Alice K Arenz to stop by for a blog visit. She graciously answered the following questions for me…

1. What prompted you to write this story?
My answer would have to be God. If it weren’t for Him, I wouldn’t be able to put two words together!

2. Why did you decide to set the story in the eighties?
This is an easy one to answer. I originally wrote the book in 1986, which is why it’s set in ’86. It was “almost” accepted by a now defunct small press. It broke my heart at the time, but as the years went by and I kept re-writing MI, I just got the overwhelming feeling that when I finally got it right, the way it was supposed to be all along, that it would finally achieve publication. So I followed the Holy Spirit’s leading, kept faith, and MI is now a REAL book!

3. Do you plan your novel in detail before you start writing or are you more inclined to just write the story as it occurs to you?
Never. I’m a total and complete seat-of-the-pants writer. I literally don’t know what is going to happen until it does. Any time I try to interject what I “think” should go into the manuscript, it’s a total flop. I’ve learned to keep the communication lines between God and my subconscious open – and then wait for the surprises.

4. Are you writing a new novel at the moment? Can you tell us anything about it?
I’m currently on hold with my latest novel, An American Gothic, which was originally scheduled for release in Oct. 2011. Gothic is a classic romantic suspense in the old style – like Phyllis A. Whitney, Mary Stewart, or Victoria Holt might have written – just updated. It’s written in the first person through the eyes of Lyssie Daniels, who is attempting to fulfill her dream of writing an old-fashioned gothic novel. A paragraph or two of Lyssie’s novel “Craven” opens each chapter and foreshadows the action to come in Lyssie’s real life.

Right now, I’m working on a short cozy for a book that will be a compilation of several authors. I’ve always been rather long-winded, so this is something I’m a little nervous about.

Thanks for asking me to be here today, Paul!

You're welcome!

How can a Christian write a story where a character commits a murder?

2010-11-02T10:28:00.000-05:00

The role of the artist often is confusing to Christians as well as non-Christians who think Christians are supposed to be better than everybody else. The truth is Christians are about the biggest sinners around. Not only are we vicious little sinners, but also we should know better. Knowing what is right and wrong makes our sin that much worse according to this line of reasoning.

Certain Christians believe artists should only take on projects that meet the Christian ideal of what is uplifting and Christ honoring. For them, the Christian artist should never depict a life of sin since that might lead a person exposed to the art into temptation. I can't imagine a story without a sin element in the same way that I can't imagine a character without a flaw. Besides, who would want to read the boring story of perfect Sam or Sally?

Are artists sinning when they depict sin in their art? The opposite is true. To ignore sin or pretend that it doesn’t exist would be a lie. Artists are called to express the truth, whether they create music, paintings, films or suspense novels.

Writers, like all artists, are called to plum the depths of the human condition. We dive deep into the black places of the soul and shine the love of Christ. Christ's love reveals sin. Sin may be forgiven or unforgiven. Confessed or unconfessed. But all sin is revealed in the light.

Writers are the reporters or journalists of the action of the story. We report the great love people show towards one another as well as the evil they do. To hide the sin -- or worse -- to ignore it -- would itself be sin for we seek to reveal the truth. People don't just sin. Their actions are the result of a lifetime (back story) of actions, thoughts, etc. that make up the character's strengths and flaws.

As writers, our model is Jesus Christ, the great story teller. In his tales, people are beaten, robbed, left for dead, and ignored by the very people who should rush to their aid. A man can take his inheritance, squander it in a sin-filled life of pleasure, end up broke and living in a pig sty. Those are the stories Jesus tells. The stories his followers tell are even more violent. Has any modern writer told a more vicious, blood-curdling story than that of the crucifixion of Jesus? And it's a true story, not fiction. Even the sweet story of the Babe of Bethlehem includes the murder of the Holy Innocents. And do we really understand the justice in Peter's condemning a husband and wife to death for what in our age would probably not even qualify for civil action? What is that story about? Writers make us think, don't they?

The contribution the Christian brings to the art of the story is his or her personal relationship with Jesus Christ. Yes, it's about having a Christian worldview but it goes beyond that to walking close to our Lord and writing the story He wants us to tell. He doesn't hold back when it comes to telling stories about humans. We are sinners and our stories have to include the sin.

Stories written by Christians, like all stories, are filled with passion, murder, love, angst, abuse, etc. The difference, if there is one, is the redemptive message itself. Christians live in a world where redemption is real, life has meaning, and people matter. In our stories, we recognize the difference between good and evil. We show that people really can change and that no matter what happens during the course of our story, in the end good will triumph. Maybe not at the end of the story we are telling, but certainly at the end of the age. The victory is certain. Our stories help the reader see these things for their edification and entertainment.

Writing Guide: The Book of James, chapters 3 and 4, provides good advice for teachers that writers would do well to read and consider.

In Reverse

2010-09-28T16:51:00.001-05:00

Serves four.
Garnish with fruit.
Flip onto serving plate.
Turnover.
Wait one minute.
Place on hot grill.
Cover thoroughly with egg mixture.
Dip bread.
Beat eggs.
Add a few drops of milk, water or whatever you are drinking.
Deposit in bowl.
Crack two eggs.

French Toast.

Mosquitoes

2010-08-31T08:19:00.000-05:00

The mosquitoes have moved in. Have you noticed how nasty they are this year? We can’t use the front door because they’ve camped out there. We tried putting citronella plants around the door but the cardinals took them for their nest in the dryer vent. Now we finally have cleaner smelling clothes.

We go in and out the garage door these days. The mosquitoes say, “Oh, look, the big cave is open.” And they move in. Ever get bug squashes on your windshield? In the garage?

I fixed the mosquitoes. I stopped killing the spiders. You ever see a spider scratching an itch? Not a pretty sight. Now I have way too many spiders in the house, but you should see the fishnet covering the ceiling of our bedroom. Very romantic. The only problem is now the spiders get cold at night. They’re cold blooded, you know. So they move into the bed with us to warm up. It’s not so bad once you get used to the squishy sounds whenever you roll over. Or whenever the wife rolls over which is followed by the little scream. Squish, squish, ee-yeow!

And if you sleep with your mouth open, you won’t be hungry in the morning. Speaking of hunger, ever notice how much a spider can eat? See, they move into the bed because they’re cold. They curl up in your warmest place and go to sleep. Yeah, that’s right, the warmest place on your body. I told you they were cold blooded. Oh, and they get hungry in the middle of the night.

Do you know how long a spider bite lasts beyond when a mosquito bite goes away? So how do you keep mosquitoes out of your house? Let me know soon because I’m planning to evict the spiders.

February in Geneva, Illinois or a Cool Study for Summer

2010-08-09T17:32:00.000-05:00

She leans on the small round table, chin propped on hand, elbow on Formica in the Geneva Barnes and Noble. The eyes are warm and she smiles softly almost like a lover, but the subject of her affection is the little girl across the table. She expresses her exhaustion along with a mother’s love in this look.

No wedding ring. Mom without Dad. Her coat is dark grey with a green plaid lining peaking out of her hood. Upon her dark blonde hair she sports a bright red velvet hat. Mom after work.

In mid description, Mom exits with the little girl, leaving undefined the natural beauty of her eyes, nose, sweet smile, soft chin, high cheek bones, and a life lived day-by-day.

Airplane

2010-06-25T10:05:00.000-05:00

A small propeller-driven airplane

Every business is an airplane and every employee a potential propeller. The company flies on the wings of marketing and sales success. It carries a cargo of products and services. The pilot is the CEO who sits up front giving direction. Employees fill the passenger section where they work to achieve a quality work life as part of a successful family and career. It all starts with work life balance.

The power of the company comes from the engine of innovation, creativity and a desire for success. The company is fueled by its resources of time and money.

Before the age of jet engines, propellers pulled the aircraft forward in victory towards its goal. Without a propeller, the rest of the airplane didn’t matter because the plane couldn’t get off the ground. If the propeller failed in flight, the plane crashed.

The propeller is the person who is out in front of the business taking the lead in accomplishing its mission. It’s the champion sales person, the innovative researcher and product designer, the receptionist with the pleasant greeting. It’s the customer service rep who resolves the complaint on the first call. It’s anyone who does an extraordinary job of simply doing their own job well. An airplane can have many propellers. The more propellers it has, the faster it gets to its destination.

You have two choices in any job. You can sit in the passenger area consuming valuable company resources and going along for the ride – or you can become a propeller that moves the company forward to success.

Which do you want to be?

Airplane

2010-05-22T09:21:00.001-05:00

Every business is an airplane and every employee a potential propeller. The company flies on the wings of marketing and sales success. It carries a cargo of products and services. The pilot is the CEO who sits up front giving direction. Employees fill the passenger section where they work to achieve a quality work life as part of a successful family and career. It all starts with work life balance.

The power of the company comes from the engine of innovation, creativity and a desire for success. The company is fueled by its resources of time and money.
Before the age of jet engines, propellers pulled the aircraft forward in victory towards its goal. Without a propeller, the rest of the airplane didn’t matter because the plane couldn’t get off the ground. If the propeller failed in flight, the plane crashed.

The propeller is the person who is out in front of the business taking the lead in accomplishing its mission. It’s the champion sales person, the innovative researcher and product designer, the receptionist with the pleasant greeting. It’s the customer service rep who resolves the complaint on the first call. It’s anyone who does an extraordinary job of simply doing their own job well. An airplane can have many propellers. The more propellers it has, the faster it gets to its destination.

You have two choices in any job. You can sit in the passenger area consuming valuable company resources and going along for the ride – or you can become a propeller that moves the company forward to success. Which do you want to be?

The Longhorn

2010-04-06T14:21:00.003-05:00

Photographs and paintings of old west cowboys and cattle compete with western desert landscapes. A chief’s portrait shows a proud face looking off to a hard future for his people – winters filled with too much alcohol and too little justice or mercy, not trusting a white man’s God.

Touhy and Mannheim is a far cry from the Colorado or Rio Grande rivers of nineteenth century lore. The hostess has a Russian accent. The Longhorn is a sports bar and steakhouse. Country and Western music plays too loud from the speakers.

Stetsons rest on pegs on shelves, never worn but dedicated to memories of old cowboys, Hollywood western adventures, and old radio and TV dramas. Where are you now Gene Autry and Roy Rogers? Moldering in a round, gray tin can in a back lot studio warehouse? And you Red Ryder and Range Rider? Have your horses long ago faded into the Montana sage brush or the foothills of Wyoming? Does the Rifleman still polish his Winchester on some distant shore along the River Styx? Do the Maverick brothers ply their trade on riverboats ‘twixt Natchez and New Orleans? Where are you Wyatt Earp in these days of outlaws and urban terrorists?

A good hamburger or steak will have to suffice as a reminder of pioneer days, while life travels onward toward distant stars and a business lunch in a post Great Recession Chicago where, as far as a western facing eye can see, stand the ‘burbs, one after another, and houses, the last cash crop of the Midwest Promised Land.

Where Babies Come From

2010-03-08T15:45:00.002-06:00

I know where babies come from. Do you?
My big brother Jimmy told me all about it. Jimmy said one day Mommy got sad ‘cause she didn’t have a boy friend. You know what Mommy did? Jimmy said she decided to meet a man named Daddy and so she did. Daddy made Mommy happy. That’s because Daddy was nice to her. Daddy bought her stuff. And Daddy took her places like the movies. Then one day Daddy took Mommy to church. That’s when they got married. That made Mommy and Daddy so happy.
“The End,” Jimmy said.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Where’s the part about the babies?”
Jimmy said, “Oh yeah, I forgot that part.”
Do you sometimes forget to tell a part when you tell a story? I know I do.
Then Jimmy told me about the babies. “So one day Mommy got sad.”
I said, “But I thought you said she was happy?”
“She was happy but she got sad anyway because she didn’t have a baby.”
“So then what happened?”
Jimmy said, “Daddy said to Mommy, ‘Look, Mommy, you’re not having a baby because you only have half a baby seed in your belly.’”
“How did Daddy know that?” I asked.
“Daddies are smart about things like that.”
“Oh,” I said.
Jimmy said, “Then Daddy said, ‘Look Mommy, I have a seed, too. Let’s put my half with your half to make a whole baby seed.”
“Then what happened?” I asked.
Jimmy said, “They put their half a seeds together and then a baby started to grow inside Mommy’s belly.”
“Then what happened,” I asked. I ask that a lot you know.
Jimmy said, “When Mommy’s belly got too big out popped the baby.”
“Was the baby me?” I asked.
“No!” Jimmy said. “I was the first baby. You came second. That’s why I’m the oldest.”
“And that’s where babies come from?” I asked
“Yep,” Jimmy said.
“That’s silly,” I said. “I thought they came from Pittsburg or one of those places like that.”
The End.

McDonalds Glenview on Waukegan Road

2010-02-10T14:42:00.002-06:00

The painting closest to the front of the store features an impossibly thin girl holding her heart to the sky in worship. Is she a nun in the making who is offering her heart to God? Or is she a goddess extending the heart of God up for mass adulation? Blue dominates a ruddy red hue in this vision.

In the other picture, ruddy red dominates a minor blue chord. The image appears to be two people shaping the center of focus. Or are these two saplings bent in the wind?

A dark blue-gray woven pattern on paper imitates a fine cloth pasted to the wall perpendicular to the creamy brick.

The man in the corner booth where the two walls meet sits below a third water color. The blue and ruddy red both are strong, but a blue border – light blue on three sides and deep blue along the bottom – dominates. A tall female form in ruddy red dances despite her single leg. She balances on a board upon two wheels or barrels.

The man wears a gray-blue sweater that matches the wall so that with a squint, he disappears from the neck down, except for two floating hands holding the Sun-Times.

Above the neck, he wears a scraggly gray beard like a man retired young or unemployed. A mustache matches the beard both in scraggles and color.

His face is long, thin and bony with a straight, patrician nose. His wire frame glasses are the size and shape of military issue from the long ago Nam-era.

Bushy eyebrows hide behind the glasses as do the color of his eyes. His ears stand in close bass relief against the side of his head. His hair is full on top and trimmed business-like on the side above the ear.

The paper holds his interest for a time.

He shakes the paper to set the pages straight, tosses his coffee cup, and dons his navy blue jacket as he leaves the booth and the paintings behind. He places his hand carefully into the jacket to take comfort in the feel of his loaded Glock 31. The man doesn’t have far to travel or long to wait.

August 3, 2009

2009-12-10T15:42:00.000-06:00

In the morning, we go down to the big open room where the Days Inn offers a free breakfast. Joseph and I place our orders at the big opening in the wall in front of the cook. He tells us to leave our yellow slip of paper on which we have checked off what we want. Pancakes for Joseph, eggs and bacon for me. As I grab a cup of coffee from the machine, decaf because the high test is out, I notice that the other folks in the room have scrambled eggs. I prefer mine over medium, like Goldilocks – not too hard, not too soft, but just right.

When the eggs come, I’m surprised to see they are cooked over medium to perfection. How did the cook know? No doubt a mind reader. Or perhaps that’s the way you get ‘em unless you ask for scrambled.

Montana requires more miles on Joseph’s Mazda RX8 odometer than any other state. We come in from the southeast, cross the state about two-thirds through and then make a sharp turn to the northwest to come out near the top of the state before heading into Idaho.

The mountains are higher now that we are in western Montana. The mountains are to our left as we make that northwest trek. We seem to be following a long valley looking for a pass through the wall of mountains to the west of us.

The Idaho panhandle gives us the shortest state we have to cross. We’re in the mountains now.

Eastern Washington is dry, almost a desert. Spokane looms in front of us and then we are headed across the landscape towards the coast. The mountains loom higher to the west and the RX8 eats miles until we approach Seattle.

Since we’re not sure about the ferry schedule across the Pungent Sound, and because Joseph wants to cross the Tacoma Narrows Bridge where the original bridge collapsed in a famous disaster, we head down Washington State Route 18 towards Tacoma. It’s a good road that moves fast even in the commuter traffic at six-thirty in the evening. Rt. 18 takes us to I-5 where we head south past Federal Way.

The Tacoma Narrows bridge, which is at exit 131, not 132 as indicated on the map, requires a toll if you are traveling the other way. It’s free if you are heading north towards Gig Harbor. We follow Rt. 16 until it turns into state Rt. 3 at Bremerton. Rat 3 winds through the northern half of the island. We turn at Rt. 104 and cross the bridge to Marestone Island and past Port Ludlow on the way to Port Hadlock. We follow my brother Richard’s directions to the home he shares with partner Danelle.

Richard is the poet. Richard Lloyd author of Sixty Spins of a Lopsided Wheel, Woodacre and other books of poetry. He is fairly well known among the poetry set on the west coast around Marin County, California as well as here in the Port Townsend area.

Turns out Richard and Danelle were expecting us to spend a few days at Mount Rushmore and not arrive here until later in the week. Surprise! But they seem glad to see us. This is the first meeting for Joseph and me with Danelle. She is a sweet lady, a hugger, an instant sister for me and friend for Joseph.

My brother David is staying with Richard and Danelle along with his daughter, Catie. They are staying in the carriage house above the garage. The garage serves as a workshop and junkpile.

I am happy – and so is my bottom – to have completed the drive.

August 2, 2009

2009-10-10T15:21:00.001-05:00

From I-90, Joseph and I spy Rapid City in the distance, urban sprawl amidst the grasslands, brown and dingy against pale grey and yellow of dry grasslands. I take U.S. Rt. 16 to avoid the downtown while wondering if the local restaurant from my visit two years ago is on Rt. 16. We don’t spot the place on Rt. 16 or St. Joseph Street when we backtrack into Rapid City.

A brand new Starbucks stands where something else once stood on a corner and we discuss if this was where the restaurant of my memories once stood. Heading out of town, we find a good breakfast in a crowded Perkins.

Outside, the highways of western South Dakota erupt with the roar of Harleys headed to and from Sturgis where the annual biker rally doubles the population of the state. Sturgis is west of Rapid City and after breakfast we head south on Rt. 16 in search of dead presidents.

A biker in a tall silk hat passes us, then a group of three biker women. Later we see a continuous string of Harleys, some outfitted like Hollywood image Hell’s Angels while others appear to be renegade accountants on a weekend jaunt. Two wheelers, three wheelers, and even a tiny four wheeler ride along towards Mount Rushmore.

Joseph takes a gander at Mount Rushmore for the first time while I’m on my second pilgrimage to this icon to presidential greatness. George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Abraham Lincoln and Theodore Roosevelt keep watch over the Black Hills with a wary eye towards Crazy Horse, the mountain of an Indian forming out of rough hewn rock to the south.

The entry gates are wide and pay tribute to the states with their flags and marker stones. All the while, the presidents stare down upon us as if to ask our politics or how stands the union. If all men are created equal why stand these men so tall and frozen in white granite?

What surprises most about Rushmore is how small the faces actually are. They take up what appears to be about one-third of the hillside. Photographers over the years carefully chose their angle to capture the majestic splendor of this great sculpture. The result was to form an image in the mind of huge proportions. The reality disappoints.

Yet the monument reminds us that with great achievement comes great honor and the greatest achievers deserve the greatest honors.

A Native American Indian might see Crazy Horse as a great leader deserving of a monument, but the carving at Crazy Horse is worthy of a Caesar. An entire mountain melts against the hot South Dakota sun, leaving behind the image of Chief Crazy Horse upon a mighty stallion. His face is complete and polished. I touched that face on my past visit when I received the VIP tour.

Today, Joseph and I follow the parade of Harleys to the parking lot. We walk to the end of the lot and take photos of the mighty warrior whose roughed out arm points to a brighter future for his people.

Crazy Horse, like the rest of us, is a work in progress. Our children’s children may one day see the completed work. The statue will stand without peer in size. Mount Rushmore would fit along the side of Crazy Horse’s head, tucked in above the ear. Even the Colossus of Rhodes was a mere mortal by comparison.

We do not linger at Crazy Horse where no tours of the mountain beckon this day, no fireworks make claim upon our time, and a gift shop overflowing with bikers does not beckon us.

The road calls us south towards Custer where we turn west and follow U.S. 16 northwest on a path heading back to I-90 but this time west of Sturgis and the biker crowd.

Custer is a tourist trap town with a Sheriff’s office and courthouse side-by-side. I warn Joseph that it indicates what they do with speeders in these parts – haul you back to Custer for conviction and fines. We stay within the speed limit.

We make it as far as Bozeman, Montana and stay the night at the local Days Inn. Bozewell is a clean town and home of Montana State University. Imagine going to college in the shadows of great peaks beckoning you to a career worthy of a future stone carver’s craft.

Day 1

2009-08-07T13:10:00.003-05:00

Finding time to post is as difficult on vacation as it is in normal times, with the addition of the challenge of finding both the time and place to WIFI. This post begins the story of the trip. My plan is to use description as a writing exercise and avoid dialogue as much as possible.

August 1, 2009

Joseph’s black Mazda RX8 shines in the driveway at 4:30 am as I load the last of my bags. I have the usual duffel bag of clothes, a backpack of cool weather clothes and an extra pair of shoes. My mobile office consists of two more bags, a small backpack and a brief case. A borrowed Sony Cyber-shot 12X camera fits behind the driver’s seat.

In addition to his bag, my son Joseph brings a case of bottled water and a small supply of beef jerky and snack bars. He also brings a spare tire which eliminates most of the trunk space. Turns out the RX8 comes with a tire repair kit rather than a spare and Joseph decided if a tire went out in the middle of nowhere, then he’d rather have a spare tire than a repair kit. I agree. We both have sleeping bags. You never know when you will need one.

What doesn’t fit into the trunk fits in the back seat. I add four books on CD borrowed from the Warrenville Public Library. And we both bring music CDs.

From Warrenville, Joseph drives north on Illinois Rt 59. It’s about twenty minutes to the on ramp for I-90 West. The suburbs rest silent against the dark overlay of a Chicago sky. Lights from stores add a touch of reds, greens and blues as we pass through West Chicago heading north. Also the bright gold and orange of the golden arches inviting us in for a cheap meal. We turn down the invitation.

Farther along, past North Avenue and then Army Trail Road we see more of the same, but newer than downtown West Chicago with it’s haphazard gathering of stores, parking lots and old dreams needing a tear down and restoration. Here the stores are new as are the subdivisions planted where corn once dominated. We pass Golf Road and then I-90 looms ahead. We take the west onramp.

I-90 takes us northwest towards Rockford where we stop for a quick break, giving small victory to those golden arches. Joseph spots a half dozen eighteen wheelers sleeping with their backs against a rising sun that paints the morning sky red over Chicago. We both take pictures.

At Rockford, I-90 turns north by northwest pointing us towards Madison, Wisconsin. As an expatriate Pennsylvanian, I see the rolling hills of the Chester County horse country, now merely rolling suburbs of Philadelphia, in the bumps and rises of the Wisconsin terrain we pass. Why did we remain settled in flatland when in Madison a dream waits to be fulfilled – sip coffee in my kitchen while looking at a mountain out the window. So what if the mountain is really a hill or berm or bump in the road. Higher mountains await us on this trip with a destination named Seattle.

West of Madison the land rises and old visions of Pennsylvania coal country come into view, except these are the original mountains churned up by an advancing glacier ages before Case excavators and Cat dozers cut a path through them.

Joseph, flesh of my flesh, is Illinois born and bred. Does he share old dreams of Pennsylvania mountains we visited when he was a child, when his maternal grandmother gathered him onto her lap so he could make chocolate Easter eggs with her? He is new blood in a new place and shares his bones with new earth. I am the Pennsylvanian. We see the world with different eyes, his younger, mine age challenged.

The Mississippi River marks a crossing and has marked a crossing for hundreds of years, Asian settlers first, those first tribes to see the water’s majestic flow south, making a barrier to their wanderings while yet feeding them with fish and wildlife along her shores. A thousand upon a thousand moons passed their way until French explorers found the region. The world turned for the natives as first the trappers and fur traders arrived followed by farmers, those fencers in of land. Then in time came the world’s two oldest professions, one feminine and the other lawyers. Soldiers, iron mongers, physicians and educators followed. All with their families so that places called Milwaukee and Madison and points between sprang up, the permanent financial hunting grounds of a new people of European and African extraction.

The river is sunken in the depths of rock bluffs, carved of sandstone and granite. I-90 follows the river north, against the current, much as a man travels against the current early in life only to learn it’s best to flow with the river so that you arrive sooner at your destination. I was a swimmer against the current, but my son sails with it and thus reaps the joys of a well-made life.

My thoughts turn to Westley, now two, son of daughter Heather and husband Jeremy. Will Westley swim against the current? He laughs. What a boy. He laughs. His eyes have the twinkle of a toddler about to tease Grandpa with some new tickle that brings more laughter from him for the doing of it, then Granpa for the being done unto. Yet we both laugh. Westley strikes me as a swimmer with the stream. He is a big boy, a future athlete if he so chooses. I vision him a friendly teammate and leader.

Southern Minnesota is more hills and Pennsylvania reminisces for me. As the land rises so I think of my beloved Lynn and her love of mountains, children, creativity and God in somewhat reverse order. And with me tossed in there somewhere.

Gradually the land flattens along with my thoughts, now focused on snacks and miles. We roll onto the prairie to become high plains drifters. Are the high plains the ones in the West because the land rises as you approach the Rockies? Or are the flatlands of Illinois the high plains because the original grass of those virgin plains grew to six feet and higher? I’ll have to look that up or ask a cowboy in Rapid City when we arrive. Later, I ask Wikipedia and discover the high elevation of the western plains defines them as “high plains.”

As we arrive near Chamberlain, South Dakota, Joseph is driving. He pulls off to a rest area because he sees a sign bragging of the view from an overlook. The sign is correct, the overlook is magnificent. My brother Pat – Joseph’s Uncle Father Pat – has served several times with the Sacred Heart Fathers with the Sioux on the Lower Broule Reservation. Why did he keep this view to himself? Maybe he always turned off the highway to drive into Chamberlain before seeing this view. A river runs through Chamberlain – or is it a lake – anyway it’s a big puddle and the town surrounds it, and it’s all laid out in a valley below the overlook. The sign as you enter the overlook area warns of poisoned snakes rather than advertising the view.

Along the route, we have heard the thundering rumble of Harley Davidsons. The West seems full of them, especially as we close in on the Badlands. In Mitchell, we stop for gas and to see the Corn Palace which a friend told me is a “must see” on the trip. My brother Pat never bragged of the Corn Palace in his years spent blessing the Sioux.

My friend was right, of course. The Corn Palace is a must see if you must see an old gymnasium cum shopping mall with bits of corn stalk plastered about. The corn stalks are formed into interesting art work. It’s the kind of art you can imagine entering the imagination of a grower of corn who himself is planted in the maze of a million square miles of corn. We work with the tools we are given and corn is the tool of choice in South Dakota, the structure seems to say.

We did not build structures of corn in Pennsylvania. There we used native serpentine and granite along with wolf-proof brick brought over from England as ballast in Colonial days. We were a solid people, like bricks and rock, and not given to extravagances like corn palaces. We left extravagance to New Jersey folk who build Elephant houses along the ocean. But that is another story for another day.

Illinois folk are solid, too, yet growers of corn beyond Chicago. With Chicago as a solid lump in your northeast corner, you don’t need the extravagance of a corn palace. Yet in my mind, I see the corn farmers of a long ago Mitchell – perhaps old Mr. Mitchell himself – sharing liquid corn on a Saturday evening and dreaming their own dreams of a palace of corn.

With the Harley Davidsons headed to Sturgis, South Dakota, in their thousands, we realize Rapid City will not be the best choice for affordable sleeping arrangements. Nor will it offer a quiet place of rest. Instead, we stop for the night at the Rodeway Inn in Kadoka, South Dakota – the self-proclaimed “Gateway to the Badlands.” Here we dine on steak and buffalo, reminding us of us the transformation of this land where tremendous herds of buffalo beyond counting thundered through where now Harleys rumble through disturbing the peaceful pasture of horses and cows. In the morning I can’t get the darn shower to work.

Speaking and Travel

2009-07-13T13:35:00.004-05:00

I’ll be speaking three times this week:

Plant What Others Throw Away
Thursday July 16 at 8:30 am at the Congregational Church Business Networking Group meeting in Batavia, IL.

Unleash Your Creativity
Friday July 17 at 7:30 am at the Waident Peer Advisory Group meeting in Downers Grove. This is a private peer group but if you want to attend, send me an email and I’ll see if I can wangle an invite for you. info@zuklloyd.com

Plant What Others Throw Away
Saturday July 18 at 8:00 at Immanuel Presbyterian Church Men’s Group in Warrenville, IL. Meeting will be in the church house next door to the church. Open to all men.

Attending Karitos Christian Arts Festival
I'll be attending Karitos this year. It runs July 16, 17, 18 in Bolingbrook, IL. Visit www.karitos.com to learn more. I'll be there on Saturday after my speech. Lynn and I will have a table where you can purchase PromiseGarden.com books. And Lynn may have some of her art prints available.

Seattle and back again
I'll be traveling to Seattle from Chicago beginning July 28th. I have speaking time available for Rapid City, SD, Missoula, MT, and the Seattle area. I may be able to speak in other locations along the I-90 route. Let me know if you are interested. info@zuklloyd.com or comment here.

I'll have PromiseGarden.com books with me for sale including my own: PLANT WHAT OTHERS THROW AWAY: CAREER AND LIFE LESSONS IN ORDINARY OBJECTS. The book shows how a proper view of success allows you to live in balance with God's call on your heart as well as your need to earn an income.

Visit my blog during my travels for journal posts. Beginning July 28 give or take a day or two.

Sweet Inspirations

2009-06-11T09:48:00.004-05:00

I submitted the following snippet to a writing contest sponsored by a purveyor of French wine in America several years ago. A New York fireman won. I think he entered a chili recipe. I’m considering submitting the opening sentence for the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest.

The French country lifestyle inspires me to write fiction that I would share with America, fiction soft as a delicate meadow flower waving gently on a summer breeze along the side of a stone wall where a lovely young girl sits reading her Francisque-Anatole Belval-Delahaye and sheds tears not because Par le Fer et par la Torche inspires tears, which it does in sensitive young hearts, but because of Francisque-Anatole’s senseless death of influenza at Romans, Drone, so close to the end of the first war. She closes the book upon a flower (she doesn’t know the name of it) to save the page and plucks a grape from the dark red bunch upon her plate next to the Saint Agur and those silly American crackers she picked up on her trip to Dallas last year. Her friend takes her hand, nearly scrunching the cracker. She looks at him with dark eyes still moist from her Belval-Delahaye and he smiles. He offers her the wine he brought home from his trip to Chicago. She wonders at first why the bicyclette on the label must be red, then looks about and says, “But of course.”

Writing Literary Suspense

2009-06-03T08:12:00.001-05:00

Fiction writers are the explorers of the deep places within our hearts as we seek the nature of relationships and create characters out of the dust and ashes of old memories. We slash paths through the tangled rain forest of our inner selves.

You can't blaze new trails without picking up a few scratches, mosquito and spider bites, and an occasional run in with a poisonous snake. Better dress for the occasion when you go delving into the secret places of the heart.

Wisdom

2009-05-22T11:40:00.004-05:00

When I entered the coffee shop, one customer stood in line. Behind the counter, three attractive teenage girls bounced with youthful joy.

As it turned out, the woman in front of me was the mother of the first young lady behind the counter, the one on the left. When her daughter gave her the drink, her mother said something sweet, “Thank you, my blessed beauty.”

The girl in the middle brightened. “Hey, that’s what my mother calls me!”

The third girl, the one on the right, cast her eyes upon the floor. “My mom calls me her ‘blessed mistake.’”

We sometimes say things to our children as a joke or to tease them, not meaning the words to be hurtful at all, but we forget who we are in their eyes and how much our children look to us, even in their teen years, for approval and recognition. The young lady attempted to cover her hurt with a forced smile.

When my turn came, the young lady on the left took my order and the one on the right, her mom’s “blessed mistake,” filled it for me.

Is there wisdom in keeping quiet at such times, giving my silent approval to the pain upon a stranger’s face? On the other side of the stainless steel machinery, she started making my drink. When she looked up at me, I said, “You were never a mistake, you were a gift.” She smiled and held back all but one tear that trickled down her right cheek as she whispered a hoarse “Thank you.” When she handed me my drink, I found I was blessed with the richest, most chocolaty café mocha I had ever tasted. So I guess we blessed each other that afternoon and there’s wisdom in that certainly.

When are our words blessed gifts and when are they blessed mistakes? Wisdom, it seems, is silent until the question itself is asked. Wisdom knows when to speak and when to refrain from speaking. Wisdom knows when to question and when not to question. Wisdom knows when to bless and when to withhold a blessing. Wisdom knows when to teach and when not to teach. Wisdom endures the bad times knowing good times will follow. Wisdom knows in which direction to travel and which path to take, for wisdom knows the goal and is steadfast in achieving the goal.

What is wisdom? Wisdom is not knowledge, for knowledge alone goes nowhere. Wisdom is not cunning for cunning alone does not bless. Wisdom is not intuition, for intuition alone knows no discretion. Wisdom does not reside in the head alone, but also in the heart. Wisdom is the product of a heart that seeks faith, hope and love for these are the true treasures of life. Above all wisdom seeks to love. For in loving, wisdom learns all that it needs to know and do to be happy. Wisdom teaches that you were never a mistake, you were a gift.

Thank You, Judge 09-40-MS9034j

2009-05-19T07:30:00.003-05:00

STEEL PENNIES, my unpublished novel entry in The Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence in Mainstream Mystery/Suspense Unpublished Division, earned 123 points out of a total of 123 possible points for a perfect score from one of the judges. It takes guts for a judge to make so strong a statement about an unknown work. I benefited from Judge 09-40-MS9034j's positive remarks because the comments reinforce what I know to be my strengths.

Judge 07-23-MS9034j, who awarded me 119 points out of 123, indicated I use too many "extraneous" words, such as "it" and "that." I keep a list of words writers should avoid and those words are on my list, but somehow those two escaped my editing process. I'm going through the manuscript now on a search and destroy mission to eliminate them. My other scores were 107 and 86. I'm making corrections based on the comments from these judges. Bottom line: I'll have a better novel to enter in the next contest. Recommendation for writers: Enter the contests that give you feedback. You'll become a better writer.

Am I There Yet?

2009-04-17T15:57:00.001-05:00

Where am I? I completed the forms and hit Finish. Oh, this must be it. That was fast. It’s so big. And so many tiny lights flashing and swirling around. But what else can it be? It has to be the blogosphere!

Ahem. Here I go. Blogging…

Welcome to my blog…

No, much too formal. Need something simpler…

Hi!

No, that’s just silly. I know. I’ll type.

Hi! Welcome to Paul R. Lloyd’s blog. This is the place where I’ll be writing about…

Yes, that’s just it, isn’t it? What am I going to talk about? What do people say on their blogs? Most seem like self-centered blogocrap.

Did I just invent a new word?

Great. I’m as egotistical as all the other bloggers out there in cyberland.

Did I just invent another word?

Shut up and say something.

Okay. This is one tiny step for a person and one tiny step for… well, me.

I will be talking about my writing on this blog, fiction mostly. I write what I’ve taken to calling “Literary Suspense.” My heart is in literary fiction, but every time I write a novel, I end up with murder, mayhem and things that … you know… go knocking about when it’s dark outside. So I’ve decided to embrace the suspense side of my soul while keeping true to the literary tradition.

What literary tradition? Glad you asked. Well, the short answer is the one that says that having a plot is a good thing, but the real story is in the other stuff. I’ll talk about this more in the future.

I also write nonfiction. My first nonfiction book is… Ta-da…

Plant What Others Throw Away: Career and Life Lessons in Ordinary Objects

Who came up with that title?

Anyway, it’s a PromiseGarden.com commercial paperback to be released May 2009.

Available at www.promisegarden.com. Well, duh.

Here’s how we’re describing the book on the back cover…

“How do you achieve success in the business world, provide for your family and honor God all at the same time? Using ordinary, everyday objects, Paul R. Lloyd shows how a proper view of success allows you to live in balance with God’s call on your heart as well as your need to earn an income. Using Bible-based principles, Paul walks you through a seven step process that will lead you to a better life.”

My amazing critique partner, Amy Barkman, says this about my book…

"… a great motivational and encouraging tool for people in any kind of enterprise, whether it be business or ministry. The symbols make the messages memorable. I could see it influencing my own goals in life as I read. I recommend it as something to be studied over and over."

Amy Barkman, Director of Voice of Joy Ministries, and Pastor of Mortonsville United Methodist Church, both located in Kentucky www.amybarkman.blogspot.com

Yes. Well said, Amy. Thank you.

Oh, I almost forgot…

I am available to ghost write and edit books so pop me an email if you want to know more about that. info@zuklloyd.com

And I write copy for the business world through Zuk-Lloyd Associates, Inc. You can learn more about how we turn ordinary business information into extraordinary stories by visiting our website – www.zuklloyd.com.

But enough about me for the moment. I understand you can leave all sorts of comments below. Go on. Don’t be shy. Oh, and don’t be smutty about it either. There are ladies about.