Category Archives: Steel Chronicles
The End of the Night
I am working furiously on “The 12th Demon” and there are vampires. Then, today’s prompt for storypraxis intrigued me so I wrote this short, short story that captures some of the flavor of the characters in “The 12th Demon”. I hope you like it!
the end of the night
“Why haven’t you ever asked to drink my blood?”
Sebastian glanced at our reflection, rather my reflection in the train window. “We are friends, Jon. I’ve never looked upon you as dinner.”
I pulled his cloak up around his shoulders. He was slumping in the train seat, his cloak rumpled, his hair askew and his features haggard. Gone were the imperious, powerful facial expressions of the vampire I had known for months now. “You look terrible, you know.”
Sebastian shrugged. “I’ve looked worse. You should have seen me during the Crusades. Kill or be killed. Drink or die. Blood everywhere. I was an unholy mess.”
I glanced at my watch. Ten minutes. “Why are you doing this?”
Sebastian turned away from the utter darkness outside the train window and his burgundy eyes were moist. He blinked and patted my hand. “It is time. There is always a time to cease; to pause; to exhale.”
“You don’t inhale.” I said.
Sebastian smiled and his fangs were visible. I glanced around at the other passengers on the train, all still and ensconced in their private worlds. Who would he have eaten? Which mortal would he have claimed?
“I could give you just a little.” I held up my wrist.
Sebastian pushed it gently away. “Do not tempt me, Jon. You are the reason I have chosen to die, you know.”
I felt my heart quicken. “Me?”
“Yes, you. Pulling me into your world of arcane investigations. Proving to me that their are monsters worse than I in this world. Showing me that the future of mankind is hopeful and you will prevail in time over the creatures of night and blood and death like me.” He turned back to the window. “How long now?”
“Six minutes.”
“I never chose this lifestyle, Jon. It was thrust upon me. But, I chose every victim over the centuries. Some reluctantly. Some with glee. You have given me Choice again. I don’t have to be this way anymore.” He sat upright in his seat and turned so that his gaze was fully on me. His eyes glowed with his power. “Do you think there is a place for me in heaven? Or, will I live forever, again, with the damned in hell?”
I swallowed under the intensity of his gaze. “I cannot answer that, Sebastian. I refuse to believe you have no soul. I refuse to believe that God’s forgiveness would be denied even you. I have to believe that even Judas could have claimed forgiveness.”
He nodded and released me from his gaze. I relaxed. Never would I feel those eyes on me again. I glanced at my watch. “One minute.”
Sebastian adjusted his cloak and his ascot. He ran a hand through his dark hair and like magic, it was straight and full. He was suddenly himself, his powerful vampire mastery filling the air with electricity. “So, it is morning in France?”
“Yes, we will be out of the Chunnel any moment now.”
Sebastian reached over and turned up his palm. “I have prayed to your God, Jon. I seek His forgiveness. We shall see if He will take me in this new morning at the end of the night. Tell Lydia she has chosen a good man in you. Will you hold my hand?”
I took his cold, frigid hand in mine and he turned his gaze fully on me. Light glimmered out the window for a second and with a lurch, the train passed out of the tunnel into the countryside of France. Sunlight gushed in through the window and fell upon Sebastian’s shoulders. He closed his eyes and waited.
Nothing happened. No fire. No ash. No explosion of flesh. His cheeks flared with crimson and his hand suddenly grew warm in mine. I gasped and released it. He opened his eyes. They were bright blue. His mouth fell open and my eyes grew wide. His fangs were gone. He turned and looked out the window and the morning sun fell full on his face. He looked through his own reflection and smiled.
“Jon, I am forgiven!”
Editing the Book — The Mystery Box!
There was the mystery of the man in the rocker. My mother often told the story of how, at the age of 14 (which would be in 1932) she was forbidden by her mother and father to go to a dance party. In the small town of Saline, Louisiana there just wasn’t a whole to do for entertainment and my mother really wanted to go to the “Jump Josey” party. So, after she was sent to her room, she slid out the window and ran across the yard in the dark toward the neighbor’s house.
She would talk about how much fun she had at the party and suddenly realizing how late it was. So, she ran back to her house. It was now close to midnight and the little hamlet of Saline was quite and dead as a door knob.
She eased up on the front porch with her shoes in her hand and into the house. As soon as she shut the front door behind her, she head someone rocking in the rocking chair. In the dim interior of the living room only lit by reflected moonlight, she saw someone sitting in the rocker. Her heart was beating and she was so afraid it was her mother and father. She quietly slipped by the chair but when she passed her parents’ bedrooms, they were both in the bed fast asleep. All of her sisters and her brother were in their beds. Then, who was in the rocker?
This was the great mystery. I remember sitting on the edge of my seat as my mother told this story. She told it over and over throughout my childhood. And, I jumped every time the big Reveal was, well, revealed. In fact, my mother and father were incredible story tellers. It seemed as if their entire lives were one unending story after another. I grew up believing in fairy tales and ghost stories and that good would always triumph over evil. I grew up believing that life, like stories, has a beginning, a middle, and an end and the best stories always have the strongest endings! I grew up believing that everything in life was a story; coherent; understandable; forward moving toward a satisfying end.
In our postmodern culture where relativism rules supreme, it is difficult to see where life in the 21st century matches the classic story. I guess that is why I absolutely LOVE anything written, directed, or produced by J. J. Abrams. Yes, I watched every episode of LOST with breathless anticipation. And, yes, I loved the finale. It fit. It was inevitable. It was a strong ending. I watched every episode of Alias. I went back and watched Mission Impossible III again and loved it. And, Fringe is one of my favorite shows right now. Just last week, I got hooked again by Alcatraz. And, as a life long Trekker, I was shocked and stunned by the brilliance of his reboot of Star Trek.
This past week I began the long process of re-editing my final version of my next book, “The 12th Demon”. Today’s post is about plot. My editor, Andy, had this to say about character development in light of the plot devices regarding one scene where Jonathan Steel has “lost” the teenager Josh again and is reeling with emotional conflict over this failure to keep his promise to Josh’s mother:
You’ve written a novel that centers around action, which is excellent. However here it would be good to dwell on Steel’s emotions. He’s just lost Josh. He would be feeling ashamed, angry, and even afraid. Help the readers connect with him on an emotional level by giving Steel a moment of vulnerability here. See this talk by JJ Abrams about the most important scene in Jaws (start at 10:00).
Here is the link to this most excellent discussion. Watch it over and over and bathe in the pure brilliance of the Mystery Box.
My mother gave me a “mystery box” each and every time she told me that story. It set the stage for my entire life. It has made me an investigator of all around me: people, places, things, situations, life in general. For in everyone of us, in every situation there is a mystery to be solved. And, it is in the journey to discovery that life finds its most satisfaction for me. In fact, the greatest discovery of my life was in finding a relationship with Jesus Christ. Opening that “mystery box” was the most profound experience of all.
Oh, yeah. The rocker.
My mother slowly crept back into the living room, still carrying her shoes. The rocker was still but as she got closer, it began to rock again and she could now hear a deep, throaty breathing from the person in the chair. Who was it? Had someone come into the house to rob them? She should have run back to her parents’ bedroom and cried for help, but if she did, she would be in big trouble over the dance. So, she drew nearer to the chair and asked, “Who’s there?” More deep breath and now, a thumping sound like a heart beating hard and slow. She reached out in the darkness and felt hard, scratchy whiskers and she screamed, throwing her shoes up in the air. The man in the chair bolted up and landed right on top of her as they toppled to the floor. The man’s face grew close to hers and he . . . licked her. He licked her? The lights came on as the family tumbled into the living room and there perched on top of my mother was the family hound. You can figure out the rest!
Editing the Book — The Femme Fatale
Meet Vivian Darbonne. Without the apostrophe. In “The 13th Demon: Altar of the Spiral Eye”, Vivian is a minor character serving as the “administrative assistant” to the evil Robert Ketrick. She is seductive and surly and her catch phrase is “looky what the cat dragged in”. She drips with Southern charm but beneath her pouty exterior is a calculating creature of pure evil.
In my upcoming book, “The 12th Demon: Mark of the Wolf Dragon” due in October, 2012, Vivian becomes a major character. I recently began my first edit of that book with my editor for Realms books. He had some suggestions for Vivian.
Even the most direct women, I believe, seduce with words and physical suggestion before taking action. Coquettes and Sirens gain sexual power over their victims through the tease, through mixed signals, and through seeming helplessness. I want the audience to be seduced by Vivian. To love her, pity her, and hate her at the same time. You have to work to make her more human, less black leather.
His suggestion: look at the possibility of turning Vivian into a femme fatale. So, what is a femme fatale? That great, inexhaustible, and highly reliable source, Wikipedia describes a femme fatale like this:
A mysterious and seductive woman whose charms ensnare her lovers in bonds of irresistible desire, often leading them into compromising, dangerous, and deadly situations. She is an archetype of literature and art. Her ability to entrance and hypnotize her victim with a spell was in the earliest stories seen as being literally supernatural; hence, the femme fatale today is still often described as having a power akin to an enchantress, seductress, vampire, witch, or demon.
The list of literary “femme fatales” was long but two examples from films interested me. First, the character portrayed by Mary Astor from “The Maltese Falcon”. This is one of my favorite movies featuring Humphrey Bogart as Sam Spade and directed by John Huston. I immediately located the movie in my iTunes list and watched it again.
The first time I really sat and watched this movie was in 2005. I was preparing my script for “The Homecoming Tree”. This play was set in 1941 and I wanted to see a movie from that year. Watching the movie helped me work out the nuances of behaviors and habits from that period and most importantly, how men and women interacted.
Astor really irritated me. From the first frame I didn’t like her. I guess it was because instinctively I didn’t trust her. What was it about her that made me not trust her? Maybe it was because she was so ingratiating and so smooth with her conversation. So calm and unflustered. I never like her the entire movie, but I had to admit she was one brazen dame!
What qualities did she exhibit that classified her as a femme fatale? She was seductive, vulnerable, conniving, and slowly reeled in every man she met. Okay so this was one model to use for Vivian. But, there was another movie that I recalled from the 1980’s. It was a very steamy, very explicit movie by one of my favorite writers, Lawrence Kasdan. He had written the screenplays for three of my favorite movies, Raiders of the Lost Ark, The Empire Strikes Back, and Return of the Jedi. And, if you think about Leia in Empire and Marion Ravenwood in Raiders, they both have a bit of the femme fatale. But, nobody, and I do mean nobody can compete with Kathleen Turner as Matty. I tried to watch this movie again but had to turn if off several times when my wife walked through the room. Yes, I felt very, very guilty. But, Matty’s character is the perfect femme fatale for a more modern age than 1941.
What sets her apart from Mary Astor’s character is the give and take with the man in her life. She pulls him close with her seduction than pushes him away. She entices him with subtle words then slaps him across the face and pushes him out the door. The most famous scene is near the first part of the story. Ned has visited her house for the first time and she has locked him out. Matty is standing in the foyer and she has locked Ned out. He goes from window to window to door and Matty is not moving. She sends the message, “I don’t want you to come in. But, I do want you to come in.” Finally, Ned breaks out a glass door and they, well, they connect.
Matty is up to no good and (spoilers here) she sets Ned up to kill her husband and take the fall then disappears with all her husband’s money to some exotic island.
Back to Vivian. How can I transform her into the perfect femme fatale? How can I take her seductive demeanor and make her helpless and fickle? That is the challenge. Vivian is a major character in “The 12th Demon” and clashes right off with Rudolph Wulf, a man in league with the twelfth demon. Now I have my work cut out for me. So, if you’ll pardon me, Vivian and I have a date tonight. Don’t worry. I’ll keep a close eye on her!
Do you have a favorite “femme fatale”? Share with me. Oh, and if you haven’t read “The 13th Demon” pick up a copy and meet Vivian Darbonne without the apostrophe. See what the cat dragged in!
Writing the Next Book — The Edit, Part 1
To all prospective writers today I start a new series of blogs dedicated to the process of taking a novel from a final draft to the finished, published project. To this end, I will share with you some of the comments I just received from my editor for my second book, “The 12th Demon: Mark of the Wolf Dragon”. Don’t worry! There will be no spoilers. I want to dwell on the process so you can see what I see as I hack and hone the work to its final product.
Here is the opening paragraph of my editor’s letter to me regarding my final manuscript “The 12th Demon: Mark of the Wolf Dragon” slated to debut in October, 2012:
What a pleasure to work with you again on this series. You’ve put together an excellent novel here—and I find the move to more of an action / thriller genre a good one. Horror protagonists tend to be pitiable, average Joes put in unfortunate circumstances, but Steel is the Jason Bourne of paranormal Christian fiction, and I love that you play to his (and your) strengths here.
Wow! That really pumped me up. Then came the next 14 pages. Yes, 14 pages of detailed suggestions on improving the novel. How would you react to receiving 14 pages of suggestions? At first, I was very overwhelmed when my editor sent me a similar set of pages for my first book, “The 13th Demon”. It was almost a year ago and I remember sitting at my desk stunned at the amount of work it was going to take to bring my novel to where my editor thought it should be. I almost called my publisher, Realms Books, and told them I would send back the advance check and could we please tear up the contract?
Isn’t it funny how easily we can be discouraged? I’ve found that one of Satan’s most powerful weapons is discouragement. Years ago, I wrote a short sketch. I played Satan and my friend, Mary come out on the stage holding a little candle. She was singing, “This little light of mine. I’m going to let it shine . . .” I was dressed all in black and I leaned in and began whispering words of absolute doubt and self loathing in her ears. I kept it up until she stopped singing and I blew out her candle. She relit the candle two more times and each time I chose another area of her life to talk about such as her failures with her marriage, etc. and blew out her candle. At the end of the sketch, I went one last round of discouraging words and she blew out her own candle!
Satan discourages us, but ultimately we are our own worst enemy. We blow out our own candle. I realized Satan was whispering these words in my ears and I chased him away with some choice words, the name of Jesus, and a few scriptures. I sat down and completely rewrote most of my manuscript in six weeks until my editor and I completed the final product, “The 13th Demon: Altar of the Spiral Eye”. After that rewrite, even though I had turned in the final manuscript for “The 12th Demon” I went back and took it through a similar process and rewrote it and sent it in to Realms this past November. Gratefully, they passed it on to my editor, Andy Meisenheimer and now I have twice as many suggestions as on the first book!
But, I am not in despair. You see, Andy told me in the email with the attached notes that he really liked this second book and wanted to really push me even harder than on the first book. Push me harder? Okaaaaay!
Lesson learned. You can always improve. You can always grow and be better. I strive to always remain teachable. Many of my favorite authors started out a book series with a book that was good, but had weaknesses. And, with time, their subsequent books just got better and better and better. This is what I want to do. I am hoping for that day when I have learned enough of the ropes of writing that the pages diminish, but the praise increases from my editor.
So, in the coming weeks, I’ll cover some of the areas where I will strive to do better: PLOT, STYLE, and CHARACTERS. Hey, I’m pumped that I have a STYLE!
Did you get some gift cards for Kindle or Nook for Christmas? Order my book, “The 13th Demon: Altar of the Spiral Eye” and find out why one reviewer said:
“Once I started “The 13th Demon: Altar of the Spiral Eye,” I could hardly put it down! I just had to read one more page and suddenly I found it was three a. m. and I had to start work in four hours. I can hardly wait for the next Jonathan Steel book, “The 12th Demon”.”
F.A.Q.s From the Faithless
I have been invited to speak at a breakout session at the upcoming Evangelism Conference for the Louisiana Baptist Convention January 23 and 24 in Alexandria, Louisiana at Louisiana College. I will be speaking Tuesday afternoon on Frequently Asked Questions from the “Faithless”. It will be a two part session covering six of the most importantly asked questions from skeptics and nonbelievers regarding the Christian faith. Here is my description of the presentations:
F.A.Q.s from the Faithless! Part 1 and 2
This presentation will be two 45 minute sessions. Each session will discuss three of the most asked questions by skeptics and nonbelievers regarding the veracity of the Christian faith for a total of six questions. In today’s culture of growing hostility toward the Christian faith, Christian’s MUST be prepared to answers these challenging questions and practice “pre-evangelism”. In fact, these questions are asked by Christians and our inability to answer these questions is at the heart of many who are leaving the Christian faith. Come to both sessions and learn simple answers to these challenging questions. This introduction to “apologetics”, the defense of the Christian faith will show you there are answers to these questions and there are reliable resources available to equip Christians with the tools we need to defend our faith! Be prepared to answers these Frequently Asked Questions from the Faithless!
F.A.Qs from the Faithless Part 1
Question #1:
In light of the bestselling books by the “new atheists” such as “The God Delusion” or “God is NOT Great” the prevailing thought is that if you believe in God you are delusional. Or, as Stephen Hawking would say, you’re believing in a “fairy tale”. What kind of rational, reasonable proof do we have that the God of the Bible exists?
Question #2:
Science and faith are at odds and science is the enemy of faith. The Bible says kooky things like the universe is only 6500 years old when the Chinese have written historical documents older than that. So, what gives? Are faith and science enemies? How can a Christian believe in science and the Scriptures?
Question #3:
Why can’t everyone just leave me alone. It’s up to me to decide what is good and what is bad. Truth is in the eyes of the beholder. Why should I confine myself to YOUR truth. Is there such a thing as absolute truth?
F.A.Q.s from the Faithless Part 2
Question #4:
Speaking of the Bible, it seems to be an old book written over thousands of years full of contradictions. I’m sure it has been changed over time to fit the current political climate of the church. How can I believe in an ancient book that has changed so much over the centuries and is filled with so many glaring errors?
Question #5:
Earthquakes, floods, wars, famines, disease — the world is filled with evil and suffering. If there is a God, why does He allow these things to happen? Since they are happening, there must not be a God.
Question #6:
Millions and millions; possibly billions of innocent people have been killed over the past two thousand years in the name of Christianity. Why should I become a Christian and join the ranks of those who perpetrate these atrocities?
Got Questions? Get Answers!
2011 — My Year as a Published Author
Most blogs end the year with a review of the past year. I thought I would do something a little different. This is my first year to release a fiction novel with a major publisher. I have self published my fiction in the past and I have a non-fiction book, “Conquering Depression” that celebrated ten years on the market in February! But, this past year was a huge work in progress in learning the ropes of being a published author promoting a new book in the twenty first century. I LEARNED quite a bit. I thought for the end of the year, I would summarize what 2011 taught me as a published Christian fiction author. So, any PROSPECTIVE authors out there can learn a few tidbits from my experience. Here goes:
YOUR EDITOR CAN MAKE OR BREAK YOU!
During my three self published works, I had very weak experiences with editors. Each time, the editorial “review” was more grammatical than substance oriented. My greatest challenge in revising “The 13th Demon” for Realms was in bringing the 105,000 word length down to 75,000. In the process, I had to cut and cut and re-cut scenes. In February of 2011 I received my initial editorial review from my most excellent editor, Andy Meisenheimer. Four pages of rather disappointing news almost convinced me to return my advance and sever my contract. Who was I kidding? I’m not an author! Obvious, now that I see how weak my book was. Andy made two very powerful statements. First, “Who cares?” In the chopping process I had eliminated very important scenes that established a relationship between the reader and my main characters. Second, “Whole scenes seem to take place off stage.” Yeah, those are the scenes I had to axe to meet the word limit.
At first, I was angry. Why couldn’t the publisher just let me put my book out there the way I had written it? But, as I prayed and mulled over Andy’s suggestions I realized that most of the changes he suggested matched my first, original manuscript. I went back in time to 1999 and pulled out my first rough draft. Over the years of self publishing and trying to change the book to meet editor’s expectations at prospective publishers, I had radically departed from my original format. I realized that in writing, like in life, your first impressions are usually the best. I tossed everything out after 1999 and rewrote the entire book in six weeks from the first manuscript adapting the changes Andy suggested. I am happy with “The 13th Demon: Altar of the Spiral Eye”. Without Andy’s editorial suggestions, it would have died on the vine. Instead, my book has received universally good reviews and I owe it all to my EDITOR!!!!
PROMOTION AIN’T WHAT IT USED TO BE!
Publicity versus Marketing. They are different. But, to me they are just words on a page. When Mark Sutton and I released “Conquering Depression” in 2001 we mounted a two month campaign consisting of radio interviews. We placed magazine ads. I hired a marketing/publicity firm for my two self-published books and had several radio and television interviews in 2007 and 2008.
But, TIMES HAVE CHANGED! Marketing today hinges on social media, not the traditional marketing techniques. This past year, I spent two hours A DAY on Facebook, Twitter, and my website promoting the upcoming release of “The 13th Demon”. I visited key blogs and made as many salient comments as possible to drive traffic to my website. I was invited to post guest blogs on some of these sites. I accepted invitations to review books on blog tours in order to drive traffic to my website. Did it work? I think so. I’m not sure. How do you know? This is very new to me and probably new to many people. The entire industry of promotion and marketing is in flux. The learning curve has been steep and just when you have a handle on it, things change! Just be ready to change with the times. Promotion and marketing are a DAILY process. Should an author hire a marketing firm? Good question. I’d like to hear from some seasoned authors on this point. Such a move worked well for me four years ago. I’m not so sure it would work now.
BOOK SIGNINGS ARE NOT A GUARANTEE FOR SALES
When Mark Sutton and I released “Conquering Depression” in 2001 we went on a book tour and had several book signings. We always sold dozens of books at each book signing. We met lots of people. We had great conversations. But times have changed. I set up a book tour for “The 13th Demon” and appeared at about a half a dozen book stores. I sold a maximum of 8 books on one book signing and a minimum of 4 books on another. My wife and I drove literally two thousand miles in the process over a three week period. I have to ask myself if it “Was worth it?”.
Why should an author participate in book signings in 2011? Most books are sold through ebook sales. The idea of a “virtual” book signing is still so new it may not work. There are sites for virtual book signings such as Kindlegraph. I agreed to book signings for two reasons. I want to continue to support the book store. I know times are changing, but Amazon and Barnes & Noble have yet to match the ability to walk into a book store and just EXPLORE. Online book stores do not lend themselves to wandering around, being enticed by a book cover, and picking up the book — holding it in my hands — and reading the first page.
I also want to meet people. At each book signing I have participated in, there was at least one “divine appointment” God had set for me. In each case, I connected with a person who had a need that I managed to meet through my knowledge as an apologist or my profession as a physician. In each case, the conversation that ensued had NOTHING to do with “The 13th Demon”. In each case, the person bought a book. In each case, the person visited my website. So, I am not going to give up book signings. I may give up the traveling part of the book signings. Driving three states away may not be the best use of my time and money! But, I still want to meet people.
TIME MANAGEMENT IS IMPORTANT (OR, LEARNING TO JUGGLE SIX BOWLING BALLS IS ESSENTIAL TO BEING A PUBLISHED AUTHOR)
I am NOT giving up my day job. If there was anything I learned this past year it was that being a published author will NOT pay the bills. Unless you’re a Tosca Lee or a Ted Dekker, you must keep your day job. That advance on my book paid off some of my marketing bills — but only SOME of them. I mentioned spending one to two hours a day online. How do you do that, keep your day job, write the next book, revise the current book, and work on the rewrite of the book you’ve turned in to the publisher?
It is not EASY. The WRITING LIFE is a hard life. As I tell people, “You don’t FIND time, you MAKE time to write.” And making time means taking time away from something else. That something else may be family time or leisure time or wasted time. It is amazing how much wasted time I have eliminated from my life. What I miss are the hours I used to spend just reading a book. It is essential to be a good reader in order to be a good writer. But, in accepting monthly book reviews in order to promote my website, I take up what little time I have left to read with reading a book that may not be very good or may not be my genre. And, often, I find my self rushed into finishing the book to meet a review deadline. I don’t get to relish the story and slow down to enjoy the writing.
I have learned to combine travel with promotion opportunities. This not only allows me to work in some kind of book signing or personal appearance, it gives me the opportunity to write off the travel as a writing related expense. Here are some photographs from my trip to London and Paris. My fifth book, “The 9th Demon: A Wicked Numinosity” will take place in London. The first photo is of the Tower of London and a guard outside the building housing the crown jewels. The second photo is of the Lyceum Theater and a scene in the book takes place in the adjacent alleyway. The third photo is from the Doctor Who exhibit in Cardiff, Wales.
Fortunately, my children are grown and my wife loves to play bridge online with other women all over the world. Each night, I have about an hour to spend on writing. That helps. But, inevitably, I have set aside a week I am off from my day job for writing only to have some crisis eat up the free hours. I have to take my 97 year old father to the doctor. I have to get my aching tooth filled. I have to schedule a doctor’s appointment. You get the drift. And suddenly, I’m looking at a deadline for a book review or, most importantly, the time to turn in the last draft for my next book and I have to really sacrifice to make the deadline.
Time Managment is something I have always been good at but I MUST get better at it if I am to continue this WRITING LIFE.
Those are just four things I learned last year. Now, 2012 is looming and I am anxiously waiting for my editor’s suggestions for “The 12th Demon: The Mark of the Wolf Dragon” in January. And, I just turned in the final draft for my third book, “The 11th Demon: The Ark of the Demon Rose”. AND, I am now about to tackle the revision of the fourth book “The 10th Demon: Children of the Bloodstone”. That will be the most difficult task to date. It is 150,000 words and I have to cut it in half and still keep the story intact!!!! Looks like 2012 will be just as busy as 2011. But, you know what? I am so blessed and so fortunate to have an awesome publisher in Charisma Media and a fantastic editor in Andy Meisenheimer and such a good God to give me the opportunity to turn my writing into something useful and hopefully positive for the advancement of the Kingdom. It’s all worth it. I’ll rest when I get to heaven!!!!
Christmas Movie #1 — It’s a Wonderful Life!
I stood at the corner of the bedroom hallway and my heart raced with unreasonable fear. If I turned the corner and started across the living room, someone might be waiting at the front door and see me. I would have to look them in the eye. I wasn’t prepared to face anyone. The night before, my world had almost come to an end and I had fallen into the deepest, darkest depression of my life. My dreams were over. My hopes were dashed. I had run my ship aground on the reef of pride and it was sinking fast.
In 1994, I formed a company called The Foundation of Inspirational Arts. My goal was to become sort of a Christian Walt Disney. I wanted to create inspirational art through music, drama, theater, movies, and publishing. I incorporated my new company and formed the board of directors. Five of my good friends set sail with me. In less than a year, the entire thing crumbled. The reasons are too numerous to list but the dream of my life was dead and now I was facing another depressive episode even deeper than ever before. It was the first of October of the next year. By the end of November, I was involved in counseling and slowly beginning to overcome the anxiety and fear in my life.
It was a week before December when I returned to my church and faced all of my friends, especially those on the board of directors. The drama ministry I was in charge of was performing an encore performance of one of my plays, “The Attic Tree”. I came to the dinner theater petrified and anxious and hyperventilated through most of the performance. But, by the end I was calm enough to greet my friends and shake their hands. I went home and collapsed in tears and anxiety. Would I ever overcome this? Would I ever see my dreams come true? And, the next night my wife and I sat down to watch television. There was this movie I had seen in bits and pieces over the years. It was schmaltzy and predictable and I had never taken it seriously. But, on that night near Christmas 1995 I watched “It’s a Wonderful Life” from beginning to end. I blubbered like a baby. My wife gripped my hand most of the time because the story playing out before us resonated so well with what I had been through; with who I was; with what God was trying to tell me.
This past Thursday, I sat in the theater at the Robinson Film Center in Shreveport, Louisiana with my wife, Sherry, my son Sean, and my daughter Casey. We were with two good friends Magdy and Denise, but I was surrounded by the family I had in 1995. Sean is married now and Casey is in college. But, here we were about to watch a big screen showing of “It’s a Wonderful Life”. Like in 1995, I cried most of the way through the movie. I laughed in wonderful places. And, my children loved the movie.
There is no doubt that this movie is my favorite movie of all time. It carries so many powerful and important messages. And, each year, I watch it reverently to see where in George Bailey’s life I am at the moment. Now, I believe I am in that golden age after the movie when George and Mary know what is important and their children have grown up and life is still chaotic and tough, but they have beaten Mr. Potter. And so, I want to share with you these messages I get from this wonderful movie.
1 — “Shall I pray for Daddy?” Throughout this movie there is a pervasive sense that we are here because God put us here on this Earth. And, He is in charge and has a purpose for our lives. Throughout this movie, when trouble arises the first thought, without reservation, is to turn to God. There was one fleeting image I had never noticed when the narrator is talking about how on VJ Day, victory over Japan, the nation cried and prayed. The image shows men and women walking into a church and on the placard out front it says, “National Prayer at 11:30 AM decreed by President Truman”. Do you think we would see such a thing today? Heavens no! And yet, here in this simple story, prayer is taken for granted. It is as much a part of the thinking of the day as was breathing. It was this attitude of prayer and reverence for an almighty God that guided this nation through World War II. We have forgotten that in our heyday of hi tech and new atheism and postmodern relativism. God is still in charge. God is still there waiting patiently for us to bow our head say, “Help me God. Won’t you please help me?”
2 — “All you can take with you is that which you’ve given away.” My wife is incredible. Whenever she sees someone in trouble, she finds the resources to give to that person. I am a successful physician. And yet, we always seem to struggle with our finances. Not because we are big spenders. I’ve been to Europe once in my life compared to my partners two of whom has been to every continent including Antarctica. Early on, my mother instilled in me the concept that people are the most important thing in the universe. Programs, money, fame, glory, possessions all pale in comparison to one life touched and changed in a positive way. And so, not to brag because all I own could be gone tomorrow, but this sentiment is so true for my wife and me. We can’t take anything with us. We want to share and help those around us as long as God gives us the resources.
3 — “A toast to my big brother George: The richest man in town.” and “Remember, George: no man is a failure who has friends.” George Bailey is so surprised to learn that all of his sacrifices have not been in vain. He gave himself away so many times, his frustration with his life was huge. But, in giving himself away, he made so many others’ lives better. God used George Bailey to change the world around him even when George was not aware of it. In fact, if George had been aware of the impact on other’s lives, he would not have been the same man. God works that way. In our moments of shock and despair, God emerges strong and vibrant and we suddenly see His great and glorious plan; using our pain and sufferings for His greater good. And, it is only then we realize that only God can take the credit for such wondrous developments. Only God can take the credit for working in George Bailey’s life. And, the moment George realizes what a wonderful life God has allowed him to have, he finds true joy. Not happiness. Happiness is temporary and fleeting. Joy is constant and a deep well from which we can take respite from the pain and sufferings in life. Joy reminds us that God is at work in a greater and more powerful way that we cannot see at the moment. It take faith to accept that this great and powerful God who has delivered in the past will do so again. And, in those moments of great despair when we pray “God, please help me” we can know that somehow our deliverance will be for a good we cannot even begin to understand.
Joy to the World!
The Lord is come!
Let Earth receive her King!
Let every heart
Prepare Him room.
Let heaven and nature sing!
Let heaven and nature sing!
Let heaven and nature sing!
I wonder if the disciples huddled in their dark, frightened homes wondered if Jesus’ life had been a waste. I wonder if their hopes that Christ would usher in a new kingdom on Earth, a new and more wonderful life were dashed by the death of their teacher on a cruel cross. I wonder if they stood alone as George Bailey did on the edge of that bridge and decided it was better to die than to go on living. One thing we now know beyond a shadow of a doubt. Their hope was not dashed. Their hope was renewed by the presence of the resurrected Christ! They saw their lives reshaped and recast in eternal perspective in the resurrection. They realized, after the fact even as George Bailey did that it had been a wonderful life lived by Christ. But, the most wonderful life was yet to come when one day they, as well as those of us today, will walk the streets of eternity with the one who gave His wonderful life for us.
I hope you have a wonderful, peaceful, fulfilling Christmas. I hope you find time to pause and reflect on the lives you can touch in the name of the child born in a manger.
Merry Christmas you old Building and Loan!!!
The Night I Killed Santa!
They found him in an abandoned warehouse just two weeks before Christmas. He was alone, dressed in a Santa costume. He was in a coma. He had no identification on him. I first saw “Santa” in the emergency room shortly after he had been admitted to my internal medicine team. His blood glucose was 32. Normal is anything above 90 and less than 120. When you get below 50, you’re approaching a comatose state. We had no idea how long he had been like this. I chose to admit him to the intensive care unit until we could get him stabilized. Shortly after bringing him to the ICU from the ER, he coded — medical jargon for cardiorespiratory arrest. In other words, his heart stopped and he died. We worked on him for a good hour and managed to get his heart beating again but he had trouble keeping his blood oxygen level up so I decided to put him on a ventilator. It was the last free ventilator in the hospital.
That was when the fun began. Let me elaborate.
Bed 1 contained a man weighing 780 pounds. We tied two hospital beds together to hold him. He had been admitted to surgery for removal of a hernia so large, he had carried it in a wheelbarrow. But, the surgeons had no idea how to maintain the fluid balance of a 780 pound man so he developed fluid on his lungs. He coded at this moment and my team of medical students and the other intern starting working on him. I remember one of the medical students literally perched on the huge man’s chest pumping on his heart with her knees!
Bed 2 contained a man with delirium tremens. As soon as Bed 1 turned south, the man decided to pull out his Foley catheter without deflating the balloon. He was whirling the catheter with its balloon the size of a grapefruit around his head like a lasso while chasing one of the nurses. He was spewing bright red blood from his, uh, privates all over the floor.
Bed 3 contained a prisoner from the local jail. He had “overdosed” and was now in a “coma”. He had been in a “coma” most of the day although we suspected he was faking it just to stay out of jail. He had overheard me talking to the psychiatrist earlier saying as soon as he woke up, instead of admitting him to the psychiatric ward for treatment of his “depression” we would send him immediately back to jail. In the developing chaos, he woke up, opened the window and climbed out on the seventh floor ledge to kill himself. He was going to prove he was suicidal.
Bed 4 contained a medical student in her mid twenties. She had “converted” her PPD, meaning that sometime since starting medical school she had been exposed to tuberculosis and her skin test proved it. She had been placed on prophylactic medication which had proceeded to destroy her liver. She was currently in “hepatic encephalopathy” meaning she was delirious from all the ammonia building up in her bloodstream from her failing liver. She started screaming at the top of her lungs and trying to tear out of her restraints.
Bed 5 contained an elderly woman dying from ovarian cancer with fluid buildup in her lungs and her abdomen. Her protein was so low in her blood, we had to keep her in ICU to build her protein back up. She was on a ventilator.
Bed 6 contained a man recovering from a massive heart attack. As our CCU, or cardiac care unit, was full, he had been moved to the ICU and was also on a ventilator. He was only 38 and currently sedated so he wouldn’t fight the breathing mechanism of the ventilator.
Bed 7 was currently empty.
Bed 8 contained Santa.
The next two hours were the most chaotic I have ever experienced in my many years of medicine. The 780 pound man died. The fellow in DT’s slipped on his own blood, fell and was taken to surgery for a subdural hematoma, a blood clot on the brain. The medical student began vomiting blood and we had to call in the gastroenterologist to try and scope her and find the source of bleeding. The psychiatry resident closed the window on the prisoner after telling him if he was still on the ledge in the morning, we would send him back to prison assuming he didn’t freeze to death. Otherwise, he could climb back inside and get sent back to prison without frostbite.
It was now 3 in the morning and I went to check on Santa. His status had not changed. He had not awakened. We still had no idea as to his identity. It was then the next admit rolled into ICU, a young woman in diabetic ketoacidosis. This is a state where the blood sugar is so high the patient becomes delirious and is in serious danger of dying. To top it off, the young woman had developed a rare complication, ARDS. This affected her lungs which were filling up with a proteinaceous material. If we didn’t get her on a ventilator soon, she would die.
But, there were no ventilators left in the hospital. That meant I had to make a decision.
In that day’s medical environment, most people don’t realize the loneliness of being the doctor on the spot. We are trained to make these kinds of decisions; to weigh life and death scenarios in a split second. Our current medical environment has taken that choice away from doctors and placed it in the hands of administrative individuals whether in the government or with an insurance company. These faceless, sterile, uncaring individuals sit behind a computer screen scrolling through a “cookbook” of these scenarios and deciding whether or not the doctor can make the appropriate decision only the doctor is trained to make. But, back then, the doctor was the final decision maker. The doctor, whether he liked it or not, was God.
I stood there faced with the inevitable prospects of taking a ventilator away from one of my patients. Who would it be? And, I had to make the decision quickly. For the young woman to survive, someone would have to die. Who then?
I stepped into Santa’s cubicle. He was still wearing the red pants and his bare chest rose and fell with the ventilator. I shooed the nurses and medical students out of the room. This would be my decision and mine alone.
“Sir,” I said. “I do not know your name. I know nothing about your past. I have no idea why you were in that empty building dressed as Santa. The only thing I know is that I have to make a decision and, I’m sorry, but it is time for you to die. I know that God knows your mind and your heart and I only hope He ushers you into heaven with open arms. The only thing I can offer to you is that although you may have spent your last waking moments totally alone, you will not die alone. I will be here with you.”
I turned off the heart monitor and slowly removed all the wires and EKG patches. I pulled his red Santa coat up and buttoned it over his chest. I removed the IV lines from his arms and straightened his long, white beard down over his chest. He had been wearing a tiny set of reading glasses in the warehouse, and I put those gold hued glassed back on his nose. For all the world, he looked like a sleeping Santa Claus save for the tube coming out of his mouth. I reached over and turned off the ventilator and slid the tube out of his throat. The respiratory technologist whisked the ventilator away and I reached down and took the man’s hand in mine. I felt for his steady pulse and waited as it slowed until it vanished.
I will never know who this man was this side of heaven. I will never forget the pain of making that decision even now 31 years later. I will never forsake another human being in the moment of death. We come into this world alone and are instantly embraced by family. But, death is a lonely experience. Even surrounded by loved ones, only we can experience the ultimate journey. But, we are not alone. God sends his angels to usher us into heaven. I have heard so many stories of men and women seeing the divine at the moment of death. There is that comfort.
Two people died recently whose deaths are significant to me. One was Christopher Hitchens, a radical, outspoken atheist who wrote the bestseller “God is Not Great”. He now knows the ultimate truth. And the other was Steve Jobs. Steve Job’s sister tells of his final moment of life when he sat up in bed, looked over her shoulder and said, “Wow, wow, wow.” Did Christopher Hitchens say something similar? I do not know.
I only know this. The night I allowed “Santa” to die so that a young woman could live, I learned the most powerful lesson in the world. It is the lesson of Christmas. It is the heart of the Nativity story. It is the fulfillment of man’s journey through darkness and evil. It is this. Someone had to die so that we could live. Jesus was born to die. The babe in the manger was overshadowed by the cross from the moment he drew his first breath.
This Christmas season, pause and look around you. Notice the unnoticed. Feed the unfed. Bless the unblessed. Love the unloved. Find the babe in a manger that cries in hunger. And, ultimately, share a love that is so profound, so deep, so unfathomable that because of that love He drew a cold breath in a manger only to breath His last breath on a cross for all of us.
A Visit With Mary
I was asked to write a monologue from Mary’s memories for Brookwood Baptist Church’s event, “Joy”. Now that it has been performed, I want to share it with you on this first day of December as we count down the days until we celebrate the birth of our Savior.
A Visit With Mary
Mary is sitting on a stool that looks hand made. She is sitting beside a table that appears hand carved or hand made. She picks up a hand carved animal and seems to study it.
No parent should ever have to bury their child. Ever. When you hold your newborn baby, you never imagine the end. You only think of the beginning. All is fresh and new and tomorrow is forever.
She puts the animal back on the table.
I heard about my new baby from an angel. Really! You don’t believe me, but that is just fine. An angel told me I was going to have a baby boy and even told me what to name him. I couldn’t tell just anybody. They would think I was crazy. After all, I was so young, so innocent and already engaged to be married. Yeah, engaged.
My husband was a good man. Hard working. Dedicated. Loved the Lord. He didn’t tell me about his angel until he was dying. Told me an angel visited him and told him to marry me no matter what. He listened to the angel and he listened to his heart. He loved me. And, I loved him. He was such a good father.
She picks up the animal again and paces as she talks.
There was that time we lost my son. We were traveling and you know how you always have this fear that your child will wander away and get lost. I mean he was 12! And granted a 12 year old should be responsible but for days we thought he was playing with the other guys only to discover we had left him behind in the city! I should have known he would be different. What kind of child comes with the birth announcement of an angel? He wasn’t hanging out with the other guys or hitting on the girls. He was in the church talking to the heavy thinkers; you know, the philosophers, the historians, the theologians and here I’m going to have to be a little proud and not so angry when I tell you that he was more than carrying his own weight. Some of these very intelligent men were astonished at what my son knew.
Mary goes back to the stool and sits down. She places the animal on the table and becomes very thoughtful.
Of course, his brothers and sisters never really liked him that well. They all knew he was different. That’s why that time at the feast I tried to stop them. They thought he was crazy. I tried to explain that their brother was not crazy; he was not delusional; he was special. God had His hand on my son but they insisted on going and the words they spoke about their brother! I can’t tell you how many times since then they wished they could take those words back. When you’ve said something so hurtful to someone you love and then they die . . . well, you can never find peace again.
Mary suddenly grows very proud of her son and motions to the table.
I have this table, right here, see? It is small and not exactly perfect but my son built this for me right after he turned thirteen. And, this stool I’m sitting on he made when he turned twenty. But, all of his glorious skill with working with wood ended when he turned thirty. He stopped shaping the hearts of trees and began to shape the hearts of men.
My husband once told me that a man should be happy if he has raised someone smarter than himself or more successful than himself. He never had the opportunity to here our son speak. Such words! I once watched him carving a limb — an old, gnarled piece of driftwood from the sea of Galilee.
He started out just looking at it and studying it. And then, he began to cut away the dead twigs and strip away the rotten flesh. And, then he exposed the beautiful swirling pattern of the heart of the wood. He polished it and sanded it and coated it with oil and wax until the limb became a beautiful walking stick for my father. 
How did he see what was inside that broken, gnarled and discarded piece of wood? Only the Lord could show him the potential of what lay inside. He is that way with words. He sees into the hearts and minds of men and women and the words that cut to the quick; that expose the hurt; that sooth the pain; that heal the wound; or that prick the recalcitrant heart and those words are sharper than a two edged sword. He is the word. Yes, the very word of God.
And, yes, it would be His words that brought about his downfall. The wrong words were spoken by his brothers and they hurt him. But, the right words were spoken by my son and they killed him.
Mary looks up as if looking at Christ on the cross and hugs herself in pain.
I was there when he hung on the tree — irony of ironies he should die on the very wood he spent his life shaping. My heart was broken and I remembered the first night I held him; cold, wet; crying and hungry as angels filled the night and shepherds bowed at our feet and the skies sang with a thousand hosannas.
She unfolds her arms and gestures to the “cross”.
But, where were they now? Where were the angels as he bled on the cross? Where were the lowly shepherds who fell at his feet? Where were the songs of praise and triumph?
They were gone. The angels, like his heavenly Father, turned their backs to him in his hour of greatest need. The shepherds did not bow at his feet but hurled insults and bitter hatred and cried “Crucify Him.” And the songs of praise were replaced with a silence so profound, so deep it covered the earth with its sorrow.
Mary stumbles back in pain and sorrow and sits roughly on the stool. She mimes the action of them placing Chris in her lap. As she talks, she touches the wounds on his head, touches the wound in his side, touches the wounds on his hands.
I held him in my lap just as I had as a baby. He was cold; wet; but he no longer cried and he no longer hungered. His lifeless body sucked the very life out of the universe; the creator born of my womb; drinking from my body now limp and helpless in my arms. God had been born. God had died. And, I had been the bookends of His life.
Mary relaxes and turns back to the table. She picks up the carved animal again.
I am waiting now. Waiting for a great and glorious reunion. I was at the empty tomb! I saw my Son reborn; in new flesh still marred with the scars of his atonement. He walked among us for days and then bid us goodbye to become one with his Father. I miss him greatly whenever I touch this table or hear this stool scrape across the stones.
She closes her eyes, holds the toy animal to her face and inhales as if remembering. She opens her eyes and begins to talk.
Every now and then, I catch a glimpse of Him out of the corner of my eye or smell his fragrance on a chance breeze for His is the breath of life; His is the everlasting water; His is the Life eternal to give to us all. I have had a good life. I have had a life no mother could ever have imagined. It all started with an angel visit and it will end with my Son coming for me. He will welcome me into His arms only I will not embrace Him.
Mary falls to her knees and kneels as if at the feet of Christ, looking up in wonder.
No, I will fall at His feet in worship and praise for my son who was born to die, died so that we might liver forever!
Bruce Hennigan 
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