C.A. Pettit's Blog, page 3
October 17, 2019
On Being a Christian Author
God created man in His own image, after His own likeness, and He created us from the dust of the ground. It shouldn’t surprise us that we have so many things in common with the Earth. We need water and oxygen. We have veins; so does the earth. And, like the planet on which we reside, we function in seasons.
Seasons of growth, seasons of renewal, and seasons of change are a part of who we are. Such is the case with writers. I find myself in a rare season, one that seems to break the laws of nature and blend multiple seasons together. Though I’m not physically growing, I’m certainly dealing with physical changes. (Where’s my nearly 40 year old club?) More importantly is the growth taking place within. Certainly it is bringing renewal, and change is an inherent part of that process.
I am not who I was at the beginning of this writing journey. I never set out to be a Christian author. I just wanted to write, yet here I am. The unexpected part of becoming this is trying to understand what it means. I find myself observing the discussions between readers and writers with polarized, unforgiving, dogmatic stances that don’t allow for the things all Christians should share in common: grace to one another and an unconditional love for Jesus Christ.
“Christian” fiction has somehow been reduced to whether or not someone drinks or uses bad language. Of course, everyone defines both of those differently, and many are ready to burn the books of the authors who have violated their sacred views by using unbelievably vulgar words like “heck” or “gosh” in one of their books. These authors are declared non-Christian and their books are banished if the characters in those books don’t turn out perfect in the end or do what the reader thinks is the “Christian” thing to do.
I can’t stomach this. Moreover, suggesting that there might be more to the Bible than salvation and telling others about Jesus seems to be frowned upon because far too many “Christians” rely on what their pastors tell them the word of God says rather than reading it for themselves. Suddenly I’m responsible for the spiritual well-being of anyone who picks up my book.
No pressure.
And this isn’t a complaint. It’s just the reality I find myself facing. And of course there are many Christian authors and readers who are balanced and don’t fall into these traps. They open a book marked fiction and realize that it’s, you know, fiction. They don’t base their theology on an entertaining story, and they don’t feel the need to destroy someone publicly because there is a difference of opinion.
Something else that isn’t easy to understand is the warped value placed on an author’s work. I understand people not having a lot of money; I’m far from rich, and I’ve had my share of struggles just like anyone else. But, there is something very wrong when people are willing to pay $6 for a cup of coffee that won’t last an hour but refuse to pay more than $2.99 for a book that took an author years to write, a book that might change lives.
I’m not exaggerating here. I’ve read discussion boards where people argue how ridiculous it is for a writer or publisher to charge $0.99 for a novella or short story. They argue that those should be free, and to charge money for them is outrageous. Would you go to a gas station for one gallon of gas and balk at the attendant for asking you to pay for it? Would you go to a grocery store, open a bag of chips, try a few, and then put it back if you didn’t like it? Why are things that don’t last and were created with minimal effort given more value than something that robbed a person of sleep and took multiple rounds of drafting, revising, and editing? Something that might have been rejected by countless agents and publishers? The outpouring of someone’s heart and soul?
But, yeah, sure, you can have it for less than a dollar. By the time taxes and royalties are worked out, the author won’t receive a dime for that book, and then you can go an Amazon and post a 2-star review, bashing the author. This is the reality of being a writer, specifically a Christian author, in 2019.
Imagine you’re an eight year old boy who has just finished his first chapter book. You’re so in love with the experience that book gave you that you decide, right then and there, that you want to create that experience for other people. Now imagine that you dream about that for thirty years, and one day it comes true. You write a book, and it gets published. Someone reads it and loves it. Now think about the things I’ve talked about in this post up to this point.
How does that make you feel?
The point is that I’m trying to figure all of this out, and it’s difficult. Not only that, there is a limit to the flow of creativity. The well of imagination must be full before the water can be drawn. I love writing. I love waking up early to create worlds and characters. I’m passionate about it, but the well is in danger of running dry.
I need time to work on my craft and time to fill my creativity silos with enough grain to last through the next season. So I’m mostly ignoring the discussion forums. I’m not spending my time trying to appease people not even Jesus seems to be able to make happy. I’m taking a long break from the Journey of Fate series and experimenting with some other projects. I’ve got a secret project that I couldn’t categorize if I tried, and I have a serial story I’m writing on my blog for fun.
And you know what? It feels great! I’m not killing myself to try and convince people who never buy books to buy my books. I’m not going into debt to try and do ads and promos. Nope. Not doing it. Am I getting out of the game completely? No, not even close. No, no, no! I’m putting the artist back in the chair and letting him throw some paint on the canvas wherever he wants. I’m reading books that make me want to just get lost for hours on an adventure, and I’m connecting with my heavenly Father.
I’m taking my wife out on dates and going to my kids’ games. I’m living my life because it’s good, and God gave it to me. My Friday nights entail doing absolutely nothing and falling asleep on the couch with nothing to worry about. And, of course, I’m putting in a lot of hours with my day job. Come on, this is the real world, and you can’t just sit around in your pajamas because you feel like it. That’s not how it works.
So for the writing update: I do have plans to write several more books in the Journey of Fate series, and I have a halfway complete outline for the next book, but that’s on pause because it feels stale and I don’t want to just push through it. I don’t know when I’ll finish it or when it will be published. I also have a couple other books I want to write, one with a complete outline and one with a completed but very messy rough draft. In the meantime, if you want to dive into my fiction universe, follow along with the serial story on my blog: Coffee with a Devil.
Final thoughts: Love people. Extend grace to those who need it, not those who’ve earned it because no one can earn grace. Think before you write that review or post anything on social media that involves a person because that person is human. Put value on valuable things and don’t waste your abundance on temporary things. Love the Lord and serve Him with gladness. Now go live your life!
Writing Update - October 2019
God created man in His own image, after His own likeness, and He created us from the dust of the ground. It shouldn’t surprise us that we have so many things in common with the Earth. We need water and oxygen. We have veins; so does the earth. And, like the planet on which we reside, we function in seasons.
Seasons of growth, seasons of renewal, and seasons of change are a part of who we are. Such is the case with writers. I find myself in a rare season, one that seems to break the laws of nature and blend multiple seasons together. Though I’m not physically growing, I’m certainly dealing with physical changes. (Where’s my nearly 40 year old club?) More importantly is the growth taking place within. Certainly it is bringing renewal, and change is an inherent part of that process.
I am not who I was at the beginning of this writing journey. I never set out to be a Christian author. I just wanted to write, yet here I am. The unexpected part of becoming this is trying to understand what it means. I find myself observing the discussions between readers and writers with polarized, unforgiving, dogmatic stances that don’t allow for the things all Christians should share in common: grace to one another and an unconditional love for Jesus Christ.
“Christian” fiction has somehow been reduced to whether or not someone drinks or uses bad language. Of course, everyone defines both of those differently, and many are ready to burn the books of the authors who have violated their sacred views by using unbelievably vulgar words like “heck” or “gosh” in one of their books. These authors are declared non-Christian and their books are banished if the characters in those books don’t turn out perfect in the end or do what the reader thinks is the “Christian” thing to do.
I can’t stomach this. Moreover, suggesting that there might be more to the Bible than salvation and telling others about Jesus seems to be frowned upon because far too many “Christians” rely on what their pastors tell them the word of God says rather than reading it for themselves. Suddenly I’m responsible for the spiritual well-being of anyone who picks up my book.
No pressure.
And this isn’t a complaint. It’s just the reality I find myself facing. And of course there are many Christian authors and readers who are balanced and don’t fall into these traps. They open a book marked fiction and realize that it’s, you know, fiction. They don’t base their theology on an entertaining story, and they don’t feel the need to destroy someone publicly because there is a difference of opinion.
Something else that isn’t easy to understand is the warped value placed on an author’s work. I understand people not having a lot of money; I’m far from rich, and I’ve had my share of struggles just like anyone else. But, there is something very wrong when people are willing to pay $6 for a cup of coffee that won’t last an hour but refuse to pay more than $2.99 for a book that took an author years to write, a book that might change lives.
I’m not exaggerating here. I’ve read discussion boards where people argue how ridiculous it is for a writer or publisher to charge $0.99 for a novella or short story. They argue that those should be free, and to charge money for them is outrageous. Would you go to a gas station for one gallon of gas and balk at the attendant for asking you to pay for it? Would you go to a grocery store, open a bag of chips, try a few, and then put it back if you didn’t like it? Why are things that don’t last and were created with minimal effort given more value than something that robbed a person of sleep and took multiple rounds of drafting, revising, and editing? Something that might have been rejected by countless agents and publishers? The outpouring of someone’s heart and soul?
But, yeah, sure, you can have it for less than a dollar. By the time taxes and royalties are worked out, the author won’t receive a dime for that book, and then you can go an Amazon and post a 2-star review, bashing the author. This is the reality of being a writer, specifically a Christian author, in 2019.
Imagine you’re an eight year old boy who has just finished his first chapter book. You’re so in love with the experience that book gave you that you decide, right then and there, that you want to create that experience for other people. Now imagine that you dream about that for thirty years, and one day it comes true. You write a book, and it gets published. Someone reads it and loves it. Now think about the things I’ve talked about in this post up to this point.
How does that make you feel?
The point is that I’m trying to figure all of this out, and it’s difficult. Not only that, there is a limit to the flow of creativity. The well of imagination must be full before the water can be drawn. I love writing. I love waking up early to create worlds and characters. I’m passionate about it, but the well is in danger of running dry.
I need time to work on my craft and time to fill my creativity silos with enough grain to last through the next season. So I’m mostly ignoring the discussion forums. I’m not spending my time trying to appease people not even Jesus seems to be able to make happy. I’m taking a long break from the Journey of Fate series and experimenting with some other projects. I’ve got a secret project that I couldn’t categorize if I tried, and I have a serial story I’m writing on my blog for fun.
And you know what? It feels great! I’m not killing myself to try and convince people who never buy books to buy my books. I’m not going into debt to try and do ads and promos. Nope. Not doing it. Am I getting out of the game completely? No, not even close. No, no, no! I’m putting the artist back in the chair and letting him throw some paint on the canvas wherever he wants. I’m reading books that make me want to just get lost for hours on an adventure, and I’m connecting with my heavenly Father.
I’m taking my wife out on dates and going to my kids’ games. I’m living my life because it’s good, and God gave it to me. My Friday nights entail doing absolutely nothing and falling asleep on the couch with nothing to worry about. And, of course, I’m putting in a lot of hours with my day job. Come on, this is the real world, and you can’t just sit around in your pajamas because you feel like it. That’s not how it works.
So for the writing update: I do have plans to write several more books in the Journey of Fate series, and I have a halfway complete outline for the next book, but that’s on pause because it feels stale and I don’t want to just push through it. I don’t know when I’ll finish it or when it will be published. I also have a couple other books I want to write, one with a complete outline and one with a completed but very messy rough draft. In the meantime, if you want to dive into my fiction universe, follow along with the serial story on my blog: Coffee with a Devil.
Final thoughts: Love people. Extend grace to those who need it, not those who’ve earned it because no one can earn grace. Think before you write that review or post anything on social media that involves a person because that person is human. Put value on valuable things and don’t waste your abundance on temporary things. Love the Lord and serve Him with gladness. Now go live your life!
Keys of Fate Part Seven
Keys of Fate
A Story in Serial - Part Seven
This is part seven of the serial story I’m currently writing. If you have not read the story from the beginning, you might want to go check out part one first. Click here to read it now. This is a story you get to help me write by providing your feedback in the comments or by sending me a message through my Contact page . If I like your ideas, they might just end up in the story, or I might name one of the characters after you!Part Seven:Five Days Ago
It had been a while since Viggo had used the coffee brewer, but he managed to get a decent cup of coffee going after some trial and error. He thought at one point that it might have been easier if he’d turned the lights on in the kitchen, but old habits die hard. An infantryman for years, he’d learned to adapt to his environment and function in the dark without the aid of unnatural light. “We own the night” was one of the many sayings he remembered from his time in the Army.
Old sayings die hard, too.
It was still early, so he decided to drink his first cup on the porch and enjoy the last few minutes of starlight and the symphony of cicadas. As he made his way through the house, only stubbing his toe once, he hoped that Lisa was safe. Their argument had been intense, but he didn’t like the idea of her driving somewhere in the middle of the night while her emotions were high. He’d called her name and checked all of the rooms, but she wasn’t there. Viggo had decided not to try and call her cell. If she was angry enough to leave without telling him where she was going, she wouldn’t bother answering the phone.
He also wanted an argument free morning. He wanted to enjoy his coffee and get dressed without the fear of being hit over the head with something. Not that she’d ever hit him, but the threats had been increasing lately. That nagging feeling that he was going to be exposed crept into his mind, sending chills of panic up his spine and spiking his heart rate.
He did his best to push those thoughts away as he pushed the screen door open and stepped out onto the porch. The cool Carolina air drifted through the doorway, instantly calming him. He eased the screen door shut, even though the sound of it slamming against the frame wouldn’t wake anyone; Lisa wasn’t there, and his neighbors were too far away to be woken up that easily.
“Since when do you drink your morning coffee on the porch?”
Viggo gasped and stumbled backwards. Coffee sloshed out of his cup and onto his hand. He heard the splashing as some of it hit the floorboards, but he mostly ignored the burning sensation on his hand. He absently switched the mug to the other hand and shook the liquid off, but his eyes were fixed straight ahead. To the steps where Lisa sat.
“Lisa?”
“Liar?” She was still staring into the night with her back to him as she spoke, replying in a mocking tone with the only name she’d addressed him by in the last week.
His shoulders drooped, and he sighed. “I was calling your name.” He paused, but she didn’t respond. “Be alright if I sit with you?”
In the dim moonlight, he saw her slender shoulders rise and fall. “You still pay the mortgage, last I checked.”
“Well just asking. You seem peaceful and all. Don’t want to bug you.” He took a sip and waited for her to respond. He saw her short hair—dark brown in daylight but practically black in the almost not there light of the quarter moon—shake back and forth.
“All of a sudden you’re worried about how I feel about something you do.” She sucked her teeth. “Do what you want, Viggo.”
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, forcing himself not to reply. She was convinced of a lie, and he knew he’d have to tell her the truth or risk her thinking the worst, but he was crippled with fear. He took another sip to suppress the trembling that was taking over his body, the fear trembles as he’d begun to think of them. And there were those voices again. Conflicting voices. Some of them said to tell her the truth; others said to stick to his story. Others still didn’t tell him one way or the other; they only mocked him, telling him that he was going to lose everything. She would find out on her own, and then she’d find out more. And more.
He sat down and draped his arms on his knees, holding his mug in both hands.
“Ugh, next time turn the lights on,” Lisa said. “You can barely make a decent cup of coffee in broad daylight. That mess smells terrible.”
He turned his face to hers and took a slow, spiteful sip, making sure to slurp. He couldn’t make out much of her features, but her high cheekbones and slightly pointed chin stood out, reflecting what little light there was. He finished his sip and made a satisfied “ahh” sound before lowering his cup. He never looked away. She couldn’t resist a smile, and she even laughed a little, but the laugh was a blip on the radar of their relationship and the smile faded into the her scowl.
No, not a scowl, he thought. Something else: sadness.
“You are going to lose her and everything.”
Viggo looked away and frowned. The voices were nearly incessant. He knew he wasn’t imagining them, knew they were really there.
He stared straight ahead, into the woods at the end of their driveway. “How long have you been out here?”
“Not long enough,” she said. “Too long.”
Viggo nodded. “You sound torn about that one.”
At first, she was silent. Then she turned to face him. He could feel her eyes on him, so he turned and looked into her eyes. They were light brown in true light, but in the dark they looked black and empty.
“What’s her name, Viggo?”
Viggo looked away and hung his head.
To be continued…
If you enjoyed this rough draft, you might also enjoy my finished works in the Journey of Fate series. Check out the prequel short story now, for free, by signing up for the mailing list!
Coffee with a Devil Part Seven
Coffee with a Devil
A Story in Serial - Part Seven
This is part seven of the serial story I’m currently writing. If you have not read the story from the beginning, you might want to go check out part one first. Click here to read it now. This is a story you get to help me write by providing your feedback in the comments or by sending me a message through my Contact page . If I like your ideas, they might just end up in the story, or I might name one of the characters after you!Part Seven:Five Days Ago
It had been a while since Viggo had used the coffee brewer, but he managed to get a decent cup of coffee going after some trial and error. He thought at one point that it might have been easier if he’d turned the lights on in the kitchen, but old habits die hard. An infantryman for years, he’d learned to adapt to his environment and function in the dark without the aid of unnatural light. “We own the night” was one of the many sayings he remembered from his time in the Army.
Old sayings die hard, too.
It was still early, so he decided to drink his first cup on the porch and enjoy the last few minutes of starlight and the symphony of cicadas. As he made his way through the house, only stubbing his toe once, he hoped that Lisa was safe. Their argument had been intense, but he didn’t like the idea of her driving somewhere in the middle of the night while her emotions were high. He’d called her name and checked all of the rooms, but she wasn’t there. Viggo had decided not to try and call her cell. If she was angry enough to leave without telling him where she was going, she wouldn’t bother answering the phone.
He also wanted an argument free morning. He wanted to enjoy his coffee and get dressed without the fear of being hit over the head with something. Not that she’d ever hit him, but the threats had been increasing lately. That nagging feeling that he was going to be exposed crept into his mind, sending chills of panic up his spine and spiking his heart rate.
He did his best to push those thoughts away as he pushed the screen door open and stepped out onto the porch. The cool Carolina air drifted through the doorway, instantly calming him. He eased the screen door shut, even though the sound of it slamming against the frame wouldn’t wake anyone; Lisa wasn’t there, and his neighbors were too far away to be woken up that easily.
“Since when do you drink your morning coffee on the porch?”
Viggo gasped and stumbled backwards. Coffee sloshed out of his cup and onto his hand. He heard the splashing as some of it hit the floorboards, but he mostly ignored the burning sensation on his hand. He absently switched the mug to the other hand and shook the liquid off, but his eyes were fixed straight ahead. To the steps where Lisa sat.
“Lisa?”
“Liar?” She was still staring into the night with her back to him as she spoke, replying in a mocking tone with the only name she’d addressed him by in the last week.
His shoulders drooped, and he sighed. “I was calling your name.” He paused, but she didn’t respond. “Be alright if I sit with you?”
In the dim moonlight, he saw her slender shoulders rise and fall. “You still pay the mortgage, last I checked.”
“Well just asking. You seem peaceful and all. Don’t want to bug you.” He took a sip and waited for her to respond. He saw her short hair—dark brown in daylight but practically black in the almost not there light of the quarter moon—shake back and forth.
“All of a sudden you’re worried about how I feel about something you do.” She sucked her teeth. “Do what you want, Viggo.”
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, forcing himself not to reply. She was convinced of a lie, and he knew he’d have to tell her the truth or risk her thinking the worst, but he was crippled with fear. He took another sip to suppress the trembling that was taking over his body, the fear trembles as he’d begun to think of them. And there were those voices again. Conflicting voices. Some of them said to tell her the truth; others said to stick to his story. Others still didn’t tell him one way or the other; they only mocked him, telling him that he was going to lose everything. She would find out on her own, and then she’d find out more. And more.
He sat down and draped his arms on his knees, holding his mug in both hands.
“Ugh, next time turn the lights on,” Lisa said. “You can barely make a decent cup of coffee in broad daylight. That mess smells terrible.”
He turned his face to hers and took a slow, spiteful sip, making sure to slurp. He couldn’t make out much of her features, but her high cheekbones and slightly pointed chin stood out, reflecting what little light there was. He finished his sip and made a satisfied “ahh” sound before lowering his cup. He never looked away. She couldn’t resist a smile, and she even laughed a little, but the laugh was a blip on the radar of their relationship and the smile faded into the her scowl.
No, not a scowl, he thought. Something else: sadness.
“You are going to lose her and everything.”
Viggo looked away and frowned. The voices were nearly incessant. He knew he wasn’t imagining them, knew they were really there.
He stared straight ahead, into the woods at the end of their driveway. “How long have you been out here?”
“Not long enough,” she said. “Too long.”
Viggo nodded. “You sound torn about that one.”
At first, she was silent. Then she turned to face him. He could feel her eyes on him, so he turned and looked into her eyes. They were light brown in true light, but in the dark they looked black and empty.
“What’s her name, Viggo?”
Viggo looked away and hung his head.
To be continued…
If you enjoyed this rough draft, you might also enjoy my finished works in the Journey of Fate series. Check out the prequel short story now, for free, by signing up for the mailing list!
October 16, 2019
Keys of Fate Part Six
Keys of Fate
A Story in Serial - Part Six
This is part six of the serial story I’m currently writing. If you have not read the story from the beginning, you might want to go check out part one first. Click here to read it now. This is a story you get to help me write by providing your feedback in the comments or by sending me a message through my Contact page . If I like your ideas, they might just end up in the story, or I might name one of the characters after you!Part Six:The Forest
Abaddon turned back and forth in every direction. He scanned the dense pine and cedar trees, drawing his sword. Instinct gradually took over, calming him, forcing him to slow his heartbeat. He stood as still as possible and relaxed so that he could listen for every sound and smell his surroundings. Nothing stirred in the trees, not even the wind in the higher branches.
He let a smile of comprehension crawl into the corners of his mouth as he caught the faint scent of cooking food and cleaning solvents.
“I’m still in the diner.”
“And making quite the spectacle of yourself,” someone said.
Abaddon took his time turning around, assuming that he was now facing the same direction he had been before the illusion. Seated comfortably on a rock was the waiter, only he was no longer a waiter. He was tall, even seated, and thick, swollen muscles bulged beneath his shining armor. The tip of his longsword was in the dirt, and he had one gauntleted hand draped over the golden pommel.
“Forgive me, Talis,” Abaddon said with a mock bow. “I did not recognize you.”
Talis frowned. “Indeed. And do you not recognize where you now stand?”
Abaddon grinned. “I stand, dear Talis, in a diner in West Texas where you are making a feeble attempt to stop me from my work. The appearance of this illusion you’ve conjured?” He waved a hand at the trees. “Meaningless.”
Talis twirled his sword and watched the mesmerizing blur of the blade. He breathed in and out of his nose and then looked up. “Do you say so? Truly? Have the millennia been so unkind to the memory of the great Abaddon?”
Abaddon took a step forward. “Continue your mockery, and you will find out how great I”
“Lebanon,” Talis said, interrupting Abaddon without so much as a flinch as the demon took another step toward him. “The Lebanon that was, that is. Before the first temple of the Jews. Before Solomon’s reign.”
At that, Abaddon roared and rushed forward with his sword poised to strike. Talis remained calm as if he had no intention of rising to meet the impending attack, but at the last moment, he lifted his sword and stood. He swung his sword into Abaddon’s so hard that sparks flew from the edges of them both on contact. The blades remained crossed, and both the angel and the demon pushed against the other. There was a sharp, metallic ringing as the blades slid to the hilts and locked together. Talis and Abaddon stood inches apart, staring each other down over their swords.
“I’ll finish what I started that day, archangel.” Abaddon spoke through clenched teeth.
“I see you forgot what happened that day, demon.”
They both pushed away and stepped back. Abaddon followed with a diagonal slash aimed at Talis’s neck, and Talis sidestepped without bothering to block the harmless strike. He countered with a horizontal strike, but Abaddon proved faster and reversed his strike at the last second to block. Talis wasted no time, quickly spinning his sword off the block and swinging over his head and then bringing it down toward Abaddon’s eyes. The demon deftly thrust his sword straight up, gripped tightly in both hands, and managed to block the deadly strike. The force of the blow nearly knocked the sword from his hands, and he scrambled backward to regroup and get off of the defensive.
“You forget where you are, Talis.” Abaddon stood up straight and held his sword to his side.
Talis didn’t respond, but then something in his look changed. Confident anger dissolved into a sudden panic. In the air around him, demons of all shapes and sizes materialized. Every one of them held a weapon and was aiming at him. They appeared in the air in what seemed like slow-motion, but then they descended on the archangel with blurring speed. Talis raised his sword to deflect the first strike from a mace aimed at his head, then kicked out in front of him and knocked a demon that looked human out of the air. His sword never slowed. He lifted it above his head, blocking the chop of an ax. He pushed away with a growl and then blocked left and right with impossible speed. He so stunned the next demon in front of him that the creature had no defense when Talis stabbed it in the throat.
Abaddon watched in awe as the archangel spun back and forth, blocking, parrying, and striking with unmatchable precision. Several of the demons’ strikes got through his defenses, clashing against his armor, but he countered every one of them with a more intense hit, sending demon after demon airborne and then onto its back. The space around him expanded as the demons became more careful and respectful of his skill with the deadly longsword. Soon they were all standing back, their chests heaving and nostrils flaring. Talis wasn’t breathing hard, and his sword was comfortably at his side.
Abaddon suppressed a growl. “Impressive but pointless, Talis. You are outnumbered and will not be able to defend all of us in a full attack for long.”
Talis nodded and sheathed his sword at his waist. “True.”
Abaddon nodded as well. “Drop the illusion.”
Talis smiled. “Gladly.”
The air around them shimmered, then seemed to fracture into lines. A moment later, there was a rush of wind and a loud popping sound. Abaddon closed his eyes to shield them from a brilliant light. When he opened them again, he was once more standing in the diner. His confidence soared, and he was about to smile when he noticed that the brilliant light had not gone away.
He swung around to where Viggo sat. The human was still in his seat, sipping his water, but behind him were two tall angels with armor similar to Talis’s. Abaddon looked all around. His soldiers were surrounded by angels. They filled the diner with their light, and all of them were armed with longswords. He ducked down low enough to look out the window and saw that the parking lot was filled with angels as well. His smile evaporated, Abaddon turned around.
Talis was standing there with one hand propped on the pommel of his sheathed sword. “As I said, you forgot what happened that day.”
Abaddon growled and started to lunge at Talis, but strong hands grabbed him by the shoulders and restrained him. He looked to his left and right and saw his lieutenants, Garith and Cosset, holding him. He nodded to both of them, and they removed their hands from his arms and shoulders.
“This is far from over.”
“Leave,” Talis said.
Abaddon stared into the archangel’s golden eyes for a long time before relenting. He turned far enough to see Viggo with the two angels kneeling beside him and whispering words of comfort. Then, without looking back at Talis, he motioned for his soldier to leave. They were slow to comply but dared not defy their commander or the shining host surrounding them. They exited the diner without a word.
* * *
When the last of the demons were gone, the two angels beside Viggo stood and bowed their heads to Talis. He returned the bow and then spoke to all of the host.
“Thank you for answering the call. The threat has been, temporarily, eliminated.”
The angel at Viggo’s left shoulder spoke up. “But there is still much to do.”
Talis regarded him for a moment, then nodded. “Yes.” He sighed. “We must safeguard his wife.”
It was the angel at Viggo’s right to speak. “How many marriages must be destroyed?”
Talis shook his head. “You have your orders. Go.”
To be continued…
This is the unedited, rough draft of a story in the Journey of Fate universe. All feedback is welcome!If you enjoyed this rough draft, you might also enjoy my finished works in the Journey of Fate series. Check out the prequel short story now, for free, by signing up for the mailing list!
Coffee with a Devil Part Six
Coffee with a Devil
A Story in Serial - Part Six
This is part six of the serial story I’m currently writing. If you have not read the story from the beginning, you might want to go check out part one first. Click here to read it now. This is a story you get to help me write by providing your feedback in the comments or by sending me a message through my Contact page . If I like your ideas, they might just end up in the story, or I might name one of the characters after you!Part Six:The Forest
Abaddon turned back and forth in every direction. He scanned the dense pine and cedar trees, drawing his sword. Instinct gradually took over, calming him, forcing him to slow his heartbeat. He stood as still as possible and relaxed so that he could listen for every sound and smell his surroundings. Nothing stirred in the trees, not even the wind in the higher branches.
He let a smile of comprehension crawl into the corners of his mouth as he caught the faint scent of cooking food and cleaning solvents.
“I’m still in the diner.”
“And making quite the spectacle of yourself,” someone said.
Abaddon took his time turning around, assuming that he was now facing the same direction he had been before the illusion. Seated comfortably on a rock was the waiter, only he was no longer a waiter. He was tall, even seated, and thick, swollen muscles bulged beneath his shining armor. The tip of his longsword was in the dirt, and he had one gauntleted hand draped over the golden pommel.
“Forgive me, Talis,” Abaddon said with a mock bow. “I did not recognize you.”
Talis frowned. “Indeed. And do you not recognize where you now stand?”
Abaddon grinned. “I stand, dear Talis, in a diner in West Texas where you are making a feeble attempt to stop me from my work. The appearance of this illusion you’ve conjured?” He waved a hand at the trees. “Meaningless.”
Talis twirled his sword and watched the mesmerizing blur of the blade. He breathed in and out of his nose and then looked up. “Do you say so? Truly? Have the millennia been so unkind to the memory of the great Abaddon?”
Abaddon took a step forward. “Continue your mockery, and you will find out how great I”
“Lebanon,” Talis said, interrupting Abaddon without so much as a flinch as the demon took another step toward him. “The Lebanon that was, that is. Before the first temple of the Jews. Before Solomon’s reign.”
At that, Abaddon roared and rushed forward with his sword poised to strike. Talis remained calm as if he had no intention of rising to meet the impending attack, but at the last moment, he lifted his sword and stood. He swung his sword into Abaddon’s so hard that sparks flew from the edges of them both on contact. The blades remained crossed, and both the angel and the demon pushed against the other. There was a sharp, metallic ringing as the blades slid to the hilts and locked together. Talis and Abaddon stood inches apart, staring each other down over their swords.
“I’ll finish what I started that day, archangel.” Abaddon spoke through clenched teeth.
“I see you forgot what happened that day, demon.”
They both pushed away and stepped back. Abaddon followed with a diagonal slash aimed at Talis’s neck, and Talis sidestepped without bothering to block the harmless strike. He countered with a horizontal strike, but Abaddon proved faster and reversed his strike at the last second to block. Talis wasted no time, quickly spinning his sword off the block and swinging over his head and then bringing it down toward Abaddon’s eyes. The demon deftly thrust his sword straight up, gripped tightly in both hands, and managed to block the deadly strike. The force of the blow nearly knocked the sword from his hands, and he scrambled backward to regroup and get off of the defensive.
“You forget where you are, Talis.” Abaddon stood up straight and held his sword to his side.
Talis didn’t respond, but then something in his look changed. Confident anger dissolved into a sudden panic. In the air around him, demons of all shapes and sizes materialized. Every one of them held a weapon and was aiming at him. They appeared in the air in what seemed like slow-motion, but then they descended on the archangel with blurring speed. Talis raised his sword to deflect the first strike from a mace aimed at his head, then kicked out in front of him and knocked a demon that looked human out of the air. His sword never slowed. He lifted it above his head, blocking the chop of an ax. He pushed away with a growl and then blocked left and right with impossible speed. He so stunned the next demon in front of him that the creature had no defense when Talis stabbed it in the throat.
Abaddon watched in awe as the archangel spun back and forth, blocking, parrying, and striking with unmatchable precision. Several of the demons’ strikes got through his defenses, clashing against his armor, but he countered every one of them with a more intense hit, sending demon after demon airborne and then onto its back. The space around him expanded as the demons became more careful and respectful of his skill with the deadly longsword. Soon they were all standing back, their chests heaving and nostrils flaring. Talis wasn’t breathing hard, and his sword was comfortably at his side.
Abaddon suppressed a growl. “Impressive but pointless, Talis. You are outnumbered and will not be able to defend all of us in a full attack for long.”
Talis nodded and sheathed his sword at his waist. “True.”
Abaddon nodded as well. “Drop the illusion.”
Talis smiled. “Gladly.”
The air around them shimmered, then seemed to fracture into lines. A moment later, there was a rush of wind and a loud popping sound. Abaddon closed his eyes to shield them from a brilliant light. When he opened them again, he was once more standing in the diner. His confidence soared, and he was about to smile when he noticed that the brilliant light had not gone away.
He swung around to where Viggo sat. The human was still in his seat, sipping his water, but behind him were two tall angels with armor similar to Talis’s. Abaddon looked all around. His soldiers were surrounded by angels. They filled the diner with their light, and all of them were armed with longswords. He ducked down low enough to look out the window and saw that the parking lot was filled with angels as well. His smile evaporated, Abaddon turned around.
Talis was standing there with one hand propped on the pommel of his sheathed sword. “As I said, you forgot what happened that day.”
Abaddon growled and started to lunge at Talis, but strong hands grabbed him by the shoulders and restrained him. He looked to his left and right and saw his lieutenants, Garith and Cosset, holding him. He nodded to both of them, and they removed their hands from his arms and shoulders.
“This is far from over.”
“Leave,” Talis said.
Abaddon stared into the archangel’s golden eyes for a long time before relenting. He turned far enough to see Viggo with the two angels kneeling beside him and whispering words of comfort. Then, without looking back at Talis, he motioned for his soldier to leave. They were slow to comply but dared not defy their commander or the shining host surrounding them. They exited the diner without a word.
* * *
When the last of the demons were gone, the two angels beside Viggo stood and bowed their heads to Talis. He returned the bow and then spoke to all of the host.
“Thank you for answering the call. The threat has been, temporarily, eliminated.”
The angel at Viggo’s left shoulder spoke up. “But there is still much to do.”
Talis regarded him for a moment, then nodded. “Yes.” He sighed. “We must safeguard his wife.”
It was the angel at Viggo’s right to speak. “How many marriages must be destroyed?”
Talis shook his head. “You have your orders. Go.”
To be continued…
This is the unedited, rough draft. All feedback is welcome. Tell me where you think the story might be going, and make sure to follow the blog so you can be the first to read part four. What would you like to see happen next?If you enjoyed this rough draft, you might also enjoy my finished works in the Journey of Fate series. Check out the prequel short story now, for free, by signing up for the mailing list!
October 11, 2019
Keys of Fate Part Five
Keys of Fate
A Story in Serial - Part Five
This is part five of the serial story I’m currently writing. If you have not read the story from the beginning, you might want to go check out part one first. Click here to read it now. This is a story you get to help me write by providing your feedback in the comments or by sending me a message through my Contact page . If I like your ideas, they might just end up in the story, or I might name one of the characters after you!Part Five:Part Five
Abaddon gripped the edge of the table and clenched his teeth. His body shook with rage, which made the table shake, and he vaguely noticed that the water in the human’s hand was now shaking. The look of shock on the miserable wretch’s face was almost enough to assuage Abaddon’s fury, but almost bore no meaning to creatures like him.
He let his hand slip away from the table and forced himself to take a deep breath. He heard the clicking of the ever-vexatious imp’s feet and jerked his head to the side. Corsis jumped back and instinctively hissed. Several others stepped back, giving themselves distance from Abaddon and whatever might happen should he decide to lash out against Corsis.
The imp spoke after a moment. “Shall we kill the messenger, lord?”
Abaddon looked back to the human and practically screamed a “yes” when he saw the man take a sip of the water. But, the demon knew, cooler heads must prevail. If it was only a messenger, he was not likely to be as alone as he appeared to be. Only a fool begins a battle without knowing the enemy he faces. No, he thought, let the cowardly messenger have his parlor tricks. The human was ready to break, and no amount of water or any other symbol placed before him was going to change that. They had won. Keeping the angels busy with minor skirmishes had been an effective strategy, leaving this human on his own for days.
The weak human. Not a single prayer had escaped his lips in months. Not so much as the peeling back of the cover of the accursed book. No gathering with the other wretches. No song upon his heart.
Abaddon smiled. “No, Corsis.” He stood. “Let the messenger think his efforts make a difference. It is so generous of heaven to send us another to torture.” He licked his lips and chuckled to himself as the human pushed the water away and hung his head. The demon turned and looked into the kitchen where the waiter was working behind a counter.
The waiter paused from his work and looked up. There was no fear in his eyes as their gazes locked. This one was weak, Abaddon thought. Feigning power with tricks. Were a battle to begin, he would flee and hide, just as he was hiding in the guise of a human waiter. He enjoyed the irony: Abaddon and his soldiers were supposed to the corrupt ones, but the only one deceiving anyone in that moment was supposedly a messenger from the holiest of holies. He smiled, relishing the moment, knowing he had taken the upper-hand simply by doing nothing.
The waiter kept his gaze focused on Abaddon but reached down to grab something. Abaddon watched this with feigned disinterest; suddenly he was acutely aware that there was something more to this one’s guise. The demon’s warrior instincts were beginning to take over, his senses becoming more alert as the messenger’s arm rose above the counter.
Something metallic cleared the edge of the counter. The messenger lifted it, stepping back, and hoisting it so that it was poised at an angle in front of him. Moments before flames appeared and rose along its edge, Abaddon registered that it was a longsword. He felt his eyes widen as he reached to his side for his own sword. Before he could acknowledge what he was saying, Corsis blurted the truth.
“An archangel!” Corsis screamed unintelligibly after that, and a cacophonous rumbling broke out amongst Abaddon’s soldiers.
Abaddon swallowed down a lump in his throat and turned to the human. He needed to make sure. Something told him to turn. Viggo was holding the glass to his lips once more. He took a long drink and then held the glass away from his face, observing the obviously refreshing liquid with the slightest hint of a smile edging into the corners of his eyes and mouth. Abaddon turned and prepared to draw his sword. His jaw nearly dropped at what he saw.
The archangel was back to his work as a waiter, slicing something behind the counter and whistling to himself. He continued to work but glanced up long enough to smile and wink at the demon. Abaddon closed his eyes and growled. He took a deep breath and then opened his eyes...and found himself standing, alone, in a forest.
To be continued…
If you enjoyed this rough draft, you might also enjoy my finished works in the Journey of Fate series. Check out the prequel short story now, for free, by signing up for the mailing list!
Coffee with a Devil Part Five
coffee with a devil
A Story in Serial - Part Five
This is part five of the serial story I’m currently writing. If you have not read the story from the beginning, you might want to go check out part one first. Click here to read it now. This is a story you get to help me write by providing your feedback in the comments or by sending me a message through my Contact page . If I like your ideas, they might just end up in the story, or I might name one of the characters after you!Part Three:Part Five
Abaddon gripped the edge of the table and clenched his teeth. His body shook with rage, which made the table shake, and he vaguely noticed that the water in the human’s hand was now shaking. The look of shock on the miserable wretch’s face was almost enough to assuage Abaddon’s fury, but almost bore no meaning to creatures like him.
He let his hand slip away from the table and forced himself to take a deep breath. He heard the clicking of the ever-vexatious imp’s feet and jerked his head to the side. Corsis jumped back and instinctively hissed. Several others stepped back, giving themselves distance from Abaddon and whatever might happen should he decide to lash out against Corsis.
The imp spoke after a moment. “Shall we kill the messenger, lord?”
Abaddon looked back to the human and practically screamed a “yes” when he saw the man take a sip of the water. But, the demon knew, cooler heads must prevail. If it was only a messenger, he was not likely to be as alone as he appeared to be. Only a fool begins a battle without knowing the enemy he faces. No, he thought, let the cowardly messenger have his parlor tricks. The human was ready to break, and no amount of water or any other symbol placed before him was going to change that. They had won. Keeping the angels busy with minor skirmishes had been an effective strategy, leaving this human on his own for days.
The weak human. Not a single prayer had escaped his lips in months. Not so much as the peeling back of the cover of the accursed book. No gathering with the other wretches. No song upon his heart.
Abaddon smiled. “No, Corsis.” He stood. “Let the messenger think his efforts make a difference. It is so generous of heaven to send us another to torture.” He licked his lips and chuckled to himself as the human pushed the water away and hung his head. The demon turned and looked into the kitchen where the waiter was working behind a counter.
The waiter paused from his work and looked up. There was no fear in his eyes as their gazes locked. This one was weak, Abaddon thought. Feigning power with tricks. Were a battle to begin, he would flee and hide, just as he was hiding in the guise of a human waiter. He enjoyed the irony: Abaddon and his soldiers were supposed to the corrupt ones, but the only one deceiving anyone in that moment was supposedly a messenger from the holiest of holies. He smiled, relishing the moment, knowing he had taken the upper-hand simply by doing nothing.
The waiter kept his gaze focused on Abaddon but reached down to grab something. Abaddon watched this with feigned disinterest; suddenly he was acutely aware that there was something more to this one’s guise. The demon’s warrior instincts were beginning to take over, his senses becoming more alert as the messenger’s arm rose above the counter.
Something metallic cleared the edge of the counter. The messenger lifted it, stepping back, and hoisting it so that it was poised at an angle in front of him. Moments before flames appeared and rose along its edge, Abaddon registered that it was a longsword. He felt his eyes widen as he reached to his side for his own sword. Before he could acknowledge what he was saying, Corsis blurted the truth.
“An archangel!” Corsis screamed unintelligibly after that, and a cacophonous rumbling broke out amongst Abaddon’s soldiers.
Abaddon swallowed down a lump in his throat and turned to the human. He needed to make sure. Something told him to turn. Viggo was holding the glass to his lips once more. He took a long drink and then held the glass away from his face, observing the obviously refreshing liquid with the slightest hint of a smile edging into the corners of his eyes and mouth. Abaddon turned and prepared to draw his sword. His jaw nearly dropped at what he saw.
The archangel was back to his work as a waiter, slicing something behind the counter and whistling to himself. He continued to work but glanced up long enough to smile and wink at the demon. Abaddon closed his eyes and growled. He took a deep breath and then opened his eyes...and found himself standing, alone, in a forest.
To be continued…
If you enjoyed this rough draft, you might also enjoy my finished works in the Journey of Fate series. Check out the prequel short story now, for free, by signing up for the mailing list!
October 9, 2019
Coffee with a Devil Part Four
Coffee with a devil
A Story in Serial - Part Four
This is part three of the serial story I’m currently writing. If you have not read the story from the beginning, you might want to go check out part one first. Click here to read it now. This is a story you get to help me write by providing your feedback in the comments or by sending me a message through my Contact page . If I like your ideas, they might just end up in the story, or I might name one of the characters after you!Part Three:Five Days Ago
Viggo let his numb finger plop onto the dismiss button of his cell phone alarm and then dragged it up the screen until the obnoxious elevator music ringtone was silenced. He pushed himself up and propped up on one elbow, staring at the wall of his bedroom. Shaking his arm to get rid of the weightless tingling caused by sleeping in an awkward position, he blinked several times and tried to let his eyes adjust to the darkness.
He took in a deep breath, too deep, and tried not to cough. Lisa was a light sleeper, and if the alarm hadn’t woken her, a cough disrupting the cryptic silence would surely pull her from her troubled dreams. He slipped out of the bed as smoothly and quietly as possible, wincing as his knees and ankles cracked. As he performed his back popping reverse stretch he wondered why he wasn’t smelling coffee brewing. Lisa always set the timer before going to sleep. She didn’t have to be to work until hours after he left, but she liked feeling as if she helped him get ready in the morning, even if it was something as simple as setting up the automatic brewer.
But there was no aroma drifting in from the kitchen, and he didn’t hear the familiar sound of the percolating build-up and then the satisfying drip-pour into the carafe. There was nothing to smell that morning. No sounds to be heard.
Viggo cut his stretch short, leaned over to the nightstand, and flipped the lamp on. Turning his eyes to shield them from the intrusive light, he looked to Lisa’s side of the bed.
Empty. Covers pulled up because no one had slept there last night.
“Freshen that up for you, bud?”
Viggo sucked in a cold, abrupt breath and looked up from his coffee. The waiter was standing over him, holding a carafe and staring at him. Viggo blinked away the memory and looked closely, immediately entranced by the waiter’s icy-blue eyes.
“What?” He rubbed his face and looked around. The diner was empty except for him and the waiter. That’s what his eyes told him, but he knew better.
“Do you want me to freshen that up for you?” The waiter dipped his head toward Viggo’s mug.
Viggo looked and saw that it was nearly full. He’d only taken a few sips. When he looked back at the waiter, he felt his heartbeat increase its tempo. The waiter was unblinking. In fact, his eyes widened and he gave an almost indiscernible nod as if he were hiding it from someone. He then shifted his eyes to his right in the direction of the chair across from Viggo.
Viggo nervously glanced in the direction of the invisible Abaddon. He swallowed hard and then nodded to the waiter who quickly tipped the carafe to the mug and filled the mug to the top.
“Would you like to order anything else?”
Viggo shook his head.
“Are you sure, Viggo?”
He gripped the edge of the table and snapped his head up to look at the waiter, who seemed unphased. “How do—”
“Maybe just some toast?” The waiter interrupted him and spoke aggressively. After a slight pause, he gave another indiscernible nod.
Viggo felt himself shaking but forced his body to stay where it was. He croaked out something that sounded like “okay” and gave a nod.
“Coming right up.”
The waiter turned to walked away but paused next to the seat where Viggo sensed Abaddon was still seated. He looked at the chair and smiled before walking to the kitchen. When he’d gone around the counter, he set the carafe back on the warmer and then turned to look at Viggo. He gave him a full nod this time and pointed at the table. Unsure what the point had been directed at, Viggo looked around until he felt a cool, moist sensation in the palm of his hand. Startled, he looked at his coffee mug. He nearly shouted and jumped from the table.
The mug was gone, replaced by a glass of clear, cool water.
To be continued…
This is part three of my newest short story, “Coffee with a Devil,” a story I’m writing publicly. This is the unedited, rough draft. All feedback is welcome. Tell me where you think the story might be going, and make sure to follow the blog so you can be the first to read part four. What would you like to see happen next?If you enjoyed this rough draft, you might also enjoy my finished works in the Journey of Fate series. Check out the prequel short story now, for free, by signing up for the mailing list!
October 5, 2019
Coffee with a Devil Part Three
Coffee with a devil
A Story in Serial - Part Three
This is part three of the serial story I’m currently writing. If you have not read the story from the beginning, you might want to go check out part one first. Click here to read it now. This is a story you get to help me write by providing your feedback in the comments or by sending me a message through my Contact page . If I like your ideas, they might just end up in the story, or I might name one of the characters after you!Part Three:Viggo
Viggo leaned toward his folded arms and shuddered out an audible breath. There were few times he had ever felt tangible fear—something beyond the thoughts and emotions in his mind. This was like an unseen, macabre hand tracing the death stroke along his neck. He tensed against the sensation and stared into the oily black surface of his unfinished coffee. He half expected to see a reflection, not his own, but the reflection of something from a horror movie.
He knew something was there. Someone was there. Behind him, whispering in his ear as it had been for days. But surely this was his imagination. She’d told him so, and she was always right. She wasn’t the problem; she’d made that clear. It was him, but she didn’t know. Couldn’t know, and that’s why she didn’t believe him. But Viggo knew it was there, thought he even knew its name.
Abaddon.
The name haunted his dreams and stole his sleep. The name had a meaning. He’d looked it up. It was the angel of the abyss from the book of Revelation, but Viggo knew this was more than that. He knew the name meant something else: revealer of secrets.
The revealer wasn’t alone, but Viggo only sensed that somewhere in the back of his mind, somewhere in the abandoned part of his spirit that used to keep these things from harming him. But, Viggo knew, that abandoned part must stay hidden, must stay dormant, for it would bring everything to an end. Would make her go away.
Viggo looked deeply into the tiny pool of bitter liquid in the generic cup before him, avoiding the steeled eyes of the waiter. The gaze of those eyes had never left him. Viggo forced himself not to see as he felt the demon walk back to the other side of the table. He stared until the surface of the coffee became another kind of reflection, one that brought the memory back. He felt the demon laughing. It was a confident laugh, one of knowing.
They both knew Viggo was going to lose this battle.
To be continued…
This is part three of my newest short story, “Coffee with a Devil,” a story I’m writing publicly. This is the unedited, rough draft. All feedback is welcome. Tell me where you think the story might be going, and make sure to follow the blog so you can be the first to read part four. What would you like to see happen next?If you enjoyed this rough draft, you might also enjoy my finished works in the Journey of Fate series. Check out the prequel short story now, for free, by signing up for the mailing list!
