Erin Lewis's Blog, page 4

Backstory Excerpts for Hardcore Fans, part 8c

Backstory Excerpts

The following excerpt is for those who have read Firetender and want more background details. I don’t recommend reading these Backstory Excerpt posts unless you’ve read the book, but I also can’t stop you if this is the way you’d rather meet Channing and Dallas. None of these backstory scenes further the plot, but they give insight into who the characters are and what shaped them into who they became. All this unpublished writing served me well: I got to know my characters bett...

It's Firetender's First Birthday!

Hi everyone! Firetender, my first published novel, will have been out in the world for one whole year this Thursday! I can’t believe it. Getting the first two books of the Chalice Series into the world this past year was a dream come true. I’m hoping to get Book Three closer to publication this year—I’ve been gathering feedback and will start making the final major revisions in February. I will keep you updated on that project—I’m excited with how it’s turning out!

The flaming cake in the above photo is one I made two years ago for Halloween/All Saints Day/Nevada Day/We’re Reading Dante’s Inferno Right Now For Homeschooling (okay, I didn’t make the cake to celebrate Nevada Day, but this was the day I discovered Nevada Day was a real celebration occurring on October 31, and since Firetender’s protagonist grew up in Nevada, it works perfectly!).

How can you help me celebrate Firetender this week?? There are a few ways, and I will draw one winner from anyone who participates in spreading the birthday cheer. Read on!

I would love to see more reviews of Firetender (and Enkindle in Me!) on Amazon and Goodreads. Reviews are one of the main ways new readers decide to pick up a book. A review for Firetender on one of these sites or on a personal blog would be the best gift the book could receive for its first birthday.

Leave a Firetender Review - Goodreads

Leave Firetender Review - Amazon

If you’ve already read Firetender and written a review, you can still enter the birthday contest. You can share a Firetender-related photo on social media and tag it #happybirthdayfiretender. Be creative—a photo of yourself reading the book somewhere fun, a picture of your own fireplace or bonfire, anything! The idea is to share with others about the book. And if you don’t use social media much, please take a photo and send it to me here via a message, and I’ll share it on my author Instagram/Facebook page.

You have all week to join in the Firetender celebration!

Thank you so much for reading and for your support!

Erin

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And That's a Wrap

Who’s ready to start 2024 off with a new book in hand? How about writing—a new book being drafted, going through revisions, or on its way to the publisher?

Writing

My writing accomplishments last year were major ones—I had the first two novels in the Chalice Series published! In January, Firetender introduced my characters to the world—characters who had been living in my head since 1996. Giving them a full story with purpose and beauty, tragedy and faith, was a labor of love from 2020-2022. Then in June, Enkindle in Me was published, continuing Dallas’s story in the second book of the series.

In September, Firetender received the Catholic Writers Guild Seal of Approval, signaling its accordance with the teachings of the Catholic faith as well as its professional editing. Click here to see other books that have been awarded the SOA.

I am grateful to Full Quiver Publishing, all my beta and advance copy readers, helpful members of the Catholic Writers Guild, and my online writing group Pens ‘n’ Roses (great name, huh?).

Find the Chalice Series Here!

So, what do I have planned this year in writing news?

Currently, Chalice Book Three (The Fire of Your Love) is with beta readers. I also have it running through a critique group. I am hoping to receive all beta reader feedback by the end of January so I can begin my last major revisions before moving it towards publication. If I work fast enough, maybe by the end of this year?? We will see!

This month, I plan to submit Firetender for consideration for the Catholic Media Association book awards. I also will be submitting Enkindle in Me for the Catholic Writers Guild SOA.

I plan to continue my revisions of Chalice Book Four this year and will likely run it through my crit group before taking it to beta readers. It’s so fast-paced, and I love that about it. This book also introduces totally new dynamics and characters who have taken off into their own story!

Reading

Here’s a look at my list of books read over 2023:

A few highlights:

I read David Copperfield by Charles Dickens for the first time. Much of it I did on audiobook—I found a really good reader on Librivox and listened to much of it while cooking and then while driving from Georgia to Texas to Kansas and back in early March. David is a likeable character who runs into many odds stacked against him with an innocent naivety which is endearing at times, while at others you want to shake some sense into him: like his decision to marry Dora. The reader sees it’s a train wreck from the beginning, but what’s so likeable about David is that he understands the commitment he’s made and is going to stick with it. This did not stop me from rolling my eyes at Dora’s absolute incompetence, haha. All of the supporting characters were colorful and added drama to David’s life, and the gravity of the story’s themes were not lessened by the humor sprinkled throughout the book.

I read Demon Copperhead, a modern novel by Barbara Kingsolver modeled after David Copperfield, in December. I’m not quite sure what I thought of it yet. I did find myself rooting for Demon throughout the book—I’m a sucker for the down-and-out characters. And I was much amused by finding the parallel characters and connecting their names and attributes to the original Dickens ones (U-Haul Pyles was Uriah Heep; Sterling “Fast Forward” was James Steerforth; Hammer was Ham). I guess the drawback is that you know what’s going to happen to these characters (more or less) because of knowing the fates of their Dickens counterparts (which is probably the point, in part, anyway). One character with no Dickens counterpart was Maggot, so I’m not sure why the author added him in. The language in the book and some of the content crossed a line, in my opinion. I don’t usually have a big problem with language if it is true to a character, but when it gets sexually graphic in a constant kind of way, it gets to be too much. Demon, in his defense, obviously was brought up in an area and with a lifestyle that wasn’t going to do much for him in the way of morals, but still he retains some of the goodness of his David Copperfield version: he vows to stick with Dori even though she’s a complete train wreck of drug addiction. And a lot of the time, he knows what’s right even if he doesn’t always figure out how to do what’s right.

The main takeaway between the two books is that Demon was a much darker read than David. I assume Kingsolver wanted that—I mean, drug addiction is very dark. But so are the tragedies in David Copperfield, yet Dickens gives his story more light somehow. Even just the little additions of humor… for instance, I was rolling with laughter during the scene when Betsey Trotwood sees the donkeys going through her yard and keeps yelling out, “Janet—donkeys!” In Demon Copperhead, I got excited when he turned on Janet Road, also referred to as “the old donkey road” by some locals, because I caught the reference. However, Betsy Woodall does not start yelling about donkeys, or any kind of disturbance in her yard, unfortunately. I do think Kingsolver did a clever job overall in her version. I wish there could have been a way to get the message across without being so crude. Maybe there wasn’t.

Here’s a stack of some of my reads this past year… just the ones I could locate really easy for a photo. No way was I going to scrounge up all the books on the list above!

I’ve already reviewed several of the other books I read in 2023. You can look back here on Substack to find other reviews. A few of note:

No Turning Back by Father Donald Calloway - autobiography of a juvenile delinquent who became a priest (obviously, I was super interested in this one!).

The Divided Kingdom by Allison Ramirez - A dystopian novel with pro-life/human dignity themes, a strong female protagonist and secondary male protagonist, and not at all overdone with the romance. Can the leadership of the Island of Mirror erase history in the name of progress for their society?

The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde - Tragic story ends with tragic consequences. When you put too much importance on the external, what’s truly important on the inside suffers. Beauty is fleeting.

Works of Mercy by Sally Thomas - I really loved this one. Who knew a widowed older lady who works part time as a housekeeper for the local parish priest could be a protagonist?? The author made this story heartwarming, sad, humorous, and realistic all combined. The inclusion of Saint Robert Southwell’s poetry? Perfect!

And here’s a peek at some of the books I want to read in 2024:

Will I get to all of these books? Maybe, maybe not. As of now, I have a whole year ahead, but we all know how time passes faster than you expect.

What have been your favorite reads in the past year? What have you accomplished as a writer, author friends?

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I wish you a very literary 2024!

Erin

Backstory Excerpts for Hardcore Fans, Part 8b

Happy New Year!

What books have you read this year? Writer friends, have you met your own goals, or do you have any for the coming year? I plan to compile a list of books I read this year in an upcoming post, but until then, here’s the next part of the beach memory from my Firetender characters.

Backstory Excerpts

The following excerpt is for those who have read Firetender and want more background details. I don’t recommend reading these Backstory Excerpt posts unless you’ve read the book, but I also can’t stop you if this is the way you’d rather meet Channing and Dallas. None of these backstory scenes further the plot, but they give insight into who the characters are and what shaped them into who they became. All this unpublished writing served me well: I got to know my characters better through this exploration of their backstory. So these are unpolished excerpts, not final published quality. While most written over twenty years ago, this one was written in 2020 as I started working on the old story again.

Ocean was one of the last scenes cut from Firetender. It was just too long (and is why it will appear here over 3-4 posts—this is the second part; go here to read the first part of Ocean), and because it was a flashback, it would have dragged down the pace of the actual plot. But I really loved this chapter of the two of them at the beach for deepening the understanding of their friendship. If you’ve read Firetender, you might notice the few snippets I gleaned from here that made it into the final version of the novel.

From Firetender:
“Dallas remembered their argument at the beach, how he’d nearly traded in an agreement to read Dante’s Inferno with Channing for frivolous banter with three girls they’d just met.”

If you want to start at the very beginning of these memories and missed the first installation, find it here.

OCEAN, continued

The first thing Dallas did when he got back to Channing on the beach was to hand him his t-shirt.

“My Radiohead shirt, perfect!” Channing pulled it over his head.  “I was just thinking we should bring the stereo down here this evening and listen to music.  I’m gonna start on the castle late afternoon, probably, and the music would be nice while I work.”

Channing never even gives a second thought as to where a meal’s going to come from, Dallas thought moodily as he crossed his arms.  He’ll be sculpting for hours, and we wouldn’t eat at all if I didn’t take charge on the food.  Sometimes Dallas begrudged Channing’s flighty, artsy tendencies when he had to do everything else.  It would pass, though; he knew he’d look at what Channing had made later and be blown away by it, or that Channing would read some deep passage aloud from a book and make Dallas think on it for weeks, slowly ruminating the meaning.  Channing did his share, albeit in a very different way.

Channing stood, then brushed the sand from his hands on his shorts.  The two of them sat down to eat, piling scrambled eggs and bacon in between slices of bread and eating it sandwich-style.

“How long can we stay here?” Channing asked between bites.  “I hope forever.”

Dallas rolled his eyes slightly at Channing’s exaggeration and answered, “I think two more nights.  I don’t want to, but I have to be back for the first day of school.”

“Yeah,” sighed Channing, “I know.  And you only have this one last year!”

“Too bad I’m not much good at it,” Dallas replied a bit glumly.  He wasn’t looking forward to the workload, but at least it was finally his last year. 

“After dinner, I’ll read while we sit by the fire,” Channing offered.  “Maybe that will get you back in the mindset for schoolwork.”

Dallas laughed right out.  “Channing, everything you’ve ever read to me has far surpassed the drivel they make us read in school.  So what’re you reading right now?”

“Dante,” replied Channing.  “The Divine Comedy.”

This is the translation Channing had

It sounded vaguely familiar to Dallas as something he’d heard mentioned before.

“Sure, that sounds great.”  Dallas wouldn’t have admitted it to just anyone, but he’d always liked to listen to Channing reading things out loud to him. 

“This is really good,” Channing said gratefully, taking big bites of his sandwich.  “It would be amazing with a big glass of orange juice.”

“Well, we’re in Florida,” Dallas commented, “so I guess we could go find an orange orchard and squeeze some juice real quick.”

Channing replied, “Isn’t it so cool that they give out free orange juice samples at the Florida Welcome Center?  Can we stop there again on the way back home?”

“Maybe,” Dallas answered noncommittally.  Channing’s thrilled with the little things in life.

What Channing and Dallas both miss here is that it’s impossible to stop at the Florida Welcome Center on the way out of Florida… they would have to turn around at the first exit in Georgia and go back south, and then down to the next exit after that and turn around to go back north again. Dallas would never agree to that, ha.

Channing smiled, took another bite, and almost choked on it, widened eyes locked on something beyond his friend.  Dallas glanced over his shoulder quickly.  It was the three girls, approaching them at a distance, but clearly heading intentionally in their direction.  As they came nearer, the two boys stood up, brushing sand off their pants self-consciously. 

“Hi, remember us?” asked the girl who’d spoken to Dallas earlier that morning.

“Uh, sure,” Dallas answered, suddenly setting aside the bowl he’d been holding.

“I’m Heather, and this is my younger sister,” the girl said.  “We’re from Brentwood, Tennessee—it’s a suburb of Nashville.”  Dallas guessed Heather was about his age.

“I’m Ashley,” the younger sister introduced herself.  “I’m 15.”

“And I’m their cousin, Alexis,” said the third girl.  “I’m 17.  How old are you guys?”

“I’m 18,” Dallas began slowly, when Heather broke in.

“I’ll turn 18 in October,” she said.  “So what’s your name?”

Dallas was losing a race of verbosity before he’d even begun.  “I’m Dallas, and this is Channing—he’s 16,” he threw in quickly before they could ask.

“We’re here on vacation with our parents,” Alexis explained.  “We met up here to camp… our parents think an RV vacation on a state park beach is just as good as getting a condo on an exciting beach in an actual town.  Kinda lame, I know.  So are you guys on vacation here too?  We noticed you were camping. Are you brothers?”

“We’re friends. Just wanted to take a road trip before school starts back up,” Dallas said, trying to make himself conversational and friendly.  “We’re from Nevada.  Neither of us had ever been to the ocean before this.”

The girls looked flabbergasted.  “Really?  No way!  You mean you’d never been to the beach before now?  Not the Pacific, either?”

“Nope,” Dallas answered.  “It’s pretty amazing though…”

“Yeah, even though camping at the beach wouldn’t be my first choice, if I was the one planning the vacation, that is,” Heather said, “at least it’s still the beach, and this one’s a real pretty one, too, especially for people who’ve never even seen one before.  So, wow!  Your very first time to be at the ocean!  We’ve been to this beach a few times over the years.  There’s usually only old people though, not many people our age.  You guys drove here yourselves, all the way across the country?”

This is where I imagine this scene taking place, at Gamble Rogers State Recreation Area, just south of Flagler Beach on the Atlantic

Dallas nodded, straightening up.  “Yeah, I have a car.”  Duh, they probably saw it.  I wish Channing would say something so I don’t have to be the only one giving awkward answers.  Channing wouldn’t talk unless somebody spoke directly to him, and even then it wasn’t a guarantee.  These are the kind of girls who probably wouldn’t be speaking to us if we were in school together, Dallas realized.  He and Channing had never attracted the popular girls, and he was now wondering if somehow they couldn’t recognize them as being somewhat outcasts.  I can tell they’re probably the popular type somehow, so surely they can tell that we aren’t?  Maybe they’re just bored, Dallas decided, and we’re the only guys around here who are their age, after all...

“So you’re starting college?” asked Alexis to Dallas.  “You said you’re on vacation before school starts.”

Dallas was strongly tempted to lie but as the words were about to come out of his mouth, he couldn’t do it.  “No, I’m about to start my senior year of high school.  I just turned 18 a couple weeks ago,” he added, in case it could make it sound more understandable.  He hated letting on that he’d been held back a year in school.

“How about you, what grade are you going to be in?” Heather asked Channing.  “You’re shy, aren’t you?”  She gave him a winning smile as if she could coax conversation from him.

“Yes,” was all Channing managed, looking away and fiddling with the sand piled next to him.  He has zero interest in these girls, Dallas knew.  He’s itching to get back to his sculpture.

“He’s a junior,” Dallas answered for Channing, then averted his eyes quickly to avoid Channing’s glare of disbelief that Dallas had lied about him.  It’s true in a way, Dallas reassured himself.  He would be a junior if he hadn’t quit school, and he’s definitely more advanced than one from what he’s learned on his own.  I’ll have to explain to him later...  Dallas hadn’t even meant to say it; the words had just slipped out when Channing hadn’t provided an answer himself.

“Well, Channing, I like shy guys, so you’re good.” Heather smiled and took a step closer to him.

Channing swallowed quickly. “Um, okay.” He turned away and began working on his shark again. 

Heather wouldn’t relent.  “Hey, this sculpture is amazing!  I’ve never seen one so big!  And this is your first time ever at a beach?  I can’t believe it!”

Channing, slightly encouraged by somebody taking an interest in his work, managed to say, “Thanks.”

Channing’s shark sand sculpture would have looked something like this

“We saw you guys had a fire on the beach last night,” Alexis said.  “Looks like fun; that’s the kind of thing we like to do when we’re here.  And listen to music around the fire, just hang out, away from our parents… Hey, do you guys want to join us tonight?  We can have a bonfire!  It’s always more fun with more people!”

Dallas had started to think that perhaps these girls couldn’t tell that they weren’t the popular type after all.  Maybe the schools are different in the East than they are back home.  Maybe the teenagers here aren’t so exclusive and are nicer…

“Yeah, that’d be fun!” put in Ashley.  “A beach party!”

“Can you tear yourself away from your sand sculpture, Channing?” asked Alexis.

“I’ll be done before dark,” Channing answered, intently patting down the damp sand around a fin of the shark, “but we have other plans.”

Dallas nudged him slightly with his elbow.  “Well, those plans are flexible.” 

Channing shot icy daggers at him and turned his back completely, focusing all his energies on his sand sculpture.

“I mean,” Dallas went on, “we don’t have something specific that has to be done tonight.  So sure, if you want to…”

“Beach party!” exclaimed Alexis.  “It’ll be much better than sitting around the campsite with our parents making us play boring board games with them.”  She rolled her eyes and the others giggled.

Dallas felt a twinge of something inside him.  His mother had never once in his life expressed interest in playing a board game with him… He wasn’t sure they even had a deck of cards in the house.  He brushed the thoughts aside.  These girls didn’t know anything about Channing and him and their less-than-stellar home lives.  If they actually want to hang out with us, then why not try to have some fun?

“Okay, we’ll see you at sunset then!” called out Heather as they turned to go.  “We’ll bring music.  Do you guys like Red Hot Chili Peppers?  Or Smashing Pumpkins?”

Haha!

“Uh… sure,” Dallas stammered after them.

“Great, see you later!” they called with a wave.

Dallas raised a hand in farewell back and then turned to Channing.  He had stopped sculpting and was giving Dallas a cold, hard stare.

“What?” Dallas asked, turning his palms upward slightly.  “They seem nice.  We should be friendly.”

“You lied to them.”  Channing’s grey eyes were steely and serious.

“I didn’t mean to,” Dallas explained.  “I mean, you would be a junior this year, and you know you’ve already learned more than they’ll teach the other kids who were in your grade this year, or next year.  What, would you rather I’d told them you were a dropout?  I didn’t want them to think badly of you, you know.”

Channing’s expression didn’t change.  “I don’t need them to think anything of me, good or bad.  You could’ve told them the truth.  And,” he added, turning back to the shark sculpture, “we HATE the Red Hot Chili Peppers and the Smashing Pumpkins!”  Channing sent a fist into the fin of his sculpture with the word “hate.”

Dallas raised both eyebrows, taken aback at the uncharacteristic violence.  “Look, I’m sorry, Channing… I just thought maybe it’d be fun to hang out with them for tonight.”

Channing sat back on his heels, staring at the smashed fin.  “We were going to read Dante,” he said in a small voice.

Dallas felt like he’d been punched in the gut.  Channing was a helpless, lonely child all of a sudden, one who wants to show you some trivial little thing that means the world to him… only Channing wanted to show you Dante.  Channing wanted to share spiritual thoughts and classic literature and deep conversations.  And Dallas had traded that in, after already making an agreement with Channing earlier, for frivolous banter with some girls he’d just met and would likely never see again.

“I’m sorry, Chan,” he began again, softly.  “I shouldn’t have told them we had no real plans.  I really do like listening to you read that kind of stuff, you know that...  It’s just that, well… those girls, you know they’re the kind who would never give either of us the time of day back home.  Sometimes I just want to fit in with people.  The oldest one, Heather—she thinks you’re cute, even!”

Channing refused to look at Dallas.  “I don’t even care,” he said in a cold voice.  “If they’re the type who would ignore us back home, then why are you interested in them at all?  That’s pretty shallow of you.”

It was Dallas’s turn to get angry now.  “Shallow?  I just thought we should be friendly back to them, and yeah, if it makes me feel good to have pretty girls notice me once in a while, then fine, I’m shallow!”  He kicked the plastic pail that sat alongside the sculpture, sending sea water splashing out. 

Just pretend this is on a sandy beach

“Fine, then you go to their stupid bonfire with terrible music tonight by yourself!” Channing shouted.  “Enjoy feeling uncomfortable and awkward with some silly girls you don’t even know!  They won’t even like you once they get to know you!”  He bounded up, grabbed the shovel, and stomped away down the beach.

Dallas let him go.  He stood there fuming, Channing’s figure growing smaller in the distance.  He attacked the bucket again with his foot, then turned and walked briskly down the shore, right at the water’s edge, going in the opposite direction.  Dallas smoldered, unable to think clearly.  He strode along the wet sand, hearing the roaring waves in his ears, which gradually calmed him down.  Dallas stopped, at least a half mile down the shore, and stared into the ocean, hands deep in his pockets.  He turned and walked back, more slowly now.  Finally, he saw Channing’s completed shark taking shape far ahead of him.  It really looks incredible, Dallas realized.  Like it’s just coming right out of the shore.  Channing was so talented.  Then heat rose in Dallas’s throat again, and he lowered his eyebrows.  I tried to apologize, and Channing wasn’t having any of it.  He insulted me instead, implying that I’m an idiot to think popular girls could have any real interest in me!  Dallas made out his silhouette, about a hundred yards further beyond the shark, digging in the sand again.  He turned on his heel with a huff and stalked back to the campsite.

In the bathhouse with some clean clothes, Dallas turned on the hot water.  Channing can just do his own thing, he decided, but I’m at least going to clean myself up a bit.  Maybe Channing would come around and accept his apology, but if not, he would just try to have fun without him.  As he shampooed his hair, a secret wish grew in Dallas.  If Channing was just more understanding of Dallas’s weak will and how he’d been drawn in by the prospect of these type of girls paying him attention… then I would cancel on them in an instant.  But Channing’s mad at me just because I want to feel normal for an evening!  Girls who didn’t know him couldn’t judge him based on his academic performance, his home life, even his tastes in music.  Although deep down he knew Channing was probably right—that he wouldn’t feel comfortable and click with them—Dallas didn’t want to acknowledge that just yet.  You have to try to fit in, do things outside your comfort zone sometimes, he told himself.

Finished with his shower, Dallas put on clean clothes and shaved in the tiny, filmy mirror over the one sink.  He combed through his short hair with his fingers and packed up his toiletries. 

Channing wasn’t back at the tent.  Dallas hadn’t really expected him to be, his slight hope now dashed.  Maybe he’d walk back down to the beach and see if Channing had forgiven him yet. and he should probably start thinking about dinner now that it was after 6. Dallas opened the cooler and hesitated, looking at a package of hot dogs.  If I start the fire on the beach soon and take the hot dogs down there, maybe Channing’ll come over and get one…

Dallas loaded up the pockets of his cargo shorts with hot dogs, mustard, a lighter, his knife, and the rest of the bag of marshmallows.  He grabbed their bundle of firewood and tucked it under one arm, pausing along the way to gather some smaller sticks for kindling as he made his way toward the boardwalk.

Channing was still in the same place, digging, dwarfed by a huge heap of sand.  He was carving out a kind of hollow at the bottom of the pile.  Dallas shaded his eyes to look out toward his friend, then went to a spot further inland from the shark sculpture to begin the fire.  He hadn’t seen the three girls on the way down here and guessed they had been inside one of their RVs.  Maybe they won’t even show, he told himself.  Why should they, just for me?  He recalled Heather’s comments about Channing and wondered if she just meant he was cute like a little kid, the way Dallas thought of him sometimes, or even if she was poking fun at him.  Or did she mean something more?  Channing did have amazing hair, much in the style of a lot of the current alternative musicians… not because he was trendy, but because he’d just sort of developed that hairstyle on his own and kept it for several years now.  If anything, Channing had grown his hair like that before it had been a thing in popular culture.  But he was baby-faced, had straight white teeth naturally, and Dallas knew that girls sometimes thought Channing was good-looking in a sort of unkempt, boyish way… however, that never lasted long because of the reputation Channing had gained as being odd, not to mention the fact that he was freaked out by girls in general. 

Dallas sighed.  He squatted down in the sand and piled up the firewood and kindling the way he wanted it.  He needed a fire to cook the hot dogs regardless of who was going to come.  In ten minutes, he had a roaring blaze and had built up the sand on one side to shield it from the wind.  Dallas stretched out on the sand for a few minutes, enjoying the sensation of the cool wind across his body, the way it was hot here and yet comfortable from the air movement.  It rippled his shirt and made his skin tingle comfortably.  The warmth of the fire contrasted with the breeze, and the waves crashed rhythmically against the shore.  Dallas nodded off, lulled by the atmosphere. 

Suddenly, nearby voices jolted him back to attention.  He glanced over in the direction of the boardwalk to see Heather, Ashley, and Alexis stepping onto the sand.  Looking back over at Channing, Dallas mentally willed him to come, to get there first.  But Channing wasn’t visible, deep inside his sandcastle now.  It was a couple feet higher than his head and Dallas could clearly make out two tunnels that Channing had dug in the sides.  For a second, Dallas held his breath.  What if the whole thing collapses in on him?  Maybe I should go check on him…

“Hi, Dallas!” called out Alexis.  “The fire’s awesome!”  The three girls stood alongside the pile of extra wood. 

“I was just about to cook some hot dogs,” Dallas began.  “I’m, uh… I’m gonna go see if Channing wants one.  Be right back.”  He turned to go, then paused and passed the hot dogs to Heather.  “If any of you want some, help yourself,” he added, then turned and jogged over towards Channing’s sandcastle fort.

“Hey Chan?” he called into one of the tunnels.  It was amazing—so deep that he couldn’t see where Channing was in there.  This thing would kill him if it fell in on him, Dallas thought suddenly.  No way could I dig him out before he suffocated under all this sand.  “Hey, you in here?”

Channing replied in an echoing voice, “Yeah, don’t touch the walls.  They’re strong but could crumble easily if they’re disturbed.”

Channing would’ve had to dig up a lot of sand in order to mound it up to build a cave-like entrance to a sandcastle on the beach’s surface. The sand structure described in this story is probably a physical impossibility unless Channing found some boards to use inside to reenforce the structure, so you’ll have to suspend your disbelief. Dallas’s concerns about collapse are accurate even though this was years before all the warning articles about not digging too deep on the beach. However, the castle’s interior wasn’t beneath the beach’s surface in this description.

“I just came to tell you I have a fire going and brought the hot dogs down,” Dallas went on.  “You want one?”

“Are those girls coming?” Channing’s tone was sullen.

“Uh, they just came over to the fire, so I guess so,” Dallas responded offhandedly. 

“Then no thanks,” Channing replied from inside the tunnel.  “If there’s any hot dogs left, you can just save me one.  I’ll come get it and leave again.”

“I brought the marshmallows down too,” Dallas added hopefully.

No response from Channing.

“I wish you’d come and stay,” Dallas added with a sigh in a last effort at getting his friend to join him.

“Not with them there.” Channing’s reply was curt. “Have fun impressing them with your fire-building skills.”

Dallas’s face flushed, and he was seized with an irrational impulse to kick the side of the sand fort but restrained himself.  He racked his brain for some response, but the words hung in his throat.  He felt suddenly alone.  Hurt.  It isn’t fair.  Channing’s being impossible!  Dallas was left with no choice.  Silently, he turned with sagging shoulders and left Channing behind in the depths of his introverted little world.

Dallas was an introvert too, which was part of why the two of them had become such good friends and generally got along so well.  Every now and then, they had these difficulties.  Was Channing jealous that somebody else could take Dallas’s attention?  Something similar had happened his freshman year, when Dallas had played on the JV football team.  He’d been invited to go hang out with some of the other guys on the team occasionally, and Channing had behaved in much the same way.  Dallas’s mind traveled back to that time… He hadn’t enjoyed the company of those guys much.  They were into drinking and thinking they were cool because of it, and they told too many crude jokes, especially about females.  Dallas had always stood on the edge in these social groups… welcome, but not a part.  He didn’t belong with them, and he knew it because in his mind, he was always still alone.  He’d quit the team after that one year, not because he didn’t enjoy the sport—he loved playing football and was good at it—but because he didn’t gel with his teammates.  They were part of the popular crowd, and Dallas had found through experience that even if you joined into the same activities with the popular crowd, it didn’t automatically make you popular.  It’s not that they’d treated him as an outcast outright.  He’d just always known that somehow he wasn’t truly a part of the group.  The connection fell heavily on Dallas’s shoulders suddenly, that this current situation with these girls was exactly the same, and that his inner isolation was mostly of his own doing, yet he had no idea how to change that.

Dallas sighed and shuffled through the sand, kicking up a spray of it as he admitted to himself that he didn’t even really want to hang out with these girls anyway.  Channing, who somehow had this innate ability to remain unaffected by what other people thought, was probably right.  This is stupid of me to try to hang out with them, Dallas thought.  That self-assured inner peace hung out of his reach.  But he’d committed to giving them a chance, so Dallas took a deep breath and rejoined the girls around the fire.  They had started a CD on the boom box they’d brought with them and were attempting to open the package of hot dogs.

“Dallas, you’re back!” called Alexis.

He tried a small grin in response, hands in his pockets. “Want some help with that?” Dallas pulled out his pocketknife. 

“Thanks!  Hey, I love this song.” Ashley handed over the package of hot dogs.  “Come on, let’s dance!”

Dallas occupied himself with the package of hot dogs, grateful for an excuse to avoid dancing.  He had no clue how to dance to fast songs like this anyway, especially alongside girls in swimsuits.  Sitting back on his heels, he sharpened a couple of sticks he’d brought down and stuck two hot dogs on each.  Then he held both sticks over the fire, falling into his place in the periphery, mentally immersed in the fire.

“No luck getting your friend to join us?” asked Alexis.  “Maybe later tonight, when the fun really gets started, he’ll want to come… I know Heather hopes so, anyway!”  She nudged her cousin, who responded with an eyeroll.

“I only said he was cute,” she said exasperatedly, “but I really don’t think he’s my type.  He probably won’t want to come later, either.”

Dallas tried to be conversational. “What’s happening later?”

Alexis stopped dancing and came close to him, a mischievous look on her face.  “Okay, our parents told us we need to be back at the campsites by 11.  But we’re planning to come back down here once they’re asleep.  My parents have a bunch of bottles of wine in our RV, so we’ll grab a few and bring them down here.” She leaned closer to Dallas, and her arm brushed against his.

Dallas was positive at this point that Channing wasn’t their ‘type’ and neither was he.  Glad to change the subject, he announced that the hot dogs were finished and put them into buns.  Each took one, and Dallas speared the remaining hot dogs to prepare for the fire.  The girls continued to dance around and make conversation.  The second batch of hot dogs was nearly finished when Channing appeared, slowly walking towards the fire.

To be concluded next time!

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Erin

Backstory Excerpts for Hardcore Fans, Part 8

Backstory Excerpts

The following excerpt is for those who have read Firetender and want more background details. I don’t recommend reading these Backstory Excerpt posts unless you’ve read the book, but I also can’t stop you if this is the way you’d rather meet Channing and Dallas. None of these backstory scenes further the plot, but they give insight into who the characters are and what shaped them into who they became. All this unpublished writing served me well: I got to know my characters better through this exploration of their backstory. So these are unpolished excerpts, not final published quality. While most written over twenty years ago, this one was written in 2020 as I started working on the old story again.

This was one of the last scenes cut from Firetender. It was just too long (and is why it will appear here over 3-4 posts), and because it was a flashback, it would have dragged down the pace of the actual plot. But I really loved this chapter of the two of them at the beach for deepening the understanding of their friendship. If you’ve read Firetender, you might notice the few snippets I gleaned from here that made it into the final version of the novel.

From Firetender:
“Dallas remembered their argument at the beach, how he’d nearly traded in an agreement to read Dante’s Inferno with Channing for frivolous banter with three girls they’d just met.”

If you want to start at the beginning of these memories and missed the first installation, find it here.

OCEAN

Channing gasped at the magnificent sight before his eyes, completely new to him.  They were really and truly at the ocean.  Standing on the weathered wooden boardwalk that overlooked the dunes and the shore beyond, he breathed in the salty smell that hung in the air.  He’d jumped out of the car as soon as it was in park and had run down the boardwalk and was now stopped in his tracks, the Atlantic spread out before them.

Dallas clomped up behind him a moment later, the dull thuds of boots on boards the only other sound besides the crashing of the waves.

“It’s breathtaking!” Channing whispered.  “I never imagined it could be so massive, so powerful, so… so poetic-looking!” 

Dallas stared out at the water, solemn expression on his face, eyes as usual refusing to betray his inner feelings.  He could almost taste the salt in the air.  So this is an ocean.

His maniacal laughter breaking the silence, Channing ran down the remaining stretch of the boardwalk and onto the white sand beyond.  Dallas followed at a more reserved pace, hands deep in the pockets of his cargo shorts.

Near the water’s edge, Channing stopped and turned around.  “Dallas, this is amazing!” His exhilarated yell carried on the wind.  “We’re really at the ocean!  For real!” 

Dallas came alongside him. “Yep, here we are.  There’s a first time for everything.” He watched his friend.

Channing looked absolutely thrilled. Completely giddy or something, enraptured.  He’d removed his shoes and shirt on the boardwalk and now, wearing just his baggy khaki pants, Channing practically flung himself into the water.  He ran wildly into the waves, knee deep, staggered with the power of the pull of the tide, and threw himself down into the sea on his back.  Rising to his knees, the roar of the waves surrounding him, Channing laughed aloud, a free, clear laugh of childishness.  He stood up and ran back towards Dallas, taking big steps through the water, a huge grin of bliss on his face.

“We’re here!” Channing yelled again.  “I’m in the ocean!”  He ran a few paces along the shore as the water ebbed away under his bare feet and then rolled in again.  Channing collapsed on the sand in the shallow water, rolling over and over in glee, wet sand matting in his nearly chin-length wavy hair.  He laughed and laughed, throwing himself into the water again and again.  He reminded Dallas of a hyper puppy after being let out of its cage.

Stepping back a few paces, Dallas squatted down to remove his boots and socks.  He stuffed the socks inside the shoes and set them back a bit from the water’s edge.  The damp sand felt gritty and cool beneath his bare feet.  Dallas felt his weight shift as he sank slightly, making an impression of his feet.  Stepping aside, he looked at his footprints side by side, then at the crazy disordered marks made by Channing’s feet, scattered all over the area.  He looked at his friend and couldn’t hold back a smile if he’d tried.  Channing was still flopping around in the ocean, running ashore and then back into the waves, falling facedown into the water in outrageous-looking belly flops, staggering along in the ankle-deep surf and collapsing onto his side, rolling, rolling…

Channing’s euphoria was contagious, and Dallas stepped into the water a few paces, leapt a wave, and came down thigh-deep in the Atlantic.  The tug of the tides was powerful, and he felt the granules of sand rapidly shifting, washing away from under his feet.  Dallas pulled his t-shirt off and draped it over his shoulders, then looked over at Channing.  He was sitting at the water’s edge, letting it run over his legs, scooping up large handfuls of wet sand and letting it run through his fingers in wet, clumpy streams. 

Dallas waded back onto the beach, dropping his shirt next to his boots.  Channing had stood up again and was spinning in circles until dizzy, then stumbling into the ocean when he finally lost his balance.  He lay panting, propped up on his elbows in the shallow water.

“I can taste the salt!” he announced.  “Try it!”

Dallas squatted down beside him and dipped his fingers into the waves, then licked them.  His tongue tingled from the brackish ocean water.

“I love this!” Channing flopped himself over onto his back into the wet sand again.  He kicked his legs, sending a spray of salty water everywhere.

Dallas flinched and splashed him back.

“I can just jump right into it, and it’s like the waves catch me!” Channing went on.  “The sand’s so soft that I can collapse onto it and it doesn’t hurt at all!”

This gave Dallas an idea.  “Hey, I’m gonna go put our clothes in the car and grab something.  Don’t go way out to where the waves are really big by yourself, okay?  I’ll be right back.”

The beach was deserted aside from Dallas and Channing.  Scooping up his clothes, Dallas trotted back up the boardwalk towards the mainland, grabbing Channing’s discarded garments along the way.  His Isuzu was parked in one of the campsites on the other side of the narrow dunes.  This oceanside park with campground had been just what Dallas was hoping to find.  Whenever he traveled, he tried to either sleep in the car or camp, to save on expenses.  But last night, for the first time ever on one of these road trips, he and Channing had stayed at a hotel in a small central Floridian town.  A huge storm had blown up just as they’d been pitching the tent, and the torrential downpour had soaked them and some of their gear.  Dallas had relented and gotten them a cheap hotel room for the night, where they spread out some of the stuff to dry overnight before continuing on to the east coast of the state.

Saving money was always on Dallas’s mind.  He had worked all summer, mowing lawns and part-time work at a grocery store, and had quit two weeks before the first day of school, mostly so he and Channing could go on this road trip to Florida first.  Neither of them had ever seen the ocean, and Dallas was determined to make that happen before he finished high school. They could see the Pacific any time, he’d reasoned as he decided to make this the furthest he’d ever driven.

He would begin his senior year in a little over a week.  Most of the money he’d earned had been given to his mother to buy the old Isuzu off her.  Dallas had paid her $1500 for it, and she had bought herself a newer car.  The rest of his earnings she’d deposited for him into a bank account to save, other than what he had in his wallet.  Occasionally he wondered if he should get a bank account himself rather than carrying around so much cash.  It would be safer.  But cash was just so easy to deal with, and Dallas found it harder to spend it when he had to see the actual money leaving his possession.  Using a checkbook or check card wouldn’t be as real to him. 

Dallas had reached his car.  After throwing the shoes and clothing in the back seat, he slammed the door.  He stood up on the front bumper to get a concerned glance at Channing.  He was kneeling at the water’s edge, digging deeply with his hands in the sand in front of him.  Dallas jumped down and opened the trunk.  He retrieved a Nerf football and locked the car back up, then jogged back down the boardwalk to the beach.

The cry of gulls greeted him and then quickly dissipated as he stepped off the boardwalk near where they’d been gathered.  Dallas paused a moment, watching the flurry of grey and white feathers as they flew off as in one movement.  Then he went over to Channing, who was still digging.

“Dallas,” he said breathlessly, looking up with his sparkling grey eyes, “this sand is great for building!  I’m going to make some really elaborate sculptures!  Tomorrow, that is, since it’s almost sunset now.  Wow, I can’t believe the consistency of this sand!  And there’s just so much of it!”

“Want to throw the football around?” Dallas tossed it up and caught it with the opposite hand.  “You gave me the idea, with jumping and falling into the waves and not caring if you go smashing against the ground or the water.”

Channing, not very athletic by nature, looked hesitant a moment. “Sure. We can both fling ourselves into the water trying to catch it!”  He stood up, eagerly brushing wet sand from his pants.  “But first…”  He looked down at his wet pants, caked with sand, slipping down from his narrow waist with the weight of the water and sand.  “Do you have your knife on you?  I’m gonna cut off these pants into shorts real quick.”

Another trip back up the boardwalk to the car, this time Channing alongside Dallas.  They got to the car and Channing sat down on their campsite picnic table with Dallas’s pocketknife and pondered where to begin cutting.

“Hey, you’re not gonna cut them while you’re still wearing them, are you?”  Dallas raised an eyebrow.

“Of course not.” Channing examined the fabric near one knee.  “I just have to find the right place and mark it with a little cut first.  There, how’s that look?”  He stood up and pointed at the place where he’d cut a slit about an inch long.  It was right along the top of his kneecap.

“Sure, that looks about right,” Dallas agreed.

Channing pulled the khaki pants off and stood in his underwear, oblivious to the world, cutting the pants against the wooden surface of the picnic table.  Dallas almost laughed aloud at the picture.  Two other campsites near theirs were occupied, and the people at one of them were looking over towards Dallas and Channing with raised eyebrows. 

Done with the doctoring of his pants, Channing closed the knife and handed it back to Dallas, who put it in the car.  Then they headed back down to the shore, now looking more alike in their khaki shorts and bare feet.  Dallas’s build could be described as skinny… that is, until Channing was standing beside him, the two of them just in their shorts.  Channing was downright scrawny, ribs showing faintly through his tight skin.  He’d always been that way.  Not even quite two inches taller, Dallas had about thirty pounds on Channing.

Back on the shore, Channing rushed out into the shallow water and turned, arms outstretched for Dallas to pass him the ball.  Dallas drew back his arm holding the ball and fired it forward towards the place Channing stood.  He jumped, football hitting him in the chest, and toppled backwards with his arms wrapped around the ball.  Channing came up spitting out water and shaking his wet hair from his face.

“Make it so I have to dive for it,” Dallas challenged.

“Yeah, you haven’t even gotten your hair wet yet!” Channing called out, and he suddenly heaved the ball off to the side of Dallas, who flung himself after it and into a crashing wave.  Eyes burning from the salt water, Dallas came up grinning with the ball in his left hand.  “Barely got it!”

They kept up an intense game of catch, trying to give each other challenges related to the waves or the sand.  Channing couldn’t throw very far, but he was creative with his tosses, making Dallas go down repeatedly in his attempts to reach the ball that had been thrown just about out of his reach.  Dallas had an arm and could rocket the football with a nice spiral way out beyond where the waves were breaking.  Then they’d begin a mad race of running and then paddling to see who could get to it first.  Before long, they were equally soaked and sandy. 

On the fourth return of the ball to the shore, Channing ran off through the shallow water with the football, taunting Dallas to catch him.  Dallas followed, tackling him, where they both rolled through the wet sand and lapping waves, trying to recover the ball.  Soon the football was forgotten and they were going hand-to-hand at the edge of the ocean, knocking each other over, laughing in a riot of wild horseplay.  Salty water in their eyes and noses was no deterrent.  Dallas had to agree with Channing that the water and soft sand were the perfect surfaces for roughhousing.  Both boys were in their element, completely carefree.

The waves were massive, very high and strong.  The tide was going out and would be at its low point sometime the following morning.  Dallas and Channing swam out to where the waves were breaking and let them crash over their heads, shouting in exuberance.  A particularly large one knocked Channing completely off his feet, scaring Dallas when he couldn’t find Channing’s head above the water right away after the wave passed.  He surfaced behind Dallas a few seconds later, sputtering, gasping, and laughing.

“You’re kinda scaring me, Chan,” Dallas called over to him.  Channing was not very strong, and Dallas felt protective of him, and probably always would, he was beginning to realize.  Years ago, Dallas had just assumed one day Channing would be totally fine on his own, once he was an adult anyway, but now… Dallas still couldn’t picture that happening.  He moved closer to him and the next time a large wave overtook Channing, Dallas grabbed him by his forearm, knocked off his own feet as he was, and then pulled him upright as he gained footing again himself.

The boys moved just beyond the breaking point of the waves, then leapt through them before they broke.  Slashing through a towering wave side by side and coming out on the other side, turning to see the crest of the wave begin to topple, was how they spent a good half hour.  The roar of the surf was almost deafening, and the two friends had to shout to make themselves heard over the ocean.  Dallas stuck beside Channing as they charged through wave after wave.  Channing gave a high kick to one wave with a deep, aggressive yell.  Dallas joined in and punched through the next wave.  They battled the swells fiercely for awhile.  Finally, the two of them exhausted themselves from their attack on the ocean.

As they came ashore, Dallas noticed a few more people on the beach now in the glow of the setting sun.  Other campers had been mostly setting up camp and making their dinners when Dallas and Channing had arrived in the campground and gone straight to the beach.  Now small groups were coming down to the shore to walk or to enjoy the views. 

“Hey. We still need to set up the tent,” Dallas reminded Channing.  “Let’s go do it before it’s too dark.”  They both stood up, brushing the sand off, and went back to their campsite.  They ended up needing to use the headlights of the car to help them, but they got the little yellow tent pitched and put their sleeping bags inside, then ate cheese sandwiches and apples for dinner.  Dallas had considered making grilled cheese, but it was too late and too hot.  They got a bag of marshmallows out of the car.

“Can we build a fire on the beach?” Channing’s eyes held hope.

“Yeah, if you help me carry some firewood down there.”

Soon they had a roaring fire going in the sand.  Channing stood with a stick in each hand, roasting two marshmallows on each.  Dallas leaned back on one elbow, other hand roasting his marshmallow.  After catching them on fire and burning his fingers trying to remove them, Channing finally succeeded in getting all four marshmallows into the palm of his hand, then crammed them all at once into his mouth.”

“Gross,” Dallas commented.  “Save some for me.”

“You should cook them more efficiently,” was Channing’s reply.  “Do more than one at a time.”

“Then I can’t enjoy them.” Dallas rotated his marshmallow a half-turn.  “They would get cold while I ate them one at a time.”

“And that’s why I eat them all at once,” Channing said, as if it were the most logical response in the world.  “I won’t eat all of them, though.  I’ll pace myself so you can catch up.”

“Thanks,” laughed Dallas, testing his marshmallow for a toasty-brown doneness.

“I’m so glad you bought your mom’s car!” Channing exclaimed, for probably the fifth time since they’d left Nevada.  “To be able to go out and explore whenever you want…”

“Yeah, it’s definitely given me some kind of deep sense of satisfaction or something,” Dallas said.  “It’s mine, and I don’t have to ask to borrow it anymore, or wait til my mom gets done with it, or walk places when she’s gone…”  Dallas trailed off.  She had been gone a lot lately.  He’d half hoped she would just give him the car for his 18th birthday two weeks previous, or at least sell it to him below its market value, but she hadn’t even been home for his birthday.  She’d been gone over three nights that time, who knew where, and hadn’t even mentioned Dallas’s birthday to him.  He shrugged to himself.  He never really acknowledged her birthday, so maybe now that he was pretty much an adult too, it didn’t even matter.  A few weeks before his birthday, she had told him he could buy the car from her if he wanted it, or otherwise she was going to sell it.  So he’d jumped at the chance.  Dallas wouldn’t admit it in so many words, but he had a serious tendency for wanderlust.  And he was a natural at driving.

“We should just sleep by the fire tonight!” Channing said suddenly. 

Dallas made a face.  “Too hot.”

“But there’s a great breeze down here,” Channing continued.  “It’s probably stifling in the tent.”

“It’s close enough to the shore that I think the breeze will feel good up there too,” Dallas responded, “and we’ll leave the vent flaps open.  I don’t think we’re allowed to sleep on the beach.  Probably not even allowed to build a fire on it, either, come to think of it.  But we shouldn’t push our luck.”

“Well, let’s just stay here as late as we want, anyway!” Channing said happily.  “This is so awesome!”

Dallas put a stop to the marshmallow consumption once he realized over half the bag was gone.  The two of them lounged in the sand and couldn’t help but scoop it absent-mindedly in their hands, letting it run through their fingers.  Darkness had now enveloped them. They could no longer see the ocean, but they could hear the steady beat of the waves.  Channing, free and playful, free and playful, broke out singing Hotel California suddenly.  Dallas joined in light-heartedly.

They wailed louder and louder, out of tune, laughing and whooping, Dallas drumming with a couple of sticks on the plastic bucket they’d brought down with them and had failed to fill up with water to keep near the fire.  Channing bellowed out the lines, balancing barefoot on the pile of extra firewood.

It’s obvious to me which is Dallas and which is Channing… how about you? (Pretend that land jutting out on the left isn’t there and )

Ignoring the people who walked up the boardwalk toward the campground, Channing and Dallas howled on at the tops of their lungs.  Dallas held up a flaming stick from the fire, slowly waving it back and forth.  They halted their song abruptly, unsure of how to handle the extended guitar outro now that the lyrics had ended, and then fell apart with laughter.

“Here’s another one, see if you can keep up with me,” Channing challenged Dallas.  He immediately went into a rhythm of face-paced lyrics telling a wild tale of an encounter with a crocodile, squirrel, fish, and monkey.  Channing was still standing on the firewood, a scrawny white kid rapping with a bad fake New England accent.  Dallas doubled over with laughter so that he couldn’t even catch his breath to join in.  Channing acted out the song, making motions for each of the animals as he performed.  Dallas gasped with hysteria, holding the pain in his side from laughing.  Channing went through the entire song without missing a beat, whereas Dallas hadn’t been able to stop laughing long enough to get in even one line.

“Okay, okay, I’ve got another one,” Dallas said, recovered now. 

The succession of suggested songs continued with their attempts at singing, sometimes realizing they didn’t know all the lyrics, but stumbling through anyway.  After making it through Stairway to Heaven, Ocean Size, and The Court of the Crimson King, the chorus of the latter being particularly painful, they had sung themselves hoarse and were content to just sprawl out around the fire, talking a little bit, but mostly just enjoying the darkness of the seashore illuminated only by their small fire on the vast expanse of sand.

It was near midnight when they wandered back up the boardwalk to their campsite.  All the other sites were quiet as they made their way to their own tent.  They passed the glowing remains of fires in their fire rings, orange embers the only light in the area.  The night was moonless.  Channing and Dallas moved noiselessly back to their tent and unzipped the flap.

The next morning, Dallas awoke, sticky and stifling.  This humidity is crazy. He stretched and opened the tent door, trying to get some fresh air, then noticed Channing was already out of the tent.  With a moment’s panic, Dallas looked around through the open flap.  Not seeing Channing, he pulled his shirt on quickly.  Channing’s shorts were still lying outside the tent where he’d shaken out the sand last night.  Dallas climbed up on their picnic table and stood on tiptoe, craning his neck.  He had a partial view, but much of the beach was still obscured.  Dallas leapt off the table and grabbed Channing’s cutoff pants.  He trotted towards the boardwalk.  Don’t panic, he told himself.  It would be just like Channing to go down to the beach at the crack of dawn wearing only his boxers, actually.

When he neared the end of the boardwalk, Dallas caught sight of Channing.  He sat at the water’s edge, far out now that the tide was lower, a huge pile of sand alongside him.  Dallas stopped and stared out at him for a moment: Channing, alone in his own world, sitting in the sand practically naked, surely executing some masterpiece he’d been struck with and had planned out in his mind.  Dallas didn’t get it, but merely accepted what Channing said about his ideas and his artwork.  He didn’t understand how Channing saw something clearly in his mind, laid out as if it were already real and complete, and then could set out to create it from nothing: no sketches, no plans, no measurements… it just emerged from him and came to life as he’d envisioned it.

Deciding that Channing was fine, Dallas retreated to the campsite to start the coffee.  He built up a fire quickly under the grate in their fire ring and soon had water boiling to brew the coffee.  When it was finished, he carried the full steel French press—it had been a splurge about a year ago, bought with money Dallas had earned—along with a couple of mugs and a bag of powdered donuts back down towards the boardwalk.  He walked carefully, not wanting to slosh the splash of milk he’d poured into his own mug.

As Dallas concentrated on balancing their breakfast, three teenage girls stepped off the top of the boardwalk.  They caught his eyes, and one of them said, “Hey, is that your friend down on the beach?”

Dallas stopped in his tracks. “Uhh…” he managed to get out before she spoke again.

“I’m guessing those are his pants.”  She pointed at the shorts Dallas had draped over one shoulder.  “We were just walking on the shore and wondered if he had any.”  They all giggled.  “He’s pretty cute,” she continued.  “So maybe we’ll catch you guys later when, you know, he’s got clothes on.”  More giggling.

Dallas felt his face reddening.  Giggling girls.  He didn’t understand them and never had, and he was always left with the desire to just sink into the ground.  He breathed a sigh when they continued on their way.  Good, now I don’t have to decide whether to respond to them or not.  Were they making fun of Channing, or were they really interested in him?  Dallas shook his head and continued on to where Channing sat in the sand.

“Have some coffee?” Dallas asked. 

Channing brushed the sand from his hands and peered into his mug, where Dallas had put a couple scoops of sugar for him.  Channing poured his mug and sat alongside Dallas, the bag of powdered donuts between them.

“I brought your pants.” Dallas dropped them on the sand.  “You know, you really shouldn’t walk across the campsite and beach without pants on.  It just… um, doesn’t look right.”

Channing’s eyebrows lifted. “Gosh, I didn’t even think of it.  You’re right.  Silly me!”  His amusement was as if he’d merely walked out the door without his keys or something trivial like that.

Channing’s like a space cadet sometimes… no, more like an absent-minded professor… brilliant, and yet can forget his own pants and act as if it’s a perfectly natural thing to do.  Dallas had to chuckle to himself.

“Yeah, some girls who are staying in one of the other campsites noticed,” Dallas went on.  “They were just coming in from the beach and asked me if I was taking pants to my friend.  I couldn’t tell if they were amused, or mortified.”  Dallas held the cutoff pants up in front of Channing and gave him a look.

Awareness lit up Channing’s face suddenly.  “Oh gosh, did I embarrass you, Dallas?  I didn’t even notice anyone near me…”  His cheeks grew pink as he stared down at his feet.

Upon seeing Channing’s reaction, Dallas couldn’t pile more on his conscience.  “Nah,” he lied.  “But you know, people can get uncomfortable about things like that.”  That much is true, anyway.

Channing quickly slid into his shorts, zipped them up, and snapped them.  The two of them ate donuts one after another, polishing off the bag, and then sat sipping their coffee. 

“So what’re you building?” Dallas asked after a few minutes of staring in silence at the expansive ocean before them.

Channing’s eyes lit up as he described his goal to Dallas.  He was going to make a huge sand sculpture of a shark, coming as high as his head, and looking as if it were swimming in the sand.  Then he wanted to make a castle, not just a small sandcastle, but a huge fortress large enough for him to go inside. 

“I’m starting with the shark. Want to help me?”

“Sure, what do you need?”

“Can you dig up sand from right here?” Channing asked.  “It should be this consistency—feel it.”  He grabbed Dallas’s hand and plunged it into the pile of damp sand.  “Any drier than that, and it won’t work.  Just pile it up here,” he motioned beside the beginning of his sculpture, “and I’m going to keep adding it on and shaping it, smoothing it…”  Channing was turned back to the sculpture, working it intently with his hands.  Dallas picked up the shovel, the one they kept with the tent in case they needed it when camping.  He shook his head. Channing thought to bring both the shovel and the bucket down here with him… but not his pants.

Dallas dug furiously for a while until he got ahead of Channing.  After awhile, a long trench, knee-deep, stretched alongside what was becoming one side of the shark.

“I’m gonna take a break,” Dallas said to Channing, who glanced at the heaps of sand and nodded.  Dallas grabbed the football and waded out into the ocean, deeper now that the tide was all the way out.  The cool water refreshed his hot skin after the few hours in the sun.  Channing was far too absorbed in his creation, so Dallas entertained himself by throwing the ball as far out into the ocean as he could and then swimming out to meet it as the waves washed it back towards the shore. 

As he was pulling back his arm to launch the ball for the fourth time, the girls he’d seen earlier came into his periphery, now slowly walking past behind him.  Dallas straightened up and put all his power into the next throw, sending the football its farthest distance yet.  He didn’t glance back but charged straight into the water to swim out quickly to get it, then turned and slowly rode the waves back in.  They’re watching me, he realized with a bit of self-importance.  But I don’t want them to think I’m showing off…  Avoiding eye contact, Dallas came ashore twenty feet down from where they stood, looking straight towards Channing’s sculpture.  From afar, Dallas could tell that he was looking at the back half of a shark.  It was already twice as long as Channing himself.  He strode toward his friend, dripping.

Channing’s back was to Dallas, skin red from sun exposure.  Should’ve gotten some sunscreen.  That’s gonna hurt later, Dallas predicted.  He glanced down at his own arms and chest to see what damage he may have taken himself, but his tanned complexion showed no sign of sunburn.

“Hey, you’re getting sunburned,” Dallas said to him as he stood alongside Channing.  “Your back’s really red.”

“Oh well, small price to pay.” Channing held up a large, round seashell.  “Look, this is going to be one of the eyes!”

“Are you hungry?” Dallas asked.  “I am.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to leave this,” Channing answered.  “What if somebody smashes it while we’re at the campsite?”

“Then they’re jerks,” was Dallas’s response.  “I’m going to cook bacon and eggs.  Want some?”

“Can you bring it down here to me when it’s done?” Channing’s voice rose a notch.

“Sure, okay.” Dallas examined Channing’s reddening skin critically. “And I’m bringing you a t-shirt, too.  You don’t need to get any more sun.”

Once back at the campsite, Dallas stoked the fire back to life and put a pan on the metal grate over the flame.  He cut open the package of bacon that he’d pulled from the cooler and laid the slices out, the comforting sizzle in his ears as he got out the eggs.  When the bacon was done, he piled it into a bowl and then threw the eggs into the still-hot, greasy pan, breaking the yolks and whisking them up with each addition.  The mouth-watering bacon grease smell mingled with the scent of the cooking eggs.  Dallas remembered the salt and pepper at the last second and quickly shook some in, moving the eggs around quickly in the pan with the fork in his other hand.  He piled the scrambled eggs on top of the bacon, dropped a few slices of bread in the skillet, and then climbed into the backseat and rummaged in Channing’s bag for a t-shirt.  He hesitated and then grabbed one for himself as well, the one that said “Sarcasm—just one of my many talents” in large letters across the front.  Dallas kicked the car door closed and pulled the shirt on, flipped the now-toasted bread out of the skillet and on top of the food in the bowl, and carried it towards the shore.

He glanced side to side along the campsite road.  The girls were hanging around an RV a few sites down the road from his tent.  He avoided their stares as he passed.  At least they didn’t stay on the beach and try to talk to Channing.  As uncomfortable as talking to girls made Dallas, it was ten times worse for Channing to talk to anyone he didn’t know well, male or female.

To be continued…

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Erin

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Backstory Excerpts for Hardcore Fans, Part 7

Backstory Excerpts

The following excerpts are for those who have read Firetender and want more background details. I don’t recommend reading these Backstory Excerpt posts unless you’ve read the book, but I also can’t stop you if this is the way you’d rather meet Channing (and, as we get into the later excerpts in the timeline, Dallas). None of these scenes further the plot, but they give insight into who the characters are and what shaped them into who they became. All this unpublished writing served me well: I got to know my characters better through this exploration of their backstory. So these are unpolished excerpts, not final published quality, most written over twenty years ago.

I have both of the following short memory scenes in handwritten form. The first one is not dated, but it’s likely from the late 90s and is largely unchanged. The second is dated as February 4, 1997. I made some changes over the years, but these are not revised to publishing quality. The first was the one memory scene I wrote in the original bundle of memories that gave me this level of insight into my protagonist, Dallas. It’s the only time I have ever written him first-person. I have no idea what prompted me to do it—because where was I planning to insert a one-off first-person narrative from the guy I only thought of as the supporting character at the time? But it’s fun for me to see how Dallas’s personality was well-established in my mind and hasn’t really changed much. The second memory below had parts of it lifted and put in Firetender.

If you want to start at the beginning of these memories and missed the first installation, find it here.

A side note - if you have read Firetender or are planning to do so, please leave a review on Amazon if you enjoyed the story. Book reviews help small authors so much in spreading the word about their books. The more reviews, the more likely Amazon is to make the book more visible to people browsing their website.

Buy or Review Firetender Here

Note: mild profanity in the first memory below.

DALLAS

Timeline note for the nerds who want to know: The football incident happened when Channing was 9 or 10 and Dallas was 11 or 12. In Firetender’s opening scene, they have only gotten close as friends recently, around ages 12 and 14, respectively. Dallas is telling this story when he’s almost 17 years old, in 1995. And I likely wrote it when I was about his same age, in 1997.

My name’s Dallas Malone, Channing’s best friend.  I’ve known him for nearly six years now, since he was nine.  I remember that day he moved into the neighborhood.  There was nothing really significant about him.  He seemed edgy and a little detached.  He didn’t know how to play with the other kids on our block; hell, he didn’t even know how to talk to us, really.  Whenever I saw him during that first month, he was by himself.  He’d avoid eye contact with me, but I just shrugged it off and basically ignored him back. 

I remember one day me and some other neighborhood guys were playing football in the street.  Channing was sitting outside in his yard, leaned up against the house, reading.  We played up and down the street, shouting when we got touchdowns and arguing over calls with the one boy stuck with the miserable job of referee.  Channing never looked up.  He seemed totally absorbed in his book.

Then one boy punted the ball.  It was way the heck out of bounds and landed in Channing’s yard, a few feet away from him.  That broke his concentration.  He stared first at the football and then at us, unsure of what to do.

“Come on,” we called.  “Throw us the ball!”

Channing still hesitated.

“Throw us the ball, and then you can come join us,” suggested one boy.  “Max’s team needs another player.”

I don’t know when this photo I found online was taken, but the kid passes as 90s. So do the cars and the mom shorts in the background (although no moms would have been watching Dallas and the other neighborhood boys - this was 1991-ish in a poor neighborhood). Ignore the year on the kid’s shirt that I think betrays that this was taken in 2008 or later.

Slowly Channing stood up and leaned over to pick up the football.  He held it clumsily in his small hands.  After inspecting it a moment, as if deciding how to properly hold the thing, he looked up.  His eyes scanned the group of boys, as if he was unsure who to throw it to.

“Come on, kid,” said one of the older boys, who was about my age.  “Just throw it to me.  We don’t have all day.”

Channing grasped the ball in his left hand and steadied it with his right.  In an awkward motion, he heaved the ball forward.  It dropped less than ten feet in front of him.

The guys started to laugh at him and make rude remarks.  But for some reason, I couldn’t.  Maybe he had never even held one before.  Then I got that annoyed feeling I sometimes get when I think about my own father, and I thought that maybe this kid had never been taught to play, since I’d never seen his father around.  Me, I was somewhat of a natural at sports.  My old man wasn’t there to teach me, either, but at least I inherited some athletic ability from him – best thing he ever did for me, and it was indirect, at that.

As the others jeered at Channing, I felt something inside myself.  But it was weird, ‘cause a lot of times I’m a real jerk.  I approached Channing, picking up the football on the way.  As I looked at the frail, quiet boy with his eyes down on his feet, I felt a mixture of compassion, pity, and mystery.  I couldn’t quite tell what it was at the time… but I knew that Channing had something special about him and should not be taunted and laughed at.

“Leave him alone,” I called out to the others in a cool voice.  Then to Channing, I spoke: “That’s okay, man.  Don’t listen to those guys.”

Random teenager playing football - you can pretend it’s Dallas or one of the others

As I looked at his face, Channing’s eyes rose to meet mine.  They sparkled as he showed a faint grin.  I returned the partial smile and turned, saying, “See ya around.”

My contact with him was limited to this for another year or two, occasionally passing him on the street with a couple words, maybe.  I was already at the middle school and he was still in the 4th and 5th grades in those years.  But I started to see more of him once he got to the 6th grade at the same school as me.  Channing was just as quiet, shy, and withdrawn as that first time I spoke to him.  I saw him outside a lot, during our recess time.  He always sat alone, either in the shade of a tree, reading, or along the parking lot curb, seemingly lost in thought.  After observing him for a few days, I began to approach him and speak to him from time to time, just briefly here and there.

At first, Channing was reluctant to respond to me.  He would always nod and say a few words, but nothing in the way of a real conversation.  But after a few months, I think he began to trust me a bit, and even sought me out some, tried to start a conversation himself.  I guess that he saw that I, too, was a loner… though in a different way.  I’m more of a loner on the inside…  I guess what I mean by that is that I wasn’t one of the kids like Channing who was always by himself.  I seemed to always have other people around me… I played sports a lot, like I said before, so I always had those guys around to hang out with.  But I always knew that somehow I wasn’t truly part of the group – and that’s my own doing, I guess, not anyone else’s.  In my mind, I was always alone.  I never talked to anyone about anything I was thinking.  I never let myself get to be close with many people.  I was a pretty artificial friend, I guess… at least with everyone but Channing.  Having been held back that year in school didn’t help much either, come to think of it.  But it’s just the way I always was already.  I think I’d put up mental walls at an early age to protect myself.  I wanted to fit in, and sometimes I could fake it pretty decently, but it never felt right.

Dallas’s attitude towards most other kids through all his years of school

After a year together at the middle school, that’s when I’d say we really became friends.  Channing and I began discussing our hobbies and interests, and little things like that at first.  We started hanging out together after school, going for walks, watching TV, or just talking.  He was this jumpy, quiet little kid, but we seemed to stick together in some weird way.  After a while, we started having long talks about more serious stuff, like our parents and problems from our pasts, and the stuff we were currently having to deal with.  Channing opened up to me more and more as time passed.

I sorta hinted at this earlier, but I had never known my father.  He ran off before I was born.  My mother has raised me by herself.  She’s always worked hard to support us, working long hours at factory jobs, and taking on a part-time waitress job too.  I always had enough food in my stomach and clothes on my back.  My mom never really gave me much attention, but I know she’s just been stressed out since before I was even around….  And I know she’s gotten into some kind of trouble a few times, I’m not sure what for… I’m pretty sure she’s got some bad secrets inside.  But she’s never let it get in the way of just providing the basics for me, and in return I’ve never asked much from or about her.  She’s sure not a talker, anyway, and she’s rarely around much.  It’s a weird thing where I’m grateful for her, but there’s not really any emotional attachment between us, and somehow it doesn’t really bother me too much… probably because of those mental walls I mentioned.  Maybe one day I’ll have some big breakdown over it all, I don’t know.  I don’t even feel like I can make myself care, really, if that makes any sense.  Maybe it sounds terrible of me.   But anyways, I know in a couple years here I’ll be out supporting myself.  I need to give her a break.

How Dallas mostly remembers his mother—distant and smoking in silence at the kitchen table

Channing’s childhood was much worse than mine.  I can hardly bear to think about it… all those long hours Channing and I talked, and the things I learned that had happened to him, and sometimes were still happening.  He’s all right now, for the most part… he doesn’t go home much, and I live further from his mom’s place than I used to, so Channing usually stays with me and avoids his mother.  About three years ago, when his stepdad (actually, just his mom’s old boyfriend) moved back in, things got really bad, so I told him he could always stay at my house if he needed to.  Since my mom’s not home much, she doesn’t really care, I guess.

But back to Channing’s life… His dad ditched when he was pretty young.  Before that, his parents had fought around him constantly, sometimes violently.  From what Chan told me, his dad wasn’t around much anyway, disappearing for long periods of time. But when he was around, he was always drunk, beatin’ on him and his mother both.  Then his mother cracked.  She couldn’t take it anymore, and she had to be hospitalized in the psychiatric unit a few times from emotional breakdowns.  When she was around him, she told Channing he was no good.  I think she displaced all her anger for her husband onto Channing.  When his no-good father left for good, Channing’s mom assumed his past role on her own: beating Channing, drinking, drifting in and out of dead-end jobs.  Her boyfriends came and went after that, none lasting too long and all treating Channing more or less the same as his father had.  Channing has told me that she was never as rough with him as his dad was, just slapped him around, threw stuff at him when she was raging, and deprived him of food sometimes.  And this is exactly what I told him: “Shit, Channing, that doesn’t make any difference… they’ve both treated you rotten.” 

But thinking about his father makes my blood boil for sure.  At least his mom stuck around and brought food and clothing into the house.  And this is where that male temper of mine gets fired up like crazy.  If I ever met his old man, I’d beat the crap outta him.  And I could do it, too.  I’d do it for all the times he did the same to Channing, who was defenseless.  I’ve always had a bad temper and this hormonal ego thing (“Too much testosterone,” the middle school counselor had told me once, and it made me want to knock him flat for saying it, like masculine hormones are bad or something, but now I can admit he was probably partly right).  But I would never, ever hurt a kid or a woman just to feel big.  That’s so wrong, and I could kill Channing’s dad for it.  Lucky for him (and me, I guess) that he’s long gone now.

As a result of all this, Channing got to be timid and quiet.  He escaped into fantasy worlds of reading, drawing, and painting.  He’s been really smart since he was little, and I think his awful family life pushed him into books even more.  He knows so much about so many things.  But most of the kids at school have always picked on him.  They don’t really know him, but they treat him like a victim just as his mom does.  I guess it’s just an awful cycle.

But when he was about twelve or thirteen, one day Channing seemed a little different.  I hadn’t seen him in a few days and was just starting to get worried.  When I did see him that day, he smiled so much more.  He began telling me more and more about these elaborate games with fantastic plots he’d invented, and we’d have a great time playing until nightfall.  He stopped talking as much about his parents, and he no longer seemed panicky when they were mentioned.  I guess he had told me everything about his past, and he was finished.  And maybe tired of talking about it. It seemed like he had lost his fear of his terrible experiences.  I’m not sure where this inner strength came from, but I was glad that it allowed Channing to loosen up.  He still to this day, however, has trouble around people.  He gets uncomfortable and awkward lots of times if he has to interact with others.  I don’t think that will ever truly change.  And the physical reactions to the trauma he endured still come up here and there, where he gets panicky and stuff.  But I know he’s become happier and more content with himself.  It’s like he’s accepted his life and now wants to just live as happily as he can.

Because of this, he’s so much more carefree.  He plays a lot now.  I guess that may sound childish for an almost-fifteen year old, but the truth is, he never played much as a child.  He was too busy worrying, escaping, and hiding.  He used to keep his games and fantasies bottled up in his head.  But now he lets them all out, knowing I won’t think down on him for it.  This is his current way of getting back what he should’ve had a long time ago.  When he’s out of his mother’s house, his eyes fill with excitement as he tells me his latest game.  Sometimes I join him, and other times I just watch.  He’s really incredible to watch.  Some of his ideas are quite excessive and even a little crazy… like the time he imagined he was a famous artist commissioned to paint a mural on an outer wall of the high school.  That one got him expelled, and he never went back.  Good thing about that is it’s easier for him to avoid the jerks at school who always picked on him.

And I see that Channing has become slightly unhinged from his past experiences… and who can blame him?  But lots of people wonder what’s wrong with him, after seeing his childlike mannerisms (I mean, the guy will still pick up a stick and run it along a fence as he walks, just to hear the bumpity sound, and he’s thrilled to death with things like the ice cream truck).  But I know he’s just enjoying himself.  He had to act like an adult as a child.  Now he’s reversed it for himself.

He’s my best friend.  He’s gone through a hell of a lot in his life.  But we try not to talk about that too much now.  Channing’s got a lot ahead of him.  There’s so many things he can do with his life, especially with his artistic talents.  He already has plenty of wild dreams that someday, he may just be able to pull off.  Me, I’ll just stick to becoming an auto mechanic.  That’s the one thing I really know.

TRUCKSTOP

He sat near the entrance of the building, on the curb.  The 16 oz. styrofoam cup with the phrase “World’s Best Coffee Blend” printed in tan and yellow letters was warm inside his quivering hands.  A pair of baggy maroon corduroys kept his legs relatively warm in the 40 degree weather.  There was a steady whir of cars sounding from down the embankment, traveling along the interstate.

Authentic 1997 paper and ink - the original copy. Check out how I changed the title (because the first one didn’t make any sense, I assume) and made my lowercase A’s.

Channing sipped the over-sweetened coffee… no cream; milk bothered his digestive tract.  He looked down at his size nine feet.  The right foot fit snugly in its grey Airwalk, and the left was clad in only a green argyle sock.  The other shoe lay on the asphalt about a yard away, its frayed lace laying limply alongside.  He pulled his right foot out of its shoe and wiggled his now-free toes.  Channing was extremely thin, but he wore clothing that made him appear not to look so small.  Many times, he was mistaken to be about 12 years old, when in fact, he was much older.

Pretend the corduroys are maroon. This is from my Firetender photo shoot!

An 18-wheeler pulled into the parking lot and stopped beside the gas pumps.  Channing looked up and, wiping his nose on his left sleeve, emitted a small cough.  The truck gleamed in the midmorning sunlight.  It was old and worn, but seemed to retain much dignity in the way it stood proudly in the truckstop parking lot.  Channing pushed a wavy strand of his chin-length brown hair back from his pale face.  His grey eyes sparkled as he became mesmerized by the truck.  Its cab was sleek, with lights aligned in rows along the sides.  A high step led to the cozy interior, where Channing could almost feel himself sitting behind the wheel.  The chrome caught glints of light from the sun’s rays, which caused it to glimmer.  The hood of the Freightliner concealed the powerful engine that roared euphorically in Channing’s ears as the driver started the truck.

A 1995 model Freightliner.

From a blue car across the parking lot emerged a boy who was maybe a year older than Channing.  He swaggered like a football player toward the store overconfidently, self-assured.  His gait and facial expression triggered something inside of Channing, and the visions began to swell in his mind, the tension growing inside him.  The boy’s eyes looked upon Channing coldly with a look of scorn and superiority.  It was that look that Channing had become so accustomed to over the years.  The boy halted and showed a mocking grin.

Channing drew his knees to his chest and closed his eyes as his body began to tremble.  The images were quite vivid now: face pushed into the dirt, the awful jeering faces, the disapproving eyes, those who shied away because of his otherness.  It was that otherness of Channing’s in that he was not an athlete, or one of the popular kids, or a straight-A student, but rather outcasted… which was somewhat brought on by his own choice at this point, preferring to avoid being in talkative groups.  It was this disrespecting, non-accepting ignorance presented to Channing which caused his discomfort.

A few minutes later, the boy emerged from the store carrying a six-pack of beer with a look of triumph across his face.  Yes, he was the type.  The type who had, in part, caused Channing to drop out of school early in high school. 

My best friend from high school and me - outside a Flying J truck stop in 1996. Now you see what influenced this part of Channing’s character.

It was lunchtime, and dozens of big rigs were pulling in for a stop.  One by one, and occasionally in pairs, the truckers entered the restaurant, each with a different destination, each with a different story.  They sat in booths and ordered, some wanting grits and others wanting country steak, and still others who simply ordered coffee.  The pleasant atmosphere drew Channing in.  He looked at the tempting lemon meringue pie behind the counter, but he was not hungry.  He wandered through the travel store, contentedly studying the road maps, postcards, and cheap souvenirs.  Out back, trucks were lined up at the certified CAT scales.  He walked around to the front of the building, listening to the sounds of the massive vehicles.

Channing returned to his spot on the curb by his shoes, breathing in the contentedness he felt in being alone as the trucks rolled in and back out again.

(I took the photo above in 1996—the teal truck pulling in at the pumps is a Peterbilt, which were always my favorite trucks, so I’m not sure why I chose a Freightliner for the truck in this scene.)

What did you think, those who have read Firetender? Do you think this first-person Dallas excerpt from so long ago is close to what his character is like in the novel?

The next excerpt will be part one of Ocean, a memory scene that was originally a flashback in Firetender that was one of my last major cuts prior to finalizing and publishing.

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Thanks for reading and your interest in my characters and how they developed over time!

Erin

Chalice Book Three Needs YOU!

Want to be a beta reader for Chalice Book 3, The Fire of Your Love? Dilapidated railroad bridges, prostrating priests, cemeteries, studying for classes, intramural football, daily Masses, cassette tapes (and CDs—gotta have some 90s references even in a book set from 2001-2009), and the Gulf of Mexico, and what’s that image in the center beneath the text?… this book has it all, ha! Can you piece together a storyline at all from this? Nope? Have to read to see how it goes together!

It’s National Vocations Awareness Week and the perfect time to issue a call for beta readers for my novel about a young man in the seminary working towards his goal of ordination to the priesthood! If you’re interested in giving feedback for The Fire of Your Love, Book Three of the Chalice Series, read on!

What’s Book 3 about?

The synopsis is below, but here are a few highlights:
*Seminary life
*Friendships, both serious and rough-and-tumble
*Drama and action scenes
*Tension along the path to a big goal
*New rivals
*Old mysteries unlocked
*Coming to terms with the past

If you’ve already read Books 1 and 2, Firetender and Enkindle in Me, this is your chance to get an early, free digital copy of Book 3 and offer your feedback for improvements! Remember these characters from the first two books: Father Benedict, Mitchell, Smith, Pedro, Samantha, the Bryan family from the Appalachian Trail? They’re all included in this next installment of the story, as well as new friends! Dallas’s journey will take him to settings old and new, culminating in locations from Book One that will bring him full circle. If you’re curious as to how this protagonist gets through his next set of obstacles, Book 3 will take you through them alongside Dallas.

What are a beta reader’s responsibilities?

A beta reader commits to do the following:
1. Read the digital copy of the book by Christmas
2. Answer the questions provided via Google forms when prompted every few chapters.
3. Use the comment feature to give feedback if you notice specific places where you have something to note. This can include: unwieldy sentence structure, confusing scenes or dialogue, out-of-character actions or unrealistic/inconsistent plot points… anything you think isn’t quite right. You can also use this feature to mention places where you think something is really working well.

Who is needed?

Anyone can beta read!
Specifically, I would like to have:
*Readers unfamiliar with Books 1 and/or 2
*Readers who have already read Books 1 and/or 2
*Young adults ages 18-35
*Particularly: Young men ages 18-35
*Christians
*Catholic Christians
*My biggest wish: a young man currently in seminary
*Second biggest wish: a new-ish priest who was in the seminary ~1-5 years ago

As a female myself, I especially welcome male beta readers because you are helpful in letting me know if the male characters come across as masculine. And since this story is set in a Catholic seminary, the input of a seminarian or three would be so helpful in letting me know if the setting is realistic. :-)

How do I sign up?

Please respond or comment on this post with your email address to let me know you want to be a beta reader. You can also send me an email at erinrlewis@gmail.com if you’d rather not share your email address where others could see it.

Here’s a little teaser video for The Fire of Your Love:

I’ve had fun making little videos to advertise the Chalice Book Series—you can find many more on my Instagram account (account name: authorerinlewis). Even if you don’t “do” Instagram, you can still hop on to watch the reels and see the posts in my account. I update there more than any other platform, so take a look if you’ve not already:

See More on my Instagram Account

For fun, here’s two more, one each for Firetender and Enkindle. But click the button above for many more! And please do follow and share my Instagram author account with anyone who might be interested. Thank you!

I’ll be getting back to my beta reader volunteers within the next two weeks to send you a digital copy of the manuscript. If you can be a beta reader, please let me know soon!

Thank you! I am excited to get the third installment of the Chalice Series fine-tuned and closer to publication. I hope it will provide a satisfying culmination of Dallas’s problems and goals that began in Book 1, with a little window left open to see what happens next in his life (because something big and dramatic takes place a year after this novel—enter Chalice Book 4, a past-paced mystery action that fills 95K words over five crazy days!).

As always, you can find my books on Amazon to purchase or leave a review.

Firetender on Amazon

Enkindle in Me on Amazon

Want to help me meet my goal? I want to have 20 total reviews of Firetender and 10 of Enkindle in Me on Amazon by the end of this year! That means I need six more reviews for Firetender and five more for Enkindle. If you’ve read but haven’t yet written a review, please go to Amazon and leave just a few lines. Since both books were published this year, I am setting these goals for the end of 2023!

Thanks for reading, and until next time…

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Backstory Excerpts for Hardcore Fans, part 6

It’s been a few months since the last installment of Channing’s Memories, the cut backstory scenes that helped to shape the characters of Firetender. But first…

A Writing Update

I’m currently doing major revisions on Chalice Book 3, The Fire of Your Love. I have rewritten some sections, added scenes, and revised others. I think the story’s continuity is better now, and I am nearing the end of the book and revising the major conflict towards the end and then all the nice happy ending parts. This third novel takes place over eight years and is set (mostly) in a Catholic seminary. It contains lots of drama and some intense action scenes (and Dallas gets a new scar, of course).

I will soon be needing beta readers for this novel! I am grateful for anyone who will volunteer to read and offer feedback. I am especially interested in having at least one seminarian or relatively new priest reading it to give me pointers on how to make the seminary aspects of the story as accurate as they can be. If you want to beta read, please let me know so I can add you to my list! Also, if you know anyone else who would be interested - particularly males ages 18-30 - please send this to them!

I plan to get back to annotating Firetender soon, to be sent as a digital book to anyone who has purchased the novel and wants to read the behind-the-scenes details: how characters came to be, nerdy facts about Dallas’s car, a playlist and where I would envision each song were Firetender a movie, map details, research notes, and more! It’s a slow process but has been fun to put together!

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Backstory Excerpts

The following excerpts are for those who have read Firetender and want more background details. I don’t recommend reading these Backstory Excerpt posts unless you’ve read the book, but I also can’t stop you if this is the way you’d rather meet Channing. None of these scenes further the plot, but they give insight into who the characters are and what shaped them into who they became. All this unpublished writing served me well: I got to know my characters better through this exploration of their backstory. So these are unpolished excerpts, not final published quality. You may notice I do a lot of telling of facts about Channing’s background and not as much showing of how he is in each excerpt based on influences from his past. Like I said, not revised to publishing quality, but very good for giving me insight into my own character. If you want to start at the beginning of these memories and missed the first installation, find it here.

A side note - if you have read Firetender or are planning to do so, please leave a review on Amazon if you enjoyed the story. Book reviews help small authors so much in spreading the word about their books. The more reviews, the more likely Amazon is to make the book more visible to people browsing their website.

Buy or Review Firetender Here

The following two memories are of Channing at around ages 13 and 14, in 1992/3 and 1993/4. If you’ve read Firetender, the railroad flashback scene with the fight against the bullies comes chronologically in between these two excerpts below. Both of the following scenes were titles in my “Channing’s Memories” list on paper from way back in the beginning, but I wrote most of this in 2020. You will notice Channing’s toy Matchbox car in the second memory, which appears in a few scenes in Firetender and at the beginning of Enkindle in Me. You’ll also pick up on a few things that I pulled from these scenes and used elsewhere in Firetender.

BY THE RIVER

Channing sat on the bank, watching as the brown water sluggishly passed in front of him, with the occasional tree branch or piece of garbage floating by on its way downstream.  He let his mind wander on a steady course towards its destination, but unlike the river, that destination was yet to be determined.  As a matter of fact, his source was not as clear as that of the river, which he knew from having found it on a map.  The map of life was more complex, Channing was discovering.  But just like this river, it had to be tangible, be real.  If I myself am real, Channing thought, then there must be real answers, real reasons for things.

The red circle is around where I imagine Channing’s neighborhood to have been, and the red arrow points to where I imagine he sat on the riverbank. However, the bridge crossing the river in my story is in the neighborhood itself, not such a wide/busy road.

He had made his way down to the riverbank late last night, in the dark.  At nearly midnight, his mother had taken it into her head to berate Channing because they were out of toothpaste.  She had insisted that Channing must have used the last of it.  He’d offered to buy some more in the morning, to walk the few blocks to the store.  She had been drinking, too.  She was even less reasonable in that state than was typical.  She’d thrown everything at him within her reach while cursing him for wasting things, for using up everything in the house.  In truth, Channing hadn’t brushed his teeth in two days because he couldn’t even find the toothpaste.  He had taken refuge from her onslaught by locking himself in the bathroom, listening to her rage coming through the door at him.  She’d actually kicked the door in a few minutes later, resulting in a knot on Channing’s forehead where it had hit him as she’d forced her way in.  She’d felt badly a few minutes later, crying and trying to get Channing to hold ice to the bump, finally collapsing on the couch, crying and shaking.  From past experiences, Channing knew that if he made any attempt to comfort her, she would do a 180 back into a rage against him.  He had felt a tinge of pity for her, but he also remembered being slapped several times in the past when trying to show compassion to his unstable mother.

She had calmed down after a few minutes and resumed her typical indifferent, cold attitude toward her 13-year-old son.  After finding the toothpaste where she’d apparently left it herself, in her bedroom, she had handed Channing a twenty dollar bill and said, “Go to the corner store and get me some cigarettes.  And I guess you can have the change; I haven’t given you money lately.”  Channing had recognized this as a lame attempt at making up to him.  After bringing back a pack of cigarettes, he’d left the house with the rest of the money and a paperback book in his back pocket.  He’d started sleeping in the bushes by the river when things had gotten tense late at night, when he felt it was too late to show up on Dallas’s doorstep.

An Elko gas station not far from Channing’s neighborhood

He had woken with the sun and climbed up the bank only to buy a cup of coffee from the nearby gas station where he’d gotten his mother’s cigarettes.  Now he was back at the edge of the river, planning to spend much of the day there.  He pulled the book from his pocket. It was one from the stack of used books he’d gotten from the public library’s used book sale a few weeks prior.  They sold a bag full of books for a quarter, and Channing had selected books randomly but in part based on the titles.  He was more likely to select a book if he didn’t know what some of the words in the title meant.  This one was called Orthodoxy by G. K. Chesterton.  He was halfway through the book now.

Channing had used reading as an escape for as long as he could remember, since he’d taught himself to read at age four through a combination of newspapers, signs, and any print appearing on television.  Lately, he was finding reading to be a source of deeper thinking, of reason and answers, in addition to being just for pleasure.  He’d spent countless hours in the library over the last year, reading whatever he could.

 He sipped his coffee as he pondered a particular line from the book: “I will not call it my philosophy, for I did not make it.  God and humanity made it, and it made me.”  Made, Channing thought.  Yes, he’d been made, everything had been made.  Created somehow from somewhere, not just by human actions.  The matter had to have come from somewhere initially.  And why else would somebody make something if not because it had some purpose, some importance?  For years Channing had felt as if he were nothing, important to nobody, completely insignificant.  But if this philosophy assigned him meaning and value simply by being a created member of humanity… Channing was hungry for more.

Maybe his parents didn’t determine his worth, Channing mused.  Maybe he wasn’t a nothing just because his father had repeatedly told him so in his first six years of life.  What if his goodness wasn’t simply determined by his willingness to do things for his mother such as fetching her cigarettes, but merely by virtue of his humanity?  But so many other people… kids at school who called him a loser.  Teachers who had been exasperated by his questions and reprimanded him for “daydreaming” or not turning in his homework.  But no, there had been his kindergarten teacher.  But his peers… that situation was only getting increasingly worse as the years went by.  Whereas they had simply ignored or teased Channing verbally in elementary school, they had begun to actively seek him out for ridicule – and worse – in the last few years.  If practically all the boys in the eighth grade were pushing him around, tripping him in the cafeteria and the hallways, waiting to jump on him after school to take his books and money, to knock him down, to insult him in any way possible… and the girls in his grade, who would act as if he were a leper whenever he was near… Surely it’s true what they say about me, if they all agree, Channing thought.  But there’s Dallas… he acts completely differently from most others in school.  If I’m really objectively worthless, a nothing loser, then why doesn’t Dallas think so?  Channing determined that there had to be something deeper going on.

“Why does Dallas like me?” Channing wondered aloud.  Dallas had said as much, but he hadn’t explained why.  Dallas didn’t really actively “like” many people anyway.  Maybe Dallas himself didn’t really know why he liked Channing.  Maybe it didn’t really matter anyway.

Channing looks young for his age, so I’m going with this stock photo

Channing read for awhile longer, barely noticing the growing physical hunger pains for now.  His mind captured page after page of print, filing it away effortlessly for quick retrieval.  When he’d finished the book and set it aside, he lay back on the bank, hands folded behind his head.

The world sure was beautiful, Channing thought as he gazed at the clouds drifting overhead.  Amid all the hardships and turmoil of life, there was this unchanging, ever-present beauty and rhythm of the natural world.  And there was beauty in the manmade world too, Channing recognized.  Orderly beauty.  How could humans have accomplished such complicated feats?  Just that bridge over there… the design of it, the functional beauty of it… And the book he had just finished.  Some of the thoughts expressed in it were sheer genius, a testament to the complexity of the human mind.  There was amazement all around if you just looked for it, he thought.  And he was finding it everywhere lately.

okay, so the water is a little too rough to be the Humbolt River here…

A couple of crows had alighted in a nearby tree and sounded as if they were conversing together in hoarse, calm voices.  Channing looked up at them and studied the bright eyes, the sheen of the feathers.  A breeze picked up and started the tree branches to bobbing gently up and down.  Across the river, the ecstatic giggling of a young child could be heard.  An airplane flew overhead, a picture of perfect symmetry, its contrail cutting the sky in two along a perfect line.

Contentment, thought Channing.  Taking pleasure in all the little things in life.  Gratitude for the beauty and wonder in the everyday things in life.  For truly, these commonplace things that seemed so mundane and simple – each one was in reality a complicated miracle.  This whole great world, the abilities of humanity, it’s all here for us, thought Channing.  “Surely there must be a God,” he said aloud.  The crows paused in their croaking caws and looked down at him as if they agreed.

Channing felt a great lightness in his body, a swelling happiness surging up within him.  When he was out here, he was free – free from worry about being tormented by his mother or her boyfriends, from his classmates… from everyone and everything that had replaced a childhood with anxiety.

“I didn’t really have much of a childhood,” he said softly up to the crows.  “But I can.  There’s still time.  There’s so much to wonder about and so much to take pleasure in everywhere!  Well… not at my house.  Not at school.  But there’s so much more of the world out there.”

Channing stood up and called out loudly, “The world is my playground!”  The startled crows took off across the river with surprised parting caws.

“Sorry, corvids,” Channing said sheepishly.  He grinned at his growing new perspective.  He didn’t have to be a slave to his past.  He could set out starting now with a determination to enjoy all the little things that he’d always noticed but couldn’t devote the emotional energy to fully appreciating. 

I’m through with being scared, Channing thought.  I’m old enough to not let my mom or my situation run my life.  The thought of Dallas entered Channing’s mind.  Dallas, who had told him he could always come over and stay with him any time.  A great way to avoid his own homelife, Channing thought, and to focus on better things.

too many trees to be Nevada, but the river is about the right size

Channing stood up and skipped a few rocks onto the surface of the river.  He watched the perfect circles spreading out on the surface of the water where the stones sank, a beautiful miracle.  Then he watched some ants at work near the spot where he had been sitting.  They were industriously carrying food into their home.  Channing allowed himself to become immersed in watching them.  He sat there, transfixed, for awhile longer, and then finally broke the spell by glancing at his watch.  Dallas would be home by now.  He’d gone that morning to get his learner’s permit, having just turned 15 a few days previous.

The actual Humbolt River near Elko, the Nevada town I picture as Dallas and Channing’s hometown

Channing climbed up the embankment and skipped along the edge of the road.  His light-hearted mood continued as he traveled towards Dallas’s house.  He noticed the lettering and color scheme on the Gulf gas station sign.  Somebody somewhere designed that, Channing thought.  Without even trying to, he felt thankful for whoever that person was.  He began to whistle as he approached the turn for Dallas’s street.

FLEA MARKET

There was an atmosphere of bustling energy in the large steel-framed building, but the noise and the people went unnoticed by Channing.  He had slept leaning against the wall under the awning at the entrance to the building the night before, awaiting opening time early Saturday morning.  Now he walked as if in a trance through the crowded stalls, eyes searching the goods on each table.  He’d bought a cup of coffee and a doughnut as he browsed, and paused occasionally to take a sip of the now-lukewarm liquid.

Channing had developed the ability to tune out everything around him quite easily and without conscious thought.  Already an introverted and quiet personality by nature, his upbringing – or lack thereof – had required that he withdraw mentally from external situations.  His emotional survival had depended upon it.  He was quite aware of the reasons for this but had no need to dwell on them now.  His withdrawal into his own world was an automatic response at this point.

Many items caught Channing’s eye as he moved from table to table.  He had eight dollars and some change in the back pocket of his maroon corduroys.  He had no specific item in mind for purchase but thought that he would know it instinctively when he found the right thing.

Cheap plastic Happy Meal toys were attractive to him, yet not quite enough to part him from the little cash he carried.  He recognized many of them from McDonald’s commercials of his early childhood.  He’d never owned any of these toys; his unstable life of relative poverty had afforded him that.  Yet he remembered each distinctively.  There were a plastic Bambi and Thumper, Disney movie toys he had once coveted, and as the words and images of that commercial replayed in his mind, Channing felt halfway tugged towards their purchase.  He hesitated, though.  He had already seen several other similar toys that had evoked memories of past desire.  He’d seen the plastic McNuggets Buddies – the policeman and fireman, specifically.  1988, he’d subconsciously said to himself.  Mama Bear and her shopping pushcart, of Berenstein Bears’ fame… He’d also found Sister Bear’s red wagon, but no Sister Bear.  Upon asking the vendor at that stall if the Sister figurine was available as well, he’d received a blank stare.  A McDonald’s “changeables” box of hotcakes was another toy he half-considered.  He noticed a couple of Flintstones drinking glasses and thought, “Pizza Hut, 1986.  When I was six years old.”  His mind went to his earliest memory of fast food restaurant toys: the plush Lady, the dog from the movie Lady and the Tramp, and the Bambi as well, both available at Hardee’s.  It had been a very rare occasion when his mother had a few dollars to spare and had taken Channing to Hardee’s for fried chicken.  The family in front of them in line had two children, and they were given a choice between these two stuffed toys.  They had both chosen Bambi.  Channing could still hear their voices conversing in his head about how they would pretend that one of them was Faline, Bambi’s wife.  Channing’s inner voice said, “1985.”  He decided that if he came across one of these animals, his earliest restaurant promotional toy memory, he would certainly buy it for that significance.  He had not spotted one among any of the merchandise, although he’d seen a couple of other stuffed Bambis.  He would instantly recognize the Hardee’s one if he saw it, he knew.  This was just the way Channing’s brain worked, and it took no extra effort to remember these kinds of details.

If you remember any of these fast food kids meal toys, then congratulations —you’re about as old as me. Hope you enjoy the nostalgia! Did you have any of these? The Hardee’s stuffed “Lady” was so much cuter in my six-year-old memory… I have no regrets for choosing Bambi. Yes, the kids in Channing’s memory are based on my brother and me.

Just then, Channing’s eye was drawn immediately to a small blue Matchbox car on the edge of a shelf.  He stared in disbelief.  “My BMW,” he murmured, picking it up.  The familiar weight in his hand, the gliding motion of the wheels as he flicked them with his index finger, the detail of the raised spoiler on the back of the car… yes, the very same toy BMW he had cherished as a child.

Channing had just turned six; he’d been running the little blue car along the dashboard in front of him as his father drove along Route 225.  Channing could still pinpoint the exact location.  In a typical fit of unexplained anger, his father had become enraged at the repeated sound and motion, and had snatched the car from Channing’s left hand and thrown in out the driver’s side window in one rapid movement.  Channing had stifled a single whimper and dared not make another sound, dared not give any further reaction.  Later that night, unable to suppress his sorrow over the loss of his favorite of a very few meaningful possessions, he had broken down sobbing into his pillow.  Unable to make his cries silent, though, Channing had then endured a severe beating when his father had heard him.  He still had a faint scar above his eye from that particular incident where he’d been shoved against the edge of a shelf.  The events of this day had been some of his final moments with his father before he’d abandoned Channing and his mother for good.  “The day any last dream of my childhood went out the window completely,” Channing reflected ironically as he clutched the tiny diecast memory.  He suppressed the memory with all his will as he felt his body tensing up with tremors that he fought to keep under control.  They didn’t overtake him this time.  The desire to be able to buy the little car was strong enough that he overcame the emotional breakdown that had tried to take over his body.  He sighed with relief and smiled at his victory.

Although it only cost a dollar, Channing would have eagerly handed over all his money for the car.  This was what he wanted, needed; it was the item intended just for him.  He felt as if he’d bought back his childhood.  Driving the little car along the edges of tables and counters, he contentedly made his way through the remainder of the flea market, enjoying just being there, alone inside himself amid the crowd, taking in all the sights and smells.  He felt as if he’d almost found perfection.

After the flea market closed, Channing nestled himself among the bushes behind the giant cow-shaped sign that pointed out the market’s location.  He finished the boiled peanuts and the funnel cake he had bought with most of his remaining money and fell asleep there, happy, content.

Idea for the cow sign came from this flea market I visited in Georgia in 1996

At first light he awoke and immediately became aware of the feel of the car in his pocket.  He eagerly pulled it out, expecting the same euphoric feeling of rightness, of… it was a slightly incomplete rightness, it slowly dawned on Channing as the sun rose that morning.  He had bought back his childhood in the reclaimed toy car which he had made himself believe was the very one that had gone flying through the window all those years ago, the same car he’d years later wandered back to search for in vain among the tall grass along the side of the highway.

Dallas tolerates Channing driving the replacement toy car along the dashboard, unlike Channing’s father

But something was still hollow inside him.  Channing was still searching through the overgrown grass for a little something more.  The car was a part, but it was not the whole he craved. 

“I guess you can’t ever truly go back,” he said aloud to himself with a sigh.  “Still, I am glad to have you back,” he said to the car with a little smile.  Channing felt like he was slowly finding his way to somewhere.  He hoped he could complete the puzzle someday.  Remembering that Dallas would likely be wondering about him, Channing rose to be on his way.

Until next time!

Erin

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Hope Amidst Death

I love this time of year. At the end of the week, we observe the Feast of the Archangels, which marks entry into the season steeped in death, but always with hope. Plants die, but we know there is rebirth promised in the next spring. St. Michael, probably the most popular of the three named archangels, conquers death through sin in his battle against Satan, always fighting for God’s truth. And while the secular world glorifies a shock-value type of death through gore and fear on Halloween, Christians can observe the day as All Hallows Eve as the Church Militant here on earth, fighting our way through this life until we reach our heavenly home. No surprise, then, that Holy Mother Church has placed All Saints Day on November 1st, when we celebrate those who have made it, victorious, to their eternal destination, and then All Souls Day on November 2nd, reminding us to pray for those who have died (the entire month of November is dedicated to the holy souls, in fact), that God will bring them to their eternal reward soon… well, ‘soon’ is a relative term for God, isn’t it? And it is precisely this that gives us the ability to ask God to take prayers for the dead and apply them even decades later.

If you’ve read Firetender, you might remember when a character explained God as being “outside of time and space.” That’s what he meant. Those of you who know me well are rolling your eyes at my obsession with using this phrase… but really, it does explain so much.

St. Michael, the Sword-Wielding, Demon-Slaying Archangel

So what’s the deal with St. Michael?

The Catholic Church states that St. Michael has four offices or roles: to lead God’s heavenly forces against Satan and his minions; to deliver the souls of the deceased to judgment; to be the protector and guardian of God’s chosen people – Jews in the Old Testament and Christians in the New Testament; and to protect souls at the time of their death from Satan’s power.

Michael is mentioned in the Bible in the Book of Daniel and in Revelation. This is where we get the story of the first rebellion against God, when Lucifer and other angels chose not to serve God. Michael is mentioned by name here. In Revelation 12, we read: “Then war broke out in heaven; Michael and his angels battled against the dragon. The dragon and its angels fought back, but they did not prevail and there was no longer any place for them in heaven. The huge dragon, the ancient serpent, who is called the Devil and Satan, who deceived the whole world, was thrown down to earth, and its angels were thrown down with it.”

And what does the name Michael mean? It is actually a question: Who is like God? Picture this powerful angel on fire in defense of God asking Lucifer how he could even think he was like God? But that’s what the fallen angels wanted to do: be their own gods. It’s the classic battle of good vs. evil, all starting with a tendency to want to obey our own passions and wills instead of God’s will.

In the Old Testament, Isaiah also tells of Lucifer’s fall (his name means ‘light,’ so he is the ‘Morning Star’ mentioned in Isaiah 14): “How you have fallen from heaven, O morning star, son of the dawn! You have been cast down to the earth, you who once laid low the nations! You said in your heart, "I will ascend to heaven; I will raise my throne above the stars of God; I will sit enthroned on the mount of assembly, on the utmost heights of the sacred mountain. I will ascend above the tops of the clouds; I will make myself like the Most High.”

St. Michael, the Devil, and Ruined Blackberries

The lore goes that no blackberries are fit to eat after late September. Okay, so that’s not lore; it’s just fact that their season is pretty much done by then. But why? Here’s where the lore comes in: when St. Michael defeated Satan and he fell from heaven, he landed in blackberry brambles. In his anger and disgust, he cursed the berries on the bush, causing them to spoil (some cultural variations say he spit on them or worse).

Ruined, past-season blackberries are thus associated with a fall and sin in my mind. I love this poem by Seamus Heaney and find a deeper meaning in the words based on the legend of the devil and the blackberries. Here’s a video of the author reading his poem! If you prefer to read it instead, scroll down to the next image.

What do you think?

I’m using this imagery of blackberries harvested at the wrong time being an analogy to sin in my series Fallen Angel/Risen Angel. I wrote the first draft last August and September, just as the Sisters Poor of Jesus Christ, the religious order not far from where I live, were telling us about their devotion to St. Michael and praying for forty days prior to his feast day. They also shared with us how their order helps the poor and, in some locations in other countries, the addicted to recover. My story’s title, its inclusion of angels, snake imagery (remember the form Satan used to appear to Eve), the name Michael, and a drug-addicted main character all fit right in with what was happening in the liturgical year and in the Sisters’ devotions and the charisms of their order. While it’s a really gritty and sinful story, these coincidences have encouraged me that I might be meant to keep working on it as a message of rising from sin and despair into hope for change and new life.

Another unintentional coincidence for Fallen Angel/Risen Angel… and there are so many of them!!… that fits in with this time of year: the Harvest Moon and the main character. First, a little about the Harvest Moon:

This year, the Harvest Moon falls on the feast of the archangels, with it becoming visible on Thursday evening and technically being really full after midnight. It gets its name because at this time of year, something about the earth’s orbit and tilt causes the moon to rise anywhere from 10-30 minutes later each night (depending on where you live; about 25 minutes in the US) as opposed to the typical difference of close to an hour each night. This gives several nights in a row of full moonlight, helping people to have more light to get in their harvests that were typically coming ripe at that time. The Harvest Moon also appears larger at rising due to its closeness to the horizon (all full moons appear larger when close to the horizon, but this one is low for several nights in a row, just as the sun has gone down). Did you know the Harvest Moon is not linked to a month as other full moon names are? Rather, the name is given to the full moon nearest the autumnal equinox, meaning it can occur in either September or early October. This Harvest Moon also happens to be a supermoon, meaning the moon is at its closest orbit point to the earth, making it appear a bit larger.

even found a graphic for the right year, boom

So, what’s the book coincidence? When I was writing Fallen Angel/Risen Angel, I chose a specific birthdate with a deeper meaning (October 2nd) for Seth, one of the two main characters. Based on the already established ages of others in the book and their age differences with this character, I determined the year he was born had to be 1982. I was writing a scene that took place on October 2nd involving Seth and another character named Theresa, whose name means ‘late summer’ or ‘to harvest.’ That was already cool enough, because I didn’t intend her name to have any connections to the story ahead of time! Anyway, they were watching the moon appear in this scene, and I looked up the moon phase for that year, nerd as I am, to get the timing right. Then, knowing the date range the Harvest Moon can fall in, I thought, “Wouldn’t it be cool if Seth was born on the day of the full Harvest Moon?” I looked up the phase, and wouldn’t you know it! The full Harvest Moon in GMT occurred on October 3rd, 1982… but if you use the time zone where Seth was born (in Boise, Idaho), the full moon occurred on October 2nd!!

Further nerdy research ensued about Boise’s time zone and a weird variation and the history of drawing that line, but I’ve gone on long enough, so if you are really interested, you can look it up yourself. Or start here!

What I’m Reading

I just finished No Turning Back by Father Donald Calloway, and I was blown away by his conversion. Only seven years older than me, this young man’s teenage years were full of so much anger and sin that it is almost too hard to believe. I mean, the guy was deported from Japan along with his military father, his mother, and brother when he was fifteen because of his criminal behavior! I read this book in about three days—it was that hard to put down. I have The Big Hustle by Jim Wahlberg up next in the fast-track stack, another autobiographical account of a drug addict criminal undergoing major change. No surprise that I like these kinds of stories if you’ve read Firetender, the story of a lost and angry young man eventually led to conversion and God’s plan for his future.

But the big reason I’m tearing through these books is that I’m getting to hear BOTH these authors speak at a Catholic conference in a couple weeks! I wanted to have the background on them before their talks. Also speaking is John Martignoni, president of the Bible Christian Society (my husband volunteered to record and edit an early series of videos he made over a decade ago now—we live one state over from him!).

I’m also reading From Achilles to Christ by Louis Markos for my book club, and I’m about to start beta reading The Sands of Nall by a friend from my online writing group! Jaqueline’s podcast can be found here—have a listen to an episode; it’s often thought-provoking! Beyond that, my next fiction reads most likely will be For a Noble Purpose by Kelsey Gietl and Secrets: The Truth Will Out by Verity Lucia.

Book Research on Setting, Always

I already said I wouldn’t detail the weirdness of Boise’s time zone, but I will share a setting-related tidbit from Denver, Colorado.

The latest research in my work-in-progress, The Fire of Your Love, is that I wrote a scene taking place inside a public library in downtown Denver. I looked the place up, and the Central Library sure has some interesting architecture. Dallas compares it to a an oil derrick, but apparently it’s a mine shaft…

no idea why big bird is creepily staring at us in the background… didn’t notice him until i pasted in this image. sweet dreams, everyone.

I wrote these new scenes, including the library one, for Chalice Book 3, The Fire of Your Love, and then immediately cut-and-pasted them because I’d forgotten to have a certain event occur that really needed to happen first. Basically, I sent my character Eric with some friends to Nevada and asked him to do something, and he turned to me and said, “Huh? I’m not able to do that yet, you know.” Oh. Whoops. Sorry, Eric. I got it fixed now.

random guy found on pinterest that sort of looks like how i picture eric and also looks confused, like, ‘why’d you bring me to nevada without making me do that other thing first?”

Speaking of Nevada… here’s a fun one. You’re supposed to take this blank US map and mark up all the states you’ve visited. I did, and I found I still have eleven to go. And yes, I am one of those people who counts the states I drove through. I am pretty sure the only ones I’ve driven through and not gotten out of the car are New York, Connecticut, and Louisiana, though. The others at least got a gas station stop, ha.

But what I did next was this: I marked up each state where a significant event takes place in one of my novels. The little blue lines mean a character only drove through that state or had a minor stop there, whereas the green indicates at least a vacation if not an extended amount of time living there. So, what are the purple dots??

Well, those indicate the states in which major stuff happens to my characters, but I have never even driven through there. Yeah, I know. Of only eleven states, I had to pick three of those to be major settings of my novels? Nevada is where Dallas and Channing are born and live until they are 19 and 17, and Dallas returns there a few times throughout the series. Minnesota is where they live for about four months and where the most dramatic scene in the first book takes place. Dallas will also go back to this state a few times in the series. And Colorado… well, I stuck his home in Denver for eight years. EIGHT. Now, he’s away at school in another state during that time, too, but still. Why did I pick places I’ve never been to feature so prominently in the settings? No idea! The first two were chosen when I wrote the earliest draft of the story in 1996, when I had only been to eight, maybe nine, states total (seriously! oh, and four European countries, go figure) so it’s not based on any rhyme or reason.

How many states have you visited? I have a good excuse to mark three more off my list. You know, for research.

Find the Chalice Series here

Next time, I promise I’ll be sharing a Backstory Excerpt for Hardcore Fans. I was so thrilled the other day when a friend and reader of this newsletter made a connection with one of the backstory excerpt scenes when Channing’s mother is looking for his overalls and a mention of the same overalls in Enkindle in Me!

Thanks for reading! Enjoy the changing fall weather!

Erin

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Almost-Autumn Updates

Are you ready for some fall weather? I am! As we approach the first day of autumn, I know that won’t ensure automatic cooler temperatures here in the South, but I’ve already taken out some fall decor around my house.

my mantelFiretender awarded the CWG Seal of Approval!

My biggest news to share is that Firetender, Book One in the Chalice Series, was recently awarded the Seal of Approval from the Catholic Writers Guild! What is the seal, you may wonder? You can read about it here, but the quick version is that it is awarded to works of fiction that are Catholic in nature, do not misrepresent or go against Church doctrine or moral teaching, and have been professionally edited (containing few to no typos). As non-fiction books are given an imprimatur to indicate their content as being in line with the Catholic faith, the CWG SOA shows that a work of fiction is not going to mislead readers about truths of the faith. The inclusion of it being well-edited gives the award credibility from a professional standpoint as well, in that a book containing many typos or grammatical problems will appear amateurish to a reader.

If you’ve read Firetender - or Enkindle in Me - book reviews on Goodreads and/or Amazon are much appreciated! Thank you for your support!

Firetender and Enkindle in Me in the library!

My novels can be checked out from the local library! Here they are in the PINES system. Enkindle in Me is checked out and has two holds placed on it! It’s surreal to walk into the public library and find your own book on the New Releases shelves in the front of the building! Watch the video below of when I located Firetender on the shelf.

Where’s the backstory?

Ah, yes, the next installment of Backstory Excerpts for Hardcore Fans… I plan to get to sharing that soon. If you’ve been following along, we last left Channing as a pre-teen in middle school, a glimpse into his experiences in the classroom and with the school’s guidance counselor. Up next, Channing’s life will finally intersect with his friend Dallas’s, and we will move into his early teenage years. That means we only have a few more excerpts to go… but if that makes you sad, never fear—the beach scene excerpt is long enough that it will be released in several segments. It’s one of my favorites for showing the nuances of Dallas and Channing’s friendship.

Found this picture on Pinterest… can you guess which boy I would say is Dallas and which I would say is Channing?

If you’ve missed out on the backstory excerpts and want to catch up, you can go back to my previous Substack posts. I recommend having read Firetender first, but it’s up to you, of course.

What I’ve Been Reading

I recently finished Diary of an American Exorcist by Stephen J. Rossetti and Three Last Things, a short story by Corinna Turner. If you want to read real-life encounters with demons or a fictional account of a death row inmate’s last days on earth, then these books will deliver. You can read my more detailed review of both books here on my author website.

pretty turkish coffee mug from my forest school friends!

I am currently finishing up The Picture of Dorian Gray for my book club. My daughter and her boyfriend are leading our group discussion on the story because my daughter took an online class taught by Joseph Pierce about the novel. I’m excited to get a closer look at the symbolism and the themes of this tragic story written by Oscar Wilde, an author who experienced a troubled life and a deathbed conversion. Maybe I will share about our discussion in the next newsletter!

Until next time…