Karin Kaufman's Blog, page 5

The Next Big Thing

Gail M. Baugniet, author of the Pepper Bibeau mystery series, has invited me to participate in a blog event: The Next Big Thing (TNBT). The event consists of 10 questions about an author’s current WIP (work in progress.) Here’s the plan:

A. Answer the ten TNBT questions listed below about your current WIP.
B. Tag five other writers and link their blogs so we can all hop over and read their answers.
It’s that simple.

Gail noted: “The handbook Writing Mysteries, edited by Sue Grafton, lists the rules of mystery writing and which ones can be bent. The only one I actually break is having more than two characters in a scene. For the rules of TNBT, I will tag five other writers and link to their blogs so you can hop over and check out their sites. I am tweeking the other rule by dividing up the questions. I will answer one question per week, tag five more writers, and include links to their sites.”

I’m with Gail on this. One (or two) question a week, and with each question I’ll tag more writers (though not necessarily five). Here we go:

Question #1 of The Next Big Thing:

TNBT: What is the title of your book/WIP?

KARIN: My working title is Sparrow House.I don’t know if I’ll stick with that, but it’s what came to mind as I plotted the book, and considering that much of the book is set in an old, creepy mansion called Sparrow House, it fits. I’m so enjoying writing this one! It will be book 2 of my Anna Denning mystery series.

And now, five awesome writers whose work you want to watch:
http://www.montanaromance.blogspot.com/ Cynthia Bruner (romance)

http://www.onthesoulofavampire.com/ Krisi Keley (mystic vampire tales)

http://nikechillemi.wordpress.com/ Nike Chillemi (historical mystery/crime fiction)

http://barbarajrobinson.blogspot.com/ Barbara Robinson (romantic suspense)

http://www.booksbyamanda.com/blog.html/ Amanda Stephan (romance)

Here is the full list of TNBT questions for you to copy and paste to your blog along with your answers. Just tag five awesome writers and add their links so we can all follow along.
1. What is the title of your book/WIP?

2. Where did the idea for the book come from?
3. What genre would your book fall under?

4. Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?
5. What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?
6. Is your book published or represented?

7. How long did it take you to write?
8. What other books within your genre would you compare it to?

9. Which authors inspired you to write this book?
10. Tell us anything else that might pique our interest in your book.

Top Ten TV Mystery/Detective Shows of All Time

Inspector George Gently

One of the simplest yet most enjoyable pleasures in life is settling down to a good mystery on TV. A little popcorn, maybe a glass of wine. Rain beating on the windows, dog sleeping by the fire . . . Well, you get the idea. It's heaven for us mystery lovers. There have been some great mystery/detective series over the years. In fact, some of the finest programs on TV have been, and continue to be, crime shows. I've compiled a list of what I consider the ten best of the bunch (in no particular order) and added some honorable mentions at the end.

1. Midsomer Murders (1997–present)

Based on the mystery novels by Caroline Graham, this long-running show features DCI (Detective Chief Inspector) Tom Barnaby (played by John Nettles) and DS (Detective Sergeant) Ben Jones, who keep tripping over bodies in the various villages of England's fictional Midsomer County. If you love English cozies, this is a must-see, the ultimate in cozies.

Nettles retired from the show in 2011 and was replaced by actor Neil Dudgeon, who plays his younger cousin, DCI John Barnaby. DS Jones is the third, and I believe the best, Midsomer detective sergeant, and he continues with the show. Dudgeon is fantastic as the new DCI, but the on-screen relationship with his wife, Sarah, lacks the warmth of the relationship between Tom Barnaby and his wife, Joyce—though the addition of John Barnaby's dog, Sykes, largely makes up for that.

2. Jonathan Creek (1997–2010)

Jonathan Creek, who lives in a windmill in the English countryside and creates stage tricks for a professional magician, solves the most baffling crimes in this quirky mystery. The show is less about who did it and more about how it was done. In fact, the how it was done can be downright mind-bending—or at least appear that way before Creek solves the crime.

The first three seasons, which featured sidekick Maddy Magellan, an investigative journalist played by Caroline Quentin, were the best, though the last season, with sidekick Carla Borrego (Julia Sawalha), was still far better than your average mystery. The show was discontinued in 2004, but two specials, "The Grinning Man" and "The Judas Tree," aired in 2009 and 2010. As always, American viewers will have to do a little scrounging on the Internet to find the specials.

3. The Closer (2005–present)

Deputy Chief Brenda Johnson, an Atlanta detective hired by the LAPD to head its Major Crimes Division, is a "closer" because she closes tough cases, usually in unconventional ways involving wily interrogation techniques. Because she's a woman, and a southern woman at that—with her butter-wouldn't-melt accent and her junk-food sweet tooth—she's underestimated, and she uses that to great advantage. Johnson's syrupy "Thank yew," which she says at least five times in every episode, is classic.

TNT will run the final six episodes of The Closer beginning this July. The last episode will be followed by the premiere of a spinoff series, Major Crimes, featuring The Closer's Captain Raydor.

4. Tony Hillerman mysteries on PBS (2002–2004)

In 2002, PBS presented Skinwalkers, the first Tony Hillerman mystery novel adaptation in its American Mystery! Specials series. After that came Coyote Waits (2003) and A Thief of Time (2004), all three starring Wes Studi as Joe Leaphorn and Adam Beach as Jim Chee. Then, in one of those senseless TV production decisions that leaves you shaking your head in bewilderment, the Hillerman mysteries stopped . . . and the flood of Poirots and Sherlocks continued.

If you want to see these mysteries now, you'll have to rent or buy them. All three are well worth their rather high purchase price as they're so well produced and acted that you can watch them again and again (the New Mexico scenery is spectacular). Hopefully PBS, Wildwood Productions, et al. will come to their senses and produce another Hillerman mystery—or any American mystery. Seriously, PBS, I love Miss Marple, but come on!

5. Psych (2005–present)

Quite possibly the most underrated show currently on TV, Psych  features Shawn Spencer, whose hyper-observant skills allow him to out-detective any detective, and his friend Burton Guster, a rather more stable pharmaceutical salesman. Together they form a psychic detective agency and solve crimes for the Santa Barbara Police Department.

This is one of those shows you have to watch because no explaining will do it justice. The dialogue is witty (and so rapid-fire that while you're figuring out one joke, three more have zoomed by), the characters are engaging, and the returning themes and tics (Gus's nicknames, Val Kilmer, Billy Zane, "Gus don't be a . . . ," the hidden pineapple—you really do have to see it) are, as Shawn would say, "delicious."

6. Inspector Lewis (2006–present)

DCI Robbie Lewis and his DS, the scholarly and slightly mysterious James Hathaway, fight crime in Oxford in this spinoff of the Inspector Morse series.

For years I thought nothing could outdo the superb Inspector Morse, based on Colin Dexter's novels and also set in Oxford, but I believe Inspector Lewis has. Lewis was DCI Morse's sergeant in the older series, and here he plays a widower (his beloved wife Valerie has died, and he still grieves deeply for her) who accepts the DCI position with the Thames Valley Police.

With Lewis, you have that fantastic Oxford scenery, outstanding plots, and two fascinating lead characters. To top it off, with each season this show just gets better. It plays now on then on PBS, but you're better off renting or streaming it from Netflix.

7. Jesse Stone (2005–present)

The Jesse Stone specials are based on Robert B. Parker's mystery novels about an LAPD homicide detective who resigns his post in Los Angeles (because his bosses can no longer ignore his heavy drinking, which began after his divorce) and heads for fictional Paradise, Massachusetts, where, still drinking—though only at night—he is hired as the PPD's new chief of police.

Jesse Stone is not a TV series proper but a series of movie specials on CBS. It's brilliant in every way, from the scenery—it's filmed in Nova Scotia, which is both moodier and prettier than Massachusetts—to the movies' brooding opening sequences, which include the best theme music on television, period.

But the best thing about this series is Jesse Stone, a complex character played to perfection by Tom Selleck. If you're new to this show, you should rent or buy the earlier movies, as there have been quite a few plot and character developments since the first movie in 2005.

8. Rosemary & Thyme (2003–2007)

If you like gardens, and breathtaking English gardens at that, you'll want to see this series. Rosemary Boxer, a recently and unfairly fired plant pathologist, and Laura Thyme, a newly divorced amateur gardener, meet by chance and decide to form a business partnership. The two 50ish/60ish women restore gardens and diagnose plant diseases, but wherever they go, bodies crop (ahem) up.

The show is light fare—no blood sprays, no thriller tension—and that is its strong point. That and the fact that there are flowers in virtually every shot, and not just outside. It's relaxing, fun, delightful.

The show was originally shown in three regular seasons (2003–2006) and two final episodes (2007). The cancellation of Rosemary & Thyme by the British network ITV is itself a mystery, as it was popular when it met its demise. ITV claims that the cancellation was part of an effort to "reinvigorate" the channel. I suspect that means ITV wanted more gore and fewer post-50 lead characters. Shame.

9. Inspector George Gently (2007–present)

Set in the mid-1960s and based on the books by Alan Hunter, this series features Scotland Yard's Inspector George Gently, who, after the murder of his wife, travels to County Durham in search of the killer, who has committed another crime there.

Gently sees his younger self in his ambitious sergeant, John Bacchus, who in his enthusiasm to combat crime has a tendency toward the corruption-through-power Gently loathes. Gently decides to stay in Durham, and he makes it his mission to make a good and decent cop, and man, out of Bacchus. As a result, the chemistry between the two is terrific.

The 1960s setting means that political correctness is at a minimum, and because there are no CSI-type gadgets and tests, the cases are solved by sheer hard work and cop instinct. I normally don't like historical mysteries, if you can call the 1960s historical, but this series is so well done you forget it's set in the past. The producers don't make a point of parading various 1960s products on screen as if to say, "Look, this is what radios looked like back then." The surroundings just are, they're part of the story, and in that way they serve the story and become invisible.

10. NCIS (2003–present)

In this long-running series, special agents for the Naval Criminal Investigative Service solve crimes involving the U.S. Navy and Marine Corps in the Washington, D.C., area (though episodes have been set elsewhere).

If you haven't seen this show, catch up on Netflix then start watching the current season, which is the show's ninth. (Good news from last week: NCIS was picked up for a tenth season!) The writing on this show is second to none. Frankly, I don't know how the writers keep it so fresh. So many other shows take a script nosedive after three or four years.

Although the show's plots are first rate, this is a character-driven series. The six main characters are so well defined, such individual works of art, that you feel you know them. Best of all, while these characters have stayed true to themselves throughout the series, they also have grown and changed, which makes them seem all the more real.

Honorable mystery mentions go to Monk (2002–2009), Blue Murder (2003–2009), Inspector Morse (1987–2000), Veronica Mars (2004–2007), Wallander (2008–present), The Killing (2011–present), Magnum, P.I. (1980–1988), Agatha Christie's Poirot (1989–present), and Murder, She Wrote (1984–1996).

Have I missed any great TV mystery/detective shows?

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The Emergent Church: We’ve Heard It All Before (part 2)

Tony JonesSomeone once said that trying to get an emergent church (EC) leader to clearly state his beliefs is like trying to "nail Jell-O to the wall." EC leader Tony Jones, for one, finds the Jell-O analogy amusing. It doesn’t occur to him that not being able to define your beliefs or at least answer direct questions about them is not the sign of a well-ordered mind.

But in the postmodern world, muddled thought is not a vice. So when Jones says, "We must stop looking for some objective Truth that is available when we delve into the text of the Bible," I wonder if he realizes that, using his own logic, I have no way of knowing if what he states is true and, in any case, I shouldn’t bother trying to find out? What is objective? What is the text? What is truth?

EC leaders paint themselves into a corner and don’t want you to notice. They want to tear down objective reason by telling you it doesn’t exist then replace that reason with their own beliefs (disparate as they are), which they then want you to accept as objective reason.

All this might be as important as a pimple on an elephant except for one thing: These leaders’ feigned or (God help us) real uncertainty is especially appealing to young people, who, caught up in the postmodern flavor of the times, prefer their spiritual elders to be as confused as they are.

In a play for young people, the movement’s leaders toss aside doctrine, the connection to fellow Christians through the ages, and any common sense they might have stumbled upon in their thirty-, forty-, or fifty-something years. (As an aside, there aren’t many things sadder than a forty-something man chucking much of what he knows in order to impress the young. What’s the point in being forty if you haven’t learned anything more than what the twenty year old you’re talking to knows?)


It’s no accident that the terms "emerging" and "emergent" are labels for the movement. Or that EC leaders write books with titles such as The New Christians: Dispatches from the Emergent Frontier (Tony Jones), Church in the Inventive Age (Doug Pagitt), and A New Kind of Christianity (Brian McLaren).

"New," inventive," "frontier." Are you sensing a theme? Can’t you just hear some TV pitch guy saying, "It’s new! It’s great! It’s better than that old stuff!" Young people aren’t interested in anything old. New is good, old is bad.

Stroking egos. It’s how advertising works, and why advertising focuses on teens and twenty-somethings, most of whom are still forming their likes and dislikes and desperately want to be different from their parents.

It’s why ages ago the Who had a hit with the song "My Generation," which told a bunch of kids born in the 1940s how cool and different they were so a bunch of much older folks could make a lot of money. It’s why the emerging church woos young people with comfy couches, candles, and pastors who look and sound like them.

I became a Christian as a teenager in the 1970s, during the Jesus People movement. We were new, too. And postmodern. We had couches and candles and guitars. We didn’t like what the old church looked and sounded like—and some said that was good.

We were going to change Christianity for the better—or so we were told when our egos were being stroked by those who were old enough to know better. Our candles and conversations and disdain for doctrine were going to batter down the tired old walls of Christianity and make it relevant again. Thank the Lord most of us became "mere" Christians, just like our brothers and sisters in centuries past.

When I’m tempted to get agitated about the EC movement, and angry with its leaders for deceiving people, I stop and consider that the emerging church is just one more passing novelty in a long history of novelties.

As people have grown weary of postmodernism in literature, so they will of postmodernism in the church. The movement is not, as Tony Jones says, destined to push the church in "new directions." Because in reality it’s nothing new, and it will not prevail.

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The Emergent Church: We've Heard It All Before (part 2)

Tony Jones

Someone once said that trying to get an emergent church (EC) leader to clearly state his beliefs is like trying to "nail Jell-O to the wall." EC leader Tony Jones, for one, finds the Jell-O analogy amusing. It doesn't occur to him that not being able to define your beliefs or at least answer direct questions about them is not the sign of a well-ordered mind.

But in the postmodern world, muddled thought is not a vice. So when Jones says, "We must stop looking for some objective Truth that is available when we delve into the text of the Bible," I wonder if he realizes that, using his own logic, I have no way of knowing if what he states is true and, in any case, I shouldn't bother trying to find out? What is objective? What is the text? What is truth?

EC leaders paint themselves into a corner and don't want you to notice. They want to tear down objective reason by telling you it doesn't exist then replace that reason with their own beliefs (disparate as they are), which they then want you to accept as objective reason.

All this might be as important as a pimple on an elephant except for one thing: These leaders' feigned or (God help us) real uncertainty is especially appealing to young people, who, caught up in the postmodern flavor of the times, prefer their spiritual elders to be as confused as they are.

In a play for young people, the movement's leaders toss aside doctrine, the connection to fellow Christians through the ages, and any common sense they might have stumbled upon in their thirty-, forty-, or fifty-something years. (As an aside, there aren't many things sadder than a forty-something man chucking much of what he knows in order to impress the young. What's the point in being forty if you haven't learned anything more than what the twenty year old you're talking to knows?)

It's no accident that the terms "emerging" and "emergent" are labels for the movement. Or that EC leaders write books with titles such as The New Christians: Dispatches from the Emergent Frontier (Tony Jones), Church in the Inventive Age (Doug Pagitt), and A New Kind of Christianity (Brian McLaren).

"New," inventive," "frontier." Are you sensing a theme? Can't you just hear some TV pitch guy saying, "It's new! It's great! It's better than that old stuff!" Young people aren't interested in anything old. New is good, old is bad.

Stroking egos. It's how advertising works, and why advertising focuses on teens and twenty-somethings, most of whom are still forming their likes and dislikes and desperately want to be different from their parents.

It's why ages ago the Who had a hit with the song "My Generation," which told a bunch of kids born in the 1940s how cool and different they were so a bunch of much older folks could make a lot of money. It's why the emerging church woos young people with comfy couches, candles, and pastors who look and sound like them.

I became a Christian as a teenager in the 1970s, during the Jesus People movement. We were new, too. And postmodern. We had couches and candles and guitars. We didn't like what the old church looked and sounded like—and some said that was good.

We were going to change Christianity for the better—or so we were told when our egos were being stroked by those who were old enough to know better. Our candles and conversations and disdain for doctrine were going to batter down the tired old walls of Christianity and make it relevant again. Thank the Lord most of us became "mere" Christians, just like our brothers and sisters in centuries past.

When I'm tempted to get agitated about the EC movement, and angry with its leaders for deceiving people, I stop and consider that the emerging church is just one more passing novelty in a long history of novelties.

As people have grown weary of postmodernism in literature, so they will of postmodernism in the church. The movement is not, as Tony Jones says, destined to push the church in "new directions." Because in reality it's nothing new, and it will not prevail.

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The Emergent Church: We’ve Heard It All Before (part 1)

Doug Pagitt (photo by
Amy Anderson
Photography)I’m not a glutton for punishment, honestly I’m not, but I enjoy listening to and reading interviews with leaders in the emergent church movement. Yesterday it was a YouTube interview with author, radio host, and pastor Doug Pagitt. The guy is fascinating. A walking, talking lesson in postmodern rhetoric. So are his compatriots in the emergent church movement—folks such as Rob Bell, Brian McLaren, and Tony Jones.

The emergent church (EC) movement had its beginnings in the 1990s and came into some prominence in the first decade of this century. The movement, for those of you who haven’t heard of it, is a reaction against modernism (with its foolish certainty) and orthodoxy. It values relevance over doctrine, cultural adaptation over orthodoxy, subjective truth over objective truth, and questions over answers.

Most leaders in the movement question at least some orthodox Christian doctrine. Nearly all of them hold doctrine in low esteem. Not surprisingly, many EC leaders were once youth pastors and the movement is most popular among young people (more on that later this week).

Even if I didn’t find some of these leaders’ propositions false, I would mistrust much of what they say because I’m wary of people who play word games. Games using terms such as "old narrative," "deeply ingrained," "hegemony," and "colonial." As someone who occasionally copyedits postmodern literary studies for a living, I’ve read these words before and I know how—and why—they’re used. And I know why EC leaders ask a lot of questions they never seem to answer.


The main goal of postmodernists, including postmodern EC leaders, is to cast doubt on objective truth (and language) in order to break down "old" beliefs and create new ones. Of course, they would never state their objective in such a bald-faced way. They want to lead you to a new pasture without ever telling you where you’re going or why. They want you to wake up in this new pasture, free of your "old narrative," and never know how you got there. And their chief weapon is language.

Which takes me back to the Pagitt interview. Leaders in the emergent movement often make statements that are clearly universalist in nature without, of course, ever directly stating that they believe in universal salvation. So when the interviewer in this YouTube video asked, "I’m a good Buddhist—where do I go when I die?" the following exchange took place (note: I have no idea who the interviewer is or what he believes; I simply find this exchange instructive):

Pagitt: You know, this is not an interesting conversation to me. Is this what we’re going to do? You’re going to put together false little dichotomies then ask me to answer in one sentence then interrupt my answers?
Interviewer: Well, I don’t know what’s hard about the question. I’m a good Buddhist, where do I go when I die?
Pagitt: Well, you probably go to the funeral home, but depending on where you’re being born—if that’s what you’re talking about.
Interviewer: No, pastor, I’m a good Buddhist, where do I go when I die?
Pagitt: OK, this is not—this is just not an interesting or helpful conversation for me to be part of. So if that’s what were doing, uh, in this conversation, then, uh, it’s, it—because what you’re asking in this kind of question has to do with a place. Are you suggesting to me that heaven is actually a place? When you say, "Where do I go?" you’re suggesting to me that the reign of God, that the place of God is an individual place that you go? Is that what you’re suggesting?
Interviewer: Yes, sir.
Pagitt: Where is that place?
Interviewer: It’s called heaven.
Pagitt: Where is it?
Interviewer: We don’t know where it is exactly right now.
Pagitt: Then why would you ask a question where do I go?
Interviewer: Just because I don’t know where it is doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. Besides—
Pagitt: Then why did you ask where?

Wow. Are you thinking of Bill Clinton’s "It depends upon what the meaning of the word ‘is’ is"? Pagitt may have an interesting point to make over heaven not being a "where," but it’s a point he could make later. He understands very well what the interviewer’s question is. He just doesn’t want to answer it.

I don’t think that Pagitt sees this language tap dance as a bad thing. I think he’s so immersed in postmodern thought that he thinks arguing over the word "where" is worthwhile—and that browbeating someone who doesn’t speak postmodern gobbledygook is convincing. If you listen to the interview, you can almost hear a lightbulb go off in Pagitt’s head in the middle of the exchange, where he says "because what you’re asking." He suddenly sees his out, and his out is language.

Part 2 on Monday, February 20.

The Emergent Church: We've Heard It All Before (part 1)

Doug Pagitt (photo by
Amy Anderson
Photography)

I'm not a glutton for punishment, honestly I'm not, but I enjoy listening to and reading interviews with leaders in the emergent church movement. Yesterday it was a YouTube interview with author, radio host, and pastor Doug Pagitt. The guy is fascinating. A walking, talking lesson in postmodern rhetoric. So are his compatriots in the emergent church movement—folks such as Rob Bell, Brian McLaren, and Tony Jones.

The emergent church (EC) movement had its beginnings in the 1990s and came into some prominence in the first decade of this century. The movement, for those of you who haven't heard of it, is a reaction against modernism (with its foolish certainty) and orthodoxy. It values relevance over doctrine, cultural adaptation over orthodoxy, subjective truth over objective truth, and questions over answers.
Most leaders in the movement question at least some orthodox Christian doctrine. Nearly all of them hold doctrine in low esteem. Not surprisingly, many EC leaders were once youth pastors and the movement is most popular among young people (more on that later this week).

Even if I didn't find some of these leaders' propositions false, I would mistrust much of what they say because I'm wary of people who play word games. Games using terms such as "old narrative," "deeply ingrained," "hegemony," and "colonial." As someone who occasionally copyedits postmodern literary studies for a living, I've read these words before and I know how—and why—they're used. And I know why EC leaders ask a lot of questions they never seem to answer.

The main goal of postmodernists, including postmodern EC leaders, is to cast doubt on objective truth (and language) in order to break down "old" beliefs and create new ones. Of course, they would never state their objective in such a bald-faced way. They want to lead you to a new pasture without ever telling you where you're going or why. They want you to wake up in this new pasture, free of your "old narrative," and never know how you got there. And their chief weapon is language.

Which takes me back to the Pagitt interview. Leaders in the emergent movement often make statements that are clearly universalist in nature without, of course, ever directly stating that they believe in universal salvation. So when the interviewer in this YouTube video asked, "I'm a good Buddhist—where do I go when I die?" the following exchange took place (note: I have no idea who the interviewer is or what he believes; I simply find this exchange instructive):

Pagitt: You know, this is not an interesting conversation to me. Is this what we're going to do? You're going to put together false little dichotomies then ask me to answer in one sentence then interrupt my answers?
Interviewer: Well, I don't know what's hard about the question. I'm a good Buddhist, where do I go when I die?
Pagitt: Well, you probably go to the funeral home, but depending on where you're being born—if that's what you're talking about.
Interviewer: No, pastor, I'm a good Buddhist, where do I go when I die?
Pagitt: OK, this is not—this is just not an interesting or helpful conversation for me to be part of. So if that's what were doing, uh, in this conversation, then, uh, it's, it—because what you're asking in this kind of question has to do with a place. Are you suggesting to me that heaven is actually a place? When you say, "Where do I go?" you're suggesting to me that the reign of God, that the place of God is an individual place that you go? Is that what you're suggesting?
Interviewer: Yes, sir.
Pagitt: Where is that place?
Interviewer: It's called heaven.
Pagitt: Where is it?
Interviewer: We don't know where it is exactly right now.
Pagitt: Then why would you ask a question where do I go?
Interviewer: Just because I don't know where it is doesn't mean it doesn't exist. Besides—
Pagitt: Then why did you ask where?

Wow. Are you thinking of Bill Clinton's "It depends upon what the meaning of the word 'is' is"? Pagitt may have an interesting point to make over heaven not being a "where," but it's a point he could make later. He understands very well what the interviewer's question is. He just doesn't want to answer it.

I don't think that Pagitt sees this language tap dance as a bad thing. I think he's so immersed in postmodern thought that he thinks arguing over the word "where" is worthwhile—and that browbeating someone who doesn't speak postmodern gobbledygook is convincing. If you listen to the interview, you can almost hear a lightbulb go off in Pagitt's head in the middle of the exchange, where he says "because what you're asking." He suddenly sees his out, and his out is language.

Part 2 on Friday.

Guest Blogger Gail M. Baugniet

It's my pleasure to welcome author Gail M. Baugniet as guest blogger today. Gail's first self-published novel, FOR EVERY ACTION There Are Consequences, released in 2011, introduces Hawaiian-born Pepper Bibeau as an insurance investigator whose routine assignments lead her through a maze of suspense. (Note to my blog readers: If you love a good mystery, you'll love this book.) Gail, who resides in Honolulu, Hawaii, is currently at work completing her second novel in the series for release in 2012. Today she discusses her new interview series with independent authors.

In several reviews of FOR EVERY ACTION There Are Consequences my protagonist Pepper Bibeau has been described as a "strong female character." This portrayal refers not to her muscular prowess, but to her emotional mettle. In Roget's 21st Century Thesaurus, the synonyms for mettle that best describe Pepper are: strength of character; energy; fire; heart; moxie . . . and resolve, which in turn is related to determination, earnestness, and fixed purpose.

Words cut both ways and Pepper's resolve, or fixed purpose, in her professional life tends to waver when applied to personal situations. Uncertainty does not weaken her character, though. By acknowledging indecision as provisional, a safe interim condition, Pepper is able to maintain a comfortable level of confidence and emotional stability.

On Mondays, beginning January 9, 2012, I will present interviews with Independent Authors who have written and published a mystery/suspense novel featuring a strong female protagonist. The interviews will focus on fellow indie-authors, spotlighting their first published novel and the strengths of their main character.

Indie authors interested in a personalized guest interview, please contact me via email: gbaugniet (at) aol (dot) com with the word INTERVIEW in the subject line. Include a link to your novel in the body of the email. If you have an upcoming promotional event that you want to coordinate with the interview, please include that date with your request. Thank you.

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Hope and Another Year

Photo by Henry Mühlpfordt

See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
—Isaiah 43:19

Behold, I make all things new.
—Revelation 21:5




I love new beginnings. Fresh starts, fresh hopes. Where would we be without the hope that things can be made new?

"By this time next year . . ."
"Starting today, I'm going to . . ."
"In two months I'll be . . ."

Still, sometimes I shake my head when I hear words like these coming out of my mouth. If I'm in a bad mood, they seem like evidence that I've been duped yet again by that old hope thing. Shame on you, I tell myself. You're old enough to know better. How many more years are you going to believe "X" can change?

It's hard to start another new year realizing that many of the hopes you had for the old one weren't fulfilled, and it's tempting to shield yourself from disappointment by deliberating hardening yourself into a state of indifference.

When our wished-for new beginnings fail—or we fail them—most of us pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off (for a day or a month, maybe while vowing not to be fooled by hope again), then hope once more for something to be made new. And so on, and so on. After a few decades of this I-will-hope/I-won't-hope cycle, you begin to understand why hope is a virtue. Because hope takes an act of will. And you can kill it if you wish. Killing it is easy compared to keeping it alive.

All this is not to say that hopes are never fulfilled or that new beginnings never come. They do. They just don't come as often as we'd like or in the ways we'd like. Sometimes it seems like God is more than just a little late with doing a new thing.

Most of the time, it's only by looking back over many years that we can see the new things that entered our lives. Like stepping stones in a river, leading us from one side to the other, these things were unremarkable as we set foot on them—just part of the scenery of life. But they led us from one bank of the river to the other, and crossing the Jordan in baby steps is no less of a miracle than running across the dry floor of the suddenly parted Red Sea.

To those of you who made new year's resolutions and those of you who didn't, to those of you who think it might be time to grow a callous on your heart and those of you who have decided to give hope another year, I wish you the best in 2012.

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Atheists and Unicorns

If there were no God, there would be no atheists.—G.K. Chesterton

The atheists are out in full force again this Christmas season (or as some atheists call it, "buy a billboard season"). And the same old stories are in the news: Major retail chains are telling their employees to greet customers with a colorless "happy holidays," an atheist group in Wisconsin is trying to remove a nativity scene in a small Texas town, some goofy governor wants to call a Christmas tree a "holiday tree." It's the same old thing. Only the details change from year to year.

And all the usual atheistic arguments are rearing their sad and tiny heads. It's fascinating to watch some hapless atheist on TV try to explain his aversion to God and those who follow Him. In a sort of atheistic Tourette syndrome, words like "unicorns" and "Tooth Fairy" make frequent appearances. Not in service of a real argument, of course, but as talismans. Their mere mention is supposed to make Christians admit the error of their ways: "Unicorns? Yes, I see your point. I've been wrong all along."

Do I sound harsh? I mean to. Atheists have become bolder and more downright fascist with each passing year, and largely because so many Christians have allowed themselves to be bullied by secularists—and a minority of secularists at that. And here's the thing: These bullies—the rabid ones, in any case—aren't atheists at all. They're not a-theistic, they're anti-theistic and, truth be told, anti-Christian.

Anger is always directed toward something, and these atheists are a very angry bunch. I can't stand basketball, and it annoys me when TV shows I like are delayed or taken off the air altogether for basketball games, but I don't spend my time urging others not to watch basketball. I don't even mind if some people's entire lives revolve around basketball. So what drives an atheist to expend so much energy combating a nonexistent entity?

Some atheists say they want to protect us from the evils of theism because religion has caused more deaths than anything else in the course of human history. They often add that Christianity has been the cause of more death and misery than any other religion. Really? Do they read history? Can they count? If their concern is the historic human death toll, why isn't socialism a target? Why isn't communism—in places where it still clings to life with its grimy little hands—a target?

Why isn't North Korea a target? For the past fourteen years reports of people resorting to cannibalism to stay alive have come out of that country. Surely cannibalism is more of a threat than a nativity display. Although the North Korean government recently warned that it would "retaliate" if South Korea displayed Christmas lights near the border. Near the border, not on or over it. It makes you think. Why is North Korea afraid of a harmless light display by a bunch of fools who believe in unicorns?

The fact is, most atheists specifically target Christianity. They don't mass like irritated termites during Ramadan or disrupt Buddhist festivals. A genuine atheist wouldn't be bothered with a nativity display in a small Texas town. And if he were bothered, if he chose to make anti-theism his life's crusade, he would rattle his saber evenhandedly. You can't fight a multi-front battle by facing in only one direction. Unless you're not fighting the battle you say you are.

And that's the secret. That's what they don't want you to know. Because if Christians understood that atheists' target was Christianity, they might fight back.

In the spirit of Christmas, atheists need to know a secret too: Most Christians have at one time or another been angry, even furious, with God. We understand anger with a Being who sometimes seems so distant and uncaring, who holds our lives and the lives of those we love in His hands. In an odd way, that anger is one proof of faith. No one wastes time being angry with unicorns.

So hold onto that anger, my atheist brothers and sisters. At least for a while. It brings you closer to God than you think.

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Pagan Origins, My Donkey

My green and silver Christmas treeThis time of year I can't get enough of Christmas trees. I love all Christmas decorations, really—except for big plastic snowmen—but trees are the quintessential decoration.

Apparently, the first Christmas trees date to the fifteenth century in Estonia and Latvia and the sixteenth century in Germany. Some say the Christmas tree has pagan origins, but there's no evidence for that. Except that it's a tree, it's green, and you bring it into your house—which is enough for some people, I guess. It just seems pagan.

But in Europe, where most American Christmas customs originated, pagans did not cut down entire trees and bring them into their homes for the winter solstice. Goodness knows what other peoples and cultures have done with trees through the millennia. I don't really think about it when I decorate my tree. I know what I'm celebrating, and I know the One who made the trees.

Other symbols of Christmas—mistletoe, holly and ivy, evergreen garlands—are clearly connected to pagan celebrations, and it doesn't bother me one bit. If anything, I'm pleased Christians have taken them over and made them our own. They're part of God's creation. They belong to Him.

I don't care what the Celts and druids did with plants when it got cold outside, or what Norse mythology says about mistletoe. Some Christians feel otherwise, but I think they're mistaken. And I believe they're caving to secular propaganda: "Pagan symbols are older than Christmas, so Christianity must be a myth." That's called a non sequitur.

Are we supposed to cast back though human history, vetting each Christmas decoration we wish to use, making sure it was never misused?

When Jesus made his triumphal entry into Jerusalem on the back of a donkey, the crowd placed palm branches at the animal's feet. If only they'd known that the Egyptians used to bring palms into their homes at the winter solstice to celebrate the rebirth of Ra, the sun god, they might have avoided the pagan scandal of it all. And the apostle Paul might not have compared grafted olive shoots to saved souls if he'd known that in Greek mythology, the goddess Athena planted the first olive tree.

Of course, the most frequently targeted Christmas symbol is the date of the holiday itself. I have to chuckle when someone on radio or TV announces, as if for the first time, that Jesus was almost certainly not born on December 25, and that it wasn't until the fourth century that the date was set (in the West). This is always pronounced in a spiteful, gleeful kind of way—along with the suggestion that Christians chose this date because the Romans celebrated Saturnalia in late December—as though Christianity itself crumbles in the face of the Great Date Affair.

Should you care what the Romans did during Saturnalia? Or what neopagans today do on the winter solstice? Maybe, but only because knowing these things will arm you the next time some anti-Christian busybody tells you that Christianity is a myth because the Norse god Baldur was killed with an arrow fashioned out of mistletoe.

Holly berries, garlands, the trees we decorate when we celebrate the birth of Christ—these are Gods gifts, His creation. They don't belong to pagan mythology. Or to neopagans, in spite of their appropriation. If anything, neopagans have pirated God's good gifts and denied him the thanks due for creating them.

Saturnalia, the rebirth of Ra? These were shadows pointing to the real thing to come: the birth of Christ. The God who created the sun—and winter, holly, and evergreens—made use of them all, throughout history. They were whispers: Look. Look what's coming.
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