I'm still plunking through first revisions, which as I was warned by other authors is a little like re-writing the entire book. Here are some of the things I've changed in first "revisions":
My heroine went from working in a doctor's office to working in a cafe as a barista. She went from working with an older matronly woman to working with the owner of the cafe, a former runway model. I gave my heroine the "sidekick" she desperately needed.
Two supporting players changed. Instead of living near her parents, my heroine lives near her in-laws and there is no love lost between them. More conflict! The heroine's parents were kind and supportive, and while that is wonderful in real life it's just not interesting in a novel.
I added a minor character. The heroine is being chased by a man she is not interested in. More conflict!
On another note, I have experienced some health problems this year. Serious ones. In September I had a surgery which I'll blog about later. In case you were wondering why I'm still not finished one year after I started!
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Have a Heart
Kathryn Stockett, author of The Help, writes in The Best Advice I Ever Got: Lessons from Extraordinary Lives that her manuscript was rejected by 59 literary agents before it was finally accepted!
She talks about her persistence (i.e. stubbornness) and multiple re-writes as she continually changed and shaped her manuscript. Wouldn’t you like to know what the 60th agent saw in the manuscript that the other 59 did not? Could it be that Kathryn changed and improved the manuscript over the years to the point where it was a different book?
Wading through my own first revisions, these are the questions that I ask myself.
Susan Henderson, author of Up from the Blue has advice that has truly resonated with me. “Don’t edit the heart out of your story.”
As I revise my manuscript, changing the heroine’s occupation and thus part of the setting, and adding and deleting secondary characters I am reminded to keep the original vision of my story intact. One of my biggest problems is that this is not the story that I felt driven to complete. I worry at times that it never had a beating heart to begin with.
This story is more or less an experiment. I belonged to a writer’s group last year which encouraged me to finish something. At the time I had three novels in different stages of completion. I chose to finish this book because I thought it would be ummm, the easiest to complete!
As I wrote, it was not my intention to even attempt to write The Great American Novel. I was quite pragmatic and decided to target a particular publisher, a “niche” publisher. I hoped it would fit nicely into that little sub-genre. Now I’m not certain.
Is it best to target a particular publisher, or to follow your heart and write the story that you’re passionate about?
She talks about her persistence (i.e. stubbornness) and multiple re-writes as she continually changed and shaped her manuscript. Wouldn’t you like to know what the 60th agent saw in the manuscript that the other 59 did not? Could it be that Kathryn changed and improved the manuscript over the years to the point where it was a different book?
Wading through my own first revisions, these are the questions that I ask myself.
Susan Henderson, author of Up from the Blue has advice that has truly resonated with me. “Don’t edit the heart out of your story.”
As I revise my manuscript, changing the heroine’s occupation and thus part of the setting, and adding and deleting secondary characters I am reminded to keep the original vision of my story intact. One of my biggest problems is that this is not the story that I felt driven to complete. I worry at times that it never had a beating heart to begin with.
This story is more or less an experiment. I belonged to a writer’s group last year which encouraged me to finish something. At the time I had three novels in different stages of completion. I chose to finish this book because I thought it would be ummm, the easiest to complete!
As I wrote, it was not my intention to even attempt to write The Great American Novel. I was quite pragmatic and decided to target a particular publisher, a “niche” publisher. I hoped it would fit nicely into that little sub-genre. Now I’m not certain.
Is it best to target a particular publisher, or to follow your heart and write the story that you’re passionate about?
Thursday, August 11, 2011
The Novel is Finished...now what?
An interesting thing happened on the way to finishing my first novel. I changed my mind. About a lot of "stuff" having to do with my protagonist. Still, I pressed on.
Then I finished it, and I don't like it. Oh, I DO like parts of it. But hey, if I'm not in love with the whole blessed thing, how can I expect anyone else to be? First revisions are going to be major. People weren't kidding when they warned me it's like an overhaul. I can see why.
By the time I'm done revising my protagonist, she will be unrecognizable. That is a good thing because somewhere along the way she turned into a whining "Poor me" victim instead of the strong and powerful woman I saw in my mind's eye.
Hold on, Maggie (that's my heroine's name), my red pen is coming!
Then I finished it, and I don't like it. Oh, I DO like parts of it. But hey, if I'm not in love with the whole blessed thing, how can I expect anyone else to be? First revisions are going to be major. People weren't kidding when they warned me it's like an overhaul. I can see why.
By the time I'm done revising my protagonist, she will be unrecognizable. That is a good thing because somewhere along the way she turned into a whining "Poor me" victim instead of the strong and powerful woman I saw in my mind's eye.
Hold on, Maggie (that's my heroine's name), my red pen is coming!
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Use Your Frustration for Inspiration
I was one of the people who watched the Anthony trial from start to finish. I was literally attached to the TV most of the day, fascinated by the evidence, impressed with DA Jeff Ashton's intense and skilled cross-examinations. Most of all, I'd fallen in love with that little girl, who reminded me so much of my own daughter at that age. I wanted desperately for justice for the person who threw her away like so much trash.
When the case went to the jury, I thought, "Whew, at last. Back to normal life. It should take them some time to deliver a verdict. This is, after all, a MURDER trial with over 300 pieces of evidence entered in over thirty days of testimony. No need to rush. I know I would want to get it RIGHT." Imagine my surprise when the jury came back in less than 11 hours with a verdict. Without a doubt I knew, as did everyone else, that they had not bothered to review the evidence. News later came in that they never even sent out any questions(oh, they did send out for lunch).
Like the rest of the country, I was outraged. But instead of vilifying the jurors, the defense attorney, and the accused I decided to turn my anger and frustration into creativity. Because I write, I started a story from the point of view of one of the jurors that has to go home and deal with the ramifications of her decision. Is it one she now regrets? Will she lose relationships with people she once loved because of her decision?
This story may not go anywhere, but it has been cathartic to write it.
When the case went to the jury, I thought, "Whew, at last. Back to normal life. It should take them some time to deliver a verdict. This is, after all, a MURDER trial with over 300 pieces of evidence entered in over thirty days of testimony. No need to rush. I know I would want to get it RIGHT." Imagine my surprise when the jury came back in less than 11 hours with a verdict. Without a doubt I knew, as did everyone else, that they had not bothered to review the evidence. News later came in that they never even sent out any questions(oh, they did send out for lunch).
Like the rest of the country, I was outraged. But instead of vilifying the jurors, the defense attorney, and the accused I decided to turn my anger and frustration into creativity. Because I write, I started a story from the point of view of one of the jurors that has to go home and deal with the ramifications of her decision. Is it one she now regrets? Will she lose relationships with people she once loved because of her decision?
This story may not go anywhere, but it has been cathartic to write it.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Among the Living
I wrote this short short about two years ago. It came to me, when I was thinking about how I believe we are all much better people when we recognize that we are all connected to each other. Unfortunately, we are still flesh and blood and wasn't it Paul that said, "The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak?" This story reminds me that there is more than one way to see life.
Among the Living
The Raiders versus Seahawks game had just gone into overtime the moment Jesse died. She knew this as she knew everything, when her soul lifted into the expanse and all ties were cut to the mortal world. She felt sorry for the young paramedic who so feverishly worked over her, inserting tubes, opening airways, in what would be a fruitless pursuit of prolonging the inevitable. As she looked at him, she knew everything about him --- knew how hard he had worked to get to where he was today --- after a difficult time in his teens, when he had become involved with illicit drugs. A short stint in rehab, the devastation of not graduating on time with his peers, and the joy when he found work that fulfilled him. He'd been a paramedic for two years, and never lost a patient. His peers said he was just lucky, but she could see beyond that now, to the wonderful skill that would someday take him even further, to becoming a surgeon.
“I'm losing her!” He shouted to the older, more experienced paramedic next to him.
It's too late, Jessie thought, as the woman rushed over bringing a machine with her. They worked together over her body, and Jesse knew everything about her as well.
She knew that the woman, pushing 50, had never found anything or anyone that truly fulfilled her. Priding herself on her good looks, she instead pursued one man after another, breaking up families and leaving ruling in her wake. Jessie grieved for the woman and the pain she could feel, all caused by a terrible unworthiness and self-loathing. A beautiful woman, the female medic had the gift of knowing the time of day without ever needing the assistance of a watch. She prepared wonderful meals without the benefit of the kitchen clock timer, and they were never overcooked or burned. She yearned for the family she could cook meals for, and deliver to soccer practice, always perfectly on time.
“Will she be all right?” The young woman who had run the stop sign, hitting Jessie broad side, asked. She was tearful, shaking, every inch of her untouched and unharmed from the accident, not so much a scratch. Jesse knew that she had been on her way to work, late as usual, and fearing that one more time might mean her job she ignored the stop sign. Disregarded by the paramedics, she was speaking earnestly to the police officer. Jesse knew that the woman was an experienced and frequent liar, and at this moment her head was spinning the story to the best scenario she could conceive. She had built her entire world on lies, and would probably pass in a lie detector test as her true gift was believing every lie that she ever told. That, she would tell you, was the secret. Believe the lie.
Because Jessie thought of him, or perhaps because he was thinking of her, suddenly she was in the same room with her fiancé. He was still waiting for her to return from the short trip she took to the grocery store. He sat in front the television watching the Monday night football game that had gone into overtime. She had gone to the store at his request, knowing he didn’t want to miss any of the game.
She knew then that he would carry the guilt of her death for years, and wished she could take the pain away from him. They had scheduled the wedding for the following June, and would lose their deposit.
Pain gripped her suddenly, pain that defied description. Jessie saw the young medic hovering over her. The future surgeon. She saw him now as a young man who couldn't take no for an answer, an overachiever who actually cared little about others. He just did not like the thought of losing. He was a teacher's pet; the one always knew the answer in class. Someone who could not leave well enough alone.
“Please tell me if she's going to be all right!” The young girl who caused the accident shouted. Her performance was worthy of an Academy award, and for one moment Jessie believed she actually cared. It didn't matter one way or another, the girl would be hearing from Jessie's lawyer. If she thought for one second she could drive like that and get away with it, maybe she'd never met someone like Jessie before.
“She's got a fighting chance.” The home wrecker answered. She pretended she had something to do with bringing Jessie back, even though truthfully it was all due to the efforts of the wiz kid whom she had simply assisted. The home wrecker was not good at much also to applying makeup and dating married men.
Jessie didn't know what was happening anywhere else at the moment she came back, because she was back in the shell that contain her soul and back in the world that consumed her. Back among the living.
Among the Living
The Raiders versus Seahawks game had just gone into overtime the moment Jesse died. She knew this as she knew everything, when her soul lifted into the expanse and all ties were cut to the mortal world. She felt sorry for the young paramedic who so feverishly worked over her, inserting tubes, opening airways, in what would be a fruitless pursuit of prolonging the inevitable. As she looked at him, she knew everything about him --- knew how hard he had worked to get to where he was today --- after a difficult time in his teens, when he had become involved with illicit drugs. A short stint in rehab, the devastation of not graduating on time with his peers, and the joy when he found work that fulfilled him. He'd been a paramedic for two years, and never lost a patient. His peers said he was just lucky, but she could see beyond that now, to the wonderful skill that would someday take him even further, to becoming a surgeon.
“I'm losing her!” He shouted to the older, more experienced paramedic next to him.
It's too late, Jessie thought, as the woman rushed over bringing a machine with her. They worked together over her body, and Jesse knew everything about her as well.
She knew that the woman, pushing 50, had never found anything or anyone that truly fulfilled her. Priding herself on her good looks, she instead pursued one man after another, breaking up families and leaving ruling in her wake. Jessie grieved for the woman and the pain she could feel, all caused by a terrible unworthiness and self-loathing. A beautiful woman, the female medic had the gift of knowing the time of day without ever needing the assistance of a watch. She prepared wonderful meals without the benefit of the kitchen clock timer, and they were never overcooked or burned. She yearned for the family she could cook meals for, and deliver to soccer practice, always perfectly on time.
“Will she be all right?” The young woman who had run the stop sign, hitting Jessie broad side, asked. She was tearful, shaking, every inch of her untouched and unharmed from the accident, not so much a scratch. Jesse knew that she had been on her way to work, late as usual, and fearing that one more time might mean her job she ignored the stop sign. Disregarded by the paramedics, she was speaking earnestly to the police officer. Jesse knew that the woman was an experienced and frequent liar, and at this moment her head was spinning the story to the best scenario she could conceive. She had built her entire world on lies, and would probably pass in a lie detector test as her true gift was believing every lie that she ever told. That, she would tell you, was the secret. Believe the lie.
Because Jessie thought of him, or perhaps because he was thinking of her, suddenly she was in the same room with her fiancé. He was still waiting for her to return from the short trip she took to the grocery store. He sat in front the television watching the Monday night football game that had gone into overtime. She had gone to the store at his request, knowing he didn’t want to miss any of the game.
She knew then that he would carry the guilt of her death for years, and wished she could take the pain away from him. They had scheduled the wedding for the following June, and would lose their deposit.
Pain gripped her suddenly, pain that defied description. Jessie saw the young medic hovering over her. The future surgeon. She saw him now as a young man who couldn't take no for an answer, an overachiever who actually cared little about others. He just did not like the thought of losing. He was a teacher's pet; the one always knew the answer in class. Someone who could not leave well enough alone.
“Please tell me if she's going to be all right!” The young girl who caused the accident shouted. Her performance was worthy of an Academy award, and for one moment Jessie believed she actually cared. It didn't matter one way or another, the girl would be hearing from Jessie's lawyer. If she thought for one second she could drive like that and get away with it, maybe she'd never met someone like Jessie before.
“She's got a fighting chance.” The home wrecker answered. She pretended she had something to do with bringing Jessie back, even though truthfully it was all due to the efforts of the wiz kid whom she had simply assisted. The home wrecker was not good at much also to applying makeup and dating married men.
Jessie didn't know what was happening anywhere else at the moment she came back, because she was back in the shell that contain her soul and back in the world that consumed her. Back among the living.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Beautiful Mess
It seems that some people are given much more trouble and struggle, while others seem to skate by unscathed. The world is such a difficult place; it’s hard to believe, though, that one person could be hit with so much at one time. If you’re looking for fairness, don’t ask Life.
The question comes to mind: isn’t life just a series of small triumphs? Most of us are used to examining an entire life, like that of someone hugely successful in both their private and professional life, and the huge obstacles/challenges they somehow overcame. These are the people that we celebrate, emulate, give awards to, write books and make movies about – the “beautiful people”. Not always physically beautiful, but certainly larger than life.
These are the people we reward. Most often, they are goal-oriented people, who are good at motivating others. They want you to circle your wagon around them and desire to be just like them. They want you to buy their book and find out “how they did it” so you can do it, too. And when you still can’t figure out how to be just like them, they’ll want you to buy the sequel to their book and try again.
But most people live ordinary lives. We have some triumphs, more than likely outweighed by our failures, however small. We’ve had our moments in the sun, mostly when we were young. We’ve had little triumphs a long the way – if we’re lucky, we’ve loved deeply, married well and given birth to healthy babies.
Which brings me to another thing. Once you have children, they tend to be viewed as an extension of your own accomplishments. I do not believe it should be so, but unfortunately it is. If you have trouble with your children you’ve done something wrong, apparently. If your children are wonderful, you’ve done something right. Of course, we’ve been a huge influence on our children. But unless we’ve home schooled them and lived on a farm in the middle of nowhere with no other human contact, we haven’t been the only one. Is it fair to judge a life by someone else’s choices?
Yes, life is messy. We pick ourselves up and we go on. We work, we play, we laugh and we make love. We go on vacation, and we come back to a pile of bills to pay; we look for work and we don’t find it. We rail against the elected officials, but when election time comes around we are too busy to vote. We make decisions and live to regret them. We ask for second chances, and sometimes we get them.
You have to admit, though, it’s a beautiful mess.
Copyright M. Buscher 2009
The question comes to mind: isn’t life just a series of small triumphs? Most of us are used to examining an entire life, like that of someone hugely successful in both their private and professional life, and the huge obstacles/challenges they somehow overcame. These are the people that we celebrate, emulate, give awards to, write books and make movies about – the “beautiful people”. Not always physically beautiful, but certainly larger than life.
These are the people we reward. Most often, they are goal-oriented people, who are good at motivating others. They want you to circle your wagon around them and desire to be just like them. They want you to buy their book and find out “how they did it” so you can do it, too. And when you still can’t figure out how to be just like them, they’ll want you to buy the sequel to their book and try again.
But most people live ordinary lives. We have some triumphs, more than likely outweighed by our failures, however small. We’ve had our moments in the sun, mostly when we were young. We’ve had little triumphs a long the way – if we’re lucky, we’ve loved deeply, married well and given birth to healthy babies.
Which brings me to another thing. Once you have children, they tend to be viewed as an extension of your own accomplishments. I do not believe it should be so, but unfortunately it is. If you have trouble with your children you’ve done something wrong, apparently. If your children are wonderful, you’ve done something right. Of course, we’ve been a huge influence on our children. But unless we’ve home schooled them and lived on a farm in the middle of nowhere with no other human contact, we haven’t been the only one. Is it fair to judge a life by someone else’s choices?
Yes, life is messy. We pick ourselves up and we go on. We work, we play, we laugh and we make love. We go on vacation, and we come back to a pile of bills to pay; we look for work and we don’t find it. We rail against the elected officials, but when election time comes around we are too busy to vote. We make decisions and live to regret them. We ask for second chances, and sometimes we get them.
You have to admit, though, it’s a beautiful mess.
Copyright M. Buscher 2009
Sunday, November 7, 2010
2010 Gotcha Inspirational romance entry
Here is my Gotcha Inspirational Romance category entry. I realize this is not everyone's cup of tea. It may seem trite, but realize that this publisher (Steeple Hills) targets a specific audience and is very particular about what they will accept.
Chapter One
Detective Jack Butler crossed off the date on his desk calendar. Thirty days down, and only thirty more to go. The Dilbert cartoon showcased on the month of September seemed to mock him. He had endured thirty days of ostricization from the Durango Township Police Department, and was halfway through. The department needed him; he knew that. In a township like theirs, there were only a few seasoned detectives on the force. He had to get back to the streets and back to his partner. Sitting behind a desk was sheer torture.
It was his immediate superior, Captain Dave Calhoun, who had decided Jack needed the punitive vacation from the force. As his penance he’d stuck him with the Juvenile Court Department. All because Jack had uncharacteristically lost his cool when responding to yet another domestic violence call at the home of Lee Whitman. It was common knowledge that the man terrorized his wife and four children. Yet no matter how many times they responded to calls, his terrorized wife refused to press charges.
On that balmy August night neighbors had called, some with complaints and others with sincere concern. Lee was on one of his tirades again, and out of control. Jack and his partner Ted Riley had responded. Jack considered it to be his great fortune that he was the one closest to Lee when in his drunken stupor he raised his fist towards his three year old and very nearly connected. Jack was on top of him in minutes, and before he knew what was happening he had his arm across Lee’s neck, squeezing the oxygen out of him. He could still Lee’s face, fear splayed across it as for the first time he’d been forced to fight off someone his own size. It took Ted to finally pry him off the man.
The next thing Jack knew he was hearing words like anger management and hot head. This time they were in reference to him, and not their latest perp. Captain Calhoun called him in to his office immediately after the incident. Jack still remembered the conversation as though it had just happened. He had expected a suspension or worse. He’d expected to hear a few choice words from his Captain about his complete loss of self-control. The last thing he’d expected, though, was a Bible verse.
Of course, he’d heard rumors that Calhoun was a religious man. Jack thought it was wise to keep that sort of thing to oneself, but Calhoun was never one for following the rank and file. For that, Jack deeply respected the man and had as long as he’d known him.
“A fool gives full vent to his spirit, but a wise man quietly holds it back. Proverbs 29:11. Have you ever heard that before, Jack?” Calhoun had asked, as he closed the dog-eared book.
“No I can’t say that I have, but I’m no altar boy either.”
“You can say that again. Listen, this tough guy façade is only going to get you so far. I understand your frustration, but you need to let the system work.”
Oh, that was a rich one. Let the system work. He’d tried that over the last ten years. So far he couldn’t see that the system was doing much but serving as a revolving door.
“And in the meantime what are we supposed to do? Should I have let him punch his three year old right in front of us?” Jack asked.
“I’m not saying that, but maybe there was something you could have done between that and nearly strangling the man.”
Jack had closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, Captain, you’re right. It won’t happen again.”
“No, it won’t.”
It was then that Calhoun had explained to Jack what his punishment would be. Sixty days working with juveniles at the detention facility. He’d serve as a liaison between the department working with caseworkers, parents and an overburdened system. Calhoun had not said much about the assignment, other than it would give him a chance to see things from another side. Calhoun probably thought this would be some type of valuable life lesson for him, and that he’d get the reward of seeing his efforts make a difference.
Thirty days were now behind him, and he still felt useless. He’d counseled with frustrated parents, and commiserated with caseworkers, but the reality was that most of the kids were just spoiled and entitled. In a township like Durango there were no real gangs, just “wanna be” gangsters. If Jack had to put money on it, he’d bet these kids just wanted some attention from their parents. Most of them were expert button pushers, and he ought to know. In his day he pushed buttons with the best of them. Still, as much as he tried to hint at the situation the parents were oblivious. That is, when they managed to show up at all. Many of them sent their lawyer and their checkbook. From the parade of misfits he’d witnessed so far, he wasn’t sure whom he should put the blame with, parent or child.
This morning he was scheduled to meet with a thirteen-year-old girl who had been caught shoplifting at the local Western Tobacco specialty shop. She’d stolen, of all things, a rare Cuban cigar. Considering that selling Cuban cigars was still illegal, he thought that the prosecutor could surely get the owner to drop the charges entirely. Either that or the owner would have to admit that he was selling knock-offs, and that would be bad for business. This one was a no-brainer. He was already bored and the day had just begun.
Chapter Two
The last time Maggie Bradshaw felt this frightened she had just learned the devastating news of her husband Matt’s fatal car crash. It was difficult to believe a year had passed since she and Lexi had lost him, yet she still clearly recalled the cold stab of fear that had coursed through her body. She felt it now, as she and Lexi waited at the Juvenile Detention Center of the Durango Township. Lexi sat next to her, stone faced. Maggie had received the phone call at work and had rushed over in a panic. Lexi, arrested for shoplifting.
Lexi had become progressively more rebellious over the past year, and Maggie was at the end of her patience. They should be able to get through this, but for the first time in many years Maggie was starting to lose hope. Her prayers weren’t working anymore, and she couldn’t find any peace about the situation. Lexi was crying out for help, she knew that, but still she had no idea how to help her.
Bring up a child up in the way of the Lord, and when they are grown they will not depart from it. That was Proverbs, Maggie recalled, though she could no longer remember the passage. It was supposed to be that way, it was one of His promises, but so far it wasn’t working out with Lexi. She and Matt had certainly given her a solid foundation. They’d brought up their only child attending church regularly, Sunday school and a Godly home.
Now she saw her Lexi pulling away from those church kids, as she now called them, like she knew that she didn’t belong. It was a constant struggle every Sunday to get her out the door and to church on time.
And now this. Stealing, violating one of God’s commandments when she knew better. Maggie shuddered as she realized that she was losing control of her precious daughter. The little girl that used to follow her around like a shadow would barely let her touch her anymore.
“Detective Butler is ready to meet with you.” The clerk behind the desk announced.
The two of them were escorted to a back room. The tall detective rose as they walked inside his office, Lexi following reluctantly behind Maggie.
The room had spare and sterile furnishings, and Maggie immediately felt uncomfortable. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say, or how on earth she was supposed to defend her daughter.
The officer held out his hand in greeting. “Nice to meet you Mrs. Bradshaw, Lexi. I’m Detective Jack Butler.”
His gray eyes were kind, Maggie noticed right away, and it gave her hope. His voice was deep and authoritative, but somehow gentle. They took their seats in front of the officer’s cluttered desk.
“I’m - I’m so sorry about this. My daughter deeply regrets her actions. I can assure you, it won’t happen again. Ever.” Maggie said. With that, she looked directly at her daughter, willing her to say something.
Lexi bit her lip and stared at the ceiling.
Detective Butler looked at Maggie sympathetically, as he wrote some notes on a yellow legal pad. He handed her a single sheet of paper. “As you can see, the owner did agree to file a police report.”
Maggie’s heart dropped as she tried to read the report, but the words Arrest Warrant seemed to jiggle out of focus. Her daughter was a felon. How had this happened?
“I don’t think you need to worry. We can get the prosecutor to drop the charges.” The detective said. He made his best effort at a smile, but he was obviously a serious man who didn’t have much practice at it.
Maggie allowed herself to feel a pinch of hope. “Really? That would be wonderful. Wouldn’t that be wonderful, Lexi?”
At this Lexi actually spoke. “Yeah,” she said. “Wonderful.”
The detective spoke to Lexi for the first time. “I just have to ask. A Cuban cigar? Why?”
Until that moment, Maggie had not known what her daughter had shoplifted, or why. Now she realized all too well why she’d stolen the cigar, but it was too painful to talk about. It wouldn’t make sense to anyone else anyway. It hardly made any sense to her.
For the first time, Lexi looked somewhat alarmed. “What difference does it make?”
“No difference at all. Just curious. I have to say, this one is a first. Usually kids steal things like booze, cigarettes. Not too many of them are into smoking Cuban cigars.”
Lexi rolled her eyes, and apparently that was enough to tell the detective the entire story.
“I see.” He said. “So it wasn’t for you.”
The man was some kind of a mind reader, Maggie thought. Although he was on the right track, it wasn’t for anyone else. Not anyone that existed on earth anymore. For the past few months, Lexi seemed obsessed with collecting items that had once been special to her father.
When they’d moved from across the country from Boston back to Durango to be near Maggie’s parents, she’d had to give away some of Matt’s things.
Lexi had not taken it well. It seemed now that one by one she was replacing some of the items that Matt had owned and loved. Including his prized box of Cuban cigars.
“Lexi, this man is trying to help you. I think a little respect is due here.” Maggie implored.
Lexi only sighed and looked at the ceiling again.
The detective was now ignoring Lexi as well, his head bent down as he wrote on another piece of paper. He reached over and handed it to Maggie.
“Arraignment date and time, just in case we don’t get the charges dropped. Procedural, don’t worry.”
Again he graced her with his immensely kind eyes, and this time a warm smile that lit up his handsome face, creating tiny crinkles on the sides of his eyes. Maggie couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t have a ring on his finger, not that she had any business getting involved with a man right now. Her daughter was her only priority, although someone as kind as Detective Butler might make it hard for her to remember that.
Chapter Three
Minutes after Maggie and Lexi had left his office, Jack wanted to check the mirror and see if he had on his trademark goofy smile in the presence of a beautiful woman. Maggie was that rare woman he had heard about often but never met in real life, a woman who was breathtakingly beautiful but unaware of her beauty. Legend had it that there were women like that in the world, but until now he had not believed it to be true.
Her daughter Lexi was another story. How she had the patience to deal with her must surely quality Maggie as a saint. The teenager was rude and uncooperative. With her attitude, he’d half a mind to mess with her. He’d briefly toyed with the idea of telling her that the possession of a Cuban cigar would quality as a felony due to the embargo, and possibly serious hard time in a Federal prison. The kid wouldn’t have known any better, and he might have made her sweat hard for a few minutes.
Even after only knowing her for a few minutes, he knew he couldn’t do that to Maggie. She looked so vulnerable and helpless, a young mother. He would guess she’d had Lexi at a very young age because she didn’t look over thirty. Her hand had been so soft and gentle, and she’d looked incredibly vulnerable. The kid may not have deserved it, but he’d known in an instant that she was fiercely devoted to her daughter.
He noticed the paper work had no reference to Lexi’s father, and Maggie did not wear a wedding ring. He wondered what that story was all about. Certainly, there were enough divorced young mothers in Durango. In fact, it seemed he was fixed up every other month with one of them through his well-meaning friends. Maggie was different, though, he could see that right away.
He was still thinking about Maggie’s long auburn hair when the phone interrupted his thoughts.
“Butler.” He announced, picking up the receiver.
“Butler, I’ve got good news.” It was Captain Calhoun on the other end of the phone.
“I’m listening.” He tapped his pencil on the desk as he waited to hear the news.
“I’m going to end your little vacation from the department early. We need you here.”
“What’s going on?” As much as he wanted to go back to the department, he thought of Maggie. She needed him to see Lexi’s case through. He wasn’t sure he could trust anyone else in the department to handle it, nor did he want to.
“We’ve got an informant, and we’re ready to set up a stake out on the Sepulveda matter.”
Jack winced inside. He’d been itching to work on the Sepulveda matter, a major drug runner they’d been trying to pin down for years. Sepulveda was well protected within the circles of what most suspected was a powerful drug cartel. Right in the little town of Durango, which had turned out to be a great place for him to hide in plain sight.
“Captain, can you do without me for at least a couple of more weeks? There’s something I need to see through over here.” Even as he said the words, he couldn’t believe they had come out of his mouth.
There was silence on the other end of the line. “What? Did I hear you right? Jack, I need you. You’re one of the most experienced men on the force.”
“I know, but you were the one who sent me here, and now I’ve got a case I want to see through. I don’t think it should take me longer than a couple of weeks at the most.”
“Alright. I have to say, I’m impressed. I thought you’d jump at the chance. Sure, you go ahead and wrap up things there first. When you’re ready to come back, just let me know.”
As Jack hung up the phone, he checked his calendar again for the date of Lexi’s arraignment. Two weeks to the day. He just had to hang on long enough to work things out with the prosecutor, and see Maggie again at the arraignment. If he didn’t know any better he might think Maggie Bradshaw had cast some kind of spell on him.
*****
Captain Calhoun leaned back in his chair and breathed a happy sigh of relief. So far it looked like Jack Butler did not suspect a thing. Sure, it had taken some effort on his part to switch Lexi Bradshaw’s case over to Butler’s at the last minute, but it looked like it had been well worth it. If he dangled a carrot like the one he just had in front of Butler and he still didn’t bite, there had to be something serious at work.
Thank God for praying women like Irene from the Juvenile Detention Center. She’d seen Lexi’s name come across the docket, and immediately sent out a prayer chain request. Maggie and her daughter Lexi were regular attendees at the Shadow Mountain Church where he served as a Police Chaplain. He also happened to be on the prayer chain, and got the call from Irene. A few more prayers and rapid-fire phone calls later, and he’d reassigned Lexi’s case to Butler.
Little had he known when he assigned Butler to the Juvenile department that his match making skills would come into play. Yes, the Lord worked in mysterious ways as his late wife June had liked to remind him. Although she’d been the true matchmaker in the family, he liked to think he had learned a thing or two from observing her throughout their thirty years of marriage.
All he had intended to do was teach Butler a lesson in patience, but now he had a chance to make two people happy. Heck, maybe even three people. His heart went out to Lexi Bradshaw, a troubled girl if he’d ever seen one. She and her mother Maggie had been attending his church since they’d moved back into town a year ago. Maggie was a beautiful young widow, with a trusting attitude and mature faith. He had no doubt she’d get through this difficult time in her life after the death of her husband. But Lexi worried him, and he prayed about her often. He’d seen her sitting with the other youth at Sunday school, alone and uninterested in participating.
And now, her arrest for shoplifting. He could imagine how mortified Maggie must be. As far as he knew, she’d been quiet about Lexi’s troubles, and had not sought anyone’s counsel at church. She was probably too embarrassed to come forward and admit she needed help with her daughter. He’d have to do something about that too.
Chapter One
Detective Jack Butler crossed off the date on his desk calendar. Thirty days down, and only thirty more to go. The Dilbert cartoon showcased on the month of September seemed to mock him. He had endured thirty days of ostricization from the Durango Township Police Department, and was halfway through. The department needed him; he knew that. In a township like theirs, there were only a few seasoned detectives on the force. He had to get back to the streets and back to his partner. Sitting behind a desk was sheer torture.
It was his immediate superior, Captain Dave Calhoun, who had decided Jack needed the punitive vacation from the force. As his penance he’d stuck him with the Juvenile Court Department. All because Jack had uncharacteristically lost his cool when responding to yet another domestic violence call at the home of Lee Whitman. It was common knowledge that the man terrorized his wife and four children. Yet no matter how many times they responded to calls, his terrorized wife refused to press charges.
On that balmy August night neighbors had called, some with complaints and others with sincere concern. Lee was on one of his tirades again, and out of control. Jack and his partner Ted Riley had responded. Jack considered it to be his great fortune that he was the one closest to Lee when in his drunken stupor he raised his fist towards his three year old and very nearly connected. Jack was on top of him in minutes, and before he knew what was happening he had his arm across Lee’s neck, squeezing the oxygen out of him. He could still Lee’s face, fear splayed across it as for the first time he’d been forced to fight off someone his own size. It took Ted to finally pry him off the man.
The next thing Jack knew he was hearing words like anger management and hot head. This time they were in reference to him, and not their latest perp. Captain Calhoun called him in to his office immediately after the incident. Jack still remembered the conversation as though it had just happened. He had expected a suspension or worse. He’d expected to hear a few choice words from his Captain about his complete loss of self-control. The last thing he’d expected, though, was a Bible verse.
Of course, he’d heard rumors that Calhoun was a religious man. Jack thought it was wise to keep that sort of thing to oneself, but Calhoun was never one for following the rank and file. For that, Jack deeply respected the man and had as long as he’d known him.
“A fool gives full vent to his spirit, but a wise man quietly holds it back. Proverbs 29:11. Have you ever heard that before, Jack?” Calhoun had asked, as he closed the dog-eared book.
“No I can’t say that I have, but I’m no altar boy either.”
“You can say that again. Listen, this tough guy façade is only going to get you so far. I understand your frustration, but you need to let the system work.”
Oh, that was a rich one. Let the system work. He’d tried that over the last ten years. So far he couldn’t see that the system was doing much but serving as a revolving door.
“And in the meantime what are we supposed to do? Should I have let him punch his three year old right in front of us?” Jack asked.
“I’m not saying that, but maybe there was something you could have done between that and nearly strangling the man.”
Jack had closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, Captain, you’re right. It won’t happen again.”
“No, it won’t.”
It was then that Calhoun had explained to Jack what his punishment would be. Sixty days working with juveniles at the detention facility. He’d serve as a liaison between the department working with caseworkers, parents and an overburdened system. Calhoun had not said much about the assignment, other than it would give him a chance to see things from another side. Calhoun probably thought this would be some type of valuable life lesson for him, and that he’d get the reward of seeing his efforts make a difference.
Thirty days were now behind him, and he still felt useless. He’d counseled with frustrated parents, and commiserated with caseworkers, but the reality was that most of the kids were just spoiled and entitled. In a township like Durango there were no real gangs, just “wanna be” gangsters. If Jack had to put money on it, he’d bet these kids just wanted some attention from their parents. Most of them were expert button pushers, and he ought to know. In his day he pushed buttons with the best of them. Still, as much as he tried to hint at the situation the parents were oblivious. That is, when they managed to show up at all. Many of them sent their lawyer and their checkbook. From the parade of misfits he’d witnessed so far, he wasn’t sure whom he should put the blame with, parent or child.
This morning he was scheduled to meet with a thirteen-year-old girl who had been caught shoplifting at the local Western Tobacco specialty shop. She’d stolen, of all things, a rare Cuban cigar. Considering that selling Cuban cigars was still illegal, he thought that the prosecutor could surely get the owner to drop the charges entirely. Either that or the owner would have to admit that he was selling knock-offs, and that would be bad for business. This one was a no-brainer. He was already bored and the day had just begun.
Chapter Two
The last time Maggie Bradshaw felt this frightened she had just learned the devastating news of her husband Matt’s fatal car crash. It was difficult to believe a year had passed since she and Lexi had lost him, yet she still clearly recalled the cold stab of fear that had coursed through her body. She felt it now, as she and Lexi waited at the Juvenile Detention Center of the Durango Township. Lexi sat next to her, stone faced. Maggie had received the phone call at work and had rushed over in a panic. Lexi, arrested for shoplifting.
Lexi had become progressively more rebellious over the past year, and Maggie was at the end of her patience. They should be able to get through this, but for the first time in many years Maggie was starting to lose hope. Her prayers weren’t working anymore, and she couldn’t find any peace about the situation. Lexi was crying out for help, she knew that, but still she had no idea how to help her.
Bring up a child up in the way of the Lord, and when they are grown they will not depart from it. That was Proverbs, Maggie recalled, though she could no longer remember the passage. It was supposed to be that way, it was one of His promises, but so far it wasn’t working out with Lexi. She and Matt had certainly given her a solid foundation. They’d brought up their only child attending church regularly, Sunday school and a Godly home.
Now she saw her Lexi pulling away from those church kids, as she now called them, like she knew that she didn’t belong. It was a constant struggle every Sunday to get her out the door and to church on time.
And now this. Stealing, violating one of God’s commandments when she knew better. Maggie shuddered as she realized that she was losing control of her precious daughter. The little girl that used to follow her around like a shadow would barely let her touch her anymore.
“Detective Butler is ready to meet with you.” The clerk behind the desk announced.
The two of them were escorted to a back room. The tall detective rose as they walked inside his office, Lexi following reluctantly behind Maggie.
The room had spare and sterile furnishings, and Maggie immediately felt uncomfortable. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say, or how on earth she was supposed to defend her daughter.
The officer held out his hand in greeting. “Nice to meet you Mrs. Bradshaw, Lexi. I’m Detective Jack Butler.”
His gray eyes were kind, Maggie noticed right away, and it gave her hope. His voice was deep and authoritative, but somehow gentle. They took their seats in front of the officer’s cluttered desk.
“I’m - I’m so sorry about this. My daughter deeply regrets her actions. I can assure you, it won’t happen again. Ever.” Maggie said. With that, she looked directly at her daughter, willing her to say something.
Lexi bit her lip and stared at the ceiling.
Detective Butler looked at Maggie sympathetically, as he wrote some notes on a yellow legal pad. He handed her a single sheet of paper. “As you can see, the owner did agree to file a police report.”
Maggie’s heart dropped as she tried to read the report, but the words Arrest Warrant seemed to jiggle out of focus. Her daughter was a felon. How had this happened?
“I don’t think you need to worry. We can get the prosecutor to drop the charges.” The detective said. He made his best effort at a smile, but he was obviously a serious man who didn’t have much practice at it.
Maggie allowed herself to feel a pinch of hope. “Really? That would be wonderful. Wouldn’t that be wonderful, Lexi?”
At this Lexi actually spoke. “Yeah,” she said. “Wonderful.”
The detective spoke to Lexi for the first time. “I just have to ask. A Cuban cigar? Why?”
Until that moment, Maggie had not known what her daughter had shoplifted, or why. Now she realized all too well why she’d stolen the cigar, but it was too painful to talk about. It wouldn’t make sense to anyone else anyway. It hardly made any sense to her.
For the first time, Lexi looked somewhat alarmed. “What difference does it make?”
“No difference at all. Just curious. I have to say, this one is a first. Usually kids steal things like booze, cigarettes. Not too many of them are into smoking Cuban cigars.”
Lexi rolled her eyes, and apparently that was enough to tell the detective the entire story.
“I see.” He said. “So it wasn’t for you.”
The man was some kind of a mind reader, Maggie thought. Although he was on the right track, it wasn’t for anyone else. Not anyone that existed on earth anymore. For the past few months, Lexi seemed obsessed with collecting items that had once been special to her father.
When they’d moved from across the country from Boston back to Durango to be near Maggie’s parents, she’d had to give away some of Matt’s things.
Lexi had not taken it well. It seemed now that one by one she was replacing some of the items that Matt had owned and loved. Including his prized box of Cuban cigars.
“Lexi, this man is trying to help you. I think a little respect is due here.” Maggie implored.
Lexi only sighed and looked at the ceiling again.
The detective was now ignoring Lexi as well, his head bent down as he wrote on another piece of paper. He reached over and handed it to Maggie.
“Arraignment date and time, just in case we don’t get the charges dropped. Procedural, don’t worry.”
Again he graced her with his immensely kind eyes, and this time a warm smile that lit up his handsome face, creating tiny crinkles on the sides of his eyes. Maggie couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t have a ring on his finger, not that she had any business getting involved with a man right now. Her daughter was her only priority, although someone as kind as Detective Butler might make it hard for her to remember that.
Chapter Three
Minutes after Maggie and Lexi had left his office, Jack wanted to check the mirror and see if he had on his trademark goofy smile in the presence of a beautiful woman. Maggie was that rare woman he had heard about often but never met in real life, a woman who was breathtakingly beautiful but unaware of her beauty. Legend had it that there were women like that in the world, but until now he had not believed it to be true.
Her daughter Lexi was another story. How she had the patience to deal with her must surely quality Maggie as a saint. The teenager was rude and uncooperative. With her attitude, he’d half a mind to mess with her. He’d briefly toyed with the idea of telling her that the possession of a Cuban cigar would quality as a felony due to the embargo, and possibly serious hard time in a Federal prison. The kid wouldn’t have known any better, and he might have made her sweat hard for a few minutes.
Even after only knowing her for a few minutes, he knew he couldn’t do that to Maggie. She looked so vulnerable and helpless, a young mother. He would guess she’d had Lexi at a very young age because she didn’t look over thirty. Her hand had been so soft and gentle, and she’d looked incredibly vulnerable. The kid may not have deserved it, but he’d known in an instant that she was fiercely devoted to her daughter.
He noticed the paper work had no reference to Lexi’s father, and Maggie did not wear a wedding ring. He wondered what that story was all about. Certainly, there were enough divorced young mothers in Durango. In fact, it seemed he was fixed up every other month with one of them through his well-meaning friends. Maggie was different, though, he could see that right away.
He was still thinking about Maggie’s long auburn hair when the phone interrupted his thoughts.
“Butler.” He announced, picking up the receiver.
“Butler, I’ve got good news.” It was Captain Calhoun on the other end of the phone.
“I’m listening.” He tapped his pencil on the desk as he waited to hear the news.
“I’m going to end your little vacation from the department early. We need you here.”
“What’s going on?” As much as he wanted to go back to the department, he thought of Maggie. She needed him to see Lexi’s case through. He wasn’t sure he could trust anyone else in the department to handle it, nor did he want to.
“We’ve got an informant, and we’re ready to set up a stake out on the Sepulveda matter.”
Jack winced inside. He’d been itching to work on the Sepulveda matter, a major drug runner they’d been trying to pin down for years. Sepulveda was well protected within the circles of what most suspected was a powerful drug cartel. Right in the little town of Durango, which had turned out to be a great place for him to hide in plain sight.
“Captain, can you do without me for at least a couple of more weeks? There’s something I need to see through over here.” Even as he said the words, he couldn’t believe they had come out of his mouth.
There was silence on the other end of the line. “What? Did I hear you right? Jack, I need you. You’re one of the most experienced men on the force.”
“I know, but you were the one who sent me here, and now I’ve got a case I want to see through. I don’t think it should take me longer than a couple of weeks at the most.”
“Alright. I have to say, I’m impressed. I thought you’d jump at the chance. Sure, you go ahead and wrap up things there first. When you’re ready to come back, just let me know.”
As Jack hung up the phone, he checked his calendar again for the date of Lexi’s arraignment. Two weeks to the day. He just had to hang on long enough to work things out with the prosecutor, and see Maggie again at the arraignment. If he didn’t know any better he might think Maggie Bradshaw had cast some kind of spell on him.
*****
Captain Calhoun leaned back in his chair and breathed a happy sigh of relief. So far it looked like Jack Butler did not suspect a thing. Sure, it had taken some effort on his part to switch Lexi Bradshaw’s case over to Butler’s at the last minute, but it looked like it had been well worth it. If he dangled a carrot like the one he just had in front of Butler and he still didn’t bite, there had to be something serious at work.
Thank God for praying women like Irene from the Juvenile Detention Center. She’d seen Lexi’s name come across the docket, and immediately sent out a prayer chain request. Maggie and her daughter Lexi were regular attendees at the Shadow Mountain Church where he served as a Police Chaplain. He also happened to be on the prayer chain, and got the call from Irene. A few more prayers and rapid-fire phone calls later, and he’d reassigned Lexi’s case to Butler.
Little had he known when he assigned Butler to the Juvenile department that his match making skills would come into play. Yes, the Lord worked in mysterious ways as his late wife June had liked to remind him. Although she’d been the true matchmaker in the family, he liked to think he had learned a thing or two from observing her throughout their thirty years of marriage.
All he had intended to do was teach Butler a lesson in patience, but now he had a chance to make two people happy. Heck, maybe even three people. His heart went out to Lexi Bradshaw, a troubled girl if he’d ever seen one. She and her mother Maggie had been attending his church since they’d moved back into town a year ago. Maggie was a beautiful young widow, with a trusting attitude and mature faith. He had no doubt she’d get through this difficult time in her life after the death of her husband. But Lexi worried him, and he prayed about her often. He’d seen her sitting with the other youth at Sunday school, alone and uninterested in participating.
And now, her arrest for shoplifting. He could imagine how mortified Maggie must be. As far as he knew, she’d been quiet about Lexi’s troubles, and had not sought anyone’s counsel at church. She was probably too embarrassed to come forward and admit she needed help with her daughter. He’d have to do something about that too.
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