The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.
The Boaz Secrets, written in 2018, is my third novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.
Book Blurb
Fifteen year-old Matt Benson moves with Robert, his widowed father, to Boaz, Alabama for one year as Robert conducts research on Southern Baptist Fundamentalism. Robert, a professor of Bible History and new Testament Theology at the University of Chicago’s Divinity School enlists Matt to assist him as an undercover agent at First Baptist Church of Christ. Matt’s job is to befriend the most active young person in the Church’s youth group and learn the heart and mind of teenagers growing up as fundamentalist Southern Baptists.
Olivia Tillman is the fourteen year old daughter of Betty and Walter Tillman. He is the pastor of First Baptist Church of Christ. Robert and Matt move to Boaz in June 1970, and before high school begins in mid-August, Matt and Olivia become fast friends. Olivia’s life is centered around her faith, her family, and her friends. She is struck with Matt and his doubts and vows to win him to Christ. Over the next year, Matt and Olivia’s relationship blossoms into more than a teenage romance, despite their different religious beliefs.
June 1971 and Matt’s return to Chicago comes too quickly, but the two teenagers vow to never lose what they have, even promising to reunite at college in three years after Olivia graduates from Boaz High School.
The Boaz Secrets is told from the perspective of past and present. The story alternates between 1970-1971, and 2017-2018. After Matt left Boaz in June 1971, life happened and Olivia and Matt’s plans fell apart. However, in December 2017, their lives crossed again, almost miraculously, and they have a month in Boaz to catch up on forty-six years of being apart. They attempt to discover whether their teenage love can be rekindled and transformed into an adult romance even though Matt is 63 and Olivia is 61.
In 2017, Olivia and Matt are quick to learn they are vastly different people than they were as fifteen and sixteen year old teenagers– especially, when it comes to religion and faith. Will these religious differences unite them? The real issue is the secret Olivia has kept. Will Matt’s discovery destroy any chance he and Olivia have of rekindling their teenage relationship?
Chapter 13
August 1970
Tuesday and Wednesday were pretty much a repeat of Monday. Other than Mr. Jackson in Vo-Ag, who got right his syllabus with both a lecture and a shop demonstration on two-cycle engines. All the other teachers were still stuck in class preliminaries. On Tuesday, I realized Olivia was in my Poetry class. On Monday, with the permission of Principal Hayes, she had missed the first class since Mr. Johnson was absent and we had a substitute. Olivia and seven other students, two from each grade, had been selected to serve on a new committee. It was called ‘RESPEC.’ It was an acronym: ‘Respect Everyone’s Space Producing Excellent Choices,’ or something like that. Olivia had said that the purpose was to counter prior years complaints that upper grades tended to bully and manipulate Freshmen students. Last year the complaints included sexual harassment of the younger and prettier girls by several football and basketball players.
Mr. Johnson was also absent on Tuesday but on Wednesday had encouraged us to read some poetry every day and to write something, even if only one sentence in our required writing journals. Olivia and I sat towards the back of the classroom and across from each other. She was the perfect student, listening carefully as Mr. Johnson gave his introductory lecture. She didn’t look over my way until he had given us an assignment to write a few verses for a poem he titled, ‘Who Made God?’ Mr. Johnson, during his lecture, had told us that it was never his intention to disrespect anyone, but that it was imperative, assuming we all wanted to absorb the true meaning and power of poetry, to open our minds and play with words and ideas. He said that unless we became curious and allowed our imagination to connect, or attempt to connect, very dissimilar things, our poetry would remain stale and boring. He had given us the example of ‘Ted Talks with a Ton of Trees.’ It was a delightful poem he had written. He emphasized before reading it to the class that we don’t normally think as humans, that we would talk with a group of trees. I particularly liked how Mr. Johnson had personified several of the trees. One tree, named Oak, had human legs and walked around following Ted, but had ‘hair’ made of limbs and leaves. Each of Mr. Johnson’s trees had a lesson for Ted, who was poor, suffered from low self-esteem, and hated school. After he gave us our ‘Who Made God?’ assignment, I realized how creative he was in warding off any possible complaint from Olivia or any other zealous Christian who might think God was off limits for any such poetry consideration.
After class, I walked Olivia back to her locker. I assumed this was permissible because I was headed to my last period class, Vo-Ag, and thereby had to traverse the entire first floor, from one end of the hall all the way to the opposite side of the school. She said she wanted to read my ‘Who Made God?’ poem sometime. I didn’t respond but just kept walking. The hallway was crowded, and at one point she leaned her right shoulder into mine to direct me around several students who were blocking the path. It was the first time we had touched. Not surprising. It was like I felt the full weight of her body. I know I was only imagining but her shoulder triggered an electrical response that ran throughout my body. It simply confirmed what I had recognized the first time our eyes had connected. She was unlike any girl I had ever met, and we were destined to become friends. I hoped it would be more than friends. I wanted to someday marry this girl. Man, was I becoming delusional? Just as we reached Olivia’s locker, Mr. Hayes walked by and stared at us. I could sense he was about to say something like, “Benson, have you read the Pirate Practice?” I quickly interjected, “I’m headed to Vocational Agriculture.” It was a miracle. He kept walking and didn’t say a word. As I walked away from Olivia, I could barely hear her whisper, “You are too quick on your feet Matt Benson.” And then, she raised her voice and asked, “Are you coming to cheerleader try-outs?” I didn’t turn around, just kept walking away, but I did hold up my right hand and gave her the thumbs up sign.
Yesterday, during lunch, again sharing a table with the Flaming Five, I had heard Wade Tillman say something like, “Let me warn you heathens, Olivia is trying out for B Team Cheerleader tomorrow. If I hear one lustful word from any of you I will beat the holy hell out of your mushy brains. Do you understand?” That’s when Randall said, “I’m holy scared. Preacher man, will it violate your rules if I undress the sexy Olivia just in my mind?” I thought Wade was going to come unglued, but Mr. Hayes and Mr. Jackson walked by with their food trays just at that moment. Fred Billingsley quickly changed the subject to tonight’s Calculus assignment.
Once again, I regretted sitting at this table. On Monday I had sworn I would sit somewhere less violent to my digestive and nervous systems. Tomorrow, for sure, I would not be caught dead eating with these hypocrites. I shouldn’t have been surprised. In church, especially in Sunday School class and during Youth Group on Wednesday and Sunday nights, these five superstars were polite, respectful, and always eager to uphold and communicate the Christian message. In their own element, wearing their true colors, they were simply normal teenage boys. Maybe they had an extra dose of testosterone, but just like most every other young male, it was natural to have an infectious interest in the female anatomy. What I couldn’t stand was how openly vulgar Randall and John Ericson were about what exactly they would like to do with every pretty girl in high school. The other three were not nearly as vulgar, even though they too made no bones about their interest in members of the opposite sex.
B Team cheerleader try-outs were in the gymnasium. There were at least twenty ninth grade girls who had signed up, all believing that the only way to ever become an A Team cheerleader was to serve two years on the younger squad. All the girls except three did a respectable job of jumping, side-stepping, dancing, and ending their routine by doing the splits. The best performances were by Jesse and Tesse Dawson. These twin girls were acrobatic, energetic, and possessed unbelievably flexible bodies. I had never met them but had seen them almost every week during the summer hanging out at the Thursday night basketball scrimmages. I had already learned that John Ericson had the hots for Jesse. She was kind of flat-chested but had long, sexy legs and an extraordinary butt. Olivia’s performance was the third best of all twenty girls. Actually, I couldn’t remember much of her routine. It was the first time I had ever seen her in anything but rather baggy clothes. Like all the others, she wore a skimpy little outfit: a short skirt over what looked like crimson colored panties. Her top was sleeveless and tight. She possessed the opposite of Jesse Dawson’s flat chest. All I could do was imagine what she looked like naked. I fought back this thought. I was ashamed because I didn’t want to be like Randall Radford. But, I was a normal teenage male. It seemed Southern girls were more physically mature than the girls from Woodlawn High in Chicago. Maybe it was something in the water, or the cornbread. Olivia was tall and could easily pass for a college freshman, at least from a physical standpoint.
After the try-outs, the crowd waited over thirty minutes for the seven-judge panel to make their final decision. Principal Hayes had avoided a prior years problem of having members from the Boaz High School faculty serve as judges. That practice had caused a huge controversy. The accusations were, ‘bias, bias, bias.’ Several parents had complained that the teacher/judges had picked their favorites, not necessarily who were the most talented. This year, Principal Hayes had brought in two teachers each from Douglas, Sardis, Albertville, and one from Guntersville. I wasn’t surprised that Jesse and Tesse Dawson were the first two names announced, followed by Olivia, and then Dana Skelton, Renee Bradford, and Melissa Brown. It was a good group, but I didn’t think Dana’s performance was any better than the other thirteen who were not chosen.
I decided to sit with Dad and his four missionary friends for the Wednesday night fellowship meal. I didn’t think I could stomach sitting with the Flaming Five.
Brother Randy was especially serious it seemed when he finally had us all seated and quiet in the two concentric circles. I couldn’t help but be amazed at how well I was doing with my undercover assignment. Randy Miller, the youth pastor, had insisted that we not call him ‘Pastor Randy.’ He, I guess, thought that ‘Brother Randy’ made him seem more like any other Christian brother. Here I was, an active and accepted (at least I thought so) member of a vibrant Christian youth group in the heart of the Bible Belt.
He held out a hand and said, “close your eyes and listen as I read what a friend of mine recently wrote on the front cover of his ministry’s monthly newsletter:
‘God where would I be if You did not reveal Yourself in your Word? My knowledge of You would be limited to inferences I draw from the natural world, and I could never have known that You love me and have gone to unfathomable lengths to draw me to Yourself. Your revelation of Your works and ways in Scripture is the foundational authority for truth in my life, and it bristles with implications for how I should order my steps from day to day. Grant that I will seek more diligently to expose myself to its teachings and counsel, and that I would meditate on and memorize truths from the Bible. As I read and reflect on the Scriptures, I gain a wisdom and perspective I could never attain otherwise, and my soul is nourished with great thoughts about who You are and what You have done.’”
Brother Randy went on, as he encouraged us to continue to sit with our eyes closed, and said that even without the Bible every man knows from nature that God exists. I sat still wondering if Brother Randy had ever read Charles Darwin’s, The Origin of Species, or any other books that offered a contrary theory of how life evolved. As our leader continued to extol how obviously we lived in a carefully designed universe I began to wonder if he had ever read a single peer-reviewed scientific article that laid out example after example that supported Darwin’s theory that life had begun with very simple single-celled organisms and had ever so gradually, through a process known as natural selection, evolved into the complex world in which we live. Our dear Brother Randy either didn’t know, or intentionally chose to ignore the truth. Evolution was a fact. It was just as solid a theory as Newton’s law of gravity.
After Brother Randy shared how impossible it was, without God, for the human eye to exist, what to a gullible and uneducated mind, was obvious and perfectly reconciled to a Christian worldview, he said that nature, God’s creation, was insufficient to reveal to us the depth of God’s love for those He had created in His own image. Brother Randy explained that the Bible was our blue-print for knowing God and living a life that honored and glorified our creator. Without the Bible we could never know Jesus or accept His offer of salvation. He ended his lecture by asking us to open our eyes and look straight into his. He asked, “What would happen if you didn’t feed your body?” Several kids spoke up and said we would eventually die of starvation. Brother Randy said it was the same thing with our spiritual life. He continued, “After you are saved, you have a whole new you inside your body. It too needs to be fed. The only food for this new being is the Word of God. It is your life source. If you fail take in God’s Word, your spiritual body will die.”
Brother Randy then turned the session over to Olivia. He had asked her to share her Bible study method and her commitment to a daily devotion. What she called her ‘daily quiet time with my Savior.’ I had trouble listening to Olivia’s ten-minute presentation. Two things had me totally distracted. I looked at her as though she was still wearing her cheerleader outfit, and she was doing the little Pirate dance. And, I fought back a strong temptation to imagine sitting with her at the movie and laying my hand on her leg above the knee. I was somewhat thankful I was able to turn my mind back to Brother Randy.
Did he not know the true origins of the Bible? He was a graduate of a major seminary. I think he had also done some work towards a Ph.D. in Theology. I couldn’t imagine it to be standard for his school and his professors to not reveal to him and all the other students how man-made the Bible was. Maybe his professors didn’t tell him that the originals of any of the books of the Bible do not exist and that all we have are copies of copies of copies, that all contain multiple errors and inconsistencies. Surely, he was taught that the oldest complete manuscript in existence of the entire Bible dates from the tenth century. He apparently doesn’t know that the Gospels were not written by the men whose names are used as the titles to Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. If he ever knew, he has forgotten that each of the Gospels were written decades and decades after Jesus supposedly was resurrected, years and years after the Apostle Paul wrote his epistles that hardly mentioned anything at all about Jesus’ life. And, the four Gospels were written by educated Greeks who had never seen Jesus, and not by illiterate fishermen. In other words, the Gospels are in no way eyewitness accounts of Jesus’ ministry. To cap it off, I wondered if Randy’s professors had told him there were several other gospels written about the same time, none of which made it into the Holy Book. I wonder if he had read the Gospel of Thomas and how its author had told story after story of how Jesus, as a youth, used his magic to transform his playmates into goats, turn mud into sparrows, or how Jesus gave his father a hand in the carpenter shop by miraculously lengthening a piece of wood.
As Olivia returned to her seat in the circle I finally concluded that Brother Randy was just a grown-up version of the girl I was falling for. Like Olivia, Brother Randy, was fully indoctrinated. He had grown up in a Southern Baptist Church and was easily, at a young age, brainwashed by everyone around him into believing in the Bible and Christianity. He had never, not once, been encouraged, especially by his pastor or youth director, to think for himself, to read widely, and to become a skeptic towards everything he was hearing and reading.
As the youth group concluded and I rode my bike back home, I realized that there was one thing from the quote Brother Randy had shared that I agreed with. By reading and studying the Bible, I would ‘gain a wisdom and perspective I could never attain otherwise.’ I couldn’t help but feel sorry for Olivia, Brother Randy, and all other members of our youth group. It would be virtually impossible for any of them to ever break free from this two-thousand-year-old myth.
My thoughts changed as I fell asleep a couple of hours later. I would gladly be indoctrinated if it would assure me of winning the heart and mind and companionship of the most precious, beautiful, and wonderful girl I had ever known or imagined.
The Pencil Driven Life 