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 Stenographer, written in 2018, is my fourth novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.
Book Blurb
Walt Shepherd, a 35 year veteran of the White House’s stenographic team, is fired by President Andrew Kane for refusing to lie.
Walt returns to his hometown of Boaz, Alabama and renews his relationship with Regina Gillan, his high school sweetheart, who he had ditched right before graduation to marry the daughter of a prominent local businessman. Regina has recently moved back to Boaz after forty years in Chicago working at the Tribune. She is now editor of the Sand Mountain Reporter, a local newspaper.
Walt and Regina’s relationship transforms into a once in life love at the same time they are being immersed in a growing local and national divide between Democrats and traditional Republicans, and extremist Republicans (known as Kanites) who are becoming more dogmatic about the revolution that began during President Kanes campaign.
Walt accepts two part-time jobs. One as a stenography instructor at Snead State Community College in Boaz, and one as an itinerant stenographer with Rains & Associates out of Birmingham.
Walt later learns the owner of Rains & Associates is also one of five men who created the Constitution Foundation and is involved in a sinister plot to destroy President Kane, but is using an unorthodox method to achieve its objective. The Foundation is doing everything it can to prevent President Kane from being reelected in 2020, and is scheming to initiate a civil war that will hopefully restore allegiance to the U.S. Constitution.
While Walt is writing a book, The Coming Civil War, he is, unwittingly, gathering key information for the Constitution Foundation.
Will Walt discover a connection between the Foundation and the deaths of three U.S. Congressmen in time to save his relationship with Regina, prevent President Kane from being reelected as the defacto head of a Christian theocracy, and the eruption of a civil war that could destroy the Nation ?
Chapter 20
I was reading Camino Island, John Grisham’s latest novel, early Sunday morning when Regina called.
“I know it’s early, but I knew you were up. I just wanted to give you plenty of time to get ready for church.”
“Church? Why do you think I want to go to church?” I said, closing my book and laying it aside on the end table.
“Don’t think of it as church, think of it as investigative journalism.” Regina said. I could tell she was in the bathroom because I heard the commode flush.
“That’s your job, not mine.”
“I need an assistant, an extra set of eyes.”
“Well, I am pretty observant. I now detect you are in your bathroom. And, your standing in front of the mirror admiring your hot body.”
“Walt Shepherd. Get your mind out of the gutter.”
“A good detective just follows the facts where ever they lead.” I said, questioning whether my vision includes her in a matching pink bra and panties.
“I have to say I kind of like what I’m hearing, but I’m blown away hearing it from you. This isn’t quite like the Walt I knew back in high school.” Regina said, pouring herself a cup of coffee.
“Back then I was so brainwashed by Christianity I couldn’t allow myself to be tempted. Now, that’s powerful. What normal teenage boy doesn’t think about sex and attempt at every opportunity to explore?” “Earth to Walt. I called to tell you that we are going to First
Baptist Church of Christ today. Be ready at 10:30 and I’ll pick you up.” “I like the sounds of that. I’ll be waiting.”
We arrived a few minutes early and continued to sit in Regina’s car.
“Why are we really here?” I asked Regina.
“I figured you were bright enough to think this through. Anyway, I’ll lay it out for the simple-minded. Most of this is old news, at least to those with their heads out of the sand. Warren Tillman is now the lead pastor. Sometime last year, Wade, his father, was arrested for a bunch of stuff, including murder.”
“You don’t have to tell me all that. I’ve kind of kept up with the rumors. There are three unsolved cases, murders, whatever. The disappearance of John Ericson, Randall Radford, and Freddie Billingsley. Don’t forget, we all went to high school together. You were there.” I said, feeling strange even talking about this stuff.
“Okay, so I assume you have somewhat kept up with Micaden Lewis Tanner? Do you remember him being charged with murder the summer after we all graduated from high school?” Regina said.
“I do. He was acquitted. Right?”
“Gosh, it’s nearly 11:00 o’clock. Let’s go.”
We walked inside the auditorium and an usher whispered that there were a few seats up in the balcony, the main floor was overflowing.
Regina and I turned towards the balcony stairwell without being told.
We both remembered exactly where it was.
We had to walk to the far side of the balcony. It seemed every person already seated turned and watched us. I glanced a couple of times toward the seated faithful but mostly looked ahead. I didn’t see a soul I knew.
We found a seat on the front row of the far side. I remembered from my youth the disadvantage of these seats. The designers hadn’t considered rightly. When seated, you looked out into a golden safety bar that ran horizontal eighteen inches or so above a two-foot solid wall in front of your feet. To see the pulpit and most of the choir you had to slouch down in your seat, or sit on the edge of your seat, straight-up, and look over and down onto the main floor.
The choir finished “Victory in Jesus” just as we settled in our seats. Pastor Warren walked to the pulpit and thanked everyone for coming. He spent a couple of minutes welcoming three rows full of visitors from a church in Michigan who were passing through and headed to south Florida or somewhere for two weeks of mission work. Warren said, but I didn’t catch the exact details, what had brought the group to First Baptist Church of Christ.
After another half-dozen songs or so, Warren showed why a Tillman had been pastor here for over a hundred years. He, just like I remembered his grandfather Walter, and his father Wade, was a dynamic speaker, rarely used notes, and used pitch, tone, and a multitude of body language to always be persuading. He put to shame, almost every politician I had ever known. The best compliment I could give him was, ‘Warren, you are the most genuine, believable salesman I have ever seen.’
Of course, Warren’s preaching didn’t convince me of anything, other than it was just one more dose of the Christian myth. I had learned a long time ago that when I had to endure a sermon, I would think about being on a sandy beach, maybe on a Caribbean island, walking together with Regina. I was very capable of immersing myself in this storyline for a good hour. Funny, I always started the plot with me rejecting Franklin Ericson’s offer, telling Jennifer I wasn’t the man for her, and instead, pouring my heart out to Regina as we sat in our ladder-back chairs in the barn loft.
We were riding back to my house after Warren called a halt after five or six ‘come-to-the-altar’ verses of “Just as I Am,” when Regina’s phone vibrated. It was lodged in the car’s console and I automatically looked down on the screen. It was Delton.
“Hello.” Regina said.
She kept silent and continued driving for what seemed like a couple of minutes.
“I’ll be there at 2:00. Thanks.”
“May I ask what’s so important you can’t stay with me all day.” I said, convinced someone or something was conspiring against me, against me spending some quality time with the woman I loved. Had I really thought that?
“Delton, my crime reporter said there’s been a development in the murder case, Frankie’s case. He needs to discuss an angle he is considering. He doesn’t want to waste a lot of time drafting his article if
I’m opposed to it.”
“How long will it take?” I regretted saying that as soon as it left my mouth. Now, I’m sounding like a desperate teenager. Surely, I’m not so needy.
“Not sure. I’ll call you later.”
Regina dropped me off at the back porch. I had thought she might come in for a sandwich, but she seemed preoccupied. I refused to grovel, said goodbye and walked inside.
The Pencil-Driven Life 