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 27
After lunch we changed clothes, although I had another suggestion. We also changed our conversation. It seemed it was always difficult for Regina to stray too long and far from her work life. “I’ve been thinking. I want you and Vann to team up and write a weekly column. It will be the Reporter’s response to The Boaz Stenographer.
You two are the perfect duo, both of you have extensive knowledge of American history, and you both have a fully-developed political philosophy. Of course, yours is more liberal and Vann’s is more conservative.”
“I guess my outburst last week over the million comments, all touting Kane’s tweeting about how he may burn-up North Korea, tickled your ear?” I said as I grabbed our fishing gear from the back porch and we headed to the pond.
She opted for the pier, I wandered toward the shallow end hoping to land a bass slithering through the watery grass. We didn’t talk for thirty minutes. Neither of us caught a fish, but that wasn’t a huge priority.
I walked back to the pier and over to Regina who by now was sitting in one of the two heavy wooden chairs my Dad had built out of black locust. They were as stout as ever. “Have I told you lately.” I said and intentionally stopped.
“That’s a song, or in a song. Or, is it a poem?” Regina said taking off her shoes.
“It may be but for sure it is an introductory statement.”
“To what. What have you told me lately?”
“Oh, you’ll have to wait. You know it drives me crazy how you introduce a subject, one that has a little built-in drama, and then you walk off.” I said, sitting beside her and reaching over to hold her left hand.
“I love driving you crazy. That’s why I do it.”
“I figured I’d lose this little skirmish. Back to your idea. It seems to me you are laying my neck in a guillotine. I’m already the town’s punching bag and you want to put me inside the boxing ring?”
“Dialoging is one of the best ways to learn. I figure what you and Vann have to say will be refreshing to the local citizens, all who are ultrarational, educated, and open-minded.”
“What have you been smoking? Don’t you realize that my positions will likely be directly opposite of what most folks around here believe?” I said casting my line in the direction of Regina’s float that hadn’t moved.
“That’s what makes my idea perfect. Two sides warring it out.” “I’ll think about it.”
“Look her Mr. Walt. You can be so blind. Do I have to draw you a map? I’m giving you an opportunity to cut-short your book research by a dozen years, at least.”
“What?” I said, even more confused.
“You keep talking about the two goals you had when you returned from D.C. One, you seemed to have sewed up well. You know, rekindling the flame with that awesome high school girlfriend. And, the second was to write a book, one that would be read by every American and sway their opinion about President Kane. You still have that goal, don’t you?” Regina said, standing and reeling in her line.
“I do. But, what does your weekly column idea have to do with my book?”
“Dimwit, you will learn what makes Kane Tribe tick. That’s tongue tying. That’s five t’s. Six.”
“Maybe you’re right. Again, I’ll think about it. Now, let’s walk to the creek.”
“I don’t go into the woods with a strange man.”
“It’s a forest and the trees are imaginary. And, I’m no man. I’m a god.”
“Finally, I agree. All gods are imaginary.”
Regina and I walked across the pasture and into the woods and to the spring that fed the pond. We sat on the big granite rocks my grandfather had used to protect the cold and bubbling fountainhead nearly a hundred years ago. We spent an hour reminiscing about the time we hiked here in April of our junior year. We did it on a dare, not sure who’s. We had been sitting in the barn loft. It was already late, but it was a Friday night. We had grabbed a flashlight and set off. The dare wasn’t simply to walk to the spring, but to come here and explore the waters, naked. Our first and only skinny-dipping adventure. It nearly killed us both.
The water was like being enclosed inside a deep freezer. Naked. I did like the naked part. It was the only time I have ever been naked with my gorgeously sexy Regina. When we arrived, she had insisted I turn off the flashlight. Now, I remember, she had posed the dare. She had not planned that the clouds would drift away, and the moon appear. That didn’t happen until we had arrived, and the flashlight was off, and we had stripped and stepped into the icy pool. The moonlight was just enough for me to make out the contours of her body. The water wasn’t deep, just midway up our thighs. I got excited. Then, embarrassed. We waded around, her on one side ten feet away, and me on the other. For maybe two minutes. The water was simply too cold. I fought the urge to walk over and embrace Regina, excited as I was, but a competing force of nature forced us to scurry out. We were both thankful we had brought two thick towels. I will never forget what she said as we stood and shivered, “I’m glad to see the god is wonderfully endowed, although I’m sure it’s imaginary.”
Now, after laughing our heads off at what Regina had said, I got to do what I had wanted to do over fifty years ago. I held Regina and told her, several times, how thankful I was that she was my steady, and that she had made me the happiest man in the world. We swayed as the wind picked up. We kissed, and we kissed, until I tried to sing to her the
Rod Stewart song, ‘Have I told you lately how much I love you.”
Finally, we walked back to the house and Regina left. I tried my best to get her to stay but I was no match for her Sunday afternoon Reporter ritual. When she took over as chief editor she had imposed on herself the mandate to have, by 9:00 p.m. Sunday night, a solid first draft of Tuesday’s Sand Mountain Reporter. Walking back beside the pond and grabbing our fishing gear, I had hoped that today could have been different. I had never wanted to make love with Regina Gillan more than I did as I trailed her off the pier. All I could do was think, “Walt, you are one lucky man to have a woman, a 63-year-old woman, with a figure like that.” I almost got excited.
The Pencil-Driven Life 