Month: March 2024

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 34

Thursday morning, I had to fill in for Judge Tyler Broadside’s court reporter, Debbie Simmons, who was sick with the flu.  Ginger had called me at 7:30 a.m., just as I was coming in from a walk with Sandi around the pond.  She urged me to rush and arrive no later than 8:30.

I rushed too much and was stopped by an Albertville patrol car just after passing Sand Mountain Toyota.  The young officer gave me a stern warning but detoured away from a ticket when I confessed why I was speeding.  He knew Debbie Simmons from high school and wanted to help.  For once, living in a small town paid off.  

Once per month Circuit Judge Broadside held a criminal motions docket.  The cases he heard were for defendants who had already been indicted by a grand jury.  These were cases headed to a jury trial unless a settlement agreement could be reached between the District Attorney and defense counsel.  

For six hours, including three hours after a thirty-minute lunch break, I took down every statement made by the lawyers on both sides, the Judge, witnesses, both for and against the motion.  The cases ran the gamut, from sexual abuse to rape, from assault to murder.  The motions included requests to set bond, to reduce bond, to revoke bond, to suppress all types of evidence.  A typical defense motion to suppress concerned traffic stops where incriminating evidence was found.  The defense naturally wanted to prevent things such as illegal drugs and dead bodies from being revealed to the jury.  

There was one case where I thought Judge Broadside was going to throw an overly aggressive lawyer from Huntsville into jail.  Derrick Pratter, in a statutory rape case, was arguing his motion that Judge recuse himself because the alleged victim, a 14-year-old cheerleader from Guntersville, lived in the same neighborhood as Judge.  Pratter put on a witness who testified that the Judge was friends with the girl’s parents, and all three had attended Guntersville High School.  After the third witness to the Judge’s alleged close relationship with the victim’s parents, the Judge shut Pratter down, telling him, for the third time, his motion was denied.  As Pratter returned to counsel’s table, he threw his notepad down and said, I think intending to whisper, “damn Republican.”  Judge ordered Pratter cuffed by the bailiff.  The only thing that saved him was a local attorney, Bradshaw I believe, asked to speak to Judge in a sidebar.  Judge waived me off, so I don’t know what was said.  Whatever it was, Judge went back on the record and after a stern warning to Pratter, ordered the bailiff to set him free.

However, the most interesting case was a bond hearing for two brothers from the small town of Grant, Alabama.  The 33-year-old twins, Ben and Glen Selvidge, were charged with attempted murder.  They had attacked a group of blacks from Huntsville who were visiting Cathedral Caverns State Park, north of Grant.  The group was from Union Chapel Missionary Baptist Church.  

The brothers had graduated in 2003 from DAR High School, a privately-owned school in Grant, that was opened in 1924 by the Daughters of the American Revolution.  According to the District Attorney, about the only thing the brothers learned from DAR was patriotism, and, over the years, their brand had transformed them into white supremacists.  Their defense counsel argued the brothers had a legal right to a reasonable bond, but the DA contended, at a minimum, Judge should postpone his ruling.  The brothers lived on Winkles Road in an old dilapidated mobile home less than half-a-mile from the southeastern boundary of the 482-acre Cathedral Caverns.  They had a reputation of intimidating blacks who visited the cave that held the world record for the largest opening of any commercial cave.  In less than a month the Southern Baptist African-American Association was scheduled to hold its annual picnic at the Park.  The DA urged the Judge to prevent an explosive situation.  The Judge finally agreed to a $100,000 professional bond for each defendant but forbid the brothers from going within 1,000 feet of the mouth of the Park, warning them, if they did, they would be re-arrested and stay in jail until their trials.

The hearings ended a little after 3:00 p.m.  Vann was waiting on me at the back of the courtroom.  I had reluctantly agreed with Regina’s plea to go with Vann to visit Frankie Olinger at the Marshall County Jail.  She believed she had no choice but to help Belinda who had called last night, desperate to do something, anything, to help Frankie get released.  Belinda had argued he was being set-up and that they were going to lose their home if he couldn’t get back to work.

Vann knew the jailer who let us visit Frankie in an AttorneyClient interview room.  This way we avoided having to talk through the glass and over a phone.  I was shocked to see that Frankie had lost nearly fifty pounds.  He argued the food was “hog-slop and wouldn’t support a puppy.”  I sat beside Vann at a small table with Frankie across from us.  I questioned my sanity for coming, realizing that I was suffering from the love bug.  Why else on earth would I be here?

“Vann, please help me get out of here.”  Frankie leaned over and whispered to Vann.

“What makes you think I have any such ability?”

“You and Pastor Warren are good friends and he’s a powerful man, helped put the DA in his job.”

“Frankie, let’s say, just for fun, that I had the power to unlock these doors and set you free.  Why would I want to do that?”  Vann asked.

“Because I’m innocent.  You guys know me.  I’m sometimes a sorry shit, sometimes a bully, but I never killed anybody.  You’ve known me since elementary school.”

“Why should we believe you?  The evidence seems strong against you.  The bullet that killed Kip Brewer was fired from your gun, the gun the Sheriff found at your house.”  Vann said.

“I know that, but I didn’t do it.  I couldn’t have made that shot.  Hell, I do good to hit the outside of a target with that 30-06.  Even, if it was 200 feet away.  Do either of you think I could have made a shot from, what did the paper say, 644 yards?

“Frankie, you got to tell me more than that.  If you want my help, maybe Walt’s help, you’ve got to come clean.  Tell us what you know.  It is common knowledge you threatened Brewer at the Town Hall and that you are someway tied tight to President Kane’s brigade.”

“Tell the good pastor I am close to spilling the beans on him and Justin Adams.”  Frankie said, whispering again.

“What do you mean?  Frankie, here’s the deal.  You’ve got to be honest with Walt and me.  If you lie and use us to get you out of here, you better know it will come back to haunt you.  Now, let’s hear it.”

“Okay, but you got to promise me you won’t tell Belinda or

Regina.”

“I promise to use my best judgment.  Frankie, you don’t have a lot of power here.  Tell us the truth or we’re out of here.”

“You should know this.  There’s a war going on within the Republican Party.  Kane is trying to clean up the Party, get folks elected in the mid-terms that truly support him.  Warren and Justin are both attached to Kane’s hip.  They paid me to stir up the trouble at the Town Hall, told me exactly how to do it and what to say.  You do know President Kane spent the night at Pastor Warren’s house when he came to Boaz to help Justin kick off his governor’s campaign?”

“That sounds like Warren and Justin, Club Eden for short, put you in a bad place.  Made you the most likely suspect in Brewer’s murder.”  Vann said.

“I knew that.  It was part of the plan, but I was supposed to be out by now.  They’re not keeping their end of the bargain.”

“Do you know who killed Kip Brewer?”  I finally spoke.

“No, but I know it weren’t me.  If I had to guess I would say it’s some liberal, someone trying to frame the President.”

“Is that your original idea or something Warren and Justin may have led you to believe?” I asked.

“I may have heard it when I went to Washington during the inauguration.”

“Tell us about that trip.”

“I got to liking Kane early in his campaign.  Warren knew this and invited me to go with him, Justin, a few others to Mobile for the big rally there.  After the election, Warren persuaded me the importance of going to Washington to show support.  Warren bought me and Belinda a ticket for the inauguration.  There, I went to a meeting with Warren.  Didn’t see the President but saw his son.  He spoke for over an hour and then we broke up into smaller groups.  There was about five or six hundred of us.  They asked us to join a group called Kane Tribe and said that the President couldn’t change things by himself, that he needed warriors out in the field fighting to spread the revolution.” “That doesn’t answer the question.”  I said.

“That night, Warren and Justin took me and Belinda out to eat and told us that the President was going to face tremendous opposition and that he would be accused of fixing the election.  Justin said liberals would try to say that Kane had colluded with the Russians to win the election.  He said liberals would do anything to make Kane look like a criminal.”

“So, Warren and Justin knew something about Russian involvement back then?”  I asked.

“I guess.  Warren said that he wouldn’t put anything past the liberals, even making it look like Kane Tribe was killing off Senators.” “He actually said that?”  Vann asked.

“If I’m lying, I’m dying.  I swear to God.”

“Let me get this straight.  You want me to go to Pastor Warren and tell him that you are going to spill the beans if he doesn’t get you out of here.  Right?”  Vann said.

“You got it.  And, tell him that I also know he and Club Eden is still dealing with the Russian mob.”

“How do you know that?  What are you talking about?” I asked Frankie.

“Let’s just say that I ain’t as dumb as I look.  I got me a little insurance when Warren and Justin were asking me to pull the little Town Hall stunt.  Freddie is part Indian you know.  He’s as sly as a cat.  I won’t talk about Freddie right now.  Do we have a deal?”

“Frankie, I certainly am against an innocent man sitting in jail.  But, I’m not seeing much of a deal here.  All I see is you wanting us to do something for you.  What are you offering to do for us?”  Vann asked.

“Helping you guys with research.  Belinda says ya’ll are writing a book.  It’s about finding stuff out that could help Kane from getting

President in 2020.”

Vann looked at me and shrugged his shoulders.  “So, you’re willing to go underground with Club Eden, Warren, Justin and the rest of them, and feed us information?  Have I got that straight?”

“Yep, if you get me out of here pretty quick.”  Frankie said, straightening up in his chair and holding out his right hand towards Vann.

“We’ll see what we can do.  But, I’m not yet ready to shake on it.  Let’s go Walt.”

After leaving the jail, Vann and I walked silently back across the street and around to the front of the Courthouse. As I was about to get in my car, Vann said, “I never liked Frankie Olinger, but, for some strange reason, I have a gut feeling he’s telling us the truth.”

“Let’s think about it before we do anything.  Frankie is in a desperate situation.  If he’s just a stooge for Club Eden, it seems he knows too much.”  I said

“Call me tomorrow when you get a chance.”  Vann said getting into his pickup truck.

I just stood there watching him drive off, wondering again, why on earth I had agreed with Regina to visit Frankie in the first place.  

 

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 33

Vann and I, and Regina and I separately, had been talking about my book-writing idea for several weeks.  Regina had said it was a miracle both Vann and I had independently dreamed of a somewhat

similar book for years, even before either of our retirements.  I emphasized to her that my departure from the White House wasn’t exactly a retirement.  “Even more of a miracle she had said.”  Of course, she didn’t believe in miracles, but in ten minutes Vann was scheduled to be here for our first meeting to brainstorm whether we mutually agreed that one, jointly-authored book, would fulfill our dreams.

“Book signings.” Vann said as he walked in from the back porch without knocking.”

“If the door is unlocked just come on in.”  I said, standing up from my lazy boy.  “What are you talking about?”

“Before we go any further, the first thing we need to do is visualize where we dream of having a book signing.”  Vann said walking towards the bar with an old tattered notebook in his hand.

“So, you’re thinking if we have a glorious destination in mind that our motivation will be sufficiently replenished for us to properly complete our project?”

“Something like that.  So, tell me yours.”

“Well, maybe Northshire Bookstore, either store, the original Northshire, in Manchester, Vermont, or the recent one they opened in Saratota Springs, New York.” I said.

“No doubt my dream choice will be Politics and Prose in your old hometown.  You know I was there last June for John Grisham’s, “Camino Island,” book-signing.”  Walt said.

“You must have forgotten about me, you didn’t even call.”

“Check your schedule, you were out of town, G7 Summit in

Taormina, Italy, or it might have been your little trip to the Vatican in

Rome and on to Saudi Arabia.”

“That was all part of the same trip, but I thought that was earlier.”

“Might have been, Deb had me pretty busy.  I might have forgotten to call you.”

“Whatever.  Enough of book-signings and my world travels.  Let’s focus.”  I said, pouring us both a cup of coffee and settling across the bar from Vann.

“I know we’ve discussed each of our motivations for writing a book, yours is to prepare and send a message to voters that President Kane must not be re-elected in 2020, and mine is mainly, to remind all Americans of our Presidential history and its importance to each of our futures.”  Vann said.

“No doubt our goals are hand and glove.”  

“Yes and no.  I think you will be more interested in the individual trees, and for me, my focus is more the forest itself.”

“Enough abstraction.  I hear what you’re saying.  My model reader will be someone who voted for Kane in 2016, but whose support has waned.”

“Mine will be those in the Kane Tribe, the radical thirty-three percent, those who will likely support Kane no matter what he says or does.”

“Vann, you’re not making any sense.  Don’t you suspect that group won’t even read our book?”  I said.

“That’s where you come in, you’re the one who has a storage unit full of Presidential transcripts, from meetings five former presidents held around the world.”

“How does that get into the psyche of folks like Frankie Olinger, assuming he can read.”  I said, surprising myself that I felt a little sorry for him, sitting in the Marshall County Jail.

“I haven’t totally figured that out, but I’m convinced our book has to reach this powerful group.  Maybe, we can communicate our book to them in other ways, ways they don’t have to read it.  Like TV and radio interviews, and a modified town-square idea I’m working on.” “Let’s move on.”  I said.

“I agree.  Let me ask you a simple question.  Why do you think it is important to America, and maybe the world, for President Kane not to be re-elected in 2020?  I want to hear you answer this question, even though I think I know what you are going to say.”

“Two broad reasons.  One, he is unfit to be President simply from a decorum viewpoint.  Even if he were the most competent President we have ever had, he is an embarrassment.  I’m glad I don’t have children or teenagers.  What on earth is President Kane teaching America’s youth?  That it’s okay to be an arrogant, pompous bastard, revealing your wicked heart?  Second, he isn’t competent.  His narcissism controls his actions.  He is a bully and bullies must have their way.  He has no knowledge and appreciation of our history.  Incompetence in any field is dangerous, but an incompetent President, especially one who is, at best, a selfish child, can, and I believe will, get America into a fight it cannot win, or, at a minimum, cause us either thousands of lives or billions of dollars to extricate us from the mistake.”  I said, returning for more coffee.

“I agree, his ability to assimilate relevant material and deduce the best direction to pursue, is seriously compromised by his low intelligence and narcissistic disorder.”

“I’ve never in my life seen anyone who displays such a lack of empathy for other people, and such an insatiable hunger for admiration.”  I said, cutting a slice of pound cake DeeDee had dropped off yesterday afternoon.

“Yes, I’ll take a slice of that.  If all this weren’t enough, Kane’s dishonesty is likely the chief poison America must deal with.  It seems there is no way Kane is going to avoid the Russian investigation.”

“I have a feeling, just a feeling, that Kane’s Russian involvement is on-going.  You probably don’t know this, but some kid found a Red Star, as in a Russian Red Star, at the Kip Brewer murder scene.  Regina shared that Delton, her crime reporter, had picked this up in his investigation.”  

Vann’s eyes opened wide, “that’s either HUUUGGEE,” imitating the President, “or it’s irrelevant.” 

“Now, I’m wondering why on earth I’ve agreed to co-author a book with such a retard.”  I said taking a bite of my cake.

“I’m going to leave on that insult.  Seriously, Deb made me promise to be back in an hour.  You know the yard has to be mowed twice a week now with all the rain we’ve been having.”  Vann said closing his notebook.

“I need to go too, my weekly trip to Walmart, you know.  I’m also going to Paradise Storage and start going through some of my transcripts.  You start formulating your outline.”

“I will.  Same time next week, here?” Vann asked.

“Yes, assuming I don’t have a deposition with Rains.” 

 

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 32

For some reason I was nervous, anxious of a sort.  Regina had been in Chicago since late Monday and I hadn’t done a good job of occupying my time.  I hadn’t heard from Ginger.  I hadn’t called her either.  About all I had done was teach my night classes.  I wanted to talk with Regina about my new job offer.  I should have done it last weekend but didn’t for more selfish reasons.  We had talked last night, and she had told me she had made a big decision and would share it when she got home.

Her airplane was delayed, and she didn’t arrive in Huntsville until 8:30 p.m.  She called me on her cell as she was picking up her luggage to let me know that she was safe and should see me soon.  “I can’t wait.”  She had said.  

At 9:45, I heard her drive up.  I met her on the back porch.  She had never been more beautiful.  Her hair was pulled back and her face glowed with happiness.  “You must have learned a way to automate your job at the newspaper, you look so refreshed, or something.”  I said.

She smiled and reached out her hand as she climbed the porch stairs.  We kissed, and she gently pushed me backwards into the house.  She closed and locked the door behind us.  I started to talk, and she pressed her right index finger over my lips while her blue eyes poured into mine.  “Make love to me.”  She whispered into my ear.  Again, I almost said, “are you drunk, what’s going on?” when she pulled my head into hers and kissed me, well, like she never had before.  I didn’t know what was going on, but I wasn’t against it at all.  

She took my right hand and led me upstairs into my bedroom.  She walked over beside my bed and turned off the lamp.  The bedroom was semi-dark, the only light was coming in from the bathroom and a partially opened door.  “Walt,” she said, standing holding both my hands, “the only thing I want and need to say is that I’ve missed you and have, this week, come to truly know, how blessed I am to have you in my life.  I feel you share the same feelings.  We are finally one in heart and spirit.  Now keep your mouth closed unless it helps you show me how much we are in love.”  By the time her words fell silent, I was so excited I couldn’t say a word.  I did manage to smile and sound out a tiger’s growl, or maybe, it was a kitten’s purr.  I’m not sure.

She started unbuttoning my shirt.  She pulled my head down to her mouth and whispered, “undress me.”  I complied.  By the time we stood facing each other, naked, we were both breathing hard as our bodies touched, naturally for the first time.  We lay across the bed and forgot, no, were unable, to engage in foreplay.  Our union, at first, was certainly physical.  At first, I was reserved.  Until she whispered, “Walt, my baby, love me like you’ve been showing me, I’m yours.”  It was like I had been given permission to let go and be myself.  It was like she commanded me to push my feelings, the pent-up loving desires, the ones I had made myself suppress ever since I had seen her last December in Walmart, the first night I had arrived in Boaz.

I can’t explain it, but the physical quickly graduated into the mysterious, into something strongly akin to a spiritual journey.  Our bodies were doing what every other loving couple does, but as she guided my face above hers and asked me to open my eyes and look at her, our movements became a song, almost a rhythm of praise and promise.  It was an experience I had never had.  During all the years with Jennifer, we had only had sex.  I never complained.  I enjoyed it.  Although, after a few years, it became more a physical duty, almost like having to eat every day.  That was that, and this is infinitely unique.

As I looked at Regina and smiled, she alternated between pulling my face in for a deep and sensual kiss and whispering, “I love you.”  My mind transformed.  It was like I believed I was in a dream.  This cannot be real.  I am making love to the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.  I am making love with the woman who loves me and is, for the first time, sharing her sexy young-adult shaped body with me.  I didn’t want the dream to end.

“Walt, baby, wake up.”  Later, Regina told me that as our bodies ran out of steam and fell silent and still, I had dozed off, continuing to lay, with all my weight, on top of her.  She said that she had wanted to stay right there, right there with me and her, our bodies naked and sweating, all night.  But then, she said, trying not to grin, “suddenly,

I had to pee.”

After her little trip to the bathroom, we stood again by my bed and held each other.  A little kissing, but mostly just with me laying my head on her shoulder and swaying to a wordless song that no doubt was playing in both our heads.  

“I’m starved.  Can you promise me one thing?”  Regina said.

“Now, I see.  You take advantage of me, teasing me that you are giving me the keys to the kingdom, but it was all for a purpose, a very sinister purpose.”  I replied.

“No, goofy.  Promise me that our love-making isn’t going to make me fat.  You can’t drain every cell in my body and then go feed me pancakes and bacon.”

“I promise, but, this time, are you hungry for pancakes and bacon?”

“Yes, I told you I was starving.”  Regina said putting on her bra, as I was trying to pull her back down on the bed.

“I’m starving too.  But, not for pancakes and bacon.  I will never get enough of you.  Can I ask you something?”

“Yes but make it quick.”

“What happened here tonight, you’re not going to give me the greatest gift of my life and then take it back, are you?” I said.

“That’s the dumbest question I’ve ever heard.  After what we just experienced, you’re acting as though this was a one-way street.  Walt, my baby, I am the lucky one here.  I am the one who has received the greatest gift of all.  Now, come on, let’s go to Waffle House.  There, I will try to explain to you what it means, what I meant, when I said I love you.”

 

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 31

The first few weeks of the Boaz Stenographer column were bland at best.  The Sand Mountain Reporter selection committee consisted of the senior sports reporter, the Classified-Ad saleslady, and Delton Kittle, the crime reporter.  One week the committee choose an entry by Tony Sasser, “the City of Boaz is an idiot for turning down a two million dollar offer from Frank at the Bowling Alley.”  Another week, the committee selected a submission by Randy Goings, “Yesterday’s double rainbow. More evidence of God’s unending love.”  I was thankful Regina hadn’t asked me to write the SMR’s weekly response column before now.

This week’s selection was submitted by Dale Engles, “If you don’t like statutes of Robert E. Lee and other Confederate soldiers, then get the hell out of the south.  There’s plenty of places for you to live in the North.”  Finally, something to write about.  I needed to conduct my pre-writing first, so I checked out Mr. Engle’s Facebook Page.  No doubt he is a devout Christian.  He often posts about God this or God that.  

So far Engles fit the profile.  First, virtually everyone in the South, certainly around Boaz, is a Christian fundamentalist.  This means they believe the Bible was written by God, is without error, and is to be taken literally.  Yes, these folks believe in a literal Adam and Eve, and Noah’s Ark.  I assume Engles is like most all other Jesus believers, he believes God is in control.  He has a plan for every follower.  Even when the worst things happen, like recently, when the local and beloved football coach died at thirty-nine, God was simply revealing His endless mercy and love.  This was the case, even though hundreds had taken to Facebook to shout their support and to declare their undying commitment to pray for the cancer-stricken coach.  I have yet to see a single comment that even hints the question why didn’t prayer work.

I was now on a rabbit trail.  It was early Sunday morning, way before daylight, and I had to have a draft to Regina by late afternoon, and I had more important things to do today.  I returned to Engle’s statement: “If you don’t like statutes of Robert E. Lee and other

Confederate soldiers, then get the hell out of the south.  There’s plenty of places for you to live in the North.”  I easily concluded this wasn’t the statement of a rational human being.  My response had to be, that was what Regina had charged me with when I accepted her offer to prepare a response to the weekly selected statement.  A statement that was supposed to be something that a Boaz resident had said, written, or seen or heard locally or nationally.  This requirement tied to the name, the Boaz Stenographer.  The person submitting the quote had to be totally accurate, since that’s what a real stenographer does, he takes down verbal statements exactly, without change.

I knew Engle’s statement screamed for me to address Robert E. Lee himself.  No doubt, he had a great reputation in the South.  I assume the general opinion throughout the South, especially among the less educated, is that secession was totally justified.  Who were the damn Yankees to tell us Southern plantation owners that we could no longer own slaves?  Hell, the Bible supports slavery.  No matter what wonderful things that could be said about Mr. Lee, there are a few things that cannot be argued.  Unlike George Washington and Thomas Jefferson, both slave-owners themselves, Lee was the only one of these who choose to fight against his country and kill hundreds of thousands of his fellow Americans to preserve his right to own and sell slaves.  It was Lee who chose to fight for his fellow Southerners right to sell a black mother to one buyer, and her child to another buyer.  Lee was a Virginian and a U.S. army officer before the Civil War started.  Both he and Grant were graduates of West Point.  Lee could have remained in the federal army and fought to protect the United States of America.  Over forty percent of Virginian’s did just that. There is no doubt Robert E. Lee was guilty of treason.  Even though he was indicted, he was never prosecuted because General Grant persuaded President Johnson otherwise.  Lee’s troops killed at least 360,000 Union soldiers, and Lee led approximately 260,000 Confederate soldiers to their death.  Lee’s legacy lives on to this day.  

During my research, I found a letter allegedly written in 1856 by Robert E. Lee to then President Pierce.  “The blacks are immeasurably better off here than in Africa, morally, physically, and socially.  The painful discipline they are undergoing is necessary for their further instruction as a race, and will prepare them, I hope, for better things. How long their servitude may be necessary is known and ordered by a merciful Providence.”  

Why did Lee choose to lead the Southern army; was it because of his allegiance to state’s rights?  Maybe.  If so, he allowed that allegiance to lessen his sympathy toward the suffering slave (which appears to reconcile with what he wrote above).  All I could think about was the overwhelming pain and suffering multitudes of blacks endured at the hands of Southern whites/slave-owners–probably, including my own ancestors.  Seems to me, I have a lot to be ashamed of and therefore, I should do my best to be slow to speak and quick to learn. Finally, I suspect Robert E. Lee was like most of us, a mix of good and bad, most likely an honorable man. Of course, we all know honorable men are men; they can be wrong.  If I had to vote right now whether to leave the Civil War statutes, I would vote yes, leave them. But, that vote wouldn’t represent the result of my careful research and analysis.

The sad thing is that Mr. Engles probably doesn’t care about these facts at all.  He has this warped opinion, generated by years of brainwashing, indoctrination, poor education, all included within Christian fundamentalism, that facts and truth don’t really matter.  Of course, he would argue differently.  He would likely argue, as Lee himself did, that the black man was far better off on a Southern plantation than he was when he was in Africa.

No doubt, Robert E. Lee and Dale Engles, grounded their worldview in scripture.  As Lee stated, God was in control, and, if he chose, would free the black slaves in good time.  Engles, likewise, would argue for the wisdom of a providential God.  Engles didn’t say it but it appeared certain he would argue that if a person is against the Robert E. Lee statute then he is against God.  And, Engles wasn’t the only one who likely thought this.  I counted over forty comments from others in the Boaz community who felt the same way.  Sissy Peterson said, “God works in mysterious ways.  Sometimes it is God’s will that thousands are killed.  Just look at His commands to the Israelites to wipe out every man, woman, and child in Canaan.  But, no matter, God is good, He is Holy good.”

I felt like my little brainstorming adventure had given me enough ideas that I could develop an outline.  Writing my article would be the easy part. But, I could do that later.  Now, I was sleepy.  I walked back upstairs from my study and lay back across the bed.  The first rays of the sun were just appearing through a small crack in the blinds.  As I tried to doze back off, I couldn’t help but associate Dale Engles with President Kane.  No doubt, Engles would be a huge fan.  When facts, truth, and reason are relegated to the waste bin, one cockamamie opinion is as good as another.

 

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 30

Detective Darden Clarke Abbott sat at his desk still puzzled at the red, five-pointed star found a month ago at the Kip Brewer murder scene. 

The Alabama Department of Forensic Sciences, so far, had been unable to match the partial fingerprint found smudged on the star with anyone in any known database in America.  The father and son duo who found the star had used a pair of needle-nose plyers to lift it from the location where it was found, to place it in a plastic, zip-lock bag.

It was sheer coincidence the red star was found.  On Saturday, April 21st, Ronald Simpson and his son Rodney were celebrating the twelve-year old’s birthday with a day of treasure-hunting with Rodney’s new Tesoro Silver uMax metal detector.  Ronald was a single parent, a truck-driver by trade, who had obtained custody of Rodney just a few weeks earlier when his mother had been killed in a car accident in Baton Rouge, her and Rodney’s hometown.

Ronald and Rodney lived off Highway 179, in an old 40-foot mobile home, on a dead-end dirt road that curled behind Spider’s Spirits, a small beer and liquor store just over the county line.  The two had walked into the woods behind their house and headed straight to Cherryville. It was a nickname from Ronald’s youth and beyond.  It was just a camp three-quarters of a mile into the woods.  No one knew who named it, but long-standing rumor was that it was a teenage hangout, popular as a place young girls lost their virginity. 

The plan was to hike to Cherryville and try their luck with Rodney’s new toy.  After two hours, the two got bored with finding bottle caps and decided to turn north towards Kip Brewer’s pasture to see if the highly publicized murder scene was still forbidden to visitors.  To their surprise, it was abandoned, except for the crime tape that still cordoned off a half-acre rectangle.

After another two hours of searching, without finding anything, not even a single bottle cap, Rodney climbed a big oak tree that stood next to the barbed-wire fence along the edge of the pasture.  It was there the star was found.  Fifteen feet off the ground and wedged between two smaller limbs that crossed the giant limb Rodney was sitting on.  It appeared someone had probably been climbing down the tree and got a sleeve caught between the limbs pulling off the attached star.  The backside of the star contained a tiny loop for thread in sewing it on something like a hat or jacket.

The only thing for sure Detective Clarke and the FBI had been able to conclude was the red star was a Russian symbol often associated with communist ideology.  Another fact the Department of Forensic Sciences felt nearly as strong about, was this star, the one found by Rodney Simpson, was manufactured in St. Petersburg, Russia, probably at the metals plant started by Nikolai Kuznetsov, who produced most of the red stars for the Russian army during World War II.  The Department’s consultation with three independent international collector’s and metallurgists yielded the same story.  The subject red star was authentic Russian, manufactured in the mid to late 1940’s and was commonly used with military uniforms, most often, military hats and jackets.  However, the collector’s all pointed out the ease of buying a red star from websites such as eBay, although most were imitations.

Detective Clarke sat frustrated.  Today, he had to meet with District Attorney Clay Thompson, who was hosting Trevor Nixon, Frankie Olinger’s defense attorney from Boaz.  He was scheduled to arrive at 11:00 a.m. to inspect the red star and the related Forensic’s report.  Clarke imagined he could hear Nixon at Olinger’s trial, assuming the case got that far, spinning the tale that the Russian’s had murdered Kip Brewer.  Surely, no Marshall County jury would buy into such a farfetched idea.