Richard L. Fricks

Biography–Lawrence Sanders

Lawrence Sanders was an American novelist best known for his suspense and mystery novels, often involving intricate plots and deeply flawed characters. Born on March 15, 1920, in Brooklyn, New York, Sanders showed an early aptitude for writing. Despite his literary interests, he initially pursued a different path, attending Wabash College in Indiana, where he graduated with a degree in journalism.

After college, Sanders worked in a variety of fields including magazine editorial work before being drafted into the United States Marine Corps during World War II, where he served as part of the public relations department. This experience broadened his world view and provided a foundation for his character-driven stories.

Following his military service, Sanders returned to the workforce in magazine publishing. It wasn’t until the age of 50 that he published his first novel, “The Anderson Tapes” (1970), which won him the Edgar Allan Poe Award from the Mystery Writers of America for Best First Novel. This book introduced Sanders’ skill at integrating suspense with police procedural elements, featuring a plot that revolves around surveillance technology.

Sanders was prolific throughout the 1970s and 1980s, producing several popular series including the “Deadly Sins” series, which began with “The First Deadly Sin” in 1973, a book that later became a successful film starring Frank Sinatra. Another notable series was the “Commandment” series, starting with “The Tenth Commandment” in 1980, and the “Archy McNally” series, beginning with “McNally’s Secret” in 1992, which he wrote under the pseudonym Lawrence Sanders. The latter series features a flamboyant detective and is set in the lavish world of Palm Beach, Florida.

Sanders’ writing is characterized by its detailed plots, complex characters, and a narrative style that often includes a touch of dry humor. He had a particular talent for creating gripping, page-turning stories that appealed to a wide audience, blending elements of traditional mystery with psychological thriller.

Throughout his career, Sanders published over forty novels, several of which reached the New York Times bestseller list, making him one of the most popular and financially successful authors of his time. His work has been translated into more than a dozen languages, solidifying his place as a significant figure in the genre of mystery and crime fiction.

Sanders passed away on February 7, 1998, in Pompano Beach, Florida, but his legacy lives on through his vast body of work, which continues to captivate readers around the world. His novels remain popular both in print and in digital formats, attracting new fans and satisfying the cravings of mystery lovers with their intricate plots and memorable characters.

Randy Ingermanson’s Snowflake Novel-Writing Method

Randy Ingermanson’s Snowflake Method is a structured approach to developing a novel, emphasizing incremental and iterative growth from a simple idea to a complex narrative. The method involves expanding and refining the story in progressive steps, each building upon the previous one. Here, we focus on the one-sentence, one-paragraph, and one-page summaries, which form the foundation of the Snowflake Method.

One-Sentence Summary

The one-sentence summary is the most distilled form of your story, capturing the essence in a single, concise statement. This step is crucial as it forces you to identify the core of your novel, ensuring clarity and focus.

Key Elements:

Main Character: Identify the protagonist.
Goal: Define what the protagonist wants to achieve.
Conflict: Highlight the main obstacle or challenge the protagonist faces.
Setting: Optionally include the setting if it is important to the story.

Example:
“A young wizard must confront a powerful dark sorcerer who threatens to destroy the magical world.”

One-Paragraph Summary

The one-paragraph summary expands on the one-sentence summary, providing a broader overview of the story. It outlines the beginning, major conflicts, and the end, giving a clear picture of the narrative arc.

Structure:

Setup: Introduce the main character and setting.
Inciting Incident: Describe the event that sets the story in motion.
Major Plot Points: Outline the key challenges and conflicts the protagonist faces.
Climax and Resolution: Summarize the climax and the resolution of the story.

Example:
“In a hidden magical world, young wizard Harry Potter discovers he is the only one who can stop the dark sorcerer Voldemort, who killed his parents. At Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Harry makes new friends and uncovers secrets about his past. Despite numerous trials and encounters with Voldemort’s followers, Harry prepares for a final confrontation. In the climax, he faces Voldemort, ultimately overcoming him with the help of his friends and his own bravery.”

One-Page Summary

The one-page summary further expands on the one-paragraph summary, providing a more detailed outline of the plot. This summary should cover the main events of each act in the story, giving a clear roadmap of the narrative from start to finish.

Structure:

Introduction: Expand on the setup, providing more details about the protagonist, setting, and the world of the story.
Act One: Describe the inciting incident and the protagonist’s initial response.
Act Two: Detail the rising action, major conflicts, and key turning points.
Act Three: Summarize the climax, resolution, and how the protagonist’s journey concludes.

Example:
“Harry Potter, an orphan living with his cruel aunt and uncle, discovers on his eleventh birthday that he is a wizard. Hagrid, a giant of a man, escorts Harry to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where he learns about his parents’ death at the hands of the dark sorcerer Voldemort. At Hogwarts, Harry is sorted into Gryffindor House and makes friends with Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. He also meets Draco Malfoy, a Slytherin student who becomes his rival.

Throughout his first year, Harry experiences various magical adventures, including a dangerous encounter with a troll and learning to play Quidditch. He also begins to uncover the mystery of the Philosopher’s Stone, a powerful object hidden within the school. Harry, Ron, and Hermione discover that Voldemort is trying to steal the Stone to regain his power.

In the climax, Harry confronts Voldemort, who is possessing Professor Quirrell. With the help of his friends and his own courage, Harry prevents Voldemort from obtaining the Stone. The school year ends with Gryffindor winning the House Cup, and Harry returns to the Dursleys for the summer, knowing he has found a true home at Hogwarts.”

Additional Steps in the Snowflake Method:

Character Synopses: Write detailed descriptions of each major character, including their motivations, goals, and arcs.
Expanding the Summary: Expand the one-page summary into a four-page synopsis, adding more detail to each act and subplot.
Scene List: Create a list of scenes that will make up the novel, each described briefly.
Writing the Scenes: Start writing the novel, using the scene list as a guide.

The Snowflake Method is iterative, allowing writers to refine and expand their story at each step, ensuring a well-structured and compelling narrative by the time they begin the full draft.

For more on the Snowflake Method, click here.

Novel Excerpts–The Boaz Stenographer, Chapter 86

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 86

Regina’s body was found three days later. Three teenagers riding four-wheelers had discovered her lifeless body behind an old barn and beside a pond, three miles to the west of Douglas High School. The old home place had long ago burned but a local farmer, Niles Baldwin, had bought the place several months earlier and was in process of fencing in the nearly 100 acres situated at the end of a little-used dirt road. Regina had been shot, once in the head, with a small caliber weapon. A later autopsy revealed the shooter had used a 22-caliber pistol.

Regina’s funeral was the worst time of my life, so far. I muddled my way through it, doing my best to not think or show any emotion, although I do recall falling apart as the funeral director lowered the casket’s door as my mind told me, “Regina is gone. You will never see her again.”

Losing the love of my life under the best of circumstances would have been bad enough, but losing her knowing that she had deceived me, that she was not the woman I thought she was, made it impossible to face my future.

I left the service just as Belinda sang her final song, Victory in Jesus. I didn’t want to hear any more, “I’m praying for you,” or “She’s in a better place.” I kept my head down and didn’t look at a single soul as I walked out of the Chapel, through the vestibule, and out to my truck, parked in the same spot by the trees as it was at Mother’s funeral. All I wanted to do was drive, something I normally hated. I sure didn’t want to go home.

I drove south on Highway 431 without a destination in mind. I didn’t need one. Why should I? My entire life now had no goal, no purpose, so anywhere I went, anything I did, was just perfect. I found it funny that I could think at all. Why wasn’t my heart breaking and my tears flowing like a river, my emotions in full control of my entire being?

There was one emotion that saddled up against my desire to be rational. It was guilt. Guilt over being so stupid. One would think I would feel guilty over not saving Regina, not seeing the trouble she was in, the bad decisions she had made and was continuing to make. It wasn’t that type of guilt. I was ashamed of my inability to recognize reality. The world I had lived in ever since I moved back to Alabama was a world I hated and rejected. But, that didn’t make it unreal. In fact, it was the only truth that existed. Reasoning, rationality, truth, what I had always thought of as truth, didn’t exist. These things were not reality.

Ever since I had rejected God and Christianity, I had always prided myself on truth, on being a lover of the truth. What a fool I had been. Probably three-fourths of all Americans (virtually all Southerners) believe in God, the God of the Bible. Southerners believe the Bible is God’s words, that it has no error. They believe that God hears their prayers and answers every one of them with, yes, no, or later. Mix this philosophy with a hatred towards the federal government, and just as strong a feeling of love towards President Kane, and you have the perfect reality.

As I drove through Glencoe, my thoughts returned to Regina. It hit me. It hit me hard. Now, I realized how she was the brave soul, the one who had been determined to risk her life for truth. Her years in Chicago had taught her to forsake myth, to seek for facts and evidence that align with science and the world around her. Even though I didn’t agree with her willingness to break the law, I finally understood that she recognized the importance of standing up against pure ignorance, bigotry, and hatred. She did everything in her power to expose Christianity and Kane for what they are.

Now, I had a decision to make. In truth, it was already made. If I continued to live in Boaz, Alabama, I would have to be an absolute recluse, or choose to live a lie. Living alone, always alone at Shepherd’s Cove, without Regina, wasn’t inviting at all. Also, immersing myself in a make-believe world of ‘God is great,’ and ‘I’m praying for you,’ was nearly the most repulsive thing I could think about.

Yes, I had been such a fool. A fool to think that I could write a book that would have the power to persuade folks, particularly Southerners, to engage in basic reasoning, and to ultimately reject their falsehoods and myths. I had to accept that nothing, but death, would change the minds of these folks. It wasn’t because they were stupid. It was because they were brainwashed. True brainwashing is virtually impossible to break. Most of these folks, many that I had known all my life, were powerless. Decades of false teachings along with a perfectly matched society to reinforce these teachings, was the perfect recipe for brainwashing. No fool or genius had any power to break this code.

In Oxford, I almost drove up the Interstate 20 ramp towards Atlanta. I thought about driving to the Hilton Garden Inn in Tifton for a few days, even thought of requesting Room 420 to reminisce mine and Regina’s trip the week of July 4th, 2018. I’m not sure why I didn’t, but instead I chose to return home. Before I reached Gadsden on my return trip I had my answer.

I had to stay in Boaz. I had to continue teaching my stenographic classes at Snead State. It was there I had some influence. Felicia was living proof of that. I had learned she was not having an affair with Pastor Warren. She was debating him on the truth of Christianity. I didn’t have the ability or power to influence masses of people, not America, nor even a small community like Boaz. But, I did have a niche, one where its students had a deep interest in accurately recording what they were hearing. One thing can lead to another. If one more student in my life falls in love with accuracy, it will be inevitable that he or she pursues meaning. And, who knows, this student might just evolve into a truth-seeking human.

As I pulled into my driveway at Shepherd’s Cove, I felt Regina ease over beside me, pressing her left leg against me as she always did. My mind was tempted to think God was giving me a sign that Regina lived on and would always be by my side. I resisted the temptation. I chose science instead. My mind needed comforting and it fed me just the perfect memory to provide that comfort.

Always and forever I will love Regina. As teenagers, I broke her heart. As senior-citizens, she broke mine. I did so to pursue myth. She did so to pursue truth.

I unlocked the back door, walked to the counter, grabbed a notepad and pen, and wrote down, “Regina, the fearless truth-seeker.”

THE END

Novel Excerpts–The Boaz Stenographer, Chapter 85

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 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.

While Walt is writing a book, The Coming Civil War, he is, unwittingly, gathering key information for the Constitution Foundation.

Chapter 85

Thaddeus Colburn was a no-show, although I had waited for over an hour. Before meeting with District Attorney Abbott and the FBI’s Special Agent Cory Stiller, I someway found the will to go vote. Even though I knew Regina was dead, my imagination kept telling me she was watching and desperately needed me to continue to do everything within my power to stop President Kane from being reelected.

I could never have denied anything to Regina.

At 9:00 p.m., I gave a detailed statement to a room full of local, state, and federal law enforcement officials in the City of Boaz courtroom. Everyone had been considerate enough to come to me.

While I was being interviewed, two FBI agents had learned that no Thaddeus Colburn had been registered at the Hampton Inn in Guntersville. Also, all attempts to reach him at his home and office in Chicago had been unsuccessful. It seemed he had gone into hiding. Finally, similar results were obtained regarding Ginger and Zell. By 10:30 p.m., every law enforcement agency in the country had been notified of Regina’s abduction by the Russian Semyon Ivankov.

I finally arrived home at 1:30 a.m. After leaving the Boaz courtroom I had taken a drive. All during my interview I had this weird and troubling feeling that Regina’s body could be found in the well of the old home place of Tom and Betty Rickles between Rodentown and Collinsville. My rational mind knew this was virtually impossible. How on earth would Semyon Ivankov know about this place? Then, it became clear. He could have forced Regina to tell him what she had done with his brother. Would she have told him? This troubling feeling and my rational mind had prompted me to drive to the Rickles farm. When I arrived, I found nothing to indicate anyone had been there since Regina and I had disposed of Sergei’s body. I spent the next thirty minutes trying to figure out how to determine if Regina was 88 feet down in the well. My flashlight was too weak to see clearly that far down. Finally, I had left, frustrated, and returned home.

I spent one minute at most in mine and Regina’s bedroom. I was overwhelmed with grief and memories of our trip to Tifton to purchase the antique bedroom suite. In sixty seconds I had seen every day since late 2017 that the two of us had spent together. Claustrophobia and near-suffocation attacked me and forced me downstairs. Sandi and I went outside and sat at the end of the pier until nearly 3:30 a.m. and looked at the stars. I had pondered how and when I had gone wrong. What could I have done, and when, to have avoided losing Regina? How had I been so blind? Why had she not trusted me enough to tell me the truth right when we started getting serious?

When I went inside and sat in my lounge chair I was surprised how easily I had fallen asleep. I was also surprised that I slept until 8:30 a.m. Sandi woke me licking my hand. My mind was cloudy. I made a pot of coffee and it dawned on me that the rest of the nation, the world, right now, knew who had won yesterday’s election. I walked back into the den and turned on the TV. CNN called it ‘Breaking News.’ To me, as I saw that President Kane had been elected, I thought it was not news at all. Even though I had not said it aloud, I had known for weeks that Kane would be reelected. The forces, as Vann and I had called them, were unstoppable.

The more I thought about it, the idea that Eric Salers, his candidacy, might have been arranged by Thaddeus Colburn. My mind doubted it, but my heart thought it quite possible. What better assurance that Kane would be reelected than to have his opponent be an atheist? There certainly was no way in hell that most Americans were even remotely ready to vote for someone who didn’t believe God existed. Christians, especially those of the evangelical stripe, would open-armed voted for Satan himself before voting for an atheist.

From CNN, I also quickly learned that Americans across the country had elected 22 new Republican Senators, including Roy Moore of Alabama, who all proudly carried the extremist banner. Just like Moore, these men and women would create an open-door for President Kane to march in legislation that would push the Constitutional limits far, far towards a theocracy, and when that failed, these new Senators, along with enough presiding Senators, would give him the power to call for a Constitutional Convention. I didn’t see any way for the country to avoid a theocracy. I did see dark days ahead for all minorities, including homosexuals and humanists.

Novel Excerpts–The Boaz Stenographer, Chapter 84

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 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.

While Walt is writing a book, The Coming Civil War, he is, unwittingly, gathering key information for the Constitution Foundation.

Chapter 84

My cell phone vibrated just as I crested the mountain on Highway 431 coming out of Guntersville. I didn’t recognize the number, so I didn’t answer. Neither my body nor my mind wanted to talk with anyone except Regina. I had painfully waited two days after Freddie’s plea hearing. Now, I wanted to get home and confront her about Jennifer’s death and her continued lying. As I was passing the Cracker Barrel restaurant, the same number appeared on my phone. Something told me to answer. It was a frantic Regina.

“Walt, you there?”

“Yes, you sound weird.”

“I’ve been kidnapped. I think it is Sergei’s brother.”

“Oh no, where are you now?”

“I’m in the back of a truck that looks almost identical to yours. I’m in some type of dog cage in the bed of the truck under a camper shell. One like yours. Walt, I am so scared.”

“We have to think. Can you see where you are, which direction you’re heading?”

“No, I can’t see out the windows. They’ve been darkened.” Regina was silent for a moment. “Listen, I have something I have to tell you.”

“Regina, I have to find you. Can you reach over and scratch on the windows? They probably have some type of darkening tape on them.”

“I can’t get my hand through the wires on this cage.”

“Walt, I’ve been so stupid to think that I was immune from danger or attack from Thaddeus. I think they have found out that we disposed of Sergei. When I got home, the back door was busted. Just as I was turning around to leave and call the police two men rushed out onto the back porch knocked my phone out of my hand, picked me up, and put me inside this cage. I know one of the men was Semyon Ivankov, Sergei’s brother.”

“How are we talking? How did you get a phone?” I said.

“I always carry a burner phone in a case strapped to my thigh.

It’s an old trick I read about in a novel. I’ve never had to use it before.

Walt, now listen. I have to tell you something.”

“Regina, we can’t waste any time. I need to call the police.”

“Hush, listen. I killed Jennifer, your wife. I’m so sorry. It was meant to be a prank. Freddie helped me. It went horribly wrong. I had to tell you. I had to, finally, be honest with you.”

“Regina, I already know. Funny, I figured it out two days ago. I was heading home to confront you about it. What’s weird is now, it doesn’t matter. That was then. You had no criminal intent. You were young and foolish. Now, as I ride and think I may never see you again, the past, no matter what, doesn’t matter. I love you and need you today and forever. Forget this, we have to act.”

“Thank you for loving me Walt. You are unbelievably kind, tender, forgiving. I don’t deserve you.”

“Yes, you do. I’m the one that screwed up when I gave you up at the end of high school.” “Oh no.”

“What is it?” I said.

“The road just got really bumpy and rough. We have really slowed down. I think we are probably somewhere very isolated.”

“I’m putting you on hold to call the police.”

“No, please, stay with me. Talk to me, don’t leave. I need your voice. We’ve stopped.” I could hear muffled voices and then silence for several seconds.

“She’s got a damn phone.” I heard a man with a heavy accent.

“Unlock the gate.” Another voice said.

I could hear the truck’s tailgate being slammed down and the men scuffling into the truck. I could picture one of them using a key to open a padlock. I heard squeaks as though a metal or wire gate was swinging on its hinges.

“Give me that.” The man with the heaviest accent said as I pictured Regina pushing herself backwards.”

“Walt, I love you, I love you.”

The call ended. The line went silent. I no longer could hear what was happening to Regina. Unfortunately, my imagination was out of control and I was seeing her brutalized. She was shot, kicked, stabbed, choked, slapped. I got out of my truck. For the past ten minutes I had sat in my truck after pulling into the Lowe’s parking lot. I now had to move. Or, I would suffocate.

Finally, after walking around my truck for what seemed like an hour even though it couldn’t have been five minutes, I saw a Guntersville Police car pulling into a Captain D’s drive-through lane. This reminded me to call 911. I gave the lady all the information I had, which, I knew, wasn’t enough to save Regina.

By the time I drove through Albertville, it finally dawned on me that I had Thaddeus Colburn’s phone number. I looked back through my calls, found a number that I thought was his, and pressed ‘call.’ He answered on the first ring.

“Colburn, this is Walt Shepherd. Your thugs have my Regina.

Please don’t hurt her. I will pay you any amount. I will do anything.

There is no need to hurt her.”

“Mr. Shepherd, you are a slow learner. Don’t you recall me on multiple occasions warning you to stop promoting Eric Salers?”

“You know as well as I do that he doesn’t have a chance in hell of winning the presidential election.” I said.

“I don’t know that at all. The polls show him doing quite well.

As you must know, odd things can happen.”

“Why did you kidnap Regina?”

“First, you are mistaken. I have not kidnapped anyone. Second, Regina is my friend and I would never hurt her. She is important to me.”

“You are lying. Semyon Ivankov and some other thug kidnapped Regina less than an hour ago. They have her right now at some remote place.”

“Mr. Shepherd, if you know all this, why don’t you help her?”

“Because I don’t know where she is you idiot.”

“Now, don’t get angry.”

“I’m fully angry and you will not get away with this. If you don’t call Semyon and stop him from doing something stupid I’m calling the FBI on you right now.”

“No need for that. I’m at the Hampton Inn in Guntersville. Meet me in the Catfish Cabin’s parking lot in thirty minutes and we’ll go get Regina. I know where she is.” “I’ll be there.”

God Delusion UC Berkeley Lecture

Please listen to this fabulous episode from The Poetry of Reality podcast.

Richard Dawkins was the perfect antidote for my Southern Baptist fundamentalism. I wish he’d come along when I was much younger. Sad I wasted 60 years of my life believing the unbelievable, defending the indefensible.

Novel Excerpts–The Boaz Stenographer, Chapter 83

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 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.

While Walt is writing a book, The Coming Civil War, he is, unwittingly, gathering key information for the Constitution Foundation.

Chapter 83

For the past several weeks I had guided my Boaz Stenographic column far away from religious and political subjects. My favorite had been writing in response to Darlene Hawkins statement, “dogs are more human and humane than humans.” I used this time and space to include a ton of examples from my experience with Golden Retrievers to agree with Darlene’s statement.

This week, by default, would be a return to the most dangerous subjects in the world, especially given it was only three days until, possibly, the most important presidential election in the history of the United States. My choice of subject was limited because there was no submission other than those that addressed religion and politics.

The Sand Mountain Reporter’s selection committee chose James Blevin’s statement, “Salers is an atheist, Kane is a Christian, enough said.” The buzz caused by this post had dominated the Reporter’s online community. At first, I thought the committee surely could have selected something more specific, like a statement dealing with the possibility that the next president could select three Supreme Court justices, or the insanity of President Kane taunting North Korea’s Kim Jong Un into a nuclear war. However, over the week I had to write my column, I became thankful for Blevin’s statement. It said a lot more than I initially thought.

Since November 8, 2016, when eighty-one percent of white evangelical Americans cast a vote for Republican presidential candidate Andrew Kane, much had been written about their reasons. One thing seemed clear. It was in no way because his life exemplified the Biblical Jesus. Kane was, as one national reporter put it, “an unrepentant, thrice-divorced, self-professed sexual predator with a penchant for pathological lying who ran a campaign of unbridled hate, fear mongering, bigotry, racism … and more lying.” Then, and now on the eve of determining whether this man would continue to possess the most power endowed upon any man in the world, I had remained confused over why Christians had so wholeheartedly abandoned their 2 Corinthians 6:14 mantra, “Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers: for what fellowship hath righteousness with unrighteousness? and what communion hath light with darkness?” But, as I thought and wrote I concluded that American Christianity was undergoing a monumental shift. It was no longer so important what a man did, but simply what he said. Kane, had always said he was a Christian. A few articles I had read had said that since faith alone is what determines a man’s salvation, placing too much emphasis on a man’s works cheapens Christianity. To me, this sounded as rationalizing to achieve a goal, an attempt to scoot around charges of hypocrisy.

Eric Salers said he did not believe in God. He said this, like all atheists, because he had not been presented with sufficient evidence to believe there is a God. Salers, a Democrat, was as good a man as one could find in America. He was a successful businessman with an impeccable reputation. He had been married for thirty years to the same woman and they had four children. Salers had always donated large sums of money and time to charity. He had spent the past ten years as a Senator and focused heavily on creating jobs and health-care for the poor and needy. Salers had declared in 2016 that he was an atheist and had barely won reelection as a U.S. Senator. It seemed it was based on who he was as a human, on what he had done. It hadn’t hurt that he was a Senator from California. If he had been from Alabama, he would have been tarred and feathered. Now, running for President, he had done surprisingly well to become the presidential candidate for the Democratic Party.

Every week in dealing with my column when the subject is either religion or politics, I continued to be amazed and appalled at the broad-based ignorance of the Reporter’s readers. Do they believe that atheists are evil? Why do they have more respect for a Hindu, a Muslim, or a Buddhist than an atheist? Aren’t all non-believer’s atheists? Why do evangelical Christians hate the lost they say they are evangelizing? Is it simply because the atheist is courageous enough to say, ‘I’ve considered your position and I’m not persuaded?’

It sure seems to me that, just as I was taught to do as a kid, growing up in a Southern Baptist Church, you can’t think about these things. You must take it on faith. You must believe the Bible is true. God created the universe less than 10,000 years ago and but for the fall by Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, there would be no evil today. Some way as a teenager I had seen through the lies, the attempt at brainwashing. I had been lucky or something, but millions of people, dozens of people I knew and cared about, hadn’t been able to escape.

The fact is, once a group of people, like evangelical Christians, have a cause, let’s say abortion, they will hitch their wagon to the Devil himself to win a battle or a war. I truly don’t believe the real issue is abortion, but simply the thirst for power, the pride of being in control, no matter reasoning and argument to the contrary. Otherwise, evangelical Christians’ supposed love of life would extend onwards as the unaborted child grows up. They would fight for gun control and oppose the death penalty. But, that’s not what happens.

After wallowing in the mud of Christian hypocrisy, I finally realized that evidence didn’t matter. What truly mattered to these folks was what they believed the Bible said. They truly were willing to trust in a 2,000-year-old book that, without a doubt, had clearly been proved false on many issues. They were fine with no evidence for Moses or for the Israelite’s escape from Egypt, no evidence for the Resurrection. Most of them completely ignored the enormous body of evidence that the universe is billions of years old.

Clearly, what mattered was that a person said he had faith in the Christian story. Nothing else mattered. When I finished my column, I knew that all my efforts to prevent President Kane from being elected were in vain. There was nothing that could stop him. He was a Christian and Salers was an atheist. Enough said.

Novel Excerpts–The Boaz Stenographer, Chapter 82

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 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.

While Walt is writing a book, The Coming Civil War, he is, unwittingly, gathering key information for the Constitution Foundation.

Chapter 82

Late Tuesday, just a week before the Presidential election, Anton and Anatoly Romanov, were arrested at LaGuardia International Airport in New York City. The two were wearing disguises and were flying under fraudulent passports. Their intentions were unclear, but an unnamed source stated that Anton, aka, the Professor, was claiming he was delivering his brother to U.S. officials under an agreement. One thing was clear. The CIA had linked Anatoly to the Russians 2016 efforts to manipulate that year’s presidential election. The CIA, along with the FBI and a host of intelligence agencies from around the world, had confirmed that the GRU, the Russian agency Anatoly was responsible for, had sent U.S. election officials emails that appeared to be from VR Systems, a Florida-based election systems provider to trick the election officials to click on an attachment that would have introduced malware into their computers. This would have provided the hackers control of the infected computer. A spokesman for the Office of the Director of National Intelligence acknowledged it doesn’t know how successful the Russian efforts were in that effort or what information or access the GRU may have gotten.

In all appearances, this year’s election won’t be affected by such spear-phishing attacks even if they are successful. A month ago, Congress and President Kane passed legislation requiring all districts to use paper ballots or verify that its electronic results agreed with its paper backups. Although elections officials from across the country were frantically trying to implement the new law, it appeared all attempts by Russia to manipulate the upcoming election had been thwarted.

Novel Excerpts–The Boaz Stenographer, Chapter 81

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 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.

While Walt is writing a book, The Coming Civil War, he is, unwittingly, gathering key information for the Constitution Foundation.

Chapter 81

It seemed I had wholly neglected my duties to Judge Broadside. For weeks now I had only worked, at most, two days per week. Even though the Judge really liked Dana, my assistant reporter, her routine consistency of making mistakes, even delaying court proceedings at times, had him flustered. This was why he called me over the weekend to make sure I was available to record the Freddie Olinger plea hearing that was scheduled this afternoon at 1:00 p.m. I assured him I was.

I arrived early and per agreement, Dana was already there. We spent the morning reviewing her transcripts from the prior week with three-fourths of our time going through the transcript of a long and tedious discovery motion hearing. Dana had admitted that she had gotten confused five minutes after the hearing began and believed she had improperly used some of the terminology the attorney’s used from the Alabama Rules of Civil Procedure. It seemed a local bank had fired its President over the misuse of funds obtained from the majority stockholder during the construction of a new corporate office and banking facility in Guntersville. The Plaintiff President was contending his contract entitled him to a $5,000,000 severance package unless he either admitted to wrongdoing or a court of law found him liable. Since, the company had fired him and forced him to leave he had brought this lawsuit.

At 1:00 p.m. Judge Broadside, District Attorney Charles Abbott, defense attorney Micaden Tanner, criminal defendant Freddie Olinger, myself, and at least one hundred friends and families of all four of the victims’ families gathered in Courtroom 301. The Judge made sure he announced with simple but forceful clarity that he would not tolerate any outbursts in his courtroom. Up until then I had been surprisingly calm and mostly unconcerned about being present with the man who no doubt had changed my life.

As the Judge spoke to the gathering my mind flooded back to that weekend when Jennifer was killed. We were home for a two-week Christmas vacation. I was in my second-year teaching at Prince George’s Community College in Largo, Maryland, and our lives were as good as they had ever been. It had been six years since I had left Boaz. Our relationship had matured to the level of mutual respect and caring. We were friends of a sort, supported each other every step of the way, but we knew that something was missing. We never talked about it, but it was like there was always a dark cloud that followed us around. Now, sitting here waiting for Jennifer’s killer to confess, I was nearly overcome with emotion. Life and all its experiences is so relative. I was shocked how I now longed for the openness and honesty that Jennifer lived. No doubt I loved Regina as passionately as a man could love a woman, but with my recent discoveries and our recent criminal conduct, I was fully aware of how dishonesty can strike such a blow to the foundation of even the strongest relationships.

Judge Broadside finished his speech and looked down at me mouthing the words, ‘are you okay?’ I affirmed that I was. He then motioned for the parties to approach the bench. He summarized the four charges from the Information and asked if the Defendant wished to waive their formal reading. On behalf of Freddie, Micaden agreed. Judge asked Freddie how he plead to the murder of Sandra Donaldson. He said, “guilty.” And, that’s how the plea hearing went for all four murders. The friends and families gathered were surprisingly quiet. After Freddie plead guilty to Vann Elkins’ murder, the last one, Judge Broadside asked him if he had anything to say before sentences were pronounced.

Freddie said that he was sorry for all the wrongs he had committed. He then looked over at me and said, “Walt, I’m particularly sorry for my involvement in the death of Jennifer. We, I, did not intend that she die. It was meant as a joke. A sick joke I agree. Please know how sorry I am.”

Judge Broadside then said, “Mr. Olinger, based on the agreement you have made with the State of Alabama, through its Marshall County District Attorney, I now sentence you to thirty years on each count of the Information with each case running concurrent with the others. You will spend a minimum of ten years in the custody of the Alabama Prison System. It will be up to the Board of Pardons and Paroles whether you are ever released from prison after serving the minimum ten years. I’d like to say that you are a lucky man to receive such a light sentence. You should thank your lawyer. Is there any other business before the court?”

Both DA Abbott and Micaden answered in the negative. The hearing was over, and everybody started moving themselves about. I couldn’t move. All I could do is replay in my head what I had clearly heard Freddie say, “We, I, did not intend that she die.” Was he simply confused when he said ‘we’? Or, was his mind feeding up a truth the District Attorney was unaware of? Or, was Abbott aware of it and that is why he had agreed to modify the agreement to allow Freddie the possibility of being paroled someday?

Everyone had exited the courtroom except Micaden. The deputies who had stood at the courtroom’s entrance during the hearing, had allowed Micaden and Freddie several minutes to sat at counsel table and talk. The deputies had just left with Freddie to escort him back across the street to the Marshall County jail to await transport to Montgomery and the Alabama Prison System. I was now standing and gathering my things and Micaden walked over and handed me a red file.

I knew it was an official file based on its color.

“Sorry, I had mistakenly kept these photos in my briefcase.

Please don’t tell Mr. Abbott.” Micaden said with a grin.

“I won’t. I promise I’ll get them back to the Circuit Clerk for permanent case filing.”

“I know this hearing was rough on you. Are you okay?” Micaden asked.

“I’m better now. But, I did have a moment right before the hearing began that I didn’t know if I could stay. It’s weird how memories can rush in as though you are back in time seeing and feeling what you thought you had long forgotten.”

“I’m glad you’re okay. Let’s have lunch soon. Sorry, I must run. I have an emergency custody hearing in Family Court. Take care.” Micaden said rushing out of the courtroom.

I will never know why I sat back down and opened the red file Micaden had just handed me. I knew it contained crime scene photos made by police investigators. It was not until I flipped through all thirty or forty photos that I remembered Freddie had made some photos of Jennifer’s car when he had it up on the rack and he was making the brake modifications. These photos were the last ones, the ones at the back of the file. I suddenly became confused because I had not remembered that Freddie’s photos were part of the official record. I let the thought go, thinking that maybe Micaden had someway gotten Freddie’s photos mixed in with the official file.

As I flipped through the six or seven photos Freddie had made, something caught my eye. I went back to a close-up shot of a hand holding a short piece of brake line up beside the left rear wheel of Jennifer’s car. It was as though the hand wasn’t attached to a body. All the photo revealed was the hand. But, that was all I needed to convince myself that the watch on the left hand was very familiar. It was identical to the Timex with Mickey Mouse watch band that I had given Regina for her seventeenth birthday.

My head started spinning and my mind racing to put two and two together. I seemed to instantly understand why Freddie was involved with the prank that caused Jennifer’s death. It was Regina’s prank all along. She had simply talked her brother-in-law’s brother into helping her. It was a perfect set-up for Regina. She despised Jennifer, eternally blaming her for taking me away from her. It was Christmas and all the necessary players were home. I imagined a Christmas get-together at Regina’s mother’s house. The prank idea seeded in Regina’s mind. She used her powers of persuasion to convince Freddie to assist her. I remembered that Jennifer’s father, Franklin Ericson, always made sure his daughter’s car was properly maintained. The two of them had dropped her car off at Sand Mountain Tire & Muffler late on Christmas Eve, to await brake work and new tires the day after Christmas. I also remembered why we had driven her car home. The transmission in my normally reliable old truck had gone out the day before we had planned on leaving for Alabama.

It all fit like a glove. Regina was just as much responsible for Jennifer’s death as Freddie was. What seemed odd was why Freddie hadn’t disclosed Regina’s involvement. Couldn’t he have used that as a bargaining chip? Then, it dawned on me. Maybe he had. Maybe that shoe just hadn’t fallen yet. Maybe DA Abbott is still investigating her involvement.

I used my iPhone to take a picture of Freddie’s photos showing the hand and the watch. I then gathered my things and returned them to my courthouse office. I almost walked across the street to see if I could visit with Freddie, thinking he would tell me the truth, especially now that his deal was assured. Instead, I drove home. I needed this time to think about how to present this evidence to Regina. I had her red-handed. I couldn’t help but wonder why Micaden had given me the red file. After a few minutes of believing he and Freddie had conspired to tell me the truth, I recognized I was letting emotion lead me in a direction I had no solid reason for going.

Novel Excerpts–The Boaz Stenographer, Chapter 80

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 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.

While Walt is writing a book, The Coming Civil War, he is, unwittingly, gathering key information for the Constitution Foundation.

Chapter 80

The timing was shear genius or morbidly stupid. I was having trouble figuring out which. For almost a month Regina and I had contemplated what we were going to do with Sergei Ivankov. Our minds and words traveled in a dozen different directions, but one thing was for certain, we had to get rid of him.

It was the hardest decision of my life. I had allowed my life to be put in the perfect dilemma or life had conspired against me to put me there. I was both fully in love with Regina and in a moral standard of conduct that excluded violating the principles that, to me, held a safe and secure civilization together. In a sense, my decision to conspire with Regina was easy. The world, peace, calm, security, was too abstract right now to exercise sufficient power to overcome the sound of Regina’s voice, the look in her deep blue eyes, and most importantly, the feel of her body next to mine.

It was Sunday, two days after my national appearance during the Presidential debate where I had the honor and discomfort of questioning the President of the United States, and the only man who stood in the way of what I knew could be the beginning of the end for America. After Eric Salers’ surprising words to the world about his disbelief in the existence of God, and his succinct but powerful argument supporting his position, my phone had not ceased ringing. It seemed every news agency in America, and several from around the world, were trying to interview me on the spot or arrange for a formal interview today. I had declined to be drawn into a conversation that would certainly rile Thaddeus Colburn to the heights of anger he had rarely, if ever, known. But, I had agreed to appear on 60 Minutes tonight via a new satellite technology the program was introducing for the first time. This would take place with me sitting either in my lounge chair or at the kitchen bar.

I couldn’t worry about that now. That was over twelve hours away. Now, Regina and I were taking Sergei on a little road trip. As the saying goes, I was ‘all in.’ There was no turning back. Sergei was handcuffed and lying prone in the back of my truck. It was still dark because of a low-lying fog and unrelenting rain. So far, things had gone as planned. Since Regina had Sergei’s confidence and I had never met him, she had gone out to the barn at 5:00 a.m. awakening him to their alert signal, ‘come on Sandi girl.’ Within a couple of minutes Sergei was descending the wooden ladder that lead to the barn’s loft. It helped that he was groggy from sleep. It also helped that Regina was adept at hiding and quickly revealing the Glock 9 mm pistol she was carrying in her belt inside her coat. Sergei had not presented any opposition or resistance, simply squatting down on his knees and cuffing one of his hands to a set that were hanging from a chain behind the ladder. After Regina fully secured him, she called me to back down to the hallway of the barn. I was waiting in the truck.

A week ago, Regina and I had spotted the old well, the hand dug type. We had driven the main roads, Highways 168 and 68, early that Saturday morning to Collinsville’s Trade Day. On the return trip, we had decided to take, what all true Southerners called, the scenic route. Turn left after passing under the I-59 overpass at the Collinsville exit and travel up the mountain along a paved but winding road that was lightly traveled, especially the section near Rodentown. We barely saw the well as we passed. It sat behind an old abandoned house at least a hundred yards from the road. If Regina’s eyes hadn’t been looking at the two-story farmhouse with crumbling chimney at just the right moment she would have missed it. As I passed by, she turned and looked back and said, “Walt, there it is. Pull up to the intersection ahead and turn around.”

I hate to admit but our talks had included the idea of a secure hiding spot for Sergei’s body. I still cringe to think about what I have done. I drove us back to the house and along the driveway filled with broken and decaying tree limbs and rocks that seemed to have fallen out of the sky. It was clear the road was not being used regularly at all. The well was just what we thought. It was the type common in the late 1800’s around North Alabama. My own grandfather had worked as a young man hand-digging these type wells. I was reminded of him sharing stories of being sometimes a hundred or more feet down in a hole that was usually less than six feet wide. I vividly remembered the story of granddad nearly drowning when his pick struck an underground spring and water rushed into the well before he was rescued by the two men up on the surface who seemingly were taking a nap.

The well’s depth was 88 feet down to the water. And, it was owned by Derrick Rickles and Karen Eubanks. The Monday after our discovery, Regina had investigated the ownership of the abandoned home and well. They were a brother and a sister who had inherited their parents’ property in 2005. Derrick lived in Nashville and Karen lived in Atlanta. Their parents, Tom and Betty Rickles, had died in a car accident in 2005. Regina found the estate had been probated and an executor’s deed prepared in late 2006 to Derrick and Karen as tenant’s in common. From all we could gather, the one-hundred-acre farm was no more important to its current owners than the five-gallon buckets that were lined up on the back porch of the empty house.

During the past week we had exhausted every other possibility for the disposal of Sergei Ivankov. There was none that remotely satisfied us. It was daylight when we pulled behind the Rickles’ old home. We had rehearsed a hundred times. I backed up to the old well. Regina, with her silencer-equipped Glock, exited the truck and opened the camper shell’s back door and let down the tailgate. She asked Sergei to sit up and scoot out onto the tailgate. He refused, so I had to pull him out by his boots. He fell off the truck’s edge and onto the blue tarp that we had spread onto the ground.

“Walk away.” Regina instructed me.

“I was nearly halfway around the old house headed to the front porch when I heard her yell, “alright, I need you.”

When I reappeared at the back of the truck, I saw Sergei’s head, or what was left of it, pouring blood onto the tarp. I walked to the truck’s cab and removed two protective white coveralls that we had purchased online. We quickly slipped them on. It took all the strength we could muster to pick up and hoist Sergei’s body over the four-foot high concrete cylinder that served as a barrier to anyone who might wander around and fall into the deep well. It took longer than I expected for Sergei’s body to fall the 88 feet. Later, I thought about this time, which couldn’t have been more than two or three seconds, as a crossroads. The time was meant to reveal to me my passing from my old world, one of faithful commitment to law and order, and into my new world that would never be free from quite desperation over being discovered as a murderer.

Regina and I quickly removed our coveralls, and placed them, along with the folded-up tarp, into the back of the truck, closed the door and tailgate, and drove back to Shepherd’s Cove. Once there, we burned everything we had used in our crime, along with Sergei’s sleeping bag, pillow, a garbage bag full of paper plates, cups, and utensils, and an overnight bag full of underwear, pants, and shirts in the 55-gallon steel barrel I used to dispose of all my own burnable garbage.

Hopefully, the only link connecting Regina to any criminal activity had been eliminated.