By the time I was seven years old I had a pretty good grasp on the normal rhythms of life.

As Summer came to a close we would return to school. In the Fall, as the air grew cooler and the leaves changed color, we would dress up for Halloween and enjoy time with family at Thanksgiving. Winter meant snow, snow meant Christmas, and Christmas meant presents. After the New Year came the awkwardness of Valentines followed by the confusing connection between eggs and bunnies at Easter. When it truly began to warm up we knew that Summer was coming again, the Chicago Bulls would beat the Utah Jazz in the NBA Finals, and we would soon be out of school on break.

This was simply the normal course of things in my seven-year-old mind. Michael Jordan and the Bulls winning the championship was as predictable as Santa’s reindeer and the changing seasons. Everyone celebrated holidays and watched movies about holidays. The Bulls beating the Jazz was just one more cultural norm.

I’m sure some part of me knew a basketball game was a little different than all of the other movies and cartoons I watched where the Heroes always defeated the Villains but not too different. It was expected and natural that while there would be some sort of rising action and drama, at the climax the Hero would make the last shot and the Good Guys would win. That was what was supposed to happen. It’s what did happen.

Everything was right with the world.

When I was a kid living an hour and a half south of Chicago my parents’ TV had “rabbit ears” for an antenna. Usually you had to fiddle with it to get good reception and a somewhat clear picture. My two best friends down the block had cable. I don’t remember watching very many Bulls games during the year, but I do remember going over to watch the Finals against the Utah Jazz. We would each choose a Bulls player to “be” at the beginning of the game. Their shouts of “I’m Michael Jordan!” and “I’m Scottie Pippin!” always left me with Dennis Rodman. I wasn’t disappointed though. Rodman was cool. Every game his hair was dyed a different combination of colors. To a seven-year-old that was awesome.

For whatever reason there are certain memories which remain as crystal clear as the cable TV image in comparison to the fuzzy rabbit ear reception of many of my other childhood memories. The plastic Chicago Bulls helmets my friends owned. Sitting on the floor in front of the TV watching the game. Rodman’s Game Six hair. Jordan’s last shot. Everyone being a fan of the Bulls.

I didn’t realize it then but every single person being a fan of the Bulls was unique to that time and specific iteration of the team. The postal worker, the grocery store clerk, the bank teller, everyone seemed to be a fan of the Bulls. TV showed me people all across the world who loved the Bulls. If someone was at the top of their field they were considered “the Michael Jordan” of whatever they did. I’m sure someone was the Michael Jordan of accounting. Heck, someone still is the Michael Jordan of accounting. Honestly, comparing being a fan of Jordan and the Bulls to Santa and his helpers isn’t quite accurate. Even as a kid I knew there were some people who didn’t celebrate Christmas due to their religion. I didn’t know anyone who wasn’t a Bulls fan.

As an adult I now realize there was a small group of people in a far off land who were sadly fated to be fans of the Jazz. That somewhere an hour and a half south of Salt Lake City there was a seven-year-old kid who’d grown up similar to me in every way except his team always lost. I suppose his summer always began with something closer to a Greek Tragedy than a Heroic Epic. Everything was right in my world though, so I didn’t think about that.

Until it wasn’t.

When Jordan returned from his first retirement he sent out a fax saying “I’m back”. The world erupted with noise and news stories. After a brief hiccup we’ve collectively decided to excuse, the Bulls reeled off three straight championships and an impersonation of the Beetles.

And then, Jordan retired, Scottie Pippen was traded, and Rodman was released. Just like that, they were gone and it was over.

I woke up one morning and no one was a Bulls fan anymore. Not the postal worker, not the grocery store clerk, not the bank teller, they’d all moved on to other things, seemingly overnight. The normal routine of holidays and seasons still continued on but the Bulls weren’t a part of it anymore. In my world, the 1999 NBA season didn’t even occur.

In the three seasons from 1995-98 the Bulls only lost 43 games total in the regular season combined. They lost 169 the next three years and that was with one of those seasons being shortened (thank goodness) due to a lockout. They wouldn’t even sniff the playoffs until seven years after Jordan retired and the Bulls broke up. I was finishing 2nd grade when they won their last championship. When they made the playoffs again I was in high school. They didn’t make the Conference Finals till I was almost done with college. I’ve been a fan for more seasons where they didn’t manage to win even 30 games (8) than they won championships (6) and I really only remember beating the Jazz (2).

I liked the Bulls as a kid when they were winning. I fell in love with them when they were scrapping and clawing their way back into the playoffs. Jordan, Pippen, and Rodman planted the seed, but it was Kirk Hinrich, Ben Gordon, and Luol Deng who made it grow.

I suppose in some ways my love for the Bulls mirrors how real love often operates in the world. Everything is perfect at first. It’s like winning the championship year after year. At some point you come down off the mountain though, and that can be tough. It can even get ugly. If you keep working at it though, some of those early feelings come back. As life goes on and love matures, it goes through ups and downs, but if you stick with it, you appreciate the good parts all the more and learn how to navigate the hard parts better.

Of course the analogy breaks down pretty quickly if you think about it too much or try to draw too direct a line. As much fun as sports can provide and as meaningful as they can be in so many different ways, people and relationships are more important. But sports can play a lot of different roles in who we are, who we become, and what that means for how we interact with those around us and the experiences we share with them.

It would be nice if the world would be right again though.

It’s been almost four years since I published Kingdoms of Broken Stone: Boy of Dreams. The plan all along has been to write a trilogy within this world I’ve created. Since Boy of Dreams was published, I’ve moved, changed jobs, gotten a dog, a promotion, our first house, and now our first child. Life has been eventful. I also took some time collect, edit, and publish the Between Calls devotionals.

Well, I’ve finally started to make a little progress with the second book, Kingdoms of Broken Stone: Rise of Arturius. I’ve had the title and general idea since before the first one was completed, but actually getting the first draft done hasn’t happened. Being a new dad I don’t have much extra time, so I’m hesitant to even do this, but I thought I’d let people see the first chapter as it is so far. Still a work in progress of course. I’ve written a total of five chapters in the last few months. Even if it is slow, hopefully the progress continues to be steady.

1. A Commotion

Arturius found himself walking by the farm of Warrenfin’s uncle often. He really had no reason to do so since it was the opposite direction of the village square. Yet reason or not, he had found himself on that road almost every day since Warrenfin left a month ago.

In his head, Arturius knew it was much too soon to expect Warrenfin to be returning down that same road with tales of adventure, but for some reason his heart was always a little hopeful as he walked towards the spot they had parted ways. Once there, he’d pause at the formerly dilapidated gate, which had since been replaced, and looked towards the Hook with a tinge of disappointment. After feeling silly for getting his hopes up, he’d turn around and walk to the village. He only occasionally saw glimpses of Warrenfin’s uncle, who had taken to calling himself “Sir” Mendax due to his new found wealth.

Now that he was rich, Mendax had paid for his farm to be transformed from the most poorly maintained in the area to the most beautiful, all without working any harder than he had in the past. He had also gone from being a recluse to a loud and boisterous nuisance in public, except for when Arturius was present. He usually avoided sticking around whenever Arturius showed up and often eyed him suspiciously. Publicly he explained his wealth by detailing a business investment he made long ago finally paying off and Warrenfin’s absence by saying he’d sent him to an academy on the Continent to receive a “real education.” People in the village didn’t seem to fully believe him, but now that he was paying so generously for their goods and services they didn’t question him. Arturius assumed people wouldn’t really believe the truth, that a stranger paid an enormous sum of money for Warrenfin to be her assistant, so he didn’t challenge Mendax on his lie. The only people he told were his parents, who agreed that most people in the village either wouldn’t believe or wouldn’t care. For their part, they trusted their son but were confused about who she was and what she could have been doing. They vaguely remembered a similar wandering “teacher” passing through a few years ago but didn’t remember anyone running off with her at that time.   

On this particular day, as Arturius started to turnaround to head towards the village, he heard a loud commotion coming from the house. He could hear Mendax yelling, but couldn’t make out what was being said. Suddenly, the whole house shook for a moment and glass could be heard shattering as window frames shifted and household items were knocked from their places.

Arturius quickly jumped the fence and ran to take cover in a group of bushes closer to the house in an effort to hear what was going on inside.

“I swear! I’ve t-told you everything I know! Please, let me b-be!”

Arturius could hear the terror in Mendax’s voice.

“I can pay you! Wh-what do you want? I’ll give you whatever you wa-want. Just leave me alone!”

Then Arturius heard a cold, unfeeling, female voice answer.

“All I want is information and if you don’t have anymore, then you are of no use to me.”

“I, I told you there isn’t anything else to know! I b-bought him from a Sair Pirate in the Hook when he was just a small boy. They didn’t tell me anything a-about who he was and neither d-did the lady who bought him from me. All he did was take care of the farm. There’s noth… nothing special about him!”

“Why do you think she paid you so much for him?”

“I d-don’t know. She offered me the money, took him, and… and left. What did I care?”

“If you can’t or you won’t help me, then I can’t let you live.”

“P-please!”

“Karka Liftoach!”

The house shook violently and wood began to splinter. The ground around the house started to pull away and sink like water around a drain. Arturius leapt up from the bushes and sprinted away from the house. As he vaulted over the fence and scrambled onto the dusty road, Mendax could just barely be heard yelling over the roar of the collapsing house sinking into the ground. By the time Arturius had picked himself up off the ground everything was calm and the air was still aside from a slight haze of dust. He looked at where the house had been and only a sunken divot of broken dirt remained. Stunned, he stared at the ground in unmoving amazement until his eye noticed movement headed through the field of corn closest to the house. Something was quickly moving west away from where the house once stood. Arturius debated if he should follow after it, but decided he ought to head home as fast as he could and tell his parents what had happened. Maybe they could make some sense of it?

“You said he was arguing with someone who wanted information about Warrenfin?” asked his father Darius.

“That’s what it sounded like to me.”

“And then the house just sunk into the ground?”

“Yeah. I couldn’t believe it.”

Arturius and his parents, Darius and Priscilla, all stood staring at where the house had been just hours before.

“Darius, I don’t like this at all.” The concern of a worried mother in Priscilla’s voice was clearly evident.

“Neither do I.”

“Do you think we ought to send him to your father? Would he be in port this time of year? What if whoever did this comes looking for Arturius next?”

“He’ll likely be in port preparing to load foodstuffs from harvest. Letting my father have him would get him away from here for awhile but didn’t the idea of him being on the ocean always scare you?”

“Yes, but not as much as whatever can do this scares me.”

Their son butted in to the discussion about his future. “I told you. I want to hunt and learn the farm. I don’t want to spend months on a boat with grandfather.”

“We know son. It won’t be forever, just until things here return to normal.” Darius tried to sound reassuring, but he had no idea what was going on or when things would be normal again. “We better go home and get you packed and on the way to Bellham as soon as we can. In fact, we’ll all go with to drop you off. That way the whole family is away from here for a few days.”

“But it’s harvest season soon. Don’t you need my help?”

“We’ll manage. Your brothers and sisters are getting old enough to do more of the work and it’s time they start learning as much as you already know.”

The conversation died and they stood staring at the broken earth for a moment longer. Then Darius moved towards the cart they had ridden from their farm and his wife and son followed. After everyone was seated, Darius pulled the reigns and the only one still in a normal frame of mind, unbothered by all the great changes occurring, started to lead the way home. For their donkey, it was just a normal day of work pulling the cart to and fro.    

I’ve finished the second small devotional book in this two-part series. It follows the same format as the first book and picks up with devotion number 51. It is available via paperback and eBook from Amazon.com.

Our plans, and life in general, can kind of get away from us in some of the different seasons of life, am I right?

I never would have thought I would write the first book for the Kingdoms of Broken Stone series in less than a year and then take more than two years to get started on the second. I apologize to those who’ve waited patiently to continue reading the story, especially if you were hoping the next announcement from me would be in regards to the next installment.

During this season of life I’ve moved twice, had a job change, and, I hope this makes up from some of the disappointment, gotten a puppy.

(To be honest, the puppy was recent, so she didn’t really have an impact in delaying my writing.)

Her name is Lucy. She’s quite a bit bigger than this now, but I wanted to find the cutest picture I could to smooth things over a bit for not having the next book even remotely ready for enjoyment.

While a lot of life has happened, the main reason not much happened in the way of writing was my own lack of motivation and discouragement.

Perhaps I didn’t have much of a reason to be discouraged in terms of how many copies my first book sold. I shouldn’t have expected a large number when it was self-published, virtually lacking a cover, and my circle of influence, or “reach”, isn’t very large.

But I was disappointed nonetheless. Disappointed and discouraged.

So I didn’t really want to write the next book or any other book or do any writing of any kind. I focused on work and family and didn’t set aside any meaningful amount of time to write. I’d put so much of my time into writing, pitching, and pushing the book and the return wasn’t anywhere near what I hoped it would be. I had tried to set reasonable expectations and to take to heart the genuinely encouraging comments and reviews I received from those kind enough to read something I’d written, but even as my head told my heart to be happy with the blessings I’d received from others who read it, my heart still hoped it would sell enough to justify the amount of time I spent on it.

Silly, I know, but as much as I tried to adjust my hopes to something resembling what could be reasonably expected given the circumstances, I suppose the imagination that helps you write a fantasy book creeps into other parts of life as well.

For me, there is a funny set of emotions tied to writing and then asking people to pay for what I’ve written. I’d really like a lot of people to buy my book, but I’m also terrified about what they will think when they read it. I’d really like them to love what I’ve written, but if they do, will I disappoint them if the next thing I write isn’t as good? I’d like to be able to say that I write for an audience of one and hope to please God by using what He has given me, and maybe sometimes I’m able to have that perspective, but I often care about what others think and how many people read it, whether it is a book, article, or blog post.

Some of what I have written here may come across as ungrateful to those who’ve helped write and publish my work and to those who have bought and read my book. That is not my heart at all. In one sense, I am humbled beyond any words I can write that people would help me in this venture and that they would spend their resources (money and time) to purchase and read my work. I thank God for each of you and hope you have felt it was time and money well spent.

But it would be dishonest of me not to tell you all that has been in my heart and mind. Your kindness has earned that.

I do have something for you to read that, while it isn’t exactly new, has been edited, reworked, and assembled in a small collection.

Before I wrote Boy of Dreams, I’d been working on writing daily devotionals. I had hoped to write enough to fill a year, but I only got through 120-130 or so before I switched to writing the book. I had posted them here on my site for anyone to read.

At some point I had the idea to edit and assemble them in a small book. I wasn’t ready to begin full on writing again, but I thought if I worked on a writing project I could start to get back in the rhythm.

What I didn’t realize at the time was how much I needed to read the various scriptures and truths I’d written in the past. Many of them are written directly from places of weakness and struggle and were just as applicable to me now as when I first wrote them. The circumstances might be different, but many of the underlying heart and mind conditions are the same.

I planned to have one collection of 100 devotions, but I had to break it into two because you are only allowed to quote a certain number of verses from any given translation of the Bible without special consent. So I figured the easier thing to do would be to create two smaller devotionals of 50 each.

The book is available for Kindle or Paperback on Amazon.

Hey All,

I haven’t posted much lately for a few reasons. I took a break from writing after publishing Boy of Dreams to reset a little. While doing that I spent my time contacting book reviewers and seeking out contests to enter the book in while also experimenting with how best to promote it. Then I started a new position at work that I enjoy but has taken some extra time during the transition. I’m just now starting to get back to “Book 2” in a serious way.

However, I feel it would only be fair to be transparent and set expectations properly for when “Book 2” might be available to be read. The contests I’ve entered Boy of Dreams in will take awhile to finish up. If the book does well, they have the potential to raise its profile and desirability for publishers. I have a core trilogy of three books planned, though I wouldn’t be opposed to continuing to write stories in the world of Kingdoms of Broken Stone beyond the three books I have planned. I’ve been advised that, If I want to have a shot (however small it might be) at a publisher picking up Kingdoms of Broken Stone (or KOBS as a friend has called it for short), I need to keep books two and three on the docket so that the potential publisher gets to be the one to release them for the first time.

Admittedly, it isn’t all that likely that Boy of Dreams will win the contests I’ve entered it in. It also isn’t likely that it will be picked up by a publisher, but I’d like to give it time just to see. If after the contests have finished up I haven’t had any traction in that regard, I’ll go ahead and self-publish the rest of the trilogy. But I wanted to set expectations for my small group of readers who are looking forward to continuing the journey, it might be a little while waiting for these things to shake out. I’ll keep writing with the idea that it will be self-published so that it is ready once I have an idea which way it is going to go, but even self-published it would be sometime in 2019.

All that being said, here’s another one of those reviews I was working on getting from Vay Elaine at the Rebel Christian.

Hey all!

Hiu Gregg over at Fantasy Inn read Boy of Dreams and wrote a short review. Check it out here.

My college newspaper did an article about my book 🙂

Hey All,

Kingdoms of Broken Stone: Boy of Dreams is now free to read for Kindle Unlimited subscribers!

Pass the word! Doesn’t get any cheaper than free 🙂