Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Christian Fiction and Twisted Perception

I’ve read several interesting and well thought posts, concerning the boundaries and purposes of Christian fiction. The posts and comments that follow invariably divide, for the most part, into two schools of thought on the subject:  1) those who believe Christian fiction should follow strict guidelines and be very family oriented and safe, and 2) those who feel the parameters should be relaxed to include stories written from a Christian point of view that might expand the envelope by delving into areas of fantasy.

As a relatively recent born-again Christian, and, therefore, a new arrival in the Christian fiction market, I’ve found myself a bit confused by it all. I empathize with the reasoning behind both points of view. However, I must confess to leaning more toward the expanded envelope crowd. I’ve been a published author in the secular market since 2006, and I didn’t just wake up one morning and decide to switch over to Christian fiction. I’ve always felt that I should use my skills, such as they are, in a positive way, but after my awakening the urge to take the writing further toward this goal increased dramatically. I’ve spent numerous hours praying about it. The message I keep receiving is that I should try to reach people, including those who have lost their faith, or never had it to begin with, and, the way I see it, in order to do that I would have to write outside the currently defined Christian market.

With this discussion, names such as C.S. Lewis, Madeleine L ‘ Engle, and J.R.R. Tolkien often come up as writers who are considered by some as Christian authors whose work falls outside the current guidelines of the genre, if that term can be appropriately applied here. I love Tolkien’s work, but I must admit it’s a stretch for me to think of it as Christian fiction. In his writing, good does triumph over evil. However, the same could be said about J.K. Rowling with her Harry Potter series, which leads to some interesting things I’ve run across.

Rowling’s first Potter book, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, was based in part on the life of a real person.

More on this in the next post.  

Twisted Perception Blog Post number 5

Chapter Two

As soon as Detective Kenny Elliot stepped out of his car, he knew he’d slowed, stumbled somewhere along the way, for it had finally caught up with him, and like a twenty-nine-year-old boxer who grows old in the third round of a title fight, he would never be the same. It was what he saw in the vehicle, a late model Mercedes left beside a trash dumpster. It was in the parking lot of the Village at Central Park, a bunch of upscale, newly constructed condominiums just off Peoria Avenue.
Elliot silently cursed Captain Dombrowski for dragging him into this on his day off. It’d been 6:00 a.m. when the phone rang, and Elliot had come out of his sleep in a fit, fighting to rid himself of the bed sheets that trapped his legs and torso like some kind of malignant ivy. He hadn’t been sleeping well. It was the dreams; they’d started again. They’d become intense, occurring more frequently and leaving in their wake unsettling thoughts that rambled through his head—burdensome notions that something wasn’t quite right in his world, a problem just below the surface that he couldn’t quite drag into consciousness.
Elliot had a pretty good idea why Dombrowski had called. Cunningham was on vacation somewhere in Montana and Mendez was out with the flu, but there were other detectives. Obviously, Dombrowski knew there would be more to it than a simple homicide, if “simple” can be used when talking about deliberate death. An informal understanding had begun to develop inside the department. Dombrowski had an instinct about unusual cases, knowing which ones would deviate from the norm, and Elliot had a knack for solving them.
Elliot approached the Mercedes, a knot forming in his gut, his usual calm behavior displaced by his progress like the smooth surface of a pond disrupted by gas bubbles escaping from something vile hidden beneath its depths. An image of Carmen Garcia blossomed in his mind.
Don’t do this, Kenny. We can work it out.
He thought about the report. He couldn’t write it up indicating the suspect was a ghost, an unseen demon, but as he approached the Mercedes that thought vibrated through his head. Then, as he drew near and confirmed that it was indeed a necklace dangling from the inside mirror, his legs nearly gave way and for a moment his thoughts were in another time and place.

Thursday, August 18, 2011

Exciting Book Review for Twisted Perception

I just got a great review for Twisted Perception, the book I've been posting here on the blog, that I wanted to share.

Hello Bob.....I'm now an avid fan of Detective Kenny Elliot. Thoroughly enjoyed both of your books! Here's my review for Twisted Perception, Thanks for the chance to read your brilliant stories, Annie.

Review for Twisted Perception by Bob Avey.

Anyone who loves a good detective story with plenty twists and turns needs to buy a copy of Twisted Perception. Bob Avey grips you from the start. Main man Detective Kenny Elliot is called in to investigate the brutal murder of an upper-crust woman. (all isn't as it seems) Gut instincts lead him on a journey back in time that he isn't comfortable with for a number of reason (have to read it to find out!) More murders come and deepen the investigation that Elliot can't seem to leave to another. Not only is this story a great murder/mystery it is also one that will broaden your mind and open you up to Twisted Perception......

Annie Frame. Author of Imprint and TQR.  

Saturday, August 13, 2011

Vivid Dreams and Twisted Perception

In this post, I’ll relate an unusual dreams, and include another installment of Twisted Perception. I believe the dreams that linger beyond our sleep are more than just a release of emotions or feelings. I call this one, The Devastated Conference.

I’m in a large hotel, attending a writers’ conference, and several of my friends and I have gathered in an atrium-like area near the lobby where a canopy of windows arches out from the main building. We are sitting in wicker chairs, watching the sky, which is becoming turbulent due to a thunderstorm, and the others are commenting on this, but laughing and having a good time. I seem to be the only one who is worried about the storm and my concern increases as I notice rotation of the clouds. I suspect the storm has escalated into a tornado, which will hit the hotel, so I stand and tell everyone that we should move away from the windows and go to the center of the lobby.

As soon as we reconvene in the lobby, the doors and windows of the hotel begin to shake and chaos breaks loose, with people screaming and running for their rooms. I see a brick alcove near the restaurant kitchen and, figuring this to be a place that would offer protection from falling debris, I take cover there.

A few minutes later, the winds calm and I step out of the alcove to find the hotel in utter devastation. All of the windows and doors have been blown away and large portions of the roof ripped off. Rain is pouring into the lobby. As I try to make my way to my room, I’m forced to climb over tree limbs and debris that block the stairway. At this point, I wake up.

Twisted Perception – Chapter One – Fourth serialized post

Michelle Baker felt the man’s warm breath fall across her face, and she thought it like the stale air that might be in a dark room where an electric chair was kept. He was going to kill her. She knew that. But it was not the details of her death that went through her head. She thought of her son, Michael. She could see him in the dirty little yard where he played, and she wondered if his diaper had been changed, and if he was hungry. She was not a good mother. She closed her eyes and prayed for God to forgive her for that, something she did quite often, though it did not show in her life. She regretted that now.

I realize this is a short post for the novel, but it’s the end of Chapter One. Next time I will begin with Chapter Two.

Thanks for reading. If you like my blog, please join as a follower. If you have any dreams, or anything else you’d like to talk about, send me an email at

Wednesday, August 03, 2011

Book Review for Beneath a Buried House

Beneath a Buried House, my second novel, received a great review and I just had to share it with you.

Hello Bob, just to congratulate you on your fantastic book. Thoroughly enjoyed it from start to finish. Here's your review, will put it on Amazon and goodreads and any other sights I'm on. Please feel free to share it whenever you feel it might help boost sales. (Ready to start on Twisted Perception). Annie.

Beneath a Buried House is a read you will not put down, in fact it's one that will keep you turning page after page until the end. Bob Avery hooks you from the start with characters that can only grow in your mind, he wastes no time in weaving a tale of murder mystery and suspense. Main man Elliot is determined to crack a case even though it looks impossible to others. His gut instincts serve him well as he finds himself up against some strange folk in weird situations. Can't spoil it for anyone out there, and can only advise them to grab a copy, stick their nose in it and get lost in the read.

Annie Frame. Author of Imprint and TQR.

Tuesday, August 02, 2011

The Shape Shifting Rifle

Last month, my friend, Christine B, asked me to write an article for her newsletter, Paranormal Musings. Christine always has quite a bit of interesting content. You should check out her newsletter at:

Since the article below ran in Christine’s newsletter last month, I decided to post it on my blog this month.

The Shape Shifting Rifle:
Years ago, when I was thirteen, my mother and I lived in a small house. She and my father had been through a divorce, and my sister had already left home, so it was just the two of us. When she remarried, one of the things my stepfather brought with him was a leather rifle case, which he stored in a long, narrow cabinet in the kitchen.

Often, my mother and stepfather would go out for the evening, and I would stay home. On one occasion, I had a frightening experience, with someone rattling the doors as if trying to gain entry. Mom blew it off as one of my friends, playing a prank, but I wasn’t so sure. I asked her if I could have a friend over the next time.

That day having arrived, my friend, Rick, and I were watching television when I became curious about what might be in the leather case. I told Rick that I had something to show him, and I led him into the kitchen where I climbed upon the counter and removed the leather case from its hiding place. When the case was opened, it revealed an exquisite rifle, its stock worked from a rich, black material, from which protruded a glistening barrel of chrome. The engraving showed the manufacturer to be Marlin. My friend and I both held the weapon, admiring and examining it in detail. A few minutes later, I put the rifle back where I’d found it.

When my parents arrived, I did something unexpected. I asked my stepfather about the rifle, and if my friend and I could see it. I don’t know why I did that. Perhaps I’d felt guilty and thought that asking late was better than not asking at all. I will never forget what happened next. My stepfather unzipped the case and pulled out a black-barreled rifle with a brown stock. It was not the same weapon, not even close. I know because I took it and examined it, reading the name Winchester. I stared in disbelief then shot a glance at my wide-eyed friend, who stood there, shaking his head.

There had been no other rifles or rifle cases inside that cabinet. I had looked. And the leather case, which was the same two-tone leather case I’d opened, was designed to hold only one rifle, which it had.

Needless to say, after that day, I rechecked the rifle case many times. In fact, on several occasions, I searched the entire house. I never saw the black and chrome Marlin again.

 This is a true story. I do not attest to how it happened, just that it did. I will offer this. My friend and I were the only ones in the house until my parents came home. And since I hit my stepfather up about the weapon as soon as he walked into the door, he could not have switched it.

Well, there it is. Please feel free to comment. If you have stories you would like to share, send them to me at