Amazon Promo

I have some news I want to share with my readers. Amazon featured my book, Beneath a Buried House
in a recent Email campaign. I know, I’m easily impressed, but it put a smile on my face.


Beneath a Buried House
Things aren’t always what they seem. Tulsa Police Detective, Kenny Elliot’s quest to uncover
the truth behind the death of a transient makes him a target – from whom or what he isn’t
sure. When he brushes the dirt from the surface of an apparent John Doe overdose case, he
finds a labyrinth of misdirection and deception beneath, and a trail, which leads him to an
encounter with an aberration in human nature, the likes of which he’s not prepared to deal
with.

Drawing on his strength of character, and sense of right and wrong, he wrestles with deep
personal feelings to solve the case.

Check out the ebook on Amazon here!

What About Abraham?

Not only did Abram’s (aka Avram) father, Terah worship idols, he was the Chief Minister of King Nimrod, with control of the armies, and the High Priest of the temple of UR, a temple dedicated to the worship of the moon god, Nanna.

Before Abram became Abraham, he lived an eventful ninety -nine years in and around the land of Sumer, (aka Shinar) a collection of city-states -- which included, among others, Kish, Babel (Babylon), Mari, UR, Erech, Akkad,  and Caleh – located around the lower Tigris and Euphrates Rivers in what is now Southern Iraq.

The exact date being difficult to determine, scholars agree that Abram’s birth occurred somewhere between 2100 BC and 1800BC, which would place it in the middle of the Bronze Age period for that particular area. The eras, defined by types of metal being used, are not representative of fixed dates. Populations around the world discovered the knowledge for making different metals at different times. For example, archaeological evidence supports the emergence of the Bronze Age in Sumer as occurring around 3000 to 4000 BC. 

Going back even further, the introduction of farming, which allowed people to produce food instead of having to hunt and gather, ushered in a monumental step-forward in human development. The farming concept, a decisive factor in enabling people to settle in permanent villages, emerged in the Sumer area between 11000 to 9000 BC. In contrast, the change from hunter-gatherer to farming occurred in Europe around 5000 BC. As would be expected, the onset of the Bronze Age emerged in Sumer perhaps thousands of years before the era reached Europe.

The significance of this is that Abram was born into the most advanced civilization of its time. His father was the High Priest of the temple of Ur and Chief Minister beneath King Nimrod. Far from being a wandering nomad, Abram was of noble birth into a high-class family.  

However, his noble lineage would prove not to be his comfort, but rather his source of conflict. Abram was the tenth generation removed from Noah, and a direct descendant of Noah’s son, Shem, the father of all Semitic people. In contrast, Nimrod was a descendant of Ham, the lowest and least important of Noah’s sons, a son that was even cursed by Noah. Nimrod had feared that one day a descendant of Shem would appear to threaten his position. He’d grown to trust Abram’s father, Terah, who’d long ago became his servant and follower. To guard against the appearance of a possible rival, Nimrod ordered his stargazers and astrologers to watch the sky for any indication that such a thing might happen.

But who exactly was Nimrod? 

In the next post, we’ll explore that question.

As always, comments are welcome.

Map of area where Abraham lived

  

Grandpa Luke and the 1/2 Cent Trees

We’re all guilty of falling into self- pity on occasion, believing we’ve worked hard all our lives, but don’t have enough to show for it. Allow me to share a story, which might help to put things into perspective.

As a child visiting my grandfather, who lived in Arkansas, I once chanced upon a conversation he was having with an old friend who’d dropped by. Grandpa Luke didn’t talk much to us kids. He loved us. We could tell by his gentle ways. But his words were few. He’d sit in an old wooden chair, its cane bottom long since rotted and replaced with strips of rubber he’d cut from an old inner tube – nothing went to waste around grandpa’s house – and smoke his pipe, his eyes as distant as Pluto, his mind contemplating concepts far beyond our reach.

The visitor talked of the old days when he and grandpa worked together. Their job was to go into a valley, chop down a tree, clear it of its branches and foliage, and drag it back up the hill. For each completed log, they received ½ cent. 

I don’t know how many finished trees a team could successfully bring to the top in a day, but my guess would be not that many. Even if you proved to be a human dynamo who could register ten trees, we’re still only talking five cents, and that would have to be shared with your partner. It’s easy to imagine why grandpa might be reluctant to drive into town and spend that nickel on an ice cream cone.

It wasn’t just luxuries our ancestors did without, but even simple pleasures that we hardly give a second thought to these days.

There’s more to the story. Later, grandpa walked the visitor to the dirt road, which ran past grandpa’s property. I couldn’t tell what was going on, but I’m pretty sure grandpa pulled out his wallet and gave the visitor some money. When grandpa came back, he again sat in his chair and resumed puffing on his pipe. Then he did something unexpected. He pulled the pipe from his mouth, leaned over, and motioned for us kids to come closer. “Yeah,” he said, “it’s true I did that all right.” Jabbing the air with the stem of his pipe toward the dirt road, he continued: “But he didn’t.”  

I’ve mentioned Grandpa Luke before in another post. It’s sad that I never realized until my adult years how much that old man meant to me, and just how instrumental he was in shaping my character.

Trail-Blazing Missionaries

The pastor of my church often states that you don’t have to travel to be a missionary. Mission fields are all around us. However, I ran across this story that involved not only extreme travel, but extraordinary circumstances as well.

A few weeks ago, I posted a photograph of an old wooden shack, located close to where the Union Mission had been. The shack, discovered by workers clearing underbrush for power lines, sits about fifty feet from an old rock-covered road that leads to an area of Grand River known as Mission Bend. My brother-in-law, who grew up in Chouteau, Oklahoma, a few miles north of the area, often visits Mission Bend for fishing and boating. The story, as related to my brother-in-law, has it that the shack was actually a homestead, lived in by an early Oklahoma resident for ninety-seven years. Actually the structure more resembles an outbuilding, but it’s still an intriguing reminder of the past.

I’ve lived in Oklahoma most of my life. However, until a few years ago I was unaware of the Union Mission site. I’m not alone. The mission, an important part of Oklahoma history remains relatively unknown to many of the state’s inhabitants.

As early as 1796, Jean Pierre Chouteau operated a trading post along the Neosho (Grand) River. In 1805, President Thomas Jefferson learned of the Three Forks area, a place where the Neosho (Grand) River met the Verdigris and Arkansas, from his explorers, Lewis and Clarke. Speaking to Congress in 1806, President Jefferson mentioned the area along with its inhabitants, a tribe of the Osage Nation that had travelled from Missouri to settle in the region. Most historians agree this was the first time the United States government recognized the area we now know as Oklahoma. Eighteen years later, Fort Gibson was constructed to provide military protection for the region. But a few years before that, Oklahoma became a mission field.

On November 15, 1820, Epaphras Chapman and a group of missionaries from Connecticut and New York landed on the west bank of the Neosho River. At the location, about twenty-five miles north of the Three Forks area, Chapman and his followers founded Union Mission.

It’s difficult to imagine such an undertaking. The trip from New York to Oklahoma took ten months, navigating the Ohio, Mississippi, and Arkansas Rivers into present day Arkansas. From there, they paddled several hundred miles up the Arkansas River to reach the site Epaphras Chapman had chosen a year earlier, an area with no roads, no towns, and no settlements, except for a few scattered trading posts. They suffered hardship and death to bring the Gospel of Jesus to the Osage people and a handful of French traders. Talk about faith.

The Union Mission, the first Protestant mission west of the Mississippi, went on to establish the first school, erect the first printing press, publish the first book, mortar the first brick, and hold the first Christian wedding in Oklahoma. The Mission cemetery has the oldest marked grave, that of Reverend Epaphras Chapman, who founded the mission, and died in 1825 at the age of 32.

Old Railroad Bridge – Mission Bend, Grand River, OK

Union Mission Marker – Erected by Oklahoma Library Association

Mission Bend – The area where Reverend Epaphras Chapman established Union Mission – November 15, 1820

The photos didn't transfer. To see them go to:

http://www.bobavey.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=section&layout=blog&id=10&Itemid=429

Can You Believe This?

Could it be that I have more than my share of those kinds of days, or does everyone feel that way?

Every six months, I go in for a routine checkup, and my doctor always orders lab work a few days before my appointment. I’d just come out of the lab and I was a bit unsettled. After all these years, blood tests still make me nervous. I decided I’d stop and get a cappuccino before going to the office, a little treat for being such a brave boy while getting stabbed by the vampires.

I pulled into the parking lot of a convenience store, but as I was preparing to exit my vehicle, which had already drawn attention because it’s a noisy little buggy – not because it’s supped up, but because it’s old and worn out – I dropped my keys between the seat and the console. With a Dodge Neon, this is no small problem. The chasm is deep but narrow, and, like a black hole things go in but they don’t come out. At the bottom of the canyon, my keys mocked me.  I snaked my hand down into the crevice but managed only to brush the edge of the key ring. Refusing to be defeated by the got-you-now engineering joke, I shoved my hand deeper. The horn started honking and the lights began to flash. My keys were still lodged deep in the black hole, though I’d managed to hit the panic button on the remote. Now I really had everyone’s attention. My dilemma had escalated to the point of fight or flight. Deciding to fight, I jumped from the car, jerked open the backdoor, and threw myself onto the floorboard where I made a few moves that would make a seasoned contortionist envious. Somehow I managed to get the keys and shut down the spectacle.

Walking nonchalantly past the snickering crowd of onlookers, I made my way into the store and went directly to the bathroom. I needed to wash my face and hands. Anyway while in the room of rest, I noticed a sign fastened to the stall wall, which read: Rent movies here for $1.00, but I ignored it. It seemed like a good deal, but I didn’t plan to stay that long.

Back at the office, each time I would take a sip of cappuccino, since the vent hole was improperly installed, the cup made a noise. Perhaps I was giddy from loss of blood coupled with a shot of caffeine, but as I read the brand name of the cup it occurred to me that I was actually whistling Dixie.

A few days later, being scheduled for a book signing during an open-house gala at the library, I drove to Chelsea, Oklahoma. Admittedly, not knowing how long it would take me to get there, I arrived a bit early. However, the library had provided a nice table for me. It would take a while to get set up. Ten minutes later, I sat behind the table, feeling a little out of place. I usually appreciate libraries being quiet, a bit of a rarity these days, but hearing particles of dust collide with the floor was a bit more than I was prepared for. I checked my watch. Only three hours to go. Later, I heard a train whistle, and I imagined Johnny Cash’s inspiration behind, Folsom Prison.

I’m just kidding around, about the library anyway. Actually I had a great time. Everyone treated as if I was an old friend, a respect that humbled me. Being in Chelsea reminded me just how much of a treasure small-town America really is. I grew up in a one. At least Sand Springs used to be.

  

Do You Believe in Ghosts?

Do you believe in the existence of ghosts, spirits, – to slip into a cliché – things that go bump in the night?

While cruising the internet, I ran across several articles concerning the spirit world and the typical Western-World view of such things, and the process reignited a subject of interest that I had not given thought to for some time. People in the Western Civilization have a hard time thinking about, much less talking about anything that they – I want to say: Cannot see, hear, or touch, but reports of such sensory occurrences in the spirit world are not uncommon – cannot physically quantify. And yet, just about everyone I know, if I can get them to talk about the subject, admits to having had at least one supernatural experience.  Here are a few of my experiences:

http://bobavey.blogspot.com/2011/08/shape-shifting-rifle.html

http://bobavey.blogspot.com/2011/07/grandpa-lukes-final-visit.html

http://bobavey.blogspot.com/2011/07/guardian-of-route-66.html

This is an especially puzzling concept when it comes to Christianity. As Christians, we believe in the existence of God, and the fact that He, or a part of Him came to earth as Jesus to save us from our sins. And the Bible is full of references to the spirit world, and to its inhabitants, both good and bad.  However, any mention of ghosts or spirits among Christians is viewed with scorn and ridicule. In my opinion, the sole purpose of God’s Holy Word, the Bible, is to instruct us, to teach us how to live our lives in this temporary world, so that we can be on the right side of things – God’s side – in the eternal world of the spirit.

What caused this seemingly paradoxical Western-World view?

I believe it is due to the practical and pragmatic attitudes passed down to us by our ancestors.

What do you think?

I’d love to know your thoughts on the subject. Please leave a comment, or email me at bob@bobavey.com

I’m still experiencing Blogger’s Block, but an idea came to me a few minutes ago. I’ve mentioned this before in the blog, and other places, but I’ve decided to push the envelope with my next novel, Footprints of a Dancer, the 3^rd book in the Detective Elliot series. I’m about a week away from getting the manuscript into shape so I can send it to my publisher, AWOC Books. http://www.awoc.com

The pushing involves stepping outside previously self-imposed parameters of writing within what I’ve come to know as the Mystery genre, and not so much the breaking away from industry standards.

 What kind of changes are we talking about?

Coming from two different sources, the desire to expand incorporates both religion and fantasy. It’s the same impetus behind the name of my blog, Faith, Fantasy and Fiction. With Footprints, I hope to blend my need and calling to incorporate my Christian faith into the writing, while exploring the style of fiction that drew me into both reading and writing in the first place, that being, speculative, fantasy, paranormal.

Footprints of a Dancer should be released within three months, perhaps sooner.

I sincerely hope that you will follow me in my journey.  If you would like to experience a small sampling of the renaissance, a short story, A Passion for Laura, based on the novel, Footprints, was published in an anthology titled, Mystery in the Wind. I’ve included the link below, as well as links for the first two books in the series.

http://www.amazon.com/Mystery-in-the-Wind-ebook/dp/B003UNLC3I/ref=ntt_at_ep_edition_2_3?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2

http://www.amazon.com/Twisted-Perception-Detective-Mystery-ebook/dp/B004C43H32/ref=ntt_at_ep_edition_2_2?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2

http://www.amazon.com/Beneath-Buried-House-Detective-ebook/dp/B003SE7J6I/ref=ntt_at_ep_edition_2_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2

I'm Almost There

I apologize for the lack of blog posts lately. I knew going in to this blogging thing that I would not be one of those bloggers who post daily, but I had hoped to put something together weekly. However, I’ve been busy, consumed is closer to the truth, with editing my third novel, Footprints of a Dancer, the 3^rd book in the Detective Elliot series. The book should have been published a year ago, but all kinds of things got in the way, not the least of which is my own procrastination. So a few weeks ago, I started an all-out editing blitz, working feverishly to get through the first editing pass.

It seems that, when it comes to writing, writers fall into two categories – those who outline and those who don’t. I fall into the latter bunch, which means my first drafts are… Well let’s just say the prose, the dialogue, the plot, and even the setting wander all over the place while I try to figure out where the story is going. That makes the first rewrite a nightmare, especially when it takes two years – or is that three – of interrupted starts and stops to wade through the first draft. One tends to lose continuity, which can be frustrating when dealing with a dynamic and quite non-linear beast to begin with.

If there is a bright side to my chaotic, though holistic, style of writing, it would be the tendency of my novels to be unpredictable. It’s tough for the reader to guess what’s going to happen next when I have to do the same while writing it.

But I’m almost there. I’m about 80% finished with the first rewrite. The second rewrite always goes much faster. I hope to have the book out within the next few months.

http://www.amazon.com/Twisted-Perception-Detective-Mystery-ebook/dp/B004C43H32/ref=ntt_at_ep_edition_2_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2

http://www.amazon.com/Beneath-Buried-House-Detective-ebook/dp/B003SE7J6I/ref=ntt_at_ep_edition_2_2?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2

Read Twisted Perception for Free

Read Twisted Perception for Free – Here’s the link:

http://www.amazon.com/Twisted-Perception-Detective-Mystery-ebook/dp/B004C43H32/ref=ntt_at_ep_edition_2_2?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2

Product Description

Porter, Oklahoma, holds a dark secret-and troublesome dreams plague Tulsa Police Detective, Kenny Elliot, who grew up in the small town. When a bizarre murder catapults Elliot into his past, he’s brought face-to-face with the fabric of his nightmares. A shiny necklace dangles from the rearview mirror of the vehicle where Lagayle Zimmerman, the victim, is discovered. Nine years earlier, in Porter, a similar necklace swung from the mirror of a Mustang that harbored the mutilated bodies of Elliot’s friends, Jonathan Alexander (Johnnie Boy), and Marcia Barnes. Most of the town believed Elliot killed his classmates, but no arrest was ever made. Risking his job and his sanity, Elliot digs into his past to solve the murders and expose the truth.

“Avey’s debut has much to recommend it. The pace and fine plotting will grab your attention. The twists and turns will catch you by surprise.”
— The Tulsa World.

“Avey draws his characters convincingly. Full of surprises, Twisted Perception, may be accurately called a page turner.”
— The Daily Oklahoman.

“Twisted Perception is a promising mystery debut, filled with twists and turns you won’t see coming.”
— William Bernhardt, author of Hate Crime

“This is a wonderful book, full of twists and turns and surprises.”
— Crimespree Magazine

“Bob Avey has written a terrific mystery filled with engaging characters and a taut storyline that will have you wondering who done it until the very end.”
— Spinetingler Magazine

Book Review -- My Imaginary Jesus

With My Imaginary Jesus, Matt Mikalatos composed a satire, which works to expose the fallacious attempts by Christians who, through mind games or denial, try to shape or manipulate God, Jesus, and even Christianity into something that better fits their lifestyle, or validates their worldview.

Matt’s unusual humorous style carries the narrative well for the most part. However, about one quarter of the way into the book this began to seem over-the-top, a bit too much tongue-in-cheek for me. Consequently, the book began to drag a little. Toward the end of the book, though, Mr. Mikalatos won me back, especially with chapters like The Center, and Craft Time with the Apostle John, which displayed a genuine belief in and knowledge of the Bible.

I enjoyed reading My Imaginary Jesus, and I walked away feeling that I’d gained something in the process. I would recommend the book to all Christians who have a sense of humor.

For purposes of this review, I was provided a copy of My Imaginary Jesus by the publisher, Barna, a division of Tyndale House. Hello – my

– Bob Avey, author of Beneath a Buried House

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Buried Beneath Christian Fiction

I’ve always considered myself a Christian. However, changes and events that have occurred in my life in the last few years have caused me to reevaluate, reexamine, and rediscover what being a Christian really means. In the process, I’ve grown stronger in my faith. 

A desire to incorporate Christian beliefs into my fiction grew from this rediscovery, and set me on the path to writing my third novel, Footprints of a Dancer. I’m in the process of editing the manuscript, which I hope to finish soon. My publisher keeps reminding me that the book is overdue. A plethora of reasons exist as to why it has taken me so long to write Footprints, one of which is – I want to get it right. I want the book to be Christian, and it is certainly written from a Christian point of view, but at the same time I want the theme, the message if you will, to be subtle,  an integral part of the story, neither heavy-handed nor just a bit of icing. 

In research of the matter, I’ve been reading more Christian fiction, both on my own and as a book reviewer for Tyndale House, (http://tyndale.com/00_Home/index.php) a well-known publisher of Christian literature. In addition, I’ve sought out Christian writing blogs. Mike Duran, a writer of Christian horror fiction, has a good example of this type of blog. All of Mike’s posts are well written and thought provoking. However, I’ve included a link to a particular post, which illustrates the emphasis of this post: What qualifies a work of fiction as Christian? 

http://mikeduran.com/2012/02/two-things-that-keep-christian-fiction-from-crossing-over/

As with most subjects, opinions are plentiful. However, with respect to what is and what is not Christian fiction, it all pretty much boils down to two schools of thought; those who believe the message should be explicit, and those who believe a work of fiction can have an implicit Christian theme and still be considered Christian fiction. Good examples of the latter would be the works of writers like Frank Peretti, and Ted Dekker, both New York Times best-selling authors whose fiction, which some describe as Christian, crossed over into the mainstream market.

It is this type of blueprint, exemplified by books like those of Peretti and Dekker – not to compare myself with such great writers, but to illustrate a point – that I hope to follow with Footprints of a Dancer.

I believe that both types of Christian fiction – Explicit and Implicit – fulfill a need within the Christian literary arena. 

I discovered something else during my research to determine if I was indeed writing a Christian novel with Footprints of a Dancer. Based on a novel being implicitly Christian, I’ve already written one. The

 second book in the Detective Elliot series, Beneath a Buried House, was written from a Christian world view, and it definitely has an implicit Christian theme. I’d like to know your opinion. If you’ve read Beneath a Buried House, let me know if you agree. It’s only $2.99 on Kindle. Here’s the link:

http://www.amazon.com/Beneath-Buried-House-Detective-ebook/dp/B003SE7J6I/ref=ntt_at_ep_edition_2_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2

God and Science -- Part IV

God and Science – Part IV

As you probably know, from following my God and Science Posts, a television program inspired this line of posts. The impetus behind the program was the question: Can science and mathematics prove the existence of God?

 The premise fell apart during the 3^rd portion of the program, which dealt with the Ark of the Covenant. Actually the segments were interwoven throughout and not presented linearly like I’ve done with the blog. However, when it came to the Ark, information on what the Ark was and where, if still in existence, the artifact might be, was presented alone, without science being involved, which left the conflict lacking. Those of you, who write, especially fiction authors, know that within the conflict the tension lives and, therefore, the seed of interest. Having admitted to the lack of that important element, I’ll continue. 

The word Ark appears throughout the Bible, carrying different meanings. It seems the Ark of the Covenant, also known as the Ark of the Testimony, was designated with the Hebrew word arown, which means chest, or coffer.  God commanded Moses to construct the Ark, giving detailed instructions, during the time that the Israelites were wandering the desert, while they were camped at Sinai. Following the instructions, Bezalel, who built the entire tabernacle – the portable Temple used while wandering the desert – constructed the Ark, a box approximately 4’ long and 2.5’ wide, from acaia wood, which was then covered, inside and out, with pure gold. Four gold rings were attached, through which two poles, also made of acacia wood and coated in gold, were inserted and used to carry the Ark. The kapporet, or propitiatory, which covered the Ark was also made of pure gold and adorned with two cherubim that faced each other with their wings spread so that they touched between them, forming the oracle, the holy part of the Ark where God spoke to Moses.

The Ark probably contained the original stone tablets of the Ten Commandments, which were broken by Moses, the second tablets, which remained intact, and possibly the staff of Aaron. However, the Ark had additional purposes. Not only did God use the Ark to communicate with Moses, bot also as an indicator of when he wanted the nation to travel, and when to stop, throughout the nation’s time in the desert. The Ark also accompanied the Israelites into battle, one of the most famous being Jericho, where the priests carried the Ark around the city for seven days. After that, when the trumpets were blown, the walls of the city crumbled, allowing the Israelites to occupy the Promised Land.

After the conquest, a tabernacle was erected in Shiloh where the Ark remained until the battles with the Philistines under the priesthood of Eli. During these battles, the Ark was taken by the Philistines and placed in the temple of their god, Dagon in the city of Ashdod. The next day, the Philistines found the idol of Dagon fallen on its face. They replaced the statue upright. However, the next day the idol was again found fallen and this time also decapitated. Not long after these events, the city of Ashdod was struck by a plague. The Philistines then moved the Ark to the city of Gath, and from there to Ekron where similar tragedy befell the inhabitants. Seven months later, the Philistines took the Ark back to the Israelites, leaving it in the city of Beit Shemesh. From Beit Shemesh, the Ark was transported to Kiryat Yearim, where it remained until King David took it to Jerusalem. David’s son, Solomon, built the First Temple where the Ark remained until the Temple was destroyed by the Babylonian empire under the reign of King Nebuchadnezzar around 586 BC. 

What happened to the Ark after the destruction of the First Temple is a mystery. It would seem likely that it was taken by the Babylonians. However, the Babylonians made detailed lists of things taken during the raid and the Ark was not listed. As to why they would not take it, serves another mystery. Perhaps they knew of what had happened to the Philistines. According to some sources, King Josiah, who ruled during the period, learned of the impending invasion and hid the Ark either in a hole dug on the Temple Mount, or a cave near the Dead Sea. In another interesting possibility, Ethiopian Christians claim the location of the Ark is no mystery because they know where it is: Hidden in the Church of Saint Mary of Zion in Axum, Ethiopia, and guarded by a monk known as “The Keeper of the Ark.” According to the Ethiopian’s, they acquired the Ark during the reign of King Solomon, when Solomon’s son, Menelik, whose mother was the Queen of Sheba, took it after a visit to Jerusalem.