A Question Of Balance: The beginning

What follows is the beginning to my newest novel, tentatively titled "A Question Of Balance". I share it in hopes of getting feedback. Sometimes, as an author, I wonder how far into my own little world have I gotten and if it makes sense to others. Maybe I'm crazy. But I think it's more important to be true to yourself than to write what you think others want to read. Let me know what you think:

The grounds of what used to be Chapel Hill Prep School were empty of any activity except for the tan van that seemed to creep up the gravel driveway. The place was open to the public, and there was now a thrift shop in what was once a dormitory. But it was too early in the day for it to be opened, just as it was too early to know if the morning frost would give way to nicer weather.

Arriving early was part of Dave’s plan. He wanted to be alone, or rather, he did not want any observers to the meeting he was hoping to have.

Dave parked near the thrift shop and walked towards the unused church that sat across from it. He didn’t know why, but he felt that it was the most likely place to find Johnny. Well, not Johnny, really. Although he looked and sounded like Johnny, it was merely a memory of him Dave hoped to encounter. Still, Dave hoped there was something to be gained by the meeting.

The door was not locked. Whoever owned the premises either trusted people or else realized stained glass windows could be broken as easily from the outside as from within. Dave entered and stood still for a moment while his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

Attempts were being made to repair the church, to bring it back to life as a place of worship. Its former glory had faded, the attempts at restoration so far resulting in nothing more than making things worse. Tarps covered all save the first two rows of pews.

As if he knew what he were doing, Dave went to the second pew, genuflected, and knelt down to prayer.

He had learned to pray of late. Where before prayer had consisted of recitations of prayers without any real connection, he now felt some actual communication was taking place, if only between his heart and mind. Something had opened up within him, some barrier had been removed. He was awakened, to whatever spiritual power existed in the universe, Dave was reluctant to use the name God. He was reluctant to put a name to it at all, more concerned with the actual experience. He closed his eyes and opened himself up to a reality in him that was normally quiet enough to be ignored, but never absent. It was like encountering a spring within him, that lightly bubbled, poured forth its waters endlessly. It was the source, the explanation and reason for everything. And it was so inconspicuous one had to silence all else for it to appear.

This was prayer, the realization that such a spring existed. Here was vitality, the life-giving water that poured through his soul, was his soul. It bubbled gladness in him, flowing, always flowing, carrying with it an endless supply of inspiration, eternal, everlasting. Like music that was constantly changing and neverending, it flowed, subtle yet powerful. Dave quieted all else until it bubbled up and poured throughout his body. He felt happy, felt as though he were home, or at least where he was meant to be.

Through shut eyelids, Dave slowly became aware of a blue aura emanating from his right. He slowly opened his eyes, as though slowing the transition from his interior reality to the outside world, smoothing the gap between the two.

Kneeling next to him was the blue aura of the ghost of a man he used to know.

“Johnny,” said Dave.

“No, Dave, simply his ghost. A greeting card written by someone who no longer is.”

Pictures Intended to Inspire

Before Ron Howard, in fact, before the invention of the digital camera, I came up with the idea of taking a bunch of pictures and trying to write a story around what I came up with. I ended up misplacing the pictures from my original experiment and never finished it, but here is another example of the idea in practice. Last year, my wife and I took a little visit to the JFK Prep School, and these are the pictures I took. My wife's pictures I uploaded a couple of posts ago.I think you can tell the difference between our photos as she is looking for a good picture, while I am often looking for the unusual and asking myself "what could this mean?" The end results of this picture taking expedition will be The Sleep Of Reason, the third book in The Amazing Morse series.

One of the first buildings we encountered on the site. Growing up in the suburbs, I was not used to buildings in a state of disrepair. Everything there was new, albeit tacky and without substance.

 Here is the cemetery with the shrine of Ambrose Oschwald and a little chapel behind it.

The grass always grows a little differently over a casket, a reminder that of what lies beneath.

 I was looking for good names for characters. I really had no idea what my book would be about, yet.

 Again, looking for inspiration. There is so much of it to be found if one remains open to it.

 Herein lies Ambrose Oschwald, who led a group of people to the new world in order to follow their religious convictions. He was both a priest and a doctor, and his healing abilities were often called miracles. He was originally buried elsewhere, but it was said that when he was dug up to be brought here, his body was remarkably well preserved.

 The chapel,

 I'm not sure what this is, but it obviously had significance to someone:

 I cannot now recall why we did not walk down this trail. I don't know where it lead. I'll have to take another visit.

 Here's me finding a rope and wondering what it was used for. The answers to such questions lead to interesting stories.

 When I tried to take a photo of the picture, the light from the stained glass tended to get in the way. I tried to use it to good effect.

 Again, just me wondering what the mark on the door meant.

 The tomb of Ambrose Oschwald, with a picture of him above.

 An interesting picture placed upon a gate that separates the tomb of Father Oschwald from visitors. There has been enough vandalism in this place that, sadly, the gate might be necessary.

 There is something about religious art that can at times be grotesque. This is not a judgment on religion, merely an acknowledgement that when religion ruled human thought, all human thought was expressed through religious means.

 There is something about grandeur that is in a state of disrepair that is striking to me. It is hard to imagine that something that took so much effort from so many could be left to chance and the ravages of time.

 Others apparently feel like me. Even more so. They are actively attempting to restore former beauty, whereas I simply comment on things.

 It's nice to see that the damage by vandals on other areas of this site has spared the stained glass windows of the church.

 In my series, The Amazing Morse, the main character is an aspiring magician who ends up working as an estimator for a door hardware company. I feel obliged to add a little information about door hardware in each novel (very little).