'Time Release,' by Martin J. Smith

Let me take this opportunity to apologize for posting so much about my hip problem lately. That’s not what you come here for, and I appreciate your patience. My most recent discovery has been that using crutches instead of a cane punishes my body a whole lot less, so I’m now in considerably less pain than I was. Thanks for the prayers.

As a reward, here’s a book review: Time Release, by Martin J. Smith.

It’s hard not to compare Time Release to Jonathan Kellerman’s Alex Delaware novels. Like the Delaware stories, this one centers on a psychologist summoned by a policeman friend to help him investigate a series of murders. But the differences are numerous too. The setting here is Pittsburgh and its grim environs, rather than Los Angeles, and Smith’s characters, psychologist Jim Christensen and detective Gary Downing, are a lot more damaged by life. Christensen is still recovering from the loss of his wife, on whom he “pulled the plug” after brain death, and Downing’s career has never recovered from the way he botched a drug poisoning case, reminiscent of the Tylenol murders. He lost his objectivity because one of the victims was his secret lover, something he has never shared with anyone.

Now the poisonings seem to have resumed after ten years. Downing thinks the surviving son of his chief suspect may have repressed memories that would help his case. Would Christensen talk to the young man and see?

Christensen reluctantly agrees, not realizing that in doing so he is putting his remaining family in mortal danger. Some secrets are almost too hard to face, and some people would kill the innocent rather than face them.

Time Release is an adequate thriller. I never thought that it soared, and the relentless grimness of the story wore me down a bit. Religion is not a major theme, but is always in the background. Christensen, who has become an atheist, takes a cheap shot at the Bible at one point, but he still prays when desperate, and we’re given no reason to think that’s a stupid thing to do.

The price of the book is low, and I didn’t hate it. Worth reading if you like this sort of thing. Cautions for language and adult themes.

Men Would Enjoy Good Stories, If They Tried Them.

“If men read fewer books on manhood and more really good stories they’d be much better for it,” Barnabas Piper tweeted sometime last year. He fleshes out his reasoning in this post, saying stories make you want to be better, show you role models and anti-heroes, and get under the surface. If it’s true, he says, that we learn more by what we catch than what we are taught, then good stories are the places where we will catch what we want to learn.

Today's Horror Genre

In a post, reviewing a 1991 book called The Cipher, our friend Loren Eaton says he wishes more writers were pursuing the horror genre. “Oh, the genre lives on in cinemas, but it has largely vanished from book racks. I’ve wondered why for the longest time and actively looked for any authors that specialize in it…”

Loren had high hopes for The Cipher, but found it a bit thick and dismal. “I guess the crux of the matter is this: Horror should seem horrifying, but you need to feel that something worthwhile could be lost during the story for it to become so. Such a sense is completely absent in The Cipher. Things start out badly. They grow marginally worse by the end. In between is 350 pages of mostly senseless, self-inflicted suffering.”

In the comments, a few names and titles are kicked around.

For context on his perspective, Loren discusses all he learned about H.P. Lovecraft in 2013.

What Fiction Do Men Read?

One of our friends, Nick Harrison of Harvest House, asks on his Facebook wall:

“What can we all do to boost men’s fiction? What authors do the men you know read? What are their complaints about the state of men’s fiction (if they have any complaints)? I’d especially like to hear from male readers, but all who can offer some insight are welcome to respond.”

So what do you think? Don’t confine your answer to Christian books. What fiction do you or the men you know read? Answers from the original post include Dale Cramer, Athol Dickson, Michael Connelly, Robert Crais, David Baldacci, Vince Flynn, John Hart, John Lescroart, and Lee Child. I mentioned names you’ve seen here, like Bertrand, N.D. Wilson, and Andrew Peterson.

BIG UPDATE in the comments below.

Content-free update

Just an update on my health situation. It’s a short one — I don’t know anything I didn’t know Tuesday.

I have an appointment to see my surgeon tomorrow. I assume I’ll learn something then.

They gave me pain killers, which help a fair amount. One odd side effect is the hiccups, and a diminishment of appetite.

I’ll keep you posted.

“So the disciples gorge themselves on honey dipped spam”

Here’s another curious poem.

“Jesus Feeds the 5000 Using Various Cutting Edge Recipes from 1950s Magazines”

“So the disciples gorge themselves on honey dipped spam

crowned with the many crowns of identical pineapple rings

as they jostle for spots on the picnic blanket, and the children…”

Read on

Idiot Psalms: New Poems by Scott Cairns

Poet Scott Cairns has written some revealing, thoughtful reflections as psalms to the Lord. Clearly, these poems are written for people who are not as awesome as we are. We have claimed our blessing and walk as strong as the Nephilim. We don’t grovel before the Lord, like the man in this poem:

“Idiot Psalm 1”

O God Belovéd if obliquely so,

dimly apprehended in the midst

of this, the fraught obscuring fog

of my insufficiently capacious ken,

Ostensible Lover of our kind—while

apparently aloof—allow

that I might glimpse once more

Your shadow in the land, avail

for me, a second time, the sense

of dire Presence in the pulsing

hollow near the heart.

Once more, O Lord, from Your Enormity incline

your Face to shine upon Your servant, shy

of immolation, if You will.

Bone dry

I don’t do personal blogging as much as I used to (no need to thank me; your look of dewy-eyed gratitude is thanks enough). But I got medical news today which you have a right to know, since it’ll probably affect my posting.

I saw an orthopedist, and they did an MRI (just like on TV!). Turns out I have a condition called “osteonecrosis.” In other words, some of my bone, specifically the balls of my hip joints, is dying. This is a condition most common in people who’ve abused steroids, of whom I am most decidedly not one. At least one hip replacement appears to be in my immediate future. I’ll be seeing a surgeon soon.

Prayers appreciated.

Dean Koontz on Self-Doubt, Story, and Abuse

Here are some questions Dean Koontz has answered in various forums:

You had an agent in your early years tell you that you’d never be a best-selling writer. Did that discourage you or make you more determined to succeed?

Koontz: I have more self-doubt than any writer I’ve ever known. That is one reason I revise every page to the point of absurdity! The positive aspect of self-doubt – if you can channel it into useful activity instead of being paralyzed by it – is that by the time you reach the end of a novel, you know precisely why you made every decision in the narrative, the multiple purposes of every metaphor and image. Having been your own hardest critic you still have dreams but not illusions. Consequently, thoughtless criticism or advice can’t long derail you. You become disappointed in an agent, in an editor, in a publisher, but never discouraged. If anyone in your publishing life were to argue against a particular book or a career aspiration for reasons you had not already pondered and rejected after careful analysis, if they dazzled you with brilliant new considerations, then you’d have to back off and revisit your decisions. But what I was told never dazzled me. For example, I was often advised, by different people, that my work would never gain a big audience because my vocabulary was too large.

Continue reading Dean Koontz on Self-Doubt, Story, and Abuse