2024. Here we go!

A few weeks ago I posted on my FB page about sharing snippets of my historical novel-in-progress (as yet untitled). The response was positive enough to convince me to do it, but I’ve debated since where to share those snippets.

It’s a New Year and I’m resolved: I’m resurrecting this blog that has lain mostly dormant for the last little while.

Here’s the format: At least once a week, sometimes more, I’ll share snippets from my WIP (work in progress) AND anything that speaks deeply to me from books I’m reading. For your encouragement but also for me, so I have a record of all those wonderful passages that have resonated with me. Sometimes snippets from other writers’ books will be all I share because I’m determined not to give you any serious spoilers from my developing novel, which as the year deepens will be harder to avoid.

So let’s begin….

From My Reading

New Morning Mercies, Paul Tripp, December 31: You and I live in little moments, and if God doesn’t rule our little moments and doesn’t work to re-create us in the middle of them, then there is no hope for us… You see, the character of a life is not set in two or three dramatic moments, but in ten thousand little moments. The character that is formed in those little moments shapes how we respond to the big moments in life.

Heaven, Randy Alcorn, p417, p419: God promises to make up for the heartbreaks of this earth…. On the New Earth you will have a second chance to do what you dreamed of doing–and far more besides… God is big enough not only to fulfill your dreams but also to expand them as you anticipate Heaven. When you experience disappointment and loss as you faithfully serve God here, remember: the loss is temporary. The gains will be eternal. Every day on the New Earth will be an opportunity to live out the dreams that matter most… For the Christian, death is not the end of adventure but a doorway from a world where dreams and adventures shrink, to a world where dreams and adventures forever expand.

Happiness, Randy Alcorn, p412: If someone declares a desire to be happy, we should never say, “You just need to obey God and forget about being happy.” Rather, we should say, “God wired you that way.” Then we can ask, “Have the things you’ve thought would make you happy worked for you?” The answer is probably no. That’s the time to suggest, “Maybe you haven’t looked in the right place.” We can then present the Bible’s bad news, which explains the sin problem that makes them unhappy. Then we can share the good news of the gift of God that can reconcile them to their holy Creator and thereby make them eternally happy.

From My Writing

Excerpt from: Untitled 9th Historical Novel, Copyright 2024 Lori Benton (all rights reserved; do not copy without my permission).

Note: this is a work in progress that will, by and by, undergo multiple rounds of editing and is therefore subject to change. To avoid spoilers, sometimes I’ll replace character names with X, Y, or Z.

The stone hut detaining him had seen use as a byre. It reeked of goat. Little bigger than the old shieling bothy perched above Glen Fheannag in the north of Skye, its stone walls were proof against shoving, if not autumnโ€™s chill. Its thatch hadnโ€™t kept out the smur of rain that had wandered the tryst grounds all night like a lost calf bawling its distress. The roof had long been letting in the wet. The straw moldering in a corner was proof enough of that. Bedding unfit for beast, much less man, though at present a beast was making use of it. The wood mouse was hardly more than a speck of shadow in the predawn gray seeping through a high aperture in the stones. Half-hidden in scattered straw, the creature nibbled a crust it had found, the morsel clutched between wee front toes. Bleary-eyed as he watched, X hunched over his knees, pulled a fold of his plaid round his ears, and seethed like a kettle of porridge left to bubble untended.

 

Finished its crust, the mouse eyed the bannock set on a worn wooden plate beside Xโ€™s brogue. The oaten bread, the only fare offered since heโ€™d been thrust into the hut the evening prior, managed to be both scorched and soggy.

 

โ€œHave it then, do ye want,โ€ he said in his native Gร idhlig.

 

Snaking a hand from the plaidโ€™s warmth, he broke a bit from the bannockโ€™s edge and tossed it. Feeding vermin did no one any favors, but X wasnโ€™t feeling disposed toward favors. At least not toward his fellow man.

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