White Death

I'm a junkie. An addict. And I have been for a long time. It's a confession that's hard to make, especially here in public, but "white death" has been a part of my life for a long time. Too long. It's a situation that probably wouldn't have changed had I not spread rose hips jam on my scone that fateful day. Never mind the butter. I'll save that for another day.

James Houston Turner

My wife, Wendy, sometimes gets on health kicks. She did it with millet. This time it was sugar. That friendly sweetener in the white porcelain bowl with the cute little spoon. The sweetener that put Hawaii on the map. The sweetener that made rhubarb pie edible. The sweetener that's naturally low in calories. Only 15 of the little buggers in every teaspoon. Which is not a lot. Except when you drink twelve of them in a can of soft drink. Or spread a hundred of them on a scone as I was doing.

And I got caught.

"Do you have any idea what you're doing?" Wendy asked.
"Making this scone taste really good," I replied. "Not that the millet didn't do the trick..."
"How can you say that when Otto Heinrich Warburg won the Nobel Prize in Medicine for proving sugar consumption causes cancer?"
"Otto who what?"
"He says the primary cause of cancer is sugar fermentation in the body. Sugar! White death! The stuff you're slathering on that scone! From now on, sugar is banned."
"You mean like pornography, assault rifles, and microwave popcorn?"
Wendy was in no mood for jokes. Sugar was banned.

My wife can sometimes take a hard line when it comes to health. No nonsense. Cut to the chase. And she can be rather "enthusiastic" with her convictions. This time, as usual, she had reasons that were pretty convincing. The rise in cancer did, in fact, match the rise in sugar consumption. Eating foods or drinking drinks with added sugar spikes insulin, which in turn promotes inflammation and acts as fertilizer for tumors (says neuroscientist, Dr. David Servan-Schreiber, a professor at the University of Pittsburgh School of Medicine, in his excellent book, Anticancer: A New Way of Life, pages 76-82 [Scribe Publications, 2008). He writes: "Those who eat low-sugar Asian diets tend to have five to ten times fewer hormonally-driven cancers [ie, breast and prostate] than those with diets high in sugar and refined foods. All the scientific literature points in the same direction: people who want to protect themselves from cancer should seriously reduce their consumption of sugar [including high-fructose corn syrup]. There is no limit on fruit, so long as it is not sweetened with sugar or syrup. Another option is to use natural sugar substitutes that don't cause a rise in blood glucose or insulin."

And this is where it gets interesting!

I came home one day to see money changing hands in our dining room. A wad of bills was being given to Wendy by a friend in exchange for a "key" (kilo) of white powder. The exchange was not taking place in some dark, seedy alley. It was taking place right there, in our dining room, in front of the gorgeous photos of our grandchildren.

Wendy was trafficking white powder. A mysterious white powder called xylitol.

Originally manufactured from birch bark (although now made from maize/corn husks and cobs), xylitol is a natural sugar substitute that tastes exactly like sugar. But it does not spike insulin levels like sugar and so is advertised as being safe for diabetics. And because of its anti-bacterial/anti-fungal properties, xylitol can be used to treat sore throats and ear infections. It has also been shown to strengthen bones, thus showing promise as a treatment for osteoporosis.

I had heard of xylitol because it helps remineralize teeth. Contrary to sugar, xylitol does not cause tooth decay, but actually helps restore teeth by killing bacteria. It also allows bio-available calcium to penetrate teeth. Having had massive radiation treatment on my face after my cancer operation, I now use a tooth mousse with xylitol that helps prevent gum erosion (a side-effect of radiation treatment). The results for me have been astounding.

So while sugar has indeed been banned in our house -- except small quantities for baking (xylitol's properties kills the yeast in Wendy's perfect bread) -- we now use this fantastic substitute.

But Wendy does not do things half-heartedly. She decided to order it in quantity. A large quantity. Meaning a big carton of the stuff arrived on our doorstep one day. It almost took a forklift to get it into the house. We took to selling it to friends and neighbors to whom she enthusiastically preaches the xylitol message.

So while my sugar addiction's been broken -- and without any night sweats or hard prison time -- I am now a dealer of xylitol for our sweet-toothed friends and neighbors. I don't know what my mom would think of all this: she was pretty old-fashioned about sugar. My dentist, on the other hand, is over the moon.

However, I'm still working pet names to replace the banned names of "sugar" and "sweetie."

A cool-dude writer with no remaining sugar addiction, author James Houston Turner pushes xylitol and writes thrillers from his home in Adelaide, South Australia. You may visit him at www.jameshoustonturner.com.

Trapped By My Great Expectations

Trapped. In a rut. Caught in the grind.

James Houston Turner feels trapped by Great Expectations

This pretty much describes how I've been feeling lately. I have an editing deadline I'm trying to meet and the last few days haven't been going all that well. The reason: my Great Expectations.

And the harder I try to meet those expectations, the harder it gets, and the harder it gets, the harder I try, which means it gets even harder!

Stuff like this happens on occasion. I set unreasonable goals, get tunnel vision, forget to take breaks and find myself working longer and harder in an effort to finish.

But longer and harder doesn't always cut it.

So I decided to make pizza. I knew I needed a break and making pizza is this hands-on, romantic tango between me and this pile of raw ingredients. And it is a romance: a coaxing and teasing out of flavors ... a whisper of hints and subtleties from just the right spices. I get flour and dough up to my elbows, millet iseverywhere (those little buggers can sure roll a long way), and the kitchen is this insane war zone, with utensils all over the place, onions and vegetables sizzling in a century-old, four-generation blackened cast iron skillet, music blaring, and me -- occasionally -- swearing because I never follow a recipe and things -- occasionally -- go awry. It's a zany adventure into uncharted culinary territory each and every time. Which is why I love it!

Writing, on the other hand, is quiet, solitary work. Which is a good thing because I like working on my own. I like my own company and I'm a disciplined self-starter. I get up every day at 5:15, check emails, do my exercise, take a shower, eat my breakfast, then show up for work at my laptop by 8:30 or so.

But the very nature of writing means it's hard to share progress reports. There are no visible cues as in, say, cooking pizza.

"How's it going?" my wife, Wendy, asks.
"I'm at the fifty-six-thousand word mark! Only forty-nine thousand to go. That's using a twelve-point Times New Roman font, double-spaced, which equals about 370 pages, at about 272 words per---"
"Stop!" she says, her eyes glazing over. "You lost me at fifty-six thousand."

So I tend to push on so that I can finally announce, "I am done!" Those are the words Wendy likes to hear. Those are the words I like to hear. They are words to celebrate, even if we both know another edit may be just around the corner. I am done!

And this is what gets me into trouble.

The reason: writing, like pizza making, is a romance between me and this pile of raw ingredients. Sure, it's work, and there are days I don't feel like working. But I do because that's just the way it is when you've got deadlines and people are waiting. You suck it up and do what needs to be done. That's the business of writing.

But writing is not like house cleaning (and I have done my fair share of house cleaning over the years to support my passion to write). It's an art as well as a discipline. And there's a huge element of creativity that goes into it. It is not simply physical labor. So I must nourish my creative side, and that means hitting the "refresh" button now and then. It means taking a break.

I was reminded of this when I was standing in the kitchen with flour all over my face. I was on a break and loving it. I was refreshed and rejuvenated ... I was singing and dancing and throwing large disks of dough up in the air. When Wendy came in to see what the commotion was all about, I began talking about my story with excitement and animation. (That was after she got over the shock of seeing the kitchen.)

It's such a simple and obvious lesson -- taking a break -- but one I had forgotten in my Great Expectation to be more of a writing machine than I am. The romance had slipped away. I needed to get it back. So I stepped away from the laptop and made a massive mess that was more satisfying than I can fully articulate here. (Yes, I cleaned it up!)

And guess what: when I sat down again at my laptop, the romance had returned.

Which goes to show what a miraculous food a good millet pizza can be.

Like I said, working longer and harder is not always the answer. Working smarter is what I need to keep doing. And that means taking time to live and laugh (and bake) "in between the lines" of my writing.

Hence, when the time comes to celebrate the release of my latest book, you can guess what I'll be doing.

Let's see: will that be pepperoni or picadillo...?

Originally from Kansas and a self-confessed pizza fanatic, author James Houston Turner writes thrillers and bakes pizza in his home in Adelaide, South Australia. You may visit him at www.jameshoustonturner.com.

We Never Forget Our First

We never forget our first, and Jessica Chapnik was mine. And although you're filled with anticipation and excitement at what might happen as a result, your first can be a frightening experience ... terrifying, even painful ... forever etched in your memory.

But it can also be exhilarating beyond description. In fact, it's the element of venturing into the unknown that makes it so alluring.

Actress and musician, Jessica Chapnik. Photo courtesy The Daily Telegraph.

Jessica has gone on to greater things. Aussies will remember her as "Sam Holden" on the hit television show, Home and Away. In 2008, she recorded the Ben Lee soundtrack for the Joel and Nash Edgerton film, The Square. The song was nominated for an Australian Film Institute Award for "Best Original Music Score," as well as an ARIA (Australian Recording Industry Association) Fine Arts Award for "Best Original Soundtrack". A singer of exceptional talent and beauty, Jessie has toured internationally with musicians Sarah Blasko, Ben Lee, the Kahn Brothers, and Old Man River. Her 2010 Appleonia Music video, It's Not So Precious, exemplifies the gentle, inspirational quality to her voice. Which surprised me since she is such a raging soccer fanatic (go Argentina!) who loves espionage thrillers and vegetarian pizzas (go pizza!).

So while most of you may know Jessica as an exceptional actress and musician, to me she will always be "the first" ... my first ... book critic to review The Second Thirteen, when it was originally published in Australia in 1999.

At the time, Jessy was writing for Who magazine (the Australian version of People magazine), to whom I had sent a copy of my novel for review consideration.

A first review can play with your mind. It did mine. For one thing, I had no idea Who magazine would even look at my novel. Who was, after all, one of the premier celebrity magazines in Australia, and I was this unknown author whose book had been published by a micro-press no one had ever heard of. And if by some miracle they did review it, would they like it? Would they trash it? Was this going to be a painful experience? Fears collided with possibilities (and a wild imagination) to produce a tornado of emotional turbulence. I could hardly stand it. But, as I said before, it was the element of venturing into the unknown that was, in fact, its allure.

We need book critics. We rely on their seasoned judgment to sift the wheat from the chaff. Sure, some critics like to find something wrong with everything: "no turn unstoned," as the old saying goes. Some are snotty, uppity elitists who are downright arrogant and rude.

So are some writers.

Most critics, however, are decent people who devote a lot of hours to their craft. They're not in it for the big bucks. They're in it for the love of reading. Critics and writers (and publishers) have one thing in common: the desire to present a good book to the public. These days, with shrinking budgets and cutbacks, there are fewer critics writing for fewer publications, so the challenge of getting reviewed in a major publication is harder than ever. But in today's world, a good review -- or a bad one -- can spread "virally" like wildfire via twitter, Facebook, MySpace, and a host of other social networking sites and blogs, not to forget the customer review sites hosted by online giants like Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

Like never before, the reader has become the critic with a voice.

Which keeps a writer like me on his proverbial toes, especially since I have updated The Second Thirteen into what I hope is a sizzling thriller that will yank you in by the lapels and not let you go until the final page. Whether I succeed or not will be -- gulp -- up to you.

As for Jessica, with whom I stay in touch ... well, my "first" had this to say: "The Second Thirteen, by Kansas-born, Adelaide-based James Houston Turner ... will delight aficionados of the genre with its punchy pace, intricate plot, compelling structure and, best of all, goose-bump-raising-climax."

Stay tuned for updates on when the new edition of The Second Thirteen will be available.

A self-confessed pizza fanatic, James Houston Turner writes thrillers and invents new topping combinations from his home in Adelaide, South Australia. You may visit him at www.jameshoustonturner.com.

There is no God, says the Bible.

"There is no God," says the Bible. It's right there, plain and simple, for everyone to see. Psalm 14:1. Think I'm kidding? Check it out for yourself. Don't worry about which version of the Bible you're using; they all say pretty much the same thing.

There is no God.

Oh, yeah, I forgot about the first part of that verse. You see, in its entirety Psalm 14:1 says, "The fool has said in his heart, 'There is no God'."

The point of this has to do with what I call "hijacking" of religious texts to prove a point. I did it just now. I lifted a phrase out of context and made a misleading statement to illustrate my point.

Hijacking is nothing new, and it usually has much more serious consequences. For centuries, men have been hijacking verses to keep women quiet and exert control over every aspect of their lives (naturally, while ignoring those verses that praise their multi-task skills, initiative, and leadership abilities). Still other verses have been hijacked to prevent people from drinking alcohol, to justify slavery, conduct inquisitions, shun outsiders, and declare "holy wars" (what an oxymoron that is!).

No wonder so many people hate religion. How many wars have been fought in the name of religion? How many of us have had religion rammed down our throats? And yet how many good deeds have also been done: wells dug, people clothed and fed, houses built, hospitals built, lives saved. In other words -- faith in action. If religious zealots actually served God with something other than rhetoric, they would be building hospitals, not blowing them up. Feeding people instead of starving them.

Actions do, indeed, speak louder than words. But actions based on the whole truth, not isolated fragments.

There is a difference between passion and extremism, and the dynamics of both continue to fascinate me. Take the opening paragraph of Chapter 12 from my geopolitical thriller, The Identity Factor: "There are cities, there are great cities, and there is Jerusalem. Able to make small men feel great and great men feel small, Jerusalem is forever a passion to those who believe, a marvel to those who do not."

There is nobility in passion. But there is a line -- a precipice, if you will -- between passion and extremism ... when individualism turns malignant. And hijackers are masters at finding just the right verses to justify their malignancy. Thankfully, there are those passionate enough about protecting our common humanity to take a stand against oppression and brutality.

And not all of them are in novels.

In my case, some of them are, which is why I've invited you here. This blog will be about life as seen and experienced by a writer ... this writer.

It's about "the road between the lines," which was inspired by the book of Genesis, where one verse described Abraham being in one location, with the next verse describing him hundreds of miles away. So I asked myself one day: I wonder what happened on the actual road he traveled between those lines I just read. What took less than a minute for me must have taken weeks for Abraham. What were his days like? What did they talk about? What did they joke about? Did they get argue? Did they belch (and did everyone laugh then, as we do now when that happens)? What was the "road" for Abraham really like?

There is, of course, no way to tell apart from the historical and religious documents we have been given.

But I hope to give you some insight into my road between the lines. This is a work in progress, just as I am a work in progress, so I hope you will leave comments, which will help guide me along this road.

I look forward to hearing from you.


James Houston Turner writes thrillers from his home in Adelaide, South Australia. You may visit him at www.jameshoustonturner.com