In the Beginning...

I was asked recently what influenced me to become an author of suspense thrillers. I had been asked that question before, so I was ready with my standard answer about how I began writing at the age of ten. 


But then I thought: why did I begin writing at the age of ten? The question stumped me.

So I began at the beginning and thought back to those halcyon days of childhood. For me, it was a time of curiosity about the complexity and diversity of the world. A time of wonder, pranks, invention, country roads, and old deserted houses. Imagination ran wild. I scouted ravines for arrowheads. I took apart clocks to see what made them tick. I had a chemistry lab in our basement. A photo lab in my closet. I dug tunnels and built tree houses and blazed trails through the forested hills outside that small university town in Eastern Kansas, where I was born. I made rafts and swam in lakes. I restored an old multi-band radio and listened to strange languages from all over the world. I had wonderful parents, inspirational teachers, and a foundation of unconditional love.

But as I thought about all that, I realized it was my grandfather, Fred Florance -- "Pop" -- who inspired me to become a storyteller. That's because he was one of the originals himself.

Fred Florance (front, left) and his brothers.

Pop was born near Dallas, Texas, in 1879. He was one of eight children born to Civil War veteran, George Alvis Florance, and his young wife, Charlotte Johnson Florance. Pop loved swimming, and as a boy living in Arkansas, used to swim a mile every day in the White River. He loved working among the Native Americans of Oklahoma, and he spoke fluent Osage. He was a gambler who won and lost large sums of money. He eventually owned a tavern near Kansas City, where he played cards and shot craps with Harry Truman, Tom Pendergast, and Frank James, older brother of the notorious outlaw, Jesse James. So I grew up on Pop's stories about his life, his travels, and his adventures.

One such story involved moving in a covered wagon from Waverly, Kansas, in 1904, to Indian Territory, Oklahoma, when my mom was an infant. After swimming a swollen river with my mom wrapped in a blanket, Pop laid my mom on the other bank and swam back to lead the team of horses and wagon across. In the wagon was Pop's young wife, Aria, my grandmother. Once they were across, they set up camp on the bank of the river.

In those days, it was customary to give strangers who rode into camp a cup of coffee and food, which was usually salt pork and beans. Picture a starlit night on the banks of a river with a small fire crackling. The horses were grazing quietly and Aria was in the wagon nursing my mother. And suddenly, out of the darkness rode a tall stranger wearing a six-gun.

Actor Alfred Molina

When I recall this story I think of the actor, Alfred Molina, from the film, Maverick. A rough and tough character. Intense dark eyes. A scowl -- almost a snarl -- on his face. Dirty. Stinky. And packing a huge Colt .45. You know the kind I'm talking about. I have no idea if the stranger actually looked like Alfred Molina in that film. Pop never described him in much detail other than to say he was a big, rough-looking guy.

The stranger asked if he could have a cup of coffee. Now, Pop stood six-foot-one, and said he was afraid of no one. And if he actually was afraid, he would never let on. So he offered the stranger some beans and coffee. No fancy French plunger coffee, either, but the kind that had been boiled for an hour in a tin pot at the edge of a campfire.

To set the stage for you here: Pop and Aria had just sold the farm in Kansas and had a substantial amount of money with them in the wagon. But Pop was concerned the rough-looking stranger might rob them if he let on. So he made up a story about how broke they were, how he had a sick wife and baby in the wagon, and how they were heading down into Indian Territory to try and make a go of it. On and on Pop went, detailing their troubles. Finally, the stranger said, "That is the saddest story I've ever heard. I only have one dollar to my name, but I want you to have it." The stranger dug in his pocket, took out a silver dollar, and gave it to Pop before thanking him for the beans and coffee and riding off into the night.

Pop said he never hated to take a man's last dollar so much in his life. But he was afraid to tell him the truth -- that he had made up the entire story -- for fear the stranger really would rob them.

So if you wonder where I get my propensity for spinning wild yarns and telling tall tales, I got it from Pop. And like Pop, I get a lot of my story ideas from the life I've lived. From what I've experienced.

Incidentally, Pop gave me that silver dollar -- an 1884 Morgan -- and I still have it. It's worn and not worth much apart from its priceless contribution to my beginning as a writer.

Q4U: Was there a defining moment in your life that inspired you in a particular direction?

Jesus vs Christians

Ask anyone what they think about Jesus and most of the time you'll get answers like these: love, grace, mercy, forgiveness. Ask those same people what they think about Christians and quite often you'll get a different answer: condemnation, hypocrisy, hatred, division. What has happened? Why does Christianity as a religion provoke such a different response than the founder?

Have we as Christians turned Jesus from a blessing into a curse, not by our association with Him, but by His association with us?

To me, what gives Christianity a bad name are the protests, lectures, music videos of hatred, the glares of disgust and disapproval. Does our world have problems? Of course. Are there evils worth fighting? Absolutely. Combat, however, doesn't change people. Jesus does. He changes hearts. He reconciles people with God. Which in turn changes actions. Christianity, however, has too often emphasized a strict moral culture that focuses more on external actions than internal values. In other words, we've got it bass-ackwards.

That kind of church culture is what grinds a lot of people. Don't get me wrong: it's awesome hanging out with people who are bursting with love and joy. Enthusiastic people who help one another. Who reach out to others. People who laugh when you laugh. Who grieve when you grieve. Who accept you as you are. Who take an interest in you. Who want your involvement with them. People who bring you food when you're sick. People you can trust. People who become family because of your common bond of faith. That is church at its best, and there are huge numbers of Christians who personify those qualities.

But sometimes church becomes a sanitized culture that refuses admission to those who are different. People who don't fit the mold. I attended a church once that declared a ban on wearing shorts. It was stinking hot back where they were in summertime, but rules were rules and shorts were not allowed. Conform or get out. Never mind those who had already left because they were not allowed to drink "demon" alcohol.

That kind of squeaky clean culture is not what Christianity is all about. Scottish clergyman, Lord George Fielden MacLeod (1885-1991) said it this way: "Jesus was not crucified between two candles, but on a cross between two thieves. On the town garbage heap. At a crossroads so cosmopolitan they had to write the charge against him in three languages. At the kind of place where cynics talk smut, and thieves curse and soldiers gambled. That is where He died, and what He died about. And that is where churchmen should be, and what churchmen should be about."

To do this, you've got to be made of tough stuff. Jesus was. He wasn't the cuddly stuffed doll we've been led to believe he was. Nor were his followers. They were rough, rugged, flawed individuals who defied the world rather than chased it, as is the case today, where outward affluence is valued more than inner character. I wonder: would that apostolic vagrant, Paul, be welcomed in church as a teacher today? Would Jesus? Maybe...if they wore long pants.

The fact is: Jesus changed lives by hanging out with people on the street. He partied with them: "Out of wine? Here, let me make some for you." (And we're not talking grape juice, either, but the good stuff. Better than a South Australian shiraz, if you can imagine that.) He associated with drunkards and prostitutes. With (gasp) non-Christians. With the reviled of society. With the sick. With atheists. With people of all religions, at the crossroads of the world. With people in need.

I once spent two years in seminary -- aka "cemetery" -- and found it so distasteful and lifeless I dropped out. Theology, I discovered, doesn't change lives. A changed life may decide to study theology, but theology itself doesn't change lives. Love does. That's why Jesus was such a revolutionary. He was, quite literally, God among us. And in that, showed us what God was all about.

Tony Campolo is the associate pastor of the Mount Carmel Baptist Church in West Philadalphia, and an emeritus professor of sociology at Eastern University. On that campus is the Campolo School of Social Change. It serves inner city schools as well as AIDS hospices and Christian service programs in Haiti, the Dominican Republic, Africa, and Canada.

When Campolo gives speeches, he sometimes opens them this way: "I have three things I'd like to say. First, while you were sleeping last night, 30,000 kids died of starvation from diseases related to malnutrition. Second, most of you don't give a shit. [And third] What's worse is that you're more upset with the fact that I said shit than the fact that 30,000 kids died last night."

That kind of coarse language might offend people, and that's exactly my point: quit being offended about the stuff that doesn't matter and start caring more about people. Incidentally, the apostle Paul beat Campolo to the punch when he said, "More than that, I count all things to be loss in view of the surpassing value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whom I have suffered the loss of all things, and count them but shit in order that I may gain Christ (Philippians 3:8).

Years ago, I belonged to a church that wanted to have a foot washing service for members, who were invited to bring along friends and neighbors. Church leaders wanted to do it because Jesus once washed the disciples' feet, thus demonstrating how Christians should serve others. I agreed with their motivation but suggested they wash cars instead. To me, that was meeting the needs of people in our area. My idea was shot down. It wasn't spiritual/biblical enough. The foot washing went ahead and was poorly attended. Friends and neighbors were simply not interested.

I'm not sure how to end this blog, because I don't pretend to have all the answers. And what is right for me may not be right for you. I do know when I decided to write mainstream fiction and not Christian fiction, I caught some flack from a few Christians. But I have never regretted my decision. I love gutsy non-conformist lovers of God who enjoy a stiff tequila or a swig of shiraz. People of character and integrity who live and die defending the lives of others. That is who Jesus was (okay, without the tequila, although I've toasted Him with blue agave on numerous occasions). And those are the characters you'll meet in my books.

Now, if only they'll hang out with me wearing these baggy cargo shorts...

Honoring Simon Baker and Dr. William S. Bate.

What a privilege to meet actor Simon Baker, star of the hit TV series, The Mentalist, who was honored at the prestigious G'day USA 2010 black tie gala in Hollywood. Wendy and I had flown from Australia to meet with several film executives regarding my screenplay, Big John, a true story based on the life of Big John Levi, the great 1920s Native American fullback from Haskell Institute in Lawrence, Kansas.

Simon Baker and Wendy Turner at the G'day USA black tie gala

We then topped off the week by attending the gala, where actress Nicole Kidman introduced Simon to the crowd. She told us about the years Baker struggled as an actor, which eventually earned him a Logie Award in his native country of Australia for Most Popular New Talent. But his career never really ignited, so at Kidman's urging, Baker -- a former bricklayer -- moved his family to Los Angeles, where he scored a supporting role opposite fellow Aussies, Russell Crowe and Guy Pearce, in the 1997 Academy Award-winning film, L.A. Confidential. This was followed by other successful roles, including the popular TV series, The Guardian, the film, The Devil Wears Prada, and finally the blockbuster TV series, The Mentalist.
Baker was affable and accessible and enjoyed meeting fans. Which may not continue for long given the shocking behavior of some people. Wendy and I were speaking with him at the gala when several young women in sprayed-on cocktail dresses shoved their way to the front and burst into the conversation.

Sam Worthington

Two of them held digital cameras my way while talking with him effusively. I snapped pictures, after which they grabbed them abruptly away and shoved their way toward Aussie actor, Sam Worthington, star of Clash of the Titans and Avatar, who was standing a short distance away. Sorry about that, Sam.
One of the highlights of the evening was Nicole Kidman's introduction of Baker with husband Keith Urban. With Kidman

Wendy Turner and Keith Urban

dancing around on the stage, Urban sang a humorous tribute to Baker to the tune of Men At Work's iconic Australian classic, Down Under. Some of the lyrics include, "From a small town in Tasmania, in the rugged country of Australia, came a little boy with wide-eyed wonder, destined to rise up from Down Under. And his name is Simon Baker, surfer dude, home renovator... he's a sexy baby maker, and secretly your laptop screen saver. He's a straight-up guy, no bullshit taker. He's CBS' big money-maker, The Mentalist, a ratings breaker." Baker then donned his "rockin' Buddy Holly glasses" to shouts of approval from the crowd. Urban's song brought down the house and you can watch it on YouTube here: (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=31CsuFwYbsk). Other honorees at the gala were golfer Greg Norman, who was introduced by the legendary John Travolta, and actress Toni Collette.
Toni was introduced by the gorgeous and zany Cameron Diaz who, after witnessing the roof-raising introduction of Simon Baker by Keith and Nicole, said to the audience: "After that, I looked at Toni and she looked at me, and I said, 'We are so f#*ked!' " The crowd went wild with laughter.
But as spectacular as the black tie gala was, by far the greatest highlight of our trip was seeing Dr. William S. Bate, whose cancer diagnosis helped save my life back in 1991. After a missed diagnosis by another doctor in San Diego, I was examined by Dr. Bate, whose biopsy confirmed what he suspected simply by looking at the swollen mass on my jaw: a malignant tumor was eating its way into the bone. Not having health insurance, we were forced to fly to Australia for medical help, where a team of surgeons excised the tumor, by that time the size of an orange. We had to pay for the operation, but $17,000 was a lot less than the $200,000 required in San Diego. I was given 18 months to live. It will soon be twenty years!

James Houston Turner and Wendy Turner

So imagine Dr. Bate's surprise when I walked into his office to say thanks. He and I had not seen each other since 1991 and he did not even know that I was alive. He asked where I had gone for my treatment and I told him. He said, "There are few places in the world better than Adelaide, Australia, for what you had done. They did a magnificent job."
We shook hands and a beaming Dr. Bate said I had made his day. I told him he had made my life.
Thanks to Dr. William S. Bate, Dr. Dan Hains, Dr. James Katsaros, Dr. Peter O'Brien, and Dr. Liz Coates, James Houston Turner continues to write thrillers 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