Authors like Stephen king can rip me out of reality and catapult me off into another world filled with adventure and suspense. He makes me feel that I am more than just curious about what happens to the characters; I feel that I am the characters, and whatever is happening to the characters is happening to me. As a result, I can’t wait to find out the ending, and I sail through the pages, caught up in the story and loving every minute of it. This is not an accident. Stephen King does this on purpose; he magically transfers your identity into the character, and you are hooked. He does this with seven techniques that anybody can learn, and he is not the only bestselling author that uses these techniques. Do you want to know the secrets?

I will outline the seven secrets and give examples from the movies and books of many different authors and film makers (Not just Mr. King’s)

The Bad situation

Have you ever been in a bad situation? We all have and we can identify with it. In King’s latest novel, “11/ 22/ 63”, he starts off with a character who has just gone through a divorce. In the novel, Duma Key, his character has just lost his wife and his arm. In “The Stand” each character has a similar bad situation. Frannie is pregnant and wants to break up with her boyfriend, the killer disease is raging across the nation, and the other characters aren’t having a great time either. Harry Potter lives under the stairs and his aunt’s family treat him like crap. This causes sympathy. Put your characters in a tough spot and the readers will recognize and root for them. But the next trick really hooks them in . . .

The Attitude Adjustment

Have you ever had a big disappointment or been brought down a peg or two when you least expected it? If this happens to your characters your readers will identify. In Stephen King’s “IT” Bill brother is killed in the beginning a big letdown after playing happily in the rain. Or this can be done by having an antagonist destroy the hopes of you main characters. This sets up an unresolved wrong that must be righted, and the reader will want to see the bad guy get what they got coming to them. The next trick pulls the reader in further. . .

Thinking Dude (Or Dudette)

Have you ever thought of the perfect thing to do or say in a situation, but well after the situation was over? Thinking Dude, is where the character does or says something absolutely brilliant at the perfect time. It causes the reader to think, “If I was in that situation, I would have done the exact same thing,” thus causing the reader to think that your character is intelligent and their brother or sister in spirit! When Harold Lauder began painting signs on roof tops for people to follow in the novel “The Stand” I thought to myself, “now that was a Thinking Dude.” Your character can do the same. Now this next technique has sold hundreds of millions of books. . .


Have you ever wished to be someone important or to have special abilities or to live in an amazing place? When I say fantasy I don’t mean sword and sorcery and dragons. I mean the fantasies that we all have. Every great character makes us fantasize about what it would be like to be that character. Psychology tells us that every human has a deep need to be treated as if they are important. Readers can get this from great characters and great stories. That’s why superheroes are so popular. It’s a fantasy. But every fantasy must come with a conflict to make it dramatic. Wouldn’t it be cool to have spider powers, but wouldn’t it suck if super villains were trying to kill you all the time? Wouldn’t it be cool if you were not just a mistreated orphan boy, but in fact, you were the most famous wizard in the world? But wouldn’t it suck if you were famous because the most powerful, evil wizard in the world killed your parents and now he has vowed to kill you? It doesn’t have to be super powers; it could be wealth; it could be the amazing world your characters live in, or anything to make your readers daydream. Use a fantasy element to power up your characters and you can’t go wrong. Now this next technique is, I think, the single most powerful storytelling technique ever . . .

Reverse psychology

Have you ever been blamed for something that you didn’t do? Reverse psychology is when the reader knows something some or all of the characters in the story don’t know; it can be a form of injustice, and it can be done from many different angles. Your character can be accused of doing something that the reader knows he or she did not do: wrongly accused of a crime, accused of cheating, and accused of lying. The key is to this working is when the reader knows it isn’t true. It can also be done when the reader knows there’s a monster behind the door but the characters don’t. Or we know what the killer really means when he says “I’ll see you later.” This technique can also be used when one character uses it on another like when Tom Sawyer tricks kids into whitewashing the fence for him by telling them he loves to do it and not everyone can do it right; he lets them whitewash only after they beg him and pay him for the privilege. There are many more ways to use reverse psychology on your readers, but when done right, your readers will be hooked on every word. The next technique is an oldie but a goodie . . .

Good Deeds

Have you ever wished you had done something noble and unselfish? Everyone does and we try to do those thing when we get a chance. Let your characters be brave and unselfish and the readers will admire and identify with them. And help an old lady across the street every once in a while. The final technique is the most satisfying one . . .

Attitude Re-Adjustment

Have you ever wished you could see the bad guy get what they deserve? In my opinion Clint Eastwood is the king of the Re-Adjustment. I love the final scene in the movie “The Unforgiven” where the cruel sheriff (Gene Hackman) and his posse are bragging and laughing about how they are going to chase those yellowbelly assassins (Clint Eastwood and friend) all the way to Mexico if they have to, but then Clint strolls right in the front door, shotgun in hand. He then proceeds to hand out the ultimate Attitude Re-Adjustment. Let your characters hand out their own Re-Adjustments and your reader will love you for it.

That’s about it for now. I don’t pretend to be an expert on using these techniques in my own novels, but I’m getting better every day. And you will too. Practice makes perfect I’m told. Have you found any other techniques to improve your storytelling? Comment here and let me know if this has been helpful. Thanks! God Bless!


They laughed when I told them I wrote a Christian vampire novel . . .but not when they started to read!

Why did I write a Christian vampire novel?

The truth is, I didn’t plan it out very much. I was writing another novel which I never finished because it sucked too bad. But in that novel was a subplot/ flashback about a cowboy that was turned into a vampire. I lifted the subplot out of my sucky novel and used it as part one of Reed Butler’s Story. The rest of the story fell into place and badabing, my first completed novel was born!

I’ve always had a few pet peeves about vampire movies. In the old days, vampires were afraid of crosses and holy water, but those things are only symbols of God’s power; this got on my nerves a little. In more modern movies the vampires are not bothered by crosses at all; this gets on my nerves big time. I thought that someone should write a movie (or a book) about how the real power of God would affect vampires. I also thought I could use this premise to explain the legend of why vampires must be invited into a home before they can come in (in my book they must be invited to enter into a Christian’s presence). And of course, the vampires and the disease of vampirism is symbolic, as they are in all good vampire stories.

I never thought anyone would want to read it, but once I finished it I was excited to see if anyone would like it. A few of my family members read it and they were offended and mad at me. And I think one of them is afraid to even allow it into his house (he’s afraid it will bring a devil ha ha). But most of the people who read it thought it was good. One of the ones who originally hated it told me that she was up until 1am in the morning reading to find out how it would end.

It is a violent story, but it is not evil. It’s about a man who does not believe in God but who is trapped by the disease of vampirism, and he comes to believe in God and is recruited by God to fight a battle against darkness and to kill one vampire.

Do you think I should listen to people who are offended or should I listen to my inspiration??

Posted: April 19, 2012 in Uncategorized


Continued from the Journal of Reed Butler



I’m thinking back on how we first arrived at La Paz and I wish I had known that John Stocile had only a few moments left to live, but they say hindsight is twenty-twenty.

We entered the town of La Paz on horseback a few minutes before sunset. The houses and buildings were constructed with wood and unpainted brick the color of sand. Red and orange light from the sun was casting big shadows across the street, making the place look like a ghost town. It smelled like dust and looked deserted. We saw the mess; doors kicked in, blood sprayed on the walls, and we thought everyone was dead or gone until Uziel said he saw someone looking through the window of the Spanish mission in the center of town. I pulled my rifle out of the leather case on the side of my saddle and gave the others a look to make sure they had their weapons drawn.

This was not what I expected.

We got off our horses and slowly walked toward the mission. The wind began to whip up strong, blowing sand in our faces, its whistling sound singing an eerie song to us. Even over the wind we could hear crying coming from the mission. We watched every doorway and corner we passed; some were open or broken. There were spatters of blood in strange places; on a door, on a porch railing, pooled up in a spot on the sand. As we got closer, I felt all the hairs on my arms stand up, like when you know a bear is about to attack, but you don’t know which direction it’s coming from.

It was a typical Spanish mission; unpainted stone, arches, heavy wooden door, a bell tower, and a small courtyard with a cactus garden. There was a small fountain in front of the mission with no water in it. As we got closer, I could tell there was more than one person crying inside. I thought it was possible that the survivors of whatever happened were holed up in there. When we got about twenty yards from the door of the mission, the last sunlight I would see for a long time sank down below the horizon. That was when it happened.

Pablo saw them first and yelled at me to look out. I spun around with my rifle ready. Three people stood behind us, only ten yards away; they were Mexican villagers, two men and a woman. Dried blood was spattered on their clothes, and they stood there not saying a word. None of us had heard them approach; they had been as quiet as coyotes hunting field mice. A crazed look was on their faces and their eyes had tiny red pupils. They continued walking toward us, sniffing the air like animals.

I was about to say howdy when the three villagers opened their mouths and hissed at us. I’m not joking, they literally hissed at us like snakes or wildcats or something. As they hissed, their jaws stretched open like I had never seen before, revealing mouths full of long sharp teeth.

Pablo dropped his rifle and held his hands out in front of him. John aimed his rifle at one of the villagers and prepared to fire. Uziel grabbed Pablo by the shoulder and pulled him back from the toothy strangers, who were only ten yards from us, while keeping his Colt 45 aimed at them. I slowly got between my men and these people, with my rifle at my side, but ready. Not knowing what exactly to say in a situation like this, I stuck to the tried and true.

“Howdy,” I said.

They didn’t say anything back; they just hissed at me and showed those giant teeth.

The closest one to me, a man dressed in simple farmer’s clothes with a scar across one eyebrow, suddenly jumped at me. Before I could get my rifle up, he grabbed me by the shoulders.

“Dang!” was the only thing I had time to say.

He opened his mouth wide and tried to bite me with those big ugly teeth. He was as strong as an ox and I thought for sure he was going to bite a chunk out of my neck, but John Stocile slammed him in the head with the butt of his rifle. The thing came off me and hit the ground. It scuffled around real quick, then got back up and lunged at John. I heard the loud crack of a gunshot beside me as John put a bullet between its eyes. Blood and chunks of brain spewed out all over the street, but the thing just stood there and looked puzzled for a moment. Then, and I swear to God this is true, right before our eyes, the bullet hole in that thing’s forehead closed itself up and the skin grew back.

There was a split second when we all stood there, not believing what we were seeing.

All three of those things then lunged at us. This time we had our guns ready and we opened fire as we backed away. Even Pablo had picked up his gun from the dirt and we unloaded every last bullet we had into those monsters. At this close range, there was no way we were going to miss. Gun smoke filled the air, the firing rifles and pistols as loud as cannons. We put enough bullet holes in those biscuit-eaters to make ’em look like Swiss cheese. Every time we hit them, they bucked and hitched from the impact, but they just kept coming. When the bullets were gone and the gun smoke had cleared, their wounds healed. The bullet holes I could see on their faces and necks closed up and disappeared, leaving only a smear of blood on smooth skin. Apparently, vampires don’t like to get shot, because they screamed at us like they wished they could kill us just by the sound of their voices. Then they rushed at us again, even faster than before. We turned to run, but we had nowhere to go but the mission and they were coming too fast for us to make it in time.

I remember thinking, Oh my God, this is going to hurt.

It was the woman who almost got me. Just before she grabbed me, John jumped in front of me and she grabbed him instead; she bit into his neck with her fangs. He screamed as the vampire sucked his blood out of his neck until he fell to the ground, then she pounced on him and continued drinking his blood. We couldn’t do anything but watch in shock because it happened so fast. Even the other two vampires stopped to watch John die; the blood lust was in their eyes as if they even enjoyed watching another vampire feed. Then John stopped screaming and just lay there; I knew he was dead.

That’ was when I saw other vampires, maybe five or six more, coming out of the buildings around us.

As I was trying to reload my rifle, I heard our horses screaming. They were under attack. I could see dark shapes in the distance pulling one of our horses to the ground. The other horses were running and being chased, but it was hard to see them clearly in the growing darkness.

The vampires that were attacking us slowed down and spread out like they were trying to surround us, no longer worried about chasing us down. Two more vamps were coming from my left; they were close and moving steady and I knew this was it. I wanted to plant at least one more bullet in a vampire, but I didn’t have enough time. Just before they grabbed us, we heard a loud but young and beautiful voice yell out from behind us.

“Stop!” the voice said in a Spanish accent, “Get away from them!”

The vampires froze; the three that were in front of us looked like they were paralyzed. The ones coming from further away acted like they were in pain, but none of them came any closer. All of them growled and screamed in anger.

I turned behind me to see who the voice came from. I saw a small Spanish girl wearing a white dress and no shoes. She was maybe twelve years old, with long dark hair. Her dress was bloodied and she stood in the street in front of the open door of the mission about twenty yards behind us. On her small fragile face was a look of bold authority.

As the little girl came closer, the vampires were frozen in their tracks. They would not come any closer to us, as if some invisible force was holding them back. And it seemed they were throwing a total fit because of it. They hissed and screamed and bared their teeth, like a mountain lion does when he wants to scare you, even though it’s really the mountain lion that’s scared. The little girl limped to me and took my hand.

“Venga, venga,” she said to me and the others in a tone much sweeter than the one she had used to command the vampires. She wanted us to come back to the mission with her.

We did not need any further convincing.

I was in a daze at this point and I allowed the girl to lead me by the hand to the mission. The vampires did not try to stop us; they hissed and growled, but didn’t come near. They were afraid of this girl and agonized by her presence. As we reached the door, I heard one of the vampires yell at us in a thick Spanish accent.

“The chimera is our queen, little prophet! And we will not leave!” the voice rang out and then added in a more quiet tone, “…until the little prophet dies.”

I saw the vampires laughing and spitting at us.

We entered the mission and I could see other people inside. The little girl at my side fell. I was quick to grab her before she hit the ground. I scooped her up to carry her and suddenly other people were around me, wanting to help her and telling me to bring her to a bench. She felt like she only weighed thirty pounds; she had fainted, but she was still breathing. Blood was spattered on her little dress and I could see now where the blood had come from; a gunshot wound was high on her chest and near her shoulder. It was bad.

What the heck is going on here? I thought.

I would soon find out who this girl was, what a chimera is and that the situation was even worse than I thought. I would be faced with the most important decision of my life and I’m sad to say I made the wrong choice. Many people paid for it with their lives, including me.


do you think i could have done better? comments?



This is a Christian vampire novel:

This story is about cowboys, vampires, a little bit of zombies, violence, and the power of God. If any of these subjects offend you, I offer my apologies in advance. I wrote this story for anyone who wants to read it and I sincerely hope you enjoy it. Also, I have to warn you that anyone searching for hidden meaning in this story will be shot by order of the author. Just saying.

 Thank you,

James E. Thomas


P.S. If you are currently a real vampire, I promise not to reveal too many of the Vampire World’s secrets, but if I do, please don’t bite me.


Part 1

The battle at La Paz. The little prophet. The missed prayer. The smell of blood.


Leviticus 17:10-11,

And whatever man of the house of Israel, or of the strangers who dwell among you, who eats any blood, I will set my face against that person who eats blood, and I will cut him off from among his people, for the life is in the blood, and I have given it to you upon the altar to make atonement for your souls; for it is the blood that makes atonement for the soul. 


An Excerpt from the Journal of Reed Butler

When I think of all my friends who died and the nightmare that left so much destruction, I always remember the town of La Paz as we first saw it; streets deserted, doors kicked in, blood smeared everywhere and the sound of someone crying. That memory haunts my nightmares and sometimes I wake up screaming. It’s the worst thing that ever happened to this part of the country. I want to write it all down now, because they have kept these events secret, and because my life here on Earth will be ending soon. I’m getting old, but my spirit will continue its journey. The secrets I have learned can live forever, as long as someone cares to read what I’ve written and keep it alive. Then again, maybe no one will give a popcorn poop or a rat’s behind, except my kids, maybe. Anyway, I’m not the world’s greatest writer, so I hope you’ll forgive me for any mistakes I might make along the way.

One writer started his book by saying, “It was the best of times; it was the worst of times,” but I want to start mine by saying it was the absolute crap-hole of times; at least for me it was.

The year was 1879. Rutherford B. Hayes was president. He pulled the troops out of our southern capitals and I guess there’s something to be said for that. Later that year, Thomas Edison demonstrated his electric light bulb for the first time in Menlo Park, New Jersey. People around here didn’t think much would come of it, to tell the truth. The economy was still in a depression, but it was beginning to pick up a little. I died that year and yet I’m still alive; that’s one of the things I want to explain by writing all of this down.

When Pablo and Uziel came to see me on that Friday, I was having a bad day. Only a week before, my wife of five years, Eleanor, had died giving birth to our first child; the baby died, too. It was a boy and I was going to name him David had he survived. But instead, I buried them together behind the house. I built two wooden crosses and planted them at the head of each grave with roses and small wild flowers around them. I don’t know what kind, but they were purple and yellow and smelled like a fresh spring. I wanted to dig a third hole and get down in it.

My wife was a powerful believer in God and heaven. I never gave her any problems about it, but to me, the notion of an afterlife was a fool’s dream. She was gone; her light was out and she felt no pain. I could not believe she was watching me from heaven, but if anyone deserved it, it would be her. The baby died quickly and mercifully. I was left with the pain and I longed for that feeling of loss to leave me, even if it meant entering the same blackness they had gone to. I fought with myself about it. Little did I know I was about to find out what the afterlife was really all about.

After I spent a while at the graves, I went into town and bought three bottles of whiskey and some bullets for my Winchester rifle, and stayed inside my house for the next few days. The local preacher came by to see me and they tell me I almost killed him, but I do not remember that at all.

I wanted to finish off my last bottle of whiskey and be alone for a while. I was in front of my empty fireplace, thinking things over, feeling as useless as tits on a boar hog. I looked out the window to see the shadows from the two grave crosses grow long on the ground when there came a knocking at my door. I half expected it to be a ghost raven with news of my departed Eleanor, having read Edgar Allen Poe’s poem recently. If a raven did indeed show up and quoted the word “nevermore” to me, I was going to squash it and feed it to my hogs.

When I opened the door, standing there in front of me was Pablo and Uziel, two Mexican men who sometimes worked for me.

“Howdy,” I said.

“Mr. Butler,” said Uziel. He was a medium sized guy and easy to get along with, a hard worker with a cool head. He spoke English, but with a thick Mexican accent. “It is good to see you.”

“Please, Senor,” Pablo said, wringing his hat in his hands. He was a little smaller than Uziel, his accent a little better, and he was also a good worker, but somewhat of a worrier. When these two helped me, I always put Uziel in charge. “Please help us, Senor, for the love of God.”

“Why don’t y’all come inside?” I said.         

We sat down inside my house, a wide ranch style home I had built for Eleanor and me. There was no fire in the fireplace and no food cooking in the kitchen, just the smell of whisky and dust. I offered them a drink and they told their story. Three days ago, some bandits were seen outside the village of La Paz. Things began to disappear and when villagers rode out to investigate, they disappeared as well. One night, several children went missing and the bandits claimed they had the kids and if the parents ever wanted to see them again, they had to meet certain specific demands. Pablo and Uziel did not know what the demands turned out to be because they volunteered to come up to Texas and ask me for help.

“Is Mrs. Butler here?” Uziel asked respectfully.

“She’s… she’s sleeping,” I said. “To be honest, I was thinking about joining her.”

“Oh, we will be quiet, Mr. Butler. My wife only wanted me to thank her for the biscuits she sent with me last time, and my wife would like to see her again someday.”

“Me too,” I said.

They were confused by this, but I did not explain myself. I guess they figured I was just drunk and talking crazy; the whiskey bottle was still in my hand.

“What do you think about our situation, Mr. Butler?” Uziel said. “Is there anything you can do?”

“I’ve got a heap of problems right now, fellas,” I said.

“We understand,” Uziel said.

“My work has doubled and my extra help is long gone,” I said. Actually, these two men were most of my extra help.

“We understand, Mr. Butler,” Uziel said and he waited for me to say more.

“For the love of God,” Pablo burst out with tears in his eyes, wringing his hands together. “There’s no one else to turn to.”

“Pablo,” Uziel said coarsely.

He was rebuking Pablo for disrespecting me and not maintaining an honorable composure. With my Eleanor and our son in their graves behind the house, the mention of God made me angry.

How could there be a God that kills innocent women and children? Where was God when Eleanor was bleeding to death? I refused to be angry with a God I did not believe in. Why was I even temped to get angry? Wasn’t the sorrow bad enough? I wanted to order them out, maybe even throw them out, but I knew it wasn’t their fault. They didn’t even know my wife and son were dead. And if they knew, I’m sure they would have been respectful. I felt a little guilty about being so close to losing my temper with them.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I said. “I can’t turn water into wine, but I can talk to the sheriff for you.”

Uziel nodded his head in a heavy thank you gesture.

Pablo said, “Thank you, Mr. Butler. Thank you.”

“I don’t want to hear about the love of God, if you don’t mind,” I said. “I’ve had enough of that from a bunch of broke preachers who just want my money.”

“Yes, boss,” Pablo said as we walked out of the house onto my front porch. “I… only thought you were a Christian.”

“You’re not a Christian, are you, Pablo?” I asked.

“Uh… maybe someday I would like to be, boss.”

“I guess it don’t do any harm to be a Christian,” I said. “I mean, people believe in Santa Clause and the tooth fairy, right?”

They didn’t know how to respond to that, I guess; didn’t know if I was joking or not. They just looked at each other and back at me. I think they realized something was wrong, but before they could ask any questions, I stepped off the porch.

“Let’s go kick the sheriff and see what he’s up to,” I said.

Half an hour later, we stood in front of Sheriff Whistle, our boots making loud hollow thumps on the wooden floor as we came in. Inside the sheriff’s office, which was also the town jail, the three little holding cells were empty and the Sheriff, a kind looking man with white hair and a white mustache, was behind his desk, smoking a sweet smelling pipe.

“Mexicans can handle their own problems!” Sheriff Whistle said. He was not raising his voice out of anger; he had lost part of his hearing after falling off his horse and hitting his head on a rock a few years ago. “And you got enough problems of your own; your wife and son not in the ground more than a week, God bless ’em!”

Both Pablo and Uziel looked at me when he said that. They were about to ask me what was going on, but I stalled them by speaking to the sheriff. “That’s only a few miles south of here, Sheriff. If there’re bandits making trouble, don’t you think we should find out about it?”

“Mexicans never did me no favors!” Sheriff Whistle said, as if that settled the matter.

“Come on,” I said to Pablo and Uziel as I walked outside. “Let’s get out of here, sheriff’s busy.”

“Mr. Butler?” Uziel said to me on the street outside the jail. “Is it true?”

I hesitated for a while, then nodded my head. I didn’t feel like explaining what happened. I was hoping they would leave me alone about it.

They both took off their hats. Thankfully, they didn’t say much. Pablo put his hand on my shoulder; he looked close to tears.

Uziel said, “Mrs. Butler was a very good wife to you. I’m sorry for your loss, Senor.”

He then looked at the ground. Pablo looked sympathetic. I wanted to slug them both in the head and tell them to save their pity.

They could figure out what had happened. They knew she was pregnant. Complications during childbirth are common. I think both of these men have children of their own, although we have not spoken much about their families.

“We have come at a bad time,” Uziel said. “My condolences, Mr. Butler. We’ll come back at another day.”

“No, hold on. I’ve changed my mind. I’ll go down there with you.”

“Mr. Butler,” Uziel said, shaking his head. “We can’t ask you to go now.”

“I’m very sorry, boss,” said Pablo, clasping his hands together tightly.

“I don’t want to hear that horse manure,” I said. “Come back to my house. We’ll get John Stocile and some supplies, whatever we might need.”

Uziel didn’t say anything more. He just tipped his hat to me and nodded. Pablo told me he was sorry again as he held his hat to his chest, twisting it nervously as he always does.

I decided we should go down on our own and bring John Stocile, who was one of my workers. He was a soldier in the war and a mighty good shot with a rifle. Pablo and Uziel said that only three bandits were sighted, as well as a tall strange woman. I thought the four of us would be enough, and if we could get some of the men from La Paz to join us, which I was sure we could do, it would be more than enough. It was the right thing to do. I don’t like bandits, they’re a bunch of yellow bellies who pick on peaceful people; they’re like rabid coyotes that need to be put out of their misery.

Together, we got our horses and weapons ready, some food and water and headed out to old Mexico to chase away some bad guys and get those kids back to where they belonged.

On the ride down, I began to think about Eleanor; she would have approved of this. It was also something I could do to get my mind off my situation. I began to think this was going to be easy. It was possible that, by the time we got down there, the ransom would have already been paid and the children returned. We could track the bandits. The men of town would join us more easily then. With a little luck, we would get their money back and throw a big fiesta, get drunk, and eat some delicious home cooked Mexican food. As I thought of these things, I watched a cloud of bats flying near the ground on the horizon; more bats than I had ever seen before. I took it as a good sign. The more bats flying tonight, the fewer mosquitos sucking my blood. Yes, I became sure of it; everything would soon be all right.

What I didn’t realize was that a living nightmare awaited us and two out the four of us who rode together that day would not survive the battle at La Paz.

Reed Butler is a bereaved Texas cattle rancher in 1879, who does not believe in the supernatural. But when he is bitten by a vampire and becomes one of the undead, his only hope of being human again is to hunt down the vampire at the head of the bloodline and kill her in less than four days. But to accomplish that, he will need the help of God, who he has never believed in before and is now more than a little angry with. Along with a beautiful but slightly crazy female doctor, who has a secret agenda of her own, Reed Butler is facing the battle of his life and the eternal destinies of many people hang in the balance. Full of vampire cowboy action and almost unbearable suspense, Reed Butler’s Story is a relentless thriller infused with spirituality.

the vampires in this story are symbolic. They represent demons or demon possesed people. The disease of vampirism is symbolic of sin. There are other hidden symbols in the novel, but mostly i just wrote it for fun and to see if i could finally finish a novel.

do you think a Christian vampire novel is too controversial? comments?