Got Freedom?

The Next Book In The Well Spring Series Is Here!

James L. Rubart’s novel, Soul’s Gate, won both an INSPY award and a Christy Award, and now the highly anticipated sequel, Memory’s Door, has released. It’s an epic story of four warriors who have fulfilled a powerful prophecy by learning how to send their spirits into other people’s souls to fight for healing and freedom. But it’s also an extremely intimate story that explores the devastating consequences of holding onto our regrets—and how we can get free of them.

Here’s a few thoughts from James, a video he made with his son, and finally a short expert from the novel:

I’m frequently asked how much of me is in my novels. How much of my personality, own experiences, etc. The short answer: Everything.

The longer answer: An author friend once told me, “My novels are simply my personal journals in published form. The issues I’m going through, the journey I’m on, the freedom and healing I’m searching for that’s found in Jesus.”

Exactly. That’s me too. If I can’t imagine it, I can’t write it. And to imagine it means I have to have gone through struggles and victories similar to what my characters have faced, or have wrestled with the issues in my mind and heart. So I draw deeply from my own life when I write my stories. If you’ve read my books, you know me.

My son Taylor and I had a fun time making a video in our backyard that gives a pretty good flavor of Memory’s Door.

Memory’s Door

The prophecy brought them together. But the Wolf has risen, and now their greatest battle begins.

The four members of Warriors Riding have learned to wage war in the supernatural, to send their spirits inside people’s souls, to battle demonic forces, and to bring deep healing to those around them.

But their leader Reece is struggling with the loss of his sight. Brandon is being stalked at his concerts by a man in the shadows. Dana’s career is threatening to bury her. And Marcus questions his sanity as he seems to be slipping in and out of alternate realities.

And now the second part of the prophecy has come true. The Wolf is hunting them and has set his trap. He circles, feeding on his supernatural hate of all they stand for. And he won’t stop until he brings utter destruction to their bodies . . . and their souls.

Excerpt From Memory’s Door by James L. Rubart / Thomas Nelson Fiction 2013

Brandon Scott finished the second to last song of his first set on Friday evening and scanned the back of the arena looking for the stalker. If the man had come again and kept his pattern the same, he’d stand and walk out within a few seconds. He’d done it every time for the past five concerts when the band finished Running Free.

No one but his manager, Kevin and Brandon’s bass player, Anthony, knew about the guy—Brandon hadn’t even hinted about it to any of the Warriors except to Marcus earlier in the day. For one thing, he’d been on the road for three weeks and wanted to talk to all of them about it at the same time, and in person. For another, he wanted to figure out if it was just your friendly neighborhood whacko or something darker, like Zennon.

They’d seen little of the demon during the past ten months. Yes, there had been minor skirmishes, but most of their days had been filled with going deeper into the Spirit and helping set others free. But now? Maybe this was part of Zennon’s resurgence. Maybe the stalker was Zennon. Brandon had asked the Spirit repeatedly about the tall, thick, man who stuck to the shadows of the halls they’d played in over the past two weeks, but he’d gotten no answer, no clue as to what action to take.

Brandon pushed back his longish, dirty blond hair and squinted against the glare of the spotlights bathing his band and him in dark reds and blues. Where was the guy? Was it over? Maybe he’d stopped coming. Brandon scoffed. Yeah, right.

“Wake up, Song Boy. One more tune.” His bass player bumped his shoulder into Brandon’s. “You with us?”

“In a second.” Brandon scanned back over the crowd. Each time the guy sat on the left side of whatever hall Brandon was playing, two-thirds of the way back.

“Are you looking for the guy again?”

“Lucky guess.”

Anthony thumped out a bass line, probably to keep the crowd from wondering why the concert had screeched to a halt. “If he was stalking you, he’d have approached you by now, sent a note, sent flowers, done something. Let it go. Maybe he’s just a mega-fan.”

“Yeah, a mega-fan who just happens to have an ax in the trunk of his car.”

“Men don’t stalk men.”

“They don’t?”

“Well.” His bass player grinned. “Not typically.”

“I’ll be sure to mention that to the guy when he shows up knocking on my bedroom door at two in the morning with an Uzi in his pocket. I’ll call you, hand the guy my cell, and you can tell him he shouldn’t be there.”

Brandon made another scan of the room. Nothing. Wait. There. Sitting five or six rows back from the spot he usually sat in. Was the guy blond? Wearing a T-shirt? Hard to tell with the lights in Brandon’s eyes and the audience buried in shadows. Two concerts back Brandon asked security to talk to the guy, find out who he was, but they hadn’t been able to corner the man. Which didn’t make sense. He would be hard to miss. The guy had to be almost as tall as Reece.

If he was a stalker, why didn’t he ever try to get to Brandon? And why spend the money just to see the same concert over and over again? Tickets to his shows these days weren’t cheap. Between plane fare and buying a ticket for each show and food while traveling, the guy had to be dropping upwards of five hundred dollars per city.

He’d had strange fans before. Those wanting him to sign non-PG areas of their bodies, those who God supposedly told they were to become a member of his band; there were even a few who thought they were told to come to his house, set up tents, and pray for him every morning at five thirty because, “Jesus rose early to pray, so we’re following the path he has showed us.” But something about this guy was different. He wasn’t your ordinary whack job. Which meant the enemy was most likely involved.

Anthony bumped his shoulder again. “Did you see him?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s cool. Now can we start playing again?”

“Sure.” Brandon blew out a quick breath and called out the next song to the beat of his foot thumping on the stage. “One, two, three, go!”

An hour later the concert was over, and Brandon stood in front of the stage praying with people, hearing their stories, signing autographs, and scanning the back of the room. There was no use—the stalker had never shown up after a show—but he couldn’t help himself.

As the last concert goer turned and waved one more time at Brandon, Kevin clicked up to him on his right. “Done?”

Brandon glanced at the crew milling around the stage, breaking down their gear. “The stalker was here again.”

“Yeah, Anthony told me.” Kevin nodded. “And we were ready. The guys watched hard.”

“And?”

Kevin stepped closer and lowered his voice. “They saw him tonight.”

“What?”

“Apparently he left from a door fifty feet from where two of them stood. They went after the guy.”

“Talk to me.” His heart pounding, Brandon stared at Kevin. “Who is he? What does he want? What’d the guy have to say?”

“They didn’t get to talk to him.”

“Hold it. They see the guy leave the concert, they’re only fifty feet away, and they couldn’t find him?”

Kevin shook his head. “I don’t know what happened. They say they ran after him. Turned the same corner the guy did three seconds earlier, but when they got there the hall was empty. There were only two doors and both were locked. They would have heard a door open and shut anyway.”

Heat washed over Brandon. Zennon. Had to be. Or someone who had figured out how to teleport like he and the other Warriors had. The former was more likely. Fine. Zennon wanted to stalk him? Brandon would hunt the demon in return.

“Next concert I want security racked and stacked every ten yards. We’re going to corner this guy and find out who he is. And if he’s not human, I know who and what he is, and we’ll get ready for that possibility as well.”

“Something right here”—Kevin pointed to his stomach—“tells me there won’t need to be a next time.”

Rel: I hope you’re intrigued by this excerpt ~ Jim is a fabulous writer and a top bloke ~ be sure to get your hands on his books if you can handle a story that rockets both your mind and emotions into full gear!

Connect with Jim

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Twitter: @jameslrubart

Website: http://jameslrubart.com/

Buy Memory’s Door at Amazon or Koorong

James L. Rubart is the best-selling and Christy award winning author of, ROOMS, BOOK OF DAYS, THE CHAIR, SOUL’S GATE, and MEMORY’S DOOR. During the day he runs Barefoot Marketing which helps businesses and authors make more coin of the realm. In his free time he dirt bikes, hikes, golfs, takes photos, and occasionally does sleight of hand. No, he doesn’t sleep much. He lives with his amazing wife and two sons in the Pacific Northwest and still thinks he’s young enough to water ski like a madman. More at www.jameslrubart.com