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The next morning, John set Buttercup down for a bumpy but otherwise perfect landing at the Tarampura airstrip. He made a mental note that the strip of land carved from brush and trees would have to be groomed before it got out of hand. He also noted Marta wasn’t there to greet him. “Hi, John! Are we going to fly on this nice day?” Tucker asked. “I don’t think we can. The nurse and I still have a lot of villages to visit,” John said. Numah smiled a bashful greeting. “Where is Marta? Doesn’t she come to greet friends anymore?” asked Sandy. “She want us to bring you. She fight with the village doctor,” Tucker said. They climbed hurriedly to the village. They could hear Marta yelling loudly in the local dialect. When frustrated, she threw in intermittent English. “What do you mean waving these feathers over him? This isn’t going to do any good. Just give it up and let me help,” Marta begged. The witch doctor just grunted and continued his magic. Multi¬colored sacred bird feathers fluttered...

Marta reflected on her visits with John – how she had enjoyed them, and how matchmakers popped up out of the woodwork. She had waved them off, not taking their comments seriously. She and John had insisted there was nothing to become excited over. John was her pilot, a link to the outside world. He brought her mail, supplies, and good conversation. But she had to admit, she looked forward to those visits. She refused to admit that these feelings were out of romantic notions, even if those like Tucker noticed differently. “Do you think John likes to visit here to my mother?” the twelve¬ year-old asked. “Maybe we can ask him later.” Even he has his suspicions about us, she thought, feeling ambushed by the question. They walked down to the dock for the boat ride to the leper colony. Within twenty minutes, a boat chugged up river. Smoke belched skyward in dirty cotton puffs as the diesel engine reversed, then revved to dock the boat. Marta smiled a welcome as Eric Schneider tied his craft ...

“We’ve done all we can. We’ll let the medicine and God do the rest. Why don’t we catch our breaths now?” said Marta. “I could use a breather.” John followed Marta to a cool spot in the shade of her hut. Business as usual, he thought as he watched a couple dig up sweet potatoes. “Steve is probably wondering what the blur was going through the middle of Tiom.” John laughed reflectively. “Waiting for you was painful,” said Marta. “I haven’t stopped rushing until just now. I radioed for the medicine, and Steve had it waiting. He handed it through my window right there on the runway. Next thing I knew I was flying back,” said John. “I think my heart has stopped pounding. You may just be a hero. Who knows what would have happened had you not been here.” “I’m sure everything would have been fine.” John looked at her approvingly. “Don’t sell yourself short. I’m glad you were here. I think you were right the first time,” said Marta. “When?” asked John. “When you came today. I think you were rig...

I've shared with you many possibilities for free online marketing and brand awareness opportunities with niche and specialized industries. Success is possible after you develop a platform and your audience trusts you. Well, what about fiction? Same formula applies, develop a platform and your audience will trust you. Though the formula applies, you may find yourself starting over if your fiction does not involve your core specialized market audience. For example, my core niche audience is security professionals. They are interested in my "how-to" books, articles and blogs. However, as a whole, they are not interested in a novel about missionaries in Indonesia. I could get luck writing a thriller novel featuring a main character performing in the niche industry, but I can generally expect to start all over with a new platform. So, how does one create a buzz, gather an audience and sell their fiction? Here are 4 ideas. 1.  Start a blog featuring snippets of your book....

The days seemed to melt into each other as John learned the intricacies of his new plane. He enjoyed the privilege of flying the only yellow airplane in the nation; the main reason he named her Buttercup. Even people deep in the forest who had no affiliation with missionaries felt a sense of ownership when they saw the plane fly over. “I’ve come to know the sound of your plane,” Marta said. “That’s what the Johnsons said at my last stop. It’s really nice to be wanted.” John beamed. “Are you so sure it’s you everyone wants to see?” Marta teased. “All right, so everyone wants to know what I have in my cargo bin. I feel like Santa Claus year round.” “I guess it’s good to see you too. I need to use my English now and again so I don’t forget,” said Marta. “That’s so nice of you to say so.” John enjoyed the game they often played with each other. The lines around her eyes when she smiled told him of the joy he had brought to her. It was such an easy smile, and he didn’t have to try hard to g...

     In her hut, Marta lay staring at the grass roof; it had been a fitful sleep. Bouts of fitful tossing were triggered by images of John. She wasn’t sure if he would fit in, or remain on Irian Jaya, but she hoped he would stay. She couldn’t believe her feelings for this man, and passed them off as curiosity. After all, he was fresh and full of conversation. But she had met men and women who came to visit as evangelical missionaries, preaching for a short time before moving on. Pilots, doctors and other medical persons came, as well as the Peace Corps and United Nations workers. None had the allure that John already had over her. He seemed to own some part of her, and she wasn’t ready to give it over. She had to get him out of her mind....her heart. No, she couldn’t admit he had her heart. She finally rolled from her bed for the short trek to the stream where she washed. On the way, she saw John and the old man. She saw him smile and trot toward her. He looked like he ha...

  The leader, dressed in a loincloth and wearing a necklace of bones and ornamental feathers, motioned for one of his subordinates to try the doors. The lackey finally figured how to open the pilot’s door and curiously played with the controls and buttons. He tripped the main power switch, activating the electronic gyro. The slow electrical windup suddenly turned into a high- pitched whir sending everyone scuttling for cover.      John snickered at the comic relief, but only briefly. He needed to get Steve back to safety, and he knew the natives would soon recover from the scare. He rose to help Steve and timidly headed toward the plane. John ducked as the leader turned in his direction and pointed the others to fan out. John knew the leader had sent out a search party. He pushed Steve down and jumped to his side, quickly pulling the poncho over them. At least the ponchos are green, John thought. Lying there, he heard the brush around him parting as a few people...

     The sun painted streaks of pale blue and yellow through the morning sky. Birds were awake, singing to anyone appreciative enough to listen. The moon was full and bright as it still sat high in the western sky.      John listened intently. He was used to the sounds of the jungle, something he would actually miss. Gone were the distractions of machines. However, he prayed that they would soon be getting back to the plane that would take them back to their world–civilization.      Suddenly he was aware of something new–silence. The singing had abruptly stopped, but why? Birds go silent as a survival instinct, he thought. He listened more intently, as the ground would be soft, muffling any footsteps.      There! In the brush – a slight movement. He focused his eyes to one side of the dark, heavily vegetated area hoping to catch something in his peripherals. Behind about fifty yards, vines and branches moved...

     “Okay, I’ll demonstrate flying through these passages before these clouds get too low,” Steve yelled over the roaring engine. “Do you see the break in the mountains ahead? Fly to those, staying as far right as you can.”       “I’m staying to the right, and I don’t mind telling you this is a little nerve racking.”      “I’m with you, but this is the only way to some of the villages.” Steve knew John would have a hard time at first. “Just remember to stay to the right. That way if you find you may have mistakenly flown the wrong passage, you will have ample room on the left side for maneuvering.”       “Well, I can tell you that this barely leaves enough to turn. I’d hate to have to make a hasty U-turn or other emergency procedures,” said John.       There was only a mile of flying space between mountain–plenty of room for turning a car around, but an airplane is another...