It is a thrill for me to have Bill Myers here with us today. Bill is a Best-Selling Author and Award Winning film maker. Bill thank you so much for being here today!
Bill, your books and your videos have sold over eight million copies, yet you did not have aspirations to be a writer when you were growing up. What did you want to be?
A dentist. Practical, respectable, and a steady income. Hm, maybe I better look back into it.
Did your teachers or parents notice a talent for writing when you were growing up?
Absolutely not. I probably read three books for fun before graduating from high school. I did, however, find it was much easier making up stories for oral book reports…until one of my friends thought the books sounded so cool he went to the library to try and find them and discovered they didn’t exist. Busted.
You had a friend who challenged you in your walk with God. What was the nature of that challenge?
By the time I was in high school, I was really bored with God. My friend said it was because I was only half a Christian…the boring half. He said that if I promised always to say yes to God, I mean always, no matter how stupid it sounded, or how uninformed I thought God was, that my life would be anything but boring.
What happened after you surrendered to God in this way?
Six weeks later I saw the third movie of my life. (I lived in the Cascade mountains in Washington, we didn’t get out much). I’d seen Pollyanna, The Parent Trap, and Pinocchio. Now I’m sitting in the theatre watching the fourth movie of my life . . . The Godfather. I couldn’t believe what I saw. Stranger still, was all my friends standing up and cheering when human beings were getting slaughtered on screen. I walked out of that theatre absolutely stunned and told God there was so much power in cinema he needed to raise people up in that area and get audiences excited about doing good. Well, every time I told Him, it came back at me that I was supposed to be one of those guys. So after months of arguing, I finally said, “Alright! I’ll be one of those movie-whatever-they-called. Unfortunately, no film school in the country would take me (I didn’t even know how to watch a movie, let alone make one). The only school was in Rome, Italy. So…six months later I’m in a country whose language I can’t speak studying a subject I know nothing about. Believe me, that was anything but boring!
Yet, you still did not jump into the world of writing. Instead you changed your major to film directing. How long was it before you finally began writing your first novel?
I moved down to L.A. to become a rich and famous film director and discovered they already had plenty of those and proceeded to do something called, ‘starve.’ Actually, we didn’t starve, we just became experts at macaroni and cheese. Anyway, I did direct some stage shows (for free) and one day a TV producer came to the theatre and asked me if I’d write for his series. I asked if he paid, he said yes, I said, “Sure, no problem.” Then I went home and had a panic attack. I’d gotten C’s and D’s in my one writing class in college and had made it clear to the Lord that I could do anything for Him but write. But since they were paying and I was starving I sat down and wrote the world’s worst TV episode. It was so bad that when they aired it, I threw my shoe at the screen . . . and it was my own show. I wrote another and the producers were smart enough not to buy it. And another and another no sale. Then a misinformed publisher back east heard that there was a famous Christian TV writer and if they could just convince him to write one book for them, they’d be so grateful. I asked if they paid, he said yes, I said sure, no problem, had another panic attack … and wrote the world’s worst book. And then another and another and . . . well, someone forgot to tell me I stunk. Gradually I got better. I hope.
To date, including your children's books, how many books have you written?
I’m working on my 104th book right now.
What was the name of the first book you wrote and what genre was it?
It was so bad, I’ll give you the same answer I give all the interviewers: “Next question, please.”
How do you respond when people say they feel you are creating a new genre?
I try not to read or listen to what folks I don’t know say about my work. There are people I trust who are only to happy to give me an earful and I take their praise and criticism to heart. But I pretty much ignore folks whose agenda I don’t know and whose opinion I haven’t asked for. Unless it’s folks who say their lives have been changed or drawn closer to God. I cherish and keep every one of those comments.
But, about this new genre business. Unlike my peers, I don’t write about the supernatural to shock or scare. I write supernatural thrillers to explore some cool, mystery of God we may not have noticed. I mean, if you can write about anything, who cares about car chases, or steamy romances, or shoot ‘em ups, when you can explore an infinite, astonishing God. Boring? Hardly. Let me give some examples. In BLOOD OF HEAVEN, I asked myself what would happen if we discovered a drop of Christ’s blood and genetically reproduced His DNA in a serial killer. In SOUL TRACKER I have guys recording brain activity of the first few minutes of death so they can create a virtual reality of whatever is on the other side. In THE SEEING, what if you had a pair of goggles that let you see into the supernatural world. In ELI I try to tell the whole Gospel as if it happened today instead of 2,000 years ago. (After ten years I get ‘changed my life’ letters on this almost every week). In THE VOICE I ask what would happen if you exposed creation to the recorded voice of God (that spoke that creation into existence).
Tell us about your latest book Angel of Wrath.
I wanted to explore the power of worship over the power of darkness. Of course there are plenty of other themes, like how our enemy manipulates us with guilt and unforgiveness or the dangers of focusing on church growth instead of Christ. But exploring the power of worship was the real reason I wrote it.
The following is an excerpt from Angel of Wrath.
“Why are you always being so mean to me?” Jazmin mumbled from beneath her blankets.
“I’m not being—”
The kid was good. Even though she was deaf and unable to read Charlie’s lips from under the covers, she instinctively knew his response. “Yes, you are! Mean, mean, mean!”
He reached down and shook her leg.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Jaz.”
Another shake.
“I’m awake! Quit harassing me!”
Charlie took a breath, grateful for the self-control all those years in Delta Force had taught him. If she had been anyone else—a fellow soldier, a new recruit—her insubordination would be met with a bucket of ice water followed by orders shouted into her face to get down and give him fifty or one hundred. (The twenty-mile run would be optional.) But this creature, with so much emotion and so little logic, seemed unable to grasp even the basics of discipline and chain of command.
He shook his niece’s leg again. “Let’s go.”
With a heavy sigh, she threw back the covers, sat up, and glared at him. Well, as much as a single, half-opened eye can glare. “You have to be the rudest human being on the face of the planet.”
“Tell that to your first-period teacher.”
“She’s a Nazi.”
“One more tardy and you get Saturday detention.”
The thirteen-year-old plopped back down on her pillow.
“Right, like that’s my fault.” Before he could answer, she changed the playing field. “You blew it with Lisa, didn’t you?”
He hesitated. Ever since Jazmin was exposed to the Voice of God the previous year, she had developed an uncanny ability to sense situations. “To hear deeper things,” she said. “Sometimes I even know what people are thinking.”
Of course Charlie was skeptical, but there were those times. . . .
Pushing the strawberry blonde hair from her eyes, she continued. “How many times have I told you, women want what they can’t have.”
Charlie started to reply, but she cut him off. “You just can’t go around throwing yourself at us.”
“Nobody’s throwing themselves at—”
“And telling us whatever’s on your mind.”
“People appreciate honesty.”
“Excuse me? Excuse me? We’re talking women here.”
Charlie shifted topics to something he understood. “Do you want oatmeal or eggs?”
“I want you to leave me alone.” She reached for the covers, but he’d learned a few tricks from their months together. He’d already gripped the blankets, making it impossible for her to pull them back.
“Oatmeal or eggs?”
“I’ll eat at school.”
“Oatmeal or eggs?”
“Eggs! All right?” Her heavy sigh made it clear she was dealing with a moron.
“Eggs it is.” He dragged the blankets off her. Now she would either lie there and freeze or get up and storm toward the bathroom.
She did neither.
Pulling into a fetal position, she moaned pitifully. When he didn’t respond (another trick he’d learned), she yelled, “I wouldn’t have all those detentions if you’d drive me to school like all the other parents. You can be such a Nazi sometimes.”
Charlie knew he should let it go. He could outthink and outmaneuver any enemy in the field, but win an argument with her? Never. Even when he won, he somehow lost. No, he should just drop it, walk away. But the comeback was so obvious, the life lesson to be imparted so clear. Against his better judgment, he waited until she was looking at him and said, “We live five blocks from the school.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Five blocks. You can walk.”
“Walk? With these blisters?” She raised a foot a couple of sizes too big for her child body.
“You’re the one who wanted to buy those silly thongs.”
“Flip-flops. They’re called flip-flops. Thongs are what you won’t let me buy. Even though everybody wears them.”
“Thongs?”
“Flip-flops,” she sighed. “The subject is flip-flops.”
It was happening again. Like some prehistoric mammoth, Charlie’s lumbering legs of reason were being wrapped around and around by the rope of her lightning-quick irrationality. Still, this time he could break the cords. The logic was so clear.
“The choice is yours, Jazmin, not mine.”
“Right. I can choose to become some fashion geek, just ’cause you’re too lazy to drive me to school.”
The mammoth staggered. “You can buy whatever clothes you want, as long as you deal with the consequences.”
“Except thongs.”
“Young ladies don’t wear thongs.”
“My point exactly.”
The mammoth dropped to his knees. But he was strong; he could rise. “We’re talking about you being late for school.”
“You’re talking about me being late for school.” The cord wrapped tighter. “And that’s my whole point.”
“No. The point we’re discussing is you being late for—”
“The point is, we’re always ‘discussing’ what you wantto discuss. Never what I want to discuss. You, you, you. It’s always about you.”
“Jazmin, if you’re late one more day, you’ll have to make it up in Saturday detention.” There. He couldn’t have made it any clearer.
With sufficient melodrama, she rose to her feet, his army sweatshirt hanging around skinny arms and boney knees. Was it possible? Had he won? Before he could stop himself, he had to add a final word: “Right?”
She rolled her eyes and pushed past him with her own final word:
“Nazi.”
© Copyright Bill Myers 2009
Bill, Jasmin sounds like a handful. Can you tell us about the relationship between her and Charlie?
Charlie’s a burnt-out special ops soldier who says ten words all day and Jazmin is his 13 year old niece who never stops talking and accuses him of having constipated emotions. Imagine the fun I had putting these two together to save the community. They’re the ultimate cat/dog. I had such a blast with them in THE VOICE I had to throw them together again in ANGEL OF WRATH.
A few hundred pages later, things have definitely changed for Jasmin.
Will woke up to singing. It was pretty bad. Actually, it was barely a song. But he recognized the words:
“Praise Him, all creatures here below.”
He rolled his head to the right and saw Jaz. She stood three feet away, her back to him. Directly in front of her was the creature. It seemed a lot mistier than the last time he saw it.
“Praise him something-or-other la, la, la. . . .”
The thing tilted its head quizzically but came no closer.
“Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost!”
“Will! Get in here!”
He rolled his head to the left and saw his family’s Volvo with the passenger door open. Jason sat behind the wheel motioning to him and shouting, “Get in!” as Jaz continued to sing:
“Praise God from whom all blessings flow.”
“Will!”
He struggled to sit up, his head feeling full of cotton. He turned back to Jaz.
“Praise Him, all creatures here below.”
“Will!”
With effort, he struggled to rise, fighting through a wave of dizziness.
“In the back with Heather!”
He obeyed, stumbling toward the car.
“Hurry! She can’t do that forever!”
He opened the back door and fell inside. Only then did he see Heather leaning against the opposite door, unconscious, her shirt ripped and soaked in blood.
“Praise something, something, ’cause God is cool.”
He turned back to Jaz, saw her stealing a look over her shoulder at them.
“Come on!” Jason shouted to her.
She backed away from the creature, inching toward the Volvo.
“Praise Father, Son, and Holy—” She spun around and dashed for the car. “Ghost!”
The creature screamed as Jaz leaped into the front seat.
It dove at her and she slammed the door just before the car rocked under its impact.“Go!” she screamed. “Go, go, go!”
Jason hit the gas and they spun out. He glanced at her and shouted, “What were you doing back there?”
“I don’t know!” She turned to her window, then twirled around and looked out the back.
“You don’t know?!”
The car rocked again, so violently that Jason almost lost control.
“It’s a song!”
“No kidding!”
“I used to sing it in church—as a little girl!”
Above her shouting and the roaring engine, Will heard the thing give another long, loud shriek.
“Whatever it was,” Jason yelled, “it did the trick!”
Another slam. This time the roof briefly buckled.
“Go!” Jaz yelled. “Faster!”
Jason pushed the accelerator to the floor. Heather moaned and he glanced into the rearview mirror. “Put your hand on her wound!” he shouted at Will. “Stop the bleeding!”
Will gave a dubious look at the girl’s wet shirt.
“Do it!”
He leaned toward her, searching for the exact source of blood, when the thing crashed into the back window so hard that the glass spiderwebbed. He ducked, hearing Jaz scream and Jason swear.
Another crash followed.
Will spun around and looked through the crinkled glass to see the thing kneeling on the trunk. It was raising the very branch he had used earlier. Once again, it crashed it into the window. This time the glass shattered, raining hundreds of pellets over them. Will threw himself across Heather, protecting her as the thing reached in, groping at his back. He hunkered lower, but a vaporous, claw found his neck and wrapped around it. The other hand appeared from the opposite side. Then it began to pull.
Will reached up, slipping his fingers underneath the claws, pushing at the vapors. Though mist, they had a substance that gripped so tightly he could barely breathe. He fought like a madman, kicking and thrashing as it yanked him upright. A moment later it dragged him through the
opening. Glass broke away, scraping his shoulders and arms, his hips and legs.
Once he was out the window, the arms wrapped around his chest, pulled him off the car and down onto the road.
He twisted and squirmed, digging his heels into the gravel, but it did no good. The creature raced forty feet down the road before cutting to the right, crossing the ditch, and dragging him into the forest.
© Copyright Bill Myers 2009
This scene is so intense! How do you research a book like this? For that matter - where do you get your ideas?
Research is the best part of writing. I interview people, read a ton of books, and when possible go the locations. For ideas? Hm, I spend about 45 mins a morning with the Lord. That’s when lots of the stuff comes.
God is obviously in your writing and it is clear that you are submitted to Him. What is the most important aspect of Angel of Wrath that you want to communicate to your readers?
There is a supernatural world out there and it’s not always nice. If we play with it we can get burned. But there is a way out and we have the ultimate authority in Christ to crush anything about it.
Is there anything else you would like to share?
Thanks Bill!
Thank you!
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