I love writing, deeply, passionately love putting words to page. Why? Is it because I search to make money or become well revered? No. I just love the feeling of taking all these stories that are created in my mind constantly and putting them down so that they will exist and others can know what the stories in my mind are. I am an author. I did not choose this. I am it. I am a singer. I did not choose this. I am it. These, along with the gift of love, are what God gave me.

I enjoy it immensely. But one thing always stuck out in my mind. When I read my books, I never had the opportunity to enjoy the book and not know what’s coming… to have it just come to me and to be able to enjoy them as a reader. What would that be like?

Then, years ago after I published ‘Lazarus, Man’, a man named Charles Craig offered to produce it as an AudioBook for me. As he recorded I listened and a wonderful thing happened, I was able to sit back and enjoy the work. Aside from writing, this is one of my favorite aspects of putting word to page. Other AudioBook Producers have done this same thing with The Ark of Humanity, Eden Legacy and Hearts of Avon. These are my favorite versions of my books.

This week Charles Craig returns as Producer of ‘Among us’ and I cannot be more thrilled to have the opportunity to share it with you.
As a special gift from Audible.com I have 25 FREE copies to give away of any of my AudioBooks you might be interested in. Please email me at poeticliscence@hotmail.com for your FREE copy today.
Thank you for your support.

- Scott

Jesus didn't flee the sinners for higher ground; he dwelt amongst them to save their souls. He is still here.

Have you ever felt that a person in your day was sent to you by God to help you just when you needed it, to guide you or carry you? People say that God no longer acts, but when we open our eyes we can see him everywhere. This book is about that presence in our lives. It is about what it sometimes could be.

An excerpt:

He stood in the abandoned house as the sun rose, staring out its attic window, in awe of its orange brilliance on the horizon. Every time, he thought. Every day it is so beautiful. He looked around at the bookshelves lining the attic walls and a long unused birdcage that sat in the corner of the room. He remembered seeing it when it had been in use; such a beautiful space; such a wonderful man who owned it in that man's time. Focus, he thought. The day is young but it will go quickly. He mentally made a checklist of everything on his person, three shirts on his back, three pair of pants, multiple socks and a set of gloves. A bag stuffed with money was tucked inside his shirts and a heavy coin purse hung to his side. The book, he thought and went to the musty bookshelves. He traced his fingers along their bindings, stirring a thick layer of dust before he found the tomb he desired, pulled it from the shelf and blew the dust off. Yes, he thought and placed it in his large pant pocket. Oh, and I almost forgot. He took several steps across the room to where the birdcage rested. Beside it was a bottle with a letter in it. You will do. He stuffed it in the pocket of his other pant leg.