Secrets of Jericho Bay ~ Book 2 ~ Episode 4: Lexie, Rangers, and Bullet ...

This is episode 4 of my audiobook. It's published on YouTube. If you're interested in joining my team of Christian YouTube writers, drop me a comment. 

Coloring Through the Scriptures

Available on Amazon. Click here to buy.

Coloring Through the Scriptures is not quite a new release, but it's one of our favorites. All our coloring books were created for my mom, who suffers from dementia. So, join us and bring Scripture to life with every stroke of your coloring pencils or crayons will do just fine.  

This book is a creative and meaningful way to relax, reflect, and perhaps reconnect with your faith, or a wonderful way to memorize God's Word. 

We’re excited to introduce Coloring Through the Scriptures — a beautifully designed, soul-nourishing journey through God’s Word, one coloring page at a time! Over 50 pages of inspiration and art.

Each page with carefully chosen Bible verses written in large, easy-to-color letters really does make the Word of God come alive. 

FREE to Download

Whether you’re an experienced colorist or just beginning, this book is perfect for:

🌿 Quiet devotional time

🖍️ Creative stress relief

🎁 Thoughtful, faith-filled gifts for loved ones

What makes our coloring book special?

✔️ Bold, uplifting artwork that enhances each verse

✔️ Clear, large-print scriptures to color and memorize

✔️ Over 50 pages to inspire joy, peace, and spiritual growth

✔️ Suitable for all ages — from kids to adults

FREE to Download

Grab your copy today and start your colorful journey through Scripture. Mom can't do much these days, but she loves coloring. Coloring Through the Scriptures is her chance to let her faith shine, one verse at a time!

Blood On My Hands: An Easter Story

 There’s blood in the courtyard, creeping into every crevice. A living force swirls it in different directions, gradually covering every stone till it slithers among the white lilies. An eerie hush envelops the garden, withering within the shadows cast by three rugged crosses. 

Walking through the courtyard, I tremble as my eyes follow a path of bloody footprints. Above me, a mourning dove sings, then flutters its wings but remains perched; her cooing song haunts the dusk-like hours.

From noon till three, the sun had stopped shining. The darkness had taken our breath away.

“I think we killed an innocent man today,” I whisper. “But my orders were to—”

“There’s so much blood, so much blood.” In the growing shadows, a woman crawls on hands and knees, disturbing the pool of blood.

I hang my head. Shame can choke a guilty man.

She sobs, her tears dripping into the pool. Each tear, sparkling in twilight, splatters spots of red on her dress. It doesn’t matter; she’s already stained.

“You knew this man?”

She looks at me with sad eyes. “Yes, He was my Son. But not really.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Why did He let me … let them do that to Him?”

Slowly, she stands to her feet and examines the cuts on my hand. I flinch. There’s a thorn embedded in the flesh near my thumb. I look away as she masterfully removes it. She smiles as she returns to her impossible task.

There’s not enough rags, I think, or enough buckets. “Leave it,” I tell her. “I’ll take care of it.”

In the cool of the evening, having failed to clean the courtyard, I take a long walk to the place of the Skull. No amount of water could have washed His blood off my hands. It stuck, it burnt, it outlined my fingernails. I don’t like how His death is affecting me. “Let it go,” I mumble. “He was just another man.”

As I struggle up the hill, a daunting breeze fights with my newly-assigned cloak. A gift for my first kill. It’s a guilt offering. Maybe I’ll leave it at the foot of His cross. I wonder if anyone will remember Him?

As I near the Skull, I watch someone taking His lifeless body off the blood-soaked cypress. The wind rustles the one part of his loincloth that isn’t sticking to his flesh by oozing blood. I take a deep breath, keeping my distance. My heart beats through the walls of its chambers as I remember His words: “Father, forgive them. They don’t know what they’re doing.”

My ears are ringing. It’s deafening. I can still hear the echo of the hammer hitting the nails. I pierced his hands and drilled through his feet. "No!" I sigh.

“Were you … are you the Son of God?”

“Yes.”

It was a still, small voice, but it knocked me off my feet, down the hill, and into the wild brambles. The thorns pierce my flesh. I moan.

The way home feels unfamiliar. My shadow seems disconnected, or a second person is walking beside me. Invisible? Did I hammer the nails into the Son of God? Is there a greater sin?

Each tree I pass reminds me of Him. Every cypress, cedar, and pine shudders, spindly arms shooting out ready to devour me, laboriously uprooting themselves. I run, stumbling through creeping shadows, as a red moon rises. A raven caws, bringing an end to a day of infamy. It is finished.

The world will never be the same. What will I do with His blood on my hands?

Blood on My  Hands: An Easter Story

Author: Deborah L. Alten

Copyright, Deborah L. Alten, 2025

Author Central, Do You Have One?

 Author Central is where authors can sign up and have all their books on Amazon in one place. People can opt to follow you. This I like, but, with any social media, I'm not sure if it's working. It takes a lot of marketing, and buying ads. For now, I'm hesitant to buy ads, but it might be coming to that. 

Here's the link to me: Debora L. Alten 

This is where I have my library of coloring books, drawing pads, and new Kindle episodes of seasonal short stories. The latter used to be on Kindle Vella which has now disbanded. Secrets of Jericho Bay, season 2, is in the works.

Drop your link in the comment section.

An art prompt on each page

Holes: A Short Story

Who did this to me? Every part of my body feels beat up; I’m trapped inside a roll of barbed wire. The inside of me fell apart somehow and I must have bounced back the wrong way. There are holes everywhere—in my bones, my muscles, my stomach, and most annoyingly, my brain.

I can feel them—the holes in my brain. Something is eating me from the inside. Nobody seems to know what to do. “Say your goodbyes,” the white-coats say. Their glossy eyes stare at me. They can’t see the holes. If they did would they know how to fill them again?

Who is responsible for this? Who wanted me dead? Why do I feel so alone? Why do I feel so cold? The people around me are strangers. No wait … I know her, the child next to me is mine. But she looks so old.

The sun is going down. Will they help or just talk? I don’t understand what they’re saying if they’re saying anything at all. Their words are gibberish, falling through the holes.

My mind won’t sleep and if I could twist and turn I would. I need to get up but the holes in my bones won’t let me stand. Without the sun I can’t see. If they only knew, they would bring the light to me. Maybe they have holes in their brains.

I’m walking. I don’t know how I’m walking. Someone tied a rope around me but I can’t see who or what I’m tied to. But I can see the portal now. Every time I walk toward the light they pull me back. What are they doing? Maybe they know better. There’s a darkness coming through the portal, and shadows—shifting shadows that don’t need a light to cast. They slither, growing larger till they fill up a hole.

Pray. I remember how to pray. From somewhere around the holes in my brain is a prayer. “Lord, what do I do?”

I see trees, or maybe they’re people holding willowy branches. Everything is moving so fast that I can’t tell between the trees and the people or the shadows they cast. It’s hard to breathe here in the forest. The mist clutches my throat. I take a step and tumble into a river. It’s cold. I’m always cold. I hear the gurgling of the water. No, it’s my own lungs. Am I drowning?

Someone is pulling the rope. I’m back on a bed—prison. Her white coat is stained with blood. Did she go through the portal to get me?

“Take a deep breath,” someone says. “You’ll feel better.”

My arms are stiff. Fluids are pumped into the holes of my veins. The mist, the water, the shadows, the trees, and the people fall through the holes of my brain till darkness swallows us into the void.

Breathe, breathe slowly. The sun rises bursting free into another day. Courage, I need courage. If only my words would stop falling through holes.

(Holes, copyright 2018, by Deborah L. Alten)

Deborah's short-story collections on Amazon

Mrs. Shackles

How To Get That Book Out of Your Head

There's a book in your head. It's been there for years. You've always wanted to write. I mean, honestly, how hard can it be, right? 

Well, here's a clue: It's hard! And most of your friends and family don't really get you, or believe in you. It's not a real job they say.

Second clue: Read! Yes, books! 

So here's my thoughts on the matter. Have a go at writing an outline. Or don't. I'm seriously bad at it. Hence, I'm what you might call a pantser—writing impulsively, as they say.

I'm a visual writer. Show me an amazing photograph, or take me to the beach etc. and I will tell you a story. I create movie scenes in my head and write accordingly. It's how I'm writing two chapters a week on Kindle Vella with Sons of TanSonLor. I've already made the movie, so to speak, and now I'm describing it to anyone who hasn't seen the movie. Does that make sense?

 What kind of writer are you? What's your beginning scene? What's your middle story about? When everything falls apart, or has that Oh No! moment. Do you have The End in sight? I never do. Actually, I usually wind up with more than two endings. 

Write what's in your head and don't stop to edit. That will come later. Close your eyes, yep, daydream, and turn those visions into words and onto paper. 

If we were sitting at my kitchen table, or yours, and I asked you tell me what's your book about. Tell me the story. I want details, unless, of course you're at a writers' conference and they ask you to pitch your book in one sentence. Yikes!

I think one of the reasons Kindle Vella is a perfect fit for me is that I can keep writing the never-ending story. It's like a soap opera with more than one main character. 

But let's refocus. This is about you. Ignore the naysayers and begin writing your book. Perhaps it's a compilation of short stories. A mere six hundred words can craft a compelling narrative. Even Kindle Vella chapters can be that brief.

Episodes on Kindle Vella

If you have a book idea, jot it down. What about your characters? Define them. I record all my characters in a notebook, assigning them names, naturally; a good-boy character harboring dark secrets; bad boys tend to be moody and brooding. Craft them to be compelling. Consider their history.

Regardless, have you considered writing a book? If you never begin, the idea will remain in your mind, and each time you encounter a writer, you'll be reminded of your longstanding desire to write. I'm confident you can do it.

Take a look at our book The Self-ish Writer. It's for beginners. 

The Problem with Writing

It happens

Before sending a manuscript to a publisher make sure you self-edit. Honestly, it probably takes two or three rewrites before a manuscript is polished enough to finally go through ... another edit.

Take the Stephen King 10% rule: 2nd draft=1st draft minus 10%.

Then after that, let the people in your writers' group take a look at it. Remember, thick skin is necessary for every writer.

“Whenever you feel an impulse to perpetrate a piece of exceptionally fine writing, obey it – whole-heartedly — and delete it before sending your manuscript to press. Murder your darlings.” ~ Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch (1914)

Then after your writers' group have had their say, look for help from a professional editor. Most editors have great deals. Some will do the first chapter for free, or anywhere from $3 - $6 a page for the first 150 pages. Look around, do the research, and you'll find good editors who will help you polish your book. 

TIPS WRITERS SHOULDN'T IGNORE:
1. Be part of a writers group
2. Attend writers conferences ... at least twice a year.
3. Take writing classes
     ** Here's a list of FREE writing classes offered by top universities.
4. READ! (good books, not only in your genre; find the great authors, study their work and do what   they do.

DON'T FORGET to ...
Show, don't tell.
Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass. ~ Anton Chekhov

to Tell: Dan was confused. 
to Show: Dan crunched his eyebrows and scratched his head.

Click here for perfect examples of "show, don't tell."

THE ISSUE with ...
1. Dialogue: Tags versus Beats (Awesome must-read post by Rebecca LuElla Miller)
Dialogue tag (use sparingly or eliminate): "How many jelly beans do you think are in this jar?" she asked.

Descriptive beat (use well, more acceptable than tags): Darla adjusted her purple-rimmed reading glasses and picked up the jar on Mrs. Teacher's desk. "How many jelly beans do you think are in here?"

2. Overusing certain words (deadwood words/deadwood constructions): these we can eliminate 99% of the time.

just
that
really
very
totally
so
because
felt/feel
see/saw/look
think/thought
slowly
suddenly

there is
there are
to be

Great article on overused words 
More overused words and phrases

Links to website with editing tools that help find the overused words in your manuscript. 

MISPLACED MODIFIERS
only
almost

What are modifiers? by Grammar Girl

THINGS THAT MAKE ME GO, "HUMMmmmm."
1. If you say, "He started to walk in the same direction ..." wouldn't it be better to say, "He walked in the same direction"?