Why a legal thriller? The story behind the Jenna James Legal Thrillers

Some of my fans have asked the question: "Why a legal thriller?" My former publications have all had a paranormal aspect of dreams and psychics, except for my one venture into a romantic suspense.

Most authors write about things they're passionate about. Whether it's love or murder. You have to have a certain passion for your characters, your plot and your solutions. Taking us back to the first writing instruction: Every story has a beginning, a middle and an end. The rules of writing have changed, and we see many novels now that don't have an end but merely lead us into the next installment. I haven't been able to do that yet. With series I lead my characters into the next installment, but I try desperately hard to conclude the current plot in the current novel.

So back to my original question, "Why a legal thriller?"  I love shows like Criminal Minds, Blacklist, Castle and some NCIS. Blue Bloods has also become a favorite this year. And I'm becoming just a little bit of a Daredevil fan. Most of these shows elicit a different type of emotion related to criminals and justice. Red in Blacklist clearly has to be one of the worst criminals of all time, and yet we love him. We love him because somewhere inside there's a goodness he doesn't show very often.  We watch the profilers on Criminal Minds and occasionally they show their emotions, pushed to the limit of what they are able to bear. We connect with that. Daredevil brings out the vigilante hidden inside all of us. The need to make a difference. The desire to protect those who can't protect themselves.

I've worked in and with the judicial system for almost twenty years now. I started as a legal secretary, answering calls and typing up complaints, and all the documentation necessary to make a case or defend a case. I went into this career with a somewhat jaded opinion of lawyers, judges and the court system. Over the years I found much of that opinion was wrong--but it didn't make me feel any better. Morality had no place in the judicial system. Sure, you could show the character of a witness, but the truth is the only thing that matters is the law on the books, or what the courts call precedent law. Cases that have been won and Supreme Court decisions have been published. This is what the Judge will rule on, and the instructions that will be given to a jury that they must base their decision on. One of the things I did love about my job was research. Research makes all the difference in a case. And I loved the minds of some of the attorneys I worked with.  How could they possible remember laws written fifty years ago?

I moved from legal secretary to court official stenographer. This was my first introduction into the criminal system that tried and prosecuted crimes. I once again went in with a jaded opinion of defense lawyers. I asked myself how they could defend someone guilty and do their very best to get them off. I learned that many criminal defense lawyers are not hired to do the job, they are court appointed to do the job and have no choice in the matter. Regardless of their personal feelings about their client's guilt or innocence they have to do the job the same way as if they had been personally hired and knew their client was innocent.

It was in the criminal system that I learned to become frustrated, angry and found myself many times unable to sleep at night. How could we simply declare a mistrial on such a minor technicality as the prosecutor forgetting to turn over a document? How could we let a murderer walk out of that courtroom free to kill again? How could someone who had broken both their child's legs, spent a year in jail for their crime, come back out and take that child from the parents who for over a year had nurtured and loved it, helping it heal? I learned that witnesses were protected by law so that they could lie on the stand without any penalty or fear of perjury charges. I learned judges could overrule a jury verdict. I worked for some truly great judges, who would never done this, but they do have that discretion.

We see a lot of police shows on TV, and we wonder at times if they're true. Do the police really browbeat witnesses into giving false confessions? Having worked with local law enforcement on some murder cases, watching witness interviews I have to admit there are probably times that occurs. Usually when the officers know the witness they're interviewing is lying or committed the crime, but the evidence won't hold up beyond a reasonable doubt.  I followed a case where a 16 year old had bludgeoned a family member with a hammer. There simply wasn't enough evidence to convict him. The officer investigating the crime knew he was guilty and he never gave up.  Three years later the young man bragged about it at a party.  Gave information that only the killer could have known. What he didn't know was the person he was bragging to was a police informant put there specifically to wait, watch and eventually get the evidence they needed to convict him.  So there is good and bad with all branches of the judicial system and all branches of law enforcement. Nothing is ever truly black and white.  There are far too many grey areas.

In real life there was nothing I could do about my frustration, my anger, and desire to see justice done. I started the Jenna James Legal Thrillers because I wanted to have a prosecutor who would stop at nothing to get her man or woman. I wanted police officers who never gave up, and I wanted bad guys that were some of the worst I've seen. And I wanted those bad guys brought to justice.  There are many times that a deal is made to let a criminal go for the opportunity to catch a bigger criminal. Right or wrong it happens. I wanted a no-deal prosecutor. Jenna James may have to change some over her career, as she's already changed her opinion on some very bad guys who do very good things.  The one thing that will not change is she will always stand up for what she believes in.

If you're a fan of lots of courtroom scenes and legal jargon, you may not find what you're looking for in the Jenna James Legal Thrillers. However, if you like kick-butt characters and fast paced action, I think you'll like them.  Pick up your copy today still at the introductory price of $.99/99p.

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Love paranormal mysteries?  Catherine Mans takes you into the darker side of mind.

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PROLOGUE

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for You are with me…

But He wasn’t with her.

She leaned against the cold steel door, her eyes closed in prayer. “Father, why have you forsaken me? What sins have I committed that you would punish me this way?”

When you spread out your hands in prayer, I will hide my eyes from you; even if you offer many prayers, I will not listen. Your hands are full of blood.

“Fiank-o!” she screamed.

Her eyes flew open, and she spread her hands in front of her. Blood rimmed her manicured nails. Out of the corner of her vision, she saw the blood-soaked blouse plastered to her chest. So much blood for such a tiny body.

Ripping at her blouse, she mewed like a wounded animal. “Then take my eyes, so I no longer see the blood of my child on my hands. Take my ears, so I no longer hear the shrieks from below, the clanging of the chains.”

Silence met her cry. God was no longer listening. She sank to her knees and ripped at her hair, bordering on madness. How could they do this to her? Had she not served them well for more than ten years?

“You know what you must do, Aggie. I have seen the feux-folet. She is the child of Diablo, and she has cursed you.”

For a moment, rage blocked the pain squeezing her heart. “You!” Her eyes filled with hatred, fists clenched at her side. “You brought this upon us with your superstitions and your curses.”

“Mwen pòv zanj pèdi—you know I speak the truth. I was here when she was born without life, her body blue, her soul already beyond this world. Five years have come and gone. As she grows, so does the evil. They warned you this day would come.”

The old woman’s words washed over her like a river of ice, extinguishing the fire of her rage, leaving only a cold, still emptiness.

“I begged them, Mother. Begged for her life as her blood seeped through my fingers. I have served God, and I have served the spirits. But they have forsaken me.” She raised tortured eyes to beseech the old woman, her efforts met with stony silence and beady eyes filled with accusation. “I begged them!” Her voice tapered to a whimper. “She is only five. I have lost Catherine. Must I lose Mary also?”

The old woman knelt beside her. Taking her right hand, she pried open the fingers and closed them around the cold steel of the knife. “You can’t cure a mad dog, Aggie; you can only put it down. You disobeyed. You have been punished. Now pick up your cross, and carry it.”

The silence in the room was broken only by her whimpers; the old woman had left as quietly as she’d come. The knife lay heavy in her hand, just as the task before her lay heavy on her heart.

She rose and opened the door to the basement, ignoring the shrieks and clang of the chains. Her feet descended the steps slowly, the old woman’s words echoing inside her head: You can’t cure a mad dog, Aggie; you can only put it down.

A Glimpse Into A Twisted Mind

I'm not always sure where my characters originate, but Brightstone quickly became a loved/hated character for me.   Perhaps because I understood his pain.

Take a glimpse into a twisted mind.

There was nothing exceptional about my birth, except perhaps for the fact that my parents shared the biblical names of Joseph and Mary. They were a good, God-fearing couple.

Alas, they did not name me Jesus, but their hopes for me were not in vain. They soon realized I was not a normal child. Not like the other five-year-olds. I cared not for toys and storybooks. I spent my time developing healing antidotes from ordinary shrubs. I cared for animals, birds with broken wings. It was not unusual for me to come home carrying a poor dog that had been run over by some careless motorist. I would spend hours stitching up their wounds, applying homemade poultices, and nursing them back to health. I was indeed a savior of sorts.

School was my first experience of the cold reality of being different. Like my parents, my teachers discovered that my mind was much further advanced than they could deal with. How could you teach a child whose mind was a sponge and whose knowledge, within days, exceeded your own? I did not know then how to hide my intelligence and fit in with a crowd. I did not know how to play the games of life and lose occasionally.

Soon it became apparent that our small community was not the best place for a child of such brilliance. Or at least that was what the men in white coats convinced my parents of. So the men took me away for my own good.

I had no best friends, no first dates, no senior proms. Nothing but a cold grey building, lab coats, and books. Lots and lots of books. Not the fun, frivolous stories I should have enjoyed in my youth. Textbooks of knowledge that I absorbed and mastered within days, weeks, and months. I graduated with honors. My parents, whom I had not seen in ten years, were in the front row, beaming with pride. I smiled at them, but there was no feeling behind my smile. Any memory of the warmth of my mother’s touch or the gentle yet firm guidance of my father’s hands had long ago been lost. My father was a stranger, an old man, still handsome in some ways, but the luster was gone from his eyes. My mother, once a spirit of light and life, seemed cold with her sweater wrapped around her thin shoulders, her beauty faded by time. Had their lives grown cold and loveless like mine?

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Tales From The Darkside - Blacklist and Sip Your Numbed Paradise

Like most of my family and friends, Blacklist has quickly become my favorite show.  As an author I'm in awe of both the stories created by the writers, as well as the genius behind the characters.  I recently found this poem again, written by my son, Charles W. Prather, Jr.  And it reminded so much of James Spader's role in Blacklist. A man who appears to be helpful, but has his own agenda.  He will not change, and yet he invites those around him to join him, to take their souls off for just a moment and become a little tainted.  A little taint never hurt.  And are Liz and Red kindred spirits?  I believe they may be.  Is Red leading the FBI into "numbed paradise"?  I truly believe he may be.  What an amazing character.  

If you've watched the show, read the poem and let me know what you think.  I'm sure Charles would enjoy it, and I know I would. I see James Spader in every line.

SIP YOUR NUMBED PARADISE

Crumpled cigarettes litter the table,

Alcohol burns the throat,

The pattern of self-destruction forms,

Cacophony of voices permeate the air,

A den of forgotten dreams,

Washed away with pinpricks to the brain,

Here there are no names,

Faces are all that matter,

Time is merely a formality.

Sit down, take your soul off,

Let it sit in the corner for a while,

You don’t need to worry about it,

We’ll take away the cause,

Sip your numbed paradise.

Dance away your memories,

Who needs them here,

You are in this moment,

Just let go of your future uncertain,

You can certainly be sure it’s worthless.

Sit down, take your soul off,

Let it soak in the view,

A little taint never hurt,

We’ll take away the consequences,

Sip your numbed paradise.

The lights are now less faded,

We’ve got to bid you farewell,

Our time,

Out of time,

So long yet so short,

But come back tomorrow,

A kindred spirit cannot be denied,

Your table will be waiting.

Sit down, take your soul off,

Do you remember where you left it?

We’ll help you find it,

Sip your numbed paradise.

By:  Charles W. Prather, Jr.