The Innkeeper

Hello, everyone!

I am so happy to announce the publication of my newest book, a Christmas novel (though, you can enjoy it all year round) titled, The Innkeeper. The synopsis goes like this:

"'It is a plain and simple truth that one must endure the harshness of thorns in order to fully appreciate the beauty of a rose.'

"So begins the tale of Artemaeus Barsoul, a cantankerous and greedy old innkeeper whose life is dedicated to the collecting of coins and the ignorance of the needy around him.

"Then one night, the spirit of his long-dead sister appears to him and offers a chance at redemption available only through the visits of the spirits of the past, present, and future of a man known only to him as 'the Shepherd.'

"From the crowded streets of Bethlehem to the Sea of Galilee, and from the the Garden of Gethsemane to the hill at Calvary, Artemaeus follows in the footsteps of this wondrous Shepherd in this novel reminiscent of Charles Dickens' 'A Christmas Carol' and begs the reader to ask themselves whether or not they will Let Him In."

And here's a preview:

Preface

            This is a story from the heart, to the heart, and of the heart, with the overall message that people can change. Though this story applies to all of us, myself included, its principle character is an innkeeper and how, impossible as it may seem, his heart of stone is softened by a humble shepherd. But it is not impossible, is it? For we know that with God all things are possible. The miracle of the Atonement is what I write, but what you find within these pages is entirely up to you. And so I leave you this story in the hopes that it will bring you joy and hope not only in this season, but throughout the whole year.

-KDW

December 2016

“And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.”

Luke 2:7 (KJV Italics added)

Stave I

The Chill Wind and the Voice

                It is a plain and simple truth that one must endure the harshness of thorns in order to fully appreciate the beauty of a rose. And for Artemaeus Barsoul, life had been all thorns with no flowers to grow in the desolate wilderness of his heart.

            He was an innkeeper who owned an inn not far outside the city limits of Jerusalem. The road by which his inn resided was highly traveled; needless to say, Artemaeus was never in want of people seeking respite for a night before continuing on to the great city, generally leaving a few coins in his possession.

            His face was long and gaunt and looked as though it had been painfully chiseled out of cold hard stone. His thin lips seemed to be pulled into an eternal scowl under his full gray beard. He was tall and, though he never wanted for food, incredibly lean in build. He rarely spoke on any subject other than financial business, but that mattered not seeing as there were very few who spoke to him at all. But perhaps the most striking feature about him were his eyes, which could chill even the warmest of spaces with their cold piercing stare.

            To anyone in the neighboring cities, the innkeeper was known as “The Chill Wind.” Whenever he entered the vast towns, a whisper would spread like wildfire throughout the throng of humans, “The Chill Wind cometh,” and the people would part for him, like a river flowing around a stone. Nobody had any desire to be caught walking in his way. There was no one who stopped him to say, “Dear Master Barsoul, how are you today?” or, “Artemaeus, my friend, it has been too long. Won’t you stay and talk?” Those who knew him or had heard of him avoided conversation with him at all costs for fear of losing their precious savings which they had worked so desperately to earn.

            Artemaeus didn’t care. To him, idle conversation was a waste of time that would be better spent maintaining his inn and reaping the profits. He stood in the main lobby of it, his cold hands clasped behind his back. His eyes examined the walls which had once been painted but were now faded and worn. So long as there was still some ghost of what had once been there it would be a waste of time and money to replenish it to its former glory. After all, nobody noticed the decoration when it was there, so what did it matter now that it was gone?

            A small built black-haired clerk was trying in vain to sweep the floor clean of dust. He was the innkeeper’s only employee and had served loyally for many years. He took whatever payment he was given for the week without complaint and rarely bothered Artemaeus with inconsequential conversations such as the state of their families. It had never done any good. He was a good worker but he was nowhere near the standard Artemaeus demanded. He was always just a tad too slow running errands, his cleaning was mediocre at best, and he occasionally used too much oil in the lamps. These flaws were the reason that Artemaeus had given him as to why he had never attained anything higher than the status of clerk and retained his meager salary these past many years. That and the fact that the innkeeper was not one to relinquish his hold on money so easily.

            But the clerk was not of any importance at the moment. Artemaeus’s main concern was the pathetic man kneeling at his feet, hands outstretched in earnest supplication, with tears streaming down his cheeks...

I hope that you will enjoy this story that is very close to my heart and let it remind you of the reason for the season.

Thank you!