
Well, the final revision of my first novel is on its way to my agent, Janet Benrey. I've polished it to the best of my ability, and now I get to gnaw my fingernails up to the elbow while I wait for her to read it and return her comments. Meanwhile, I'm starting to do the same with novel number two. The writers who read this blog know the drill: tighten it, raise the stakes, improve the flow, make the characters more real....
While I'm waiting for the fruits of my labor to be evaluated (yet again), I thought I might introduce you to my protagonist. Some of you from my critique groups at the Mount Hermon Conferences may recall Dr. Ben Merrick. But for the rest of you, I'll tell you that in college he was just good enough at playing baseball to get a minor league contract, but not good enough to stick in pro ball. He re-enrolls in college, completes his requirements, and applies for admission to medical school. It's a tough process, and he really sweats getting in, especially since his surgeon father declines to pull any strings to help him.
The following scene should help introduce you to Ben. I hope you enjoy getting to know him. There's a lot more ahead of him, and if a publisher likes what I've done, maybe you'll have the opportunity to read about his further adventures.
* * *
"Mr. Merrick, have you made up your mind whether you want to play children's games or make something of your life?" It seemed that the cold, blue eyes of the white-haired man sitting across the desk were staring directly into Ben Merrick’s soul.
The stress of the moment drove the words of Ben’s carefully prepared answer from his head. He froze, silent and immobile as a mongoose in front of a cobra. His gaze skittered over the diplomas and certificates that covered the wall to his right, then scanned the loaded bookshelves behind his questioner, but they gave him no clue to what he should say. He stared, mute, at the man across the desk from him, the man who might very well hold the key to his future.
Ferdinand C. Duncan, MD, FACS, the Dean of the Southwestern Medical School, leaned back in his chair, clasped his hands over his vested and ample belly, and looked at Ben over the tops of his half-spectacles. His expression was composed and serious, a perfect poker face.
“Well, Mr. Merrick?” The question hung in the air.
Ben swallowed hard, but the lump in his throat didn’t move. "Sir, my days of trying to play professional baseball are over. I didn’t have the talent to play, even at the minor league level, and now I’m ready to move on.”
“So you’re sure you want to be a physician?”
“I'm absolutely certain that I've been called to the practice of medicine.”
The dean removed his glasses and gestured with them to emphasize his next point. "Young man, medicine is indeed a calling, and a high calling at that. However, I trust that you aren't basing your decision to enter medicine on some perceived divine ‘call.’”
Ben mentally kicked himself. Apparently, he’d just classified himself as some kind of religious nut in the eyes of the man who stood between him and admission to this prestigious medical school. He certainly didn't think of himself as religious. Sure, he considered himself to be a Christian. At least, he’d said all the right words at the time. But the feelings he'd experienced then had enjoyed a pretty short lifespan. Besides, there wasn’t time or space for religion in the fast-paced, science-driven world of his pre-medical studies.
As for his calling to medicine, there had been no disembodied voice saying, "Ben, become a surgeon." It was more a feeling that this was what was expected of him. Expected by his father, by all the folks in his hometown. Certainly not by God.
Ben tried to redeem the moment. "Sir," he replied, "this is a decision that I've made after a great deal of careful thought. I haven't experienced any sort of divine call, but I do believe that we are given the ability to reason and make intelligent decisions. I've done just that, and medicine is where I belong.”
The dean just nodded, so Ben decided to unload the second barrel of his shotgun approach. “My father is a physician, a surgeon. I know the work that goes into becoming a doctor and practicing medicine, and I'm prepared to put forth that effort, given the chance."
The faintest trace of a smile flitted across the dean’s stone face. "Oh, yes. You're Robert Merrick's boy. Robert was in the first group of students I taught here. I never saw anyone with such a knack for anatomy. Finished in the top of his class, as I recall. At least we know you come from good stock."
Ben flinched at this, but managed a small smile of his own. "Thank you, sir." He wiped his sweating palms on the legs of his trousers, jerking to a stop when he realized how this betrayal of nervousness might be interpreted.
He took a deep breath and forced himself to lean back and assume a relaxed posture. He could hear his pulse pounding in his ears as he waited for the dean’s next words, telling him if he’d made it.
But instead, like Saint Peter turning to a new chapter in his record book, Dean Duncan simply closed the folder in front of him and opened the next one. Without looking up, he said, "Please send in the next applicant."