Ten Years Ago ...

Sally and I got married.

Honestly, I'm as shocked as anyone that we made it. Yet through God's provision, and through a continuing testimony of love and forgiveness, here we are.

I know that we also wouldn't have made it without the love and support of our friends and family. And for that, we thank you.

[And it's also Maunday Thursday]

Merry Christmas from the Broaddus Family

(And yes, this is the actual Broaddus family creche scene, complete with black Joseph, white Mary, and a mixed baby Jesus). May God bless you with the very best gift during this Christmas season ... Himself.

Of the Father’s love begotten,
Ere the worlds began to be,
He is Alpha and Omega,
He the source, the ending He,
Of the things that are, that have been,
And that future years shall see,
Evermore and evermore!

Hanging with My Sons

So after watching How to Train Your Dragon, I’ve been reflecting on my relationship with my sons and how each of them have such different relationships with me. My oldest likes to engage me intellectually, a bit of a schemer, and do what I do. He asks questions, talks to me, challenges boundaries at every turn, writes, believes he’s more charming than he is, and watches television like it’s an interactive event. He’s his father’s son.

My youngest is a daredevil, physically and emotionally as he’s prone to wear his emotions on his sleeves. He loves to be held, constantly needs physical assurance that I’m there. So he hugs, enjoys snuggle time, lays on me, and holds my hand. He pretends to be shy, but really just enjoys keeping people at a distance and making them relate to him on his terms. It’s like raising my baby brother.

One thing it’s reminded me of is the need to be present for them. We often forget how much our relationships with our parents can teach us about our relationship with God, how it should be, what it ought to be, and what it isn’t. The longing of our heart is to be with our fathers (sometimes causing us to seek out adopted fathers or mentors or other role-models when one isn’t present).

Fathers can be absent in a variety of ways: emotionally distant, aloof; overly critical, abandoned us physically; or being abusive. Sadly, even these things can teach us (false) lessons about the idea of fathers: that they can’t be trusted, they are prone to abandon, they aren’t safe, they are prone to judge, they are prone to be painfully silent, they are prone to be abusive.

We teach when we aren’t intending and we communicate in all we say and do. What we model is more important than what we preach. To be known, find security, and have stability, that’s what I want my sons to know about fathers. Most importantly, that they are loved.

2009 Broaddus Family Christmas Party

With the second novel of my Knights of Breton Court series done (finished about 12 hours before this picture was taken) and the contents for the Dark Faith anthology set, the Broaddus family turns its attentions to entering the Christmas season with our tenth annual themed Christmas party. They started out as murder mystery dinners but quickly got too large. This year's theme was "Musicals" though we were very generous about what was considered a musical. Any excuse to celebrate with our friends/family.

Your hosts


With lips (and yes, for those following along on my Twitter, I finally got the lips removed from my head)









Dueling Sweeney Todds








best male and best female costume winners











You can check out the full gallery on my facebook (or view even more shots at my wife's facebook account). One more time though, our very strange family. We wouldn't have them any other way:

Belly Pride (aka Eat THAT Kate Moss)*

To know God is to know beauty; to know beauty is to know God. Just as God is the source of all truth and goodness, God is also the source of all beauty. God is the Supreme Artist – the Creator of all. Thus, everything that is beautiful reflects God’s artistry. Indeed, God is Beauty itself. –Rich Vincent








I was bumping around Amanda Palmer’s web site as well as the fatshionistas web site and was reminded of a few things. We have reduced beauty to surface matters, not thinking twice about being retouched, computer enhanced, reimagined through surgery in order to achieve the makeover of our false selves. We’ve reduced beauty to that with is merely pretty, setting cruel standards (impossible thinness and youth), the endless pursuit of which changes us and our definitions of beauty.

The tragedy is that beauty is so often determined from the outside that we’re left in need of constant validation. We cling to a fundamental insecurity about ourselves to the point where we can't recognize beauty in the mirror. We are taught to be ashamed of our bodies, disgusted by any part of us that fails to meet up to some metric impressed upon us by others. Forgetting that beauty can be self-defined and self-determined. And easily recognized.

Admittedly, I was thinking about this while staring at my wife’s belly. It’s not a 25 year old belly. It’s a belly that has seen the birth of two children. A belly that has stood accused of being evidence of pregnancy. A belly that has caused her to defiantly retort “no, just fat. Thanks for asking when I’m due though.” It’s a belly that isn’t afraid to go swimming in a two piece bathing suit.

What impresses me is that it’s a belly that won’t be shamed by others. That won’t be belittled by the short-sighted or narrow-thinking. It’s a belly that won’t be defined by modern society’s pressures of beauty and physical definition because her sense of beauty isn’t rooted in what people think of her. It’s a belly that demands appreciation on its terms. It’s a belly that won’t believe the lies of her past won’t be condescended to and won’t be pressured by others.

Hers is a belly has been tested and persevered. Held a marriage together through good times and bad. Sure, that belly has dieted, exercised, but it still knows how to enjoy the occasional hot fudge brownie sundae. Hers is a belly that has lived and loved life. A belly that is fearless. A belly that demands to be known, loved, and appreciated.

A belly that knows peace and contentment because she knows that she is a beautiful creation of God, His perfect daughter.

Sometimes it takes a spiritual eye, a discerning eye, to truly appreciate beauty. A spiritual perception of glory, the loveliness of holiness, and the preciousness of grace ... all the things that come with being created in God’s image. All beauty reflects its source, namely, God. When we experience beauty, we experience God. Sometimes we need to be reminded how much we need to still grow to appreciate the beauty around us.


*Hers is a belly that says “it’s your blog, why don’t you take a picture of YOUR belly.”

Winners and Losers

I was trying to explain to my wife why I was sitting at my table with my ten sided dice that I wasn’t rolling imaginary D&D characters (which REALLY would have been the sign of a problem), but rather I was randomly picking the winners for my book giveaway contest.
Without further ado, the winners are:

-Samantha
-Degood
-Taerb

Because I am prone to making up rules as I go along, I decided on some second place packages:

-Meljprincess will be getting a copy of Heretic’s Daughter
-Gaby317 will be getting a copy of Boneman’s Daughter

Not that anyone asked, I randomly selected three people to receive copies of the latest anthology from Apex Publications, Harlan County Horrors, which features my story “Trouble Among the Yearlings”. And those lucky recipients are:

-Amanda Parrish
-Wolfnoma
-Noigeloverlord

I will be dropping them an e-mail to collect their addresses and get them their books. Speaking of winners, here are my sons Reese and Malcolm in their Halloween costumes:




(with this comment from a friend: "If Reese couldn't make it as a writer, he could have dressed as an editor.")

As for the losers, those would include all of the folks who are still sending in stories for the Dark Faith anthology. I’m afraid those are being deleted unread. Also in the loser category, me for MY Halloween costume. I tweeted “In light of my novel, I'm dressing up for a super hero party as Kevin Matchstick (Mage). I'm betting only one other person will get it.”













See? I was on it! Unfortunately, it later led to this tweet: “"Maybe being a black guy w/ a baseball bat on the south side of Indy wasn't my best call... officer." #obscuresuperherocostumefail”

I should have gone more mainstream.

Life in the Broaddus Creative Mind

When I was in second grade, my teacher (Ms. Rainey) didn’t know what to do with me. I wasn’t exactly a bad or troublesome student, but I was the only black student in my class and obviously bored. Ms. Rainey had an overloaded class and had her hands full catching kids up to the current curriculum in class much less deal with students who were ahead of the curve. So she put me in a corner with a stack of paper and told me to just “create whatever appealed to” me. So I wrote, drew, created little books and just let my imagination and creativity run wild.

[As opposed to my brother, who was also bored, but his teacher—who shall remain nameless—had low to no expectations of blacks, males in particular, and all but said so. So through neglect, she stripped away any interest he had in school that he’s only regained as an adult.]

I was reminded about the state of my desk as I wandered into the room of my eldest son, Reese. He has his own desk in there, surrounded by books and stacks of paper. Within easy reach were trays of markers, pens, pencils, crayons, beads, and clips – things he’d need at fingertip access to in order to create at a moment’s notice. Everything was collected and separated by sandwich bags (which reminded me of the shelf of cereal boxes I used to use as my filing cabinets for all of my projects and “research” when I got home). All about were half-finished projects and preparation for new projects amidst the organized chaos that is a creative mind.

I had entered the forbidden zone since I had to clean it because when I’m in MY creative throes, I am compelled to clean and organize. No worries, I preserved the order and condensed it to his desk, getting rid of only the trash and toys and cups that tend to accumulate during … creative bursts.

Just something I wanted to note. On the flip side, we spent the evening trying to convince my youngest son that “Cock” was not the best way to shorten the name for his pet rock, “Cock-A-Doodle”. Of course, I suppose that I probably ought to be more disconcerted by him talking to and petting a rock …

Context 2009 Report (Much Belated Due to Deadline Constraints)

I make no bones about it: I love ConText. It’s one of my favorite cons to go to, not just because it’s a convenient drive for me to go to, but because they have great guests of honor such as Chris Golden, Jason Sizemore (you'll note that Geoff Girard considers himself a Guest of Honor wherever he goes), and Steve Gilberts









which draw some great folks (Gene O'Neil, Gord Rollo, and the Brothers Grin aka Doug Warrick and Kyle Johnson).









and it’s a great atmosphere. This year they changed hotels and this new one was AMAZING (of course, the free breakfast buffet helps. Open Letter to All Con Organizers: you want to keep writers happy, it’s pretty easy. Supply free food and drink. We’ll always consider it a successful con after that).














Plus, this is one of those cons (read: affordable) where I can take the family. Now, teh wife gets that cons—despite the pics of schmoozing and the occasional drink—are still work for me, but as she’s not much of a reader has felt left out of this part of my life. Because of Mo*Con she now knows a lot of the folks who also make it a point to make it out to ConText. So I can do my thing, she and the boys can do their thing, and we can do our thing. At least that’s how it’s supposed to work on paper. The reality woks out more like the tale of two cons.

While I’m hard at work being interviewed by the Funky Werepig crew (who I was previously interviewed by)

Let’s check in on teh family











While I’m hard at work networking
let’s check in on teh wife, who had teamed up with her friend/co-conspirator/fellow author’s widow, Jill Gordon (wife of my co-editor of Dark Faith).









The advantage to family is that Sally could do her own networking (though I told them I'd quit referring to them as the "Artist Widows"), Reese could help out at my author’s signing, and I’m not above pimping out my sons in the name of marketing.









In short, this was the best ConText ever (which is doubly surprising considering how great the previous ones have been). But be warned, those not built for con life: it takes out even the best of us and leaves us spent.

Sally Baffles Me

I suppose I’m long overdue for an update on my life as some folks have been wondering. To be straight, we’re still working through things, taking life together day-by-day, week-by-week, month-by-month.

After going very public with our situation, I mentally braced for the worst: expecting the relief of public humiliation, the security of the pillory. I’d go to church, sit by myself, then leave. Only in the last two weeks have I even taken Communion. I was accused of wearing a look which came across as arrogance or impenitent. It’s not like I can claim that a charge of arrogance would ever be misplaced with me, but ironically, the look has been that of a person ashamed to be seen in the church. Ashamed to be seen with his wife. Ashamed to be seen with a community he served so hard and betrayed so dearly. A person entirely uncomfortable with the idea of people loving him and with the idea of people forgiving him. It’s one thing to talk about it and know about it, it’s entirely another thing to experience it. And the whole thing has me … baffled.

Because after we blogged, prayers came in from around the world. The horror community wrapped itself around us. Meals were cooked for us. Folks dropped us notes which were not only really appreciated, but carried us through some dark moments. There were those who dropped everything to come sit with us. Those who planted themselves firmly in “my cave” not only to hold me to account and keep asking me the hard questions, but to make sure I got back up, dusted myself off, and keep on the path of becoming who I am meant to be and live.

I don’t know what to do with any of that. I seriously don’t know what to do with or how to process the love shown to me. Which brings me to the title of this blog, though I might be better off saying that love baffles me. Sometimes I feel like a kid being force fed medicine: being held down, thrashing about like the most uncooperative of patients … while those surrounding me patiently love me back to health.

There are times when the shame and guilt threaten to overwhelm me, days when I was drowning in it. And it became easy to believe that God had washed His hands of me or that was too dirty and guilty to be in His presence. It became easy to forget that the Doctor was in, and He came for the sick, to treat the wounded (even those with self-inflicted wounds). He then reminded me that I was right where I’d always been: in the cup of His hand, showing me what it means to be loved.

Love stays right there with us even during the ugly and dark times. Love sees the person you are meant to be and helps moves you along toward becoming that. Love doesn’t let you off the hook, nor does it want you to define yourself by your sin or failures. You can’t outrun love.

There are times in our lives when we don’t listen to our hearts, to what we know to be true. We may betray ourselves. Our friends. Our family. Our community. God. We become lost. There’s no way to undo the mess I’ve caused in people’s lives and the hurt Sally has had to go through, all the damaged relationships surrounding us, all the broken Shalom, all of the betrayed trust. There’s no way for me to go back and undo years of bad choices. Lord knows I wish I could. Just like I know that forgiveness takes time. All I can do is attempt to live a life of repentance.

I still find it difficult to believe in and listen to love. And there still may not be a happy ending at the end of this story. But I have learned this much: in chasing after a dream, it’s easy to miss the beauty and love in front of you. And I pray to one day be worthy of it.

Broaddus Family Tradition Continues

Summer 1978. Franklin, Indiana. My childhood friend, Michael McDuffie, and I were the fastest kids among our friends. We had a long standing debate about who was the fastest between us. Watching this display of alpha male preening was my father. It was late in the afternoon, he stood on the porch in one of his “ready to go out” outfits, dressed to the nines, pimp shoes in full effect chuckling over us.

“I used to be pretty fast in my day,” he said.

“Yeah, right.” We didn’t mean to sound as dismissive as we were. Well, maybe we did. We were all of 7 and 8, masters of the playground. My dad was old. Big, as in 250+ pounds big. Taller than both me and Mike stacked atop each other. Smoking his cigarette, drinking his “warm up” drink. Obviously, there was only one way we could settle this.

“You want to race us?”

“I guess I could give it a shot.” My dad walked the length of the brick paved road (it was the last brick paved road in the city. To this day, there remains a small strip of the street that is brick-paved to remind everyone of how the street used to be). He set his drink and his cigarette at the finish line and walked back to us.

By now my brother and some of our friends gathered on our front porch to watch. Me and Mike grinned broadly at one another, all but high fiving ourselves in anticipation.

“Someone want to count it off?” my dad asked.

Our friend Missy shouted from the porch. “Ready, set, … go!”

Mike and I were fast. Mike and I both went on to have some pretty good track and field careers through junior and high school (until both of us ended up having similar spinal surgery which ended our sports career).

My dad, in his slick dress shoes, reached the finish line and had time to take a drag from his cigarette and a swig from his glass before we crossed the line. He didn’t say anything. Just walked back to the porch, our friends parting for him in awed silence, as he went back into the house. He never did mention that he still held all of the track and field (as well as many of the football and basketball) records in Franklin High School.

Summer 2009. Indianapolis, Indiana. My boys Reese and Malcolm were running in the gym in the Harrison Center during one of our First Friday tours. They asked me if I could race with them. So I set down my “warm up” drink (it was wine and champagne night along the First Fridays tour), and …



So we can add this to the list of Broaddus Family traditions (okay, I'll admit, I was trying to grab my drink in mid-leap). What scares me is wondering if my dad wasn't running at full tilt either.

Kwanzaa Lessons 2008

Notable moments and quotes heard during this year's Kwanzaa:

Me: what is kwanzaa?
Boys: it's the brown people holiday ... and we're half brown.
Me: close enough.

Wrapping up today's Kwanzaa ritual in Broaddus fashion: watching Dr. Who defeat the daleks.

I love listening to the boys try to pronounce kujichagoolia (Kwanzaa day 2). Though Reese now has a harambee dance.

"No boys, unless ujima means 'have a huge meltdown and hide in my office', you didn't practice it during pack up day at church."

"No, ujamaa does not mean I get to spray paint 'black owned' on everything in the house. Not even your brother."

"I seriously doubt Maulana Karenga imagined anyone doing the robot to the Harambee song."


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Cooking in the New Year

Those who follow me on Twitter kept up with this Broaddus family ritual. I thought I would provide a few pics for the blog:

i'm drinking my appletinis, cosmopolitans, and amaretto sours in dirty mugs. cause i'm manly that way.
7 pm - cheese fondue (w/ too much champagne) and jamaican patties
8 pm - shrimp cocktail
9 p.m. - chicken in riesling (or whatever leftover wine i had)
10 p.m. teriyaki chicken w/ raspberry glaze, thai bbq pork loin, and a bbq-hoisin pork loin.
11 p.m. - spice-rubbed steak with sweet/sour, champagne, mustard, and honey sauce.
12 a.m. just set the chocolate fondue on fire! happy new year!!!
mental note: must remember next year to do the complicated dishes BEFORE all the appletinis and cosmopolitans

[okay, as a point of clarification, there was a whole lot of wrong jokes flying around. one finally killed me. blame my sister.]


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If you want to make sure that I see your comment or just want to stop by and say “hi”, feel free to stop by my message board. We always welcome new voices to the conversation.