WHY I WROTE PASTOR MANDOLIN TRUMP

Writers have a unique way of telling stories that appeal to their audience or fans.

Some people often say the more you look the less you see but honestly if you ask me I don’t quite agree with that. I believe the more you look the more you know and learn.

There are many happenings around us today. Our digital world not only has the good sides but bad sides as well. I think many people particularly most teens, kind of like the bad side it offers.

Our world as I said before is full of many happenings and as writers we use it to our advantage positively to share stories that matter, so people can learn and become better in their relationships with other people of all race and backgrounds.

Now to the core, why I wrote Pastor Mandolin is to reveal what happens in the pastoral world, those influencing, those influenced, the ills, the good, the ugly and many other revelations that affect family lives, friends, people and more.

 

Let’s take a preview of the book PASTOR MANDOLIN

 

A peep inside the book!

 

His laced shoe was still the centre of attraction as the wandering eyes of Eric Travis picked it up from the rear this time.

   What was he thinking? He wasn’t sure what he was thinking either but then, the words that Mandolin Trump spoke last before the room turned silent still lingered fresh in his mind. It should have been stale by now considering the time interval it was spoken but he didn’t allowed that—he wanted it fresh in his mind as he kept on tossing it over.

   He knew Mandolin Trump was right at some points but wasn’t so certain of others. But why must he think of a thing like that, a thing so desperate, heartless and possibly so adventurous? He glanced at him, this time with his widened eyes shifted from his laced shoe as if woken up from slumber.

   Yes they have been friends for quite a while now and have agreed on almost every issue of life until this moment. Eric Travis knew Mandolin Trump was stubborn right from when they were in college and even through their university days. He had always been the party type, but how he graduated in an upper class was still a mystery to him. He had proven to be a goal getter and had never slacked in achieving what he had proposed to do and that’s why what he spoke about an hour ago was a very serious issue.

   Eric Travis pondered over it once more as he narrowed his eyes at Mandolin Trump. Though he had failed in one important area of his life—marriage.  He was supposed to be married by now at the time his friends started picking ladies for marriage, but he had shun the idea and now still looked not set for it yet.

   Eric Travis stood up for the first time since he entered Mandolin Trump’s little apartment that seemed to be consciously built for him alone and not for a wife or kids around. He could imagine as is eyes swept through the sitting room again. He walked around the centre table for awhile and seconds later, stood in front of Mandolin Trump. This time he was ready to engage him on a fiercer talk. His lips moved for a while and as he was about giving up, he heard Mandolin Trump coughed. Reluctantly he started. “I cannot believe what I heard—can’t imagine you said such things. Listen Mandolin, as much as I know about you, you are not even a good Christian—talk less of having a calling to become a pastor—a pastor? This is impossible!” He hissed and wheeled around angrily, backing Mandolin Trump who just gave him a smug smile. Mandolin Trump sat up again crossing his legs over as if in a sort of executive meeting except that he wasn’t. His arm was on is broad chest as his eyes steadied on Eric Travis, boring through his back as he waited anxiously for him to speak another word. He could hear him talk now but wasn’t that audible. He waited for him to turn around and immediately he did few seconds later. He heard him repeating himself. “There are other jobs you could do and not this pastor thing—agree jobs are hard this days, population is exploding by the day and it is obvious the government can’t cope with the trend—planning method is poor and a whole lot of other things is making the economic sick. Pastor is not a job but a calling. Telling me that’s what you want to do is the least thing I will want to hear you say, Mandolin!”  He sat down quietly on the centre table he had been walking around for minutes now and gave him a sober stare. “You could be something else, let’s say an entrepreneur or something and not this idea of becoming a pastor. You don’t have the calling, it is for special people—special—” Mandolin Trump stopped him, didn’t allow him finish. “You make me sick, Eric. I have sat down patiently to hear you talk. Now just hear yourself talk—special, what makes pastor ministry special?—

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       PASTOR MANDOLIN        

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