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In the world of pop culture, there is a lot to choose from, and not all of it is good. Many movies, music, and plays have been influenced by the post-modern philosophy of our time.  Some is worth knowing about, some is definitely worthy of steering completely clear of.  At times, it is helpful to engage with the world, not to swallow the media whole and believe all that it is peddling, but to increase our use of discretion, so that we can pursue beauty and truth with more intention and integrity.  There is a time and place for mediation, and a need for discretion between the two worlds of modern-day entertainment and classic religious art, music, film, and the like.  Ignorance isn't always bliss, for it is always better to be able to discriminate between the good and the bad and articulate what is and isn't worth our time.  Thus, my little experiment into one aspect of our modern culture... the romance novel. I have never been one for romance novels. Although I have read 20 boo

He woke, heart racing, breathless, wet with sweat, in the starlit time before dawn. He shuddered when something touched his arm. It was his wife. "Again?" she asked, rolling her belly onto him. Soon she would bear his first child. "Again," he gasped. He waited until his breath came more easily. "The same thing. It was awful." She waited. He would talk soon. Perhaps then he would sleep. More at A Catholic Citizen in America .

  James squinted, taking a moment to truly look at her.  Beryl's black hair was tugged into a tight ponytail. She'd shielded her figure in a snow white sweater, black leggings and ankle boots . The sleeves were tugged past her wrist, hiding every inch of skin, even her fingertips. Her arms were folded tight. Her balance kept shifting. Her striking eyes, in the rare moments they rose to meet his, looked more bruised-violet than true blue. He ' d seen other students addled during finals week, but none who looked like this.  Read the rest of the excerpt from my newest romantic novel here!  A Chance for Sparks

T he Father Capranica Mysteries: Stories of the Strange and Supernatural  by Fr. Mike Driscoll is now available on  Kindle  and  Nook . Driscoll's fiction book is an excellent accompaniment to his non-fiction book Demons, Deliverance and Discernment. 

Fr. Mike Driscoll's new fiction book  The Father Capranica Mysteries: Stories of the Strange and Supernatural  is now available. Delving into his dissertation on Catholic exorcism, Driscoll's  Father Capranica Mysteries  is sure to please fans and those curious about the "strange and supernatural."  Fr. Mike Driscoll is a priest of the Diocese of Peoria, IL.  He was ordained in 1992; has been pastor of several parishes; and is currently serving as chaplain of St. Elizabeth’s Medical Center in Ottawa, IL.  He has a B.A. in Economics from the University of Illinois, an M.A. in Moral Theology from Mount St. Mary’s Seminary, and a PhD in Counselor Education and Supervision from Regent University.   His doctoral dissertation is entitled “How Catholic exorcists distinguish between demon possession and mental disorders.”  His non-fiction book on the subject of spirit possession, Demons, Deliverance, and Discernment, is published by Catholic Answers.

The following came from a writing prompt.  The challenge was to think of someone from history who intrigued me, and to write about them having supper.  I chose to write about J.R.R Tolkien and a friend of his by the name of C.S. Lewis.  These are two people who always make it on to my “Who would you invite to dinner” list. Tolkien and Lewis. It is mid to late autumn. The men are walking among Tolkien’s beloved trees nearby, their differences evident in how they walk: Lewis, taller and vital, walks quickly.  Tolkien likes to stroll, stopping occasionally to look at the trees, drive home a point, or light a pipe. They debate whether the purpose of a walk is the walk itself, or getting back home again. The evening is crisp, with an edge of oncoming winter chill.  The sun is nearing the horizon, soon to leave their little bit of England in darkness. Feet crunching through fallen leaves on their approach to a cosy house set well back from the quiet country lane, two men anticipa