The Miracle Maker

The Miracle Maker [The Harlie Series Book IV]
by J.F. Bernard

Leaving a troubled past behind him, Elmo Cotton (along with his good friend and neighbor, Mister Sherman Dixon) finally arrives at Old Port Fierce. It is there, in the infamous city he hopes to find the so-called ‘Miracle-Maker’ who had deserted him and his mother so many years ago, and kill him.

Inside an old brown suitcase, along with a pair of ‘sailin’ shoes’ left to him by his dead uncle, lies the Motherstone, the strange black object Red-Beard had stolen from the dead man’s grave and Elmo brought back down from the mountain the day he died. It is the key to not only a deep, dark and disturbing past, but also a bright new future that still lies an ocean away. 

But before that can happen, Elmo, who is still very much a fugitive from Justice and ‘Raccoon on the run’, becomes involved in several incidences where fate and providence take over, leading him not only to his penultimate destiny, but to MIRACLE TEMPLE AND BARBECUE PIT OF AVENUE ‘D’ and the Miracle-Maker himself.

About Author :

I was born and raised in New York City but presently hang my hat in Port Saint Lucie Florida where I now live contently, and in relative comfort, along with my lovely wife, Maria, and my two little tax deductions…I mean kids, Wesley 9 and Maria 6. I’m a civil engineer by profession (hey, got to pay those bills somehow) who’s been writing off and on for about the last twenty years with moderate but satisfying success. 

I actually prefer, and am probably better at, writing non-fiction, which, for whatever reason, seems to be a hell of a lot easier to sell nowadays, especially when it meets the current moulds and criteria set forth by the ‘big publishing houses’ that continue to churn out such modern day classics as (fill in the blank). Then again, sometimes there is more truth, and facts, to be found in one page of fiction than there is in the entire Sunday edition of the New York Times. But first you got to get it printed. Right? And in the immortal words of Mister Herman Melville (Moby Dick), another author rejected by his contemporaries and who died in virtual obscurity: “Dollars dame me! What I write, I can not sell. But to write any other way, I cannot.” I think I know how he felt. 

Hell! Writing good fiction is hard. I don’t care what anyone says. But it’s also rewarding, if not monetarily (Hey we’re, talking New York Times Best Seller here – Ain’t we?) then at least in the more personal sense that it is, after all, your own creation and, therefore, one could only assume, beyond criticism. But people are sometimes cruel, and will find fault in just about anything, even our own children. Speaking of which…They are the real reason I began these stories in the first place, other than my own personal ego, of course. 

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