Mike Duran's Blog, page 13

5 Ways to Help Your Readers Suspend Disbelief

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Pushing the fictional envelope typically ends when reaching the brick wall of a reader’s credulity.

Thing is, reader credulity varies.

I have a friend who refuses to watch films like Star Wars or Lord of the Rings because “it’s not real.” He will, however, watch Tom Cruise or Bruce Willis defeat legions of bad guys, infiltrate top secret, high-security, technologically advanced compounds, and avert nuclear holocaust all before dinner, without so much as an eye-roll.

Heh.

All fiction is make-believe. Whether you’re reading a legal thriller or supernatural romance, suspending disbelief is a requirement. Often, the only real difference between fiction readers is how much disbelief they will suspend. And the only real difference between genres is how much suspension of disbelief is required. So believing the unbelievable, deeming credible the incredible, is required for readers of both espionage and high fantasy. The question is only — How much are they willing to swallow?

Admittedly, writing about shapeshifters, ninja nagas, superheroes, or hunky werewolves requires more suspension of disbelief on the part of the reader than writing about, say, a corrupt politician. Getting one to believe that a congressman is being bribed by a lobbyist is infinitesimally easier than portraying said congressman as a charismatic parasitic changeling from Uranus seeking new haunts.

Which is why one of the challenges of writing speculative fiction is the actual speculation. Whether it’s ghosts, mutants, or magic formulas, at some point you require a concession from your readers. Fans of speculative fiction approach the genre with a unique tolerance for the unbelievable. But even they have their limits. The same reader who applauds test tube dinosaurs mocks Lizard Men. Especially if they wear trench coats, fedoras, and live in L.A.’s subterranean city.

So how do you write about the unbelievable, believably? How do you help readers suspend disbelief and buy into the Congressman from Uranus? Here’s five ways you can help your readers buy into some wacky, out-of-this-world narrative:

Make the believable, believable. Readers are more likely to believe that your protagonist can talk to dead people if your protag, rather than his dead visitors, is believable. Our readers identify first with what they know to be factually and emotionally true. I recall listening to a podcast interview with Andy Weir, the indie author who struck it rich with his sci-fi novel The Martian . Being that Mars has not been colonized, the book is classified as “speculative.” But only just barely. Because the science is in place, The Martian occupies that strange grey area between actual fact and fiction. As Weir recounted in the podcast, this made getting the science correct all the more important for the believability of his novel. Believable science assisted in the audience’s suspension of disbelief. In this way, investing in the “known” is the first step in building a bridge to the “unknown.” Making the believable, believable is the first step to making the unbelievable, believable. Whew!
Don’t chuck logic. Just because your characters are battling zombies does not require them to become brainless. I’m more likely to buy into your heroine’s pointy ears and green skin if she retains a real head on her shoulders. In THIS INTERVIEW, the prolific novelist Dean Koontz was asked how he pulled off his typically wild premises. He said, “If you give yourself entirely to intuition but then bring hard intellectual analysis to what the intuition produces, you’ll be okay. Take the far-out element and consider it in the same spirit that St. Thomas Aquinas used clear cold reason to prove the existence of God.” Subjecting the “far-out” elements of your story to “clear cold reason” helps our readers suspend potential disbelief. If you want me to believe that your hero can tame dragons, logic is the last thing you can afford to sacrifice. Forget that cyborgs from the future have not yet arrived. Make your character think and act like they actually have and I’ll likely follow along.
Build credulity by showing incredulity in your characters. The worst thing your unassuming soccer mom can do upon discovering a baby Cthulhu in her vacuum bag is to put it in the hamster cage and finish her chores. At the least, she should do a tango on sofa. I once attended a workshop by Jeff Gerke on writing speculative fiction and he noted that one of the ways we create a believable story world is by showing our characters astonishment when appropriate. In other words, if a contemporary woman stumbles into the 16th century, she should not “get over it” any time soon. You don’t just “get over” seeing a demon or conjuring a fireball. A character who is not utterly floored by a dimensional portal in her office cubical, will likely NOT be followed by readers through it. The amazing thing should not be that an earthling encounters a space alien, but that they do so without wetting themselves.
Follow the laws of your land. Even quidditch has rules, gravity being one of them. Whether it’s Oz, Atlantis, or Middle Earth, each story world contains its own set of laws. The writer is free to create a world where anything can happen, as long as what happens is consistent with the laws of that world. Employing fictional “cheats” only makes your world less believable. Even Superman loses credibility when laws of logic and physics don’t matter. We help our readers suspend disbelief, not just by creating a set of consistent laws, but by not breaking them.
Damn the torpedoes. However far-out the elements of your story are, the worst thing you could do is second-guess them or treat them with kid gloves. If your story involves goblins, demons, or talking teapots, then follow it through. Where would Frodo be if Tolkien was reluctant about magic? Rather, the epic works because, in it, trees CAN talk and rings CAN make one invisible. If your story world involves magic (or romance, teleportation, and Jabberwockies), then full steam ahead.

Readers come to fiction for different reasons. But most come with a willingness to believe the unbelievable. Whether it’s a nuclear holocaust or a lost Eden, we can help our readers suspend disbelief long enough to enjoy those non-existent worlds. The only requirement is that before the novelist begins pushing red pills onto her readers, she swallows her own.

The Ghost Box Audiobook Now Available!

Thrilled to announce that The Ghost Box, first book in my urban fantasy, paranoir series, is now available in audiobook. At the production wheel is audio dramatist and podcaster Randy Streu. (You can hear an audio sample of the production HERE.) I’m equally excited about the fact that Randy is currently producing the second in the Reagan Moon series, Saint Death. If you already own[image error] the Kindle version of The Ghost Box, Amazon allows you to add the Audible version for as low as 1.99. Also, I have some promotional codes available for free downloads of the audiobook. If you’d be willing to swap a review for a free audiobook, please contact me.

Dr. Strange — Invitation to the Occult or Gateway to a Biblical Worldview?

[image error]In a recent Unbelievable podcast, pastor Tim Keller debated atheist Jeremy Rodell about whether humans “make sense without God.” At one point in the show the host reads from Keller’s latest book in which the author makes the claim that “Christianity is the only truly cross-cultural religion” and that unlike Islam, Hinduism, and Buddhism, which largely exist within specific geographical boundaries, Christianity is represented in every major cultural/geographical center. Christianity is truly “a world religion.”

What makes Christianity so culturally accessible? In his new book, Making Sense of God, Keller references African writer Lamen Sanneh who suggests that “Christianity is less culturally imperialistic than secularism.” Whereas the existing African worldview — one of belief in spirits and invisible powers — would need be jettisoned in order to embrace a materialistic worldview, Christianity allows for the existing African framework to be “reconfigured without being overthrown.”

A reading of the Bible shows that it respects the African belief that there is a vast supernatural realm, full of evil and good spirits, but it also tells us that there is one who by the cross has ‘defeated the principalities and powers,’ because he has procured forgiveness and the favor of God  (Col. 2:12-25)…

So rather than condemning “African belief” because of its spirits and magical systems, Christianity embraces and “reconfigures” the pagan worldview.

Likewise, it is its belief in “a vast supernatural realm,” and the humility one takes to access it, which makes director Scott Derrickson’s new film Dr. Strange so compelling. The only thing Derrickson requires of his viewers to enter the fantastical universe of the crippled brain surgeon / Sorceror Supreme is to jettison their belief that “matter is all there is.” In that, Christian audiences should find much to like about Marvel’s latest superhero incarnation.

In his interview with Relevant magazine The Complex Faith of Dr. Strange Director Scott Derrickson, the director provides a key to the worldview behind his iteration of the comic:

To Derrickson, the allure of Doctor Strange doesn’t spring from a desire to conform the story to his perspective, but rather comes from the places the source material’s view of the universe syncs up with his own mindset. “I can’t help but view the world mystically,” he reflects. “It’s how I see it. I’m not a strict materialist. I think there’s much more to the world than what we see with our five senses. I think I’m a good choice for this material because I see the world that way.” (bold mine)

Throughout the article, Derrickson’s Christian faith is mentioned. This should, I think, be a cause for celebration among believers — a professing Christian directs the #1 movie in America which challenges a strictly materialistic view of the universe.

However, as is sadly par for the course, some Christians are denouncing the film as a gateway to the occult. Perhaps most prominently is Dr. Ted Baehr of the Christian Film and Television Commission who issued a press release stating:

[Doctor Strange is] a dangerous introduction to demonic occult deception. … The Bible clearly warns against the kind of occult practices and sorcery the hero in this movie learns to do, in Deuteronomy 18:9-12 and Galatians 5:20. Also in the movie, the hero’s New Age, occult guru teaches there may be no afterlife, that death is truly the end, and that this is a good thing.

Make no mistake, the good doctor — Baehr, that is — has a point. Not only does the Bible warn against sorcerory and occultism, but Dr. Strange could actually be “a dangerous introduction to demonic occult deception.” By discussing things like chakras, astral projection, and the third eye, the film is without question appealing to “real life” mystical jargon. Unlike Iron Man or the Hulk’s attempt to explain the fantastical through science or physics (imagined, for sure), Dr. Strange uses contemporary esoterica as a springboard for the character’s powers. In fact, the source material specifically tapped into the then culture’s drift from a Judeao-Christian worldview. From the Guardian:

The character rose to prominence just as the American counterculture was beginning to dabble in forms of spirituality outside of the Judeo-Christian establishment. The adventures of Stephen Strange tapped into eastern mysticism, psychedelic trips into alternate realities, and the absolute certainty that there is more to existence than what you can see with your eyes.

Isn’t this enough grounds to legitimize Baehr’s condemnations? How can Christians enjoy a film whose central devices appeal to Black Magic? Allow me to provide several reasons why Christians need to step back and take a breath.

In their fantastic expose, The Fellowship: The Literary Lives of the Inklings, authors Philip and Carol Zaleski highlight the role that fantastical literature, myth and fairy tales, played in C.S. Lewis’ conversion.

Lewis “was open to the preternatural, but remained deaf to supernatural claims. This could not have been a comfortable position. Those who delight in mythology and fantasy already have one foot in a spiritual cosmos.” (pg. 77, bold mine)

However, it was Lewis’ “delight in mythology and fantasy” that awakened something inside him — “the possibility of worldviews beyond strict materialism.” (pg. 84)

First let me suggest that films like Dr. Strange serve not as a template for orthodoxy, but as a gateway to a worldview “beyond strict materialism.” In the same way that “the Bible shows that it respects the African belief that there is a vast supernatural realm,” so the world of Dr. Strange embraces and invites viewers into a world beyond the strictly material. No, there is no savior awaiting us in this world. There are no winks at Scripture to remind the viewer that the director is guided by a biblical worldview. And there is no open renunciation of occult elements. Rather, the gateway into Dr. Strange’s fantastical, supernatural world is humilty. The access point for Doctor Stephen Strange into the world(s) of the fantastic is not occult technique, but first and foremost, an ego-crushing accident that maims his hands and sends him soul searching. We are reminded throughout the story, as we watch the brain surgeon’s quivering hands, that surrendering our egos and embracing our woundedness is often the gateway to something transformative.

This idea of Christianity allowing for an existing philosophical framework to be “reconfigured without being overthrown” is a key to how Christians should approach films like Dr. Strange. Yes, there are references to non-Christian and occult elements. However, in a world where Science and quantum physics has materialists now questioning the nature of existence, even reconfiguring their calculations to include a supernatural world outside us is a nudge toward a biblical worldview. In the same way that Lewis’ belief in mythology and fantasy were a gateway to a belief in a biblical worldview, Dr. Strange’s jettisoning of strict materialism — even though it springboards off the mystical arts — is a step away from the dead end of Scientism.

In his interview with Relevant magazine, Derrickson is clear about not forcing his own religious perspective into the film’s narrative. Rather, he seeks to appeal to traditionally opposing camps where “religious ideas and scientific ideas overlap.”

When pressed to consider how his Christian faith influenced his work on Doctor Strange, Derrickson observed that he’s gotten away from the impulsive need to express his own point of view as he’s matured as a filmmaker.

“In this age where the word ‘Christian’ conjures up angry, vocal, closed-minded Christians and the word ‘atheist’ conjures up images of angry, closed-minded atheists and all of these terms just become fighting words,” Derrickson says, “I really liked the idea that the comics and the movie therefore could just be a third thing where we’re talking about magic and we’re talking about mysticism and we’re talking about possibilities and other realities and places where we all know religious ideas and scientific ideas overlap, even though we’re not really playing with either in this movie.”

In the simplest sense, Dr. Strange can work upon viewers in the same way that Norse gods, fauns, and water sprites worked upon C.S. Lewis… by helping the seeker place “one foot in a spiritual cosmos.” Articulating that cosmos, its nature and constraints, is another story.

A second rebuttal to the condemnation of Dr. Strange is this: The fictional portrayal of ANYTHING evil or questionable can be dangerous.

Can Dr. Strange lead one into the occult? Absolutely! But ANY film or work of fiction that depicts ANYTHING evil, weird, different, or questionable can lead just about ANYONE into something unhealthy. Films that include the use of guns might influence someone to use violence. Films that include drug use might influence someone to use drugs. Films that include sexual immorality might influence someone to lust and pursue an immoral lifestyle. Films that include suicide might influence someone to commit suicide. Films that include depictions of street racing might encourage someone to street race. Films that include racism might encourage someone to be racist. Films that… oh, you get the point. At what point is the artist free to depict evil, immorality, and spiritual misalignment without being responsible for the viewers’ interpretations?

In fact, in my article 7 Ways “Clean” Fiction Can Hurt Us, I concluded:

The desire to keep our minds focused on what is “pure, lovely, and admirable” is a great thing. Heck, it’s biblical! Nevertheless, that same Bible says that Satan disguises himself as an “angel of light” (II Cor. 11:14). In other words, Satan is more likely to deceive us with something that looks good (“clean”), than something that looks evil. Just because some stories are free of profanity, violence, and nudity, does not make them impervious to spiritual deception. In fact, the desire to read only what is “free of profanity, violence, and nudity” may itself be a spiritual deception. (bold in original)

Even films/fiction that are portrayed as “safe,” “clean,” and “family friendly” can depict an image of life or people that is absolutely unhealthy. Perhaps this is why some have even described Christian romance as “emotional porn.” Point being, “God’s Not Dead” might be just as spiritually deceptive and dangerous as “Doctor Strange.”

This is why we need discernment.

Here’s one final thing about Dr. Strange that, I believe, keeps it from being a gateway to the occult — the powers on display are completely and utterly comic book in nature. This is a freakin’ superhero movie, folks. I mean, we’re talking about dissolving worlds, creating time portals, and using universal energy to spontaneously create whips and shields. Taking my grandson to this movie would not require a follow-up lecture on why he should not try to levitate. It’s the broader lesson, the one about not swallowing anything whole, about discerning an artist’s worldview and seeing past the obvious, about not require paint-by-number fictional narratives, that is the lessons many Christians appear to struggle with.

So in the same way that Keller sees Christianity as “less culturally imperialistic than secularism,” Dr. Strange offers  many viewers the chance to to have their beliefs “reconfigured without being overthrown.” While some might cite the references to mysticism or an absence of overt biblical references as an indictment, the film offers a portal into a world where “a vast supernatural realm” is at our fingertips. If only we can surrender our trembling, broken hands to the possibilities.

The Real Horror of Lovecraft’s Cosmicism

[image error]Cosmic horror is a growing subgenre in the ranks of horror fiction. Cosmicism is “the literary philosophy developed and used by the American writer H. P. Lovecraft in his weird fiction.” The Wikipedia definition follows:

The philosophy of cosmicism states that there is no recognizable divine presence, such as a god, in the universe, and that humans are particularly insignificant in the larger scheme of intergalactic existence, and perhaps are just a small species projecting their own mental idolatries onto the vast cosmos. This also suggests that the majority of undiscerning humanity are creatures with the relative significance of insects and plants, when compared to the universe.

Perhaps the most prominent theme in cosmicism is the insignificance of humanity…

Cosmicism is rooted in the absence of God and, ultimately, any sort of morality and meaning tethered to such a Presence. Lovecraft described his worldview this way:

“The universe is only a furtive arrangement of elementary particles… The human race will disappear. Other races will appear and disappear in turn. The sky will become icy and void, pierced by the feeble light of half-dead stars. Which will also disappear. Everything will disappear. And what human beings do is just as free of sense as the free motion of elementary particles. Good, evil, morality, feelings? Pure ‘Victorian fictions’. Only egotism exists.”

The Cthulu mythos and its vast bestiary of exotic monstrosities is the byproduct of a worldview reeking of nihilism, a dying universe where “everything will disappear,” and “Good, evil, morality, feelings” are simply “fictions.” It’s no wonder then that today’s cosmic horror tales are unapologetically bleak. For example, the Lovecraft eZine posed the question to five horror authors, What Does ‘Cosmic Horror’ Mean? Matthew M. Bartlett provided a good summary of the consensus sentiment:

…cosmic horror is about not only man’s insignificance, but his fragility, both physical and mental. Except for the fact that man is haunted by the vast gulf of nonexistence before his lifespan and its fast-returning resumption, he is in a fundamental way not terribly different from a newborn who dies within minutes of his birth. There’s an awakening into incomprehensible chaos, bright and loud and terrifying, and then it’s all gone. Forever. In our moment of chaos, we witness abjection, corruption, violence, and a ubiquitous instability of all systems—a general sense that we are at all times unsafe. And while there are beautiful things here for some of us–love, comfort, entertainments, the company of friends, and of animals–we fear that those good things exist only to mock us. In the end, we face the ultimate forgetting.

Such a universe of “incomprehensible chaos” and its “vast gulf of nonexistence” that awaits us is the outgrowth of a rather simple philosophical swap. In his essay on Lovecraft entitled Atheism’s Mythographer, Jason Colavito notes:

“The key to the abyss in Lovecraft’s world was Science itself. It was through science that the well-spring of horror arose, and this is what captivated the minds of those who read him. Lovecraft introduced a new brand of horror that dispensed with the supernatural as an opposition to the natural order.”

And this is what Lovecraftian horror has on traditional horror. The real horror of Lovecraft’s cosmicism is that it has “dispensed with the supernatural.”

Behind every work of fiction is a worldview that frames it. Likewise, one difference between the traditional horror genre and cosmic horror is the cosmoses they occupy. While the horrors of Dracula, The Exorcist, Something Wicked This Way Comes, The Stand, or The Picture of Dorian Gray, are decidedly Moral — as in an Ultimate Good vs. Evil, or the violation of Good for Evil —  the terrors of cosmic horror are uniquely amoral. And therein lies a different type of terror.

One is the terror of Something, while the other is the terror of Nothing.

The materialist, the individual who jettisons the supernatural in favor of “a furtive arrangement of elementary particles,” can fear only “the vast gulf of nonexistence.” Living is simply a game of existential Russian Roulette in which every chamber is loaded and your turn is next. No evil can truly befall the cosmicist because he has chucked any notion of absolute Good for amorality. Pulling the trigger is as “good” as not. Things like “love, comfort, entertainments, the company of friends, and of animals” are simply meaningless distractions while we hurtle towards “the ultimate forgetting.”

The worldview of the cosmic horrorist is astonishingly different, and much less meaningful, than the theistic, or Judeo-Christian conception of existence.

The true nature of the cosmos determines its horror. For the traditionalist, the horror of a world gone wrong, spiraling from God, Good, or Absolute Morality is the basis for abomination. Cosmic horror, on the other hand, strips the world of any and all abominations by ridding the cosmos of God, Good, or Absolute Morality. While cosmic horror sees humanity as simply “a furtive arrangement of elementary particles,” the biblical worldview is one that envisages humankind as only “a little lower than the angels” and “crowned with glory and honor” (Ps. 8:5). Indeed, as the bearers of God’s image, we occupy a space distinct from plankton, orangutans, archangels, and Spanish moss.

In this universe, the greatest horror is in surrendering to a philosophy of nihilism and Moral indifference.

 

Should Novelists Avoid Expressing Their Political Opinions?

[image error]Literary agent Wendy Lawton, who’s a member of the team I’m agented by, recently cautioned authors about publicly voicing their political opinions. In a Facebook post, she wrote:

Guess what? You can’t win if you discuss politics on Facebook. No matter how passionately you feel about an upcoming election it is potentially damaging to open the subject in your news feed because (a) half your “friends” will be irritated with you, (b) they may post incendiary comments taking your feed to a full fledged flame war, (c) those who agree with you will stand up for you and challenge those who commented negatively, pouring fuel on the fire, and (d) you will change no one’s mind.

If you are an author, as many of FB friends are, you can’t afford to tick off half your potential readership. We can all name authors we cringe to read because they’ve become so political.

It’s a question I’ve thought lots about. While I’m a very opinionated person, I have intentionally stepped back from posting — whether on this blog or in my social media feed — a lot of political commentary. Please don’t mistake that as me not having an opinion. Also, don’t mistake this for me necessarily fearing that I will alienate some readers. In my case, I’m just extremely fatigued about the state of our country and the fracturing of relationships this election has caused.

But, in a way, even THAT’S an opinion which could get me into trouble.

As much as I respect Wendy Lawton and those authors who choose a similar approach, I’m unsure about the basic premise that an author “can’t afford to tick off half [their] potential readership.” Sure, I understand not turning your writing platform into a political advert (especially if you’re a novelist as opposed to a non-fic author). Problem is:

Lots of creatives are vocal about their political opinions
Being a public person inevitably demands a certain degree of transparency
Your art will inevitably reveal your values, morals, beliefs, and opinions

There’s a good argument to be made for novelists keeping their mouth shut and letting their art speak for itself. On the other hand, there’s lots of writers who are transparent AND popular. In fact, you could say that someone’s art is an organic part of who the artist is. Although the reader can separate the art from the artist, the artist can’t really separate her opinions from her artistic output.

The pop cultural consumer eventually learns to separate the art from the artist. Either that, or they choose build their library around ideology rather than art. Good art can be made by bad people… much less, people I disagree with. I disagree with many novelists about politics. But it hasn’t stopped me from reading their novels. I mean, the “goodness” of a piece of fiction / film / music has nothing to do with whether or not its creator meets my ideological standards.

The problem is when the art becomes a vehicle for the ideology.

Some of my favorite creatives are people whom I often disagree with. The point which I stop buying their stuff is when it subsumes their art. When your story, song, or film becomes a megaphone for your politics, I check out. Other than that, go ahead and voice your disdain for a political candidate. As long as you keep creating good stuff. Truth is, I avoid some artists who never publicly share their political opinion, not because of the content of their art, but because of a perception (on my part) of the philosophy or worldview driving them. In this case, public opinions are moot because the art does the talking.

Point is: Your novel is going to express its own worldview and opinion which, in one sense, is going to self-select your readers.

All that to say, building a readership and marketing yourself is obviously a tenuous thing. Like many walks of public life, the broader the audience, the more we must temper what we say. To what degree we temper our opinions is another story. Either way, people come to fiction, film and music for what it does for them, not the political, ideological views of the artists. Of course, some of those views may or may not expand their audience. Still, a good story, well told, trumps ones political affiliation.

3 “Theologies” That Inform the Christian Novelist

Pastor John Piper, in this podcast, proffers a brief “Theology of Art.” His conclusion is that “Christians have deeper and better foundations for serious art than anybody.” While I agree with Piper, most of the evangelical artists (musicians, novelists, poets, craftspeople, etc.) I run into do not appear to have a well-developed “Theology of Art.” For example, ask the average Christian fiction writer why they write and what they hope to accomplish with their writing, and you’ll typically receive some variation of “I write to glorify God.” A perfectly fine answer… until you start digging into details. Is it possible to “glorify God” in a fictional story? What does it mean to “glorify God” in a novel? How explicit must you be about God and the gospel content in order to truly “glorify God”? And what about those Christians authors who do not write explicitly Christian stuff? Can they also “glorify God” in their writing? Such inspection often reveals shaky theological “foundations.” At least, the absence of a comprehensive view of art and theology.

Dorothy Sayers, in her book Towards a Christian Aesthetic, notes that biblical truth, by its very nature, must embrace and define the Arts.

“If we commit ourselves to saying that the Christian revelation discovers to us the nature of all truth, then it must discover to us the nature of the truth about Art among other things.”

But exactly what truths does the Bible reveal about Art and Artists? Where are the “deeper and better foundations for serious art” that Piper speaks about? Or does the Bible, when speaking about art and aesthetics, simply frame it as a field outside of any clear theological principles?

The graphic below is designed to illustrate three Christian theologies that inform the artist. I developed the following graphic from the essay Should Christians Write Novels, Pt. 1 and Pt. 2. written by Rory Shiner, Pastor of Providence Church in Perth, Australia, which I encourage you to read.

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If “evangelical art” — Christian music, Christian fiction, Christian film, etc. — reveals anything, it is a fairly narrow view of any rigorous theological underpinnings. The God’s Not Dead franchise is a good example of how “commercial viability” has distilled an evangelical approach to art into tract-like propaganda pieces that wear their message on their sleeves. Unbeknownst to many Christian consumers are more broad biblical understandings about art and artists.

Theology of Creation and Covenant — Based on what the Reformed faith calls the “Cultural Mandate,” this approach sees God’s command to Adam and Eve to “fill the earth and subdue it” as a “commission” to produce human culture; to import the “image of God” into every possible field we may venture. For the novelist, this frees our work from being, as Shiner puts it, “enlisted in the service of the church for validity.” Rather, writing fiction is part of the larger cultural mandate to advance our God-given talents into and through culture. The Christian writer is not simply a propagandist, but is ultimately advancing God’s reign.
Theology of Incarnation and Sacrament — Orthodox and Catholic positions frame the arts in terms of sacraments, representations of Truth and Beauty. Just as “the Word became flesh” (Jn. 1:1, 14), the Christian artists seeks to “flesh out” or embody some form of biblical Truth or Beauty. Or as C.S. Lewis described it, fiction literature is a “little incarnation, giving body to what has been before invisible and inaudible.” In this way, the Christian artist is commissioned to make the intangible real, the subtle profound, and put words and images to the indescribable.
Theology of Education and Eschatology — In this approach, novels are tools to steer and shape culture, “to enlarge moral sympathies or to commend proper behaviour.” Shiner writes, “A self-conscious agenda to educate is by no means incompatible with great literature. ” While such an approach can be hijacked by those of various ideological persuasions, the believer infuses the “eschatological urgency” of the call to repentance, the fount of forgiveness, the Second Coming, and the Judgment into their art.

Each of these theologies impacts, indeed elevates, our understanding of the artist and novelist.

Novelist as Worker — The Theology of Creation and Covenant frames the novelist in terms of a worker, using his God-given talents and the Imago Dei to “fill the earth and subdue it” (Gen. 1:28). Whatever cultural sphere he traverses — whether State, Church, Law, Science, Arts, etc. — the Christian worker brings the image of God with him. Thus, the novelist does more than just write Bible tracts. Rather, he is a witness for God and extends His rule through his entire work and life.
Novelist as Priest — The Theology of Incarnation and Sacrament frames the novelist as a priest, “mediating an experience of beauty and recognition, all of which ultimately finds its ends in God.” Just as Christ made the Father tangible to His listeners, the novelist “fleshes out” biblical truth and beauty his readers.
Novelist as Herald — The Theology of Education and Eschatology transforms the novelist from simply an “entertainer” who provides escapist literature, to someone who heralds a Moral Universe, affirms a biblical view of the world, and seeds culture with this message. In this sense, the Christian writer is driven by a “cause” and a sense of urgency, compelled by the Gospel, the immanence of Christ’s return, and the judgment to come.

Piper is correct: “Christians [should] have deeper and better foundations for serious art than anybody.” Covenant, Incarnation, and Education are three such foundational theologies that help us understand and approach art from a more rigorous, comprehensive perspective.

Do Christian Novelists Need a “Theological Accountability Partner”?

[image error]That was the question posed by Dan Balow, President of Enclave Publishing, the premiere press for Christian speculative fiction. In his recent post, Theological Accountability Partners, Balow writes:

Just because an author is a mature Christian, doesn’t mean they are immune from writing something containing shaky theology. In an effort to craft compelling phrases and stories, orthodox theology can sometimes be a casualty of creativity or even carelessness.

The possibility for “shaky theology” is only heightened when applied to speculative novelists. Those who constantly conjecture new worlds and re-imagine old ones are bound to push the boundaries of orthodoxy. And, really, isn’t that what they’re supposed to do? But therein lies the rub.

While most Christian authors and publishers would agree about what constitutes theological orthodoxy, applying that orthodoxy to art and fiction is not nearly as clear-cut.

In my recent workshop at Realm Makers 2016 entitled “A Theology of Speculative Fiction,” I floated a pitch for a theoretical novel called “The Second Judas.” The pitch went like this:

A brilliant scientist, inspired by Satan, travels back in time to persuade Judas to NOT betray Jesus, thus preventing the crucifixion and the redemption of humanity. However, after successfully persuading Judas to abandon his plans, the scientist comes to believe Christ IS the Messiah. In an attempt to fulfill biblical prophecy, the scientist plots to assume the role vacated by Judas, betray Jesus, and reboot the Crucifixion. Until Judas, now a believer, plots to stop the scientist and the betrayal.

Of course, this plot is intentionally crafted to push a lot of boundaries and illustrate the slipperiness of the subject. Nevertheless, the number of possible responses and/or objections to The Second Judas would illustrate the dilemma faced by a “theological accountability partner.”

Time travel and The Butterfly Effect are not tenable; history cannot be altered
Only future history can be altered, not past
ANY extra-biblical portrayals of Christ are not permissible
God’s purposes cannot be thwarted; it is heretical to speculate alteration of biblical history
The story is permissible, provided that the Crucifixion occurs
The story is permissible, provided that Judas still betrays Jesus
Judas should never be portrayed in a positive / sympathetic light

Please notice that the issue for most Christian novelists would not be theological orthodoxy per se, but to what degree theological orthodoxy should be demanded of their fiction. In other words, being a Christian means believing certain specific things about God and Christ. Being a Christian novelist does not necessarily mean that stories like The Second Judas are categorically untouchable. At the least, there will be a spectrum of beliefs regarding what is theologically tenable (in our fiction) and what isn’t.

Balow acknowledges this, noting that there’s a degree of theological give-and-take between publishers and authors:

A significant function of a traditional Christian publisher is to act as a theological accountability partner to their authors. Of course, some publishers have a very distinct theological bent to their books, while others will have a wider theological spectrum in which they operate. As agents, we spend quite a bit of time sorting out those differences, which can have a significant effect in how we deal with an individual publisher.

Suffice it to say not every publisher would agree with whatever theological stance you might take.

With a traditional publisher, your theological position or main point could even be strongly challenged by an editor. It is part of the collaborative editorial process. (bold, mine)

It is fascinating, but a bit of a sidenote, that Balow suggests that “self-published” novels, because they have not been “reviewed by a trained theological eye,” may be more open to “possible error.” Nevertheless. while part of the “function of a traditional Christian publisher” is to act as a theological gatekeeper, there remains a danger of confusing theological orthodoxy with various publishers’ cultural distinctives. Frankly, many evangelical publishers’ content guidelines are indistinct from their theology, blurring the line between hard-and-fast creedal orthodoxy and cultural preferences. As such, peripheral issues like alternate histories, extraterrestrials, and R-rated content are elevated from “disputable matters” to issues of theological orthodoxy.

Still, art and orthodoxy have a tenuous relationship. While we should vigorously protect the boundaries of Christian orthodoxy, it is quite another issue to label The Second Judas — or its author! — as a purveyor of heresy. My point is not that Christian novelists should dismiss the issue of theology, but that there is no clear-cut principle or interpretation for applying theology to fiction. So by all means, have a theological accountability partner. The main issue, however, may not be conceding the importance of theological orthodoxy, but exactly how that orthodoxy applies to alternate histories, space aliens, and other speculative content.

Planting Seeds in the Imagination

[image error]In his interview with professor and apologist Holly Ordway, Brandon Vogt asks about her conversion from atheism to Catholicism, as recounted in her latest book Not God’s Type: An Atheist Academic Lays Down Her Arms. Interestingly enough, it started with “Christian literature.”

…classic Christian literature planted seeds in my imagination as a young girl, something I write about in more detail in my book. Later, Christian authors provided dissenting voices to the naturalistic narrative that I’d accepted—the only possible dissenting voice, since I wasn’t interested in reading anything that directly dealt with the subject of faith or Christianity, and thus wasn’t exposed to serious Christian thought.

I found that my favorite authors were men and women of deep Christian faith. C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien above all; and then the poets: Gerard Manley Hopkins, George Herbert, John Donne, and others. Their work was unsettling to my atheist convictions, in part because I couldn’t sort their poetry into neat ‘religious’ and ‘non-religious’ categories; their faith infused all their work, and the poems that most moved me, from Hopkins’ “The Windhover” to Donne’s Holy Sonnets, were explicitly Christian. I tried to view their faith as a something I could separate from the aesthetic power of their writing, but that kind of compartmentalization didn’t work well, especially not with a work of literature as rich and complex as The Lord of the Rings.

Eventually, I came to the conclusion that I needed to ask more questions. I needed to find out what a man like Donne meant when he talked about faith in God, because whatever he meant, it didn’t seem to be ‘blind faith, contrary to reason’.

The Christian writers did more than pique my interest as to the meaning of ‘faith’. Over the years, reading works like the Chronicles of Narnia, The Lord of the Rings, and Hopkins’ poetry had given me a glimpse of a different way of seeing the world. It was a vision of the world that was richly meaningful and beautiful, and that also made sense of both the joy and sorrow, the light and dark that I could see and experience. My atheist view of the world was, in comparison, narrow and flat; it could not explain why I was moved by beauty and cared about truth. The Christian claim might not be true, I thought to myself, but it had depth to it that was worth investigating. (bold, mine)

In this podcast, Ordway talks about the “inconsolable longing” that novels by Tolkien and Lewis evoked in her. Even though their stories were not explicitly “Christian,” it was their perspective, their worldview, that “planted seeds” in her imagination and drove her to find out more about the authors. In fact, it was this research which led her to discover the religious beliefs of the authors and the stories’ Christian underpinnings. At first, Ordway felt somehow tricked. The sense of hope, transcendence, and beauty evoked by these novels was an outgrowth of the beliefs of their authors. Yet this reality is what eventually initiated her journey to Christianity.

There is a belief among many evangelical authors that fiction can only be “Christian” insofar as Christian elements and themes are explicit. I think Ms. Ordway’s testimony challenges that assumption.

There is, without question, different views as to the aim of Christian fiction. On one side are those who believe Christian fiction should target Christians — encourage them, inspire them, reinforce their values, and ultimately make them better believers.  On the other side are those who believe Christian authors should target seekers — whet their spiritual appetite, disarm antagonism, simplify biblical themes, reinforce a biblical worldview, and leave them thinking about God, Christ, sin, and/or heaven and hell. Or simply pique their interest in the author and where she is coming from.

However, for the most part, writers and publishers of Christian fiction aim at the Church, not the world. This is a fatal error. The downside of such an approach is that, though well-intentioned, writing and marketing novels exclusively to Christians limits the degree to which authors can “plant seeds” in the imaginations of seekers. Ordway’s testimony is a reminder that simple worldview elements can stoke a reader’s spiritual quest.

Interestingly enough, many question whether or not novels like The Lord of the Rings trilogy should even be considered “Christian.” In Ordway’s case, it was “Christian enough” to prompt her to begin a quest — a quest to research the author. She came to the conclusion that she “needed to ask questions” about why men like Donne, Lewis, and Tolkien all shared this same worldview.

Their poems and novels led her to investigate the authors and their faith.

And this is where I believe many Christian fiction defenders err. The best apologetic for a specific worldview is not the story, but the author. This isn’t to say that our stories should not contain Light. Rather, theological specificity should not be sought in fictional tales. In fact, the more we demand a doctrinal checklist from one’s novels, the further we move from telling stories to preaching sermons. Ultimately, the best apologetic is the author, not the story. If people want to know what an author believes they should ask them, listen to them, research them. But demanding theological specificity from fiction eliminates the author’s ability to “plant seeds in the imagination” and the reader’s desire to, as Ms. Ordway did, “ask more questions.”

What FanFiction Reveals About the Nature of “Story.”

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Authors understandably have mixed feelings about fan fiction. For example, in How authors feel about fan fiction, George R.R. Martin is quoted as saying, “Every writer needs to learn to create his own characters, worlds, and settings. Using someone else’s world is the lazy way out.” Martin is joined by others like Anne Rice, Orson Scott Card, and Ursula K. LeGuin as opposing fan fiction involving their characters and stories. On the other hand are novelists like J.K. Rowling, Stephanie Meyers, and Charlie Stross who are a bit more tolerant.

Meanwhile, the popularity of fan fiction has exploded, with some even calling it the future of publishing. And with this explosion comes increased debate about the stories one creates and the degree to which an author actually owns them.

Stephen King famously described writing in terms of archaeological excavation. In his memoir on the craft King writes,

“Stories are relics, part of an undiscovered pre-existing world. The writer’s job is to use the tools in his or her toolbox to get as much of each one out of the ground intact as possible.”

It’s a unique way to look at it. The suggestion is that stories somehow exist independent of their authors. Or perhaps they exist uniquely “inside” their authors, part of our “collective unconscious,” like some weird offspring seeking to be birthed into the world. But IF stories exist independent of their authors, then shouldn’t they be held loosely? And really that’s what I find most interesting about this debate — what fanfic tells us about the nature of story.

In The Power of Fanworks In Sci Fi, Fantasy Is Now Undeniable Inverse estimates that “There are over 22,000 fandoms represented with fan fiction.” Quoting Tea Fougner, a fanwork creator and co-editor of RAW: A Hannibal/Will Fanthology,

“When you deeply identify with a character or a narrative, exploring it is second nature I think we often forget this today in the world of corporate IP, but for millennia, stories were a collaboration across generations: oral tradition and the scarcity of literacy or written texts meant that sharing stories by necessity meant retelling them to a degree, and building on top of the creative work of those who came before, whether it was embellishing their stories, or creating more stories about the same characters, or commenting critically on the original work by creating new stories, were all extremely common activities. It’s how we get things like the Argonautica, or Paradise Lost, or many of Shakespeare’s plays.”

Sadly, the article veers into to the popularity of fanfiction as an ability to insert “queer characters” and minority characters into existing story worlds.

“I think that fandom often points to gaps in what popular media is presenting,” says Fougner. “So much fanwork is created by people and for people who aren’t seeing the kinds of stories they want to read being produced on a larger scale. There’s a great deal of fanwork that is specifically about queer identities, or about characters of color, for example, because fans who want to read about characters like that are feeling let down by pop media.”

This is, frankly, one of the reasons many authors hedge at sharing their characters with other creatives. According to an official statement from her agent, Rowlings desires that Harry Potter fanfic remain PG-rated.

“…she is very flattered by the fact there is such great interest in her Harry Potter series and that people take the time to write their own stories. Her concern would be to make sure that it remains a non-commercial activity to ensure fans are not exploited and it is not being published in the strict sense of traditional print publishing… The books may be getting older, but they are still aimed at young children. If young children were to stumble on Harry Potter in a an X-rated story, that would be a problem.”

An X-rated Harry Potter strikes me more as artistic hijacking than “collaboration.” Nevertheless, this is one of the motivations behind the fanfic craze — to synthesize characters we love with agendas and lifestyles we value. But even more than that, it is the ability to insert ourselves into fictional storyworlds that is so compelling. According to Fougner, this is a reaction to the sting of isolation that mainstream media can create in viewers.

“…fandom is something of a salve for the sting of a mainstream media that doesn’t include us. To see yourself in work you love is to see yourself as a part of the world, and even when mainstream media won’t give us that luxury, fan creators and fanworks do.”

We read and view epic adventures only to return to our mundane lives. Fanfiction empowers us to “collaborate” with the adventurers, to see ourselves in the works we love, to continue the journey in whatever direction we choose. Now, the fanfic writer need never leave Pottermore.

Even if it means damning authorial intent and stripping the characters of autonomy.

Undoubtedly, legalities and copyright issues remain the big issue. On her website, Anne Rice puts it bluntly: “I do not allow fan-fiction. The characters are copyrighted. It upsets me terribly to even think about fan-fiction with my characters. I advise my readers to write your own original stories with your own characters. It is absolutely essential that you respect my wishes.” While I totally respect (and probably agree with), Ms. Rice’s sentiments, it’s readers desires to even consider tinkering with an author’s characters that fascinates me.

Shelley may have excavated the Monster, but is it right to think the creature is only hers’? Or Dr. Frankenstein’s?

What we often lose sight of in the debate about fanfiction is what it tells us about the nature of “story.” If King is correct, that stories are “part of an undiscovered pre-existing world,” then how much credit can one author really take for “excavating” it? Of course, you could argue that Lestat did not exist until Rice dredged him up. Then again, maybe Lestat, Potter, and Frankenstein’s Monster were always there, existing in some type of Platonic Form, just waiting for some eager, imaginative author to start digging where no one else had broken ground. In that case, even though Harry Potter may have been around long before than J.K. Rowling, at the least we must give her credit for excavating a character that others had left buried.

And that alone should cause fandom to respect both her — and Harry’s — wishes.

 

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Writers Helping Writers #WHW16

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I’m fortunate to be part of a great writing group. There’s five of us, and we’ve been blessed with moderate success, being published across a fairly wide spectrum of genres and markets, traditionally and independently, fiction and non-fiction. Our members have experience in numerous areas, including editing (copy and content), marketing, cover design, formatting, etc., we are (mostly) agented, and several of us have led workshops and been included in conference faculty. I have immensely benefited from the collective wisdom and experience of this group. In fact, we have often discussed how privileged we are to share such valuable camaraderie and wish that other writers could share in and benefit from our experiences.

And now we’re offering to do just that!

[image error]On September 20th, we’re going to be paying it forward, extending an opportunity for five other writers to receive some one-on-one advice, encouragement, and practical assistance. From 10 AM to 11:45 PM (UTC+05:30) we’ll be hosting a Facebook event in which our group will be accepting (written) pitches. We’ll each select one pitch and work with that person in whatever capacity they might need, whether to get the first 5 pages of their WIP ready for submission, or a synopsis or query letter ready to send out to agents and editors.

WHO WE ARE AND WHAT WE’RE LOOKING FOR

Mike Duran: I write in the General Market and CBA, Fantasy, Urban Fantasy, Horror

What I’m looking for: Adult Urban Fantasy, Horror, Dark Fantasy, Paranormal

What I’m NOT looking for: Romance
Merrie Destefano: I write for the General Market, YA, Adult, SciFi, Fantasy, Contemporary, Gothic Romance

What I’m looking for: General market, YA or adult, SciFi, Fantasy, Contemporary, or Literary, Mystery.

What I’m NOT looking for: Romance, Dark Horror, Non-Fiction
Rachel Marks: I write for the YA market, urban and high fantasy.

What I’m looking for: Anything YA, Fantasy, Light Horror, Romance. A mystery element is a plus.

What I’m NOT looking for: Non-fiction, Straight Horror
Rebecca Luella Miller: I write in the General Market

What I’m looking for: Any Genre, Any Market, Any Age

Accepting the first 5 pages only, not a synopsis or a query letter.
Paul Regnier: I write in the CBA market, SciFi, Fantasy

What I’m looking for: Speculative Fiction, SciFi, Paranormal

What I’m NOT looking for: Romance, Horror

So on Tuesday, Sept. 20th, I’m inviting you to attend our Facebook event and pitch your idea to us.  More details will be posted on that page as the date approaches. But if you’re interested, you should consider working on a short paragraph of pithy, punchy, compelling, provocative, stainless steel details about your project that will appeal to someone in our writing group. We’re calling this Writers Helping Writers #WHW16 and hope to see and your friends there!