HOW NOT TO WRITE HISTORICAL FICTION

I want to talk about the other Christian novel I mentioned last time.

Since it “takes a fresh look at the idea of time travel” I thought I would give it a try. This is the debut novel for this author, but even so, shouldn’t she (and her editor) know better than to write this?

Then Kyle and Jackson squeezed in between Jenna and I on the couch. (Ouch! My ears hurt.)

I noticed her rubbing her lower back as her wearied face winced. (This disembodied face is creeping me out.)

She is my confidant. (confidant what? Oh, she means confidante.)

Eddie didn’t believe it was proper for a housemaster to open his own door. (She is trying to give an 1887 tone to the writing, but I’ve never heard of a housemaster. Is this some college dorm monitor? I think she means the master of the house.)

William heeded me no attention. (This almost works.)

After all, she and I spent our weekdays together at prep. (She keeps referring to her school as “prep.” She could have pulled it off if she had ever once given the name of the school. Like maybe Johnsonville Girls’ Preparatory School, so we’d know what the heck she’s talking about. Even then “prep” should be Prep. In any case this nickname for the school doesn’t sound like something a young woman from 1887 would say.

I never voiced that opinion to anyone except Jackson and William since it was unheard of in our home. (What does this even mean?)

Even for a woman of her stature, she had a petite and delicate grace about her. (This is an amazing achievement, although I’m not sure it’s a compliment to say her grace is only petite.)

I took a deep breath and tried to force myself on my calculus but couldn’t concentrate to save my life. (This is illegal in most southern states.)

“Come on in,” she hollered to Hilary. (Hollered is such an unlovely word and so out of character for the time period. I’d just stick to “said.”

In 1887 I really doubt people used the same idioms/slang we do.

 I grew up having a crush on Jackson. 

At least I had one person I could count on.

William came running out of the house to read me the riot act.

And this is just a sampling from the first few chapters!  I couldn’t take it anymore. Blood running from my eyes and ears from the pain, I stopped reading and threw the book across the room. Once again, Christian fiction let me down. And then I wondered if it even was “Christian.” After all, is it Christian to torture readers, to risk the lives of others in the room when the books start flying? But then again, even this book serves a purpose: practice for the author and a warning to us all to continue striving for excellence.