For Christmas, the Christian Science Fiction and Fantasy Folks are featuring the second issue of the ezine Wayfarer’s Journal. The journal has had a bit of a slow start, only publishing two issues last year, but there are a few stories and poems to browse through.
My favorite elements of the site are nonfiction. For example, Brandon Barr’s discussion of Christian themes in Cordwainer Smith or Terri Main’s article on Luke Skywalker vs. St. Luke (great title). Terri Main concludes, “In all literature a character’s Christianity should set him or her apart from non-Christian characters. They must not only believe differently, they must also act differently. That means that they cannot use carnal weapons, either figuratively or literally, to win a spiritual war. They cannot confuse the agents of the enemy for the enemy himself.”
Now, that makes me think. I agree with the sentiment, but I wonder what kind of advice that becomes for someone who is sitting down to tell a ripping good yarn.
On their home page, Wayfarer’s Journal states that their mission is to “publish and review science fiction with a spiritual dimension.” Although that mission only implies that they are looking for ripping good yarns, focusing on the spiritual dimension is still a worthy, ambitious goal.
And it raises an important question for writers of Christian science fiction–or Christian fantasy, Christian fiction, Christian poetry, Christian drama, even good old fashioned Christian nonfiction.
What makes something spiritual?
(Keep reading, and I promise I’ll get to the picture of the fishheads.)
In his page-turning article “An emerging construct for meaningful work,” Neal Chalofsky says “spirituality is multi-dimensional and may be expressed as a transforming power or an expressed desire to find meaning and purpose.” That’s helpful, right?
So what does it mean to find Christian purpose in everything we do? How should our Christian purpose transform our work? It’s a question that applies to anything that we’re going to describe as Christian. Christian publishing, Christian business, Christian education, Christian parenting, Christian movies, Christian music. Let’s be creative. How odd can that list get? Christian hospitality services. Christian athletics. Christian hotels. Christian Theme parks. Christian restaurants. (I prefer my Christian Prime Rib cooked medium rare, please.)
So often, we confuse the work we create with the calling we’ve received.
For example, I’m a Christian editor and a Christian writer. As a Christian editor, that happens to mean I edit content that is specifically Christian (on TheHighCalling.org and FaithInTheWorkplace.com). As a Christian writer, I write stories and poems that are often not explicitly Christian (like the Picasso of Pancakes or my current novel in progress about zombies.)
Few of us have the luxury of working in explicitly Christian professions. Most of us have to somehow blend our spiritual identities with our professional identities. I worry that I’m getting lost in abstraction here. So let me rephrase.
What does it mean to be a Christian pilot? A Christian police officer? A Christian doctor? A Christian lawyer? A Christian politician or a Christian president? (Did I just open that can of worms?)
There are two common approaches to blending our spiritual and professional lives.
First, there is the Fish Monger Approach.
From this perspective, our work is “Christian” if it produces something explicitly Christian. For writers, this can mean our stories are Christian stories and allegories and literal extensions of the great commission. When people have a job that can’t produce a preachy product, they sometimes end up relying on fish symbols everywhere. On their business cards. Or their store fronts. Or their cars. That’s my editing job. Every article on TheHighCalling.org might as well be stamped with a big fish. And that’s okay.
Second, there’s the Augustine Approach.
You’ve probably heard the apocryphal story of St. Augustine. He invites a young monk to go into town and preach the Word. They walk around a bit, say hi to some friends, get a medieval cup of Starbucks, and head back to the monastery. “I thought we were going to preach!” says the young monk. The wise saint folds his hands together like you would expect a wise saint to do and says, “Preach always. Use words when necessary.”
I’ve heard some folks offer pretty scathing criticisms of this story. And certainly, if every Christian did nothing but preach without words, we’d leave the world pretty confused on the details. Let’s face it, Jesus himself is the Word. Sometimes, often even, we need explicit words. But the Augustine Approach is a vaccination against hypocritical Fish Mongers.
These two methods aren’t either/or. I’m not either a fish-magnet monger or a silent saint out for a stroll. I’m both. Often, both at the same time, but always flexible, always ready to shift between the two extremes of Christian living.
Is this making any sense?
Whether it does or not, head over to the other folks on the CSFF tour this month starting with none other than the guy who wrote about Cordwainer Smith:
Brandon Barr
Jim Black
Justin Boyer
Grace Bridges
Amy Browning
Jackie Castle
Carol Bruce Collett
Valerie Comer
CSFF Blog Tour
D. G. D. Davidson
Chris Deanne
Jeff Draper
April Erwin
Marcus Goodyear (yours truly)
Andrea Graham
Jill Hart
Katie Hart
Michael Heald
Jason Joyner
Kait
Carol Keen
Mike Lynch
Margaret
Rachel Marks
Melissa Meeks
Rebecca LuElla Miller
Mirtika or Mir’s Here
John W. Otte
John Ottinger
Rachelle
Steve Rice
Cheryl Russel
Ashley Rutherford
Hanna Sandvig
James Somers
Steve Trower
Speculative Faith
Jason Waguespac
Laura Williams
Timothy Wise
14 comments ↓
So we’re only supposed to check out the others if we don’t think your post makes sense?
Actually, I think I see where you’re coming from, Mark, but do you think it’s really possible to be both in a story?
I kinda think so, but wonder how you think this can be pulled off. I sorta think it’s what I’m trying to do in The Lore of Efrathah, though I’ve never explained it just the way you did.
Becky
It’s good to see your blog. I think you make some good points here.
One thing that I would like to comment on or more accurately expand on. When you say tell a “ripping good story” and imply it must be the print equivalent of a Hollywood action blockbuster, I need to object. I find, particularly in short fiction, some of the most compelling science fiction has been that which has simply taken a peek into the future and makes us think about the present.
It’s like I Robot (I don’t mean that travesty with Will Smith but the collection of stories by Isaac Asimov). Usually, you have some sort of puzzle based on the three laws of robotics that has to be worked out usually by Susan Calvin the worlds only robot psychologist.
The stories are powerful and enjoyable and are still being read almost 50 years after they were written without having a shoot-em-up scene on every page.
One thing I am purposely steering clear of are classic “space opera” stories. Not because I don’t like them. I do, but I want our readers to see something they won’t get from Star Wars or Star Trek reruns. I’m aiming for something more like Twilight Zone or Outer Limits style but with a spiritual, moral or ethical twist.
Of course, my favorite source for good old fashioned Space Opera is Ray Gun Revival (http://www.raygunrevival.com) which has just come out with a Christmas issue.
One thing I like about this blog tour is that it has really started a conversation about science fiction, it’s craft, it’s philosophy and it’s place in Christian literature.
Terri Main
Terri, it’s great to hear from you! I really admire what you’re trying to do at Wayfarer’s Journal. Keep at it.
As for your wonderful and insightful comment… I’m working on a response, but it was too long, so it will have to be it’s own post.
I’m new here and it sounds like it’s mostly writers commenting. I’m not a writer but I am a reader, if that qualifies me to speak.
You wrote, ‘Terri Main concludes, “In all literature a character’s Christianity should set him or her apart from non-Christian characters. They must not only believe differently, they must also act differently. That means that they cannot use carnal weapons, either figuratively or literally, to win a spiritual war. They cannot confuse the agents of the enemy for the enemy himself.‒
Well, I think I understand the point but I’m not sure I agree with it completely. I agree up to the point of saying they must act differently. I would agree also if he had said they “should not” use carnal weapons, etc. rather than “cannot”. What I mean by that is that characters, even Christian characters, possibly especially Christian characters, need to be human. That means they will not always “do the right thing.” At some point in the story they will probably realize their mistake and how they deal with it is important but to say they “cannot confuse the agents of the enemy for the enemy himself” means they always know who is who and what is what. If your Christians are never wrong, your story will most likely be fairly flat. Let your characters be real and I suspect you’ll have a better story. Does that make sense?
OK, my apologies to Terri. I read the whole post you were quoting and I think I agree more with the whole than with the part. In particular, “Certainly, Christian characters in stories can have their flaws. Indeed, they must have them to be believable. However, they should never be comfortable with them.”
Henry, sorry for the delayed comment. What you said in your first comment makes a lot of sense.
For me, a good story is “Christian” if it presents a Christian world view. But I don’t think that means we develop our stories backwards. For instance, we don’t start with the message and find a story that preaches our message. We’ll just end up with a preachy story. Which is no story at all.
Sermons disguised as stories are never good–whether it’s a Christian sermon, an environmentalist sermon (eg. Happy Feet), or a political sermon (eg. Sicko).
Instead, a writer needs to remember the basic ingredients of a story. Character, setting, plot. Writers should create those three elements with integrity, then let things play out based on a Christian understanding of the universe.
That doesn’t mean we reduce story-telling to rules about weapons, war, sex, or language. We tell stories that are true. We don’t flinch about how ugly the truth can be, but we also remember to present the beautiful part of truth.
And we never forget the primary goal of stories: to engage and inspire the reader.
Mark, the list of story elements you mention is truncated from the one I learned. When I studied literature way back when, “theme” was also a necessity.
I will argue until someone convinces me otherwise that starting with theme in no way mandates a preachy story. It is not in HAVING a point to make that causes a story to be preachy. It is poor execution in making the point.
In fact, I suggest people who do not start out with something to say will, in the end, tack something on at the end, trying to give the story depth that does not exist. These stories will either ring untrue in their Christian worldview (Germ, for instance), or preachy.
When you have something you actually want to say through the vehicle of story, then you can craft it into the fabric as you develop the other elements. It will not seem slipshod, nor will it be left up to chance, and if a writer is skilled, it will not read as a preachy treatise but as a vibrant story full of significance.
I think Henry’s point is a perfect illustration of how theme should work. It is in the creation of real-to-life characters, Christians and non-Christians alike, that theme comes to life, as opposed to sitting on the page as an authorial principle designed for the reader to learn.
It’s one reason I hate to see Study Guides in the back of Christian fiction. I have no problem with the presence of themes in the story, but the guides undermine the very idea of theme, putting it back to the place of “Moral of the Story.” There’s a difference!
Becky
Becky–
Theme is important, but there are two ways to look at theme. You can see it as pre-existant or emergent. The pre-existant theme is where you start with a theme and try to create a story to express that theme. So, just coming out of the holiday season, I might be inspired to write a story with the theme, “Christmas is a time of renewal.” Now, I sit down and say, “Okay, how am I going to get that point across.”
The other approach is the emergent theme. Here the theme emerges from the story. Finding the theme becomes a journey of discovery first for the author and later for the reader. So, using the previous example, I’m inspired by the Christmas season to write a story about a middle aged woman who worked hard to get to the top of her profession returning to her hometown at Christmas time to close up the house after her mother died, finding the “Christmas Album” with pictures from all the past Christmases reminiscing, etc.” Out of that story may come the theme of “Christmas is a time of renewal.”
I doubt very many good writers start with a theme in mind. At least, I doubt they start with the theme in mind without having a story premise first. I’m trying to edit my nano novel from 2006 and I notice that there is a theme emerging that I didn’t think of at first. I was just writing a simple little cozy mystery, but underlying that is a theme related to the dangers of running after popularity.
While I would not say it is impossible to write good literature by having a theme first and trying to craft something to communicate that theme, I would say it is less likely, than to start with a story idea and let the theme emerge from where that story goes.
Terri
You go, Becky! I don’t think we’re in disagreement on this, I think we’re just talking about it in different ways.
Since I was an English teacher for so long, I have come to believe that theme discussions are something for the critics to do.
Sure, theme is essential. But it also has to be something that is implicit in the characters, setting, and plot. In fact, I’d say the theme of a work is so intricately woven into those elements that it can’t even be discussed apart from them.
But see, it sounds like I’m disagreeing with you. And I don’t. Good stories engage and inspire. Spiritual themes are part of what inspires–but only when the characters, setting, and conflict also inspire.
Here’s the big catch. It’s easy to say all this. It’s much harder to actually pull it off. The more we can honestly hold each other accountable to write works of the highest quality, the better. That’s why I so appreciate what you do with the blog tours. Thanks.
Here’s to another year of CSFF!
Terri, thank you so much for your comments here.
I especially like what you said about emerging themes versus preexistent themes. The first process is inductive. The second process is deductive.
There are probably successful writers who do both. So much about writing is intuitive for me. I have a lot of trouble with the deductive process because I’m tempted to force the characters to address the theme.
It’s all I can do to get them to pay attention to the conflict! I’m always reworking my outlines as I go…
Marcus–
I know what you mean. Stories take on a life of their own after awhile. I’m constantly being surprised by what my characters do. I just recently had one fall in love with a guy I had intended to be a minor character. Go figure!
It can be disconcerting at times. I spent most of my life writing nonfiction. There it is simple. You have a clear topic, you refine that to a specific theme, you bring in your main points and supporting materials. You can plan the whole thing out down to the minutest detail with few surprises along the way.
Not so with fiction, those characters you create are always messing things up. To write convincingly you have to sort of “become” the character as you write absorbing their personality and then you discover to your horror that what you want them to do in order to make your plans work, is totally out of character. They simply won’t do it. You force them, but then the story falls flat.
I basically have a very rough outline now of the main events which must happen and let the characters loose to find their own way to those check points.
Terri
Terri, I suspect this is a little like the plotting vs. seat-of-the-pants discussion. But what I’ve seen so often (and why this has become a soapbox issue for me) is the dismissal of theme as something to work toward. I believe a good theme requires more planning, not less. When theme is done well, it is as Mark says, implicit in the characters, setting, conflict. To make it so is no easy task, and I don’t see it as one that will very often be present without some forethought.
Can there be themes an author discovers, then enhances? Yes, if he is willing to do the enhancing work. That seems a lot harder to me because I would expect that to mean changes in things like character motivation.
Mark, I suppose including theme could be intuitive, but I have a hard time imagining that, because of what I just said to Terri, but that probably tells more about me than it does about theme. I have a duel approach to writing—make the outline, that’s a must; allow other things to happen whenever the need arises, and count on the need to arise.
I have to say, the themes of my WIP, The Lore of Efrathah, have changed and expanded over the writing and revising, but I still don’t see that they would be there in a meaningful way if I wasn’t intentional about it.
Here’s a teaching analogy. I look at creating themes as requiring the same skill as needed to make up a test. If the questions are too easy, then I don’t know if the students actually did the work. It they’re too hard, I still don’t know if the students did the work. Only when I ask the right questions can I tell who’s engaging the material in a thoughtful way.
Creating the theme needs a light hand. It is not the text book, not the manual, not the treatise. And it is not the test. Rather it is the core of the hook—the story—that serves as a catalyst for the reader to engage the subject.
Becky
Well, of course, theme, just like characterization, description and plot development are enhanced through the editing and revision process. Sometimes you will find that multiple themes are emerging which will just confuse the reader and you have to condense or combine until you have a better direction.
I guess I tend to start at the end of a story (and this is just my way not everyones) and work backward. I know where everyone is going to end up and often where they start. I then ask so how do they go from here to there.
I think few authors I know would say “Oh I have this theme I want to develop, now how am I going to create a story around it.” Most authors have a story burning within them and out of that story emerges a theme. But I doubt that many of them think about that theme in the writing of the story.
We see the theme later in retrospect. The author knows that the story is heading somewhere, but not necessarily toward a message, but toward and understanding between the author, the work and the reader.
Meaning in literature is a function of what has been called intertextuality. The writer brings his/her life experience, intentional and unintentional messages, skill, concepts of literature,and vision for a piece of writing. Thus, s/he is the first “text.” The piece of writing itself stands as the second “text” Independent upon the intentions of the author, the manuscript exists on its own and may even surprise the author when s/he reads it after publication. Then the third ‘text’ is the reader who brings his/her expectations, prejudices, life experience, likes, dislikes, education and previous reading to the piece. At the juncture of these three “texts” meaning emerges for the reader and to a certain extent for the author as well.
Theme is probably the most ephemeral of all the elements of literature, particularly fiction and poetry, since meaning lies within the reader and thus is more subjective than even character, plot and description.
Robert Frost’s “Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening” is viewed by many critics and taught in schools as dealing with death and the author contemplating suicide. And the last stanza “The woods are lovely dark and deep/but I have promises to keep/and miles to go before I sleep/and miles to go before I sleep.” certainly sounds that way. Yet, Frost himself denied that it had anything to do with death.
Still, looking at that poem in my own periods of depression wondering about ending it all, I remembered the promises to keep. So, was the theme death? Frost would say no, but at that moment of depression I would have to say yes. Even though, now, at this stage of my life, I would simply say the theme is weariness and determination. But who knows what my theme for it will be in 10 years.
Less ephemeral, though, is the story Driver pulls up by a snowy wood. He looks into the woods. His horse is confused that they stop out in the middle of nowhere. The man remembers his promises and continues down the road. Likewise, the scene is less given to interpretation. Wind, snow, ice. These are unlikely to be affected by the reader’s interpretation, but theme is mercurial it molds itself to the reader.
Does this mean that a writer does not think about the bottom line of the writing? No, but rather that s/he should not take it too seriously since the reader will transmute that theme into what s/he needs at the time.
Terri