The Need for Honesty in Christian Fiction

As we continue to work on choosing our winners, here's a guest post from last year's contest coordinator, Crista Richey.

As creators of art, fiction, and film, we Christians like to preach. In fact, we often take it as our calling to preach. After all, God's people are charged to act as salt and light in a dark and twisted world, and to proclaim the gospel to all nations. If our vocation is to write, shouldn't we pen masterpieces that exemplify God's moral standards for living and present the good news of salvation?

Well, yes—and no. It is true that stories exert a powerful influence over their readers and listeners, for good or for evil, and it is tempting to take advantage of that by employing didacticism. But may I suggest that didacticism—at least in terms of current literature—is itself remarkably un-Christian? It is un-Christian because, in most types of fiction currently published, it is dishonest. 

There are exceptions to this, of course. For the purposes of this article, however, I am addressing didacticism used in “realistic” fiction. By realistic, I do not mean realistic content, but rather realistic presentation. (The Chronicles of Narnia, for example, are realistic in presentation but not in content. The story is believable within its established context, but not within ours.) Most fiction published today is realistic in presentation, and it is within that broad category that didacticism becomes notably dishonest.

Maybe you know what I'm talking about. Christian writers seem particularly susceptible to the disease because they often feel obligated to “convert” or “inspire” their readers. The result? Long-winded lectures on vice or virtue, yes; but also, a picture-perfect portrait of life that is utterly foreign to the experiences of real people. A sound-bite presentation of the gospel, followed by a dramatic conversion; family prayer, immediately restoring a broken relationship between family members; virtuous acts, quickly and generously rewarded; characters painted in stark terms of black or white...

Here's the crux: if you want to write realistic fiction, you need to write realistically. Otherwise, it's dishonest. We have to acknowledge—or rather, explore—the complexity of human beings and the crazy, broken, beautiful world we live in. Life is hard. It's confusing. People are confusing. And no wonder: depraved, marred by sin, but created in the image of God? What strange creatures we are! Simplistic characters and easily-resolved plots won't do. They're not real. They're not honest. And if humans are a mystery to themselves, what about Christ? Can we really use a Kodak moment to explain the gospel? To explain God?

We need to be careful here. A good story is not the equivalent of a good sermon—nor is it a “slice of life.” A story has structure. It has conflict, climax, and resolution, condensing the characters' experiences and hard-won wisdom into a streamlined version of the “actual” event. Our lives are not formatted like a story! (Or if they are, we are not usually in a position to realize it.) And yet, somehow, a good story must exhibit the author's understanding of real life. If the author is exploring deeper spiritual realities in his work, he must do so without resorting to didacticism.

This is not easy to do, but it is a worthy objective to strive for. It allows the author to share a deeper and much more meaningful story with his readers—one that readers will instinctively recognize as demonstrating a thoughtful understanding of the world and the people who inhabit it. They may not agree with the author's conclusions, but they are more likely to listen if they know the author is being honest. And that is truly worth the effort. How else can we act as salt and light to an audience that doesn't necessarily trust our judgment? Or serve a God who defines truth itself?

Something to think about. 

Reality Check

Jordan Sillars, the author of today's guest post, is a junior literature major at Patrick Henry College who likes Clint Eastwood movies because he's always wanted to be a cowboy. Unfortunately, all he's allowed to have in his dorm room is a fish, and you can't ride a fish into the sunset.

I like stories with happy endings. Call me sentimental and hire me at Hallmark, but I really don't like a story if it ends darkly. Hamlet, for example. I mean, c'mon, Will, what's the deal? Did you have to kill everybody in one scene? Couldn't you at least have spread it out a bit? Anyway, before my Shakespeare ignorance shows, I'll get to the point.

What is realism, really? (Sorry, that's a question, not a point. Bear with me.) A lot of movies and books style themselves as being truly realistic. They don't include anything fantastic or supernatural. Their characters don't scale Burj Khalifa in Dubai or fight off seventeen trained assassins. The hero doesn't have laser vision and can't transform himself into a giant robot. The characters walk, they don't run; they wear suits, not capes; their problems are everyday, not galaxy-destroying. “Realistic” stories present the world as normal people perceive it: sort of boring, kind of gray, and often difficult. The characters stutter, gasp, and muddle through until the protagonist dies or the cherry orchard is cut down. Rub some dirt in it, kid: “Life sucks, and then you die.”

But I don't believe this is realism. Pessimistic? Sure. Depressing? Yeah. But not realistic. The trouble seems to be that people confuse perception with reality. They look at the world, what they can empirically observe, and think, “Wow. This place stinks. If I want to write a realistic story I better present the world in all its stinkiness.” So they construct a story like one described above because that's how the world appears. Unfortunately for so-called realists, that's not how the world actually is. They forget to include the epilogue that begins with “But God...”

Don't get me wrong. “Realistic,” hopeless stories tell a true story, insofar as the parts of the story they tell are true. Life sucks sometimes; loved ones fail us, friends leave us, and dreams disappoint us. Evil people kill millions of innocents, and liars rule the world. I'm not proposing that all stories be mushy, feel-good fairy tales. I really don't like Hallmark movies. By all means, portray evil in your stories.  Show just how nasty men can be. Describe the world as the depressing place it sometimes is.

But never forget to tell a complete story. If you want to tell a realistic story, don't forget to include a realistic ending.

I love reading the Old Testament prophets. At least, I love coming to the end of their books. For pages and pages, Amos prophesies against the nation of Israel. God is going to destroy his people for their injustice, their pride, and their lack of repentance. God says, “Strike the tops of the pillars...Bring them down on the heads of the people; those who are left I will kill with the sword. No one will get away, none will escape.”  When the Lord of the universe says no one will escape, you can bet that no one will escape. Life isn't looking so great for the Israelites, to say the least. Then, just when all hope seems lost, God ends the book with this: “In that day I will restore David's fallen tent. I will repair its broken places, restore its ruins, and build it as it used to be...The days are coming...when the reaper will be overtaken by the plowman...I will bring back my exiled people Israel; they will rebuild the ruined cities and live in them.” This is the refrain throughout the Bible. Men are fallen and sinful, but God always restores in the end. God takes evil and turns it to good. Despite what we can see with our limited perspective, this is the way the world truly works. There will always be restoration.

If you haven't read Crime and Punishment yet, you should. It is considered one of the greatest novels of all time, and rightly so. Its characters are engaging, its descriptions are vivid, and its plot is riveting. But perhaps its strongest characteristic is that Dostoevsky's novel is truly realistic. He does not sugar-coat the evil in the world, but neither does he leave his characters without the hope of restoration. Crime and Punishment is dark and gritty, but a ray of hope shines in the epilogue. The novel speaks to what humans know to be true: evil is strong and terrible, but good will always triumph.

I like stories with happy endings because I think they're more realistic than hopeless ones. They resonate with me because I know that they are true. There is always hope, however small, and a good story points me to this reality.

Slice and dice: writing with limits

The Call to Pens deadline is very quickly approaching! With only a week left to go, you've written the perfect story. There is only one problem: you're over the word limit. Those angry numbers stare at you and perhaps you wonder how on earth you can sacrifice your wonderful creation to meet a seemingly arbitrary rule. But as an editor and a journalist, I can tell you that it's possible. Often, you can strengthen your writing by cutting out a lot of quite unnecessary words.

How is such slicing and dicing possible, you ask? You must take a surgeon's scalpel to your writing and cut it unmercifully, but for the purpose of healing. If you cut words correctly, your piece will be healthier for the word-surgery.

If you're...

500+ words over: Ask yourself whether you've tried to accomplish too much in one story. A short story should have one well-developed main character; you don't have much space to tell more than one story. Do all the events in the story accomplish your purpose? For the 1,500-word category, you have enough words for only a couple scenes. Each scene should move your character toward a single focused climax. If your hero is fighting dragons and suddenly remembers that he needs toothpaste at the grocery store, take out the grocery store (unless, of course, toothpaste is essential to your character's development). Short stories should start en media res, or in the middle of the action. The beginning of the story is not the time for you to give a vacuous wind-up of the character's past history, friends, and relations.

<200 words over: You'd be surprised how easy it is to trim out some unwanted words without losing content. For example, do a search in your story for the word "that." "She knew that he would come" loses nothing when it's shortened to, "She knew he would come." Try to make every word tell. Take out adjectives and adverbs and replace them with stronger verbs, i.e. "she cried loudly" to "she wailed," or "he ran quickly" to "he sprinted." It will save you words and make your writing stronger.

You can also remove trite, overused words such as "quite," "very," "perhaps," and "suddenly." (Don't warn us the crash is sudden before it happens; crash that car and let us be surprised!) Let's take the 85-word opening paragraph to this blog post as an example:

The Call to Pens deadline is very quickly approaching approaches! With only a week left to go, you've written the perfect story. There is only one problem: But you're over the word limit. Those angry numbers stare at you and perhaps you wonder how on earth you can  to sacrifice your wonderful creation for an to meet a seemingly arbitrary rule. But As an editor and a journalist, I know can tell you that it's possible. Often, you can strengthen your writing by cutting out a lot of quite unnecessary words.

The new version is only 60 words. We've lost 25 words of fat and our writing is healthier for it.

Be a fearless editor, my friends! We are looking forward to reading your creations.

For the judges,

Alicia

The Importance of Story

"Winning entries will thoughtfully reflect a Christian worldview, but not necessarily in an overt manner."

What does this "hint" in the submission guidelines mean? I'd like to take a moment to expand upon Erik's post from last week and talk a bit about what your judges will be looking for when you submit that story by February 1.

Erik talked about the problem with emphasizing a didactic message over the story itself. Is it important to talk about the message that stories convey? Certainly. In fact, I would say it's vital to analyze worldviews in literature and determine whether or not they match up to the Biblical standard.

However, portraying a theme is somewhat like chasing the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow: the harder you run at it, the further away it grows. In other words, messages in literature can distract you so much from the story itself that the messages lose their potency.

The beauty of fiction is that it is created to show, not tell. Consider the following photographs:

Image credit: PA Forestry Dept.

Image credit: Flickr

Which image best captures the beauty of a tree? Which one makes you catch your breath in awe at its aesthetic symmetry? Which image would you rather hang in your living room, for your guests to admire? Both are pictures of trees. Both are factually correct. Yet while the image on the top might be fascinating for someone with an interest in botany, the image on the bottom is the one that makes most people stare in wonder.

What's the difference? The image on the top tells everything; it's a diagram. It leaves no mystery, nothing left to be discovered, nothing for the viewer to find under the surface. The image on the bottom is a photograph; it shows you something of beauty and presents something true and pleasing to the eye.

In the same way, your stories should be photographs, not diagrams. It's easy to focus on theme because we give you a theme to write about. But don't lose the aesthetic beauty when you're slamming home a theme because the theme will lose its power.

Last year's coordinator, Crista Richey, talked about how Christian writers should instead seek to create a good story first, instead of sacrificing writing excellence on the altar of theme. She wrote:

This Christian element must be natural to the story; must arise from it, instead of being tacked on to it; must have power and substance in itself, and not rely on Scriptural quotations or witty proverbs to back it up. (After all – if your story relies upon such gimmicks, why should someone read it at all? Wouldn’t it be far better for your readers to consult the original source – the very life-giving Word of God?)

Even Jesus taught in stories, instead of simply repeating the verses of the Law that everyone-- especially the Pharisees-- had heard hundreds of times. When they asked Him, "Who is my neighbor?" Jesus didn't set out a didactic list of people that His followers were obligated to be nice to. Instead He told the story of the Good Samaritan.

So, seek to show instead of tell. See what story you can find that is true, unique, beautiful. Make it the best it can be. And when you seek to tell a true story, a story that reflects the world as it is and should be, then you will have written a uniquely Christian story.

Christian Fiction?

The author of today's post, Erik Landstrom, is a senior Literature major at PHC who can't get enough of a good story.

The tide has turned against Christianity. This is true in many areas of modern culture, but particularly so in the artistic community. At a rare best, we find modern literature, film, and art ambivalent toward Christianity. In most cases, however, there seems to be a growing sense of actual hostility toward the faith. Although in America this persecution is rarely physical, this does not discount the intellectual and cultural antagonism toward Christ and His followers. Christians with artistic gifts are hard-pressed to find their output taken seriously—their beliefs seem to disqualify them from serious consideration. 

Thus as writers and Christians, we find ourselves as a persecuted minority and accordingly, we find ourselves taking a defensive posture. We do not enjoy the luxury of a prevailing worldview amicable to Biblical truths. We are the odd men out. We are the ones pushing against the system. If we cease our struggling, we will be carried away in the current.

In response to this cultural hostility, Christians find themselves under the burden to reach out through this opposition and bring the light of Christ into the darkness. For believers who are called to politics, this means striving to implement Biblical standards into their execution of law. For those in business, this means a staunch commitment to ethical dealings. For the layman, this means an unabashed witness to the saving grace of Jesus in one’s life. For the writer (and indeed the artist in general), this means glorifying God in one’s work. 

Yet this not as simple as it may appear. Many authors operate under the idea that their duty as Christians is to produce “Christian books”—meaning books which deal chiefly and explicitly with redemption and the gospel message. They are guided by their conviction that the world needs the gospel worked into novel form. Yet often with this emphasis toward a “message,” the quality of the literature is no longer considered. I have read many books by well-meaning Christian authors in which the dichotomy between the good and evil is incredibly simplistic, where conversion is as quick and easy as blinking, and where characters speak as if reading a sermon. This is not to mention the wooden characterization and the inferiority of the dialogue. However noble their endeavors, these Christian authors have sacrificed much for the pedantic communication of their message, and in so doing have largely discredited their own work.

At the risk of splitting linguistic hairs, I wish to propose a distinction between “Christian writers” and “writers who are Christians.” My concern is that in regard to literature, the title “Christian” has drifted from a noun to merely an adjective. In other words, rather than emphasizing truly excellent literature, the Church seems to be looking for books in which characters are converted, salvation is preached, and evil is redeemed completely. Please don’t misunderstand—there is nothing wrong with this per se. Indeed, many talented writers have written about these experiences with true literary excellence. My point is merely that by and large, ‘Christian writing’ has become its own genre—and a mediocre one at that. Unable to compete with the standards of the artistic community at large (however far removed from a Christian worldview), the Christians have created a genre of their own in which quality hinges on the efficacy of the message. There is no emphasis on the excellence of the writing itself. 

Instead of striving after literary principles which have guided the best authors—many of them Christians—we put an unnatural bent toward overt communication. I would argue that one of the most powerful “messages” a Christian author can communicate is the actual story. Any message, however truthful or pertinent, will fall flat if the message itself is the sole impetus of the work. Art cannot be driven by ulterior motives—to do so strips the work of all its power and reduces the gospel to sheer propaganda.

What our dying world needs is writers—writers who are in fact Christians. We need young men and woman eager to cultivate their creative powers as they study to learn the mechanics of their calling—a solid story arch, meticulous character development, unique literary themes, precise subtleties, concrete details, beautiful language, and a cohesion and genuineness within the tale itself. After this technique, if the writer finds that a strong sense of redemption or conversion bubbles out from the very heart of story, then the writer must embrace it wholeheartedly. 

Such a writer has a daunting challenge before him—to communicate these themes in a fresh and genuine way—but they have risen organically from story and are thus fitting. Ultimately, however there is no fault in simply telling a story. In fact, this is where the true merit of the writer lies. We must never turn our creativity into a cheap platform for our message. Our art must speak with its own voice, and this requires skill coupled with training.