Popular actress, standing in the middle of a big-city street, with the federally required slender body and Hollywood-required skinnier skintight suit, weapons, impeccable hair — standing still, and not even bothering to look at the huge fiery explosion blossoming behind her because she’s just that cool, gentlemen. You can’t go wrong, right? Wrong.

Cool superheroes never, ever look at huge fiery explosions, so superheroines don’t, either.

I say this because I haven’t seen this kind of nitpicking of any action-heroine character in any forthcoming film. In this case, it’s nitpicking by geeks who otherwise anticipate the May 4 Marvel superhero/crossover film, The Avengers.

The latest teaser, with an extended version on YouTube, arrived during the Super Bowl Big Game on Sunday. And many reactions, following similar criticisms of “Black Widow” (Scarlett Johansson) in the first Avengers trailer, included more of the same for this one.

Pan around the heroes… Norse god of thunder, Super Soldier, super-power armoured genius, the [author’s paraphrase] blinkin’ Incredible HULK, then…
girl with a small gun.

Widow looks stupid in every scene […]
shoving a mag in that pea shooter. She’s totally outclassed by all that power, even Hawkeye cuts a better figure with a bow.

Scar Jo Binks still looks like a lifeless piece of cardboard[.]

‘Super-Mega-Ultra-Lightning Babe’

This confuses me, especially if some alarmist Christian authors and leaders are right about the Over-Feminization of Society. If radical feminists really won their battles to show that anything men can do women can do better, these reactions seem to make no sense. Marketers also seem to have misfired. After all, what other demographic but stereotypically virginal guy-nerds wants to see pretty women in skintight suits kick supervillains’ and alien-invaders’ collective butt just as fiercely as the male heroes?

A few possibilities could contradict my finding of contradiction:

1. Based on groupthink, men are simply lying about not appreciating Black Widow.
2. The same men who nitpick her centrality in The Avengers marketing also nitpick Hulk’s (likely not-final) CGI and Captain America’s costume.
3. These folks are all internet trolls who feign(?) misogynism — same as who enjoy saying “get back in the kitchen, woman, haw, haw,” and other inane silliness.
4. Black Widow is not central in the marketing of The Avengers mainly for the men. She’s instead directed to the female demographic. More women will come to the movie, goes this logic, if they see a female representative on the superhero team.

Only the fourth brings my rebuttal. That’s because, from what I’ve seen, women who go for these sorts of stories are perfectly fine with male-only heroes. Oh yes, I can’t wait to see Black Widow take down aliens with the best of them? Not. Somehow or other, it’s still Iron Man, Thor, Captain America, and even The Hulk who are the true stars of the show.

You may disagree, especially if you’re female. I eagerly admit, my experience is limited, and men and women need one another’s gifts and thoughts to sort through these issues.

But if I’m right, why then throw a female character in with the popular heroes? Is it a bluff? An appeasement? May someday every movie marketer snap upright, look around a table, and exclaim, “Oh, I thought it was you who would be offended if we didn’t do this!”?

Simple-minded strength?

Show of hands from all women who would not have seen this likely-awesome film, if it had no featured female action star.

The source of this super-heroine marketing could be this assumption: We must put some sex appeal in there for the guys, and some girls in there for the girls. Let’s save some cash and do it all at once. Yet coupled with that is another expectation: that a successful story — speculative or otherwise — needs to show female characters as strong, strong exactly like the males, while also being just as feminine, in order to please everybody.

Many others write about how these characterizations can foster absurd expectations, in both men and women, of women’s abilities and appearances. I assume that is true, before moving to this: the self-contradictory nature of these characterization attempts.

Let me see if I can trace this logic.

1. Previous stories that showed women in only subservient or “domestic” roles are inadequate. We must now show women as strong and equal to male characters.
2. “Strong” and “equal” can only be defined in stories as “fighting.”
3. Thus, the only way to show strength and equality is to show women fighting.

Two clarifications. First, by fighting I don’t mean only physical combat (though that is a subset of this). This can also include women fighting men, fighting for acceptance, and fighting for equality in a Traditionally Man’s World. Second, I don’t mean to imply that women in stories, or reality, should only be “domestic,” in the kitchen, having babies, etc. Many women of the Bible don’t do that. The Proverbs 31 Woman doesn’t do that. No New Testament passage insists this is the only job description of Biblical Womanhood.

Now consider this: If we define un-Biblical, flawed “feministic” strength only as physical action-heroine fighting, I believe most Christian fiction doesn’t do that. Showing only this form of female strength is more common in secular stories.

However, if we accept a broader definition of “fighting,” are some Christian novel plots based not on women’s roles as people, before God, but on human men’s approval?

I suppose here I speak of other fiction genres. My bias may be showing, but I haven’t seen this issue in Christian speculative novels. Rather, it’s cozy/historical/modern romances that present lady detectives, lady doctors, lady schoolteachers on the prairie, and likely even a lady sheriff Trying to Make It In a Man’s World while being challenged to a gunfight with Bad Bart while also falling in love with the handsome ranch hand.

This makes me wonder: why are these narrow definitions of women’s strength common mainly in other fiction genres? It also makes me ask: what other assumptions behind the women-shown-as-strong-in-only-one-way themes may be latent in our own minds?

Thus this series. It seems well-timed not only because of Valentine’s Day, but because:

• My last series concluded with a discussion in which I quoted Lord of the Rings actress Liv Tyler, who became overjoyed at being able to show a unique kind of strength in her character, the Elf-princess Arwen. “You don’t have to put a sword in her hands to make her strong,” Tyler said.
• Author/pastor John Piper, who is otherwise balanced on Biblical relationships, recently said “God has given Christianity a masculine feel.” But women can play too, he said. (My quick response: problems result when Christians act like our only sex confusion is too much feminism. “Biblical” chauvinism is, and has been, a very dangerous overreaction to the equal-opposite lies of feminism.)
• Controversy continues over abortion, women, feminism, and “protection racket”-style methods of a certain business against the Susan B. Komen Foundation.

All this can affect our views of men, women, and sex in our stories — first as Christians, second as readers. Such issues affect others’ stories as well, and stories in turn affect cultural reactions to and representations of men and women’s roles and relationships. How do you see Scripture defining men’s and women’s equality and differences, for their Creator’s glory? How do your favorite speculative stories particularly show women’s strengths, apart from stereotypical action-hero abilities and stances?

The controversy surrounding the Planned Parenthood/Susan B. Komen connection brought this subject to mind. I knew a couple years ago about it, because my mom participated in the Race for the Cure 3-day event and afterward learned about said connection. She afterward wrote a heartfelt email expressing that this saddened her as it’d prevent her from participating again. She later learned that the race money didn’t go to the abortion funding, but still. Abortion is a touchy subject at our house. It always has been. My parents couldn’t have kids. My sister and I are both adopted. The troubling part of of the subject is that there is no pro-abortion argument you can make that doesn’t say my sister and I should be dead.

Before you think I’m overreacting, understand that our placement for adoption can mean one of many things. The birth mothers could have been abused and/or assaulted. They could have been teenagers or in some other situation that prevented them from being able to take care of a baby. They could have simply not wanted a baby at that point in time. As a matter of fact, the only arguments that can’t apply in our cases are the mother’s life being in jeopardy or the possibility of some disease or birth defect (and, who knows, maybe it was, but it’s a harder one to make). The point is I have no idea (nor desire to know) which scenario it was, and every possibility is considered a viable option for infanticide.

I find it disturbing that the only time we get confused on biology so basic a child can understand it is when it comes to human procreation. Dogs have puppies. Cats have kittens. Deer have fawns. Humans have…what?

Tissue.
Problems.
Career killers.
Parasites.

So, all you adopted kids, sorry. We really should be dead. All hail women’s rights.

Now, “women’s rights,” there’s another subject… I digress.

This sounds like rambling–it’s definitely ranting–but I let it play out to make the point: Passion cannot be hidden. I cannot hide my tone of voice when I write about this subject. I can’t. And I won’t. I don’t know how. There’s a vindictive streak in me a mile wide that simply will not allow for the degradation of one life in favor of another. Old, young, sickly, healthy, male, female, brown, black, or white – human life is precious, and it is purely evil to manipulate, oppress, or destroy someone for our own devices. I believe that as passionately as I do that my God is in the Heavens and that he makes his home with men. The glory of man is infinitely surpassed by the glory of the Holy One, the God of gods, the I Am — eternal, magnificent, our life, our hope, and the source of our very identity.

And by now you’re likely asking what in the name of all that’s holy and profane has gotten into this girl, and what in the name of The Two Hearts does this have to do with speculative faith?

It was already inside me, though. I’m just letting it come out. The downside of the written word is we’re bound to something that, at first glance, is void of human emotion. But I think what makes the great writers amazing is that they funneled their own passions into something that worked itself naturally onto the page, so much so that when we read or hear commentaries and interviews later, we’re not that surprised when the writer actually says “I was working out this particular theme.”

Yes, I said theme.

It’s not that I don’t think stories have themes. It’s that I think that once you try to force what’s going to come out naturally, people notice. I still marvel that the one story in which I was going to have absolutely no spiritual/supernatural influence or reference has turned out to be the most supernatural/spiritual I’ve ever written and likely ever will write. And remember, I was working actively against that.

But passions can’t be buried. And, truthfully, they shouldn’t be. That story void of those elements is lifeless. To force passion into a story is to burn it alive. To remove it is to starve it to death.

Amid all the “shredding” yesterday, an interesting discussion emerged about hooks. Rather than slip in a comment, I thought it might be better to spend a little more time talking about hooks and the sorts of things I think about when writing or reading them.

I liked the way Becky introduced the writing samples–a hook isn’t so much a trick to ensnare a reader as an invitation for them to enter the story. It’s as if the author is inviting you into their house and providing a reason to linger awhile.  There are lots of ways to do this, and everybody has their favorites. I’ve provided a few examples below, from my personal library. You’ll probably recognize most of them:

“Marley was dead, to begin with.”

“Call me Ishmael.”

“In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit.”

“The seller of lightning rods arrived just ahead of the storm.”

“Tonight we’re going to show you eight silent ways to kill a man.”

“Here on Tiamat, where there is more water than land, the sharp edge between ocean and sky is blurred; the two merge into one.”

“Dr Strauss says I shoud rite down what I think and remembir and evrey thing that happins to me from now on. I don’t no why but he says its importint so they will see if they can use me.”

“Jesus and I sometimes grab lunch at the Red and Black Cafe on Twelfth and Oak. It’s decorated in revolutionary black and red, with posters and pictures of uprisings on the walls.”

“When I wake up, the other side of the bed is cold. My fingers stretch out, seeking Prim’s warmth but finding only the rough canvas cover of the mattress. She must have had bad dreams and climbed in with our mother. Of course, she did. This is the day of the reaping.”

You’ll notice some of these opening sentences are from very old books. The idea of an opening hook designed to pull the reader in from the very first words isn’t new, by any means, but I think it’s gained more emphasis in recent years because the pace of our society has changed. Information flashes back and forth around the world, and success or failure often hinges on our ability to make quick, accurate decisions. This mindset overflows into our personal lives. We have a multitude of entertainment options that we can browse, sift, sort, parse, and record at the touch of a button. If something doesn’t grab our attention quickly, we’ll move on to the next option. So many choices, so little time.

Once we’re hooked, though, it’s likely we’ll devote a lot of time to the object of our interest. 

So, what makes a good hook? What’s going to convince me to step through the door and spend a pleasant afternoon?

Mystery: Probably the best hook for me is something that piques my curiosity. It’s like placing an odd conversation piece in the entryway, some eccentric item that makes me wonder about the sort of people who live in this house.  Charles Dickens props a dead man in the vestibule of A Christmas Carol. Tolkien’s first line of The Hobbit is elegant, and raises a host of questions. What’s a hobbit, and why does it live in a hole in the ground? Is it human? What does it look like? Where exactly is this hole located? Ray Bradbury’s door is held open for us by a lightning rod salesman in Something Wicked This Way Comes. What sort of person would sell lightning rods, and why? Who would buy them? A storm’s coming…what might happen?

Immersion: When you open the door to some houses, your host will grab your arm and pull you into whatever’s going on inside. You could find yourself in a game of Monopoly, shelling peas in the kitchen, or in the middle of an argument about tax rates. Similarly, it can be very effective to hurl the reader onto a battlefield or into an ongoing conversation. They’re immersed in the story before they realize it. Herman Melville uses a simple introduction to begin Moby Dick—Ishmael greets us with a confident handshake and launches into his tale. We stumble through the door of Joe Haldeman’s The Forever War just as someone is about to explain eight silent ways to kill someone. Yikes! Where am I, and who are these people? Why would anybody need more than one…well, you get the picture.

Orientation, or Disorientation: There are times you walk into a house and simply feel at home. You admire the beautiful architecture and furnishings, settle into an overstuffed chair with a hot cup of tea, and begin a leisurely visit with a good friend. A hook, in the same way, doesn’t necessarily have to grab the reader by the lapels and slap them around. It may only need to provide an overwhelming sense of place. I’ve entered a wonderful new world. Let’s see what happens. In The Snow Queen, Joan D. Vinge introduces us to her watery world, Tiamat, with a very simple, haunting image. In one brief sentence, we’re whisked away to a mysterious alien planet.

On the other hand, you might find yourself walking into something like the Winchester Mystery House. All the proportions are off, doors lead nowhere, staircases run every which way, and all our expectations about what a house should be are shattered. A story can also disorient us–and in such a way that we have to keep reading to get our bearings. Daniel Keyes opens Flowers for Algernon with a diary entry full of misspellings and grammatical errors that forces us to read on the level of his mentally-disabled protagonist. In Imaginary Jesus, Matt Mikalatos casually notes his regular appointments with Jesus–at a communist-revolution-themed cafe. Sometimes the vertigo bomb has a slow fuse: What seems like a normal morning in Suzanne Collins’ The Hunger Games takes a sinister turn with a single word at the end of a sentence. Reaping. Uh, oh…I don’t think she’s talking about wheat.

Not the Hook I'm talking about.

This isn’t an exhaustive list of approaches to the hook, just a few I enjoy and find particularly effective in speculative fiction, where I’m always hoping to travel to an unknown world or have my assumptions about the universe shaken up a bit. A good hook is deceptively hard to write, and having tried to write a few myself, I appreciate a great one when I find it.

So, the next time you open a book, look for the hook.

The door’s open a crack. Do you want to push it wide and see what’s beyond?

Special thanks to all those who submitted openings of their unpublished manuscripts. We had a great number of volunteers, and of course this look at openings wouldn’t be possible without you.

After random selection, we have the five we’ll be looking at. The question before you is this: after reading a submission, were you hooked enough that you want to keep reading? You may vote only once, but you may select more than one submission!

Now comes the “shredding” part. In the comments tell us why you made your selections, or why you did not find a submission compelling. Please make your remarks constructive, but at the same time be honest. If you say something that won’t help the author to improve, it probably shouldn’t be said. On the other hand, if you aren’t honest, the writer won’t learn how to improve, and I’m confident that’s why each one submitted an entry.

Thanks for your part. Nothing helps a writer more, in my opinion, than unbiased feedback.

And now the entries:

Submission A
The man, a wild man, dragged the unconscious body of his pursuer behind him toward the edge of the promontory with his one arm. As he did he was aware of a memory falling away from him like sand and he thought to look back as he tread. The dirt and stones, popping and grinding underneath the torso as he pulled, issued puffs of dust from its sides and caused the man to stop and consider his foe’s one mangled arm—the arm that was the focus of his attacks when the wild man was confronted and cornered.

– – – – –

Submission B
The demon is crouched in the corner, between the Cheetos and the onion dip. It’s a small one, only about four feet tall; a low-level creeper. I flick my eyes over the area like I don’t see it–like a normal person would–and open the cooler door to get a Coke.

I watch the cashier behind me in the refection of the round mirror as he finishes ringing up a customer. He studies me intently, his one hand under the counter, probably gripping the butt of a shotgun or a bat he’s got hidden there.

The bell on the door rings as the customer leaves.

– – – – –

Submission C
Jeremy used his moth wings to flutter upwards. He pulled himself on top of a stack of crates and remained crouched. The men he’d followed to the lake pier stepped briskly toward a boat. But where was the kid they’d abducted?

Jeremy waved at Mickey, suited up as Vulture, and pointed toward the men. Mickey nodded and lifted himself into the air. Jeremy leaped off the crates and danced through the evening air toward the boat.

One of the men glanced their direction, then jerked his head back toward them. His eyes grew wide, and he pointed at them.

“Rats!”

– – – – –

Submission D
Stopping at Kroger to pick up a birthday cake, ice cream, and plastic plates and forks seemed like a good idea an hour ago, but I, Morgan Wheaton, was still short on one item on my shopping list, and the idea of looking at Wal-Mart filled me with absolute disgust. As I waited for Kroger for to hand me Scott’s birthday cake which I ordered three weeks ago, my cell phone rang.

“Morgan,” said Gregor with doom in his voice, and by the tone of his voice, I knew right away my surprise party was ruined. “Scott is home.”

– – – – –

Submission E
The steam rising from the morning coffee was no thicker than the fog settling on the young professor’s head. His head jolted up from his coffee as the bell above the door of the Beans n’ Cream rung, signaling the entry of yet another caffeine starved patron. The professor let out a low groan while returning his gaze to the hot mug of highland grog he held in his hands. Just as he was about to take his drink, the professor was rudely interrupted by a question.

“Good morning Professor Kittlewell. Why do you look so tired?”

– – – – –

Reminder: you may vote only once, but you may select more than one submission. Even though submissions have been assigned letters of the alphabet, the poll will randomize the order.

Stay on the ground where it was safe, or climb the trees and take my chances? If the beast did not lie, I could at least taste the independence of climbing a tree before losing my sight entirely.

I would take the chance.

I climbed the tree, and the tree climbed into the sky. I chased the strange creature higher and higher until I caught him on a limb at the top.

“Brave girl. Now watch.” It held me in its grasp, turning me to face out. I caught my breath—the world lay stretched below me, its colors shimmering and misty in the first light of dawn. There was no black sheet to block my view.

“You’ve seen so much ugliness in the world,” the creature said. “I wanted you to see its beauty too.”

A large white crystal floated in the air—a perfect glittering snowflake. It spun delicately in front of me, preening and showing off its points and facets. Another one joined it, and they danced for me. Soon the sky was full of dancing snowflakes, draped in diamonds.

“Never forget—the world is full of beauty. Remember the beauty, Wen Ming. No matter what happens.”

— ^{Lucky Baby, by Meredith Efken (Howard Books, 2010)}

Christian information theorist Werner Gitt writes that in order to be information, a thing must consist of five components:

1. Statistics, e.g. the book has 100 pages, there are 6,000 characters in this article, and so forth.
2. Then there is syntax: this article is in English, and for the most part conforms to the grammar thereof.
3. Semantics, the realm of communicated ideas and understood meaning, is the playground of fiction. We do not understand by syntax alone.
4. Pragmatics: an action expected by the author, and implemented (or not) by the reader. We usually express this simply in terms of “keep turning pages.” But the goal of Christian fiction may be higher yet: “know that the Lord is God.”
5. And finally, the fifth element is the writer’s purpose and the resulting reader reaction.

A writer cannot achieve his purpose. The reader must. In order for this to happen, the purpose must be communicated effectively, and then endorsed by the reader. Due to its internal contextualization, the purpose of magic realism takes root when the writer refuses to rely on surrounding culture to define the context of the fantastical—in other words, it’s a step away from the momentarily relevant, from the assumed, toward true transcendence.

As E. Stephen Burnett has often pointed out, good and evil do not subsist in Things. The writer may be evil; a book is not. A person may react in sinful or holy ways to a circumstance; but without that human context, the circumstance itself cannot receive a moral value. Sexual acts are neither right nor wrong without context; rape, homosexuality and extramarital sex are sinful, consensual marital sex is holy.

What, then, is the purpose of inserting an incongruous, decontextualized event into a story—or even basing the story around one?

Truth and validity are separate entities. A lie can be valid if it’s self-consistent; that’s when we tend to mistake it for the truth. But just because it doesn’t violate any of its own premises, doesn’t mean the premises are accurate and correct.

Wen Ming’s story is of the child who was never adopted. The child who was rejected. Her best friend is chosen, and receives a family to love her. Wen Ming is blind, desperate, with all the naive egotism of a child who has never learned to see the world from the viewpoint of others.

The incongruous event violates validity. It presents circumstance in direct contradiction of context, and in so doing, changes the context. When an unexpected event extrudes into the environment, it necessarily becomes a part of it. Coherence ceases to function reliably. New sides of truth emerge—dimensionality. The world becomes a different place.

You have seen so much ugliness in the world. I wanted you to see its beauty too.

Far from destroying rationalism, the incongruous forces an increased rationality. It demands examination of premises and insists there are other basic truths of which we have not yet partaken. This is how I became a Christian: my own irreparable sin extruded into and smashed my comfortable context. Incongruously, against everything I had been taught to hold true by atheism and agnosticism, I could see it for nothing other than what it was.

I faced the death of my world, and with it my being.

Magorium: I’m leaving.

Henry the Counting Mutant: The store?

Magorium (with a sad smile): The world.

(Henry stares, stunned.)

Magorium: You see these shoes? I found these in a tiny little shop in Tuscany, and fell in love with them so entirely, I bought enough to last my whole life.

(Henry glances from Magorium to the shoes and back again, dubious. Wistfully, Magorium tries to laugh. The two look at each other for a long moment.)

Magorium: These are my last pair.

— ^{Mr. Magorium’s Wonder Emporium (2007 film)}

There is an acceptable time for everything, even the seemingly foolish. The incongruous and nonsensical intrusion is a quest. The Sentience Engine has engaged; our interpretations of life have become subject to challenge. Our arrogance and desperation and darkness, the moral basis we impose on our world, is about to be revealed to us.

And so is our basis of hope. In many a great story of the incongruous, as with Henry and Magorium, there is a skeptic who cannot or will not see the fantastical.

Now Thomas (also known as Didymus), one of the Twelve, was not with the disciples when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord!”

But he said to them, “Unless I see the nail marks in his hands and put my finger where the nails were, and put my hand into his side, I will not believe.”

A week later his disciples were in the house again, and Thomas was with them. Though the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you!” Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Stop doubting and believe.”

Thomas said to him, “My Lord and my God!”

— John 20:24-28

There are also gaping holes in our universe: sin scars that leave chasms in life and in the world. Bad things happen. Miracles are not the daily fare.

Or do they? Much depends upon the limits we set on what we will see and count reliable—on our willingness (or lack thereof) to acknowledge that time itself is a shifting fog, when looked upon from a clearer, higher place.

What happens when we stretch out a finger and touch the wound? We will see that it’s all too real, no matter if we call it incoherent. Whether we deem it good or evil—well, that depends on our choice of perception.

The diamond snowflakes swirled around me. “Who are you?” I asked the creature.

“I am The Thing That Happens.”

“That makes no sense.”

“It usually doesn’t. There’s never a good reason for me or an explanation. I just am. I’m not a demon, Wen Ming. It’s how you respond to me that makes me good or evil. Do you see?”

Cathi-Lyn Dyck has been a published writer and poet since 2004, and a freelance editor since 2006.

She can be found online at ScitaScienda.com.

Out of nowhere it comes, often randomly, and unrelated to someone’s depression or joy. It’s a creeping suspicion that music artist Nichole Nordeman described like this:

I admit that in my darkest hours I’ve asked: what if?
What if we’ve created some kind of man-made faith like this?
Out of good intention or emotional invention
And after life is through, there will be no You?

^{— from “Fool for You”}

For Christians: How do we deal with such flickers of suspicion? (For non-Christians, I could cite a few verses about how they deal with opposite wonderings about God’s existence and rights to rule!) Or does this always count as suspicious? Maybe our imaginations simply go that direction to do some speculating: Hey, if God didn’t exist, if people had simply made up this thing called the Bible and Christianity, how would that go? Then later we thank God that He grants us the favor of His existence and goodness, and go on.

Still, more-serious questionings exist. How do we address those? For me it’s usually recognition of all God has done, the wonder of the world, the many aspects of life that simply make no sense, and not a few apologetics arguments based on what we observe of design in the universe, morality, and everyone’s contradiction of a Godless world.

Yet there’s another series of rather dark thoughts that occasionally break into my brain, more specifically related to Christian speculative fiction — and why readers enjoy it.

Slippery stone slopes

“Pyramid” describes this unfortunate mindset well. John Otte’s column yesterday included a pyramid reference and even graphic, which reminded me of this long held-over suspicion. However, my emphasis is very different: asking if it’s not only me who may give into, or must fight off, some pyramid-scheme notions.

From JuryRiggedComics.com

Maybe some businessperson can describe for us any difference between the pyramid scheme and the multilevel marketing system; they don’t seem much different to me. In the pyramid scheme, the goal is to make “friends” (of a sort) and more importantly gain access to their trust and resources, in order to rise higher up the slope of success. All the while, of course, other people will almost always be above you, because they’ve already ascended further. You look up to them and give them trust and even resources, mainly for the reason that they are projections, avatars, of where you want to be yourself.

Right about now, images of crooked capitalists and fake-cash-turned-real-through-bluffing come to mind. But I contend this happens in other ways, too:

1. Teen-sensation concerts. All questions of a performer’s talent aside, I’ve often asked myself: how many of those delighted fans are there because they truly love the performer herself, and how many are there because they see the performer as a projection of their own desires and lusts for money and fame? This seemed especially apparent to me when I saw a partial “Hannah Montana” concert song (remember that?) all about the fact that people were singing and watching the concert song. So the perpetual-motion machine has been invented.
2. Athletics. Today’s column is delayed partly because of my work yesterday afternoon to finish a news feature, of a genre I rarely attempt: sports. I am not a sports guy. This is partly because, well, I’m simply not naturally bent that way, and partly because I see some sports fandom — not all — being based upon the avatar wish-fulfillment edifice. Some men enjoy sports not because they see athletes they truly enjoy and appreciate on the field or court, but because they see projections of themselves out there. Often they’ll hearken back to their own school games and slip into that alternate world where they, instead, are the stars.
3. 

   James "Iron Man" White

   Christianity. This is closely related to my original point about faith-suspicions. In my darkest hours I’ve asked what if — what if some Christians who are skilled with truth and doctrine-wrangling and such, enjoy these, and teachers skilled with these, mainly because such teachers are projections of where they’d like to be? I’ll make it more personal: do I enjoy the ministries of James White or Kevin DeYoung because they serve as personal wish-fulfillment avatars? Hey, perhaps I could be a big apologetics or theology leader, and have Fans to Learn from Me.

Reading into things

That might have been easier, applying pyramid-scheme possibilities to those issues. Now to consider Christian speculative fiction. My suspicion goes something like this:

1) Do most Christian speculative readers enjoy such stories because of their intrinsic value? …

I like this novel because it’s imaginative and enjoyable. This is an awesome tale; its themes Godly and provocative and its hero, plot, style and story-world very well done. Thank God for His talent in creating this writer, whose talent reflects Him.

2) Or do the majority of Christian speculative readers enjoy such stories mainly because of their own hopes to write stories like that themselves?

I like this novel because it reminds me of my own story, already in progress. In fact, I must admit I secretly hope I can be friends with this novelist or become associated with him/her because he/she might help me attain a similar position. Yes, I did enjoy the story, but this novelist is also my projection, my avatar, reminding me of how I see myself. More than my admiring the artistry and labor of this work’s creator, I’d rather have made it myself.

It’s very difficult for me to describe this. Of course I’m an aspiring novelist myself. Of course I’d like to get published and “network,” all for the goal of sharing my stories with others. This is not sinful. I’d even like to earn a living that way, if possible. But I almost wish I were not like this. Perhaps I could enjoy novels even more, without that stigma.

Consequently, I also wonder: do most Christian-speculative readers think this? And if so, if books have few non-writer readers only, is there any hope for this genre to grow?

Okay, so my last six articles have been about aliens. Maybe I should explain why a Lutheran pastor has little green men on the brain so badly. And in doing so, I’m hoping to pass along two bits of advice that I’ve either received or kind of figured out along the way.

Like I said a few articles ago, what got me on the whole “how do aliens fit into God’s plan of salvation” business was a class I took in the Seminary called “The Gospel and C. S. Lewis.” Long story short, one fall day I sat down and started piecing together an idea. I grabbed two of my friends and forced them to listen to me ramble for forty-five minutes, going over the plot ideas that had sprouted in an overly-fertile imagination. They suffered through it and, once I was done, told me to go for it. Write my heart out and get that story on paper. And thus began a long and winding journey, one that’s taken longer than a decade.

Only here’s the thing: my soon-to-be-published book, Failstate? Yeah, there isn’t a single alien in it. Well, that’s not entirely true. Not exactly. Never mind, that’s not important. Plus I don’t want to give away too many spoilers. The upshot is this: I was sure that that idea would one day be my debut into the world of Christian speculative fiction. Only now, when I’m on the cusp of my debut, I’ve done a 180 on the idea. It may never see the light of day.

Does that mean that I’ve stopped believing in it? Not at all. I love the characters I created for that story. I spent a lot of time crafting the world(s). There’s one alien species that I’m particularly proud of. And I stand behind the spiritual payload I wove into the story. And yet . . .

So let me spend some time telling you a story about a story, one I call The Leader’s Song.

After that forty-five minute recitation, I started working feverishly on creating this story. I wrote multi-paged outlines for the plot (yes, I’m a plot-firster and a outliner). Then I started work on what would turn out to be an epic science fiction tale, one that blended the best traditions of adventure, space opera, and Biblical historical fiction. Seriously. Stop laughing.

Here’s the problem I ran into, though: by the time I was done telling the tale, the entire thing had blossomed to the size of three books. I don’t remember the final wordcount, but it was somewhere hovering in the 300k word range.

No problem, I figured. I’d simply chop the behemoth into three individual parts. Instant trilogy! Who wouldn’t want to publish that?

But I’m getting ahead of myself here, just a little.

Shortly after finishing the manuscript, I joined American Christian Fiction Writers and attended my first conference in Dallas. Even though I had been told it wouldn’t happen, I figured that I had such a great idea, someone would certainly be interested in my story. I was sure that The Leader’s Song trilogy would be my way in.

Strange thing, though. No one was interested.

Well, that’s not entirely true. I kept getting mixed signals. Some people, when I told them about my book idea, absolutely loved it. Others, though, didn’t like it at all. I couldn’t quite figure it out.

It wasn’t until I got home and had some time to think about it that I realized what the difference was: whenever I told a writer, whether published or not, about my story idea, they all loved it. But when I told editor and agents about my story, they all said, “No.” It drove me up the wall. Why the difference? And who should I listen to?

In the end, I realized that the publishing professionals were right. They spotted a major structural problem with my trilogy, one that would easily sink it. I’m not saying that the other writers were blind to it. But at that conference, I realized that a writer has to be careful whose advice and criticism they give the most weight to.

To put it another way, there’s a hierarchy of sorts when it comes to criticism about our stories. One could even chart it out on a handy-dandy pyramid. At the bottom are the non-writers, people who have never written a story or even part of one. Is it okay to show your work to these folks? Absolutely! But will they know their stuff when it comes to criticizing your work? Some will, some won’t. Some might not want to hurt your feelings and will thus hide the fact that they fell asleep half-way through the manuscript. The point is, while it’s easy to get a non-writer to read your writing, their criticism, while well-meaning, shouldn’t be given as much weight.

Further up the pyramid we have our fellow writers. Because they have walked this road before, their advice is more trust-worthy and valuable. They’ve likely encountered similar problems as you have and, as a result, will be able to help you through it. They’ll be able to help you evaluate ideas, ferret out problems in the text, and act as cheerleaders as you keep on keeping on. It’s great to have your fellow writers give you advice, encouragement, and criticism. But, as I found out, sometimes that criticism can fail you, especially if you’re seeking to be published.

The gold standard for criticism will always be (at least, in my grubby little opinion) the professionals of publishing, agents and editors. Part of the reason for that is obvious. They’re the gatekeepers, so to speak. They’re the ones you have to convince to take a chance on your writing (unless you self publish). But more than that: in the course of their work, they see more good and bad stories than we ever will (I think more of the latter than the former). Because of that, their advice should almost always be trusted, especially if they’re willing to give it.

Now I’m not saying that non-writers will always be wrong and publishing professionals will never make a mistake. But the lesson I learned from the “story of my heart” all those years ago is something that I’ve tried to pay attention to over the past several years and I think it’s served me well. It’s good to listen to advice about writing. But be sure that the source is trustworthy.

Next time, we’ll talk about one of the hardest lessons I’ve had to learn and the reason why “the story of my heart” will likely remain shelved for the foreseeable future. Until then.

My fuel gauge is bumping against empty today after a couple of weeks on the road for work, so in lieu of my usual half-baked meandering, here are a few links to recent articles touching on the intersection of faith and fiction, from blogs I enjoy.

“The Real Work,” from Adam McHugh at Introverted Church: If you’re a writer, is everything in your life besides writing simply a distraction? Adam is a hospice chaplain and author who explores in his books and blog how introverts can cope with and flourish within a church culture that often values volume over thoughtfulness.

“Why We Should NOT Label Christian Fiction,” by Mike Duran, guestblogging at Novel Rocket. The always-provocative Mr. Duran, author of  supernatural tales The Resurrection and Winterland, explains why he believes the term “Christian Fiction” concedes a stereotype that burdens authors and repels readers. If you’re looking for some literary food for thought, or a good fight, check out his blog, DeCOMPOSE.

“If I Only Knew Then…” by Stephanie Morill, guestblogging at Writer…Interrupted. Stephanie, a YA author with publishing credits that include the popular Reinvention of Skylar Hoyt series from Revell Books, reminisces about a few things she wishes she would have known when she began her writing journey. Stephanie hosts a forum for aspiring young authors, Go Teen Writers, which is chock-full of excellent advice for writers of any age. If you know a young person who would like to pursue writing as a career, or simply as a rewarding hobby, point them toward Stephanie.

And now for something completely different: “Lackadaisy Brimstone,” by Tracy J. Butler. Lackadaisy is a webcomic that tells the story of what Prohibition culture in 1920’s St. Louis might have been like…if everybody was a cat (you can read my review here). Ms. Butler does her research and seasons her remarkable artwork with historical scenery and props, usually with a bit of commentary on the side. In this particular strip, an amateur rum runner finds herself in a tight spot, and on the receiving end of a sermonette.

How compelling is the first page?

It’s time for Round Two. To remind you how this works, anonymous participants who aren’t afraid of the comments they’ll receive submit the first 100 words of their work, and you, the readers, say if they would like to read more and why or why not.

This time, rather than taking the first five entries, I’ll make a random selection from those that submit their openings between now and Saturday. In order to do so, you must be brave enough to put your work forward for the public to shred discuss. 😉 If you would like to submit your opening, you may email the first hundred words of your unpublished novel in the body of your email (no attachments, please) to rluellam at yahoo dot com. Next Monday I’ll post the randomly selected openings, and then the fun can begin.