Into The Fire
(Under Fire, Volume 1)

by Kim Vandel

Introduction

Finalist — 2015 Realm Makers Genre Award in both Debut and Young Adult categories

Chosen by God. Hoping there’s a way out.

When Kate meets Nathan, he reveals the existence of the Guardians—men and women with God-given superpowers. But not all Guardians honor their calling to protect innocent lives. Some choose to prey on the innocent instead. Nathan’s touch leaves Kate with a flame-shaped mark on her wrist, the sign she’s been chosen as a Guardian. Suddenly she finds herself in the middle of a conflict that’s been burning between the Guardians and their Fallen brethren for over a thousand years. While Kate waits for her dormant ability to emerge, she has to endure combat training with Hassan, an ex-terrorist who enjoys taking shots at her already low self-esteem. He also draws out the side of her that wants to fight back, and if Kate can find the courage to believe God is offering the life she’s always wanted, Hassan might just be the one to help her start living it.

Excerpt

I heaved a sigh as I closed my calculus book. It was hopeless. Within the first two weeks of fall quarter, I was going to destroy my dream of medical school.

I shoved the book into my backpack and joined the rest of the students fleeing the auditorium. On the steps outside, I paused long enough to check my phone. Dad still hadn’t returned my calls but no surprise there. I hadn’t really thought he would.

Heat flared on my wrist as I returned the phone to my hoodie’s pocket, and I fought the temptation to dig in with y fingernails. That spot on the inside of my wrist had been burning and itching all morning, and now it was red because I couldn’t stop scratching. Like I needed one more thing to deal with.

I pulled my hood up to provide some cover from the sprinkle of raindrops and headed for one of the university of Washington’s many libraries. So far, Suzzallo was my favorite and not just because there was caffeine available in the lobby. With its Gothic arches and stained glass windows, Suzzallo looked like it was part of the Hogwarts campus.

A dozen different conversations echoed against the stone walls of the lobby as I entered, and I navigated traffic to reach the café where the hiss of steaming milk replace the echo of voices. Thankfully, the line was short this morning. Only one person stood between me and the comfort of caffeine. The guy was a walking stereotype of the university professor—a goatee and a tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows. He probably had a pipe or pair of wire-rimmed glasses tucked in one of his pockets.

He handed his money to the girl behind the counter, exposing a tattoo on his wrist, and I tilted my head to get a look at the design. Three small, red-orange flames fit together to form a larger one. Maybe not such a stereotype after all.

The professor thanked the girl, dumped his change in the tip jar, and stepped away from the counter. Right onto my toes. I stumbled back, and he swung around to catch me. When his hand touched my arm, heat shot down to my wrist. I tugged my arm loose, and the heat faded.

“Sorry about that. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” I rubbed at my wrist. He must have hit a nerve or something.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. Happens all the time.” It was the truth, sadly enough. I should have invested in a pair of steel-toed All Stars years ago.

Regret washed across his features. “I really am sorry. See you later.”

I frowned as he moved off toward the barista. Yeah, he’d stepped on my toes, but it wasn’t like he’d ruined my whole day. Then again, at least he’d apologized. That was more than most people did.

As I stepped up to the counter, I reached into the pocket of my jeans for a ten-dollar bill. My last ten dollars. The thought was so depressing that I ordered a venti mocha with extra whip. If I was going down, I was going in a supernova of glory.

While I waited for the mocha, I pulled my hood back and scanned the crowd. The professor sat by the door reading on his phone between sips. The guy at the table closest to me had fallen asleep on top of his textbook despite the energy drink sitting on the table. His friend was plugged in to a laptop with a pair of ear buds, probably trying to shut out the drama coming from the girl at the next table over. Based on her half of the phone conversation, there was an epic breakup in progress.

As she threatened to post incriminating pictures online, I grabbed my mocha. When I lifted the cup to drink, fire pricked my wrist again. I gritted my teeth against the sting, switched the mocha to my left hand, and turned from the counter.

A new group of students entered the lobby, and I promptly choked on my second sip. I did a quick check to make sure I hadn’t spilled down the front of my hoodie. It was black, but still. Wet showed up no matter what. The hoodie was clean, but I couldn’t do anything about my hair. Between the rain and my hood, it was beyond help. I attempted to smooth it down, but I could feel strands of hair flying up around my head like I’d been playing with a Van de Graaff generator.

Three girls—all of them blondes with fake-n-bake tans—accompanied the one guy. Laughter preceded them into the café, and I stood paralyzed, half afraid they would recognize me and half afraid they wouldn’t. Well, that he would or wouldn’t, but why—why—did he have to show up on a day when it looked like I’d been using a balloon on my hair instead of a brush? I voted for not recognizing today.

Not that it would make any difference if Rob Peterson recognized me. I wasn’t his type. My skin was too fair and my hair too dark. But I did enjoy staring at him. You know, admiring God’s handiwork.

One of the girls spotted me and came over with a smile that revealed a lot of very white teeth. Jen and I had attended Northshore Christian Church for years, and we’d both graduated from Redmond High School last June. She was one of those people you really wanted to hate but couldn’t because she was so nice. She didn’t rub in the fact that she was perfect because she really didn’t think she was.

“Hey, Kate. How are you?”

I smiled back without revealing quite so many teeth. “I’m good.”

“How’s school going for you?”

“Okay. Just trying to stay on top of everything.”

“I know, right? I only have three classes this quarter, but I have no idea how I’ll get everything done.”

Rob turned in our direction, and I shrank back.

“Jen, are you going to order something?” he said.

“Yeah, I’m coming. You guys remember Kate, don’t you? She goes to Northshore too.”

I got a semi-genuine wave from Rob and the other two girls and waved back. Then I wished I hadn’t. Hopefully no one noticed I’d discovered a new skin disease.

“Please don’t keep them waiting because of me,” I said.

“Well, it’s good to see you. We should do something together. What about that Chase Thomason concert? It’s coming up in a couple of weeks, and a bunch of us are going. You should come with us. It’ll be fun.”

An image of Rob with his blonde, bronzed groupies filled my head, and I tried to picture myself with them. I stood out and not in a good way. Then again, going in a group with Rob was better than not going with Rob at all, right? And odds were that I would look better for the concert than I did this morning.

“Um, okay. That would be good I guess.”

“Great! Get your ticket, and I’ll let you know what time we’re meeting up. Maybe we’ll go get something to eat after the concert.” She waved and moved off toward her friends.

“See you Sunday.”

I waved goodbye then took a moment to envision a better-dressed, non-Van de Graaffed version of myself at the concert. I could find something better than a hoodie in my closet, something Rob would . . . wait, she did say Rob was going, didn’t she? Or did I just assume he would be part of the group?

– – – – –

The Author

Kim Vandel grew up on a steady diet of Saturday morning Justice League cartoons and Sunday morning Bible stories. It was inevitable that the two would someday merge into the concept of Guardians—men and women with God-given “superpowers.”

She worked in the field of environmental science before staying home to be a full-time mom and writer, and she now uses her science background to bring the speculative element of her fiction to life.

Kim lives in the often gloomy Seattle suburbs, which suits her and her writing style just fine. When she’s not reading or writing YA fiction (or tending to Guardian business), you can find her hanging out on social media. Learn more about Kim at her website: kimvandel.com.

The first book on my reading list this summer was Imbeciles. I was defensive about this. People would ask me what I was reading, and I would say, “Imbeciles, a book about the historic 1927 Supreme Court case Buck v. Bell. In the Supreme Court’s ruling, Oliver Wendell Holmes wrote, ‘Three generations of imbeciles are enough.’ Hence the title.”

In other words, I gave brief historical discourses in order to assure people that although I was reading a book called Imbeciles, it wasn’t what it sounded like.

Book titles are like book covers in that everyone would say you shouldn’t judge by them, but everybody does. There are titles that evoke a strong, instinctive reaction in the prospective reader, a reaction best summed up by the words, “Ah, no.” There are titles that are too pretentious, titles that are too long, titles that try too hard, titles that make you laugh for exactly the wrong reason. Most of all, there are titles that are almost overwhelmingly blah.

When book titles fail, it’s usually by being bland or silly. Keep in mind, though, that what makes titles bland or silly can be very subjective, varying on individuals’ associations, frame of mind, and reading preferences. Fiction genres tend to develop their own distinctive style of titles, which are then in perennial danger of being found ridiculous by rival-genre readers. If you think cozy mystery titles like Chocolate Chip Cookie Murder are too cute, and romance titles like Prairie Princess are too much, you should ask mystery and romance readers what they think of sci-ti titles like Synthetic Men of Mars. Or even The Stainless Steel Rat’s Revenge.

Some book titles make a virtue of being bland. This is unusual, and found mainly in very serious, and very long, history books. You will notice that people who have somehow gained status as real historians title their biographies very straightforwardly, with names like Eisenhower and Alexander Hamilton: A Life and (when they’re feeling feisty) John Tyler: A Presidency Reconsidered. Journalists, by contrast, have to come up with actual titles when they write biographies. Perhaps it’s some kind of union rule.

More commonly, book titles try to make a virtue of being silly. This easily goes wrong, especially because of those varying associations and frames of mind. My favorite example of this is On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness, by Andrew Peterson. When I first heard of this novel, obviously named by the Department of Redundancy Dept., I decided to take a pass. Later I picked it up, but only because I’d been given a copy of the sequel and I’d already learned the downside of reading a fantasy series out of order.

On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness is the first book of the Wingfeather Saga, which is now one of my favorite book series. It was the later books that really secured it that place, but if I had gone purely by the judgment I formed based on the title, I would never have begun the series.

What about you? Have you ever been misled by a book’s title? What are the worst book titles you’ve encountered, and did the books live up to them?

Happy Fourth of July to those of you from the US, and fond memories of your own independence day, should your country celebrate such, to those of you who live elsewhere.

I’m taking the day off, but feel free to talk amongst yourselves if you’d like to discuss books or Independence holidays or Fourth of July traditions, or anything else that comes to your mind. Have a safe and sane celebration.

Continued from Three Problems with Religious Rating Systems.

Religious rating systems try to break stories into pieces that can be ranked according to content, such as worldview, language, or righteous/sinful moments.

But unfortunately, RRSs do not “rhyme” with the gospel in which the “rating system” of God’s law leads us to grace, not vice-versa. Second, RRSs are built with the assumption that our ultimate purpose is to do “spiritual” things, rather than seeing the “spiritual” actions as means to become like Jesus. And thirdly, RSSs do not respect the humanity of stories.

Those are my first three problems with religious rating systems. Here are three more:

4. Scripture books and passages don’t pass RRSs.

If we came up with a modern rating system meant to sort and classify only the “content” of a story, what would happen if we applied this system to the Bible?

The Bible itself would not pass such a system.

I hear this rebuttal so often that I wonder if RRS advocates have grown weary of the repetition. So let me try saying it this way: As Christians, we know the Bible is all one great story. But it comes in several different “parts,” that is, books, stories, genres and subplots. People also see the Bible is “fragments” thanks to our chapter-and-verse divisions of the book. (Chapters and verses were not in the original Old or New Testaments of Scripture.)

Now, imagine if someone—as some atheists actually do!—approached the Bible with an RRS. Imagine someone reading, say, Judges 19, or Song of Solomon. Imagine someone reading a single chapter from Jesus’s “sermon on the mount” without seeing it alongside His entire ministry, and the vital gospel “commentary” from Paul and other apostles. What happens?

You could easily “rate” the Bible’s “content” very poorly. You could insist it is not religious at all. You could call Judges 19 nihilistic,  Song of Solomon hedonistic, and Jesus legalistic.

If the Bible itself could not pass an RRS, why insist on these systems for other stories?

5. RRSs can transmit traditions as biblical standards.

A religious rating system does not argue biblically for its own existence or our need for it. An RRS’s maker—whether it is a rating board somewhere or an individual—presupposes these reasons. Hidden underneath are many assumptions and traditions. These may or may not align with what the Bible actually teaches as truth applying to all Christians.

For example, an evangelical movie rating website might say, “This movie has 5 F-words and is inappropriate for persons of faith.” Well, the movie may be inappropriate for children.¹ But often such RRS -based reviews imply that a story’s unsuitable for children is unsuitable for anyone. Such websites teach mature Christian adults to remain immature. The sites assume tradition of childhood “innocence” that is at best optional for Christians, and at worst, a denial of Scripture. Mature and holy Christians know what evil is. They must not participate in evil ourselves, but we are commanded to expose evil with light.²

In part 1, I referred to a newer suggestion of a content ranking system. Christian fantastical story fan David Bergsland suggests five tiers of spiritual content in stories. His approach is an improvement on simplistic cussword-counting or worldview-labeling. Bergsland also suggests a fifth and highest “tier” of spiritual content, “spirit-filled fiction”:

They are focused upon characters with (or who develop) an intimate relationship with the Lord. They talk with Him all the time, day in and day out, hour by hour, minute by minute. And He responds with emotional cleansing, answered prayer, and direct guidance throughout the daily life they lead. The characters may or may not be religious in church attendance. …

Arguably, the very thing Bergsland suggests is optional for this highest-tier Christian fiction is in fact non-optional for super-Christian characters: church participation! Meanwhile, the very thing he suggests is non-optional for a top-tier Christian character is, at best, an evangelical tradition—an expectation that Christians pray nearly nonstop and that God “prays” back with “direct guidance” for daily life decisions.³

My point is not to refute a particular evangelical view of the Christian life. My point is to show that this is a particular evangelical view, the same as “the best churches have pianos and organs,” or, to hit a little closer to my own tradition, “theology is best approached in huge books that systematize every biblical theme into complex topical chapters.”

I must say this: to enforce such rules as normative or spiritual for Christian-made stories would be one of the surest way to ruin them. Christian-made stories are certainly better when they are biblical. But we must take care not to equate “biblical” with “my tradition”!

RRSs can err by transmitting traditions as biblical standards expected of all Christians.

6. RRSs presume specific personality traits are standard for readers.

Finally, RRSs appeal to a personality type I am not certain how to classify. So I will call them classification-people. I also like to classify things. I like defined labels, systems, folders and subfolders, alphabetized bookshelves, and carefully delineated theology. This is a gift of God. He created our impulse to organize and put things in order, right there in Gen. 1:28.

But we must be careful not to see our own classification-impulses as morally beneficial, or expected of all other Christians. I think classification-people make this jump when we enjoy a story and try to find a “praise language” (sort of like a “love language”) to express our enjoyment. For example, I might read Marc Schooley’s novel König’s Fire and, if asked why I liked it, I would first refer only to Content. “This novel really explored the problem of evil, and the oft-ignored biblical theme of creation’s groaning and vengeance against man.”

However, König’s Fire is so much more. Its heroes, paranormal creep, magical realism, and overall dark atmosphere together make the story. If I try to classify particular “contents” apart from that story, I’m imposing on the story itself, the author, and other readers. I’m suggesting my own personal “language” for praising the story ought to be the standard.

This is another reason RRSs fail. They insist on classifying “content,” as if the story is simply a box, a worthless shell, carrying more-valuable Content parts—like (as some Christians wrongly suppose) the human body is a worthless shell carrying the more-valuable soul.

I can understand this response to stories. I can understand this response being helpful to fans of similar personalities. But it is a personal response, not a biblically normative one.

Conclusion

Content-rating systems (such as the MPAA’s film ratings) have their place. They can help individuals start to determine if a story is fitting for their own God-glorifying enjoyments, or would tempt them to sins they struggle with. But content-rating systems are only a start. Christians must use them as only one part of their mission to engage stories together.

But I would do away entirely with religious rating systems, which confuse law with gospel, reverse the biblical order of our evangelizing and culture-making goals, disrespect the humanity of stories, raise a modern standard Scripture itself could not meet, transmit traditions as biblical standards, and presume specific personality traits (such as “classify ALL the things”) ought to be standard for discerning Christian readers.

Instead of building better rating-system machines, we ought to help grow better readers. All humans can reflect God’s creativity as well as love for beauty and truth, because all humans bear the image of God. How much more can all Christians, who all have the Holy Spirit, learn to focus not on a God of fragmented or isolated “content,” that must be dutifully classified, but on our personal, incarnate, walking-among-us God, Jesus Christ? He is the Creator of the world and re-creator of us, so we can create and enjoy stories for Him.

Our priority in stories is not dutiful classification, but joyful response in the gospel.

This topic is scary.

I risk breaking a unwritten rule I’ve held for some time: don’t write negative reviews.

I also risk implying that it’s uncouth, unspiritual, or just backward to attempt thinking biblically about stories and songs, including fantastical stories. But it’s not. Christians must think biblically about stories and songs, not out of duty but out of joy. That’s because God gives us the ability to make stories and songs, and we enjoy them more by thanking Him.

However, Christians find many “spiritual” but questionable methods to think about stories. One of our methods is a rating system. These are used by evangelical websites that review stories. MovieGuide.org is one example.¹

Religious rating systems, or RRSs, use stars, letter codes, or charts to rank stories according to moral gauges. They might count words, describe violent moments, or attempt to render a conclusive worldview ranking (such as “existentialist” or “moral/patriotic”).

A newer approach by Christian fantastical story fan David Bergsland attempts a different version of this method. Bergland offers a “spiritual system” that sorts stories by categories such as “clean,” Old Testament legal-style, and “redemptive” fiction. Interestingly, Bergland also wants to apply this model to a story’s spiritual villains. (This itself presupposes a certain evangelical approach to fiction and reality. But more about this in part 2.)

I grew up exposed to such RRSs. Now I do not find them helpful or biblical. Here’s why.

1. RRSs do not rhyme with the gospel.

The first reason I don’t find RRSs helpful is this: they do not flow from a gospel approach to life, the universe, and everything—including fantastical stories.

God’s word assures us that His moral standard, His Law, serves several purposes. God’s Law shows us what He is like and what He values (justice, mercy, truth, beauty). God’s Law is an impossible standard that no one can meet. This means we must repent and call out to Jesus, the only perfect Law-keeper who also died to fulfill the demands of God’s Law.

Now Christians live by God-given faith and grace. We do not rely on fear or duty to follow the Law. Instead we are motivated by gratitude and love for Jesus. We want to be like Him, as righteous as He is, and we work out salvation as He works in us.²

RRSs might include the gospel in the system. But the system itself clashes with the gospel—like ketchup on breakfast cereal, or brown shoes with black pants. The gospel says, “Legal codes are meant to bring you to Christ.” RRSs say, “Yes, and now that we are in Christ, let us approach all stories with a legal code.” This does not rhyme with the gospel.

2. RRSs reverse a Christian’s God-given polarity.

Many Christian advocates of RRSs have assumed they know what fantastical stories are meant to do. They assume these stories should help us grow in character, or learn new facts about the world, or help us perform direct feats of Christian evangelism. After all, isn’t the Christian’s “chief end,” or highest purpose, to fulfill the great commission Jesus gave us?

Actually, no. A person’s chief end is to “glorify God and enjoy Him forever.” God defines a huge part of this purpose in Gen. 1:28. Here He gives what theologians call the “cultural mandate.” This includes not only agriculture and gardening, but story- and song-making.

Humans rebelled against God and their role as His image-bearers. This is why Jesus came to save us. It’s why He tells us to make more disciples to follow Him: the Great Commission.

Biblical Christians follow both commands: the Great Commission and the Cultural Mandate. In fact, the Great Commission is important—I would even say in a sense more important—because repenting and following Jesus is the only way we can fulfill the Cultural Mandate.

But RRSs do not see things like the Great Commission, discipleship, and spiritual growth as a means of recovering our call to reflect God’s image, including His creativity. RRSs get it exactly backward. They treat our calling of image-bearing and creativity as a mere means to spiritual activities. The RRS reverses our polarity. It weakens both our callings.

3. RRSs do not respect stories’ humanity.

Some RRS-based ministries treat stories, such as movies and television shows, like they are collections of parts. RRS reviewers write as if each part has been split off from a machine called a “worldview” and assembled into a new contraption. Then they assume people may or may not be able to operate safely the story-as-machine (for a purpose left undefined, or defined according to “spiritual” assumptions as seen above). Or RRS reviewers may assume the story-as-machine is entirely ungrounded and will electrocute anyone, so we mustn’t touch.

But stories are not like machines. They are messier, living, organic blends of good and bad, truth and lies, beauty and ugliness. A story reflects human beings. After all, God created humans to reflect His image, and we create culture (including stories) in a similar way.

When we ignore this truth, we deny the image of God in human beings around us.

Imagine using an RRS to review not a story, but the person (or people) who made the story. Imagine saying of a human being, “This [person] said X swear words in ten minutes and has a mixed/Romantic/pagan worldview. Parents STRONGLY CAUTIONED. This is not the best [person] for your family.” What does that do to the gospel? What does it do for our calling to engage with such people, seeing their faults as God sees them, but loving them anyway so we can live in their worlds, as Jesus lived in ours, and reach them with the gospel?

If we cannot treat human beings this way, why would we treat their stories this way?

Tomorrow I will share three more problems with religious rating systems.

After the recent shooting in Orlando, the media’s attention once again turned to gun control, the meaning of the Second Amendment, and the nation’s obsessions with firearms. Everything that could possibly be said on both sides of the issue has been said, but there is one truth on which I believe everyone can agree: entertainment without weapons would be pretty boring.

The video game industry is dominated by first-person shooters and has been for decades (I fondly remember chasing “God-Like” kill status in Unreal Tournament at LAN parties. If you don’t know what a LAN party is, you were probably born in the age of broadband internet speeds). The thrill of blowing away bad guys with eye-popping weaponry isn’t going away anytime soon, either.

Let’s look at weapons in speculative fiction. What probably comes to mind first is fantasy. What would the genre be without swords, spears, axes, and other medieval European-inspired cutlery? Pick up any fantasy book, modern or classic, and it will likely be bristling with weapons. In ancient times, warfare was a normal part of life, and since every battle is a thrilling story (for the survivors, at least), this is what dominates history books and tall tales. Could you imagine The Lord of the Rings without Sting or Narsil? The movies brought the weapons of Middle Earth to life and made lots of money for many fantasy swordsmiths. Eastern weapons like katanas frequently appear in books and movies, but I’m sure most fantasy fans would agree that the European armaments are a lot cooler.

The bow and arrow has always been around but it seems to have experienced a surge in popularity in recent years, particularly due to the big screen success of The Hunger Games. Arrows are stealthy and require extreme accuracy to be useful, unlike the brute bludgeoning of a broadsword or mace. You can kill your enemy without being close to them, and they make little or no sound. Bows and arrows get a fairly positive portrayal in fiction, being a weapon of choice for the good guys. Bad guys use heavy, ugly weaponry, while bows and arrows are graceful and swift. Robin of Locksley is the poster boy for archery but movie heroes like Katniss Everdeen and Marvel’s Hawkeye have made bows and arrows cool again.

Now we come to guns. It’s rare to find guns in fantasy fiction, unless it’s a flintlock musket or pistol in a pirate-era or steampunk story, and even those weapons have a quaint romantic charm. Modern guns are not very speculative or heroic, and again it’s rare to find them in superhero stories (Black Widow comes to mind, but in the Avenger’s movie, I thought her purse-sized handguns looked a bit weak to be taking on an invading alien horde). Anti-heroes like Deadpool and the Punisher use heavier weapons but they’re just barely on the side of the good guys. Batman is famous for his no-guns policy, as are nearly all heroes. We can romanticize swords and shields from the Middle Ages because we don’t see them in our modern society, but guns are common, and when we hear about and see them on the news, it’s usually because they are in the hands of criminals. In superhero stories, guns are used by the evil henchmen with poor aim and are merely props to be tossed away by the heroes.

Image copyright Viacom

Guns are more prominent in science fiction, but they’re usually a lot friendlier than the loud, heavy things we have today. In Star Wars, they go “pew-pew;” in Star Trek, they are often set to “stun.” Of course, every post-apocalyptic or zombie movie is loaded with weapons, and the stories wouldn’t make sense without them, though they are portrayed with science fiction level of unreality: in The Walking Dead, bullets never end, every gun is well-oiled and jam-free, and headshots are easier than taking a picture.

I’ve never pointed a weapon at anyone and I hope I never do, but I sure don’t mind watching Sylvester Stallone do it. Regardless of one’s feelings about gun control and weapons in general, our stories need weapons because there are plenty of fictional bad guys that need killing.

I don’t think anyone can argue the significant impact the written word has, particularly when formed into a story.

By their nature, stories (and when I say that, I’m assuming they’re actually decent, not mindless drivel or numbing propaganda) have an inherent power to influence us. Our thoughts, views, opinions on social matters, beliefs, and any number of other pieces that make up the puzzle of life.

Some narratives entertain. Some make us think. Some present characters who we relate to on such a deep level that when we read their stories, we wonder if the author peeked at our personal journals.

Truly powerful stories create subcultures through their influence. Think of Lord of the Rings and the impact it’s had on modern fantasy. Or the overwhelming success of Harry Potter, deserving its own section at Universal Orlando.

Or the loyalty and passion generated by Star Wars.

There are many purposes of stories and many results that stem from spinning a darn good tale and sending it out into the world.

We tend to overlook a few of those results.

1. Creativity

I’m a book-lover, but I’m also a writer. While I haven’t conducted a government-approved, university-issued survey, I think I speak for many writers when I say that few things stimulate my creativity more than reading an excellent book.

I enter new worlds, meet new people, embark on exhilarating adventures, and it lights the creative spark within. Reading amazing books stirs in me a desire to write amazing books, to take my experience of being immersed in a story and give that to others.

Even non-writers can appreciate the creative nature of fiction. If you’re a fan of Brandon Sanderson, you know well what I mean. On a scale of one to five, the guy’s creativity level nine or ten.

2. Connection

We’ve all had a similar experience to the following conversation:

Me: “I love reading.”

Other Person: “Yeah? Me too. What sort of books do you enjoy?”

Me: “Hmmm. I really liked series X.”

Other Person: “So do I!”

Me: “OHMYGOSH, that’s so awesome. Aren’t those books amazing?”

Other Person: “I know, right? That one part when Y character dies. I nearly cried.”

Me: “Me too.”

Start a conversation about books, and somewhere along the line you’ll inevitably run into a person who loves books you’ve read and vice versa. Even if you’re only casual acquaintances, your shared passion about a certain book becomes an instant bonding point.

Same goes for movies and TV shows.

Such connections are enjoyable (finding out you’re not alone in your interests is always agreeable), but also valuable, as they lead directly into the next way stories impact us.

3. Community

Community is part of being human. We’re made for community, and by nature, we tend to separate into groups, spending time with people whose interests are similar to ours.

When it comes to stories, there are many manifestations of this desire to gather in a community.

• Fan fiction sites
• Forums dedicated to specific books
• Facebook groups
• Comic cons
• Wikia sites

In a way, SpecFaith is a community, one centered around storytelling.

One of my favorite authors, Nadine Brandes, has taken this sense of community to a deeper level, creating a special group for people who enjoy her stories. Because what’s better than sharing opinions, discussing favorite characters and plot twists, fangirling (or fanboying—yes, that can be a thing), or joining together to spread the word about books you love? All in a group of people who are members for the same reason?

How cool is that?

Participating in such a community is a blast. And such interaction is made possible only through storytelling. After all, without the stories as the foundation, the house could never exist.

Just another reason why stories in all forms are amazing.

Every once in a while a new writer emerges who seems to capture the imagination of a large number of people. I don’t know why that is. Perhaps they have an existing platform like singer/songwriter Andrew Peterson. Maybe they have a large circle of influence from their day job such as Patrick Carr. Maybe their writing wins fans, like Jill Williamson’s. Maybe they’ve garnered some fame from some other exploit such as Tosca Lee.

At any rate, various writers have burst on the scene as if from nowhere. They may garner awards or have instant success as far as sales are concerned. People are talking about this author. They’re doing book signings and speaking at conferences.

So who are these people?

Of course, it’s impossible to say who the next new voice is going to be, unless you’re an acquisition editor and you know about the terrific novel you signed that is about to come out.

The thing about new voices, though, is that they sometimes take a little while before readers find their books. In other words, some come storming onto the scene and others build slowly to a crescendo. Frank Peretti stormed; Tosca Lee built.

Because I’m a novelist, I’ve given some thought to what exactly makes a book or an author stand out—what gets their work noticed. Because the truth is, some really, really good books get bypassed and those authors never become the new, favorite voice.

I think of it a lot like drafting in professional sports. Each of the major sports set aside a day (or days) for the professional teams in the US to select players who wish to come into the pros. These are usually college players, but sometimes high school graduates (such as Kobe Bryant) get drafted, as do some players from European or Australian leagues.

The key is, those trying to make it in the pros want to impress. They want to be noticed, for the right reasons. They want scouts to see their video. They want to perform well at the camps and whenever they’re invited to work out for a team.

But inevitably, there are good players that go undrafted. Yet some manage to make it in the pros anyway. The Denver Broncos are notorious for undrafted players who end up starting for them and even making the Pro Bowl, like cornerback Chris Harris has done. So what’s their secret? How do they present themselves and get noticed?

That’s the question. Talented players get overlooked by 32 teams. Not once, but in the case of the NFL, seven times, in seven different rounds.

The thing is, some of those who get drafter, even in the first round, end up being NFL busts. In other words, they had great promise and received a lot of attention. Some team even chose them out of all the other eligible players, but they ended up striking out. What got them noticed? What got them “fired”?

Any kind of talent type competition is similar. There’s a singing competition on NBC called The Voice, and it’s similar. What gets a coach to turn his chair for one good singer instead of another? Sometimes the coaches will admit they made a mistake by not trying to bring a particular singer onto his or her team. Sometimes they’ll try to articulate why they didn’t turn for a contestant. Usually they’ll say things like, they weren’t quite ready or there wasn’t something that stood out.

In other words, they’re looking for a fresh voice, something that is unique, a little off center. Which seems odd at first. I mean, if all the fans like A, why do you want to look for A- or B+ or even A+? Why not look for more A?

The fact is, some athletes, singers, and writers have the ability to move the pile—they lead the way to something a little different, and fans follow.

Steph Curry is like that in the NBA. No one called him “the next Kobe Bryant.” He does something different, freakishly different and equally unstoppable. And suddenly hitting three point shots is even more popular than slam dunks. He changed the game so that now teams are looking to sign shooters like Steph Curry (as if!)

So who are the new voices in Christian speculative fiction? Who is moving the pile? Who is doing something a little different so that editors are saying, we want a writer like that?

I’m going to make a suggestion though I haven’t read this book yet: The Green Ember by S. D. Smith and illustrated by Zach Franzen. Here’s what one reviewer said:

“My place beside you, my blood for yours. Till the Green Ember rises or the end of the world!” So ends the prologue to The Green Ember. What a start! S.D. Smith’s debut novel stands in stark contrast to most contemporary middle school fiction. Courage, loyalty, wisdom, and hope abound. Classic virtues are esteemed. It is moral without moralizing. It is dramatic without resorting to preteen angst. It is swashbuckling without glorifying violence. Good is good and evil is evil. Clearly Smith is influenced by Lewis’ Narnia, but this isn’t derivative fan fiction. Smith has created a new world that stands on its own inhabited by wonderful and sometimes terrifying characters.

Sounds like a new voice, to me, if you can call a book that came out in 2014 “new.”

So what do you think? What new book/author is about to burst onto the literary scene with a big, cannonball splash?

The Hive

by John Otte

Introduction

Finalist – 2015 Realm Makers Genre Award In Science Fiction

ON THE RUN TO SAVE HER BABY

Why is Zain pregnant? She belongs to the Hive, a collective of cyborgs who choose to live apart from the rest of human society. At times, the Hive rent out some of their females to produce tailor-made children for paying couples. But Zain is an engineer, not a breeder. When she finds herself separated from the Hive, she decides to find the person who she thinks ordered the baby. Surely they’ll help her find her way home.

Matthew “Scorn” Nelson has spent the better part of his teenage years cracking computer systems, causing mischief and havoc wherever he can. But the night of his greatest triumph turned into a painful memory, one he wants to erase. But that night was also his first step on a road to faith. When Zain arrives on his doorstep, Scorn is horrified. What’s he supposed to do with a pregnant teenage cyborg?

Unfortunately, he’ll have to answer that question on the run. Zain’s people want to reclaim her and terminate her pregnancy. And both the Ministrix and the Praesidium, two intergalactic governments in a constant state of cold war, want Zain’s baby for their own reasons. Will their enemies run them down? Or will Zain find a new Hive for both her and her child?

Excerpt

The Hive bled.

A tremor rumbled through her and she winced. Normally her mind was alive with images spun from the others: star fields; tumbling engineering data, accompanied by random sounds and thoughts; a constant ebb and flow that rushed through her, buoying her thoughts and wrapping her in a warm cocoon. But now, the images faded in and out. The world cracked at the seams. The Hive’s song—the chorus of soothing voices blended with her thoughts—turned discordant and harsh.

What was happening?

She reached out to draw in assurance from the others’ minds but cold emptiness echoed back. Her breathing exploded in ragged gasps and she clutched tighter to the strands that bound them all together. But the world continued to unravel, light stabbing through her eyes. Thunder crashed in the distance, growing louder, carried on waves of smoke.

What was going on? She cast the inquiry into the Hive, hoping to at least hear an answering ping, some indication the others were still with her.

Silence.

Had the splinter ship failed? She tried to call up a diagnostic subroutine but the connection to the Hive slipped. Only partial results filtered through. Catastrophic failure. Emergency conditions. Evacuation recommended.

An unquenchable urge built within her. She had to detach. Ice clawed up her spine. She had never been independent of the Hive before. This splinter ship was the closest she ever came, but even here she traveled with a hundred others, shored up by the combined weight of their minds. To be truly alone, adrift in space . . .

Another tremor rocked her, accompanied by a burst of light. She had to act. Now.

With a gasp, she fell back into her body. The walls of ther pod threatened to suffocate her. A line of light traced around her and the metal burst. Rancid air washed over her as she gagged and stumbled, landing on her hands and knees on the heaving deck.

Her surroundings swam before her vision sharpened, her ocular implants straining to compensate for the obscured lighting. She sucked in a deep breath to calm her churning stomach, only to choke on the hot smoke.

Fragments of the splinter ship’s control matrix threaded through her consciousness, asking if she wanted to be outfitted for emergency maneuvers. She nodded, mentally issuing the needed orders.

Robotic arms burst from the walls, sleek and gray in the low light. They whirled around her, their thin fingers splayed wide. A grid of red lines traced over her body. She remained still, trying to ignore the distant thunder of an explosion somewhere within the ship.

The metal fingers completed their orbit, then snared her arms. Warmth oozed up and over her shoulder, spreading down her chest and back and encasing her legs. A thin, black substance coated her body, hardening into skintight clothing. Other arms pressed formfitting metal plates to encircle her arms, legs, and torso. She frowned. The matrix wasn’t outfitting her with any tools beyond what she already had in her artificial right arm. She was an engineering drone on a damaged ship. Why not let her work?

Instead, the control matrix dumped information into her cognitive implants. Wisps of astrogation data, speculation on the current conflict between the Ministrix and Praesidium, survival tactics—it all bled together in an overwhelming mess. She tried to stem the flow, but the matrix was relentless in its dying gift to her.

The lights of the splinter ship flickered and the robotic arms convulsed. Then, with a low rumble that shook the deck, the ship went still. The matrix fell silent and she was plunged into darkness.

She tried to move, but the metallic fingers remained attached to her left shoulder, holding her immobile.

This wouldn’t do. She examined the fingers, her optical scanners identifying the weak points. A cutter torch popped out of the palm of her right hand. Sparks flew as she cut herself freen. That done, she grabbed the remaining appendages and twisted. With a screech of tearing metal, the fingers broke. She nodded. True, the arms hadn’t completed their task—which left parts of her legs and lower back unarmored—but she needed to leave.

Now.

Still . . . what about the others? With the control matrix gone, there was no way to touch their minds. Maybe there were other survivors. Hive-mates who might need her help, especially if they were still trapped in their pods. She had to find out for sure.

She wrenched the door open and the air sighed past her. The hull was probably sill intact. She groped her way down the corridor.

A wave of vertigo washed over her. She stumbled and caught herself against the wall. The gray plating fluctuated, sending her stomach into free fall. Scrunching her eyes shut against the rolling in her gut, she pressed on. She’d find the rest of the crew quickly. She ducked under a half-open door and into the spacious bay beyond. Dozens of pods lined the walls.

She knelt down next to one, running her hand along the smooth metal. The device was cold, its lights and panels, dark. She pounded against the pod and then pressed her ear against the side . . .

Nothing.

She tried to force the pod open but couldn’t slip her fingers into the hatch.

She moved down the line. The other pods remained unresponsive. Had the occupants died? She could cut open the pod, the same way she had sliced off the robotic arm, but that would wast both oxygen and time, and for what? A fleeting hope. As much as it killed her, she had to leave.

After twenty minutes of shimmying through engineering ducts, she came to the only part of the ship that clung to power. The warmth of the escape pod bled through the chilling air, urging her into its lit maw. She slid into the plush seat, safety restraints worming around her body. She glanced toward the open door. Maybe another survivor would join her.

Five minutes later, she linked with the escape pod’s systems and ordered it to depart.

The acceleration pressed her against the seat. She closed her eyes, watching through the escape pod’s sensors as she sped away from the only world she knew. Loneliness threatened to smother her. She stretched out as much as she could, hoping to catch a glimmer of the Hive, to feel its comforting buzz in her mind again.

Silence answered her.

– – – – –

The Author

John W. Otte, a former columnist here at Spec Faith, grew up in Columbia Heights, a suburb of Minneapolis, Minnesota. When he was younger, he dreamed of being a superhero, fueled by reading collections of Superman and Batman comics. Instead, he attended college at Concordia University in St. Paul, Minnesota, where he majored in theatre. He graduated summa cum laude in 1996 and then attended Concordia Seminary in St. Louis, Missouri, where he received his Master of Divinity in 2000. He now serves as a pastor in Blue Springs, Missouri, where he lives with his wife and two sons.

He has published short stories in The Leading Edge Magazine and Dragons, Knights, and Angels in 2006. He was a ACFW Genesis Contest Finalist in 2008. His debut novel, Failstate, was a finalist for the 2013 Christy Awards and he has been a finalist two other times with Numb and Failstate: Nemesis. He is a member of American Christian Fiction Writers.