WHEN I BEGAN writing my first novel in 1993, I made a decision that still guides my work today. I would not try to write “great literature.” I would instead content myself with a simple little story, but I would write it to the best of my ability, and work hard to improve my skills to assure that what I wrote, while no masterpiece, would at least reflect well upon my Maker. I believe the most important words a Christian can apply to any kind of work are these, which were written to slaves by a man in chains:

“Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as if working for the Lord, not for men, since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving.” (Colossians 3:23-24) NIV

So I wrote slowly and painstakingly, carefully considering every word from many different standpoints. I sought out the opinions of intelligent acquaintances, and was never too proud to make constructive changes when suggested. Then, through a series of remarkable events (which I hope to write about one day in this column) to my very great surprise that first novel was published. But what surprised me even more was a comment made about that novel by an editor at a major newspaper. He said it “verged on committing literature.”

How strange it was to hear that word, when “literature” was the very thing I told myself I would not do.

Since those days Providence has seen fit to let me finish eight more novels, with six of those in print so far, and one memoir which may outlast them all. At the risk of seeming immodest, there have been several literary awards and many not uncomplimentary reviews, all of which when taken together have tended to imply that others see in me a puzzling habit of producing “literature.” This has caused me some confusion, for not once in all the years of writing—a million words or more—have I gone back on my original decision. Never have I consciously attempted literature.

Literature was for the academy. It was dense, impenetrable, lofty and apart. I simply wanted to tell unusual stories that might entertain readers, might enchant them through the characters and images brought to mind, and might perhaps leave them with a useful thought or two. How did that amount to literature?

For help in thinking through this question I looked to that ever-faithful writer’s servant, Webster’s. It turns out “literature” might not be the stuffy snob I once suspected. It is only “writings in prose or verse; especially: writings having excellence of form or expression and expressing ideas of permanent or universal interest.”

Well. That didn’t sound so bad. In fact, this was a fair description of what I expected to read in every novel worth my time. It’s what one should expect from any gifted novelist who does his best to write “with all his heart, as if working for the Lord.” Indeed, now that I think about it, this is what every novel in the Christian Fiction genre ought to be: “excellence of form or expression, and ideas of permanent or universal interest.” For what is the alternative? Mediocrity of form and expression? Unimportant and uninteresting ideas? As an inheritor of the greatest story ever told, what kind of Christian storyteller would I be if I was satisfied with that?

Since I am indeed a Christian truly serious about the faith, I have finally decided to accept this fact: whether I try to write a Transcendent Masterpiece or simply keep on trying to amuse, my underlying goal must be to “commit literature” as it is defined above. If that is not my goal, if I am satisfied with less, then I am not writing for the Lord with all my heart, and in that case I would do best to stop writing altogether and seek some other kind of work.

In exactly the same way, whether you are a home schooling mother, a scientist, an assembly line worker or a lawyer, if you are a Christian you are called to work with all your heart as if working for the Lord. No job is too mundane for that calling; no task is too trivial. Those words were first meant for slaves, remember, written to them by a man in prison. I cannot help being a writer; this gift was given without asking if I might prefer another. Similarly, a slave by definition cannot choose his work, but in following St. Paul’s admonition he can most certainly redeem it. Perhaps life has assigned you only ditches to be dug, but in the way you dig them you decide if you are making literature or pulp. Every task, from the most denigrated to the most celebrated, becomes a form of praise and worship if it’s done with all your heart as if for the Lord. That choice is always yours.

Praise the Lord with excellence in whatever work you do, and prepare to be surprised when others call it something more than you dreamed possible.

The original version of this post was was first published on July 15, 2010 at Novel Journey.

 

I’ve been considering the direction of fiction in general and my writing in particular over the last few months. Is there a segment of readers (not just Christian fiction fans) that is hungry for “good clean fun”? And if I decided to write with those readers in mind will Christian fiction fans also enjoy those novels even if they don’t have a specific Christian message?

Rather than attempt to answer these questions for myself I decided the best idea was to ask you. So I ran a survey on my Facebook page and emailed a few friends. In three days, over 250 answered the two questions I posed. More than 160 also left comments. Today, I am sharing some responses to the first question and on Saturday, those to the second question.

I asked:

Do you think readers in general (not just Christian fiction fans) are hungry for novels that are “good clean fun”? ­

Yes = 88% No = 12%

You answered:

Absolutely without Qualification: These respondents believe there is a true hunger for clean fiction and want it wherever they can find it.

Absolutely – there is so much in our world that is corrupt – cleanliness would be a welcome relief.

I think people get tired of so much trash; they are looking for something that will not wear them out or twist their brains trying to work through garbage.

This would be the majority of readers, I think.

The popularity of the Pixar movies, for one example, seem to show how much the public likes good, clean entertainment.

Given that I’ve heard many complain about the difficulty of finding clean novels in the huge general market, I think there is a shortage of easy to find clean novels.

Not So Sure About That: Others don’t feel there is much demand for this kind of fiction today.

I’m in a book club with religious and secular women and they don’t seem to have a problem with profanity, sex and violence in their readings. Very sad to me, I can’t stand it.

I think most readers (mostly non-Christian) want their senses shocked. The younger generation doesn’t necessarily hold to old standards, such as premarital relations, even if they are Christian. SAD!

“Clean” with Qualifiers: The greatest majority answered with a qualified yes. For them, the quality of writing trumps being clean for clean’s sake.

However, if it is so clean that it becomes some idealistic, unreal world, then that would be a no from me. I like some grit and struggle because I think people relate most to that. Good clean fun is sometimes a nice escape, but not as compelling as realistic fun.

I think this question is too simplistic: readers are looking for novels that are thought-provoking. I would happily have less “clean” if it meant more meaningful.

I’m not sure that we want only good clean fun. I think stuff that makes us think is better than good clean fun, even if what makes us think is not clean. But I think general fiction readers might be looking for books that aren’t so trashy. I don’t think they like the trash as much as publishers think they like it.

Good clean fun sounds like so much frippery to me. If you take each word individually, then I think you’ve got something: ‘Good. Clean. Fun’.

John Grisham appeals to both for this reason, as do many other authors. But if the story isn’t honest, then I’m almost as offended as I am by content that isn’t all glossy and rosy”.

Conclusions

My first conclusion from these comments is something I already knew: readers generally know what they want to read. “Good clean fun” may indeed have been a bit generic but it made a good starting point for this discussion. The best way to sum up this first set of responses is to simply let one of you speak:

“Not crazy about the term “good clean fun,” but if you mean well-written, thought-provoking novels that aren’t full of graphic sex, then yes”.

So what do you think? In case you didn’t missed the survey you can still contribute by visiting this link.

 

Interesting stats from Booklr.com. The 35% below $2.00 at Amazon is all those free and $0.99 self published titles, of course. There’s been some discussion in the blogosphere about how we’re going to replace publishing houses as the gatekeepers of good content. Could this be a sign that the booksellers themselves are taking on that role? (I.e. one goes to Amazon when willing to take a risk for a cheap read, but for well vetted content one goes to Barnes & Noble.)

The following is an excerpt from the new forward to this story of fear and love.

You are holding part of a human life. That is what a novel is to a novelist, because while we write, we live what we write. To succeed at the art of literature, we novelists must invest our lives within the world created by our words just as surely as other people immerse themselves within the worlds of those they love. The difference is, while other moments flow through us and around us and then on behind us into a history which only memory can touch, for a novelist the minutes, hours, weeks and months of life lived in the writing of a book will remain in place forever. Anyone can step into this part of my life at any time. Indeed, if you keep reading you will do exactly that.

Experience is the best teacher, and like most older people I sometimes think how wonderful it would be if I could take what I have learned over the years and go back in time to have a “do-over.” To be young again, while somehow retaining the wisdom of experience that can only come with age, would be the very definition of a golden opportunity.

Now, finally, I’ve had a chance to do exactly that.

I just completed a major rewrite of this novel, which was first published over a decade ago. I have gone back that far in time to relive the minutes, hours, weeks and months of life encapsulated in They Shall See God, and this time as I lived through the experience within these pages I was guided by everything my life as a novelist has taught me in the years since this story was first written.

I hasten to mention there was nothing very wrong with the life lived in this novel the first time. They Shall See God was well received by professional critics and more importantly, by its readers. But it is a fallen world, so I believe nothing created by a human being is beyond the possibility of improvement, and like most novelists I have often wished I could go back and make a subtle change to this sentence or that paragraph. Unfortunately, in years past the cumbersome publishing process made it much too expensive for an author to revisit his work, so once a novel made it into print it became a kind of time capsule, forever frozen as it was. But we live in remarkable times. Because of a revolution in technology—electronic readers, digital printers, and so forth—nothing could be easier than to make a change to a novel today and put the new and improved version in the hands of a reader tomorrow.

So I thought, “Why not?”

When I embarked on this project, I assumed it would be mainly a matter of enhancing the craftsmanship. To improve the way the plot flowed, I worked on the transitions between some scenes, repositioned a few others, and combined some scenes together. I completely changed the point of view in others. I put chapter breaks in new places to increase suspense. I improved and strengthened the characterization in subtle ways. So it’s true most of the changes were about polishing the craftsmanship, but as is usually the case in life, some things did not go as planned.

Because of all the time gone by, I had forgotten how heavily They Shall See God was influenced by the years I spent attending a Reform Jewish temple prior to writing the original edition. I studied Torah in that context in part because of a friend’s influence, in part because of intellectual curiosity, and in part because one does hope to be a peacemaker whenever possible. So my reasons for attending the Torah study had nothing to do with writing, but much of what I learned from my Jewish friends was part of the life I lived in writing this story. And much of what I hope they might have learned from me is in there, too.

In my better moments I want to be a decent man, decent enough to feel ashamed of some of what I’ve done. With that part of life in mind, the ancient conflict between Jews and Christians is also never far from the surface of this story. Sadly, as a Christian I must admit the vast majority of the conflict has come from my side of the divide. So among the many layers of real life within these pages, among the fears and loves and powers from the past, the madness and the clarity, I hope some reader somewhere might find a path to reconciliation.

I had also forgotten much of what this novel has to say about love and community. And as I worked though They Shall See God this time, I noticed something I had missed before. Almost everyone in the world within these pages is afraid somehow, and their fear makes them insane.

Although it would be a disservice to the reader to reveal what that the madness looks like in any particular character, it’s fair to say that this time around I became more interested in connections between being afraid and forgetting how to love. At times as I worked through the novel, I began to wonder if fear might be the opposite of love. At other times I wondered if love’s opposite is apathy. And those two possibilities made me think there must be a connection between fear and apathy.

Probably, when we decide that we no longer care about each other, it’s like a child pulling the bedcovers over his head for fear of monsters in his bedroom. I knew before I revisited this part of life that there are certainly monsters in They Shall See God. I had forgotten that there were so many different kinds of bedcovers.

– Athol Dickson, Laguna Niguel, California, June 26, 2012