Into the Fire

If I recall correctly, I read some great fiction last summer. Or was it spring? Or fall or winter maybe? Anyway, it seems like a while since . . . The problem is I’ve been reading almost constantly for the month of June. Maybe I’m reading too much.

No one needs to tell me there’s nothing new under the sun. It’s all been said or thought of or written. The key is telling it so it feels new, fresh, or different somehow. No small challenge for writers. Too many books and writers, too little material.

So what separates one novel from another when they’re both addressing the same issues? Example: two novels I’ve read recently both present grieving mothers of twins although different ages of children and different causes of death. What are the odds? Neither woman was remotely empathetic for me, although I certainly agree they should’ve been. They both had similar personality traits which made them unattractive to me. Both women performed heroic acts in the end which didn’t fit their established characters. And since both characters consumed many pages of said novels, the stories contained a lot of misery for this reader. Suffice it to say no “fresh” approach . . .

Several (not all) of the recently read novels hail back to the generic writing which critics of Christian fiction pounce upon as being inferior. While I think it’s unfair to pigeonhole Christian fiction since general market fiction is full of pulp, the fact remains there are still published novels out here in CBA land which don’t exactly demonstrate the crème de la crème of writing talent. But, and this is an important but, there are some who write amazing literature, skilled to the gills, with beautiful stories, fascinating characters, not a shallow dip in their pools to be sure, and just plain good reading. And, yeah, they spoil a reading writer.

The completely audacious point of all this is it doesn’t matter. Much. To every novel I give a less than thrilled review, there are those who love them. I don’t know if those who love them amount to enough to get them into second and third printings, but at least the author gains the satisfaction and approval of some readers.

Whoever finds their way into publication should be published. To complete the obstacle course for even acquiring an agent deserves some merit in my book. Focused determination and usually a considerable donation to the multiple and varied coffers of publishing are enough of a deterrent by themselves, but the marketing aspect of book proposals puts writers like me into no-man’s land. I find myself shuddering at most of the efforts of most of the authors because the saturation/desperation factor of accolades or testimonies or MY book this or see MY interview here absolutely embarrasses me. There must be a better way. Isn’t there?

No one appreciates affirmation more than I do. No one. And, believe me, I’m tempted to put my novels “in your face” at times. Every single time I’ve put in a shameless plug on my own blog, I’ve felt uncomfortable. But, as the professionals like to admonish us, who else is going to sell my book?

But with this reading thing . . . When the plots run together, and the characters all “look” alike, a reader can feel like he’s wasting his time. And since I’m a writer, perhaps I should be writing more and reading less. But then . . . along comes a tour featuring one of my favorites and I’m so gone to sign up. And who among us readers doesn’t like to discover a new favorite?

The question still remains for me . . . am I just reading too much?

Father, you know the answers to all my questions. I’m grateful that I can turn to you and be satisfied. Thank you for those who you allow to share in my stories and who receive something from them. The books belong to you. It’s always your call. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.