Into the Fire

Passionate thoughts about the world of writing and the Power of God

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Passionate: right or wrong. Writes love stories with a passion. Raw Romantic Redemptive

  • On writing Romance . . .

    Since it’s almost Valentine’s Day, I’ll tackle my bi-yearly topic from another angle.

    Hmm. Being a writer of what I choose to call “non-traditional romance”, perhaps just to be difficult but mostly because my stories don’t fall into the traditional “norm” for CBA romance, I’ve realized that of all the genres it might just be easiest to write poorly when constructing a romance novel. I admit I read less of the genre now than when I began to write them, and from that beginning I’ve strayed noticeably from the more “proper” forms. The beautiful exception to that “norm” of old was Francine Rivers’ Redeeming Love setting the legendary benchmark for an amazing story with the accompanying writing to match.

    I have to chuckle every time my friend Mike Duran mentions “romance” because it is invariably coupled with the adjective “sappy”. Now I question how much romance Mike has actually read in either ABA or CBA, but the point here rests in the perception of romance writing as being gooey, too sweet, formulaic, and concluding with perfect endings. Well . . . that’s not too far from the truth with a lot of category romance. Different publishers designate whatever restrictions they prefer in certain imprints for romance, but the larger CBA publishers truly are branching out and daring to allow such amazing stories as Lisa Samson’s The Passion of Mary-Margaret which artfully and without blanching creates a story dotted with sordid situations. Kristen Heitzmann writes strong and meaningful romance for Bethany House.

    The changes I’ve noticed in recent romance writing which isn’t peculiar to the genre are heroines who have whiny tendencies, immature or abandoned faith issues which never quite get beyond shallow, self-absorbed personalities, and who seem not to have a clue what men are like, what they value, or where their struggles lie, and once they have conflict with them: they seem not to care about those very things. I know I can’t handle those kinds of characters in either gender or in any story unless the writer can somehow give them a more dimensional personality to draw out my concern for them.

    These characters I just described have been visible in other genres but they’re usually less conspicuous or less important in them. Romance focuses its attention on the heroine and/or protagonist so if either of them or both are flawed to the point of irreconcilable differences between them and me, I usually fall just short of hating the book.

    One reason I call my “stuff” non-traditional romance is because sexual issues play an important role in all of my novels. Unless an author writes for pre-teens, it seems disingenuous to leave out the challenges of sexual attraction in a romance novel. And since the world’s view of these attractions and reactive situations contrast to God’s view on this matter, worldly conduct plays out without judgment on the pages of my novels. And this is the precise reason I always seem to quantify who my audience is and who it isn’t. I have no idea why Christians get squeamish about sex as long as it’s not graphically portrayed since it is the physical means God ordained for committed people to share and enjoy their love. The multiple obstacles to this enjoyment involve all kinds of perplexities in the human psyche from perceptions to physical assaults, so the area lends itself to meaningful story material. Characters that face romantic circumstances must face sexual issues. Worldly characters and Christian characters handle situations differently, but it can be a genuine struggle for either depending on those situations.

    Nevertheless, romance often suffers from cliché, from two dimensional men and women, and from formulaic writing with little imagination or unique style. Sometimes the “clean” factor is unrealistic, but its appeal services a particular group of readers. The more blatant writing about sexual issues in romance offends a portion of this group, some even to the point of harsh criticism.

    I’ve concluded romance writing is difficult to make meaningful to readers like myself. I like pop and sizzle, real characters who demonstrate their humanity and their spirituality and how they struggle with both when confronted with relationship, romance, and redemption.

    Father, some days we sit atop our little mountains and other days we plunge to the rocks below. You know me, and what’s important for me. Please help me to focus on you in all things. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

  • Polarized.

    It can be fascinating to see the different responses to pieces of “art”. When I saw the Academy Award nominations, I laughed out loud at the placing of “District 9” in the Best Film category. I know a couple of my friends immensely enjoyed and appreciated this movie, but many others of us less enlightened folks couldn’t get through more than a half hour of it. Another film that a few friends hold in high regard is “300”. It happens to be on my Top Five All-Time Worst Films list where “District 9” would also be placed if I could’ve stomached watching the entire movie. To each his own, huh?

    These same often intense debates carry on about films, novels, other writings, and paintings. Although there are contests for the different arts, many of us who participate in these forums mostly compete against ourselves. We face our insecurities daily as we direct, write, or paint, using a camera, pencil, brush, or anything else to create. Constantly aware that others possess greater abilities than ourselves, we often struggle through the creative process either urging ourselves to persevere or to give up—or both.

    More often than we’d like to believe our writing can be polarizing. Having experienced this recently with two different comments here, the seesaw of being a writer either helps you experience the sensation of soaring or the bane of dropping fast and hard back to ground level. We either push ourselves back up or remain seated on that hard board too dismayed to try elevating ourselves again.

    This is the primary reason I don’t enjoy doing “negative” reviews and why I try to stipulate that either I’m not the target audience for the novel or I’m reasonably sure others will enjoy the book. However, for review purposes I do give specific reasons for why I don’t like a book because those readers like me will not appreciate the book either. Plus, as I’ve said more than once here, I’m obligated to tell the truth concerning my opinion of a story since the book was sent to me free of charge for specific review purposes.

    You’d never guess from some of my posts here that I’m mostly a non-confrontational person. However, I do have what I sometimes ruefully call “the prophet mentality”. Gray areas can escape my gray matter regarding certain issues. Black or white shout out their reasoning at times and I’m obligated to forward those notions. It’s in me in some cases to be exacting and, well . . . opinionated. Remember me? Passionate: right or wrong.

    I’ve struggled with the demon of inferiority my entire life, feeling worthless whether or not I’ve been good at something or not. Jesus took a long time to convince me otherwise, but it remains solid bait for the enemy. Yet I know who I am becoming in Christ, that He alone gives me worth, and I need to be content in my own skin because I’m not going to be wearing someone else’s—although that could have a lot to do with why I’ve always wanted to act.

    The writing gig, specifically novels, polarizes audiences. Love a book or hate it or give it an “eh”. Most opinions remain steady even through discussions. The “eh” crowd just can’t be moved by the book while the love and hate crowd argue their assessments, some in fun, others in frenzy, definitely displaying they were moved one way or the other.

    Creating something makes us vulnerable if we share it. Some of us get huge exposure, others of us minimal. Either way the opportunity exists for producing polarized responses.

    Lord, you know me. Somehow you love me. Thank you, Jesus.

  • Residing in . . . Thin Places

    In Thin Places Mary E. DeMuth has bared her soul and sacrificed herself on the altar of confession. The horrendously ugly events which soiled the young life of this lovely and achingly honest woman lay raw and bleeding on the pages of Thin Places. I’ve read three of Mary’s novels, all well-scripted in her unique voice and style, but for me this memoir is her very best book.

    Some will undoubtedly ask why Mary agreed to tell her story, cringing and shuddering at the revelations of her life, but others will sink uncomfortably into the knowing of such sadness and the terrorization of a little soul and thank God for Mary’s courage. Those readers will learn they are truly not alone in the struggle to find an end to the memories which can’t be fully extinguished no matter how hard they try in so many different ways to achieve “normal”.

    Rarely are people this honest in even their closest relationships, fearful to admit the most common of shortcomings borne out of selfish ways or acquired bad habits. Mary cuts to the very core of her being and gives the reader a real look at the sources of her fears and what she considers her worst weaknesses and unlovable traits. Her truthfulness is just one of the attributes which makes her so lovable and so genuine.

    Gracing the cover of this memoir is a picture of Mary herself which only serves to accentuate the injustice of her horrible abuse. The title comes from a beautiful and appropriate Celtic reference and is explained in the third paragraph of the book with examples of those “thin places” used throughout to demonstrate Mary’s keen insights and willing perceptions of God’s purpose and residence in her life.

    I know Mary received one insulting review of this memoir, and I can only say to the person who wrote it: Shame on you. My guess is that person experienced something terrible in his/her own life and figures he’s overcome it. No one overcomes this kind of thing in this life. It remains like the hint of a ghost across the room only visible to the one who feels its presence. Yes, Jesus heals and delivers, but scars remain to remind. Most people push these things down so deep they suffer physical illness throughout their lives. Mary exposes every symptom, every malady, physical, spiritual, and emotional, that she’s suffered as a result of the pain she knew at a very young age. To criticize her journey or how she’s chosen to express her experiences is at the very least cruel.

    Thin Places is a very well written, truthful account of one woman’s efforts to reach Jesus in her pain, to accept the love of God in spite of the fear and doubt, and to forge her way through her scar tissue by “turning trials to triumphs”.

    Highly recommend this memoir for a variety of readers.

    Father, soak Mary in the waters of your Spirit, the cleansing of your love. Continue to hold her close and maneuver her to those thin places that you provide to give us glimpses of divine purpose and comfort. This woman is invaluable to you—please remind her of that daily so she can experience more triumph than trials in the next portion of her life. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

  • Under a . . . Hunter’s Moon

    [Forgive me for this but when I first saw the title of this novel, I thought of the film I watched with my husband in exchange for him seeing “The Notebook” with me. That film was “Alien vs. Predator”. At the theatre no less. So. Anyway.]

    C. J. Baxter, successful author who’s gotten that way from writing thinly disguised stories about his life in his hometown, carries a silent life-altering memory with him into his adult life. He discovers it affects him more than he’s willing to admit when he returns to his hometown of Adelia in upstate New York after “stealing” his dog from what used to be his home and his in-the-process-of-becoming ex-wife.

    When he revisits his family and townspeople for his grandfather’s funeral after a 17 year absence, he creates tension whenever he’s around his father and his older brother Graham who is running for a senate seat. This secret he’s kept since a young boy permeates every moment between his brother, father, and himself. And there’s an anger under his cool demeanor so familiar to him he doesn’t recognize it until an old acquaintance and a favorite old boss make it evident to him.

    Deciding to remain in Adelia since his soon-to-be ex reported the theft of his dog to the police causing a warrant for his arrest back home in Tennessee, and after learning he’s being sued for throwing a hardbound copy of his latest novel at a critic in the audience of a live reading, scoring a direct hit on the man’s head, he gets a job at the old hardware store where he worked as a kid for a man he admired, and he agrees to refurbish a house with his old friend Dennis, the Indian with a stuttering problem.

    Ferreting out information about some underhanded intentions his brother has planned if elected, C. J. plans to expose him in an article he’s been asked to write for a national magazine. When the gist of the article is discovered by Graham’s slimy attorney and campaign manager, the event to follow is reminiscent of the term C. J.’s boss, friend, and hunting companion explains about the origin of the term “hunter’s moon”:

    “The Indians called it the hunter’s moon because it rose early and let them continue to track the prey they’d been hunting even as the sun went down.”

    Now for those of you who insist on a dynamite first line or startling first couple pages, I suggest you get over it for the sake of experiencing a very well written second novel by Don Hoesel titled Hunter’s Moon published by Bethany House and up this week for the CFBA Tour. The opening is fairly placid, but it quickly gains a foothold of intriguing storytelling. This is a real story with a lot of detail, a little bit of rule-breaking in the writing—which you know is often my kind of writing—and even with its rather typical topic of “family secrets”, this novel rises far above the staid and familiar plot suggestion.

    Hunter’s Moon meticulously weaves not only a family history with secrets, threats and manipulations, missteps, abandonment, old loves, and unknown attachments, but also the early journey of new faith in C. J.’s life capturing the clumsiness and spiritual immaturity of a newly redeemed soul until that faith kicks in when least expected.

    I loved this novel. For those of you who enjoy detailed portraits of characters with a lot of unexpected and unpredictable interaction, Hunter’s Moon is a good read. A literary achievement with just the right amount of suspenseful buildup leading to a satisfactory conclusion . . .

  • Sunday’s Offerings

    For it is time for judgment to begin with the family of God, and if it begins with us, what will the outcome be for those who do not obey the gospel of God? And,

    “If it is hard for the righteous to be saved,
    what will become of the ungodly and the sinner?” (Proverbs 11:31)

    1 Peter 4:17-18 (NIV)

  • Saturday Sample

    No point in staying in bed any longer. Hutch couldn’t sleep anyway. Maybe it would be better when he moved to his new place. Tonight was his final night at the motel. He planned on taking the last of his stuff over tonight before he and Brian went out to eat. It would be good to spend some time with the horseshoer. He’d liked him right off the bat, and he sensed Brian felt the same about him. Maybe after dinner he wouldn’t feel like he was still out on the fringe of this racing community. Some tracks were harder to break in at than others. Who knew why? Just the fear of new competition is what he found to be a contributing factor at a lot of places. Those guys who really didn’t have the confidence their work was good enough to stand up anywhere were usually the most stand-offish or critical of the new guy. One thing Hutch was sure of—he didn’t take second place to anyone. Anything he could learn from anyone he would. He didn’t have a problem with learning, but once he learned it, he made himself the best. For all the good that did, he thought, as he remembered his conversation yesterday with Nelson.
    “Pathetic,” he echoed under his breath.
    “Morning, Karen,” Hutch said, appreciative of Karen’s bright smile every morning.
    “Hi, Hutch. How’re you doin’?”
    “Well, I guess I’m makin’ it okay.”
    “These guys aren’t giving you a hard time, are they?” Her eyes showed her concern.
    He laughed gratefully. “Nothin’ I can’t handle, Karen. You have a good mornin’, okay?”
    “Oh I will, Hutch. You, too.” That sweet smile returned.
    Hutch nursed his hot coffee and glanced at the sports page of the local newspaper. He wished he could go to work, but nobody was ready this early. Suddenly he heard Karen exclaiming and welcoming someone so he looked up to see Robert Sanders, and who he assumed was his wife, hugging Karen. He couldn’t help himself—he stood. Robert looked at him and a huge smile lit up his face as he took his wife’s hand and walked back to Hutch’s table.
    “Hutch! Wow! Of all the people I never expected to see out here. Melissa, this is Grady Hutchinson—the best horseshoer you may ever meet. We call him ‘Hutch’. This is my wife Melissa.”
    Robert gave the tall man a manly embrace. “Wow, it’s good to see ya, Hutch!”
    “You, too, Robert. Very nice to meet you, Melissa. This is one fine man you’ve got here.”
    “Yes, he is, Hutch. Good to meet you as well,” she said, firmly shaking his hand.
    “Please, sit down,” Hutch offered. “Robert, you look terrific. Marriage must agree with you.”
    “It’s the greatest, but then you know that.”
    Hutch looked away for a split second, and Robert caught that moment. “Hutch, tell me nothing’s wrong.” Robert’s expression clouded.
    “Can’t do that, Robert,” His voice faltered slightly.
    “Oh, man. What happened?”
    Melissa saw the uneasiness and excused herself. “Robert, I better check in with Don and Barry. Hutch, I’ll be seeing you soon. So good to meet you.”
    Hutch stood when she left the table after giving her husband an affectionate kiss on the cheek.
    “Remember Marilyn Chambers?”
    “Yeah.” Worry found its way into Robert’s voice.
    Hutch explained the whole scenario to Robert who listened intently. When Hutch finished, Robert sat back in his chair, tipping it back. “You’re not giving up on this marriage, are you? I can see it’s tearing you apart.”
    “What can I do? She wanted me out of her life. I’ve signed the papers, Robert. That’s why I’m here. There was nothing I could do.”
    “Come on, Hutch. We go back a ways, remember?” He leaned forward putting his chair square on the floor and his palms on the table. “You’ve never backed down from anything. Just because she’s hurt—and rightfully so—doesn’t mean the truth can’t prevail. For cryin’ out loud, Hutch, this girl took your heart. I saw the change. Everyone did. You’re not going to give up without a fight, are ya?”
    “Robert, I don’t think it’s going to do any good. Don’t you think I’d do something if I thought I stood a chance in hell—ahh, I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have said that, I guess. Anyway, if there was anything left to fight for, I would.”
    “What do you want, Hutch? A written invitation? You’re the one she perceives as not wanting her. You give up easy, and she’s convinced of it. I mean, come on. And what, did someone tell you I was a Christian now?” He grinned at his friend. “You watchin’ your language all of a sudden?”
    Hutch gave an embarrassed smile. “Yeah, a few people mentioned it actually.”
    “Were you surprised?”
    “I don’t know that I was, Robert. You’ve always been such a class guy it didn’t seem so farfetched, I guess.”
    “Well, thanks for the compliment, but I learned first hand how opposite of that I was.”
    “What do ya mean?”
    “I mean, when you come to know the reality of who Jesus Christ is, you realize for the first time your human condition—and it ain’t pretty.”
    “No offense, Robert, but I don’t need to know Jesus Christ to know that.”
    “Let me give you an example. How would you assess your ability as a horseshoer?”
    “One of the best, I guess. I’ve put my whole life into it as you know, so I would expect after so many years to be that good.”
    “That’s right. And you are. What if I told you if the Lord hadn’t given you both the talent and the desire to be the best, you couldn’t have done it?”
    Hutch was quiet for a minute. “You sayin’ this Lord decided I was going to be a shoer and then gave me the drive to become one?”
    “Before you were born.”
    “You serious?” Hutch said skeptically.
    “How did you meet Susan?” Robert fired at him.
    “Well, you remember, Robert. It was kind of an accident. My rig broke down, and I had a horse in the trailer. She came along and rescued us basically. Her trailer was empty—she was headed to the same place I was takin’ this horse—she was pickin’ one up there. It was before she worked for Dean at the track so we could be closer.”
    “Yeah, but wasn’t someone else supposed to be drivin’ that day? Wasn’t it Louis Adams—only he got sick at the last minute—and Susan was called in to drive that one route?”
    “Well, yeah, so?”
    “What are the odds you ever would have met her if that hadn’t happened that day? And wasn’t it just a freak thing with your rig? Some wire that normally never would have come off or something like that?”
    “Yeah, I couldn’t see it. It was under some other wires. And I doubt I ever would have met her. I was headed outa state in a couple days just for somethin’ new, but after we met, I decided to stick around and see how it went.”
    “So, what is that, Hutch? Coincidence? Luck?”
    “Well, yeah, I guess so.”
    “So, the perfect circumstances of your meeting Susan, the only girl that made you want to leave behind your wild lifestyle, was dumb luck. How about if it was God’s intervention in both of your lives at just the right time for two very special but lonely people who were designed to be together?”
    “Robert, I guess I don’t think like that.”
    “You know why you don’t? Because the world never wants to admit that God is personal and He intervenes in people’s lives, and He’s crafted them in unique ways.”
    “Man, you sound like Mike Lawrence,” Hutch remarked almost to himself.
    “Exactly like him,” Robert agreed. “We serve the same Lord.”
    “I don’t know what to think, Robert.”
    “Let me ask you something. How many Christians has the Lord put in your path since you’ve been here—and do you remember meeting any before now?”
    “I don’t remember knowing any to be honest. Now there’s Mike Lawrence and Nelson Scarston said he used to know God and now you.”
    “So is that just another coincidence since in what—30, 31 years—you’ve never met one you can remember?” Robert pressed him.
    “I don’t know, Robert.”
    “Hutch, the Lord is offering you His peace right now, and it sounds like you could use it big time. You called me a ‘class’ guy. You want to know class? Class is Jesus Christ. He gave His life for us even while we couldn’t care less about Him or His ways. Paid with His life for our wrongs. The whole thing is incredible. You can suffer in your pain about Susan and your marriage, but Jesus can heal both the pain and the marriage. All He desires is your willingness to do things His way for a change. I want you to seriously think about what I just said to you, Hutch. This is a turning point in your life. You can make whatever choice you want, but there’s only one right choice. I hope you’ll take into consideration our friendship when you think about these things—how we’ve always been straight with each other—because this is the real deal, Hutch. There ain’t nothin’ better in this life and that’s no lie,” he concluded with his best racetrack slang.
    Robert stood and shook Hutch’s hand. He could see the tears in the man’s blue eyes. “I’ll see ya later. I’ll be checkin’ on ya.”

    (Excerpt from For His Glory; sequel to Hope Of Glory)

  • Born and Bred or Made and Manufactured?

    Another frequent discussion around blogdom centers on this question: Are authors born or made? I’m surprised whenever different writers give a definitive answer to this question.

    Let’s talk about “made” first. In this context made seems to indicate a writer is taught to write by instruction. That instruction can come from school(s), but if a writer takes up the task—er, craft—later in life, it can come from writing manuals of various kinds or specific courses taught at other venues besides schools, i.e. writer conferences, professional websites, etc.

    While most writers/authors would agree there is definitely some instruction along the way first to learn the mechanics of grammar and expression, and then the ongoing processes of fine tuning and perfecting their writing, I would venture to say that those who’ve been writing since the early days of their lives struggle with the theory that authors are primarily “made”. I know I do.

    For me, writing has been one of the few constants in my life. I’ve always been single-minded, throwing myself passionately into those specific focuses of my life: writing, horses, and drama. Throughout my life, those are the big three. Drama plays as a backdrop to the forefront of writing and horses and has been mostly acted out in my earlier choices as to how to live my life. But the underlying pull of “the screen” fuses its way into the way I write and the objective of attempting to put a movie into the pages of my novels. I want to “see” the characters as they live their stories.

    As I said yesterday, I’m an absorb-er. I don’t diagnose the structures, plot points, red herrings, and all the other methodology of writing novels. I “feel” it when it works and react to it when it doesn’t. In other words I might not be able to technically communicate why a book works for me, but I can sure tell you why it doesn’t. What that means, who knows?

    I’m fairly positive there are people who “make” writing come alive in their lives, confessing they never really considered it until one day they decided to just write, baby. And I think it’s possible to happen upon the idea and make good on it, although not for everyone. Whether or not talent rises from the words on the page, a book is created and if published, it’s obvious somebody went for it.

    But here’s how I think. A lot of people can do many things well, but their passions lie in one or two specific areas. I don’t know if there’s a writing gene, but I’m convinced there’s at least a spiritual writing gene. And I’m also certain that we know if we have it. It’s hard-wired into our soul, and the only way for it to be released is to present itself in the written word. We stumble around in the process of establishing it in our lives where it takes on various forms before settling into the zone where it best fits and belongs. As Christians we assert this is God directing our paths. Some of us argue vehemently with Him—often without realizing we are—insisting the trail we’re pursuing is ours to own. Corrections and alterations normally follow our stubbornness unless God allows us the freedom to approach stupidity.

    My older cousin Barbara shares her birth date with me. She writes. Not fiction but historical accounts of my mom’s side of the family. My grandmother (and hers) told the best stories of her youth and family times of long ago, and they were mesmerizing. She didn’t write, but her oral recollections were living stories.

    To be fair there are both born and bred writers and made and manufactured writers, the two categories intersecting and containing different percentages of both. Either way, the goal to do as the Lord entreats should be common to all.

    God, direct my steps in all things. Let me hear your voice and obey its instruction. I want to want what you want for me. Always. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

  • Writers

    Many writers claim they don’t remember when they weren’t writing something. I’m among them. I wrote letters to relatives. I wrote stories. I wrote essays. I wrote poems. I wrote. And I read. Novels and more novels. An occasional biography. Mostly horse stories when I was in grade school but expanding to the likes of Daphne duMaurier all the way to D. H. Lawrence and Flaubert with the diverse talents of Fitzgerald, Salinger, Kafka, Dostoevsky, Hemingway, and Faulkner in between.

    Just because I’ve “always” written doesn’t qualify me as a good writer, but it does lean toward casting me with those who understand the mechanics and the emotional significance of writing well-formed and appealing novels in a multitude of genres. I see with my eyes and hear with my mental version of ears the unique voices of authors as they lay down words on a page. I’ve experienced a wide variety of styles and discovered how much I appreciate variety, also having learned that I don’t appreciate robotic and formulaic storytelling.

    It seems I am a sequential learner. In order to understand point C I must have cemented points A and B in my mind. Even in learning a foreign language I had to understand the grammar of that language before I could translate and relate to the conversational tone. My final college course was a conversational French class after I returned from my three month adventure to Great Britain and Europe and had fallen in love with France. I got a C. Not a good grade for me. Not my learning style. I had to see and understand the mechanics of the language before it worked for me.

    I had some very good English/Language Arts teachers. And one wonderful college literature professor who happened to enjoy that I had an Italian last name since he did too. I learned the mechanics of the English language, and it came easy for me. Perhaps because of that knowledge I’m not afraid to take liberties with the rules—simply because I know that the English language is not bound up by those rules. It is free to communicate properly or formally, and it is free to expand into slang and sloppy rhetoric. It endures cultural slams upon its correctness and rises a bit roughed up from within the rubble still managing to survive for the most part. (Let me interject this observance here: For the most part, from what I’ve heard and seen, the public school system is failing miserably to prolong the beauty of the English language and to incorporate the value of knowing how to speak, spell, and write correctly even when taking liberties with that rightness by choice.)

    I realize I’m also an “absorb-er”. After a certain point, the teaching/writing books make my skin itch and my shoulders twitch. C’mon, I argue. Get over that. Words of all kinds developed for usage cannot suddenly be shut out of their native language. I’m forced to realize some writers do not “absorb”, they organize. They respond to lists, to outlines, to catalogued order—and to rules. Too much! I shout. I’m not in school anymore nor do I plan to be. Doesn’t mean I’m done learning, but it sorta does. I’ve come to that place where I’ve grown comfortable in my own writing skin. I’ve absorbed what to do and what not to do, but I haven’t necessarily come to peace with all of it because I stubbornly disagree with some of the mantra. I will say this, at the risk of sounding critical, those who are the most demanding of following the rules tend to produce the cookie-cutter commercial novels. Not that those novels are “bad”—for heaven’s sake they sell! And they’re the backbone of [Christian] publishing for sure. Good stories, good writers. But they don’t comprise the only way to write stories, nor do they satisfy all the available audiences.

    God, you are the origin of variety. The source for all the unique and beautiful differences. The distributor of creativity. The provider of every complementing part or portion. Thank you for that. You know I’m desperate for you. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

  • Wednesday Wanderings . . .

    Does anyone else try to pronounce the crazy letters which so often sound like weird words when they appear as a requirement to make a comment on a blog post?

    If the Lord was keeping score, we’d be competing with each other for His favor. Why do we act like we can’t do enough for Him? Of course we can’t! He’s God. We’re not. He has a plan. He asks us to do things. We’re responsible for those things. Do we say yes? Or no?

    Characters must have “chemistry” if they’re in any kind of relationship. Whether we’re watching actors portray characters or composing our own in a story, chemistry is a must. Lack of chemistry between two actors makes me uncomfortable while I’m watching them. Can you think of two characters who were supposed to emanate chemistry and failed? I can think of a perfect example of great onscreen chemistry: Emily Deschanel (Dr. Temperance Brennan) and David Boreanaz (Agent Seeley Booth) in the television series “Bones”. Bad/no chemistry: Emily Proctor (Calleigh Duquesne) and Adam Rodriquez (Eric DelKo) on “CSI Miami”.

    “Be self-controlled and alert. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. Resist him, standing firm in the faith, because you know that your brothers throughout the world are undergoing the same kind of sufferings.”
    1 Peter 5:8-9 (NIV) He’s that noise you always hear telling you how wrong, how stupid, how pathetic you are. He’s a liar. Silence him in the Name of Jesus.

    I love you, Lord.

  • Somewhere between Love and Woe . . .

    Christians know God Is Love. Not God knows how to love, which He does. Not God loves, which He does. Not God demonstrates love, which He does, has, and always will. None of these are adequate. God Is Love. As in embodies, defines, and IS.

    What Christians are more reluctant to address in light of the Love thing is that God is just, as in Justice, Judgment, Judiciary. Consequences follow sin. Always. Even when they’re unseen or unrecognized by human eyes or hearts.

    The “IS” word cannot be repealed or rearranged to accentuate one characteristic over another. God IS love. God IS just. God IS truth. God IS life. God IS the way (the only right direction to perfection).

    What some people of faith tend to do is choose one characteristic of God and make it more important than another. And of course for most of these people, Love is the chosen and preferred element of His constitution. However, there are a number of people who select the Judgment part of His character to emphasize and wield as a weapon over sinners and those who’ve fallen into disobedience.

    I notice Christians who amp up the love message create a relativism among sinners. Perhaps if we simply understood the reason for their sinfulness, we could somehow love them “more”. We could find that “perfect” love which God dishes out and discount, even overlook, their sins. In the process of desiring to be like Jesus, some manage to enable others to continue in their sinful mode, extending love without warning or correction.

    The message of true love was and is: Repent for the kingdom of God is near. Jesus is right here. Right now. Waiting for that sinfulness to be acknowledged in order to reach out with His forgiveness. Interaction is required—the need that only He can fill recognized, confronted, and claimed.

    When love is defined in 1 Corinthians 13, we are given the perfect Jesus—His attributes within salvation. It isn’t human love and it’s not attainable in our human form. We fail. “Love never fails.” (vs. 8)

    I find it amazing and somewhat disconcerting when the scriptures report the separation of the goats from the sheep, the judgment of the lost, the sin of ignoring and disbelieving the sacrifice of God’s son which produces the absence of one’s name in the Lamb’s Book of Life, and people who profess to love Jesus, the Lamb, choose to declare that this loving God will surely not send anyone to hell. They deny the White Throne Judgment in favor of an improper definition of God’s love without addressing His other qualities.

    People often choose the scriptures which tell them to “turn the other cheek” and to “love their enemies” without considering the ones which pronounce “Woe to those who call evil good and good evil” and “Woe to the world because of the things that cause people to sin!”

    It’s all about how Love rescues the sinner IF the sinner chooses to be rescued. If not . . . the sinner dies in his sin. Love weeps. The objective is the rescue. It’s been done, accomplished for all generations, but people either keep swimming in the sea of sin or grab the available Life-line. There is always a consequence to sin.

    Finding the balance between Love and Woe trips us up sometimes.

    God, you are perfection. Inclusive of all things right and good. The very definer of those “qualities”. I love you, and I’m desperate for you, Jesus. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.