How I (Don't) Brainstorm

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At the end of the [very good] 2006 film "Miss Potter," Beatrix Potter (Renee Zellweger) notes, "There's something delicious about writing those first few words of a story. You can never quite tell where they will take you."  Personally, the first few words are never my favorite part of the writing process; I don't like not knowing where I'm headed.  I like the uncertainty about just how the path forward is going to shape up, and I love the way the flow of any given scene may take me away from what I originally intended or may present me with some new aspect I hadn't recognized before.  In that sense, I'm 100% behind Miss Potter (only I don't think she ever really said that; it still makes for a great quote).

Overall, though, I like to have a pretty clear idea of the plot and its main markers -- something a little more concrete than just a vague idea that This is Where We Start and This is How It Ends, although in some cases I'd be happy even to have those two things laid out.  It's frustrating to feel bewildered by your own story, uncertain how to make it all work.  Hitting a roadblock on the way from Point A to Point B is bad enough, but feeling like there's a massive pothole (or two or three) that you can't seem to bridge and being unable to progress until you do bridge it (or them) is even more frustrating.  The same goes for a vague story idea of which you have one or two elements, maybe a handful of characters, and...basically nothing else.  This is when writers start to talk about "brainstorming."  Sometimes they even talk about sitting down and brainstorming.

Confession time: I've never really figured out how this whole brainstorming thing works, and I am really, really bad at it.

I think best through the process of writing, and there have been a number of times when I have become so frustrated with a story idea for not taking shape or with huge plot questions for not resolving themselves that I have sat down with a pen and a notebook and tried to confront the problems head-on.  I wrote out the questions that had hitherto just been floating in my brain: Why don't the characters just resolve their problems by doing X?  (I've no idea.)  What is motivating this particular character?  (Don't know that, either.)  I know this character needs to be involved, but how?  To what purpose?  What even is going on here?  (Noooooo clue.)  The problem with this approach, I've found, is that I end up with a list of the questions that are bothering me and no answers.  Seriously, I've looked back at old lists from story ideas that are still embryonic and thought, "Yeah...  I still don't know what to do about that."

"Sitting down and brainstorming" is also generally ineffective, since unless I am in some way incapacitated, I don't like just sitting and doing nothing but thinking.  My mind also tends to drift, or to keep turning over the same questions again and again without producing viable answers; it's the same ineffective process as writing out the issues.  Pinterest is a nice idea for "gathering inspiration," but a) I don't ever use writing prompts, because they feel too inorganic; b) I'm very picky about which images fit the world of the story, so I rarely see things that just scream "Wordcrafter!" or "Tempus Regina!"; and c) pictures don't go very far toward inspiring me with words, anyhow.  At most they remind me of things I already love about the story.  They don't tend to help me moving forward.

I still haven't come up with a great way to plot, but generally the most effective course has been outlining.  I know I've already commented many times that I am a big fan of outlines, no matter what I'm writing; I charged into NaNoWriMo 2010* with nothing but the names of two characters and an idea that I'd be writing about the Barbary Wars, and while it turned out alright, it was not a pretty picture and I didn't like doing it.  Since then I've been a little smarter, or at least a little more conscious of my planner bent: Tempus Regina was still an extremely difficult book to begin writing, but I made sure I started with several pages' worth of outline; with Wordcrafter I thought I wouldn't need one, it being a rewrite, but I've revised my opinion on that in the last couple weeks.  (Translation: I was totally kidding myself.  I need outlines.  I need them so bad.)

Stumped by a number of points, unable to get resolution by writing out questions, I began by listing the plot points I was sure about in chronological order.  Then I started on an actual, handwritten outline, filling in the gaps between those plot points and forcing myself to put something down even if I wasn't positive about it.  This did lead to a number of question marks, but it also turned out to be useful on three fronts: it showed me that I actually have a clearer idea of where I'm going than I originally thought and reminded me of upcoming scenes I'm genuinely excited about; it got some clutter (useful clutter, but clutter) down on paper so that I will (hopefully) not forget it; and it forced me to make some choices in order to keep moving.  Just writing down questions presents me only with the things that have been frustrating me; it doesn't allow me to put those questions within the context of the whole plot, or to see the elements of the story that will actually hearten me.  Organizing all of my thoughts, on the other hand, lets me see the full story unfold -- even down to the minor elements of a scene I've already charted out in detail.  It's the short hand of writing the whole story, and I find that more thoughts come in that process of tracing the lineaments of the plot.  Even in outline form, the words can take you -- or at least they take me -- to unexpected places.

*Oh my word, how was it almost six years ago?  That's not possible.

Tell me about your plotting process!  How do you get past a roadblock in a story you're writing?  Do you ever get a story idea that just. won't. develop. properly., and how do you coax it forward?  I'm bad at it, so do tell!

Proof of Life: March Snippets

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I can't actually write to music, for the most part, even though most folks I know have a hard time writing without music in the background to drive them on.  I think maybe the music fills up too much of my brain, especially when there are lyrics to distract me.  Still, that doesn't mean I'm not often inspired to write after hearing a particular piece of music.  Then I put on headphones and listen to the song on YouTube every now and then while writing in between.  Not the most efficient means of getting words down, but reminding myself of the piece of music helps keep a mood.

All that to say that I just got my brother two "Of Monsters and Men" albums for his birthday, and after hearing a couple of their newer songs, I've been playing them on YouTube and wanting to write.  (No, I didn't keep the CDs: they did get to their destination.)  I should be studying the American Revolution or Latin vocab, but the song "Human" obliged me to pull up Wordcrafter for a few minutes.  It's getting along in fits and starts: 110,000 words in now.  And heaven help me, I don't know how long the thing's going to be in the end.

I throw up my hands in despair.

march snippets

We sat in silence, the wind sighing around us like the tide on the shore, the flames crackling and snapping hungrily among the branches. Copper’s veil fluttered; the light shot through it and I saw her lips parted in something like yearning. Ethan had his arm on my shoulder still and as the shofar-call slipped away his fingers dug at my collarbone, the blood thudding urgently in their tips, dragging me along with him into the heady expectation: the ale seemed to have mounted, to swirl around and around and around inside my dizzy skull…

//

The water from the faucet shut off; the shower was still running. He returned to the threshold, and as I raised my eyes unwillingly from the figurine it struck me, almost comically, that with his razor in his hand he looked like Death come to claim a few souls for the dance.

//

“So,” he said. “I wondered what the Hound found to like in you. Now I see you’ve got a fire in your belly after all. I suppose I should have known.”

//

The Jackal had not yet come with our horses, and while we waited for him, our backs to the light and our shadows thrown out long in front of us, Ethan spoke again.  “While we are talking of saving lives,” he said, in a voice that was mellow like his father’s, “and while my lady insists on walking alone, I would that she carried this.” He fiddled with a buckle at the inside of his right thigh and the strap of the dagger sheath swung loose, the hilt falling heavy into his palm; it was plain dull metal, a match to the one he had loaned me, and it gleamed blandly in the moonlight as he offered it to our companion. “Granted, it’s not as fashionable as a pair of pistols, but it will do you more good should you find yourself in a tight corner.”

//

A bonfire blazed in the clearing, the flames ducking and leaping like native dancers as the breeze whirled the sparks away, and in its lurid light the standing Horsemen looked like martyrs waiting to be burned.

//

He poured me a cup and handed it over, warm and dripping, and glanced at [her] from under his brows. “Care for one?” 

She watched him like a suspicious cat, her fingers tightening in the folds of the blanket, her mental tail lashing. “I’d love it,” she said sharply, “but I’m rather afraid you might poison it.” 

His mouth jerked.  “Poison isn’t my weapon of choice,” he said. “But the sentiment is there.”

//

His face was a thundercloud, and flushed as with too much wine; he was dark from dancing so near the fire and the smell of singed flesh hung over him. When I gripped his arm in mute acknowledgement I felt the muscles jumping frantically under my hand. 

“My lord dances as though he will kill himself,” [she] remarked, almost reproachfully.

She-Wolves

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First: an update!  A week or so ago, after I had spent the first chunk of my winter break preparing for Christmas, I was at last able to break the 100,000 word mark in my rewrite of Wordcrafter.  I hadn't had many opportunities to write during the semester, as usual; during the week my mind is too engaged with schoolwork, and on the weekends I just don't want to put the energy into the whole words-putting-into-sentences-doing.  (Many, many kudos to those of you who can juggle college and writing.  You are amazing.)  Thus, while I'd written a little here and there, returning to it properly was difficult.  But progress has been made and some fun things have been written, and I'm happy with what I've been able to accomplish before a) heading to a conference and b) starting the spring semester.

Increasingly as I write this novel, I've noticed that one of its more interesting and challenging aspects is that it is the first novel I've written that features a male protagonist and a female antagonist.  The Soldier's Cross has a female protagonist and a male antagonist; the Sea Fever books have a male antagonist and male and female protagonists; and Tempus Regina has a female protagonist and male and female antagonists.  So I guess having gone through just about every other permutation, a male protagonist and a female antagonist in Wordcrafter was inevitable.  All the same, it's presented some new and unexpected problems -- especially as this rewrite finds the villain darker, more aggressive, more dangerous.  In contrast, Justin, my main character, is, well, a nice guy: a hold-the-door-for-you, carry-your-bag fellow.

Playing these two characters off one another is great fun, but it's also somewhat sticky business.  Justin's personality, as well the book's potential readership, rules out certain actions and reactions between them; whereas Tip is free to punch Lewis in the face, and whereas Regina can vent her spleen by dressing down her (female) rival, there is a code of conduct which Justin is obliged to follow.  The villain, in turn, knows it and capitalizes on it.

Sharply, I said, “You can’t hit a woman, Ethan.” 

He flicked aside my concern as I had just flicked away his. “No,” he allowed, “and one often senses them taking advantage of the fact.” 

- wordcrafter

This kind of situation demands a unique relationship between protagonist and villain.  On the one hand, the female antagonist in many ways has the upper hand; her arsenal is packed with weapons Justin can't or won't deploy.  On the other, the protagonist can't be milquetoasty, doing nothing simply because the villain is a woman [because a) that makes for a boring story and b) is super annoying]; he has to find new weapons to use.  Writing in that tension is, I'm finding, quite difficult, but it also makes for some very enjoyable, thought-provoking character dynamics.

what are some of your protagonist-antagonist pairings? which ones have been especially challenging or fun?

 

The Cast of 2015

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This is a moment I always enjoy: the moment at the end of the year when I get to look back, sometimes happily, sometimes with a bit of annoyance, at what I've read over the past twelve months.  It's a fun tradition that requires little brain power and no originality, and as Jenny reminded me of it by posting her 2015 book list, I decided to follow her lead in topic and style and roll out the (eclectic) literary cast of 2015.  Hope you don't get bored by the histories.

2015 book list

january

The Moon Spinners [Mary Stewart] - My first read of the year, this one had gorgeous prose on the one hand and a not-so-compelling story-line and romance on the other.  Light, inspiring when it came to description, but ultimately a bit frustrating.

To Change the World [James Davison Hunter] - A compelling, thought-provoking, dense work, one which probably needs to be read more than once to be "gotten."  Hunter's call for "faithful presence" and a Christian challenge to the world via "a bursting out of new creation from within it" is worth reading, considering, and realizing.

february

The First Crusade [T. Asbridge] - Read for a course on the Crusades I took in the spring.  Light and accessible, but heavy on the adjectives and adverbs (history can be interesting without reliance on these grammatical tools! really! it can!) and lacking, in my opinion, a good balance of historical empathy and moral discernment.

They Found Him Dead [G. Heyer] - I don't think I'll be reading any more of Heyer's mysteries - or if I do, it will only be when I really need something light, quick, and mindless.  Characters, prose, and resolution here were all pretty unremarkable; Agatha Christie has more challenging, satisfying mysteries, however cliche that opinion may be.

march

Much Obliged, Jeeves [P.G. Wodehouse] - Needs no commentary.  And honestly, I can never remember what happened in a given Jeeves & Wooster novel; they're all much alike, but make for fun occasional reading.

The Fourth Crusade [D. Queller & T. Madden] - Also for the Crusades course!  This one was at the opposite extreme from The First Crusade: good on analysis, a bit weak on drama.  Seriously, the crusaders breach the walls and all the authors say is that we know these particular people died.  Really? Where's the blood and gore, people?

april

Around the World in Eight Days [J. Verne] - Where is the hot air balloon?  I specifically signed on for a hot air balloon.

The Crusades Through Arab Eyes [A. Maalouf] - For some reason I didn't put this on my Goodreads account; I think I must not have wanted to rate it.  At any rate, while I do think it is excellent to have works that portray the Crusades from the perspective of the Arabs (the Frankish perspective gets most of the limelight), I remember finding this attempt problematic - to say the least.

may

The Great Plague [Moote & Moote] - Doesn't Moote & Moote sound like a law-firm out a Dickens novel?  Anyway, this was the assigned reading in the three-week course I took this past May on "Plague! In the 1660s," and it was excellent.  Cheerful?  No.  Surprisingly compelling and even inspiring?  Yes.

june

Jamaica Inn [D. du Maurier] - du Maurier, why did you let me down?  Your prose was beautiful as always, your depiction of Cornwall haunting and bleak - and then I got to the end and wanted to bean the characters with my life science book.  Go. To. Your. Rooms.

The Perfect Prince [A. Wroe] - I don't even know what to do with this one.  It began so intriguingly, with such attention to detail - even the detail of a signature or an illustration; aaaaand then there I was in a bog of information and names and I was alternately confused, bored, and guilty (maybe I should care how much the pews in the church cost? But I don't?).  I don't think I'm building a summer home here.

july

Sir Nigel [A. Conan Doyle] - This book seemed to alternate between romanticism and realism, and I liked the realism better.  Conan Doyle has some compelling descriptions and interesting side characters, but Sir Nigel himself was too ideal for me.

august

American Lion [J. Meacham] - Totally arbitrary read - I don't do much American history - that unfortunately didn't turn out to be a gem.  In fact I complained about the style and the use of sources all the way through.  I think my family wanted me to stop reading.

Faith and Treason [A. Fraser] - Among the top two or three books I read this year (which isn't saying much, because this year saw a lot of 2 star books).  I was going to say it blew me away, but that's kind of a bad pun for a book dealing with the 1605 Gunpowder Plot...  Drama, empathy, argument, a grasp of the sources: it has it all.  Except it was so good that when the conspirators were caught, I was disappointed.  That might not be a good thing.

september

She-Wolves [H. Castor] - Mini-bios of some of England's ruling ladies since the Empress Maud (who, by the way, is the coolest.  Just pointing that out).  Some were more interesting than others, but the prose is burdened (again) with melodrama.

october

The Ghost Map [S. Johnson] - Congratulations!  You win Worst Book of the Year!  The arrogance of it took my breath away, while the commitment to urbanization and the almost callous treatment of individuals left me angry.  

The Prince [Machiavelli] - Read for a course on political thought, this classic work was alternately funny and perplexing.  On the one hand, it seems refreshing after you've been reading Plato, because Machiavelli deals with things as they are in real life; on the other hand, he doesn't concern himself at all with larger moral truths or with how things should be.  Also, I love how he keeps saying Cesare Borgia was the very model of a modern major general...and yet Borgia got sick and failed at everything.  Score one for "Fortune."

For All the Tea in China [S. Rose] - Pretty sure this is the only book my list shares with Jenny's.  A slim read and good for any tea-drinker, if rather in need of some polishing and FOOTNOTES.  Or at least endnotes.  Please.  Please?  No?  Okay, fine.

The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde [R. L. Stevenson] - I'd been wanting to read this for a while, but despite its atmosphere, I just didn't enjoy it as much as I thought I would.  "I consider morals to be an admirable trait of character in a book, but they can be overdone."

november

The Great Influenza [J. Barry] -  Like The Ghost Map, this was read for a course on the history of Western medicine I took this past semester.  Better than The Ghost Map in that it has a far better handle on the sources and a much more nuanced reading of them, it nonetheless could have done with some slimming down.  

december

Great Expectations [C. Dickens] - Finished this one before Christmas.  It wasn't actually my favorite Dickens of the ones I've read thus far; the ending was...too happy.  I would have liked some more bitter in that "bittersweet."  Oops.

In Defense of History [R. Evans] - My advisor got me this for my birthday back in January, while I was taking a course on historiography, and I just finished it yesterday (no, I haven't been reading it all year).  It's both solid on its philosophy of history and funny in its treatment of other historians or historical controversies.  A gem with which to finish out the year.

what did you read this year?  was it a good year by the numbers, or did you find some new favorites?  neither? both?

Do Justice, Love Mercy

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In the last few days before my classes start, my family and I have been 'catching up' on some movie-viewing time courtesy of Netflix.  (During the school year we get a disc in the mail and then it sits on our counter, unwatched, for the next four weeks or so until we either have an evening to spare or simply say "eh" and mail it back for the next impatient viewer.  We're feckless subscribers.)  Last night we finally settled down for the last installment of the Hobbit trilogy, after having seen the first two in theaters and been too severely underwhelmed by both to go watch "The Battle of the Five Armies" when it came out.  It was, I felt, somewhat better; they made a hash of Bard, but Martin Freeman and Richard Armitage were excellent as Bilbo and Thorin, and that covers some sins at least.  After having watched a few others movies in the past few weeks, though, notably Von Ryan's Express, I tended to fixate on the very minor, added, unnecessary plot point of the coward Alfrid.

Or, rather, the fact that none of the main characters seemed willing to give Alfrid the fate he deserved.

Alfrid doesn't have a whole lot of purpose in the story, except as an object for the viewer's disgust.  He isn't the horrible, 'fantastic' evil of the orcs and goblins and so forth; he is the normal, everyday evil of greed and selfishness taken to a ludicrous degree.  In the early scenes, after Alfrid (who, I might add, is basically the same character as Wormtongue with a little more screen time) has attempted to escape with the Master of Laketown and been abandoned, the townsfolk quite reasonably attempt to lynch him.  However, Bard - like Aragorn with Wormtongue in the film version of The Two Towers - stops them, insisting that enough people have died already.  Thereafter, the good characters show a curious insistence on entrusting Alfrid with important responsibilities (which, of course, he fails to perform) and refuse to make him answer for his misdeeds; Bard even allows him to go on his merry, gold-laden way when Alfrid deserts the makeshift army of Laketown.

Much the same scenario plays out in the 1965 Von Ryan's Express, in which the two protagonists, one British and one American officer, take very different views on mercy and the demands of war.  When the soldiers get out of the POW camp, the Brit, Major Fincham, insists they kill the officer in command of the camp; Von Ryan overrules him, arguing that the officer cannot simply be killed in cold blood.  The decision comes back to bite him, costing quite a few of the soldiers their lives, and yet when the protagonists encounter a similar situation later on Von Ryan again errs on the side of mercy (and it once again backfires).

Why the emphasis - perhaps the over-emphasis - on mercy?  Why can't we just hang Alfrid or shoot the evil Italian or German?  From the writer's perspective, the choice seems to have far less to do with the antagonist (we don't really care what happens to Alfrid: he's a despicable character anyway) than it does with the protagonist: viewers are uncomfortable with a 'good' character taking a life into his hands, particularly in the role of executioner, and writers don't want to wrestle with the moral ambiguities through their protagonist.  The evils the antagonist has committed aren't worth the protagonist getting his hands dirty.  Hence this pattern of having a Bard or a Von Ryan choose not to kill a (human) antagonist - or, better yet, having the protagonist stop other characters from killing the antagonist - is such a recurring element that it now seems taken for granted. "Mercy isn't a weakness" is a mantra in fiction.

common explanations

• "too many people have died already"
• "he's not worth the powder"
• "he's suffered enough"
• "if I kill him I'll be just as bad as he is"

Don't get me wrong: mercy is huge and powerful and absolutely crucial.  I think the contemporary focus on it - in literature, but also in such debates as whether or not the death penalty is acceptable - is an outgrowth of Christianity; I'm glad we have such things as the Geneva Conventions that recognize the worth of human life in a manner unheard of centuries ago.  On the other hand, I think we need to wrestle with the dynamics of "doing justice and loving mercy."  What does it mean to "do justice," anyway?  Are there times when mercy isn't ours to give?  What do we do when our protagonist is in a position of authority, holding the fates of others in his or her hands, and has to decide how to act?  Of course the answer differs from character to character, but it seems to me that we shouldn't be too flippant in having the character withhold judgment for the sake of illustrating their goodness through their clemency.  Maybe sometimes we need to let the characters (and the readers or viewers) deal with the consequences of moral decisions and the weight of responsibility, as Von Ryan eventually does. 

Mercy is huge, and because it is huge it should be illustrated thoughtfully, intentionally - not brought in carelessly because that is what the consumer 'expects,' or because justice is too messy to handle.

You tell me!  Do you think Bard should have killed Alfrid?  How have your characters wrestled with these issues?

A Close of Summer Update

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"I've missed your posts in the blogosphere!"

Several people have recently, or semi-recently, brought up the lack of posts on Scribbles.  You know, seven months' worth of no posts.  Here at the end of summer, though, I thought I would write an update - and give you all some snippets of Wordcrafter.

Although I finished with the spring semester back in early May and completed a stand-alone, three-week class in early June, the last few months have still been taken up almost entirely with academic stuff.  I've been spending the summer working on a research project with one of my history professors, the goal of which is to produce a "sourcebook" of original documents from the English civil war period [Suzannah: think this Crusades reader, but probably not as big].  The specific subject?  Popular works, especially cheap eight-page pamphlets, that deal with witchcraft, comets, apparitions, monsters, and other such supernatural "prodigies."  Oh, it's very cheerful.  In fact I have really enjoyed myself - except while reading the accounts of witch-trials, which are universally depressing.

Since we made substantial headway in June and July, the work has let up a bit in the past couple of weeks as we approach the beginning of the fall semester.  In a vain attempt to fill up the excess time on my hands, I've been digging in, sometimes with relish and most times with a grim will, to that continued project that is the rewrite of Wordcrafter.  I'm not precisely sure where I was in the story at the end of the school year, but I think I've added about 20,000 words since May: not a whole lot for a story that promises to be another large one, but not too shabby, either.  We're departing faster and faster from the course of the original story, and I believe the scene I'm working on now is something of a watershed, after which the territory will be almost entirely new.  Thus, although I originally thought I could get along fine with just the structure of the first draft(s) in my head, I'm now beginning to think it would be wise to actually construct an outline.  (I write outlines for a three-page reflection essay.  I am not a pantser, people.  Outlines are gold.)

august snippets

Her clothing was rich, the nose- and mouth-covering heavy with embroidery and a layer of gold mesh, three medallions hanging from her turban across her forehead: even I, who had little acquaintance with Tera and none at all with the Gypsies, had no difficulty recognizing high rank. But my eye was drawn chiefly to her right hand and the weapon in it, for I had never yet seen a firearm here in Ethan’s world. It was no automatic; flintlock was more like it, the barrel and handle cased in wood, the hammer under her thumb fashioned, I thought, like a dragon. She had its twin buckled to her left hip, almost lost in her clothes, and it took me a moment to reconcile myself to the oddity. 

“I thought you were dead,” I said rudely. 

// 

 ...I was too bleary-headed to pay much attention to details, but as we came down the hill between the towering pagan stones I was conscious, almost as keenly as in that moment when I came through the shack, of a change in the world around me. It was as though I had physically passed out of the Tera I had come to know, the Tera of the Horsemen and the villa and a Mediterranean summer, and come instead into the setting of a Grimm’s fairytale. 

// 

“Well, I call that fine!” Ash cried warmly, pounding me on the back in momentary forgetfulness of my crime. “You’re not much of a fighter, but sure and you can take a hit!” 

// 

Funny how black the night seemed, here where there were no electric lights. Silent, too: my mind strained unconsciously for the sound of a car, of a train out in the distance, of voices or music on a radio, but there was nothing. Here on the threshold of the villa the world fanned out from us in layers of darkness, and it was as imperturbable and unnerving as the ocean on a night with no moon. 

 // 

When we ducked in Threshing Floor had just backed into Sure Repulse, a big red creature with a hell of a temper, and the boys were hurrying en masse to put down the fracas. It was mayhem, and I stood against one of the empty stable boxes and squinted around me with a certain amount of smug satisfaction. 

 “I could have stayed in bed a bit longer, apparently,” I observed. 

 // 

Her talk was of Marah and Our Good Fortune, of hunts here at the waning of the summer and of legends of great hunters from millennia ago who had fought monsters rather than deer and boar: easy, uncontentious conversation, light as the yellow wine her father had served us. 

// 

“I’d like to think Ash’s big mouth will get him into trouble one day,” he said, “but unfortunately he’s the sort of fellow who always manages to dodge trouble by the skin of his teeth."

Newsflash: You Can Honor God in a Non-Christian Setting

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This blog doesn't deal a whole lot with the specifics of my college experience, despite the fact that college now takes up most of my time and mental energy.  Apart from general updates on required literature and the beginnings and ends of semesters, I think the most I've said is that a) I'm going to college (!) and b) I'm pursuing a degree in History.  A few of you - mostly those of you who happen to be friends with me on Facebook - may also be aware that, when I decided more or less at the eleventh hour to attend college, I chose a liberal arts school.  "Liberal" in a double sense: politically and ideologically.  It's local, negating the need to live on campus, and it has a great academic reputation. 

I'll be the first to admit that I was not exactly peachy-keen about the whole notion: for this sheltered pygmy person who never traveled from her fire, the university had an outsized reputation for being A Place Where People Go to Apostatize.  Like many universities, this one was originally founded by a Christian denomination but has since made haste to distance itself from that heritage.  I'm not saying I actually thought they burned crosses on the manicured lawns or anything (way too much extra work for the gardeners); I'm just saying I was leery of spending four years listening to relativism, the liberal agenda, and whatever else these unknown professors might take it into their heads to teach.

Let's admit it: I was scared.

I think many people are when it comes to making decisions like these (I'm focusing on choices of colleges, since that's the only one I've really had to wrestle with).  Especially for those of us who were or have been homeschooled, it is undeniably daunting to consider going out into the world for further education; even if we've been taught about different worldviews, it isn't the same as hearing arguments straight from the horse's mouth.  It isn't the same as having to read or watch unpleasantness firsthand (and not experience it through someone else's tidy little review).  I think we're afraid we might be convinced by the arguments, or corrupted by the wickedness.  The world is a scary place!  The Devil roves about like a roaring lion and might devour us at any moment!  And springing from and reinforcing this fear is the belief that to properly honor God and protect ourselves, we're better off either not going to college or going to one with a Christian creed. 

I don't believe this is biblical in the least.  While I think it is always good to be conscious that we and the world are fundamentally at odds, I don't think my fear was biblical.  After all, as Paul admonished Timothy, we've been given a spirit not of fear but of power and of love and of a sound mind.  We are encouraged, not to withdraw from the world in terror at the thought of being beaten by it, but to go out into it with boldness as a witness to the power and grace and presence of God.  One of the needful things of which the Reformers reminded us is that the divide between the "sacred" and the "secular" is completely artificial and uncalled for; and yet we continually return to it, cloistering ourselves because, I believe, we fear the world.  This is a tacit rejection of our mandate as believers to be salt and light and to powerfully permeate the world, bearing witness to our God ("who is a God like unto our God?") in the midst of the nations.

My use of "non-Christian" in the title is a little disingenuous, for I do not believe there is, or should be, a divide between the Christian and secular spheres.  What I mean to say is that we can honor God in all settings - not necessarily by sharing the Gospel, per se, but by our faithful presence.  Take college again as the case in point.  I believe we have this notion that if we do attend a mainstream college - for example, my liberal arts university - then to be really honoring to God we need to engage in a rousing debate with our godless professors and convince them that We Are Right.  You know, like those super long Pinterest quote-pins where by the time you get to the end, the student has effectively convinced everyone, including the formerly-atheist professor, of the existence of God. 

...I'll tell you straight up, I feel wholly unprepared to do any such thing.  But I do know that I can bear witness to the glory of my God every day without (necessarily) having to engage specifically in debate.

1. With a solid work ethic.

Just by taking our education seriously and applying ourselves to it, we can stand out.  We of all people should never be halfhearted in our endeavors.

2. With a polite, respectful demeanor.

We don't need to be obsequious in order to show professors, even the ones who don't thrill us, that we appreciate their efforts and respect their learning.  (And for the ones who we simply can't bring ourselves to appreciate or respect, we maintain our dignity, do what is required of us, and avoid as much as possible.)

3. With a cheerful, can-do attitude.

This is the subject of my June post, The Most Beautiful Curve.  Of course we all have off days, but we should strive to not make those our regular days.

4. With the ability to choose our fights wisely.

We do not have to raise a storm about everything.  Sometimes we are required to listen to or watch things that we disagree with or even that make us uncomfortable (Katie wrote a great comment about this, but it was on Facebook months ago and I can't find it anymore, so you will simply have to imagine it.).  But sometimes, when push comes to shove, we can say no.  Not loudly; not with a grand monologue; just politely informing the person that we have boundaries.  This is not about being a Good Christian; it may just be about having some personal dignity.

5. With a willingness to listen and learn.

Too often we are so wrapped up in mentally preparing a snappy response that we don't actually listen to what the other party is saying: possibly we're afraid to.  Yes, much of what we hear will be badly mistaken.  But there is also much that we can glean, much that can convict us, much that can challenge us, much that can encourage us.  We must be willing to grow, and even to alter our opinions.

6. With a growing knowledge of what we believe.

We never just fling open our minds and accept everything: we must have a well-reasoned foundation to build upon.

7. With the ability to give an answer for the hope that is within us, when an appropriate moment comes.

...with meekness and fear and a good conscience.

I'm not saying we can't go to a college that seeks to structure itself around Christian values or doctrine.  I am saying only that we should never do so out of fear of the alternative.  We honor God through our conduct in all settings - not by shunning contact with the world or following any prescribed path.

A [Literary] Year in Review

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It's been so long since I last posted here at Scribbles, it seems strange to come back.  In fact I've pulled up Blogger several times since finishing my last exam a couple weeks ago, trying to write some kind of update.  The updates, however, can really be boiled down to a few highlights.

five months of schoolwork

four courses finished

three final exams

two new nieces

and a partridge in a pear tree

On this the last day of 2014 it would be appropriate to say something about the year gone by and the year to come, but the year gone by has been insane and the year to come is anyone's guess, so instead I will follow Elizabeth Rose's lead with a 2014 book-list.  It hasn't been a very "big" year, comparatively speaking; Goodreads says I only read about 20 books, and although that isn't counting a few I read for classes but didn't add to my account, it still leaves me far behind 2013 (37 books) and out of sight of 2012 (56 books).  Nor did I have many "discoveries," at least not in terms of books-likely-to-become-favorites.  Still, the year had its literary moments.

I read a number of large books, so my pages read was not much so very low compared to last year.  I began by finishing The Man in the Iron Mask, though I read most of it in December 2013.  It was my second Dumas, and I didn't find it as well-crafted a story as The Count of Monte Cristo: the characters were not as compelling to me, and the plot was somewhat iffy.  Mostly the plot was D'Artagnan, I think.  "How to Be Awesome and Talk Sass to the King [Without Getting One's Head Chopped Off] - A Guide in 800 Pages." 

The more I look back, the more I think it must have somehow been a French year. I followed up The Man in the Iron Mask with Mary Stewart's Nine Coaches Waiting, a mystery whose charm for me lay more in its masterful, beautiful prose than in its characters or plot; Daphne du Maurier's The Glass-Blowers, a depressing and honest, though fictional, tale of the author's French ancestors; and The Black Count, a biography of the novelist Alexandre Dumas' father.  That's a surprising amount of French-ness for me.  I didn't really mean to: it just happened.  It might explain a lot about 2014, actually...

After having it sit on my shelf for quite a while and be recommended to me by a friend, I finally took up Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (I persist in saying "Nor-ELL" as opposed to "NOR-ul," even though I suspect the English, who don't like to pronounce any syllables if they can help it, would go with the latter).  I was right in my suspicion: it is dark.  I was troubled, less by the magic or any particular scene of violence than by the overall atmosphere: everything felt grey, as though covered in fog.  Without in any way meaning to imply that Susanna Clarke was trying to write like Dickens (Dickensian as the plot structure and huge cast are, it would be demeaning to Clarke's marked skill, and just plain wrong, to accuse her of imitation) - without implying that, the novel felt to me like many of the darker scenes in a Dickens adaptation.  Little Dorrit springs to mind.  It weighed me down and disturbed me viscerally and I don't think I will be rereading it any time soon.  On the other hand, it is the only novel of 2014 I could give five stars to.  It's unique, masterful, clever, subtle, funny, even brilliant.  In fact I think it would be unfair to not give it five stars. 

perhaps you should just try it yourself

To keep myself sane, I read more fluffy books than I probably should have: Georgette Heyer's Regency Buck made a nice companion to Jonathan Strange, and a couple Wodehouse collections lightened the atmosphere while I was reading other, longer, more serious books for school.  I also read Miss Buncle's Book, which was cute, but not quite as winsome as I had hoped: I was turned off by a few of the characters...and I admit, I do get tired of the writer-stereotypes.  Even when they're being perpetuated by another writer.  I'm sorry, Elisabeth!

I got in a few other classics or semi-classics, including Rabble in Arms by Kenneth Roberts (does that recommendation make up for my ambiguous opinion of Miss Buncle's Book, Elisabeth?); The Moonstone by that Victorian melodramatic, Carolyn Keene Wilkie Collins; and the sentimental horror story Frankenstein.  It's really a wonder that the Romantics ever got anything accomplished in the midst of all their traveling and finding themselves and ill-timed swooning.  ...Possibly I'm not taking this seriously enough.

History was my single largest genre in 2014, though that isn't really saying much.  Most were for classes, but I did not sell them back to the bookstore at the end of their respective semesters!  Of those, I think I most enjoyed Divided By Faith (an examination of conflict, toleration, and the religious dynamics of post-Reformation Europe) and The Grand Strategy of Philip II (even if Philip is judging you overtly from the cover.  Seriously.  Take a look.  It's freaky.).  Just last week I finally finished plugging through Robert Massie's Dreadnought: hurray!  Even taking its size into consideration, five months is an absurd amount of time - and those are five months of actually reading it, not merely having it sit on my bedside table pretending to be read.  Don't judge it by that, though.  Massie is a first-class writer.  He reminds me - if I needed the reminder - that history is fascinating and funny, too.

I read my first Virginia Woolf this year (To the Lighthouse, which hasn't yet made it onto Goodreads).  I also had to start a new shelf just for "Other" books so that I would have somewhere to put the graphic novel Watchmen and the crazy literary/experimental/contemporary/post-post-modern Cloud Atlas.  This is what happens when you take a literature course, apparently. 

you have to read strange things

and learn to get something out of them.

books of 2014

4% : 5 stars  //  22% : 2 stars or less  //  22% : history  //  55% : new authors

 what have you folks been reading?

Anon, Sir, Anon Cover Reveal

If you folks know Rachel Heffington, the Inkpen Authoress, chances are you know Fly Away Home.  And if you know Fly Away Home, chances are you know Heffington's second novel, ANON, SIR, ANON, has an approaching due date of November 5.  Last month I had the honor of reading and reviewing an advance copy of the book; it was still warm and muggy and whenever I went out on our screened porch the pages wilted deplorably, which was very unsuitable.  It seems much more appropriate, then, that the weather this week has taken a cooler turn in anticipation of Anon, Sir, Anon's cover reveal.

The 12:55 out of Darlington brought more than Orville Farnham's niece; murder was passenger. In coming to Whistlecreig, Genevieve Langley expected to find an ailing uncle in need of gentle care. In reality, her charge is a cantankerous Shakespearean actor with a penchant for fencing and an affinity for placing impossible bets.When a body shows up in a field near Whistlecreig Manor and Vivi is the only one to recognize the victim, she is unceremoniously baptized into the art of crime-solving: a field in which first impressions are seldom lasting and personal interest knocks at the front door.Set against the russet backdrop of a Northamptonshire fog, Anon, Sir, Anon cuts a cozy path to a chilling crime.

Rachel picked a memorable (and explosive) release day.  In anticipation of November 5, remember to add Anon, Sir, Anon to your Goodreads list and thus make everyone curious about the book-with-the-lovely-cover-and-ooh!-tasty-looking-probably-poisonous-berries!  Want to do more?  Rachel has a button for you to post on the social media of choice.  You can also tweet about the upcoming release with the hashtags #AnonSirAnon and #ViviandFarnham (because, yes, it's going to be a series).  You're also welcome to come up with new (but legal) ways of letting people know something exciting is in the literary wind this autumn.  Spread the word!

The Crap Cycle

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You know the routine.  You go to bed Sunday evening with a mind brim-full of ideas, itching to get up the next morning and write.  On Monday you roll out of bed and sit down at the computer; you've got an hour, maybe several, and you're ready to go - until you open up the document and try to start.  And then everything is awful.  You struggle through a paragraph or two and move on, frustrated, to something else.  Everything is crap!  Your writing is rubbish!  This story is nonsense!  The characters are stupid!  You will never write anything as good as your last book (or chapter)!  You should just give up now!

But on Tuesday you try again and the story flows better; you've got over that trying bit of dialogue or description and feel like you've found your rhythm.  Things are great!  You love this story!  These characters are the bomb!  You're the top!  You're the Colosseum!

And then Wednesday?  Boom!

Crap again.

In case you couldn't tell, this cycle happens to me quite a lot - especially when, as with the past several weeks, I'm given the mixed blessing of plenty of writing time.  The ratio of good writing days to bad writing days seems skewed and you become frustrated with both the story and yourself, insecure about everything from the characters to that sentence you just wrote.  I've dubbed it the crap cycle, where the scene that sounded great yesterday sounds horrible today and you can't seem to heave the story out of the rut it's inexplicably fallen into.  There are plenty of blog posts out there to encourage you through this artistic slough, to pump you up and get you running again, but I would like to point out one thing:

the crap cycle

is a good thing

The days when we feel like our writing is rubbish and we're forced to evaluate our work through somewhat jaded eyes are good and necessary parts of the process.  We need to maintain a healthy cynicism, a recurring recognition that we are always capable of doing better.  If all we're doing is gleefully throwing out words, happy with everything we write, never suffering from the frustration of not achieving all we have in our hearts to achieve - then maybe our goals are too low.  Maybe our desires aren't big enough.  Maybe we need to step back and reevaluate, and then step forward again and try harder.

a little perfectionism

is a good thing

We do need to write fearlessly.  We need to ignore the editor side of us.  But not all the time.  Execution is as important as the idea.  We should take time to make our sentences ring true, our dialogue cohesive, our descriptions interwoven and spot-on.  If we leave everything until the editing process, I do not believe our finished product will be as good - as finished  - as it could be.  Allow yourself time to concentrate on making what you write solid, and the work of polishing, the punch-list at the end of the job, will be that much easier for it.

realism

is not pessimism

All things in moderation.  Both of these principles can be taken to extremes: we can obsess too much over details, spending so much effort rewriting yesterday's work that we never get to today's, and we can become negative. Remember to forge ahead.  When you've finally gotten through a tough bit, give yourself a pat on the back and move forward; don't go back and fret over it again.  Never let your recognition that improvement is always possible become warped into an attitude of depression, envy, or defeatism.  Rather, let it spur you on to better things.  Enjoy the times when you are the top, and remember that the times on the bottom are there to keep us humble and still striving.

August Snippets

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Today I passed two mile markers in Wordcrafter, one in the plot, one in size: it is now 50,000 and some odd words.  (Perhaps more than mathematically so; I leave that to you to judge.)  At this point, with a new stage of the story beginning, it is probably time for me to step back and take stock of where I am and where I'm going.  And for snippets.

bits of august

The car door slammed. For a moment the headlights blazed against the alarming bulwark of the Fairbairns’ shrubbery, undecided as to whether or not they wanted to switch off, and we lingered, Ethan and I, in their backwash and squinted up through the chilly middle darkness at the house.

- wordcrafter

“You struck me as a coffee person,” she announced, flinging coffee-freckles against the porcelain rim of her cup with a jerk of the spoon. “I suppose you take it black.”

“Ethan takes anything,” I interjected with a sideways grimace, “as long as it’s strong as murder.”

//

“...Lizzy can cover for Lady Macduff and Banquo. She’s very good at dying.”

“A great many people die in this play,” observed Ethan out of the hum of the harp-strings.

// 

There seems little point in commenting overmuch on the girls; they were your typical college students, eminently forgettable in company with their two older sisters. The one was ginger, the other, shockingly, brunette—only I cannot for the life of me remember now whether it was Mabel who was the brunette or whether it was Brianna.

//

The door beat against the frame and a figure joined me with the silent assurance of a witch’s familiar, come to top off my coffee out of a white carafe...

//

“I hope,” I went on, fitting the kettle spout around the rim of the faucet and turning on the tap, “I hope we didn’t do too much damage.”

“To Philip’s face, you mean? Oh, I don’t think so. Lizzy took care of all of that; I’m not much for the sight of blood. Anyhow, he deserved it.”

We were agreed on that, at least, but I did not comment.

//

I stared after her rudely, and it occurred to me with mingled admiration and bitterness that she had got the whip-hand of me once more.

“Devil,” Ethan commented, pouring himself his coffee.

 //

The smell of fresh wood burst free like the scent of an orange when the skin is peeled back: sharp and sudden in your nostrils. 

//

“Up the hill,” Ethan said, “and around behind the house. Steady…”

“Don’t criticize my driving,” I snapped, getting us out of the rut with a jolt and a surging of the engine.

A Complex Simplicity

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Back in May, I mentioned being in the middle of a three- (or was it four? Hazy on that already) week course on Elizabeth I, Philip II, and the Spanish Armada.  I suppose that might sound rather dull; I was uncertain going into it, as Tudor England is not my favorite period (haven't forgiven them for Bosworth), but I charged in anyway on the strength of the professor.  Since the time span was so limited, we had to fit a lot into the days: three-and-a-half hour mornings of discussion, reading, presentations, research, the occasional lecture, and a great many movies.

Somehow movies never formed a large portion of my home school experience.  I remember watching PBS as a young kid, and I have particularly fond memories of "Theodore Tugboat" and some show featuring lion puppets, and less fond memories of "Teletubbies."  But after a certain period (maybe when we no longer had cable), TV-watching was limited to after five o'clock in the evening.  It always felt slightly wicked to begin watching something at four-thirty.  At any rate, watching movies for a class is a new thing for me; but since the main thrust of the Maymester was not so much the historical facts as it was the media portrayals of events like the defeat of the Armada, films played a key role.

In particular, we watched parts of the two recent movies starring Cate Blanchett as Elizabeth I.  They were very inaccurate.  They were very over-the-top.  They had beautiful cinematography, beautiful lighting.

They made me writhe.

It was not so much what Rachel calls the OSSs (obligatory sex scenes), or even the gross liberties taken with historical events and historical people.  It was certainly not the acting, since the films starred actors and actresses like Cate Blanchett ("...you shall have a QUEEN!"), Geoffrey Rush ("It's a pity the law doesn't allow me to be merciful."), and even my favorite Watson.  It was the fact that all those OSSs were filmed and liberties taken in order to water down history into a simplistic storyline: a pretty, naive girl is thrust into the role of queen and must overcome her insecurities (and all personal feelings) in order to rule her kingdom.

There is, of course, nothing wrong with a simple plot: there are only a few to pick from, after all.  What frustrated me was the complete lack of any nuance, any intricacy, any subtlety.  All Catholics are traitors.  Elizabeth is either completely incompetent or talking back like a skilled politician.  Robert Dudley is either Elizabeth's lover or plotting with the Spanish.  The story itself rode as much on the music and the relative scale of lighting as it did on the characters and their interrelationships. 

Folks.  Folks, this is not good storytelling.

People enjoyed the films.  Though my classmates and I mocked them, I think in the end everyone but myself was willing to shrug and excuse its faults because it was "entertaining."  Entertaining, however, isn't the same as good.  It isn't the same as worthwhile.  It isn't the same as saying that the director and screenwriter and all the many people involved in the production did their job with skill.

A skilfully-wrought story, whether historical or fantastic or literary or whatever, must have intricacy.  If what you see on the surface is all there is to find - if a girl becoming a queen is all there is to it - then the writer has failed.  Life is nuanced.  Life has grey areas.  Art should reflect this subtlety and depth, rather than loudly drawing attention to itself (as films do with exaggerated cinematography, or books do with meaningless but gorgeous prose) and lacking substance in the end.

The leopard in the picture above has very little to do with the substance of my post, but I chose it for a reason.  It's a very simple picture: the profile of a big cat against a washed grey backdrop is all you get at first glance.  But look closer and you see the fur blurring in the foreground, becoming clearer, more detailed, soft enough to touch along the neck.  You notice the tufts from the cat's ears and can count the whiskers.  You see the rim of light along the nose and the bristles along the milk mustache, and the contemplative, possibly malevolent look about the eyes.  Storytelling should be like this, from the Winnie-the-Poohs to the Bleak Houses of the literary world: making its point (leopard!), but also drawing in the attentive reader to notice the details.

The Two Rules of Life

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I had good intentions, back in June, of spending more time in the blogging world.  With a year of college and a Maymester behind me, my brain was beginning to turn again to slightly more literary pursuits: notably, blog post ideas and Wordcrafter.  Wordcrafter has got on fairly well.  My dad's emergency appendectomy and slow on-going recovery made a hash of the blogging schedule.

Before all that, I sat down and began to write a post on the process of raising questions - and offering answers - in a story.  This has much to do with another item on the summer to-do list that hasn't been struck off: that is, editing the climax of The Running Tide.  I finished this book over two years ago, back in June 2012, and spent a laborious several months editing it into shape, and I continue to be fond (and, let's face it, a little proud) of the end result.  But every completed book gives more perspective, and after bundling Tempus Regina off to a friend for a critical read-through, I noticed a flaw in The Running Tide.  In part, this stemmed from a self-imposed need to answer questions too quickly.

"Who was that character," I mused, "who would never answer a question straight? ...Oh, wait, that was Jesus." 

"That was Jesus," she agreed. 

Questions, of both great and small import, drive a story forward.  This is probably most obvious in romance: Will Jane Bennet get Mr Bingley, or will the Bingley sisters prevail?  Will the prince go on and kiss the girl, or will she - actually, I don't remember the "or will she."  I remember it was something dire.  At any rate, the large questions like these form the backbone of the plot, but smaller questions are constantly arising to add dimension and interest.  Most of these will eventually be answered, but timing, as always, is crucial.  If a question (especially a dramatic one) is answered too soon, the reader feels let down.  They barely even get to be really alarmed before the author (in the form of a character or event) rushes in to inform that no! wait! just kidding, it's all right after all!  They expected more from you.

 If you must answer a plot-question, it is generally best not to do it in the same page - possibly not in the same chapter - possibly not even in the chapter after that.  Keep the reader on his toes.  Leave him guessing with his heart in his throat for a while.  Let him squirm.

Not all questions, however, need to be answered.  In this case a principle of fashion also applies to writing: a little mystery is an invaluable asset.  Not everything needs to be stated.  It is my belief that the best, most memorable books are the ones whose endings do not explain everything,where not all the strings are neatly tied off.  Get the important ones, by all means; don't leave the reader suspicious or confused.  But by allowing some things to remain unanswered, you provoke the reader's imagination and leave him with something to chew on after he has put the book back on the shelf and gone on his merry way. 

there are two rules in life:

1. never give out all the information.

Save the Date!

No, as far as I know there aren't any weddings in the near future - although there is a wedding in Plenilune, which is what we're all here to talk about.  Most of you who follow Scribbles are also readers of my sister's blog, The Penslayer, and may have heard rumors of publication in the wind.  Today is the day to announce with something more like certainty that her fantasy novel PLENILUNE will be crashing onto the literary scene this Fall.

look out for PLENILUNE on october 20

The fate of Plenilune hangs on the election of the Overlord, for which Rupert de la Mare and his brother are the only contenders, but when Rupert’s unwilling bride-to-be uncovers his plot to murder his brother, the conflict explodes into civil war. 

To assure the minds of the lord-electors of Plenilune that he has some capacity for humanity, Rupert de la Mare has been asked to woo and win a lady before he can become the Overlord, and he will do it—even if he has to kidnap her. 

En route to Naples to catch a suitor, Margaret Coventry was not expecting a suitor to catch her. 

PLENILUNE falls into the sub-category of "planetary fantasy," referring to such books, like C.S. Lewis' Space Trilogy, whose stories take place on planets other than Earth.  A tremendous story of faith and sacrifice, politics and war, it combines the full-blooded, lyrical writing style of Jenny's The Shadow Things with a capacity for world-building that continues to leave me in awe.  And a little jealous.  Want to learn more?  Swing over to The Penslayer, follow the blog, and get a taste of the style that sets this author apart.

As we wait for October 20 (it's less than three months away, people), stay tuned for more information about PLENILUNE.  A cover reveal - for which the banner above is just a teaser - is in the offing, as well as a chance to pre-order for yourself, for friends, for relatives, for fun. 

And you really don't want to miss the cover reveal.  

It's fantastic.

"make it strong."

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rising up, straight to the top 

had the guts, got the glory 

went the distance, now I'm not gonna stop 

just a man and his will to survive

- survivor, eye of the tiger

Maybe it's just me, but when I look back over the five novels I've written, I can trace a mental progression without a whole lot of effort.  Every writer takes a certain amount of time to get his literary feet under him, to grasp his style, to begin to understand the huge responsibility inherent in creating something with the intention of sharing it with the world.  This is particularly true of Christians who write, and who struggle with incorporating - or not incorporating - the gritty realities of life into their books without compromising their own beliefs.  No matter what you write, at some point in time questions - I suppose you could call them questions of ethics - will arise.  Do you write that sexually tense scene?  Do you show that that guy is in love, not just with the girl's "wonderful soul," but with her looks as well?  Do you write the word that comes into your mind in the middle of your characters' heated argument?  Are you (here's the clincher) making people stumble if you do any of the above?  And if you don't...are you just lame?

If you have been around Scribbles & Ink Stains for any length of time you already know how I feel about Christian fiction and the baggage that goes along with the label - but that is not at all to dismiss the struggles faced by individual Christians who also happen to be writers as they attempt to create a story that accurately addresses the world in all its fallen mayhem.  I see the above-mentioned questions frequently around Facebook and the blogosphere and I generally feel less than competent to respond to them, but I'm going to take a stab at a huge issue.

First off, I'll be honest: I am not an adventurous person.  There are certain things that I do not like reading; there are certain things that did not and still do not come easily to me in my writing.  But as I continue to write, and as my stories expand from the relative simplicity of The Soldier's Cross to the time-traveling tangle that is Tempus Regina, I grow more comfortable with incorporating elements that, frankly, some people may find offensive.  I've wrestled with it extensively, especially with the question of swearing.  When a word comes to mind as admirably suited to a piece of dialogue, do you go ahead and write it, or do you hurriedly shoo it out and substitute something that, let's be honest, is always rather stale by comparison?  I used to do that.  I have since come to the conclusion that that is not the best tack to take, that it in fact weakens the impact and believability of both character and story.

it is the mark of an educated mind to entertain a thought without accepting it.

We all know four-letter words.  Really.  We do.  When you write, "Go to...!" no one is going to wonder what the person was about to say before they were so fortunately interrupted.  We all insert the missing word, and we're not sinning by so doing.  God is not going to condemn us because we know a word, nor even, I do not believe, because we (or our characters) use a word.  Attitude is far more important, and when it comes to it, slamming a door can be far more sinful than saying "damn."  We can - should! - incorporate into our stories things of which we do not approve; we should not pretend that the world and its language do not exist.

your story will thank you.

There is a constant debate about whether characters control the author or the author controls the characters.  I don't think "control" is the right word.  We know our characters, and as we continue to write them we get to know them better.  We write them as they are, and the story flows from that.  So it seems to me that when you think a character would say this or do that, he should probably say this and do that.  Hastily diverting the stream of his or her personality will only create awkwardness.  The story works better when you allow them to be true to their characters.  Seriously.  It does.

honey, sometimes "fiddlesticks" just doesn't cut it.

There is a very ludicrous idea that a sanctified man is cut of monkish cloth: celibate, with a halo, speaking in King James English.  I challenge you to find a godly man in the Bible who fits that description.  David?  Imprecatory psalms, people!  Paul?  He was not very fond of the Judaizers.  Jesus?  He washed the feet of the disciples and called the Pharisees a lot of whitewashed tombs. 

Bad words are for bad things.  When your wife is murdered, when you come up against a blackmailer, when your rival's about to win the man you love, when you've just been played for a fool, "oh bother" is not the first thing that springs to your mind.  Maybe we as the authors don't condone it, but we don't have to sermonize about it (that's even worse than not using the word in the first place).  We ought to write with understanding and compassion for the nature of man in all his God-made glory - fallen glory, yes, but glory all the same.  That includes the imperfections and the red-blooded passion of the real world.  It includes those cutting words, that total love, the acts they regret when all's said and done.  If we don't write like this, who will?