Shadowside Trilogy, Part 1: Trion Rising

Title: Trion Rising

Series: The Shadowside Trilogy #1

Author: Robert Elmer

Genre: Tween (10-13) Sci-fi/Allegory

Excerpt from Chapter 1 of Trion Rising:

“I thought you said you knew how to fly this thing!”

“I did. I do. Trust me.”Easy for him to say. Oriannon could only grip her stiff bucket seat with both hands and count down the final seconds of her young life. She cringed at the buzz of a high-pitched warning.

“On present course, nine seconds to impact,” came the metallic warning voice. “Eight seconds…”

Ori wondered how she had let Margus Leek talk her into sneaking aboard the little two-seat interplanetary pod. It was fast, but built for speed and certainly not comfort. If she stretched her arms even a little she would elbow the pilot.

“Relax, Orion.” Margus Leek yanked the joystick to starboard, and their pod brushed by the antenna of a rather large telecommunications satellite. “I grew up flying these little things.”

“Tell me why I don’t feel any better.” Oriannon tried not to scream as they buzzed by another piece of space debris—an old fuel tank—leaving it spinning in their wake. “And my name isn’s—”

“I know, I know. Sorry. You don’t have to tell me. It’s Or-i-ANN-on.” When he smiled, she could almost see his eyes twinkling through his scratched sun visor. “Orinannon, Oriannon. Don’t know how I can forget a VIP passenger like the esteemed and honorable Oriannon Hightower of the Nyssa clan.”

“It’s just Oriannon, okay?” she told him. “Forget all the other names.”

He laughed as they dipped below an orbiting solar collection close enough to read the warning label on the underside.

The teenage daughter of a high-ranking family meets a new music teacher at school, causing her to question everything she thought she knew.

The Craft: I started Trion Rising, knowing I wouldn’t care for it. I mean, the first sentence on the back cover was, “What would it be like if Jesus had come to another planet?” This was obviously going to be another one of those half-baked knockoffs of Chronicles of Narnia, albeit with a science-fiction flair, having poor writing, little plot, flat characters with an overdone allegory, because allegory makes the story palatable to those Christians who would otherwise cry, “Evil!” So rolling my eyes, I sat down to read one chapter before turning to other activities.

I finished the whole book the same day.

No, the writing isn’t perfect. Because of the allegory, some parts of the plot are predictable and a few of the big “revelations” I could see coming from a hundred pages away. The point-of-view jumps in a couple spots. The wielding of the language itself is straightforward and ordinary.

But the story overcame my skepticism completely. The characters were funny, engaging, and believable. The allegory didn’t limit the plot, but only enhanced the story, which was strong in its own right with enough unexpected twists to pull the reader along. The story arcs smoothly, and the description builds a world you can see without slowing the pace.

The Content: Like The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, Trion Rising focuses around a Christ-like character, pulling many of the qualities of Christ, his death, and his resurrection into the plot. So naturally, the theme of redemption appears within the pages.

But the themes don’t stop there. Issues of prejudice, social ranking, and preconceived notions are explored. The price of betray and the gift of forgiveness are portrayed. Learning to do what is right no matter the consequences shows up in the midst of learning to discern what is right. The result? Content that delves to depths beyond just the allegory.

As for areas of concern, there is no magic in this world—it is solidly a sci-fi world—although the Christ character appropriately wields supernatural abilities. Violence is included—you cannot avoid death in an allegory of Christ—but it is kept simple and clean, description at a minimum.

Summary: Trion Rising was unexpectedly enjoyable read. The craft is good enough to sweep you into the story; the plot and allegory enhance rather than detract from each other; and the content is clean enough to make this story accessible to all ages.

Rating: Craft—3, Content—4, Overall—3.9

Check out book two, The Owling, and book three, Beyond Corista, as well!
Order Trion Rising here or from my bookstore, Words of Whimsy.

UTCH Reading List

I’m headed back to Salt Lake City in March as vendor for the Utah Christian Homeschoolers conference.

Like last year, I will be promoting Christian science-fiction and fantasy. But I want to offer as wide of a variety as possible, so I’m toying with adding a few hand-picked authors of other genres, addition to the newest and best speculative fiction.

But anyway you dice it, I’ve bitten off a huge mouthful. Here’s my current stack of to-be-read-before-conference books:

Fossil Hunter by John Olson
The Owling by Robert Elmer
Just Jane by Nancy Moser
Ripple Effect by Paul McCusker
Try Dying by James Scott Bell
The Blessed by Lisa T. Bergren
Eternity’s Edge by Bryan Davis
Kiriath’s Quest by Rick Berry
Cyndere’s Midnight by Jeffrey Overstreet
Isle of Swords by Wayne Thomas Batson
The Centurion’s Wife by T. Davis Bunn and Janette Oke
Hunter Brown and the Secret of the Shadow by Christopher Miller and Allan Miller
The Enclave by Karen Hancock (if released on time)

That should keep me busy.

Of course, I love expanding the list. So if you have a book or series I should know about—especially in modern Christian sci-fi and fantasy genre—leave a comment with the title and author. I may or may not get to it now, but I might be able to use it later.

The Third Stage of Desensitization: Complacency

Blog tour is over and today I’m resuming my study of building and applying fiction guidelines. Currently the focus has been on the problem of desensitization, or the stages we pass through when our discernment is disarmed. We have already looked at the first two steps, rationalization (is evil really evil?) and justification (the end good makes a current evil okay). Today we turn to Stage 3: complacency.

A dominate attitude in today’s U.S. culture, complacency can be found wherever people congregate—schools, businesses, churches—and under a variety of labels (lukewarm spirit, laziness, indifference). But wherever it’s found or whatever the name it’s called, the modern “whatever” attitude (accompanied by the proper eye roll and one-shoulder shrug) is simply a not caring about much of anything because there’s nothing much to care about:

There is no right. There is no wrong. Good and evil are obsolete, archaic ideas, and anything goes. So why should I care what you or I do? All acts are equal, all beliefs lead the same way, and all people are alike, and anyone who thinks otherwise is out of touch with reality and can _________ (fill in your choice of words). As for what I read and watch, what difference does it make? It has no affect on me.

But it does matter. There is good and evil and absolutes and right and wrong. Our actions do have consequences. We are equal in value, but not alike; each of us is uniquely made by God. And story does affect us. Whether we acknowledge this or not does not negate the truth—or make the results any less devastating. For you may tell a man dying of thirst it doesn’t matter what he drinks and you both may sincerely believe that, but whether he drinks poison or water will be the difference between life and death.

Darkness in Fiction: How Dark is Too Dark?

Evil exists.

We might want to ignore it. We might want to hide from it. We even might want to deny its power completely. But open a newspaper, flip on the television or click onto the internet, and we are reminded once again how very real evil is.

No, the problem is not whether evil exists. The problem is what to do with it, both in life and in fiction.

Is Evil Permissible?

God is holy. He cannot stand any sin or any evil, from the tiniest lie to the worst mass murder. Anything that carries even a smudge of such darkness is, under normal circumstances (see Job 1 and 2 for an exception), banished from His presence.

Therefore, shouldn’t Christian fiction reflect this?

Of course. But that doesn’t mean we should banish the evil from our stories. Putting aside the fact that such a void would cause the story to ring untrue, we rather must consider how we incorporate and portray the darkness. For even God didn’t fail to include the stories of the Fall, Abraham’s lies, David’s adultery, or Judas’s betrayal in Scripture.

But just because evil or sin is acknowledged, a novel isn’t necessarily dark. So what about dark fiction makes it dark?

When Evil Takes Over

God is light (1 John 1:5). Therefore, the darkness must be the antithesis of Him. So a “dark” book would be a novel where there is more darkness—those things opposite of God—than the light, the attributes of God. So in the simplest terms, a dark story is where evil or the attributes of Satan (e.g. despair, deception, death) dominates the story.

Again, a question arises: does that make it wrong?

Not necessarily. For evil is strong—often more than we want to admit—and sometimes (dare I say often?) it appears to be the ruling force. Since fiction is to mimic reality, such a world must be portrayed occasionally.

Moreover, how can we show the power of God and hope in Him, one of Christian fiction’s primary goals, if we don’t show the darkness? For no one hopes for what he already has (Romans 8:24). Accordingly, God provided us Judges and Revelation, two very dark books filled with hope and the comfort of His Sovereignty.

So How Dark is Too Dark?

Ah, we’ve reached the core of this issue. It’s a hard question, one I’ve wrestled with many months as my writing has taken me to a level of darkness I did not want to go.

On one hand, it is an individual matter, based on personality, experience, maturity, and amount of immersion.

Because I am an introspective person with an overactive imagination, my tolerances for darkness are very low. I cannot read Peretti or Dekker, even though I know they’re both good authors with much of value to say. But my personality makes them wrong for me.

Likewise, the age will make a difference. For an extreme example, it isn’t wrong to write or read about rape—unless the intended reader is eight years old. That level of evil is inappropriate for that age. And this is one reason I struggle with the darkness level in The Book of Names. The level felt too strong for the majority of the intended readership.

The other factors, experiences and immersion, also affect this. If you read only dark fiction, you’ve probably become desensitized on a level that requires withdrawal from such books, making them wrong for you. And if you are in the midst of difficult times, especially those evoking emotional distress, such fiction could prey on you, causing more damage than healing.

That all said, there must be a concrete line, for some books irrevocably cross it, no matter the personality, maturity, immersion level, or experiences of the reader.

Where’s the Line?

Like so much in life, it all comes down to balance. If the darkness is strong, the light ultimately must be shown as stronger. To do otherwise is to break moral law (those spiritual truths written into the universe much like the law of gravity—if what goes up must come down, so the one who sins must die). For God is always the strongest, and in the end, He always wins. Books that even imply differently lie and therefore cross the line.

But a direct lie is not the only way to cross the line. There are several other things that create a gray zone around the line. Walk too near the edge with too many factors, and they will push you over the edge, just like too much weight and erosion on a cliff causes it to crumble. So these things must be considered:

Does the evil appear most powerful? For in reality, light is always stronger: no amount of darkness can extinguish a flame, no matter how small.

Is there a reasonable hope? Evil always has chinks in its armor, and if we can see these, hope and light are ignited. But if they remain hidden, a lie of evil’s strength is told.

Is the evil internal or external? External evil is easier to cope with (and therefore does not seem as dark) because it is based on experiences which few of us have experienced. But internal or psychological evil—now that is a reality we all deal with daily, making the evil and its power more real and personal. However, the darkest place is a combo of the two, for it gives evil the advantage, again promoting the idea that it is strongest.

Are good and evil confused? I’m speaking of the values here, not a good side vs. a evil side. For heroes can have flaws and villains virtues if they are presented as what they are. It is when flaws are called virtues and virtues flaws or that heroes have more flaws than virtues that trouble comes.

Is evil portrayed as an only option, whether for hero or villain? This is a common lie in our culture, but all of us always have a choice.

Are there shafts of light? Small victories go a long way in breaking up the darkness; it reveals the chinks in evil’s armor. Humor also helps, for it defies the hopelessness that darkness has won.

So while Dekker and Peretti are dark, they have counterbalanced it (I have heard) with humor, externalizing most of the evil, and an ending so filled with light and hope that the darkness of the previous pages recede. And yes, Two Towers and Return of the King are dark, but humor, small victories, a clear line of good and evil, the chink of Mt. Doom and the resulting reasonable hope, and the offers of redemption for even the villains (only possible if light is stronger) reminds us of the power of the light.

And this is where I felt The Book of Names failed. The intent was good without a doubt. Mr. Briggs never intended to cross a line, I feel. But the execution of the story was faulty: it walks too close to the edge on too many issues without the proper counterbalance.

The line between good and evil magic is too blurry. Victories are small and shallow; even the climax victory is defused with the body’s disappearance and the following murders of Chapter 47. Darkness dominates both externally and internally (both heroes and villains), making the already powerful evil more potent. And most of all, not enough hope is provided, even knowing there is more books coming. Not enough chinks are known to the reader, few to none to the heroes, and even the mention of Tal Yssen at the end is insufficient from lack of set up and information.

No one of these would have sunk the book. But all together they create an evil too powerful, whose armor chinks are too few, and a solid, reasonable hope that's too weak. This, combined with the target readership and the fact that series tend to get darker before lighter, causes me grave concern.

Of course, there’s always the hope I’ll be proven wrong. :o)

Legends of Karac Tor, Part 1: The Book of Names

Title: The Book of Names

Series: Legends of Karac Tor #1

Author: D. Barkley Briggs

Genre: Teen (13-16) Alternate Reality Fantasy

Excerpt from “Black Birds,” Chapter 1 of The Book of Names:

The day was gray and cold, mildly damp. Perfect for magic. Strange clouds overhead teased the senses with a fragrance of storm, wind, and lightning, and the faint, clean smell of ozone. Invisible energy sparkled like morning dew on blades of grass.

Standing alone in an empty field on the back end of their new acreage, Hadyn Barlow only saw the clouds. By definition, you can’t see what’s invisible, and as for smelling magic? Well, let’s just say, unlikely. Hadyn saw what was obvious for late November, rural Missouri: leafless trees, dead grass, winter coming on strong. Most of all he saw (and despised) the humongous briar patch in front of him, feeling anew each and every blister and callus earned hacking through its branches.

Making room for cattle next spring, or so he was told; this, even though his dad had never owned a cow in his life. He was a history teacher, for crying out loud. A college professor. Hadyn’s shoulders slumped. It didn’t matter. Everything was different now.

Four otherworldly black birds summon two grieving teenage boys through an ancient portal.

The Craft: Neither impressive nor fatally flawed, the writing of The Book of Names is simply average.

The characters are fairly complex and the heroes likeable enough to evoke a smile. But for me, they lack the visceral connection that makes me sit on the edge of my seat, wondering what will happen to them next.

The plot pulls you forward and throws a couple unexpected twists in an otherwise predictable story. But this is no page-turner. A page-turner, whether of suspense or just a good read, needs characters that you are deeply invested in or an added layer of tension to compensate for the characters. This book has neither.

The descriptions are fairly vivid, but sometimes long-winded. The point-of-view (POV) is broken more than I like and often for those longer descriptions—which are usually more powerful if done in a specific POV. The words flow smoothly, but don’t stand out to me for its style. The beginning is loaded down with back story in an attempt to attain the reader’s sympathy, which actually repels instead.

The one bright spot in this story is the premise. Norse mythology, Celtic fairies, Arthurian legend, and Biblical allusions all intertwine within these pages, creating a colorful world rife with possibilities.

The Content: The Book of Names is…unsettling.

I have had great difficulty during the past week pinpointing why that is. A couple factors have surfaced, but they are insufficient to explain my uneasiness, the gut instinct that says something isn’t quite right. But whether that stems from my own personal limitations—which make the book off-limits to me, but not necessarily others—or from something more foundational I cannot say.

For this story has some good content. The power of hope, the necessity of hope, in grief is powerfully demonstrated. Characters choose to do what is right, despite their wish to not ever get involved. The importance of words and especially of names is frequently shown, and how evil uses the lowest-denominator conformity to strip us of our identity. All this is then undergirded with the sovereignty of God—even “accidents” aren’t accidents.

Despite all this, The Book of Names seems to walk the border. As the cover depicts, the story is heavily cloaked in darkness. The sense of evil is overwhelming, suffocating the reader rather increasing the tension, and the hope at the end is hard-pressed to counterbalance it.

On top of this, the cultic magic presence seems strong. Not necessarily a problem on its own—it is properly evil—but the difference between good and evil supernatural powers somewhat blurs, despite Mr. Brigg’s many explanations.

While these two items walk closer to the edge than I prefer, I probably wouldn’t be as concerned if this were an adult novel. But The Book of Names is intended for 13-16 year-olds—meaning that the vast majority of the readers will be between ten and fourteen, since kids usually read up a level.

So I fear this book could feed some of the hardest parts of growing up through this age: emotional moodiness, overriding feelings of darkness/despair/purposelessness, temptations to experiment with how close you can get to the edge, and (in our culture at least) a fascination with wielding supernatural power. In addition, discernment develops much during these years and parents often release strict supervision of their children’s reading about this time, so discernment is rarely a strong point in this target age group.

Summary: The Book of Names is a book to read with caution. It walks the edge of Scriptural guidelines on supernatural powers, and evil has an overwhelming presence in the story. While these do not make the story “bad,” discernment should be exercised at a level often not possessed by the majority of the target audience. Therefore, in combination with the average writing, I recommend a guarded approach, and that if kids want to read this tale, the parents should read it alongside with them.

Rating: Writing—2, Content—2, Overall—3.2

Starring D. Barkley Briggs

It’s a new year, and with that comes a new CSFF tour. The Christian Science-Fiction and Fantasy blog tour is a bunch of bloggers who enjoy the strange and fantastic. We get together once a month and chatter about the latest in Christian science-fiction and fantasy. Book reviews, author interviews, serious essays, humorous commentaries, instructive lessons—you can find a little bit of everything here, with opinions usually covering the whole gamut from wildly enthusiastic to yawning boredom. But in the end, we hope raise the awareness of the genre and let readers know what’s out there.

This month’s focus is The Book of Names by D. Barkley Briggs. The first book in the Legends of Karac Tor series, this is an alternate reality fantasy based in Norse myth targeting teenagers 13-16 years. I will be posting a full review tomorrow with a follow-up post on Wednesday.

In the meantime, stop by Mr. Briggs’s website and blog, or jump over to one of the tour’s other participants, listed on the sidebar under "CSFF Bloggers." In the past, I’ve especially enjoyed the posts by Becky Miller and Valerie Comer.

A Lever Long Enough

Title: A Lever Long Enough

Author: Amy Deardon

Genre: Adult Time Travel

Excerpt from Chapter 1 of A Lever Long Enough:

The ancient Qumran Mountains were hard and dusty, fists of rock pushing upwards to strike the face of the sky. As the helicopter trailing the two paragliders banked to the left, Benjamin watched the lead figure closely. Sara soared between two peaks, smooth, so smooth, as she dodged a cliff and spun another turn in her ascent.

Benjamin shook his head. “She flies that thing like it was a part of her.” He saw his pilot, Caleb Mendel, glance over at him.

“They’re looking good,” Mendel said. The earphone in Benjamin’s helmet crackled, the voice tinny and mechanical from the transmitter.

“I’m pleased.”

The two paragliders dangled about twenty feet below the arched cloth wings, the fanned lines passing in a spread to their hands, but Sara flew far ahead—silhouetted against the next cliff now, too close to it. Even as he watched, she executed another sharp turn and dove down, circling out of it and up again as the giant fan strapped to her back pushed the wing’s edge forward. Benjamin let out his breath.

“She sure likes to cut it fine,” Mendel said. “That gust of wind almost knocked her against the rock.”

“She’s all right,” Benjamin replied.

There were three and a half days until FlashBack

An Israeli military team travels back in time to disprove the resurrection of Christ.

The Craft: If you seek perfection in the art of writing, A Lever Long Enough is not for you. While there are many commendable spots, several small flaws and problems bury them, detracting from the reading experience, especially at the beginning.

The first thing that pops out is the number of characters introduced in rapid succession. While Ms. Deardon works very hard to keep clear who is who, it still can be daunting at first to remember all of them and their relationship to each other. Yet if the reader is willing to hang on, the major players become clear by a third of the way through the book.

Another daunting aspect is the handful of info dumps—large blocks of text intended to inform the reader. That amount of information is usually unnecessary to the story, much less necessary in such a large chunk one chunk. So such passages can easily pull the reader out of the story, if not outright bore them, and I know that my eyes tend to jump over this kind of description in books.

Beyond this, there are a couple other minor problems. Some redundancies and excessive verbiage could have been eliminated for a tighter, faster-paced story. A few character motivations, especially those related to the underlying themes and purpose of the book, could have used some tweaking toward the subtle.

That all said, this book is quite a ride. While I guessed some of the twists, I did not foresee how the story would resolve itself. At one point I was so fearful that the outcome would be less than desirable (would evil really triumph in the end), I was tempted to put the book down. That kind of unpredictability has not happened to me in a long time. But the ending, though slightly abrupt, satisfies, making the journey worth the while.

The Content: The overriding question of A Lever Long Enough is “Did Jesus Christ rise from the dead?” This single question—and the author’s wish to prove that He did indeed—so propels the story that the novel is on the verge of being agenda-driven—i.e. a story obviously written to make a point.

While I applaud Ms. Dardon’s desire to put forth plainly the truth and facts concerning Christ’s resurrection, I cannot help wondering if a slightly lighter touch might have been more effective. No one likes being preached at, much less in a medium intended to entertain first and foremost. So preaching within a story often feels like the author is hitting you over the head with a frying pan, all the while asking, “Do you get it? Do you get it?”

A Lever Long Enough doesn’t take its agenda quite to that extreme, but there are definitely moments where the story loses some of its potency because of the drive to make a point.

Summary: A Lever Long Enough is a book that could apply a heavier dependency on the old rule, “Show, don’t tell,” both in craft and content. So this book is not for the extreme critic of the resurrection, who will be quickly put off by the content.

Nonetheless, this story has some good character, unexpected plot twists, and some important content. Thus it is an enjoyable read for teens and adults and especially worthwhile for the open seeker looking for the facts behind Christ’s resurrection or the Christian wanting to reaffirm what they already believe.

Rating: Craft—2, Content—4, Overall—3.5 out of 5 stars

Order A Lever Long Enough here.

What to Write About?

Another week has passed and once again the time has come for me to write another blog. I stare at the blank page, wondering, questioning. What will I fill the lines with today?

I am supposed to be providing glimpses into the writing life, but how many ways can I say the same thing? For each writing session is mostly like the ones before and the ones after:

Sit down. Stare at the blank page. Try to imagine what is happening. Search for words to describe what I hear and see.

But words elude.

Pace. Go drink a glass of water. Pace more. Get frustrated. This just isn’t working! Toss a sentence or two on the page. Reread it. Hate it. Cross it out.

The clock ticks. The heat hums.

Squeeze eyes close to block out distractions. Make a headache. Must write something. Throw more words down. Start to cross it out.

Wait. That phrase isn’t too bad, especially if I change a word here and there. More scribbling. A sentence becomes two, a paragraph, a page. This isn’t going too bad—

Screech! The mind puts on the brakes.

Teeter on the edge of endless blankness. Try to imagine, find words to describe. They elude. Pace. More water. Get frustrated, throw down a sentence, cross it out.

And so it goes on, hour after hour, day after day. About as unexciting as you can get. Why would anyone want to hear about that? Which leaves me with my original problem: What will I write about today?

Maybe I should just go drink another glass of water.

The Second stage of Desensitization: Justification

“It won’t hurt just this once.”

“I’m only doing it for their benefit.”

“It will be better in the end if I _____.”

Have you ever heard anyone use these phrases? Ever used them yourself? Then you have experienced the second stage of desensitization: justification.

Justification, as a word and a concept, isn’t all bad. It is by Christ’s blood that we are justified before God—that is, we are brought up by Christ’s blood so that we’re declared as meeting the righteous requirements and standards of God.

However, there is another form of justification—the bringing of a standard down to our level so we can say we meet it. This is desensitization’s form of justification. This says it’s okay to eat the forbidden fruit because it will bring wisdom.

Unfortunately, most of us—dare I say all?—employ this tactic frequently, often without second thought. In fact, you probably just employed it as you recoiled from the above statement. “I’m not a bad person.” “I never do wrong unless I absolutely have to.” “What about________? Are you going to tell me that is wrong?” “Justify? Me? You should see this person I know at work, school, church, etc.” You’ve just changed the standard so the wrong you’ve committed is no longer wrong—you’ve justified yourself.

The problem with changing the standard (besides the fact that God’s never change, no matter how much we wish it) is that after a while all the lines between good and evil blur. Justice becomes impossible to give or receive, and ultimately you are pulled into the third stage of desensitization: complacency.

What is Christian Fiction?

Ah, probably one of the most controversial topics in the Christian (CBA) market: The definition of Christian fiction.

Teachers talk on it at conferences. Editors and agents weigh in with their opinions on panels. Writers debate hours and flood writing loops with scores of emails about it—only for everyone to walk away more confused than ever.

Is Christian fiction only those novels that present a gospel message? Do Christian characters wrestling with their faith make a story Christian? What about those books with subtle Christian themes? Or is a Christian novel simply a book written by an author who claims to be a Christian?

Like many things in the Christian walk, neither extreme seems to be the solution. Yes, books that handle the journey to faith of a character are Christian, but the Christian faith is so much more than that.

Yet on the other hand, a Christian author does not equate Christian work. A biblical/Christian worldview (seeing the world through the lens of Scripture) is not automatically implanted at conversion, but must be learned over time and through hard study. Therefore, Christians can and have produced some decidedly non-Christian writing.

That leaves the two ideas in the middle: Stories that espouse blatantly Christian thoughts and stories built on a biblical worldview. So which one is right definition of “Christian fiction”?

Both—depending on how you use the modifier Christian.

One way refers to a genre, much like you would say something is a fantasy or a romance. So like any genre, “Christian fiction” must have certain elements. As a murder mystery must have murders and sleuths, so the genre Christian fiction must deal with the journey to faith, how to live that faith after conversion, or in the case of fantasy and sci-fi, contain clear allegorical parallels to the Christian faith. Also Christian fiction often comes with the expectation of minimal swearing, graphic sex, and graphic violence.

In short, the Christian faith must be integral to the plot of Christian fiction, often driving the internal conflict and sometimes the external as well. Michael Phillips, Sharon Hinck, and C.S. Lewis would all be good examples of the genre “Christian fiction.” However, authors like Tolkien would not be.

And that’s where the second use of Christian fiction comes in: Christian is a description of the overall content much in the way you might say a plot was fast-paced or the description vivid. This kind of Christian fiction carry Christian themes and subtle allusions to a biblical/Christian worldview, like redemption and sacrifice, the sinfulness of man, and unconditional love. Here Jesus Christ is the foundation of the story rather than the focal point. Hence, Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings, Dorothy L. Sayer’s Lord Whimsy mysteries, much of Stephen Lawhead’s and Debbie Macomber’s work are said to be “Christian fiction.”

Neither definition is wrong. They are just different with different styles, different expectations, and different audiences. But both are necessary, and a world without either would just not be the same.

A Novelist’s 2009 New Year Goals

1. Read 52 novels
2. Catch up on my stack of writing magazines
3. Complete the first draft of a new novel
4. Send out 5 queries or proposals
5. Find an agent and land a novel contract J

Desensitization Stage One: Rationalization

“Did God really say…?”

That’s where it all started, all the way back at the beginning. The Serpent did not accuse God of lying, nor did he contradict the command given—not at first. Instead, Satan asked one simple question: “Did God really say…?” But with that wedge he created a chasm between God and humanity that no man, except Jesus Christ the God-man, could ever cross.

But Satan’s first question was so effective that he has seen little reason to change his techniques in the thousands of years since Eve ate Eden’s forbidden fruit. He still comes to us, not in outright assault, but with a question—“Did God really say that?” Did God really say that lying is always wrong? Did God really say that there should be no sex before marriage? Did God really say that ________ is evil?

And when we fail to say unequivocally, “Yes, that is wrong, evil and sinful,” Satan has won half of his battle. We’ve agreed to consider his way and the temptation to justify is waiting for the moment we get into a tight spot.