Writing, Books, and Life

So, I was musing about my writing process recently. Not the school essay writing process, which is mostly driven by thought, "How do I get an A on this?" but the creative writing process. I'm thinking about it because of that bit of fiction I wrote that I posted awhile back. I have a lot of started stories like that bumming around on my hard drive. I tell myself that I will go back to them someday. Every now and then I do. Sometimes, when I'm bored or curious about the Katie-brain-of-months-ago, I go back and read through them, but rarely end up writing or adding anything to them.

Sometimes I think writing is a bit like cooking. Dash of this, experiment with this, let it boil, and see if anyone chokes on it when you feed it to them. I think I let things boil a long time. I always have multiple burners going, some with the contents charred to the bottom of the pans. I think 90% of my writing ends up like that.

This recent work of fiction I've been toying with and you were able to sample comes into my mind occasionally. Particularly when I'm thinking about  what persecution is like now in the United States. Honestly, apart from occasional "you're an idiot" glares from nonbelievers, and maybe the occasional court case regarding religious freedom (usually on the news because they are fairly rare), we really don't have anything to complain about at this point. Not really. There are no thought police, we don't have to meet in secret churches, no one is going to arrest us if we are caught with our Bibles or a stack of Christian music CDs in our car. Some people in certain countries are not that privileged, and we must remember to keep them in our prayers. I think we may see persecution of the kind other people suffer within our lifetimes (I already think about how Cooper and I will raise our future children to live in a time like that, because it will likely be daily reality for them), but for right now, God has blessed this very undeserving country with freedom millions of people around the world can only dream of. But it's a curious topic for me, a personal one. I wonder how I will act under extreme persecution. Frankly, my rap sheet hasn't been terribly stellar yet, and I have not been extremely persecuted. Oh, thank God for grace.

But I digress. I guess the main thing I was thinking about is I don't often know where something is going when I sit down to write it. This is the case with this recent fiction. I have some characters, a challenging setting they must live in, and some ideas for some difficult moral dilemmas. Other than that though, I think I will be discovering right along with those characters where their lives are going. Maybe that's a good thing. Maybe that will make the story more authentic.

You know, I like to read Christian fiction, and there are some talented authors out there. I'm especially a fan of Randy Alcorn, Francine Rivers, and Frank Peretti. But I have a few problems with Christian fiction, and I'm wondering if God will give me some writing that will allow me to fill a niche that just isn't being filled. Here are my primary complaints:
1. A lot of Christian authors insist on writing their stories in historical time periods, particularly pioneer America. Now, I don't have problems with historical fiction in general, in fact, I enjoy it immensely. But it seems to so overwhelm the Christian fiction genre that it almost suggests, especially to those on the outside looking in, that Christianity belongs in these "simpler" time periods, not in messy 2010. And frankly, I don't blame them for thinking that. But there seem to be few novels addressing, in a serious way, Christian issues in modern times. Randy Alcorn and Frank Peretti have tried this, and I applaud them for it. So has Francine Rivers. But they are few and far between. A lot of modern Christian fiction is just chick lit with Jesus in it. I read a book like that once. Some girl is single, in her 30's, waiting for Mr. Right, does too much shopping, and, oh, maybe occasionally sticks in the fact that she's a Christian (kind of). It was so vapid. And really irrelevant.

2. A lot of Christian fiction can't stay away from being some sort of romance. And that gets annoying.

3. A lot of Christian fiction refuses to deal with "hard stuff" (the authors I mentioned deal with "hard stuff" all the time, which is one of the reasons I like them). They kind of make it out that live is rated G and easy and everyone gets into their fluffy beds at the end of the day having things figured out. But that's just not the case, with Christians or anybody. And even the books that do deal with "hard stuff" sometimes do it in a way that makes the characters seem 2D...this character represents "the atheists" and this character represents the "Christians" and there is little individuality in these characters. They are too comfortable with archetypes, so sometimes the stories are more like fables than the stories of real people. Even the authors I like fall into this sometimes.

So my goal as a writer is to try to fix some of these problems that have always bothered me about Christian fiction. I'm not sure if I'm cut out to do it,  but I'd like to try. And if I get something published, great. If not, that's cool too. But maybe I can use this writing ability that God has given me to do something for Him, and maybe that's to help make those on the outside looking in a little more curious about what Jesus has to offer, knowing that they don't have to fit the "denim jumper homeschool co-op mold" to be welcomed into His kingdom.

Here I Raise My Ebenezer

Ebeneazer: (n) Stone of help. When God's faithfulness had been displayed throughout the Old Testament times, the Hebrews would build an altar to commemorate His faithfulness. A stone altar would be a little impractical now, so I write instead.

It's after 11pm and we have no bed to sleep in, seeing as how our bedding is still in the laundry. So, in order to not fall dead asleep on our crowded couch or something, I thought I'd write a blog entry detailing God's faithfulness in our lives. Mine and Cooper's, that is.

We are finally in our own apartment. Moved in September 15th. I can't begin to tell you how great that is, and how much of a burden and stress has been lifted off. I feel like we live like a married couple now, not like roommates. It's awesome! We still have quite a bit of organizing and arranging left to do, but I can finally nest like the busiest little wifey bird I have always wanted to be. I've already cooked a couple of actual meals (I have a crock-pot maiden voyage planned for tomorrow), and as soon as our place looks more like an apartment and less like a warehouse of a random assortment of junk, we will have people over. We're affording this because we have generous parents who love us so much. So Ebenezer #1: Apartment. Prayer answered!

I got a new job. I start October 18. My official title is Senior Administrative Assistant. P.C. jargon for secretary, I suppose. But it is salary, benefits, normal hours, free weekends, and no diapers to change or questionable merchandise to sell. This will help us become more or less financially stable, which may help us depend less on our parents to keep afloat, and make me less terrified of becoming pregnant with no health insurance. Ebenezer #2: Good-paying job! Prayer answered!

Now this one is a little backwards, but I was thinking about it and I think it can definitely count as Ebenezer #3. My car broke down. Pretty badly. It stalls and generally hates being a car. I took it in twice. The first time: mechanics couldn't find anything major with their $75 diagnostic tests. Awesome. Worked fine for about five days, then died on me again. Took it in today, found out that repairs will cost $700, or else I will just have a car that stalls in the middle of traffic. Soooo....it looks like we will be paying to have it fixed. Without Ebenezers #1 and #2, this would be a huge problem. But with some income coming in soon, and Cooper getting a lot of extra hours with his job (amazing, considering the job, but he has a fellow believer as a boss who also knows he's married so as soon as there are extra hours, Cooper gets dibs), we should be able to "afford" the repairs, even if that means a little trimming here and there. Ebenezer #3: Money for car repair. Prayer answered!

One of my favorite worship songs is called the Desert Song, and I close with the last verse:

This is my prayer in the harvest
When favor and providence flow
I know I'm filled to be emptied again
The seed I've received I will sow

I want to plant a flag in this season...so that when life gets really difficult, as it inevitably will, I can look back and say, God was faithful then. He will be faithful now.

I will sing praise,
I will sing praise
No weapon formed against me shall remain
I will rejoice, I will declare
God is my victory and He is here...

What I Can't Explain Away

A young, committed, and educated Jew has just witnessed and approved of the stoning of a member of the followers of a new religion, a blasphemous religion that claims that a man, Jesus of Nazareth, who was executed on a Roman cross is actually the Son of God. He has heard of more of these errant believers in Damascus, and, doing his duty to God, is off to that city to make sure that they and their blasphemy are silenced. Instead though, he is assaulted by an inexplicable light, and he is thrown to the ground. He hears a pleading but commanding voice, saying, "Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?" It is the voice of Jesus. Blinded, humbled, and shaken, Saul is lead to Damascus, and faces a life of servitude and suffering for the Son of God who loved him and saved him.

I have done nothing but summarized the account of Paul's conversion in Acts 9, and yet similar conversion experiences occur in Muslim countries daily. Muslim men and women, with absolutely no contact with external Christian witness, have dreams and visions of this Jesus of Nazareth, claiming to them personally that he is the true Son of God, and the one they should put their faith in for eternal life. Like Paul, these people have absolutely no worldly gain for believing in Jesus. They will gain no political power, no popularity. They will likely find it difficult to find fellow believers or a church that doesn't have to meet in secret. They face death at the hands of their government, and sometimes at the hands of their family for daring to have a personal relationship with Jesus. And yet they don't turn back. They don't give up. And this isn't just one or two people; statistics show that hundreds of thousands of Muslims in the Middle East are having these experiences. (Joel 2:28-32)

I can't explain that away.

Christians in the New Testament, similarly, had no worldly gain. For the first few hundred years, the Church was frought with persecution. Christians were burned at the stake and used to light Nero's garden parties. They were thrown into gladiator rings and torn apart by lions. But the likelihood of inevitable death did not stop them from worshiping the Christ who rescued them from their sins and bought them Paradise with His death on the cross. Christians are persecuted more today, however, than they ever have been in history. In many countries around the world, Christians don't just face ridicule and disrespect--they face poverty, disease, imprisonment, torture, and death, simply for their faith. (Hebrews 11) But they don't give it up. I can't explain that away.

Throughout history, contrary to all logic and intellect, God has chosen to reveal himself to the poorest, most uneducated of the world  (1 Corinthians 1:20-25). God is not a salesman. He does not cater to human wisdom or logic. He is not always palatable, or warm, or inviting to people who are only looking for a Great Vending Machine in the Sky. A God whose entire teaching throughout the Bible is that He is completely holy and we are completely dust is not soothing to our selfish, self-esteem, self-realization culture. Therefore, He is not a God we would make up. Look at all the other religions of the world, the "rub the Buddha belly," "offer a sacrifice to the idol" religions. They elevate humans and demean the divine. They make us feel good because WE did something to earn our way to heaven, or enlightenment, or whatever. But God saw our pitiful state and made a way for us, a way not based on what we can do, but on what He does for us. Former President Kennedy famously said, "Ask not what your country can do for you. Ask what you can do for your country." I propose that God reverses the spirit of that statement. "Ask not what you can do for God. Ask what God can do for you." What rest! "How refreshing to know He doesn't need us! How amazing to find that He wants us!" (Casting Crowns, In Me, lyrics slightly changed for grammar). And I pray your first request is for the perfect salvation and righteousness that Jesus offers via His death on a Roman cross.

I just can't explain God away. His witness is too powerful in the people who have given their lives to follow Him. Changed lives are my favorite miracle, and I have seen them on a daily basis.

I love this picture for a thousand reasons. But my favorite...He got off his throne...

A Scrap of Prose

I'm feeling extremely overwhelmed today. Life just seems to be a bit too much at the moment. I'm not really at a point where I can process all the emotions properly. I had intended to write about fear, something I have struggled with in various forms and to various degrees all my life, and which is coming back again, but I don't really want to. I'm just too emotionally drained. So, instead, since I have more or less promised a blog a week, I'm going to post a piece of fiction that I've started. I just started it. Like, brand new, completely un-worked through, no revision or editing, just an idea. It's barely a story. It's almost an introduction. It's not much of anything. But I'm curious what you think, and hope you'll comment. And really, thanks for the ONE comment on my last post. :-P

Mel shoved one hand deep into her trench coat pocket, and with the other, pulled the black curtain an inch aside so she could peer out the tiny door window. Outside, it was gray and drizzly. The privileged few who had been given cars from the government drove oblivious through the rain. The rest ducked their heads under hoods and umbrellas.

             

Mel was thankful for rainy days, particularly in the summer. It meant that she could go outside. If she wore the trench coat on a hot summer day, she would draw too much attention to herself. And she had to wear the trench coat, to cover the fact that she didn’t have the chip embedded in her hand. And even though it still wasn’t very cold, the trench coat was at least justifiable in this weather.

            

 She did not go out the door she peered through. Instead, she double-checked the lockwent down a short flight of stairs, and knocked fifteen times, five beats of three, on what looked like a solid wall.

             

“Who is it?” Mel recognized Grant’s voice.

“Mel.” She had to speak up. The wall was a foot thick.

“What was the name of your first dog?” 

“Rusty.” 

“I need salt. Do you have some?”

“Salt to preserve and light to guide.”

            

 Mel heard a series of clicks, an electronic whir, and the wall slid from its invisible seam to let her pass into the safe house. Grant was passing back to the table, where the Bible and papers were strewn about. He was deep in his studies.

             

“So what’s the weather like?” he asked her, picking up his pen which had rolled onto the floor.

“Perfect.” She grinned at him.

“Finally. I might have to go get myself some fresh air. But not yet. I’m too involved in this right now.” He gestured at the papers.

“Is there anything I can do? I want to go out.”

           

Grant looked around the safe house. It wasn’t very big, but so far, it had been the best place they had found. The Zion Group had found it for the Houston Church, of which Grant and Mel were a part. It was designated Safe House 2, or SH2, and was one of fifteen safe houses in the Houston metropolitan area. Ten other people lived in the  basement of the abandoned apartment complex, a four-roomed area with two carpeted sleeping rooms (enough beds for the two elderly women and the young couple; everyone else made do with sleeping bags), the “family room” that included a propane camping stove and a microwave for cooking, a couple ratty couches, and a large dining room table—all dumpster finds. The tiny bathroom was the biggest challenge—one shower and one toilet for twelve people, but they were grateful for it. They had heard stories of some of the other safe houses around the country: no sewage, no electricity—some groups were literally forced to camp in remote areas of the woods. Zion Group was working hard to change that for the Bride at large.

             

“Here.” Grant picked up the Spy Backpack. One of the kids in the safe house, Jeremy, had fondly given it that name,  but the Houston Church wasn’t in the business of spying on people; its hidden pockets made it perfect for carrying contraband materials and black market ration tickets. “The middle pocket holds a sermon I transcribed for Barney, from SH6. He’ll be using it to teach his safe house from on Friday. He said he’d be on the corner of [street] and [street] all day today, selling, you know, and I’d told him one of us would bring it by. In exchange, he’s promised us some ration tickets for milk.”

             

“Milk!” Mel nearly dropped the backpack in excitement. They hadn’t had milk for almost six months.

“The kids really need it,” Grant explained, and Mel’s heart sank. She knew they did. They were constantly worried about malnutrition with Jeremy and Kylie. But milk…

“Anyway, can you do that?”

“Yeah. Definitely.”

"Great. You know, it’ll work out perfect because I didn’t really want to leave this work, but I promised Barney. Here. Let me pray for you first.”

Mel bowed her head as Grant, a man close the age her father would’ve been, prayed for her safety and the safety of the others in the Safe House. It was a habit now, when one of them would venture outside, to pray. They knew it wasn’t a magic formula—they’d had enough losses to know that God would have His way, one way or the other, but if nothing else, it gave them a measure of confidence when they went out into the city. Grant finished, kissed her on the forehead, and Mel slung the backpack over her shoulder.

“Don’t forget the code,” he told her as she made her way to the door.

             

Mel nodded and hoped she wouldn’t. Much of the free time in the SH2 was spent drilling each other on the various codes they used to converse with fellow believers. It was a lot of information to memorize and remember, but it often proved crucial to their survival.

            

 Mel slipped surreptitiously out the door, checked quickly around her for uniformed police (though that didn’t mean a plainclothes officer wasn’t around), and made her way towards Barney’s fruit stand.

            [more about Barney]

             

Barney was a middle-aged man, portly, with a rosy face that matched his warm disposition. A flash of recognition came briefly to his eyes as Mel approached, but that wouldn’t last long. For now, they would be strangers.

            

 “Good afternoon,” he said to her as she browsed the fruit with other shoppers. She could see the bright red scars on their hands that indicated the location of their chips. By law, sellers could only accept cash from people with the chips. “The peaches are especially ripe right now,” he said. She tried to appear indifferent, like the other shoppers, who could have fruit on a daily basis if they wanted. She, on the other hand was allowed one piece of fruit a month with their black market rations, so in actuality, her mouth watered over Barney’s wares.

“I’m actually looking for mangoes,” she said, switching casually to code. “You have any?”

“I do, but I haven’t put them out yet. They aren’t ripe. Would you like one anyway?”

 “Yes.”

 “Give me a moment, I need to go to my truck. You keep track of all this for me?” he said to his teenage son, whom Mel didn’t know and wasn’t sure was part of the Church. Mel avoided meeting his gaze. This was Mel’s cue to wait a few moments, pretend she was frustrated with the wait, and go to a secluded alley where Barney would be waiting for her.

Sure enough, after the all the right theatrics, Mel met Barney where he was waiting. In the silt on the ground, Mel drew a curved line with her finger. She stood, and Barney bent down, and drew his own curved line, completing the symbol that thousands of years ago had been used by the early persecuted Church. It was the last of the code. They could now speak freely.

Back and Blogging

Since I last posted, I have obtained a fairly useless Masters degree (yes, I did eventually overcome that writer's block for my multi-genre thesis), and I have gotten married. In fact, I have been married for over two months now and have felt thoroughly catapulted into crazy/wonderful/difficult/beautiful world of matrimony. I love it! I love the husband! I'm learning a lot and God has been abundantly faithful to both of us. I never expected marriage to be easy, and it isn't always, but I know it's going to refine me to be more like Jesus like nothing else in my life will. And praise the Lord for that!

I just spent the last two hours or so playing with the blog customization tools, and finally came up with a look that I'm more or less satisfied with. I tend to be fairly ADD about stuff like that, so expect relatively frequent changes with my mood. For now though, the book shelves make me happy.

Anyway, rather than write about what I eventually intend to write about, I would like to enumerate what I hope to use this blog for, and what I don't want to use it for. I say this mostly to encourage accountability; you'll see why shortly.

So here is what I hope to use this blog for:
1. Life Updates: It's fun to catch people up. I love reading about other people's lives. Mine is more or less interesting, and even when it's not interesting, the mundane can at the very least be mutually comforting.

2. Opinion Forum: I've got strong opinions, and a desire to share them and discuss them. I get a little sick of the Facebook soundbites and petty arguments, so I figure this might be a spot to (a) explain myself more thoroughly and (b) let people choose whether or not they want to know or discuss my opinion, rather than always broadcasting it via Facebook status update so that everyone is forced to swallow it.

3. Jesus Musings: I'd call this "religious musings" but the word religious has a bad taste in my mouth. I'd love a place to share what I'm learning and what God is doing in my life.

4. Creative Writing: Yes! A place to try stuff out in, get feedback on, throw ideas around...you can comment on these posts whether you write creatively or not. But I've been rolling some ideas around like marbles in my brain lately, and this might be a place to see if any of them are any good. (Like that simile...how was that?)

5. Reading Forum: Book discussions! I have a Jane Austen post brewing in my head at the moment...stay tuned!

What I do not want to use this blog for:
1. Angry Ranting: I hope that my blog posts will carefully thought out. I may have a strong emotion about something, but I don't want to use this as a place to say things that should've been dealt with internally and checked for sin before spouting off on them.

2. Gossip/Slander: It's wrong, wherever it occurs. I don't want to talk about individual people or share private matters. This will not be the place for that.

So anyway, if you are a fellow believer, please let me know whether I've crossed a line in this space. I want to be above reproach as much as possible.

A final commenting question, if you would like to respond: What would severe Christian persecution in the United States look like? Give me specifics! This has to do with a fiction idea of mine. :-)

Procrastination: It's an Art Form

I am suffering from acute, and I mean ACUTE senioritis. Or grad student-itis. Whatever you want to call it. I find it very difficult to get even the tiniest bit of motivation to do my homework. All the assignments seem rather the same after awhile. For instance, right now I'm supposed to be writing about a book I read as a child (Just as Long as We're Together by Judy Blume) and my reaction to it now as an adult, which is not an assignment type I've done before, but I really don't want to do it. I just don't. I'll write it out, get a grade slapped on it, and forget about it. I don't think I'm really learning anything anymore in my degree program. I'm just playing the game, getting the grades, and eventually that will all turn into a fancy piece of paper that says I have a Masters.

I admit, I'm somewhat befuddled by some of my teachers, and even my classmates, who are so obsessed with academia. People keep asking me if I'm excited to graduate and have my Masters. Truthfully, the only thing I'm really excited about is the fact that I can be done with school for as long as I please after May (I'll be taking AT LEAST a year off). The Masters doesn't mean a whole lot. It so far hasn't even gotten me terribly far in getting me a decent paying job, so I'm not sure what all the fuss is about.

One big reason I started this blog, aptly titled "Random Thought Corner," (since none of these posts will likely be terribly cohesive) was to see if I could like writing again. I'm getting my Masters in Creative Writing and I feel almost as if the program has ruined it for me. The push to be experimental and different in writing has only lead me to feel completely inept and frustrated that what I like to write is not what people like to read. Wait. Let me take that back. I'm frustrated that what I like to write is not what the elite few who actually read literary journals like to read. So what am I worried about? I'm not sure. I just feel that there is too much on my mind: getting married, finding a place to live, getting a 9-5 easy job, and learning to be the best wife I can be (because that is where I will find any worldly fulfillment that means anything for the Kingdom) that seems so much more pressing than a few essays, a couple Shakespeare plays, and a Masters thesis that will disappear in a poof of smoke as soon as the semester has ended. Sigh.