Theme—Day 13

In other words, characters should not deliver the Almanac equivalent of “what I the author want you the reader to know.”

As I thought about the comments on theme and some private conversations about the topic, I realized that I have moved away from a belief I once held about writing fiction—that one of the characters in my novel was more closely “me” than any of the others. I don’t believe that any more.

When I held to that view, I was often setting up this one character to deliver my “money” lines. Those were my occasional opportunities to say what I wanted to say.

My belief, as I said, has changed. Now I see all my characters making some statement—by their words, thoughts, deeds—about life from my worldview. That frees me up so that I never have to force epiphany statements or didactic lines into my character’s mouth.

But if there is to be any kind of cohesion to what comes across to the reader, I think this takes some planning. Does that bring us back to square one? Maybe to square two. Not only should a writer plan theme and connect it to what the protagonist wants, the writer should people the world with characters that can augment that theme more effectively.

Theme—Day 12

I received encouragement today from a post over at Faith in Fiction. Janice LaQuiere mentioned an article she had published at Spirit-Led Writer entitled “Truth in Fiction:
Ministry of a Christian Novelist.” In the article Janice talks about writing fiction as if authors are supposed to include themes. It’s been some time since I’ve heard or read that about Christian fiction. Did my heart good! (Right here I could use one of Sally Apokedak’s All about Children’s Fiction nodding emoticons!)

Speaking of Sally. She left a comment yesterday on this blog asking an application question regarding James Bell’s advice to “touch on the theme peripherally.” If writers are to seriously craft theme, it is important to learn at the “how to” level. Her question was pertinent:

This is great stuff.

Now, how do I apply it? I do have a scene where the mother asks the son why he’s changed his mind about something. And the son tells how he came to realize that he needed to trust God.

But how to show why the character had a change of heart if he never explains to anyone?

I have no definitive answer, but here are some things that crossed my mind.

If a writer wants to address theme peripherally, I think it starts with asking a less direct question. Let’s say the theme is that God created the world. If character A asks character B, Did God create the sky? it does not give character B any leeway to be circumspect.

Another possibility is to give the character a reason for not answering, sort of like the Pharisees who reasoned: If we say yes, he’ll want to know why we don’t believe, and if we say no, the crowd will kill us, so that leaves us with “We don’t know.” The question, then, remains on the table for the readers to think about.

One of my favorites is the Big Interruption. Just before The Answer can be delivered, something happens to change the subject or to sever the dialogue, again leaving the question for the reader to consider.

Ideally what a character does or thinks will suggest his views without him ever having to spell them out. Sort of like Jesus answering the question, Are you the one we’ve been looking for? with an admonition: Look at the people being healed.

Keep in mind, fiction for kids (Sally writes for middle grade kids and young adults) may need to be less circumspect. I mean, children’s reasoning capacity presumably isn’t as far along as adults, so maybe they need to be led a little further.

I’d be interested in other ideas if someone has suggestions.

Theme—Day 11

One of my favorite things to do with my mom was to read the Almanac, an odd pastime I think we picked up from my dad.

Thing is, the Almanac gives lists and lists of facts, sort of like a bulleted version of the encyclopedia, but offers no analysis, synthesis, comparison or contrast. In other words, it is possible to read that x number of people died in y natural disaster in year z, close the book, and not think for one moment about the human tragedy of the event. In essence, it is information devoid of meaning and emotion.

Now I am not saying to do away with Almanacs. What I am saying is this: writing fiction should not feel the same as reading the Almanac. I should be touched by fiction emotionally or I should think more deeply about the ideas the story stirred. Ideally both.

In my view, a story with the capacity to stir me to deeper thinking is a story with a well-crafted theme.

The Almanac does not make me think deeply. “How-to” books do not make me think deeply. Too often I think theme in Christian fiction is treated as information that needs to be delivered or explanation that needs to be offered.

In reality, the best learning comes when the one seizing the truth seizes it as his own. My telling, even through story, how God never fails, will not hold the power a reader discovering that God never fails would have as he lives the story alongside the protagonist.

How can a writer do that? I’ll offer first one of the things a writer should not do, gleaned from the article I referenced a few days ago by James Scott Bell in the Writer’s Digest. Speaking of dialogue he says:

compress the language so characters explore and touch on the theme peripherally, rather than discussing thematic elements “on the nose.”

In other words, characters should not deliver the Almanac equivalent of “what I the author want you the reader to know.”

More tomorrow.

Theme—Day 10

In a comment to Stuart yesterday, I wrote:

theme should receive just as much attention in its crafting as characters do. Methods may vary, but it needs crafting or our books will all be in the light-weight class.

I think I’ve stumbled upon the issue driving my concern for theme—books classified as Christian fiction are most often considered “lightweight,” either because they address a small niche market or because they are somehow detached from reality or because they are so poorly crafted, they don’t come up to the knees of their ABA equivalents.

The crafting issue is something I think fiction writers across the board are addressing. It seems as if theme, however, is the last element to get any attention.

As to the small niche market and the detached from reality criticisms, I think those are existent problems because theme has been ignored. God’s plans don’t involve a small niche market, and Christians have insights about reality through Scripture involving the here and the eternal that non-Christians can only wonder about.

So the thing is, Christians writing fiction actually start with an advantage: we have revealed truth from which to write. Our starting point should be less fraught with angst-driven “who am I” stuff so typical of youth fiction. Those questions are OK for teens, but adults should move on and explore bigger issues, from my way of thinking.

If Christian writers would explore bigger issues, it seems to me we could establish a Super Heavyweight Class. In other words, we could actually lead the way rather than tag along behind the world, reacting to Da Vinci Code accusations or chick-lit successes.

Why isn’t ABA fiction trying to counter what Christians are all about the same way Dan Brown is trying to attack Jesus? Could it be that Christian writers are trying so hard to follow the “edgy” path that we are marginalizing our effectiveness?

Back to how to craft theme tomorrow.

Theme—Day 9

I hate to come at this topic from the negative side of things, but often times learning what to do must be prefaced by unlearning what not to do.

In that light, I want to come back to the point of intentionally writing to a specific theme as the first necessary step toward crafting theme well.

By the way, there is an interesting discussion about including theme in children’s book at Sally Apokedak’s All About Children’s Books blog. As I noted in my comment, authors of children’s books don’t seem to have the same qualms about incorporating theme as do authors of adult books. Is it because the children won’t notice and therefore won’t complain?

At any rate, one of my favorite writing instructors, James Scott Bell, in an article in the latest Writer’s Digest said:

When you’re well into your novel, stop and ask what theme is taking shape. Theme should emerge naturally from the story you’re telling, rather than being forced into it.

OK, so far I can only disagree with the part that a writer should notice after the fact what theme is taking shape. I certainly DO agree that it should not be forced. But look at what Bell says next:

Give several characters a chance to engage in dialogue that reflects the theme.

In my way of thinking, that is doing the exact same “forcing” that he admonished writers to avoid.

Look at the issue from the other side. What if the writer determines ahead of time to attach the theme to what the character wants internally? Won’t the dialogue naturally revolve around the thematic idea? No character has to suddenly start mentioning it because it will already be pertinent.

I think “revolve around” is a critical element to crafting theme well. More on that next time.

Theme—Day 8

I’ve learned from Brandilyn Collins, and a number of other writers, that the main character in a novel must first and foremost, want something:

Desire is what the character wants, the motivation that will propel him/her through the story… Everything in the story rests on the protagonist’s Desire. Once you know precisely what she wants, you can begin to build in conflict that will keep her from obtaining that Desire.
- Collins, in her blog Forensics & Faith

A closer look at desire usually indicates that it is best if the desire has at least two prongs, one external and one internal, ideally related in some way to one another.

It is my contention that theme should be married to this desire. And the themes that will resonate the longest are those that are tied to the internal desires.

Therefore, as the character goes on his journey toward his to-be-gained-or-thwarted desire, the reader is absorbing the theme.

Planning theme, then, becomes a matter of searching Scripture to see what God’s perspective is on whatever the protag wants.

So how about something like this: my protag wants a happy marriage (external) because she wants to be loved unconditionally (internal). Theme: God loves His children unconditionally.

This tying theme to a character’s desire seems to me to be the starting point in crafting theme well, but can a writer keep theme from being intrusive, clumsy, transparent? I think we must.

Theme—Day 7

In addressing how theme should be crafted, I think it’s important to once again emphasize the intentionality of incorporating theme.

Noah Lukeman in The Plot Thickens addresses “journey,” a fairly fluid term that from the opening of the chapter by that same title seems to refer to the experience of the reader.

Why do we want to sit down with a five-hundred-page book … when we can get a quick summary of facts, when we could know, up front, how it ends? … the first thing you’ll find is that story telling is not about giving away information but about withholding it; the information itself is never as important as the path you take in disseminating it. It is on the traveling of this path that the reader or viewer will find his satisfaction.”

His discussion quickly changes to the journey of the characters–both the external and the internal journey.

I suggest that theme should actually be the internal desination of both the character and the reader. The author should intentionally set out to bring the reader to this destination. As Lukeman says, this is actually freeing.

When you have a destination in mind, you can stop worrying where he’ll end up and exert more energy on his getting there creatively. The journey will become richer. Knowing what to expect, you can even begin to play against the destination, perhaps with an unexpected route.

By the way, he does mention that the destination can be altered in the process. He uses the idea of boarding a train and heading across the continent only to stop half way there and get off, maybe even to stay at the new location for good. I think the same might happen with theme, but if a writer doesn’t set out with a thematic destination in mind, he is bound to wander about and waste precious opportunities to craft ideas into his fiction.

Theme—Day 6

It is our obligation to embrace truth and to allow it to be the experience of the reader. But whenever a writer tells a story with a ‘and what do we learn from this?’ the power of the story is completely vitiated, it’s lost. The power of a story is that we experience it. The power of the story is that it embraces us. As soon as someone says and what did we learn from this, everything is twisted and we’re forced to figure it out.
- Walter Wangerin, Jr. in an interview with Gina Holmes, posted March 16 and 17 at Novel Journey

I think Wangerin gives the key to crafting theme in these lines.

Regardless of the level of theme—big or little—it must be crafted well, or it will be of little value. As a reminder, I’m using the Oxford American College Dictionary definition of “theme”:

an idea that recurs in or pervades a work of art or literature

So what would poor crafting look like? First, I think it would have that component Wangerin referred to, that “what did we learn” closing which sort of hits the reader over the head as if they had to have it spelled out in case they weren’t bright enough to get it from the story itself. It is tacked on as if the character is saying it, but it sounds far more like the author.

Another possibility is that the recurring part of the theme feels forced. I remember watching episodes of the TV series Seventh Heaven years ago and coming away in disbelief at the way the writers manipulated each of the characters (all five kids, as I recall) into similiar situations, all learning the same lesson within the same time frame. It just isn’t natural. (Ironically, one of my eighth grade students commented that this aspect of the program particularly bugged her—and she was part of their target audience).

A third way that writers fail to craft theme well is by having characters learn lessons too easily. I think that’s what Mark Bertrand refers to when he speaks of the theme not being earned.

So the failure of propaganda doesn’t involve having ideas, but not integrating, testing, earning them.

So how should those ideas be integrated? How are they tested? How can they be earned?

Theme—Day 5

I might as well be up front—from my way of thinking, theme is what makes novel writing worthwhile. I understand that not every author believes this.

Some think writing a little escapist entertainment is a valid occupation. At times I look at that perspective and think it is merely a different type of writing than what I am aiming for, much as poetry is different or article writing is different.

And yet, when I read things like Sally Apokedak’s impassioned challenge at All about Children’s Books, I can’t help but wonder. Here’s a sample from her post from last Friday:

I begin to think that the real problem is that we aren’t hungry enough. We aren’t hurting enough. We aren’t desperate enough. We aren’t driven to influence the world for Christ–to strengthen the church, to save the oppressed. We don’t want to press back the evil, we’re too busy dancing with it.

In light of the evil in our world, how valid is it for me to spend hours and hours writing escapist stories? Won’t that be just so much hay and stubble that will burn up when I stand before Christ and give account of how I spent my time?

Can we justify our fiction because our characters pray for a parking space in a crowded mall? (Pulling that out of my hat—I have no story in mind). In other words, are we focused too much on what makes life here on earth more pleasant or comfortable rather than on fighting the spiritual fight for eternity’s sake?

From a Writer’s Digest article quoting Laurel Lee, (now deceased) professor at George Fox:

A well-written book of children’s verse has as much significance and relevance as an epic tome written for adults. Both works examine—or ought to examine—questions of what it means to be human in inhuman times …

I agree with her about the significance and relevance of both kinds of writing. But I don’t think her definition is enough for a work written from a Christian worldview. With eternity ahead of us, aren’t there even more important issues?

Theme—Day 4

More from Ted Anthony’s review of
The Brief History of the Dead (Kevin Brockmeier, Pantheon Books):

From its first chapter, it reveals itself as a unique beast, a book that will echo long after the final page is read and its cover closed. It is a parable, an allegory, a piece of modern mythology that deserves a rightful place among such explorations of the human soul as Paolo Coelho’s ‘The Alchemist’ and Alice Sebold’s ‘The Lovely Bones.’

I read the first part of this statement with some admiration. If what Anthony says is true, this book is destined to be one of the greats that will pass the test of time. The catch is, he then gives a summary of the book and I see it is full of wishful thinking, probably stimulated by some form of false religion. The author is basically exploring what happens after we die:

Brockmeier has posited a snapshop of our end, and in it he finds potential beginnings that are just as sad and pregnant with possibility as our own existence. He has created a world of death that is just like life itself, with all the uncertainties and joy, only more so.

That sad statement about a book that is exploring what the author obviously does not know makes me wonder what a Christian writer should explore.

I mean, in spite of much talk about the mystery of God, Christianity is founded upon the revelation of God. His Son came to Earth as Immanuel, God with us. His Spirit lives in the life of those who believe. We have in print His words of law, history, poetry, and prophecy.

So don’t Christian writers, who know God’s revealed truth, have sort of a disadvantage when it comes to crafting theme into our fiction—theme for us is less about exploring than it is about revealing.

Can that be done well—without the preaching? And in the process of revealing, is “thought provoking” possible?

Or must we opt for writing about what we do not understand—things like how a good God allows suffering or why we still die even though we believe Jesus conquered death?