Writers I Read


Some writers have a knack for making me read their work. There’s one science fiction writer, for example, who’s blog I follow. Understand, I’m not a fan of science fiction, but I read this author’s blog, word for word. I don’t skim.

Others I want to read. I’ll follow someone’s blog because I read a post once that I thought was interesting, or because I like their novel, or we had a meaningful exchange of ideas on Facebook or in the comments section of another blog. I respect them. I just don’t always find myself reading what they write.

Others, I skim. I know the experts tell us to do it, and they do–adding bold font or bullet points. But that allows me to skim, encourages me to skim, so I skim. And nothing in what I’m skimming compels me to go back and read more carefully.

So what is it that those writers have whose posts grab me and hold me even when they’re writing about a movie I don’t want to see, will never see, or about microbes in the human gut, or about growing up in Kansas, or whatever it might be?

Of course there are those post with content in which I’m interested. It might be writing or fantasy or a significant spiritual truth. It might be a topic I like discussing, like creation or politics or sports. Content driven articles, I understand.

What I don’t understand is that intangible. I’ve stopped reading articles about speculative fiction or the publishing industry or God–topics I love to read about and discuss–all because … well, I lost interest. I’ve subscribed to blogs by famous writers because I thought it would help me stay current with my genre–only to find that I have no idea with that person is saying on a day-to-day basis.

On the other hand, I’ve received newsletters by novelists whose books I’ve never read, and yet I devour the articles down to the last word. Why?

I’d love to know because I’d love to replicate those writers’ ability … although, as I write that, I wonder, can ability be replicated? Probably not, but technique might be learned.

One thing some of those writers have is humor. Notice, I didn’t say, a sense of humor. I have a sense of humor. In fact I love to laugh. Love, love, love to laugh. I just don’t use humor much in my writing. I admire authors who do. Andrew Peterson, Matt Mikalatos, Jonathan Robers–I love their books and appreciate their use of humor. I just haven’t got a clue how to use it in my own writing.

A time or two I tried to use humor here on my blog–a little exaggeration, perhaps, a bit of irony or sarcasm. As I recall, those posts have inevitably garnered criticism because someone didn’t recognize the humor. I don’t blame them. Unless you can see the twinkle in my eye or the upturned eyebrow or the suppressed smile, how do you know I meant those lines to be funny?

Writers that write humor can do it. I, on the other hand, am at a loss.

Humor isn’t the only thing that makes writing interesting. When Brandilyn Collins used to blog, I often said she could write the phone book, and I’d find it interesting. I never did quite figure how why, though. She often told stories, and told them well, so perhaps that was her secret ingredient.

Maybe there isn’t one way, either. Some writers are engaging because their content is controversial (Mike Duran), some because they bring a quality of professionalism and expertise, some because they are entertaining.

And the borin ones in which I lose interest? I’m still trying to figure that out. 😉

You can help. Tell me what makes you read a blog post from start to finish or what makes you start to skim or to stop altogether. After all, with all your input, these posts here at A Christian Worldview of Fiction are bound to get a whole lot better!!

Published in: on August 30, 2012 at 6:06 pm  Comments (10)  
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The Monster In The Hollows, CSFF Blog Tour Day 2 – Or, Humor Makes It Fun


The CSFF Blog Tour for Andrew Peterson’s The Monster In The Hollows (Rabbit Room Press) is in full swing. Before I address today’s topic, let me mention a couple notable posts I’ve seen:

  • Nicole White wrote an excellent review of the first book in The Wingfeather Saga, On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness — not just your quicky summary with an endorsement. She gives you a real flavor of the book.
  • One of CSFF’s newest members, Marzabeth, shares a note from Andrew Peterson to explain why she is a supporter of his writing.

You can see the entire list of participants and links to their posts at the end of my first article, The Monster In The Hollows, CSFF Blog Tour Day 1 – Or Grey Fangs And The Church.

One of the things that endears readers to Andrew Peterson’s books is his use of humor. Some bloggers have called The Windfeather Saga or The Monster In The Hollows in particular, light. I believe that’s an allusion to the humor which makes them fun and which tempers the very serious themes running through them.

The most obvious use of humor is what I call “boy humor” because, well, boys primarily enjoy these jokes, though men with the hearts of boys undoubtedly love them too. “Jokes” does not mean to suggest that The Wingfeather Saga is filled with knock-knock jokes or tales of chickens crossing various roads. Rather the characters themselves do or say things that are funny as part of how they live life and do what they do.

Perhaps the humor in On The Edge Of The Dark Sea Of Darkness seemed more self-aware, what with the various footnotes and appendixes. Still, there were places where boys were being boys, enjoying the humor that boys share with each other. The Monster In The Hollows utilizes that type of humor too. Here’s an example:

[Oscar] spat, but instead of a nice, dense, seaworthy glob plopping into the sea, it was a spray of white spittle, some of which landed on Podo’s arm.

“Keep practicin’, old friend,” Podo said, wiping it off. “Make sure ye get the bubbles out before ye spit. And remember, it helps if ye snort. Improves the consistency. Watch.”

Podo reared back and snorted so long and loud that the whole crew took notice. They watched with admiration as Podo launched a dollop of spit that sailed an astonishing distance before splooshing into the waves. The Kimerans nodded and muttered their approval.

Podo wiped his mouth. “Sorry, lass. Ye have to seize the teachable moments, you know. Carry on.”

This kind of in-story humor combined with wonderful word inventiveness, much of which came to the forefront in the middle of the novel when the Igiby/Wingfeather children were becoming acquainted with the Guildling Hall and Institute for Hollish Learning — school (“Hollish” being the adjective used for all things related to the Hollows). Here’s a flavor:

When they had … settled [Leeli] in the puppy wing of the houndry, [Guildmadam] Olumphia Groundwich continued the tour with Janner and Kalmar. She showed them the juicery … Then they visited the rockwright class, the bookbindery (which Janner especially liked), the boatery, the cookery (which Kalmar especially liked), and the needlery, where one learned to make dresses and quilts (which both boys especially disliked).

“Your father loved to sail, or so I’ve heard,” Olumphia said. “I’d show you the sailery, but it’s held at the waterfront and is reserved for our oldest students.”

Later the children discover that part of their day will be spent in P. T. or “Pummelry Training. It’s where everybody’s racing and wrestling and punching.”

Later still when Janner and Kalmar join the Durgan Guild, they receive their first lesson in sneakery.

And then there is Oscar and the “indibnible honor” he had of meeting Bonifer, the once adviser to the king.

On the word play goes, each alteration not enough to disguise the meaning and just enough to make the word more interesting and noticeable. Eventually I found myself imitating wordsmithery and commented on someone’s site about bloggery or some similar thing. All that fun has a way of spilling out. 😀

In conjunction with the CSFF Blog Tour, I received a free copy of this book from the publisher.

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