When you think of Christmas shopping, visions of toys, jewelry, clothes, and candy probably dance in your head. That’s if you’re a normal human being. If you’re a little weird and a lot nerdy, you get starry-eyed over Lord of the Rings mugs, graphic T-shirts with famous literary quotes, and stacks of books as tall as skyscrapers. I’m guessing that everyone reading this falls into the latter category. Am I right?
As long as a villain has a reason for his wicked behavior, he’ll seem real. Right? Or will he? Shoppers grow hungry but don’t steal. Bank tellers get angry but don’t beat up customers. Hardships tempt people to commit crimes daily, but they control themselves.
A few summers ago, I attended a Christian writing retreat. The event gifted attendees a mug with Psalm 48:14 printed on it: “For this God is our God for ever and ever; He will be our guide even to the end” (NIV). Someone asked the host why he selected this verse. He explained that, when we write, we need to invite God to join us. We can trust Him to be with us through all of the ups and downs, edits, rewrites, and frustrations.
You don’t have to look far to find someone talking about gay rights, whether on the news, social media, or—you guessed it—in fiction. At the library where I work, pro-LGBTQ+ novels are packed so tightly onto the shelves that books keep falling off. With the advent of the Sexual Revolution, sex and gender have become focal points of society, and gay pride is a sizzling-hot topic—for everyone except Christian authors, that is.
Male authors’ bungled characterizations of women (and vice versa) is a running joke in the writing industry. The examples are often hilarious—and equally frustrating. Even the most talented authors struggle to depict what’s unfamiliar to them. Fortunately, dozens of articles and books offer advice for overcoming this challenge, such as Maddie’s post about how different genders process and express emotions. My aim is not to add tips to that pile but to delve into a unique aspect of gender roles that Christians can bring to the discussion.
Crafting a murder mystery for the first time is like learning the violin. After listening to a compelling performance on Youtube, a burst of excitement overwhelms you. You’re sure that, with minimal practice, you can master the instrument too. So you hop onto Amazon, scroll through a few reviews, and buy a set of strings and a bow. Thus armed, you attend your first lesson. Your confidence then explodes. The teacher talks about shoulder rests and resin, frogs and violas, tuning pegs and horse-hair bows. With sinking dread, you realize that becoming a violinist is far more complicated than you expected, and playing that song from Youtube may take years. Admiring an artist’s technique is one thing, and trying to replicate it is another.
Has your work-in-progress ever taken a dark turn? You thought you were writing about teenagers falling in love for the first time, but instead you ended up with scenes where the characters crossed physical boundaries. Or maybe your plot veered into other uncomfortable territory. A violence-ridden city. An unfaithful spouse. Gender dysphoria. Because the world is broken, you can’t portray it authentically and empathize with your audience unless you recognize the struggles around you.
Heroes change their worlds by undergoing personal transformation that impels them to risk their own safety for the sake of others. Sometimes this is encapsulated in a singular act, and other times in a recurring pattern, but both reflect the same theme. Over the past few years, however, I’ve noticed an influx of stories that define heroism differently. Instead of revolving around the principle that virtue develops inwardly before manifesting outwardly, this new version focuses on moral judgment.
Though stories are imaginary, they have an incredible ability to encourage readers to either engage deeply with the real world, or search for an escape. As writers, our responsibility is to be intentional about the reactions we provoke and instead fill readers up. Only when they’re overflowing with hope can they pour themselves into others. To leave them in a better state than you found them, you need to stir up a special sort of longing.
Anxiety has become increasingly common with all of the turmoil in the world today, affecting a wide variety of people regardless of age, gender, or lifestyle. Since identifying the problems readers are facing is essential to creating relatable characters, anxiety needs to be represented in fiction—and Christian authors have a unique ability to provide comfort.
