Cormac McCarthy’s The Road won the 2006 Pulitzer Prize. It also currently has 312 one-star reviews at Amazon and over 8,000 one-star reviews on Goodreads.

Pulitzer Prize. Lotsa one- star reviews.

Best book of the year. Worst book of the year.

Classic! Piece of crap!

I read the book when it first came out. It was my first (and only) Cormac McCarthy novel. I loved it. I enjoyed the minimalist use of language, the sparse, bleak, apocalypse the characters traversed. The Road was my favorite book of that year. It won numerous awards and critical praise, which I thought McCarthy deserved.

As expected, there were many five-star reviews calling it a masterpiece, a literary achievement, a work of art. And then there were the dissenters. No, not the readers who just couldn’t get into the story and didn’t like the punctuated, staccato, cadence. Not those who tried to be objective and weigh positives and negatives. Not those who retained a semblance of composure. No. I’m talking about reviewers who utterly, completely, quite perfectly, despised The Road.

The antipathy towards The Road seems to fall into one (if not all) of three gripes:

• It’s too bleak
• It’s stylistically bad
• It’s really over-hyped

So there’s lots of Grammar Nazis and Establishment Haters in the mix.

You want some examples? Okay.

This book is vile. This book is a lie. It is a festering wasteland of despair and sadistic pathos pretending to contain some freakish remnant of love. – Richard

Recall a urinal displayed as art? This is similar, but less thoughtful. — slithy tove

The Road, I can honestly say, is the worst book I have ever read.– Robin

I can only recommend this book to aspiring writers wanting to know what it takes to win the Pulitzer Prize. Clearly, punctuation, plot, character development and consistent narrative aren’t necessary, but drawing vague metaphors regarding human nature and the declination of western society are encouraged. — C. Maxwell

tragedy porn — Keely

Apparently, once you’re a famous author you can say, “f*** the rules of the English language, I’ll do what I want.” — John

This is my first Cormac McCarthy novel, and I have little doubt it will be my last. It is not hyperbole to say that *I* could write better. If freestanding gerund phrases, missing apostrophes, and minimal character development are all it takes to win the Pulitzer Prize, then “I weep for the future” of American Literature. — axeeugene

the literary equivalent of The Emperor’s New Clothes — W. Morris

interminably dreary and interminably repetitious, repetitious, repetitious, repetitious, repetitious, repetitious… — K. Bunker

I don’t have the stomach to wade through poor english and even poorer logic — ever for a supposedly good story. My God, what has happened to our language, to our critical faculities (sic)? — Jonas

A tedious and dreary book — John

…a tour through a macabre mind, a desolate wilderness of the desperate soul. If by some feat of technology or magic, one could take a guided tour through the hell of another’s life, any sane person would ask – of all human experience why go here? McCarthy scores for those who are such tourists of despair. But even on technical merit, there is no redemption for this exercise in spiritual torture. Get it out of my head – it’s like the mind chewing grubs from the Wrath of Khan.– Michael

linguistic debauchery — John Doe

Perhaps this is just the downside of democracy. I mean, if everybody’s got an opinion and can publicly air it, then bring on the torches and pitchforks. Maybe it’s a backlash against snooty critics trying to jam “literature” down our throats. Or perhaps we have a terminal case of the “writing rules.”

Whatever the reason for the revulsion, I can see not calling The Road a masterpiece. But calling it “a festering wasteland of despair and sadistic pathos” just seems, well, a little over the top.

So I was thrilled to hear that long-time writing friend Christopher Fisher had released his first novel A History of Stone and Steel. Chris and I had crossed paths a while back at an online writer’s group. It wasn’t long after that he enrolled in the Stonecoast Creative Writing program, received his MFA, and resurfaced as Editor-in-Chief for Relief Journal. He’s since started his own indie label and published his first novel. Chris took a few minutes to answer some questions about his writing journey, his experience as an editor, his new book, and why the things his fictional narrator says needs to be “taken with a grain of salt.”

* * *

MIKE: I think we initially crossed paths back in Dave Long’s Faith and Fiction forum. Since then, you’ve studied creative writing, became an editor at Relief Journal, and published a book. People often ask about an author’s “path to publication.” What were some of the most important steps along that “path” for you?

CHRISTOPHER: That’s right, Mike. The old F*I*F. Hard to believe that was almost ten years ago, which was probably about midway through my “path.” And I think you’ve mentioned most of the big steps. Finishing my MFA in Creative Writing was a definite milestone. In the Stonecoast program I got the chance to work with some great teachers and mentors. They were really tough on me and my writing, wouldn’t let me get away with a lot of the cheats and shortcuts I’d relied on up till then.

Getting into editing was also huge. When you spend hours every day for ten years tinkering with other people’s writing, you really begin to see a story less as a fixed work of art—like a sculpture—and more as a machine with many parts that can be moved around and manipulated, or even replaced or taken out completely to improve the overall performance and function. It was a major breakthrough for me to begin seeing my own drafts through the eyes of an editor, instead of an author with a natural emotional attachment to the words on the page.

But to be perfectly honest, I don’t know if any of those things had much to do directly with the “path to publication.” In fact, I think it’s often dangerous to set out with the goal of publication in mind. At least it was for me. I tried that route almost immediately after high school, and then spent the next ten years failing—completely and utterly—at getting anything published, though I really, really tried. I gave that up finally when I was 29 and decided it was time to admit I just wasn’t the writer I thought I was. I went back to college to finish my B.A.—because I had dropped out at 23 to “become a writer”—and it was only then that things finally started happening, little by little. I began working as an editor on campus with the CJ College and managed to place a few short pieces with The Wittenburg Door and some local journals. Bit by bit I got my foot a little further into various doors, learned a lot about the publishing business, and then finally last year realized I had all the skills and experience needed to publish a book on my own. So that’s what I did.

MIKE: So tell me about A History of Stone and Steel, the gist, what prompted you to write it, and the audience you’re aiming at.

CHRISTOPHER: Without giving too much away, it’s essentially about a man in all kinds of pain going off the rails just long enough to begin to see who he really is. The narrator, Paul Keppel, has recently developed chronic and unexplained headaches, and upon hearing that his grandfather—a real lightning-rod of a charismatic preacher—is dying from brain cancer, he becomes convinced he’s also going to die. Paul’s grandfather has told him since he was a child that God has a special plan for him, though he’s never seen one materialize, and he suspects that “failure to arrive” has something to do with a work-place disaster that sent him off course. A good half of the novel is set in the past, as Paul reflects and tries to work out what happened that summer 21 years ago, and why. In the present, though, the awareness of his mortality becomes a catalyst that slowly strips away his normal inhibitions (beginning with the filter between his mouth and brain) as he rushes to find as much closure as possible while he still can.

What prompted me to write it was, to tell the truth, a fiction packet deadline for my MFA program. I had a deadline in 30 days and nothing at all to send. So I started toying with the idea of a short-story character I’d developed for a contest at the very same Faith in Fiction blog you just mentioned. It was a humor piece called “The Fellowship of the Golden Emerod” that followed a cranky guy, home sick from work, suffering from severe hemorrhoids and a surprise visit from two young “preachers.” I thought I might extend this guy’s story, or rather back it up and tell some of his backstory, and before I knew it, I had a first chapter and an outline for the next three or four. The character in the novel ultimately turned out to be a lot different than the short-story version, but the overall theme of the two are basically the same: God will use who he wants, to do what he wants, regardless of their intentions or our preconceptions concerning the “legitimacy” of the messenger.

As for intended audience, I don’t know if we ever truly know who our audience will be. I think while writing I was mostly just trying to follow that old saw: Write the book you want to read. So I assumed this was going to be a definite “man’s book,” because of the tone and some of the more brutal scenes. I was thinking readers of Chuck Palahniuk’s Fight Club. But so far it seems the readers who have been most excited and supportive after reading are all women, which of course is perfectly fine by me. I love women, was raised by women, and most of my closest friends are women, so maybe I should have expected that. But really, I’m just thrilled that anyone is reading it at all.

MIKE: In the Note from the Publisher, it reads: “This book is not a work of theology. Any descriptions, characterizations, or observations of the Divine are those of a fictional narrator and should not be construed to be those of the author or publisher. They should be taken with a grain of salt and, hopefully, a dash of humor.” Why did you include that qualifier?

CHRISTOPHER: Ah… Somebody actually reads those things!

I put that in because, without revealing too much, God is an essential but unseen character in the story. Any time an author presents God in fiction as an active character, there’s the chance that’s going to conflict with a reader’s understanding and interpretation of God’s “revealed nature,” and I frankly don’t want to argue theological details with readers. That’s not why I wrote the book. But because of how my story happened to arc, the God in A History of Stone and Steel comes across as much more “Old Testament” than I think I’m even comfortable with. I can almost hear the objections already: “Yes, but wrath and judgment is not all there is to God!” And of course it’s not.

This is the fictional story of a man—a blasphemer, a drunk, and something of a ne’er-do-well, who also is in his own way used by God. It’s not intended as a direct commentary on the nature of God, though indirectly, through the events of the story, it does suggest that God always has and will continue to behave in ways we don’t think He will. Or rather, in ways that our own slippery grasp on morality tells us He should not behave.

MIKE: Resurgent Books is your own label. Why did you not choose to shop the book to trad publishers? And are you looking to publish other books under that label?

I did shop it around for a little bit. In fact, with all the connections I’ve made in publishing over the last ten years I thought, I guess rather naively, that I’d be able to find at least a small publishing house to take it with little trouble. I was wrong. The industry is so overwhelmed and uncertain right now, and even publishers I know fairly well are not really considering new submissions. Some have even closed submissions for the next year or two while they work through a huge backlist, or have all their titles picked out and slated for the next two years. So I figured if my friends don’t have the time or staff to take my novel, the chances of getting strangers at other houses to even look at it was not worth the gamble.

But even if they did, I’d be looking at probably a year minimum to find a publisher, another year for editing, maybe another 18 months for production and release. This would be a problem for the story since I, maybe unwisely, dated the book, with both threads (past and present) in specific years. So waiting 2 – 5 years for publication could mean not only massive rewrites, but that some of the conflicts of certain subplots would be irrelevant by the time it goes to print. I just came to the decision that the time to publish is now, and I came to realize that no one else was going to publish this book for at least 2-3 years. So I’d have to do it myself.

MIKE: I talk a lot about faith and fiction on my blog, the intersections between Christians and the arts. I recently posted an article entitled “Where Do Artists Fit in the Church?” Frankly, the Church has NOT done a great job incorporating writers and poets and artists in the Church’s mission. Either we’re used as tools of propaganda (employing our art to sermonize), or we’re left to “go secular,” and, basically, put our light under a bushel. How do you see the intersection between Christians and the arts? Should the Christian writer be writing just for Christians? If not, how do we navigate being called to “preach the gospel” and simply tell a good story?

CHRISTOPHER: That’s a pretty complex question, and you may not like my answer. First, I acknowledge there are exceptions to what I’m about to say. Hope Church in Richmond, Virginia, for example, is doing some amazing things in the arts. What they’ve created there feels almost like an informal MFA program. But in a general sense, I don’t think real artists do fit in the American church, or at least not in the Evangelical branches. To clarify, art and artists are certainly utilized in almost all Christian churches, primarily through music and other performance arts, and sometimes through visual art and writing as well. But within so many denominations and congregations, it seems to me always to be primarily about the utility, about how the art can be used. And used most often in place of persuasive argument. I worry many of these traditions are just too deeply rooted in a philosophy and period of history where the tract was the highest and most important end of the written word, and for many folks there, any art that doesn’t at least attempt the same goal as a religious tract will always be something just a little less than “Christian.” And that creates an environment I think a lot of artists find less than welcoming.

I’m reminded of the time I shared a song I’d discovered with a Baptist friend, for whom I still have a lot of respect. The song was “River on Fire,” by the late Gene Eugene. It’s just a gorgeous, heart-breaking piece about a failing relationship, full of longing and sadness, an honest and bittersweet confession of how love often hurts and is not all we hope for. I was sure this friend would love it as well, but he wasn’t at all impressed. There was no message. No neat conclusion about how God is the answer to the singer’s pain. It didn’t even mention Jesus. To my friend, this was supposed to be a “Christian artist” and so if the song didn’t contain the message of the Gospel, it was a waste of his time and an under-utilization of the artist’s talent.

I worry that, even now, after decades of talking about bringing more art into the Church, there are still many in the Evangelical corner who will never be satisfied with mere artistic expression and confession; there must also be conversion. It’s not enough that the work is beautiful; it must also propagate the Church agenda. And so if a work of art doesn’t make some final sales pitch, then to those people that kind of art has no place in the Church at all. In those kinds of settings, at least, the artist is left to, as you say, “go secular.”

I don’t agree, however, that going secular means you also must hide your light under a bushel. If the “light” is an agenda, then yes. Any mainstream editor is going to see through that and send your manuscript packing. But there are many “secular” books that I believe do a fine job of displaying the light and love of God—Leif Enger’s Peace Like a River, John Irving’s A Prayer for Owen Meaney, and Marilynn Robinson’s Gilead, to name just a few. All of these were published outside of the Christian market and, in my opinion, are much better examples of how faith and art can occupy the same space without one snuffing out the light of the other.

MIKE: You were an editor with Relief Journal for a spell. What kind of experience was that? And what did you learn about writing from being an editor?

CHRISTOPHER: Well, in a nutshell, I learned how to write. I’m not saying only editors are good writers, because that’s of course not true. But for me, I think there are things I’ve learned on the editor’s side of the desk that I would otherwise never have gotten. My time at Relief, though, was largely a different kind of eye-opener in that it showed me just how many great spiritual writers are out there trying to write for true artistic expression or the love of story, without some hidden agenda of making converts. I mean, I had the chance to edit some spectacular authors who are writing great things from a Christian worldview, but with real literary sensibilities. In other words, not the tract writers I’d encountered in the past (the kind I used to be, in fact), but that mythical brand of “Writer who is Christian” that I’d always hoped was out there, somewhere. At Relief, we received up to 500 submissions a cycle, in fiction, non-fiction, and poetry from these really talented people, and it gave me a lot of hope and courage to tackle my own book. If not for my time working with those authors, I don’t think I would have finished A History of Stone and Steel at all; I would never have believed there was an audience for it.

MIKE: Congrats again on your new book. And would you do me a favor, and tell your editorial cohort Beth Jusino that I’ve had a Facebook Friend request pending for months?

CHRISTOPHER: Thanks, Mike. It feels really good to have it out there, if for no other reason than that I can finally move on to some of the other projects on my backburner. As for Beth, offer to send her a nice Belgian ale, and I’ll bet she’ll be your friend for life!

* * *

Great interview, Chris! Thanks again. And remember, his novel A History of Stone and Steel is now available. Looking forward to hearing more from this talented writer.

Our oldest daughter, Melody, went through quite a rebellious stretch in her senior year of high school. Up until that point, she’d been at the top of her class, a model student and child. Then something snapped (which occasionally happens to sixteen year-olds). She began lying to us, sneaking out of the house, and openly disobeying us. But how do you discipline a sixteen year-old? You can’t spank them. You can’t lock them in their room. You can’t boot them out of the house. Lisa and I were at our wits end. So we looked for more creative ways to discipline her.

One of those ways was to take her bedroom door off its hinges.

With two brothers and a baby sister, this was a blow to Melody’s privacy. Which we intended. She ended up draping a sheet over the door, which we reluctantly tolerated. If that didn’t work, next we would take away all her make-up. Soon, things changed. Melody weathered that tough stretch and is now a wonderful married mother of two… with household rules of her own.

So I was a bit surprised recently to realize that, according to some, the disciplining of our daughter could have been considered… abuse.

This weekend, I posted this on Facebook:

To be clear, the reason for my qualifications is that many “survivor” networks or “recovering” ____________ (fill in the blank, preferably with something of a religiously conservative nature) often seem less about actually promoting healing and more about raging against evangelicalism, fundamentalism, the Bible, organized religion, conservatism, patriarchy, religious kitsch, or dumb Christians.

Well, I received some great links and some important private correspondences. Many thanks to those who responded. One of the links was for Quivering Daughters (QD). If you’re not familiar with the Quiverfull Movement (as I haven’t been) it’s a rather authoritarian, ultra-conservative group applying rigid “biblical” ideology to issues of Family (contraception, home-schooling, patriarchy, etc.). Some go so far as to define the Quiverfull Movement as a cult. (The Wikipedia article is a good starting place for those who want more.) As a result, more and more people are exposing Quiverfull, and survivor groups are springing up, seeking to help victims detox from this potentially poisonous brand of fundamentalism. Quivering Daughters is one such group.

The more I perused the QD website, the more it appeared this was the type of site I was looking for. Balanced. Not trying to slam Christianity or foist progressivism. Encouraging grace and forgiveness, rather than victimhood and vindictiveness. Its founder, Hillary McFarland, even wrote a book on the subject. But as I continued researching, I was rather surprised to learn…

not everyone agrees with the anti-Quiverfull crowd.

Shocking, I know.

So a counter site was started named Steadfast Daughters (SD) whose sub-heading explains their mission as

…a biblical response to the “quivering daughters” (QD) movement that originated from Hillary McFarland’s book (and blog), Quivering Daughters: Hope and Healing for the Daughters of Patriarchy.

Which means it’s a biblical response (SD), to a biblical response (QD), to a biblical response (the Quiverful Movement), to secularism. Oy!

While the folks at Steadfast Daughters “fully acknowledge that true abuse occurs, even in Christian homes,” they believe that “according to the writings of some QD proponents, the line between solid biblical teaching and true abuse is blurry at best,” with the result that “some solid, biblical teachings may also be considered emotionally or spiritually ‘abusive.’”  Thus:

…we believe it is wrong to blame proponents of real biblical patriarchy (father-rule) for the tyrannical actions of selfish men who cloak themselves in a pseudo-patriarchy that does not resemble Christ-like, biblical headship in the least.

This led to return fire from popular blogger Elizabeth Esther in Steadfast Daughters? Not so fast. Among her many contentions was that SD’s approach

…entirely misses the point because while they demand that we “define terms” [of abuse] and nail down EXACT specifics, the broken victims bleed to death.

Esther is not alone, as you can see in the follow-up comments to that post. The crux of the divide, as far as I can tell, has to do with defining abuse. Under SD’s Frequently Asked Questions page is a lengthy section entitled What Is Abuse? Why is that question important?

…sometimes, when people use the word abuse, they mean other things. Today, the word abuse is used to describe everything from violence, rape, molestation, and verbal cruelty to any form of corporal punishment, hurting someone’s feelings, offending the religious views of another, or even “grounding” a child from something he wants to do. In society’s effort to extend the definition of abuse, the word has nearly lost its meaning.

The author, Stacey McDonald, goes on to cite the true account of a 12 year-old girl who was grounded by her father for posting inappropriate pictures of herself online… and successfully sued him for mistreatment and abuse.

Question: Is grounding your 12 year-old daughter for posting inappropriate pictures of herself online, abuse? If so, then taking Melody’s door off its hinges might have been grounds for the same charge.

Point is: The line between discipline, submission, biblical authority and abuse may be a lot finer than we like to admit. Especially nowadays when autonomy is revered and authority — primarily religious, parental, and patriarchal authority — is seen as oppressive and evil. Of course, situations that involve physical violence, demeaning, entrapment, systematic, unchallenged indoctrination, are indisputably abusive. But the term has definitely become squishy. Especially as it relates to biblical authority.

• Is the Christian man who postures himself as the “head of the house” automatically an authoritarian?
• Is the woman who sees her role as submitting to her husband really a victim, or a naive enabler?
• Are the parents who believe in teaching their children Creationism, home-schooling them, and making them go to church, abusers?
• Is the pastor or leadership team wrong to publicly discipline or disfellowship a member?

Each of these scenarios present countless nuances. Yes, some may cross into abuse. But do all of them? And if not, how do we tell the real abuse from perceived abuse? Or is all perceived abuse, abuse?

The pivot of my own spiritual journey, and probably the most difficult season of my life, was when I was publicly disciplined for “the sin of pride” and was asked to step away from the pulpit for a year. This eventually led to the collapse of our church and my leaving the ministry after eleven years. Along the way, some labeled the church a cult and suggested I’d been manipulated and victimized by an authoritarian senior pastor. Frankly, I’m still not sure I understand the psychological and spiritual dynamics of that season of my life. Was I victimized? Was I brainwashed? Was I a willing participant? Did I deserve what I got? Was I submitting biblically? Did I go too far in submitting to, or enabling, spiritual abuse? The questions go on and on.

But at the heart of my personal struggle, as with the aforementioned Quiverfull saga, is the definition of abuse. Are we, as Elizabeth Esther suggests, too busy trying to “define terms” and “nail down EXACT specifics,” that we allow “the broken victims bleed to death”? Or as Steadfast Daughters asks, is society seeking to “extend the definition of abuse,” thus gutting very biblical, hierarchical structures?

Both have a point.

No doubt, nit-picking terms can be evasive and insensitive to victims. It may even perpetuate an abusive situation! But embracing all charges of abuse can be equally damaging (especially if you’re the father of a 12 year-old girl who effectively sues you for grounding her).

So what do we do?

Obviously, one of worst things we can do is wink at, or openly defend, potential abuse and extremism in Christian circles. In the aforementioned church I was a part of, a child-rearing program became popular that was entitled Growing Kids God’s Way. It was a video series and syllabus that many in the church became enamored with. Lisa and I attended a couple sessions (we had four adolescents at the time) but, frankly, thought the program was rather legalistic. So we declined continued participation. Our lack of enthusiasm for the program was frowned upon. It wasn’t surprising to me that, years later, the group behind the video were charged with having cultic characteristics and was critiqued in Christianity Today. Point is, if stuff seems legitimately weird and people are getting screwed up from it, we need to take a closer look. Even if our church or theology comes under scrutiny. Which is what Hillary McFarland did at Quivering Daughters, to her credit.

But as Christians, we must also be cautious about hacking away at Scripture. In this case, because some who hold to biblical patriarchy are authoritarian and abusive, we disavow biblical patriarchy altogether. This is Stacey McDonald’s point. Because of some abuse, we discard very biblical structures as “emotionally or spiritually abusive.” Thus, all “biblical patriarchy” is bad.

Scripture tells believers, “Obey your leaders and submit to their authority” (Heb. 13:17). It also commands children to obey their parents, wives to submit to their husbands, leaders to lead, and followers to follow. It commands husbands to love their wives like Christ loved the church and for citizens to obey the laws of the land and pray for those in governance over them. We can juggle these commands all we like, but the Scriptures are pretty clear.

Basically, we are commanded to submit on multiple levels.

And the buck has to stop somewhere.

In the case of Melody, the buck stopped with me. Yes, my wife and I were in complete agreement. We believed God loved Melody, that He’d loaned her to us, that we were responsible to have her best in mind and instruct her in the way she should go. And we believed it was Melody’s role to obey us. She wasn’t hit. She wasn’t called names. She wasn’t left unfed. But did we do the right thing in that situation? Was taking her door off its hinges appropriate? Or were we being too hard, even borderline abusive by stripping her of that privacy?

As much as we’d like a clear line between biblical submission to authority and abuse, I’m just not sure there is one. Which is why, I think, Quivering Daughters and Steadfast Daughters both have an important role in this discussion.

This very civil, very intelligent, debate about the legitimacy of homosexual relationships within Christianity is well worth 20 minutes of your viewing time. (Thanks to pastor friend Dennis McGuire for the link.) I’ll post some thoughts on this later, but I’d love to hear your observations.

Yesterday my agent confessed that she “messed up royally.” Actually,  Rachelle’s post was a clarification of her previous post entitled Will My Publisher Let Me Self-Publish Too? This post stirred up lots of pushback, most notably from self-published authors who felt she was siding with “Big Pub.”

Frankly, I thought it was an overreaction on the part of many of the commenters and reminded me a lot of THIS POST where I suggested that waiting to self-publish was a good idea, was linked to some guerrilla self-publishers, called bad names, and ended up doing a lot of back-tracking. I felt a similar (over-) reaction occurred toward Rachelle’s post.

Don’t get me wrong. There was lots of reasonable, civil, compelling arguments for why self-pubbing is better than traditional publishing and how big publishers can and do take advantage of authors.

Perhaps the big bat was the one swung by James Scott Bell in his lengthy comment, which began:

I found the very form of the question somewhat disconcerting. “Will my publisher LET ME?” Like I’m in third grade? Rather, the question should simply be, “How May I Self-Publish Successfully?” I’m not owned by a publishing company. I am not begging for Kibble. I am a writer who knows what he’s doing, who can deliver the goods, and to whom readers pay because of said goods.

Writers who are “gung ho” to write more and make more money are doing what writers only WISHED they could do in the “old days.” And our mantra is, we can work with publishers, too, as long as a mutually beneficial deal can be worked out. Which is how it should be.

The comment thread is actually very informative. It clearly gives you the sense that the tide is turning (has turned?) and the chips are on the side of the “underdog.” And, frankly, some of the anger is warranted. I mean, I’ve invested far more time and money to market my books and further my brand than any publisher has. This doesn’t mean I will, henceforth, forgo traditional publishing. It means I’m going in with the realization that I still need to work my ass off.

What I found most interesting, however, was the insinuation that Rachelle’s post showed she was on the side of big publishers and not being an advocate for her clients.

I thought this was absurd.

Granted, this could be because I actually know Rachelle, have worked with her, and have never gotten the sense that she does not have my best interest in mind or that she’s a shill for the evil “Big Pub.” In fact, I’ve self-published two books since joining her team. No strings attached. And she’s been nothing but encouraging along the way.

Which is why I appreciated what Ramona Richards, a novelist and acquisitions editor, said on Rachelle’s follow-up post:

Rachelle, your posts don’t often surprise me, but this one did. Anyone who would think you would be on the side of a publisher over a client is either 1) new; 2) not paying attention; 3) never negotiated a contract with you. As a “traditional” publisher who HAS done that last one, I know from personal experience that you are an excellent advocate for your clients. The industry is undergoing a sea-change right now, and there are a lot of unknowns. Your devotion to your clients is not one of them.

Amen.

I think Rachelle was right to issue a follow-up, apologize for her “royal mess-up,” and clarify her position. I couldn’t help but wonder if her mea culpa is indicative of the tenuous author / agent relationship created by the new world of publishing. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised to see many similar “clarifications” in the near future on the part of agents assuring clients and potential clients that they are not lapdogs for traditional publishers and can play a legitimate role in an author’s career.

Which means that the default position for literary agents will be teetering on the tightrope somewhere between those “evil” publishers and us newly empowered, and quite ready for payback, authors.

It’s been said that most people spend the first half of their life making the last half miserable.

This adage seems equally applicable to the writers I know. In this way: We spend the second half of our writing life unlearning the rules we learned in the first half.

One such rule that I’ve had a hard time breaking regards POV (Point of View). Some writing instructors consider POV one of the most important of all the writing rules in that it is the lens through which a story is told. Not only has that rule found root in the fertile soil of my legalistic brain, it is now bearing fruit. Shriveled, stinky fruit.

In each of the three novels I’ve written (one currently unpublished), I’ve approached POV differently. This was done intentionally. In The Resurrection, I employed third person and only two POVs, a man and a woman’s. In The Telling, I used third person again but doubled that with four POVs, one of them being a bad guy. In The Ghost Box, I tried first person POV.

But apparently, like a hidden chamber in Nanny Highverse’s estate, I’ve stumbled upon another level of POV. A secret level. One for the (clears throat) advanced.

By way of example. The following POV is told through Nanny’s:

Nanny opened the chamber door and peeked inside. She smelled mold and wrinkled her nose. As she scanned the dusty shelves, she noticed the pickle jar had been overturned. Nanny gasped. She feared that she would never find her pet tarantula, Samantha, again.

Okay, forget that Nanny has a pet tarantula named Samantha. This paragraph breaks an important POV rule. Sure, it’s probably not unlike any number of paragraphs, in any number of books, on any number of bestseller lists. It’s descriptive, grammatically correct, and probably passable from a publisher’s perspective. But this sentence is not true to POV. And herein lies my peeve, er, new discovery.

Allow me to demonstrate by tweaking this paragraph:

Nanny opened the chamber door and peeked inside. She wrinkled her nose at the odor of mold. Dust blanketed the shelves, and the pickle jar lay overturned. She gasped. Would Nanny ever find her pet tarantula, Samantha, again?

You see, if I’m “in” Nanny’s POV, I don’t need to be told “she smelled” anything. Just describe “the odor of mold.” And if “the pickle jar had been overturned” on “the dusty shelves,” I don’t need to tell you that “she scanned the dusty shelves” or that “she noticed” the toppled jar. All I need to do is show you the overturned jar on the dusty shelves. Remember, I’m in her head.  And finally, if I’m living the story through Nanny’s POV, I don’t need to tell you “she feared” anything. I need to show her fearing, wondering, and worrying.

This is the “correct” use of POV.

Or so I thought.

Upon sharing this revelation with some other writers, I was informed that what I was talking about was not POV but… “deep POV.”

This bothered me.

So have I been writing “shallow POV” all this time? And if “shallow POV” is permissible, what the heck am I doing worrying about it? Who cares if Nanny “wrinkled her nose at the odor of mold” or just “smelled mold”?! Apparently, readers and publishers don’t.

So, thanks to Nanny Highverse, I have discovered another writing rule that, apparently, needs unlearned.

First pro-lifers are accused of NOT adopting. Then pro-lifers are accused of WRONGLY adopting.

If you get the sense it’s a no-win situation, you’re probably right.

The article in Mother Jones that started the latest round of attacks on evangelical culture, Orphan Fever: The Evangelical Movement’s Adoption Obsession, argues that one result of Christians’ efforts to adopt orphaned children is that children are obtained (often illegally) and being placed in oppressive, fundamentalist homes in order for parents to evangelize them.

The article was promptly rebutted by conservatives as a shameful attack, and defended by progressives on numerous fronts. Which seems to indicate the issue is more than just purely humanitarian.

Are there wrong motives for adopting? Absolutely. Are there bad parents who adopt? Yes. Are there fringe organizations wrongly benefiting from the evangelical adoption movement? I’m sure there are. Are some adopted children brought into abusive, even cult-like, homes? It appears so.

But are there enough of these abuses to discredit the entire movement — or the practice of “Christian adoption,” domestic or international — in general? No.

After following this debate for a while, one issue that has stood out to me is the insinuation that adoption as evangelism is wrong. I understand the white savior complex, that some adopt for brownie points, and that others may be trying to assuage  the guilt of their own affluence. But what better reason is there to adopt than that a couple is a Christian family?

My wife and I have raised four children and are now working on four grandchildren. Our faith plays a huge part in our approach to child-rearing. Isn’t this natural? For whatever reasons, the issue of adoption has become a part of our family’s life. For about five years, Lisa and I have financially supported a Christian orphanage in Thailand, one boy in particular. We have some close friends who adopted two Sudanese children. Our pastor has adopted two children. And two of our own children are in the process of adopting children. Which means that, one day, God willing, I will be the grandfather of an adopted child.

Does the fact that these children are being adopted into Christian homes matter? If it doesn’t, then what’s the value in being a Christian at all?

This isn’t to insinuate that non-Christians cannot raise good, happy, productive children. That’s untrue. But if I do not believe that Christ is the Way to God, as He claimed, that life and happiness are intimately connected to ones relationship with God, and that a correct view of the afterlife is essential to approaching our present life, why choose Christianity over any other religion?

I’m a Christian because I believe Christ is superior to all other religious figures and Christianity is superior to all other ideologies and world religions.

Am I wrong for telling my children, grand-children, and any future adopted grandchildren this?

We’ve home-schooled our four children and, during that time, occasionally  came in touch with more rigid, fundamentalist adherents. I approached them the same way I approach any “Christian” who acts oddly and exists on the fringe — I keep them at arms length. Weird Christian home-school parents don’t invalidate Christianity any more than bad humanist parents invalidate humanism.

Point is: We should expect parents of any particular worldview or religion to raise their adopted children thusly.

Which means adoption is always somewhat evangelistic.

I mean, do we really expect a child to be adopted into a Muslim or Buddhist family and not be deeply influenced by those religions? The atheist who doesn’t care if his adopted child grows up to be a Christian should rethink how essential atheism is as belief system. Sure, it would be wrong to approach adoption as simply a means to “advance the Kingdom” and further an ideology. But being indifferent to what worldview your children — adopted or otherwise — choose to believe is bad parenting.

The point of us having kids was not to evangelize them, make them clones of ourselves or robots for our religion. We wanted children to share in our love and experience the wonder of life. We wanted to be fruitful and multiply. We want to see our offspring spread life and goodness and grace and love.

Imparting the Gospel, and attempting to live it, is the best thing I have ever done for my children.

Do we want our adopted grandchildren to become Christians? Absolutely! Will we do everything in our power to help them get there? How could we not.

So if a couple is wanting to adopt strictly to indoctrinate clones, then something is really wrong. But if a couple is wanting to adopt out of the recognition that they have, both spiritually, morally, and materially, resources that can potentially lead a child to a much better, happier life, both now and for eternity, more power to them.

I wasn’t forced to write horror. I didn’t choose that genre — especially as a Christian! — because it’s a hot genre. I don’t read horror as a psychological outworking of some hidden rage or trauma (at least, I don’t think so).

Still, horror fiction holds a special place in my heart.

But why?

After the Boston Marathon bombing, I read several articles that made me sick to my stomach. The carnage, the mutilation. One of the many things that crossed my mind was why, in a world full of horrors, would someone want to write or read fictional horror? Escapism and sugary, feel-good tales seem more in order. Don’t they?

Perhaps this is why people look aslant at you when you say you write or read horror. As if you’re a real sicko. It’s been suggested that “some self-published authors have pulled away from marketing their books as horror because they sell better when labeled as other genres.” In other words, the splatter crowd has given us a bad name. Frankly, I think the person who enjoys watching / reading about torture, dessication, and decapitation, has issues.

But, realistically, it’s a fine line.

While physical horrors are often a part of horror tales, I don’t read them for such. I’m much happier being creeped out rather than grossed out.

Again, why?

In defining horror fiction, the Horror Writers Association says this:

As children, we might be afraid of the shadows looming from a half-closed closet door or of the monster we believe lies under the bed. Terrors of the imagination run wild at that age. As adults, our fears become more sophisticated, more grounded in worldly events. They become the death of a loved one, the terminal illness of a small child, the fear of our lives running out of our control. Horror, by nature, is a personal touch — an intrusion into our comfort levels. It speaks of the human condition and forcibly reminds us of how little we actually know and understand. (bold mine)

In his Danse Macabre, Stephen King strikes a similar note, describing the genre as appealing to our primal fears, seeking to arouse what he called “phobic pressure points.”

The genre we’re talking about, whether it be in terms of books, film, or TV, is really all one: make-believe horrors. And one of the questions that frequently comes up, asked by people who have grasped the paradox (but perhaps not fully articulated it in their own minds) is: Why do you want to make up horrible things when there is so much real horror in the world?

The answer seems to be that we make up horrors to help us cope with the real ones. With the endless inventiveness of humankind, we grasp the very elements which are so divisive and destructive and try to turn them into tools — to dismantle themselves. The term catharsis is as old as Greek drama, and it has been used rather too glibly by some practitioners in my field to justify what they do, but it still has its limited uses here. The dream of horror is in itself an out-letting and a lancing. . . and it may well be that the mass-media dream of horror can sometimes become a nationwide analyst’s couch.

Granted, this may be complete misdirection, an attempt to justify what is really prurient and warped. However, it does capture, in part, why I read and write horror. On the one hand, horror “speaks of the human condition and forcibly reminds us of how little we actually know and understand.” Horror takes us to the brink of some psychological precipice. Or cesspool. On the other, it is cathartic and helps us “cope with the real [horrors].” Yes, it can also desensitize us. But the horror genre can also help us look into the face of evil and existential terror, and live to speak about it.

Or, at least, “lance” the boil inside us.

My son Jonathan is an ER Tech (Emergency Room Technician). I often talk to him about the things he sees at work. I don’t do this because I find enjoyment in grotesqueness. For one thing, there is no virtue in closing my eyes to the misery of human existence. Americans would be better off having seen in detail the horrors of 9/11. Instead, the media shelters us, showering us with PC lingo and heroic stories. I don’t want to be one who blinks when evil rears its head. Terrorists. Let me see them and those left in their wake.

But what puzzles me even more than Tales from the ER, are the people who work there. The nurses and doctors who can face these horrors without repulsion, and act. Perhaps it’s a stretch, but I read and write horror for a similar reason. There are monsters and monstrosities in our world, mystery and mayhem. Fairy tales are okay. But right now, inside your skin, is about 5.6 liters of blood. The sheath that protects it is rather thin. And walking shoulder to shoulder with you, each day, are angels and devils, suicide bombers and others of evil intent.

Like that doctor, I will not look away.

If you write or read horror, if you appreciate, even seek out, scary movies and stories, I have one question for you: Why?

Wired magazine recently reported how some businesses are using an applicant’s Klout score as a criteria for employment.

Much as Google’s search engine attempts to rank the relevance of every web page, Klout—a three-year-old startup based in San Francisco—is on a mission to rank the influence of every person online. Its algorithms comb through social media data: If you have a public account with Twitter, which makes updates available for anyone to read, you have a Klout score, whether you know it or not (unless you actively opt out on Klout’s website). You can supplement that score by letting Klout link to harder-to-access accounts, like those on Google+, Facebook, or LinkedIn. The scores are calculated using variables that can include number of followers, frequency of updates, the Klout scores of your friends and followers, and the number of likes, retweets, and shares that your updates receive. High-scoring Klout users can qualify for Klout Perks, free goodies from companies hoping to garner some influential praise.

In social media, numbers matter. Facebook Friends, Tweeps, LinkedIn Connections, Google+ Circles, number of Shares / Tweets / Likes, Google Rank, etc., etc.

So what about the person who wants to go “deep”? They are not online simply to broadcast their books or business. They want to genuinely have a conversation, express themselves, and get to know and engage interesting people. To this person, Klout score is incidental.

• Going Wide — Number of Friends / Followers / Contacts
• Going Deep — Quality and Consistency of interaction

But where does this leave people who want to do both?

At some point, a trade-off seems necessary. Either go for a “wide” (yet more impersonal) online influence or go for a “deep” (yet more narrow) one. Opt to try to boost your social media influence or cede it in favor of building more substantial relationships.

The business consultants at Polka Dot Impressions define the difference between going wide and going deep in social media, and the give-and-take, this way:

1. If you go wide, are you willing to let your numbers drop? Going wide in social media means that you will be following, friending, connecting, etc. to more people than have followed, friended, or connected to you. …going wide will drop your numbers, and it’s impossible to read everything that everyone says when you are connected to a wide number of people.

2. If you go deep, are you willing to spend the time? Going deep in social media means that you spend more time on conversations, engagement, and interactions with those to whom you are connected. It means that you are actually reading what they have to say. This is where the real communication comes from, but growth is slower. Your numbers will increase, but they increase slowly – sometimes very slowly. It takes time to build  relationships.

3. If you go wide, are you willing to be a small fish in a big pond? If you are reaching out for multiple new connections at once, going wide, you will likely be reaching out to bigger “accounts” and hoping to get noticed.

4. If you go deep, are you willing to talk about others and not yourself for a change? Having online conversations with others requires taking an interest in what they do, too. Going deep into relationships is two-way. You have to put aside your accolades and support others in theirs.

The question of Wide v. Deep poses an interesting dilemma for authors. On the one hand,

Writers need to reach MORE people.

On the other hand,

Writers need to REACH more people.

In one sense, the possibility of getting your name (and your book’s) before thousands of people is enticing. However, engaging those readers, connecting with real people, even developing relationships with them, can do wonders for an author. Not to mention, broaden her influence.

Then again, going “deep” with readers could be an incredible drain.

In summarizing the 2009 BEA convention, Janet Grant, literary agent from Books & Such (which also happens to represent me) distilled a workshop she attended entitled “Product Centric Publishing in a Community Centric World” presented by Mike Shatzkin. In What Does the Future Hold? one of the points Janet made was this:

Publishing widely to reach as broad an audience as possible will go away. In its place will be publishing “vertically”– reaching more deeply into a narrower audience.

Later, Janet goes on to summarize and expound on this “vertical publishing” concept:

The two key words to keep in mind as you eye the future are: “vertical” and “community.” You must understand yourself vertically and present yourself vertically (develop a web site designed to reach your community; collect emails from your community; create partnerships vertically). (emphasis mine)

So rather than trying to build a “broad audience,” you should “present yourself vertically,” identify your niche and dig in — develop friendships, support others’ efforts, familiarize yourself with the “language” of the community, and build a fellowship of readers / followers.

It makes a lot of sense, but it raises questions. Ideally, the author needs an online presence that is BOTH wide and DEEP, both HORIZONTAL and VERTICAL. But if having both is impossible, at least very difficult, which one should be chosen over the other?

QUESTION: Should authors aim to have BOTH a wide and a deep social media presence? Should we seek to Follow and Friend as many people as possible AND build relationships / community among these readers? Or is the author better off concentrating on her writing and web presence than trying to go “deep” or “vertical” with her readers?