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Is Our Writing Needed? (a response post)

Tracey Dyck 23 Comments

I’ve never written a response post before, so today will be a first. The lovely, spitfire authoress Jenny Freitag (who penned Plenilune, a book I want to read one day) over at The Penslayer wrote a post the other day called Why NOT Being a Prolific Writer is a Godsend. Now, I agree with/am inspired by a number of Jenny’s posts, but something she said in this one burrowed under my skin and stuck there. So I’m pondering it in the form of a blog post.

The Lord doesn’t need you + you don’t know what you’re talking about. If you possibly think you know enough to “write” for the Lord, you know nothing of the smallness of man nor the immensity of God. Do as Job did, and put your hand over your mouth. Be humble. God has left his written witness. My fiction – your fiction – none of it is necessary.

I confess, I blinked at my screen and did a double take at that first phrase: the Lord doesn’t need you. I won’t presume to know all the thoughts and intentions behind Jenny’s statement, but I’m bothered enough to want to unpackage and sift this for myself. Cool?

God is infinite. Infinitely complete, infinitely self-sufficient. So of course He doesn’t need me. Need is felt only by finite beings. He has and is everything. The creation of the world and of mankind was not done out of a vacancy of God’s. It was not because He was somehow lacking. No, He spoke creation into being because He wanted to. It was what He desired, and it brought Him pleasure.

But the Lord I’m spending my life getting to know does want me. After all, He brought me into existence. And every page of the Bible is evidence that He wants to love me, wants me to love Him back, and basically wants to have every piece of myself. And He shows me the way to live a life that builds His Kingdom. One way I can do that is through my writing.

If you possibly think you know enough to “write” for the Lord, you know nothing of the smallness of man nor the immensity of God.

Maybe this is just arguing semantics, but by “writing for the Lord” do you mean “writing in service of the Lord” or “writing because He can’t speak loud enough on His own?”

“For the Lord” in the sense of a lesser being serving a higher one–or in the sense of fulfilling someone’s lack? I can bake muffins for you because I like you and want to give you something that will bring you pleasure, or I can bake muffins for you because you can’t/are too busy/don’t know how/don’t want to.

All it takes is for me to look up at the stars on a dark night to recognize the smallness of man and the immensity of God–only a scrap of it, you understand, because my finite mind cannot truly comprehend the infinite. But if I say that I write for the Lord, I don’t say so under any delusion that He somehow needs me to. As if His plan would fall apart if I didn’t.

And yet! And yet . . . one of the greatest mysteries of all is how a God so indescribably powerful would choose to give such a measure of authority to earthen vessels, human beings. How He would choose to do His work not with a bang and a flash of lightning and an instantaneous solution, but through the slow, painful process of moving in and through mankind. Through flawed, limited people. Yes, through me.

Does He need me? Isn’t He capable of accomplishing whatever He wants no matter what I do? Yes. And also no.

This mystery confounds me. It’s like prayer. He doesn’t need us to tell Him what we’re thinking and what we need, because He already knows. But for the purpose of relationship and the maturing of our faith, He wants us to pray. There’s a big difference between needing and wanting. I don’t think we realize the full extent of our prayers’ impact. Prayer is needed.

None of it is necessary.

 I see where you’re coming from–you’re speaking to those of us whose heads have gotten too big, those of us who pressure ourselves to write, write, write, because there are SOULS TO SAVE. Those of us who stagger under the unrealistic pressure we’ve heaped upon our own shoulders. I get that.

But every mile of road has two miles of ditch. The opposite swing of the pendulum is one which causes us to throw up our hands and weigh our writing too lightly. If my writing is not necessary, then why do it? It’s too much work and pain and bloodshed to press on if it doesn’t matter anyway. (But there’s the rub–maybe it really is unnecessary, and yet it still matters. Maybe it’s something I don’t have to do, but when I do it, it makes a difference. Or maybe it is necessary. I’m not 100% sure.)

This post is all over the place . . . But that’s the shape of my pondering, so I won’t apologize.

I think this has become more of a spinoff than a response post, because Jenny’s aim was one thing and my thoughts have veered off on another that’s rather tangential. She was speaking to relieve the pressure we place on ourselves to produce copious amounts of story, and here I am talking about the necessity-or-not of writing and whether God needs it or wants it of us. (Sorry, Jenny.)

For me, writing falls under the umbrella of living well, of making use of everything God has given me. For me, writing is one means of discovering Him and in the process, sharing His light with those who may read my words. Do I feel worthy of such a task? Not at all. But God seems to have a penchant for using the unworthy. If I can be an instrument in His hands, that’s incredibly humbling and brings me such joy. If He can shine through the chinks in my stories, then I will keep penning those tales.

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a discussion on swearing in books

Tracey Dyck 23 Comments

I once explained why swearing should be eliminated from fiction. While I would still happily trim all those four-letter words out of books (except that defacing library property is a naughty thing to do), I’ve been pondering this subject recently. I had a good discussion about it with my brother, then with blogger friend Emily, and later with my writer friend Sarah. And I have come to the stunning conclusion: It’s not quite as black and white as I would like it to be.

I’m here today not to draw any concrete conclusions, but rather to weigh both sides and discuss it with you all. Fair enough?

swearing in books: what makes it undesirable

* Some of us just aren’t comfortable with foul language. Why should we be subjected to it in a novel? I’ve started to read some great books that I ended up putting down because the amount of profanity was more than I wanted to endure. I think authors should thoughtfully consider the section of their audience they’re driving away with their content. Those who don’t care how many f-bombs litter the page will still read your books even if you clean them up, whereas those who do care will be very thankful. Listen to the dollar signs, if nothing else.

* In some cases (not all), it’s lazy writing. In these sorts of books, the characters seem to have a limited vocabulary, 50% of which is profane. Even the narrative is sprinkled with it. Yes, I understand that that particular word is an angry one, but I would appreciate your art far more if you used some creativity to convey that anger. It takes more writing muscle to vividly describe someone seething with rage or moping in misery than it does to plop down a four-letter word or two. (Or a blue-streaking seven.)

* I could go on, but most of my other reasons are close siblings of the first one. Because of my faith and because of personal preference, I just don’t like language, be it in a book, movie, TV show, or real life.

swearing in books: what makes it okay

* It can be realistic. I loved Maggie Stiefvater’s The Raven Boys, but the characters, particularly Ronan, swore more than I expected them too. Being rough around the edges, all tough exterior and shaved head and independence, Ronan’s language was in keeping with his character. He’s kind of the bad boy. I have to be honest: there are just some people that wouldn’t realistically shout “oh pumpernickel!” when they spill hot coffee over their lap. If writers are meant to reflect life accurately, then perhaps a measure of realism in the dialogue is acceptable?
* In a very select few cases–of which I’d be hard-pressed to name, but still know they exist–there’s no other way to say it. Let’s imagine a scene showing the aftermath of deep evil or the heinousness of a crime. The most fitting words to describe those evil people and their destructive deeds are not PG-rated, people. (These days, maybe they are, but that’s another topic altogether . . .)
*Again, I could go on, but the rest of what I have to say is best discussed . . . as an actual discussion, instead of in point form.

so what are we to do?

On the one hand, many readers and writers find swearing offensive. I am one of those.
On the other hand, I write about things I don’t agree with, and no one is under the delusion that I approve of those things. I have characters with different mindsets than I do. I have characters who lie, steal, manipulate, betray, lust after power, burn people at the stake, and strive to conquer worlds. And yet I do not condone any of those actions, even if some of them are done by protagonists who are struggling on their journeys. So why should swearing be different?
Maybe it’s because we can read about someone lying or murdering, but we don’t truly experience the telling of that lie or the murdering of that person. But when we read a swear word, it’s just as bad as if we thought of it ourselves or spoke it aloud. Swearing is a verbal/mental sin, right?* It’s one of the few that can be communicated fully on the page.
*(And while we’re at it, can any of you point me to Bible verses on the subject of language? Beyond one of the Ten Commandments being “Do not take God’s Name in vain.” Because most swearing doesn’t invoke God’s name at all. I’m interested in doing some further study.)
BUT. I easily forget that non-Christians don’t ‘play by the same rules,’ if you want to put it that way. To me, swearing is wrong, but to a lot of people, it’s simply not an issue. How can I expect them to censor their language if they don’t believe it presents a problem?
On another note, intended audience is a big factor. Please do not put foul language in a book written for twelve-year-olds. I don’t care if they may be hearing those words at school already–some of them still have innocent eyes and ears, and I would hate for a book to introduce them to something better met at an older age.
But what about adult fiction? Or even YA? (As a reader, I consume both, as I imagine lots of you do.) These readers have heard plenty already, unless they live in Antarctica with speechless penguins. Does exposure justify the continued use of language? Is it a matter of maturity or of principle? Or both?
To some of you, this probably isn’t a big deal at all. I understand that the public school system is good at desensitizing people. Really, though, the secular world at large is good at it. As a homeschooler raised in a Christian family, I was not exposed to the same volume of profanity during my childhood as many public school students were. Emily pointed that fact out to me, and it’s true. Not that I was some unsocialized little stereotype who bathed in hand sanitizer after setting foot out in the big, bad world! I was simply in an environment that didn’t involve anything much worse than ‘crap.’ Now, as an adult in the workforce, and as a person whose media intake has expanded, I hear and read more. Not that I like it, but it’s reality.
So. Should we read books that contain swearing? I believe that’s between you and God to decide what you can handle (or what you want to handle). Should we write books that contain swearing? That question is even more muddled with grey than the first. And I did say I wasn’t trying to come to any solid conclusions just now.
But I will say that, no matter the answer, a few things need to be thoughtfully and prayerfully considered.
  • the audience
  • the context of the swearing
  • the intensity and frequency of the swearing
For me personally, there may come a day when I pen an adult novel that calls for a restrained measure of language. I can’t imagine myself ever laying it on thick. At all. I’d rather leave it at a non-scarring, “he swore” and be done with it. But a few deliberately placed words, for the right audience, in the right context, might happen. I honestly don’t know. I still wish the issue was as simple as attacking every novel out there with a black Sharpie. We all know it’s not, though.
In lieu of a real conclusion, I leave us with this:
Summing it all up, friends, I’d say you’ll do best by filling your minds and meditating on things true, noble, reputable, authentic, compelling, gracious—the best, not the worst; the beautiful, not the ugly; things to praise, not things to curse. Put into practice what you learned from me, what you heard and saw and realized. Do that, and God, who makes everything work together, will work you into his most excellent harmonies.

Philippians 4:8-9 (The Message)

So what are your thoughts? It’s a tricky matter, and I want to hear your take on it.
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My Top 10 Pet Peeves as a Reader

Tracey Dyck 36 Comments

I usually like to focus on the positive side of things. And as a bookworm who is also a writer, I try to give my fellow authors room for occasional slip-ups because I know how hard it is to produce a book. (At the same time, as a writer I also tend to hold authors to high standards. So it goes both ways.)

I guess what I’m saying is I try to be positive, but I also try to be honest, and I appreciate quality writing. There’s just not enough time to waste on a bad book, am I right? I’m here today to discuss some of my personal pet peeves as a reader.

(I have discovered that Dr. Who gifs are fun, even if I’ve never watched that show.)

1. Dumb parents

You know those books–often children’s literature, but sometimes YA too. Mom and Dad are clueless. Their kids are ten times smarter than they are. The joke’s on the parents. Events conspire to highlight their deficient intelligence, and it’s usually played for laughs. Where’s the respect? Those impressionable children need good examples. They need somebody other than Mom and Dad to back their parents up. To show them that Mom and Dad are wise, they’re doing what’s best for you, and you would be well advised to listen to them and realize how much they love you.

Let’s just say I didn’t read many Robert Munsch books growing up.

2. He saw/heard/felt/knew

This might be the ultimate object lesson for “show, don’t tell.” Many authors feel the need to spell things out explicitly for the reader, and it comes off forced and lacking in emotional punch. Please don’t tell me that Bob is angry–show me. Show me the reddened face or the bulging vein at his temple or the clenched fist or the slamming door. Don’t tell me Sally is feeling sad. Show her fighting tears or her downturned eyes or her shoulders quaking with silent sobs.

Likewise, telling me that Bob knows something ruins the POV intimacy. There are more creative, subtle ways to convey the main character’s knowledge than: “Bob knew the enemy tribe bred small, light-footed horses for crossing the plains quickly.”

And while we’re at it, I like immersive sensory details. None of this, “He could see the horsemen cresting the ridge,” or “She heard Granny snoring in the next room.” Just say, “The horsemen crested the ridge.” We should know at this point whose head we’re in, and if he can’t see it, neither should we. If you’re writing this way, there’s no need for “he could see.”

For the second example, just write, “Granny’s snores rumbled through the thin wall,” because it should already be apparent that the point-of-view character is the one hearing this.

It’s a waste of words, lazy writing, and an insult to the reader’s intelligence to overuse those sensory tags.*

*Now, there are exceptions to every rule (not that this is a rule, necessarily–just my preference), and so of course there will be instances when an author just has to say “he saw/heard/felt/knew,” because that really is the best way to say it. Those times, however, are few.

3. The world is falling to pieces, but let’s spend all day kissing instead of saving everyone.

Looking at you, Tris and Tobias.*

This is predominantly a problem in romance, whether YA or otherwise. The world is about to crash and burn, lives are at stake, a rebellion is launching, and the couple is making out. Firstly, ew, can we cut back on the details, please? And secondly, where are your priorities? Yes, I get that life-threatening circumstances can forge a deep bond, but maybe you two can work out your relationship later on. When the fight is over and people are safe. When the world isn’t ending. Save your kisses for then.
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*I like the Divergent books, I do. I just have a bone to pick with this particular aspect.


(Also, don’t get me started on the tendency among female protagonists to have this mindset: “Ooh, there’s a tall, dark, and handsome fellow with daddy issues and anger problems. I love him!” This mindset is made even worse when you throw it into the paranormal soup. “A tall, dark, and handsome fellow who probably wants to kill me or suck my blood–I love him!”)

4. Lack of emotional connection

Sometimes tied to #2. It’s just . . . I find it hard to enjoy a book where I can’t establish an emotional connection with the main character. Or with any character. I want the author to slip me inside that MC’s skin. I want to be in their head and feel what’s on their heart. I want them to react to things. Even if the character is a relatively unemotional person, I still want to make a connection of some sort. When I can’t, the entire book falls flat.

5. Instantaneous transformation

You may remember my vehement thoughts on Shadowmancer back in January. In that book, Demurral (the villain) looks out over the land and is instantly overcome by greed and blackness and hunger for power. Just like that. No real motivation at all. Bleck.

This goes for all characters, by the way, whether they align themselves with the good guys or the bad guys. I love transformation, redemptive character arcs, downward spirals, etc. But not instantaneous ones. Internal change takes time. It takes strong emotion and logical motivation.

Please don’t make a normal guy turn bad on a dime. Please take longer than a few paragraphs to redeem a villain. Don’t chuck your soon-to-be hero headlong into his journey without setting up something to motivate that quest. And pretty please, stay away from instantaneous or miraculous conversions to Christianity. Not even we Christians like that.

6. Agendas

While we’re on the topic of conversions . . . *cough* I have a problem with writers approaching their books with an agenda. Even if I agree with that agenda, I don’t read to get a sermon, okay? Of course I adore strong themes, but these should arise naturally from the story instead of being shoehorned in there like propaganda.

I picked up your book because I wanted the story, not because I wanted to hear your thoughts on climate change (pfft) or homosexuality (Above, you were a waste of time) or politics or diversity or any of that. Not to say those topics can’t be skillfully incorporated into a book–they certainly can–but when the story is a thinly veiled sermon on said topic, I’m very much turned off.

7. Bad grammar

There have been books that have made my fingers twitch for a red pen. This is bad. No book is perfect. No editor is perfect. But argh, it drives me up the wall to see typo after typo, or consistently bad grammar! It makes me think somebody accidentally published the wrong draft, or that the editor took a vacation. And sometimes, when it’s really bad, I wonder how this person is even an author. I thought acceptable grammar was kind of in the job description?

Speaking of grammar, I’m a strong believer in the Oxford comma. I can forgive those that don’t use it, but its absence always snags my attention.

8. Sluggish pacing (because we readers are desperate to spend another fifty pages watching your characters do nothing)

One word: ERAGON. I don’t believe I’ve talked much about these books here before. Let me start out by saying that I know people who love the Inheritance Cycle hugely, and I say good for them. But I am sadly not one of them. I’ve read the first two books, and I plan to read the last two at some point. I have a few things to rant about, but the biggest is probably the pacing. Or lack thereof. Have you seen those books? They are massive. Again, nothing against big books, but please–if you’re going to write something long, make sure that every single one of those gazillion pages does something important for the story!

As a young adult, I have less reading time than I used to. (This is a great tragedy of adulthood, one which I hope to redeem somehow. Magic would be helpful.) So when I do read, I want to be sucked in right away. I want the story to keep moving forward. Lollygagging about watching the characters accomplish very little or waiting around while the plot camps out in the same spot for a dozen chapters is . . . well, it’s a little boring.

Just to clarify, not every book needs to be a thriller, either. I don’t need (or want) a breakneck speed every time. I just want something to be happening.

9. Mr. Evil-to-the-bone & Mistress Strangle-you-in-your-sleep

This particular pet peeve totally depends on the context. It’s when a villain comes onto the scene for the first time, and the other characters don’t know who he or she is–but it is immediately obvious to the reader because of the villain’s name. It’s hard and guttural, or slimy, or slick and smooth in a vile way. The name might include something to do with black, night, chills, shadows, or the like. I don’t mind blatantly obvious villain names (besides, Saruman sounds way more menacing than, say, Kyle). But if we’re not supposed to know right away that this character is bad, then, um . . . you should’ve picked a less obvious name.

If, however, the story is self-aware and a little tongue-in-cheek, then I can smirk at the hero’s ignorance when Sir Blackheart oh-so-innocently enters the scene, and read on.

10. Floating POV

This is when there is practically no established POV whatsoever. I can’t tell if it’s limited or omniscient or something else, because it waffles between them all. Whose head am I even in? Are you going for an omniscient feel, Mr. Author? Because right now it just feels like head hopping, and sporadic head hopping at that. It’s so muddled up, I can’t even tell which rules you’re breaking. (I think maybe all of them . . . ?)

What are your pet peeves?

Do we share any? Do you disagree with any of mine? These are all preferences, so maybe what bugs me makes you the happiest bookworm to ever devour a book. Let’s discuss things!

P.S. The blogoversary giveaway is still open until midnight on Sunday the 10th, so hurry and enter! The survey doesn’t have a closing date, so you still have plenty of time to participate in that if you so wish.

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Philosophical Ramblings on the Subject of Time Travel

Tracey Dyck 33 Comments

Time travel. It messes with my brain, but I love it.

What happens when you go back in time and change an event? Do the memories of the people in the present suddenly change to reflect the new past? Or were their memories always of that ‘new past’ because in effect, the old version of the past never happened? Except it did, because you obviously went back to it and changed it.



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And when you change the past–in a big or small way–that change has a ripple effect. So when you return to the present, it could very well be vastly different than it was when you left it. But would you even remember how it used to be? It never was that way, after all. And yet it was, because present-you travelled back in time, did something, and that something rippled forward to the present and made it something else.

If that wasn’t enough to contort the brain, try this:

One slight change in the past could mean the deaths of thousands–if not millions–of people. Because maybe you got in the way of Mr. A and Miss B meeting each other, and so they never got married, never had children, and a whole string of people were never even born. So you could come back to the present and find out that your best friend just never existed, because she was a descendant of A and B who never met. (Or, you know, what if you ended up killing your own ancestors before their children were conceived? Have you erased your own self?! And if you don’t exist, you couldn’t have gone back in time to kill anyone. This is apparently called the “grandfather paradox.”)

Then again, since Mr. A never met Miss B, maybe he meets Miss X instead, and they marry and have children . . . and so you come back to the present and discover a whole whackload of brand new people who were never there before.

Or what about all those time travel stories where characters want to prevent the disasters of the past? Stop the Holocaust or keep the Titanic from sinking? That’s all well and good, very commendable, I say. Except what if, by diverting one disaster, you give rise to a new disaster that’s just as bad? Or worse? What if one of the Titanic’s passengers you rescued turns out to be a murderous psychopath who goes on to decimate a whole city?

(And then of course you have multiple cases of generations not existing anymore. And all of the Titanic’s descendants living.)

Forget people living and dying, though. What if you go tell Thomas Edison how to make a lightbulb before he’s even tried it five times? Then maybe he turns his attention to other inventions, and winds up giving the world something that wasn’t supposed to exist for another couple of decades. What then? With one lightbulb, you just accelerated the world’s technology. Of course, if you want to be malicious, you could also go do something like keep Galileo from discovering that the earth revolves around the sun. And then where would we be? Or maybe you decide to impart some other knowledge to the people of history, like the importance of hygiene? (I think the world would be a much fuller place now. A lot less people would have died.)

Okay, so what if you decide it’s too messy to deal with the past, and instead you travel to the future? (ACK, MY POOR BRAIN.) Let’s say you jump twenty years ahead to see where you’ll be. You see yourself living in Metropolis (hello, Superman), working a Nice Job, married to a Great Person, etc. You also happen to notice that you’re suffering the after-effects of an Old Hamburger the future-you ate a week ago.

So you return to the present and go on with life as usual. But when you meet Great Person, you already know you’re going to marry them. What if that blinds you to that other Even Better Person in your life? And when it comes time to move, you pack up and head right to Metropolis, because that’s where you’re supposed to be. But is it really? And then you’re offered a Nice Job, but what you don’t know is that if you wait another week, someone’s going to offer you a Stellar Job.

And thus what you saw in the future becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. It could’ve been different. It could’ve been better. It could’ve been worse. (Or could it? Is that future you saw inevitable? Or just one of millions of possible outcomes?)

Of course, because you know your future, you’re smart enough to avoid that Old Hamburger twenty years from now, so you don’t get sick. But you also don’t take that sick-day and read that life-changing blog post whilst sprawled on the couch.

And how about the bigger picture? When you go to the future, you see their technology, their government, the future of the world. You see how they solved world hunger, or how sexism warped the opposite way and now men are discriminated against instead of women, or how football evolved into a Roman coliseum type of thing!

Knowing all this, you could fix world hunger right now.

Knowing all this, you could try to eradicate sexism entirely and help the world respect and value both genders.

Knowing all this, you could ban football.

But then that future changes. Good things happens sooner, but new problems also arise.

All this to say: aren’t you glad we can’t actually mess with time? And, more importantly, this mind-bending topic makes me realize that we all make a difference. The smallest things go on to change the world.

What say you? Do you like time travel in fiction/movies? Does it hurt your brain? If you could witness–but not actually be in–a certain historical event, what would it be? (Because obviously inserting yourself into that situation could be very bad, so we’ll just stick to watching it from a nebulous room outside of time. That’s totally a thing.)

Wikipedia has an article on time travel that talks about things I didn’t even think of, like tourism in time.

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