I’ve recently and unexpectedly begun desiring to write fiction again. I say unexpectedly because when I published Sworn to the Desert in 2019, I felt like I’d closed a loop. I kept thinking “full circle,” and I felt done. But since I’m hearing voices again I’ve started to consider a few things that have been on my mind since I was first a reader of Christian Fiction, then a writer of Christian Fiction, a writer of a not-safe-for-CBA (at the time) allegory, then a reader of anything but Christian Fiction, and now, a Christian fiction writing again.
So, if I am writing, you probably won’t see many posts here. The opposite is also likely to be true. If I start posting here, I’m not working on my manuscript. Although I do like the timeline of one week from ponder to production, and a novel usually takes me a year. I might just post for the completion reward.
Decades ago, I remember comparing Christian Fiction to romance. I thought since no one would be satisfied by a romance where the couple didn’t “get together” in the end with some sort of consummation of their relationship—a kiss, a declaration, marriage or sex—then a “Christian” story was only satisfyingly resolved with a life turned over to God in the observable snapshot of a sinner’s prayer. Since the right words in the right order irrevocably changed your life, I needed to read them to be sure the one-and-done event happened. It was true love’s kiss.
Granted, that had more to do with my theology at the time than anything else. But today I want to contemplate: who is Christian Fiction for? I’m not going to resolve this. I’m just going to ask some open-ended questions like a shark swirling around ideas, tasting multiple sides by bumping into them. And all of these thoughts could relate to non-religious writers as there are plenty of preachy reads out there, regardless of the writer’s world view.
I won’t explore “what is Christian Fiction?” Whether you can talk about God. Not talk about God. Whether universal truths are allowed if they do or don’t show up in the Bible. I’d rather sit backseat and let the closed-door, no-spice girls work it out, because we have a thriving community here writing what they call bell-pepper reads so the stories won’t cause you to sin.
Even though the question what is Christian Fiction is closely linked, I only want to ask who is it for?
Because writers are supposed to keep their ideal reader in mind when they write. Maybe not in the “outrunning the inner critic, first draft phase“ but at least in the editing phase. This isn’t who you dedicate the book to, or necessarily who pays for the book. But that special niche person who will pick up your book, and it will resonate with them. That is who it’s for. That’s who you keep in mind when you write.
Is the Christian Fiction label just a trigger warning for unbelievers and ex-vangelicals so my brothers and sisters who write can pour their whole-selves in? Phileo, eros and agape without reviewers feeling like it was a bait and switch? See some of the complaints against Theo of Golden like “sneak attack Christian Novel*.”
*I’m not agreeing with that review here.
Should Christian Fiction be a sneak attack? Who doesn’t want to write a cross-over that slays unsuspecting millions with a sickle and makes you rich? Treasure in heaven, check. Treasure on earth, also check.
Could Christian Fiction be for unbelievers? People who have no context for Christianity but want to see what modern American Christians have to say about their faith instead of what haters online profess that Christians believe?
Is Christian Fiction for the spiritually curious? People who want to experience an unknown context? I’ve greatly enjoyed peaking into Hindu and Muslim minds through books. It’s healthy to see beauty in all people, and it’s healthy to read things you don’t agree with—to be OK with it, and to either understand why you don’t agree or to sit in the indecision of it. And I believe most readers are looking to experience something foreign to them, whether it is how to live on Mars, how to survive witchcraft school or Amish courting, and how they make butter.
I once heard a new believer say she read Christian Fiction to understand Christian life. So it could be for someone from a non-religious culture who has zero reference of what following God “should” look like. Sort of a crash course in the cause and effect of prayer, submission to God, and resistance to sin.
Christian Fiction could be for parents to give to their children to show them, “See—it isn’t just our family. Other people in the world think and believe these things.”
But I know from my kids’ experience, one thing they learned from Christian Fiction was that their Testimony Snippet was boring. My young readers were exposed to cutting, extreme dieting and all manner of things they might not have been ready for—with a quick caveat that prayer takes away all the pain. (I know, I know. Teaching your kids to read puts you at the risk of them learning things you didn’t teach them… my bad.)
Is Christian Fiction best used as a confirmation bias tool for adults? Let not pretend we don’t buy material to support what we believe. “We are men of action, lies do not become us.*” Christian Fiction could be used to affirm a reproducible path to the good life. We seek a formula to prevent the effects of evil in the world from touching believers or at least if it does we have a satisfying 300 page play out of “all things working together for good for those who love Christ Jesus and are called according to his purpose.”
*Quote from The Princess Bride
Next is where I want most to challenge and provoke: Christian porn.
Isn’t Christian Fiction used as gratuitous fables for believers? Like the subreddit “earth porn” which shows gorgeous, unearned (you can’t hike that far), high definition imagery of the earth. The pictures you see scrolling across televisions that are for sale. Those are prettier, brighter and clearer than the view would be for the person standing on the mountain in real life.
Just like the Northern Lights can’t be seen by the naked eye—neither can we view color and definition underwater with our human retina like we can with a camera. So, just because we can see something in print, it doesn’t mean it’s exactly accurate.
But as I reconsider, I won’t stop looking at pictures of the ocean depths. And I will still use them to glorify God for the wondrous beauty of creation. What’s wrong with the story-dream version if it somehow increases faith? (I’m pretty sure it’s consensual.) It’s one reason we read any fiction at all: to escape our un-promised reality for a guaranteed payoff.
I guess my overthinking is that when we read about sexy dragon academy we understand that we will not actually get our own chance to create a telepathic mental bond with a flying wyrm, who will protect us with their life, while we save our lover’s kingdom. But something is a little different with Christian Fiction. I think Christian storytelling runs the risk of slipping out of the realm of fantasy for believers who have been trained to take everything literal in the Bible, even allegory. After all, God could do anything.
Instead of celebrating the noteworthy possibility of miracles resulting in love and rescue—we expect the storybook version. But the onus here is on us as the consumer. The one who puts their whole-self in to the story doesn’t have control on how it is interpreted.
Because, like climbing that mountain we saw in a picture, we feel jaded when we see litter, dead and diseased trees, or electricity lines through our itchy-from-allergies, and sweat-dripping-into-eyes lenses… not the edited timelapse panorama with a vibrant filter image that we expected.
Who do you write for
When the voices are talking, they seem to have their own words and often, their own agenda for the plot I prepared. I romanticize writers who confidently write for themselves, or purely for a loved one. Or the bestsellers who say, “I wrote this for you, dear reader.” Though I sometimes picture the reaction of people I know—I wrestle with wondering if it’s ego cutting in front of the first draft by focusing on the future reader or just prudent marketing for the business of writing. What humans, if any, do you want viewing your creative work?
I’ve been told that you are a writer only if you would still write when no one ever read it. There could be creatives out there hiding their contributions but we wouldn’t know, because, well, they’re hiding ‘em. So far, I’ve tried to write books I wanted to read but my insecurity is certain the more I write uncensored for myself—the more content I’ll need to cut later. But no matter what, everyone writes from their paradigm. Whether they write something that’s so entertaining you turn your brain off, or they obtusely slip in their agenda because it’s just too important to them to hold it back in sublety. Inexplicable compulsions to write anyway aside, most of us want to… contribute.
Two things are true again. God created wonders we haven’t yet discovered and may never see, purely for his own enjoyment. We are made in this image, but/and are brought together to share our gifts with each other.
How do you still pour your whole-self in? Phileo, eros and agape. Especially since loved ones might be apathetic toward reading, liked ones might not like it, and strangers edit their reviews if they discover an author’s politics. Who does a Christian author (with or without a conversion scene) write for?
(Long pause here. Because every kid who attended Sunday School will know this is the time to yell out, “Jesus!”)
I know: seek first His kingdom. I know: do all things as unto the Lord. He is number one, I am number two. But it would be insincere to say I’ve completely ascended to either yet. I long for all things that I do to glorify him, and not just because everything else will burn like chaff.
Who do you live for, create for, work for? Likely, it’s complicated, and depends on the day. But it is a good day when you can say it was all for an audience of one without measure of success.
Sorry…










