Reflections: Work

Some foolish person somewhere once said, "Choose something you love and you'll never have to work a day in your life."

I don't know where they were working, but I find that a little too good to be true.

You see, when I'm not writing, I'm doing my "real" job as a veterinary technician. And I love it. There's nowhere else I'd rather work, no other team of coworkers I'd rather have, no other job I'd rather do.  It's challenging, rewarding, heartwarming, fun, enjoyable, and (though it sounds terribly cliche) my passion. I can't imagine doing anything else full time, even writing.

But it's work. To steal a quote from the Princess Bride, "Anyone who says differently is selling something."

Even on this week dedicated to  my profession
, where my awesome workplace insists on showering all of us techs with food and coffee and gifts, it's work.

Holding down a Mastiff that's dysphoric and unsure where it's at when it's waking up from anesthesia is work. Pulling up a downed horse using ropes is work. Scooping manure is work. Dragging yourself from your warm bed at 2 AM to go anesthetize a cat that ate a thread is work.

It's not glorious. It's sweaty. Hot. Sometimes miserable. Heartbreaking, when all your effort goes to waste.

You see, we seem to think that work is a bad thing. That putting forth effort, that striving with all our might, that throwing our backs into the ropes, is the worst thing that could happen. That trying to learn the names of 30 different drugs and how they work is torture. Work. It's an ugly word.

But is work really a bad thing? What if we rephrased "work"? What if we chose "strive" instead? Working isn't bad. Drudgery is bad. Working only for the money is rather dismal (and I suspect that's what the author was truly driving toward). Don't get me wrong--you should do something you enjoy, something you're good at, something that gives you purpose. 

But would our goals really give us purpose if we didn't have to strive for them? Give them everything we have? Would our jobs be as rewarding if they came easily to us?

That's the true drudgery we ought to avoid.

So, rather than avoiding work, let's find work that really satisfies. A job to which we can apply our efforts with our whole hearts--whether that's writing or something else entirely.

 Go find something worth putting your soul into, even on days when it feels like really dull work.

Reflections: It Doesn't Get Easier

One of the activities that took part of my time away from writing this spring was training for my first half marathon.

Don't ask me what I was thinking when I signed up for it. I was always the kid in gym class who hated running, and while I've run a 5k most summers for the past few years, I've never called myself a runner. I'm someone who runs, not a runner. (There's a difference. Or at least there was before I hit double digit mileage).

A friend and I decided to sign up to celebrate her college graduation and so I found myself freezing in a picnic shelter on a 15 degree morning in January with about 100 random strangers who were all smiling and getting ready to run. They had a bunch of hi-tech gear and didn't seemed bothered by the cold. There was a guy training for the Boston Marathon, a few retirees who looked like they could kick my butt in just about any sport, and an entire other assortment of strangers who looked like they were born to eat up the mileage.

Meanwhile, I was thinking of my warm car, the fact I had skipped my coffee that morning, and trying not to compare my gear with everyone else's. It consisted of a pair of off-brand sneakers from a local supermarket, discount workout pants that I hadn't tested yet, two old sweatshirts, a homemade wool hat, and a ten year old bargain brand fleece jacket. I was still freezing in spite of the sweat percolating underneath all the layers.

The terror of being there was real. By nature, I'm an introvert--and by introvert, I mean, "can go three days without seeing people and be perfectly fine" and "would rather exile myself to a desert island than have to go to social events".

I found a pace group that I thought I would fit in with (it was the second slowest running group, so it was mostly retirees who were talking about how many marathons they were going to do that year) and tried to smile.

The groups started leaving and I began to trundle down the icy, snow covered park path with the other crazy people. In spite of having been trying to get in shape for the previous couple of months, the cold air felt like it was knifing my lungs and the pace group was a push for me. I spent the last 2.5 miles of my 3 mile run chanting to myself, "Warm shower, hot coffee. Warm shower, hot coffee..."  At the end, I collapsed in my car, turned the heat on full blast, and tried to warm up from my sweat-soaked bargain clothes.

And I had to train to run 10.1 more miles.

It seemed impossible, but I figured I wouldn't judge the effort off of the first run I did. It would get easier, right?

A few months later, each run was still hard. The darn things just kept getting longer! Now I was running 5 miles two evenings a week over still-icy pathways and my weekend mileage was climbing. The first day it was warm, it rained so hard that water was running off my elbows and I had to slog through puddles that came up to my ankles. In spite of the 60 degree temperatures, I was colder than that first run. The next week, I face planted in the middle of a street and bruised my knee so I couldn't run for a week (which really sucked because the weather was finally nice).

Then came the moment I had secretly feared: my longest run to date. When you've only ever run 6 miles, 8 is terrifying. And due to traveling on the weekend, I opted to run it alone. I plugged in my earbuds and tried my best to jam out as I ran through campus--deserted,since all the students were on break. Used to the cold, I had dressed too warmly and I was panting for the last 3 miles, trying to tough it out. I was rewarded by the feeling of euphoric runner's high and I let out a shout of victory when I got back to the car. My knee buckled out from under me and I still grinned. It had finally gotten easier! I was finally enjoying running! I mean, sure, the cotton-dry mouth had sucked, but I had gotten a runner's high. 7 miles in I had belted out the words to "Walking on the Sun" as I came down the home stretch. It was great! I was going to do this!

I stretched out, then climbed in the car. At first, I thought it was just the runner's high wearing off, but the fuzzy feeling in my head could only mean one thing: my blood sugar had bottomed out. Even though it was only a ten mile drive home, I felt terrible and had to fight just to stay focused on the road. I rushed in the house, feeling nauseated and light-headed, hoping I didn't pass out before I could get some sugar in me.

I was out of juice (my go-to pick me up) so I resorted to eating sugar cubes. The fuzzy feeling abated and my ears slowly stopped buzzing and my hands stopped shaking.

And then disaster struck. I ran to the bathroom and vomited up all the sugar cubes I had just eaten.

10 minutes later, my sugar crashed again.

Cue more sugar cubes.

Barfing.

Repeat for two hours.

But wasn't it supposed to get easier? Wasn't running supposed to be easier now than on that first cold morning? Why was it still so hard, even when I just did 2 mile "recovery" runs? (And who decided, "Hey, you know what people training for a half marathon want the day after running insane mileage? More running! Yeah, that's a great idea!" 'Cause I officially don't like that person.)

I seriously doubted my ability to run the race after that night and, if I hadn't been running it with a friend, I'm sure I would have backed out after that night.

The next few runs I went on, I was scared and dispirited. I didn't want every run over 6 miles to feel so miserable--after all, I had a lot of them left. That's when someone mentioned in passing, "You know, it doesn't get easier--you get stronger."

That thought changed my whole training mentality and I'm trying to let it seep into the rest of my life, too.

No matter how bad or good of shape you're in, it still takes effort to run 5 miles. What changes is that you become stronger to get there. The run, the circumstances, don't get any easier. They don't change; you do.

You can draw on all those scraped knees, missed quiz questions, and bad days to become stronger. It won't make it easier when your car breaks down twice within a week of moving while work is a disaster. Rather, you'll be strong enough to handle it (even if there is a little maniacal laughter along the way). And, if you aren't strong enough to handle it, God's still there for you.

Long story short (we'll omit a few more scraped knees and one black toenail), I finished my half marathon with a pained smile on my face and doubled over two steps after the finish line, exhausted, but stronger than I was back in January. And yes, half of my equipment was still from the supermarket, if you're wondering.

Reflections: Define Yourself

It's hard to believe it, but I've been out of school for nine months now, working a full-time job and
finding out more about myself every day.

My day job is that of a veterinary technician/veterinary nurse with a focus in anesthesia. I'm one of the newest employees; the youngest, least experienced person in my department; and I just entered phase two of the three-part training program that will end with me answering emergency calls in the middle of the night and dropping 2000 pound horses by myself. I'm determined, hungry to learn, and stressed to the max.

At some point this week, it dawned on me that part of my stress is due to the fact that I am no longer quite the person who started nine months ago. I don't have any of the labels that meant so much to me before graduation.

"Honors Student" and "Good Test Taker" don't mean much here. It doesn't matter what my GPA was, what my test scores were, or even that I can tell you the life cycles of about 20 different parasites. I no longer study for hours into the evening on a regular basis. I don't eat, sleep, and breathe books for class.

That's not to say that my education was a waste or those skills that I developed aren't useful; I use them every single day--hourly, in fact. I still need to know the physiology of the heart, understand how the drugs I use work, and be able to identify anatomical structures for epidurals.

But what I saw myself as--a good student--isn't important here. Being a good student set me up to be a good vet tech, but it can't be my end-all be-all. My self esteem can't come from good grades on tests, or seeing my name on the dean's list.

And it's hard to find my definition of self in a workplace where feedback is hard to come by and where I'm trying to compare myself to techs who have been in the field for ten or twenty years and are amazing at what they do. I don't have a little box to tick to say that I'm doing a good job. Each day, I try to find how I can affirm that I'm good enough. That I'm living up to the definition of whatever I'm trying to define myself as.

And there's the catch, isn't it?

At the end of the day, those vocations we have will change. Student changes to employee. Son changes to Father. CEO changes to retiree.

We can't be the perfect <fill in blank here> in the limited time we have; even if we had unlimited time, we'd never be perfect. It's futile to try. Chasing these things, we'll never be satisfied. We'll always come up short. We'll always be yearning for something more if we seek fulfillment in these transient things in life.

Instead, we have something else we can define ourselves as; something that won't change. Because that definition comes from outside of us. It's placed on us by Someone else, who doesn't have an impossible to-do list of incredible things for us to do. That name is a Child of God.

Jesus died and rose for us, and, at the end of the day, that's all the definition we need for ourselves. It won't change whether we're single or married, whether we're the best at our jobs or the worst at our jobs. It won't change whether we're students or teachers.

Because we're His.

And one day, I hope that I'll more fully understand why that's enough for me.

Sin, Cancer, and Antagonists

Working in a veterinary hospital exposes you to any number of sad cases on a weekly basis. It's a sad fact of life that many of our companion animals live shorter lives than we do. Beyond old animal issues, there are traumatic cases, contagious diseases, and freak accidents that take the lives of pets
.

But one thing in particular that seems to claim a lot of critters: cancer.

It has a lot of names, some unpronounceable, some simple. It's not uncommon to hear someone ask if they're looking for "the badness" in a particular animal. Positive results are greeted with a string of profanities cursing the disease, deep sighs, and a sad pat on the head for a dog that probably still wags its tail.

Old, young, healthy, unhealthy. Doesn't matter.

Perhaps the most disturbing thing about it is that it isn't anybody's fault. It's the body attacking itself from within, eating itself from the inside out. Sometimes it doesn't even show itself until the last moment, when there's nothing to be done.

Animals don't smoke a pack a day. They don't go to tanning salons. They don't choose to microwave their food in styrofoam or take unnecessary hormone replacements or drink excessive alcohol or work in high radiation areas or do any of the other things we avoid to try to escape the "c" word.

The badness comes for them anyhow.

Sin comes for us in much the same way.

We try to go to church and say the right things and do all the right things. We try so hard to be conscientious of our tempers, of our words, of our thoughts. But in the end, we fail.

Because the badness is already in us, eating us from the inside out.

We are by nature sinful and unclean. We cannot escape our sinful nature, our soul's innate desire to self-destruct through selfishness. It's growing within. And we can't fix it on our own. We need something from outside of us to cure it, something more powerful than ourselves. And that cure must be miraculous, or else sin will merely rear its ugly head in some other form somewhere in the body.

I think we're missing a key story element here. So often our antagonists in our stories are outside of the protagonists. We miss the opportunities that our characters themselves present. After all, if our characters are fallen humans (or fallen aliens, I suppose), they have sinful natures struggling to consume them from within, in spite of all their best efforts to prevent it from growing and spreading.

Don't get me wrong--I'm a fan of taking the Ring to Mordor to destroy the Dark Lord. The devil's real and we need to acknowledge that evil powers exist outside of human nature. However, the most terrifying battle line isn't drawn between Gondor and Mordor as good and evil clash head on; it's drawn down the center of every human heart. One side has the true picture of what God intended; the other has sin struggling to break free. It consumes from within, slowly at first, but growing.

Sometimes the enemy within is the most frightening--even if that enemy is yourself. Don't discount it in real life and don't miss out on the chance to utilize it in your stories.

Reflections on Limitations

This month was a long month. Not much went as planned. I didn't even make 5k for NaNo, posting fell off the map for a while, and not much reading happened. In "real life", my apartment fell apart, my mood sagged into a pit of self-misery, and my temper flashed short.

I don't have a good reason for it. There are some things I can point fingers at that made life difficult--the loss of a pet, a stressful, changing environment at what was already a high-tension workplace, putting in extra hours at work, fighting off a cold, or a half dozen other things. Some of those reasons are good reasons to take a moment, regroup, and reflect on life. Other parts, well, those parts are just life. Those were parts of life that I was capable of handling like a mature adult, but found every lame reason not to do so.

Instead, I found myself curled under the covers, binge watching TV while eating junk food, and dreading the work next day because I "couldn't" do anything else.

In short, I allowed myself to set fake limitations on what I could do and lived comfortably within those bounds, bemoaning how awful things had become.

Have a good attitude going into work? Nope. So and so was downright dreadful yesterday. I can't bear to work with her while having a good attitude. Who works 55 hours and comes into work with a good attitude one day later? Not me. 

Writing during some spare time at home? I'm already behind on NaNo. I'll never catch up. So what's the point of trying? It's a stupid story anyway. I've never finished something to the point of publishing it. Why do I keep trying?

Journaling? Does it even help? Why should I try? I'm so tired, and it's a waste of time. 

Clean the apartment? Tomorrow. I don't have energy today. I just want to lay here. Tomorrow I'll do better. How about today? Tomorrow. I still don't feel great. I don't have enough time after work. Even 15 minutes to do it will take too long. 

Take the dog on an extra walk because he's antsy? I'd probably feel better, but it's too cold. Maybe tomorrow. 

It quickly became a self-fulfilling prophecy of unproductivity and unachievement. I can't do that. It's too hard. Nobody even expects that of me. Why would I try? It's easier not to try. 

Too hard. Can't do it. Won't do it.

How many times are our perceived limitations just that--perceptions? What if we sat down, took a good look at ourselves, and asked what we could really do if we set our minds to it, if we let go of our comfortable limitations?

Now, I'm not saying that you should push yourself over the brink of insanity. The first two days of the month, I was legitimately taking some time for self care. As the month's gone on, I've been sleeping a lot, not out of sloth but because I can't even keep my eyes open at work as I fight off the latest bug that's been floating around. Pounding out NaNo words after getting out of work at 3 AM wouldn't have been a great choice in the interest of me being a functioning human being the next day. There's a time for self care and reasonableness and I trust you (and myself) to respect the limits we do truly have.

What I'm asking is, what if we push through the limits that we set in front of ourselves because going outside those limits would break our comfort zones?

What if we dared to clean our room because it needed done and we had a moment? What if we didn't hold back, even though we've always had a messy room so why change now?

What if we exercised even though we didn't feel like it and we never did exercise much anyways? Would we surprise ourselves by how far we could run? (If you're me, the answer is yes. Though, you may also be surprised by how much your calves burn the next day.)

What if we determined to show up to work with a smile on our face in spite of the slights our coworkers had given us, in spite of the stress, and in spite of the hours we've worked?

Our limitations are often a result of what we expect of ourselves. We expect to keep a messy room because we've always done that. We expect to not write because we haven't written the past three days. We expect to be grumpy at work because it's been a hard week. Then, rather than exceeding those expectations, we limit ourselves.

It hurts to push past expectations and limitations. We have to give up a part of ourselves that we've become attached to, begun to identify with. We have to give up our identity as someone who was never good at organizing. We have to give up our self-loathing over the fact that we can't write as often as we want. We have to give up our entitlement to grumpiness and brooding at work.

A lot of people in books became heroes because they did what "couldn't" be done. No one could reasonably expect to hit the exhaust port on the Death Star--after all, it's impossible, even for a computer. But Luke didn't let that stop him from giving it a go.

You don't simply walk into Mordor. Not with 10,000 men could you enter and destroy the Ring. But a three foot hobbit set out without knowing whether Mordor was left or right.

Likewise, working people can't possibly self-publish a book, or keep a clean house, or exercise, or do other things they love. People working long hours can't possibly muster a good attitude on a Monday.

Yet people do it all the time.

We scoff and wonder how they do it, say it must be fake, wonder what else they're doing to do what they do, and allow ourselves to whisper, I could never do that. 

That whisper becomes our safe haven, our justification for our limitations. I'm not like them. I can't do it. I'm not strong enough, old enough, smart enough, tough enough, resourceful enough... the list goes on.

But what if we told that voice to stuff a sock in it and gave it a shot anyways?

You're out of shape. You're not mentally tough enough to run 2 miles anymore. Oh yeah? I'll run 4. And this time, I'll take a hot bath so I don't gimp around for two days.

You just drove for two hours. Nobody expects you to clean the dishes in the apartment, so why don't you just be lazy and let them sit? Because the place has been messy too long and I have the time to clean, that's why. I'll do the dishes and clean my closet, too.

Your  workplace is full of people with awful attitudes. Nobody would notice if you picked up on the same tone. It's easier that way. Maybe it's easier, but it's not who I want to be. It's not who God wants me to be. I can at least come in with a smile on my face and be ready to work. I can learn from anyone, even if they can be condescending. I can be pleasant and professional, so I 'm going to be.

Why write if you're never going to get published? You've never finished anything. Maybe I haven't. But maybe I just haven't found the right story yet. And if writing helps me process life, it isn't a lost cause.

You're never going to be the smartest, or the toughest, or the best technician, or a best selling writer. Why bother? Because even though I might not be the best of the best, I can be the best of me. And I know I'm going to fall on my face and leave dishes in the sink and complain at work and not exercise and not write in spite of my best intentions, but I'm not going to let that become my norm. I'm not going to set those limitations on myself, even when I fail and fulfill only my basest expectations for myself. When that happens, I'm going to ask for grace and mercy from my Father, who knows all my failings and all my potentials. I'm going to ask Him for forgiveness and the grace to do better.

And then I'm going to dust off my bloody knees, pick up my pen, roll up my sleeves, stick a smile on my face and tell that stupid little voice in my head to go fly a kite instead of telling me what I can and can't do.

Reflections on Thanksgiving

This week is Thanksgiving week in the U.S. It's a time where we remember our history, but also a time for reflection on the many blessings that we've been given. While it's a state-instituted holiday, many churches take the time to offer an extra service in special observation of gratitude for God's many blessings. Today's thoughts come from my pastor's sermon this past Sunday in preparation for the week, as well as some of my own personal thoughts from the past month or so (which hasn't been easy).

I'll be the first to admit that I'm not a naturally thankful person. It takes effort to remind myself to be grateful for the many blessings that I've been given. Perhaps this unsettledness is a result of my striving for greater things and dreaming big. I'm always planning my next project, my next goal, my next hobby. And it seems I never have the time, the energy, the money, or the right mood to do what I want, even as an adult with a well-paying job.

I get sucked up in what I don't have. On the late shift? I don't have evenings to make dinner. On the early shift? I don't have time to work out or work around the house. (Keep in mind these shifts are the same length of time and only two hours different).

Just got a big paycheck, but I couldn't do what I wanted because I spent the extra time at work. Just got a small paycheck but couldn't do what I wanted to do because I didn't have the extra money.

It's too cold. Too hot. Too rainy. Too muddy. Too dark.

I don't have enough time to write a full NaNo novel, so I won't write at all. I don't have enough time to clean the apartment all at once, so I'll waste an hour on Facebook instead of starting cleaning even a little bit.

There's a parable that Jesus told to the disciples--commonly referred to as the parable of the talents. A master is leaving on a trip and he entrusts three of his servants with varying sums of money. The one with the most doubles his money, as does the one with the second most (albeit for a smaller overall sum). The third, however, hides his money in the ground.

In short, he goes about his life as though he's been given nothing from his master.

Perhaps the servant wanted more. Perhaps he wanted something different. But rather than using what he had, he disdained the gift he had been given and acted like he had nothing--even though he had quite a lot.

I'd never heard this interpretation of the parable, but it struck me pretty hard. Just like that servant, I'm frequently focused on what I don't have--a romantic relationship, a new car, as much time as I would like, or as much money as I would like. Lacking those things, I often neglect to be thankful for what I do have and appreciate them to the fullest.

I might not have a boyfriend, but I have some great friends. I don't have a new car, but my car runs great and I can use it to help other people, like so many helped me when I didn't have a car. I don't have a ton of free time, but I do have time to do the things I enjoy and to give back. I might not have time to write an entire novel this November, but I could still write a few chapters. I might not have as much money as I would like, but I have more than I did when I was a student, and I can use those funds for things I enjoy and to give back to my church and other ministries that I care about.

I can be grateful and thankful for the many, many blessings I've been given, and actually act like the exist, rather than focusing on what I don't have.

I've been focused on what I don't have for a long time, but I want to change my focus to what I have been given.

Long day at work? I have a few hours now to relax and use for what needs done most.

Don't have $50 extra dollars for new arrows this paycheck? I can still save up and maybe buy them next paycheck.

Don't have great story inspiration? I still have time to sit down and jot a few words on the page.

Don't have energy to read half a book to review tonight? I can still read a few chapters.

Too cold out? I have a coat that I can wear that will help with that.

God's blessed me with more things than I can count--a great family, some amazing friends, good health, a funny dog, a good job, a running car, time to relax, a warm apartment, food on the table...and so many things that I can't even begin to fathom.

More than that, he's given us His Son, Jesus, who has freed us from sin, death, and the devil. We can either act like that gift means nothing to us or we can act like it does. And even when we don't, we can still turn to Him in repentance. He is still faithful and offers us forgiveness, even when we are faithless. And that's definitely something to be thankful for.


Happy Thanksgiving.

Do Something that Scares You

No, I'm not talking about walking down in a dark alley in the middle of the night when you have other, safer choices. Or doing something reckless or stupid.

I'm talking about doing something that challenges yourself.

I'll be the first to admit that I like to stay in my little comfort bubble and not step outside of it. The only problem is, not much exciting happens inside my little comfort bubble. There's not a whole lot of room for growth, either.

The comfort bubble also doesn't like to expand when life needs to change--such as when you're a college senior and you have to interview for "big girl jobs".

Thus, I found myself in a professional conference that seemed more terrifying than it ever had before. I had attended the previous two years, but it was comfortable then. I was primarily there to collect pens, sit in on a few lectures that I thought I could understand (and try not to doze off in the ones I couldn't), and enjoy a couple fancy luncheons with friends.

This year was different. I had resumes printed off in a brand-new portfolio, cover letters I had painstakingly constructed and re-read until my eyeballs were about to fall out, and I was also trying to not compulsively chew on my fingernails out of nervousness. It was job search time, but there weren't any scheduled interviews that interested me.

That left me with walking up to company representatives cold-turkey and asking if they had any openings.

That's definitely not an activity that falls within my comfort zone. The thought of walking up to people I don't know makes my hands sweat.

The first day of the conference, I successfully managed to drop a resume off to a friendly lady at a booth when she asked what brought me to her kiosk.

The next day was more difficult. I had resolved to visit the interview area, as interviewers were welcome to "conduct impromptu interviews with individuals they met on site". That involved me walking to the next building over (offering plenty of time to chicken out) and walking into an unfamiliar setting.

After visiting one "open interview" booth that didn't work for me, I found myself sitting in a stiff chair along the wall with the students who had scheduled interviews, eyeing the other open interview booth and trying to decide if it might be smarter to just turn around and walk back to the main conference center, rather than waiting for them to finish up their current interview.

The student next to me (who I had met in passing a few times before) struck up a conversation with me and I told him that I was thinking about turning around. He encouraged me to wait and take the opportunity. I don't remember exactly what he said, but it was something along the lines of, "You'll never get anywhere if you don't try something new once in a while."

Long story short (or at least less long), I went over to the booth and asked to interview. I found out the company places students/professionals into jobs and have since received a few opportunities to interview for their clients. I wouldn't have had those opportunities if I had never had the courage to walk up to the booth and ask if they were hiring.

So, email that agent. Go to that writer's conference. Contact a few beta readers. Attempt NaNoWriMo. Self-publish when it's thought out. Walk up to that author and ask for an interview.

Do something that scares you.

Because, who knows? You might find yourself pleasantly surprised.

I still have a couple guest-posting opportunities available for March. Shoot me your idea via the contact form!

On Purpose

The following post comes after reading a couple of articles on the state of Christian Fiction. The first is Maybe We Should take a Long Look at the "Christian" Genre by Aimee Meester of "To the Barricade". The second is Should Christians Only Write Overtly Christian Books by Alea of "Elvish Pens, Fantastical Writings". I don't think reading either is strictly necessary to understanding my response, but I would encourage you to read and think over both of them if you have the time.


What's the purpose of Christian fiction?

No, I mean, really. Think about it. Why is that adjective on the front of "fiction"? Why does it belong there? Why would we read Christian fiction over regular fiction? Why is it important?

What should the purpose, the intent, or the end goal be for those of us who seek to write it?

Perhaps we first need to ask who our target audience is. I think we can safely assume that we are writing to other Christians. (Although there are some Christian publishing houses that have imprints specifically designed for non-Christians, they're sort of an exception to this discussion).

Then, we need to ask, "What is our purpose in writing to these people?" What do we as authors want Christian readers to take away from our books? Of course, we shouldn't overrun our story with message, but if we had to have a take-home value from our books, what would it be? What's our "moral" of the story?

Is it entertainment? Clean entertainment is a noble task. Heaven knows that it's hard to find clean media to consume.

Is it encouragement? Encouragement is a good thing. In a world filled with sin and awfulness and filth, we could use an encouraging message that reinforces our beliefs.

Is it to feel better about ourselves? Sometimes that's a good thing. But oftentimes, that's our way of hiding a dirty conscience or refusing to acknowledge our own problems.

These are all very important questions for both readers and writers of Christian fiction to answer. However, I think there's another question to be asked once we think we've determined what Christian fiction ought to be.

Can it be something more?

Encouraging, clean entertainment is nice--but is that all we are? Is that all we can be? Because, if that's all we can be at our very best, that's pretty sad.

Can we be challenging? Thought-provoking? Can we make people grow? Can we make people change the way they think--for the better?

You might nod and say that Christian fiction already encourages us to do that. And some books certainly do. But does Christian fiction encourage the "heathen" to rethink his ways while neglecting the believer's problems? Do we see all of our problems as "being out there" rather than turning a critical eye inside? So often, the answer is, "Yes".

If we're writing to Christians, shouldn't we be addressing Christians' problems, challenging them? Why do we spend more time challenging people outside the church than within it in our fiction? People outside the church aren't our typical target audience. So what makes us point a finger at them instead of at ourselves?

It's uncomfortable. It's not what people want to hear. It might give people the wrong idea about Christianity. People will encounter more opposition from outside the church than within. People won't buy books like that. Publishers won't buy books like that. The list goes on.

But are those good reasons to stop ourselves from growing? Are those good reasons not to challenge ourselves or our readers?

Worse, could ignoring areas for growth cause us to stagnate? To become self-righteous? To become comfortable with who we are rather than daily recognizing our need for repentance and grace?

Good fiction challenges and drives thought. It doesn't coddle. It doesn't hide the truth, but reveals it in a different setting.

The truth is, God's children have problems. We're sinners. Christ's blood is what stands between us and God's righteous wrath--not our works. And if we deny in our fiction that we (or our allegorical counterparts) have real issues that need to be addressed, we do ourselves a disservice. We make God's grace a mockery, a gift only imparted to those who are already worthy enough to receive it.

So, what's our purpose in Christian fiction? Is it to make our paper-cut-out fictional Christ followers perfectly take out the terrible people of the world? Is it to show the evil people of the world that they need saving and we perfectionists can lead them there? Is it to encourage the already good Christian that he is on the right road, in spite of obstacles? Is it to make us feel all warm and fuzzy?

Or can it show us our brokenness, our need for God's daily love and mercy? Can it show us how we've failed our neighbors? Can it show us our daily need for our Savior? Can it show us a need for humility?

Please understand that this is more of a criticism directed at myself than at others currently published. I'm wrestling with editing a piece right now and trying to decide what it needs to say. These are the questions that I've had to ask myself. I encourage you to ask them of yourself, too, regardless of what genre you write.

Do you ever struggle with the "message" of your story? 

On the Pursuit of Excellence

One of these days I'm going to get back to Pastors in Fiction. However, this post was just burning to be written this week. 

I'm in my senior year of study right now. Due to my major, most of this year consists of hands-on work that applies the principles I've learned over the last two (very stressful) years.

In addition to my 40 hours-a-week "internship", I'm expected to research topics that I'm unfamiliar with and to write weekly summaries of what I've been doing during my hands-on learning experience. Each instructor has different expectations for our summaries and what they should contain. (Which makes life interesting, as I change teachers every three weeks).

The instructor who has moderated my past three weeks of learning has very high expectations.

After I submitted my fifteen page report (that I considered far too detailed), I sat back and felt confident that I had knocked her expectations out of the park.

Only to get an email the next day saying that I had significant room for improvement.

But didn't I put six hours into it? Didn't I look up two topics? Didn't I use MLA citations? But, but, but...

Then the anger hit. This was so unfair. Her expectations were totally unreasonable. The last teacher had been content with the six page report that I hadn't done any further research on. She should know how much effort I put into my report. I had put a good effort in--I deserved an A. People who didn't try deserved B's, not people like me who tried. No one should have to work this hard.

The next day, I complained  to one of my friends about the work I had to do. She sympathized with me and said it was unfair. I felt vindicated...until I thought back on the conversation.

"I tried so hard..." "I deserve..." "She's being unreasonable..." "I put six hours of work into this. If I put that much work in..." "I know I didn't answer every question in the rubric, but nobody has time for that." "The previous student didn't have to do this much work."

Excuse me, self of two weeks ago, but when was the last time excellence cared how much time you worked on something? When did excellence care that you think deserve something? Does excellence care what someone else had to do?

When did someone achieve excellence by having that sort of attitude?

"Good enough" is not excellence. "I tried hard enough" is not excellence. "I'm tired of working on this" is not excellence. "I deserve," "I've surely put in enough time," "This is unreasonable," are not hallmarks of excellence.

"This is a flaw I should address," is a step toward excellence. "How can I improve?" is a step toward excellence. Admitting faults, being honest with oneself, performing work diligently, avoiding entitlement, and taking personal responsibility are all steps toward excellence.

I do not "deserve" an A--but I can earn one. A certain amount of time will not guarantee a good grade--but a good grade will almost certainly require a lot of time and effort to achieve.

Writing is very similar. In some ways, it requires more of us than school does, for the simple fact that we have to determine what excellence is. We don't have a teacher who will put a shiny gold star sticker on our writing and say it's good. We determine what is acceptable to send to agents or to self-publish.

*Side rant* People always complain that self-published books are sloppy, but I'm always amazed at how many good ones are out there. We spend most of our lives having someone tell us what is acceptable and giving us A's for effort. So, when we are told to strive for excellence and given the opportunity to regulate it, it's a wonder that the world doesn't blow up. *Side rant over.*

Excellence does not award points for participation. It awards points for results. It doesn't care how many writing books you've read--unless you apply them. It doesn't care how many times you've edited a work--it cares if it can be edited more. Excellence doesn't care if you're tired of fine-tuning a character--it cares if the character is fine-tuned.

Excellence is a demanding teacher. It will work you hard. It will push you past your current limits. It will force you to grow. And, in the end, it will provide reward.

Of course, entitlement is always another option. Entitlement invites us to say "enough". It invites us to blame others for our lack of excellence. Entitlement whispers what we want to hear--that excellence is too costly and unreasonable to even attempt. It tells us what we deserve, not what we can earn.

Entitlement is an easy road, but often leads to disappointment. We will never get what we feel we "deserve" if we listen to entitlement. We will become jealous souls, bereft of the ability to achieve anything worthwhile.

Even though I realize this, I'm far from perfect. I still catch myself complaining about my teachers' expectations. I still don't want to work hard some days. And I often give up when I think I've accomplished "good enough", rather than shooting for the stars.

Nevertheless, I encourage you (and my future self) to shoot for excellence. Whether that's in writing,
in school, or in some other vocation, shoot for the stars. Be all that you can be--you might surprise yourself.

Do you struggle with doing things to "good enough" rather than as well as you can? (In a healthy, non-obsessive way, of course)