I have a bit of a dilemma. I write things that don’t align with the ideals of my religion. I’m a Christian, wholeheartedly, but my characters usually aren’t, and therein lies the problem.
I’ve read books by Christians about Christians, and they always end up feeling somehow plastic. The characters all have problems that have stark right or wrong choices according to the faith. The hero is always perfectly virtuous, the villain perfectly evil. The villain suffers for his bad choices, and the hero always rejoices in the triumph of good in his life. Yes, it’s how I might wish life to be, but I can never get past the disconnect from reality. Maybe it’s my own evil self, but I find most of these books annoying and trite, insipid.
Some of my fictional characters question God’s existence, they rail against Him in times of disappointment, they (gasp) cuss and cry and (double gasp) sin without feeling extreme guilt.
And that leads to my quandary. You see, my church and other Christians would feel obligated to question my faith and commitment in light of my writing – so I don’t tell them. I live with this dirty little secret to maintain peace in my life. I don’t think they would understand that my characters are not me, that I don’t condone their behavior merely because I write their stories, or that I don’t feel like my readers need a sermonette with every story they read. So I write under a pen name.
Call me lame. Call me a big fat chicken. Just don’t call me by my real name when I sign your book.
My sister tries to “guilt” me by saying I shouldn’t write anything I’m ashamed to put my name on. But I’m not sure I’m ashamed. I just don’t want the hassle, the judgmental flak that comes from well-meaning critics.
One morning when I was a young mother with a newborn in a bassinet and a sink full of dirty dishes, my mother called me to read a journal entry written by a missionary she admired. The writer was rhapsodising over the magnificence of God as revealed in the nature around him and the sunrise he was witnessing. It was beautiful, inspiring, and the utter opposite of my current situation of overwhelming exhaustion and endless work. “I feel bad,” I said to my mom, “because I don’t stand around thinking things like that when the sun comes up.” My dear, romantic souled mother who had raised five children chuckled and replied, “Oh honey, if we all did that, no one would ever get anything done.”
I think most people are more like me. They might appreciate the righteous choices of one character, but to have every character act like Pollyanna would be too much to bear. Who can relate?
So there you have it – my true confessions as a writer.
Have a great week, and keep on writing!
–Mary
