Writing From the Heart

Someone a lot smarter than me once said that we write non-fiction to convey information; we write fiction to elicit emotion. I’d like to suggest that the best non-fiction does both: it conveys information by stimulating an emotional response.
So look back over the last scene you’ve written in your work in progress. Forget all the little pearls you’ve been taught about limiting attributions, killing those pesky adverbs, and avoiding repetitive words. Resist the urge to line edit. Just ask yourself one question: How did it make you feel?
Did it make you angry? Good.
Fear? Very good.
Love? Hate? Excellent.
In a novel that may involve hundreds of pages and dozens of scenes, ask yourself whether it deepened your emotional response on any level. Did it make you love more? Deepen your anger? Ratchet up your fear?
If you don’t feel something or feel something more, toss it out! The reader whose emotions aren’t involved is a reader who is going to skim ahead looking for a bit of tension that will grip him or her at a heart level.
Writing that is made up of beautiful sentences, graced with metaphor and simile, but doesn’t make me feel something is unlikely to impact me for a minute beyond the time I devoted to the reading. Words that anger me, touch a chord of fear, or make me love or hate are words which will be remembered!
Mark Twain said, “No tears the writer; no tears the reader.”
So this can become our judge: as you are writing, what are you feeling?
I remember a few years ago, I was working on a novel. I had gotten my hero into all sorts of trouble: false accusations, loss of job, threatened career and relationships, all the cards stacked against this guy. Finally, late in the novel, he comes to faith. I was setting in my favorite chair, writing the conversion scene, and as I wrote, tears spilled onto my cheeks. My wife walked by, pausing to look at me and question, “Are you OK?”
I nodded. “Seth just came to Christ.”
Ridiculous?
Hardly. If I didn’t care about the outcome for my protagonist, if I wasn’t ßemotionally tangled in the climax, neither would my reader! Don’t let your friends convince you that just because your characters are imaginary, they don’t matter. They deserve your emotional investment. In fact, if you don’t invest emotionally in them, your readers won’t either.
So forget all the other writing pearls for a minute and reread your last paragraph. Are you touched at a heart level?
I hope so. If not, you risk creating a page of information that your reader will grow impatient with, turning ahead until something strikes them in the heart.
As we reach out to non-Christians around us, we can take this information to another level. Although we carry the great truth of the gospel, unless you wrap it in emotion, your friends will likely keep searching. I wish I knew who said this because it’s so true: they will not care what you know unless they know that you care!
Emotion (love, joy, hate, anger, fear) is what makes a message stick!
We have been told (quite incorrectly) that truth is the engine, faith is the coal car and feelings are the caboose, obviously not reliable and certainly not to be trusted. That’s craziness! The God who asked us to love him with all our minds asks us also to love him with all our souls.
That subject is way bigger than I can address here. For now, give this simple test to your latest writing and see if it will pass. How does it make you feel?

My favorite teachers.

It was in the late 1990s when I had a humbling conversation with one of my writing heros, Frank Peretti. As an author publishing with the same publishing house (Crossway Books), Frank had been gracious with his time and critiqued a manuscript for me. I remember one of his comments like it was yesterday.

"You're breaking the rules, Harry."

I leaned forward. "What rules?"

He smiled. "Don't be afraid to read what the fiction teachers are saying."

When I questioned him further, he gave me an example of how I had broken a point-of-view rule in a scene I had written. Now realize, at that point in time, I had been blessed by having four novels published and had a contract in hand to write a fifth one (that I hadn't yet started). But until that time, I had only written by natural gifting and had never opened a book to instruct me on how this whole fiction world worked, and what the "rules" were (essentially what works and doesn't distract the reader). So I went to work and started reading book after book on how to do what I'd already been doing for years. The result? I had to fight being "gun-shy." As I read "the rules," I found myself worrying. Can I do this?

Of course, that was a silly worry, but when you write without knowing all the rules, you don't really have a basis for worrying if you are doing it correctly!

I think my early success slowed my maturation as a writer. Now, my writing is much tighter, and hopefully I've learned a few tips about conflict, suspense, pacing, and tension along the way. I've been able to polish my dialogue and edit more efficiently.

Now, people often ask me, "who are your favorite fiction teachers?"

I have a few I pay attention to. Here are my favorites: Donald Maass. He has a series of books including the one I pictured above about writing the breakout novel. Read all you can find from Sol Stein and James Scott Bell and even a guy named James Frey (although his books How to Write a Damn Good Novel I and II prompted my then 12 year old to put masking tape over the spine of the book and substitute the word "Very" for "Damn.") OK, so I'm glad my son didn't like the title, but I loved the advice.

Who are your favorite teachers?

Harry

Characters that Resonate

If you've ever been to music store you've likely seen rooms with dozens of guitars hanging along the walls for display. I love stores like that. A few years ago I bought my dream guitar, a Taylor made of koa wood.

If you stand in a quiet room with guitars all around you and strum a chord on just one of the instruments, something interesting will happen. The strings of the guitars around you will begin to vibrate. In fact, I've been told that if I wanted my guitar's wood to age (guitars often sound sweeter as the wood gets older...hopefully like experienced authors, huh?) that I should leave the guitar out on a stand instead of always stored away in a case so that the guitar would be exposed to sounds in the room. The strings will vibrate as a result of being exposed to other music.

This is called resonance. It's an important part of fiction, too. What causes readers to remember a story long after the last page? I think it has to do with resonance. Something about the character or their experience or their emotional response to a conflict strikes a chord within the reader and they find themselves nodding their heads in agreement.

It isn't as simple as fashioning a character who acts, looks or thinks just like your readers. No one wants to read about characters who are just like themselves. Protagonists have to in some way be bigger than life. Readers want to read about characters that they wish they were.

But a character can't have qualities that are out of reach. They have to be admirable, but also human. That raises sympathy for the character, something that is necessary if your readers are going to stick with you for the length of a novel.

This also works in life. We all carry our personal stories and we should be sharing them with others. But sometimes we fear that our experiences are unique, different, or weird and that others won't relate to them. Opening up to others about our humanness can be scary, but is almost always freedom-producing. In reality, most of our stories will find resonance with others and will serve to bind us to them in ways that conversations about the weather can never accomplish.

I'm always on the look for qualities in my characters that will find resonance in my readers. And along the way, I need to share my personal stories with those God puts in my path. When I pluck my guitar, other guitars around me start to vibrate.

Just think about it.

Grace,

Harry

The Blind Men and the Elephant

Today, our post-modern, post-Christian culture rejects the Christian's claim that Jesus is the only way to the God and they loudly disdain our views as narrow and exclusive. They argue, "All religions give us insight into some aspect of God. There are many paths, but all eventually lead to heaven."

To illustrate this, the story of the blind men examining an elephant is often given. Remember the story? One blind man felt the side of the elephant and proclaimed it like a wall; another examined the tail and said it was like a rope, another the trunk, who said it was like a pipe. On and on they describe inadequate and limited views of the elephant. They try to make the point that all are correct and that they each reveal some critical truth. The jump is then made to world religions with the claim that all religions teach us some truth about God.

I was listening to Tim Keller, author and pastor of Redeemer Presbyterian church, speak on this topic of Christianity's exclusive claim. He makes some great points and I am stealing his words here. He references Leslie Newbigin (also an author, a bishop and missionary from the Church of Scotland) who points out that the real point of the story is constantly overlooked: The story cannot be told except by someone who can see the whole, otherwise you don't know the men are blind. The only way you can say other religions contain partial truths if you see the whole elephant and if you claim that all religions just see a part of the elephant, it negates your own argument! It is an arrogant claim to have the kind of knowledge you are criticizing.

In this same vein, Christians constantly hear the argument that our claim to exclusivity is narrow. Keller points out that facts aren't narrow; they are simply facts. It is a fact that if you don't eat, your body will shrivel and eventually die. To believe a fact is not narrow. Jesus claimed to be God. If his claim is true (fact), then a belief in that truth is not narrow. If Jesus Christ is God, to live without him will result in malnutrition of the soul, and eventual spiritual death.

Just something to stir your thoughts on a cold winter day in Virginia....

Harry

Prayer of a Martyred Zimbabwe Pastor

The picture above is of a mass gravesite in Zimbabwe, an attempt by a poor country to

bury the dead from a cholera outbreak. I added the photo only

because it helps provide some color to the prayer I've chosen as today's blog post.

This prayer was found among the possessions of a Zimbabwe pastor who was martyred

for his faith:

I’m part of the fellowship of the unashamed. I have the Holy Spirit power.

The die has been cast. I have stepped over the line. The decision has been

made—I’m a disciple of his. I won’t look back, let up, slow down, back

away, or be still. My past is redeemed, my present makes sense, my future is

secure. I’m finished and done with low living, sight walking, smooth knees,

colorless dreams, tamed visions, worldly talking, cheap giving, and dwarfed

goals.

I no longer need preeminence, prosperity, position, promotions, plaudits,

or popularity. I don’t have to be right, first, tops, recognized, praised,

regarded, or rewarded. I now live by faith, lean on his presence, walk by

patience, am uplifted by prayer, and labor with power.

My face is set, my gait is fast, my goal is heaven, my road is narrow, my

way is rough, my companions are few, my Guide is reliable, my mission is

clear. I cannot be bought, compromised, detoured, lured away, turned back,

deluded, or delayed. I will not flinch in the face of sacrifice, hesitate in the

presence of the enemy, pander at the pool of popularity, or meander in the

maze of mediocrity.

I won’t give up, shut up, or let up until I have stayed up, stored up, prayed

up, paid up, preached up for the cause of Christ. I am a disciple of Jesus.

I must keep going until he comes, give until I drop, preach until all know,

and work until he stops me. And, when he comes for his own, he will have no

problem recognizing me. My banner will be clear.

Haikus, Mt. Kilimanjaro, Oxygen, and GRACE!

The picture is my son, Evan, standing on the top of Mt. Kilimanjaro in Tanzania, East Africa, several November's ago. I'd like to tell you a little story about what the earth's tallest freestanding mountain taught me about grace.

Teenage boys don’t typically spout Japanese poetry. So when Evan, my seventeen year-old son, started composing haiku, I looked up and laughed.

Evan dangled his feet off the side of his little bunk that stretched the width of the A-frame cabin. We were at Mandara, the first series of small huts that served as an altitude-acclimatization stop on a trek up Mount Kilimanjaro, the tallest mountain in Africa. He smiled as he counted off the syllables one by one on his fingers to show that he’d mastered the Haiku formula.

“Ki-li-man-jar-o,

Mountain of wondrous design,

I will conquer you.”

Our spirits were lighthearted and confident of success as we joked about the poetry that had spontaneously flowed from him.

Three days later, during our nighttime, sub-freezing assault on the summit, my attitude was anything but lighthearted.

Wrapped in five-layers of clothes to protect myself from the fierce cold, we began our fight to Uhuru peak, (the “rooftop of Africa”) at just before midnight, hoping to arrive at the summit to see the sunrise.

High altitude can be cruel. Deadly so if you’re unprepared. While we were climbing, we saw two hikers carried off the mountain after succumbing to the tragedy of altitude sickness.

The problem is as basic as the moment-by-moment need that every one of our one hundred trillion cells share: oxygen!

Without it, cellular machinery unravels into inefficiency, cascading in a spiral towards death.

Run at a fast pace for a few seconds, pushing back the envelope of your physical fitness and you’ll experience something we’ve all shared, but likely haven’t defined: oxygen debt. We breathe faster, panting to deliver more oxygen into our lungs. Our hearts race to deliver the precious cargo to muscles demanding more.

Oxygen Debt: When our Bodies Are Demanding Payment and the Currency is Oxygen

What’s all this talk about oxygen have to do with the Gospel of grace?

Let me explain. What the cross accomplished for my salvation is nothing short of amazing. It completely and efficiently bridged the gap between my sin and God’s holiness. There is no need for excusing away bad behavior, no need for extra effort to perform well in hopes that God will love me more.

So why is it so easy to behave as if God will love me more if I’m succeeding as a Christian, witnessing, praying and being a good family leader? Perhaps I’m projecting my own performance-based approval of myself on God?

Regardless of the reason, many of us give mental assent to the Gospel of Grace, and then walk away and function as if good works will give us the special approval from God that we desire. And in that moment, we’re functioning in “Gospel Debt.”

Gospel Debt: When our Souls Are Demanding Payment and the Currency is Grace

In short, anything I do to make myself more acceptable to God, other than the cross, is operating out of a functional Gospel debt. In reality, we fall in and out of Gospel debt with scary frequency. One minute we’re standing in the confidence of grace; the next, we’re anxious about the future or yelling in anger at the kids.

When our bodies are operating in appropriate oxygen saturation, function can proceed with normalcy and balance. When in oxygen debt, our cells turn inefficient, wasting effort to produce small amounts of energy.

Spiritually, any time I spend in Gospel debt, I’m functioning with inefficiency, depending on my own strength instead of His.

Climbing Kilimanjaro brought this analogy to my mind again. At high altitude, where oxygen was rare, I had to focus on breathing just to take another step. Three breaths, take a step. Three more breaths, another step.

1. Focus on Grace

Hmmm. Maybe God wishes I would focus more on His grace than on my own strength…for every step.

At normal altitudes, I don’t even think about my breathing and certainly not to oxygen, even though I need it every second. So I go about my duties without even acknowledging my need. Perhaps it’s like that with the Gospel of grace. I need it every moment and it’s abundantly available, but I function without even realizing my need.

That’s what was different about Kilimanjaro. At high altitude, there was no ignoring my need. It didn’t matter if I had the muscle strength to take another step, I was going no where unless I could take in enough oxygen. And I think that’s where God wants me: constantly aware of my need of grace and my inability to function without him (even when it looks like I could get by on my own strength, I see that I can’t take a step without grace).

2. Focus only on the Next Step

We made our summit assault in the dark of night to reach the top by sunrise. The peak of Mt. Kilimanjaro is typically shrouded in clouds by afternoon, another good reason to get there early and get down before bad weather. Climbing in the dark had another advantage: it kept me from looking too far ahead and being discouraged by the distance I had yet to travel. Often, I just kept my head down and concentrated on my guide’s feet in front of me.

Again, I saw the spiritual parallel. Concentrate on grace for the next step only. Don’t be anxious about how far you have yet to travel.

3. Beware of Reliance on False Gospels

A few days after arrival back from our trip to the mountain, I saw a Somali man who had a large tumor in his neck pressing on his airway. His breathing was noisy, almost squeaky. Not a happy whistle, mind you, but a terrifying sound we call stridor, an alarm warning that the airway is closing.

My patient was breathing the same air that I was, but I was comfortable and he was dying. I’m stating the obvious for a reason. Oxygen was abundant around my patient, but his airway was closing off, blocking the flow of necessary oxygen into his lungs.

How often is grace abundant around me, but my pride obstructs the flow. And more horrifying, because of pride, I don’t see my need and rely on the grace I so desperately need.

I rushed my patient to surgery and placed a breathing tube (a tracheostomy tube) into his windpipe to allow oxygen to bypass the obstructing cancer and immediately, my patient’s condition improved.

If we find our souls in a breathless situation (striving, anxious, no fruit), perhaps it’s time to look for sinister pride blocking the flow of grace. Am I leaning on my own strength…again?

4. Freedom is the Sweet Reward of the Gospel of Grace

Uhuru Peak, rising 5895 M (19,340 feet!) into the sky is Africa’s highest point and is appropriately named. Uhuru, the final destination of trekkers toughing it out on Mount Kilimanjaro is a Kiswahili word meaning “freedom.”

Galatians 5:13 states, “For you were called to freedom, brothers. Only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for the flesh, but through love, serve one another.” (English Standard Version). Failure, anxiety and strife are the ripe fruit of a life wasted in hot pursuit of false gospels (even “working for God” can be a thinly veiled pride, and many times only God knows). Freedom, on the other hand, is the sweet reward of the Gospel of Grace. I’ve been freed from the law, and the profound result will be a life of loving service of others.

On a freezing morning in November, I reached Uhuru Peak on Mt. Kilimanjaro. I hope I’ll never forget the lessons I learned about breathing and grace along the way.

Maybe I should even try a haiku of my own to celebrate the climb:

The Gospel of Grace.

Freedom is my Sweet Reward.

The Cross Did It All.

Harry Kraus, M.D., bestselling author of Breathing Grace: What You Need More Than Your Next Breath, (Crossway Books, 2007) is a medical missionary serving with Africa Inland Mission.

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Grace,

Harry