ANNOUNCING THE JUNE 1 RELEASE OF MY NEW BOOK!

Roots and Branches traces the image of the tree throughout the fiction of G. K. Chesterton, interpreting the underlying message of his religious convictions through biography and literary analysis. This book introduces the uninitiated to a classic British author, allows students of Chesterton to mine his enigmatic work for metaphysical connotation, and encourages current-day writers to build symbolism into their own stories.

So if you’ve ever wondered what good ole GKC might have meant with his rather abstruse fiction, you’ll enjoy reading Roots and Branches. If you’ve only vaguely heard about him (maybe watched one of his Father Brown mysteries on BBC), Roots and Branches is a good intro. If you, like me, are a writer looking to enrich your own fiction with symbolism (the reason I chose GKC as a research subject in the first place), this is the book for you!

BACKSTORY: I was minding my own business and working on my current novel last fall when, out of the blue, I got a strange email from a man asking for more info on an article I’d written about a novel he was reading (The Flying Inn). He introduced himself as a charter member of the Central Florida American Chesterton Society (the ACS has something like 85 chapters throughout the States, with some international presence as well as a quarterly magazine, Gilbert). I answered his questions and was in turn answered by . . . silence. Three weeks later he contacted me again with his true motivation: He was a small publisher interested in my graduate research at Briercrest (2001) and would like to do business with me.

Voila! Today I formally present the results of my new alliance with Wayne Stahre of The Habitation of Chimham Publishing.

Isn’t the cover lovely? My sister, Lorenda Harder, created the pen-and-ink sketch, with her daughter Averil assisting on the technical side of things. The publisher scored a foreword by Dale Alquist, president of the ACS, and several other Chesterton scholars weigh in as well with endorsements (among them Bruce Hindmarsh of Regent, mega-blogger Brandon Vogt, and GKC expert John Coates).

In a few days you’ll be able to find Roots and Branches at your favourite online bookstore. Or watch for me and my pile of copies at a conference near you!

FLYING BEYOND THE STARS: CHRISTIANS WRITING FICTION

It’s said that reading fiction requires willing suspension of disbelief. We writers strive to weave a fictional dream of gossamer threads and avoid anything that might break the spell we cast.

And so we choose our genre and build our story idea around specific conventions—checking vocabulary lists for children’s sci-fi, building psychological tension into thrillers, consulting timelines for historical fiction. We study the markets and adapt our approach to connect with the audience in mind. There’s no end to the preparation and research we undergo as we hone our craft by studying how-to books and attending writers’ workshops and reading great literary works.

Our method is limited only by our diligence.

Popular writers apply a variety of stylistic methods in their novels—think of the unconventional plot of The Time Traveler’s Wife, the language of Harry Potter’s magical spells, the sensuality in The Picture of Dorian Gray. Generally speaking, we can regard genre as neutral (excepting, perhaps, erotica or horror, where the purpose of the fictional dream might be sinful).

As Christian writers of fiction, we are even more equipped than secular authors, with metaphysical resources to employ many artistic methods; Francis Schaeffer said,

The Christian is the one whose imagination should fly beyond the stars.

But fiction writing is not just about creative method, which varies over time and across cultures. Message is also intrinsic to great story; underlying theme animates the tale and conveys the writer’s main point. Inherent message is pivotal to true literature and must be balanced against the method. Leland Ryken (in The Christian Imagination) put it thus:

Literature is built on a grand paradox: It is a make-believe world [fictional method] that nonetheless reminds us of real life and clarifies it for us [spiritual message].

I once attended a panel on which Christian agents, authors, and editors were asked what was more important to fiction—method or message. Did they favour character- and plot-driven manuscripts of high quality, or was theological meaning peremptory? The ensuing discussion criticized the heavy-handedness that for so long defined “Christian” fiction as something that imparted moral lessons.

The sweep of literary history shows Aesop’s fables teaching ethics, cycle plays in the Middle Ages dramatizing Bible lessons, Sunday school papers of the last generation promoting norms of right living. But, although didactic prose has fallen out of favour, even today’s most superficial novels (such as Fifty Shades of Gray) inevitably shout out the underlying values of the writer. As Steve Turner has noted in Imagine: A Vision for Christians in the Arts:

Writing is inseparable from a point of view . . . You can’t write and not have a point of view.

So how do we, as Christian writers of fiction, ensure our spiritual message comes through our genre’s method?

Before we set fingers to keyboard, we must know our biblical material—at least the basic principles we intend to convey—whether we actually quote Scripture or write in the most veiled and elusive manner. Let me refer again to the wisdom of Ryken:

Christians believe that the Bible and the system of doctrine derived from it are authoritative for thought and practice. Christian involvement with literature, therefore, begins with the belief that the Bible and its doctrines will determine how we should view literature itself and will provide a standard by which to measure the intellectual content and morality of literature that we read and write.

Paul the Apostle, grappling with allegations made by legalists trying to discredit his message of grace, argued for allowing changes in method of communication in order to suit the audience—as long as the message didn’t wander from the truth of the Word (Gal. 1; 1 Cor. 9:19-23). Paul made cultural and stylistic changes in the way he preached but never compromised God’s propositions. In the same way, our unchanging message becomes appealing to fiction readers when we adapt our method to their sensibilities.

Great Christian fiction is able to “steal past a certain inhibition,” as C.S. Lewis put it; that is, transcendent morals properly fictionalized can slip by the sleeping dragons of reader resistance to truth.

(First appeared as “Method and Message” Fall 2014 in Inscribe’s Fellowscript Magazine)

FRENCH BAKING

I’m currently in the South of France, where the countryside in warmer seasons is saturated in lavender and olive, yellow and azure. But it is winter even here, and so the colours are more subdued–except in bakery windows!

On this vacation again I’ve pressed my nose up against the glass of many patisseries and boulangeries (they still make a difference here between which shops sell sweet delicacies and which yeasty breads). I’ve sampled my fair share as well, with more to come. And there’s one thing I’ve noticed over and again:

French baking always tastes as good as it looks.

This comes as a surprise to me every time I bite into a crusty croissant, flakes flying into the air, or lick a dollop of chocolate from a mousse cake, or crush the ripe raspberry of a tart, its flavour exploding in my mouth.

It surprises me that such beauty to the eye gives such pleasure to the taste buds, that the gastronomic reality is equal to the artistic presentation. (I sound almost sacramental here!) I have to admit that this is not the truth for most Canadian bakeries, where too often pristine cakes smothered in snowy icing and piped in berry blue taste of styrofoam wrapped in bitter lard–a temptation only to naive children who won’t believe for a while yet that what you see isn’t necessarily what you get.

And yet here in France, it seems, every bite is true.

I see a philosophical corollary here, of course: Am I internally the person I attempt to project outwardly? Am I made of quality ingredients or substandard fluff? Does my character satisfy or disappoint?

But I have to be honest here. Call me shallow, but more important to me at this moment–as I wander the cobblestones and backstreets of a country where father taught son taught grandson the great culinary arts, where ingredients are treated as family secrets, where agriculture is a proud tradition and people shop the local markets daily–more important is my mouth.

French baking could almost convert me to hedonism.

          PUBLISHING CONTRACT

I just signed my second book contract! The flush of excitement (fear?) isn’t nearly as overwhelming this time, maybe partly because publishing this book isn’t really a “new venture” but a reworking of graduate research I completed back in 2001.

This is the brief story behind my upcoming book, ROOTS AND BRANCHES: THE SYMBOL OF THE TREE IN THE IMAGINATION OF G. K. CHESTERTON:

When I returned to the classroom, after finishing off home-educating the third child, I found just the scholarly and spiritual nourishment I was looking for. Seminary offered me access to the brilliant minds of godly professors who urged me on towards my goal of clarifying my religious beliefs and rebooting my literary skills so that I could write theologically informed fiction. It worked, though it took me a while. My subsequent novel, The Third Grace, won a Canada-wide, “book of the year”-type of award in 2012 and (besides all sort of editing and other writing-related work) I’ve placed in several short story contests as well. I’ve been busy with drafting my second novel and am on the brink of sending off a proposal for it to attract the agent of my dreams.

So when, a couple of months ago, I received an email out of the blue from a small publishing house interested in my decade-old research on G. K. Chesterton–the late-Victorian apologist, essayist, and novelist–I faltered. The publisher told me how, as a member of the American Chesterton Society, he was reading a novel by GKC that needed explanation–and he found my article online and loved it. Still,  I couldn’t quite believe there was a niche audience wanting to read an academic book full of footnotes, but the publisher patiently prodded me, answered my questions, assured me of veto power, raved about the content, and promised me some fantastic endorsements–which he is delivering on.

For example, Dale Ahlquist (whom I repeatedly reference in my research) is one of the Chesterton experts lined up to say nice things about the book, such as:

There are few intellectual exercises more rewarding than the close reading of a Chesterton text. And too few critics have made the effort. . . . Perhaps they are intimidated to offer a critical analysis of a writer who is himself a master literary critic. But Deb Elkink has risen to the challenge.

So I’ve signed and am now immersed in edits and emails and eating/sleeping/dreaming all things Chesterton. And I like it. I’m having fun and learning loads.

Moral of the story: Write with all your heart. You never know who will read your words–or when–and bring them back to you.

But now my novel manuscript is calling me . . .

      PRIDE

I am so delighted to have won TWO honourable mentions (with the third short story I entered also selected as one of 35 finalists) in this wide-reaching contest that attracted well over 1,000 entries, awarding only 12 prizes. And in my delight I’ve been sharing the news everywhere, many friends and associates rejoicing with my giggling joy.

I mean, who’d know if I didn’t tell them?

It’s encouraging to me to be recognized by such a popular, international contest (judged blind, my name not appearing on the entries). The money I received wasn’t significant, nothing like the Grace Irwin prize offered yearly by our own Canadian organization, The Word Guild. But gaining recognition in these types of contests tells me that I’m on the right track–and every writer needs that sort of encouragement. I hope that my advertising spurs on other writers in my circles to enter contests or send out pieces for publication, even older work like the stories I submitted. We need to get the word out that writers are appreciated and being read.

But I wonder where the line is between sharing of news and prideful crowing?

My husband and I have been reading Proverbs together in the mornings lately, and that book is chockfull of warnings against pride, such as:

When pride comes, then comes disgrace, but with the humble is wisdom (11:2).

Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall (16:18).

One’s pride will bring him low, but he who is lowly in spirit will obtain honour (29:23).

My sister assures me that feeling proud is correct (as in the dictionary definition: “much pleased [exultant] . . . having proper self-respect”). I know that in my heart I don’t feel the sort of pride that elevates my own opinion of myself above others (as in the biblical story of Lucifer); rather, I give the glory to the God who created me and affords me the opportunity to write at this time in my life.

But even if my internal attitude is good, does my broadcasting come across to others as boastful? Maybe it is boastful. As Proverbs says:

Like clouds and wind without rain is a man who boasts of a gift he does not give (25:14).

These warnings demand self-reflection. My goal is humility, wisdom, lowliness in spirit: How does this interface with my sharing wonderful news that has the ability to cause envy in others? (I know this ability experientially, as nothing can rile up my covetousness like the publishing successes of others!)

How do I avoid becoming a cloud without rain? How do I better give of my gift?

          SIMMER, SCOOP, SLURP

Soup making is more art than science.

Baking chocolate cupcakes is science, as anyone who’s added a pinch too much soda knows. And of course entire cookbooks have been devoted to soup recipes (take the title of this post, which is the fictional name of a cookbook I refer to in my upcoming novel)–as though the exact ratio of water to bone really makes that much difference.

No, making soup is more a relationship than a religion. You taste your way into a good pot of soup.

So Mom and I put together a batch only partially following the Mennonite cookbook version some of you might know. Extrapolate on this “recipe” based on what’s in your fridge:

GREEN BEAN SOUP

Combine in pot and simmer till meat is tender:

• 1 meaty ham bone, 1-2 pounds (we used a chunk of ham steak and a couple of links of smoked sausage)
• 1 medium onion, chopped
• 6 cups cold water

Remove meat and strain through cheesecloth (or just a sieve, as we did), returning broth to pot and add:

• 2-3 cups fresh green beans (or yellow–or even the new purple kind), cut up
• 3 carrots, sliced
• 3 medium potatoes, cubed (better to use baby potatoes and don’t cut too small)
• 1/4 teaspoon peppercorns in spice bag (or a good grinding of pepper straight into the pot)
• Salt to taste

Simmer till veggies are tender, correct the seasoning, then add and simmer another half-hour:

• 4 sprigs summer savory (this time we used a handful of fresh dill instead, just added at the end)

Cut meat from bone and return to the soup.

Serve with thick, yummy farmer’s cream or a scoop of sour cream (or both!) and slurp away.

          CORN CHOWDER

It’s corn season here in southern Alberta, where the long hours of sunshine ripen golden cobs to sweet perfection.

As some of you know, I’ve been collecting soup recipes for a while on behalf of the main character in the novel I’m currently drafting (almost done!). So in celebration of the season and my dear protagonist, Libby, I’d like to share another soup-making episode with you.

Sometimes after a corn feast, a few cobs remain. Rather than heat them as leftovers, I make this soup:

I sauté bacon, then use the drippings to soften a small chopped onion, a cubed potato, and some sliced celery. I make a roux with flour, add the de-cobbed corn, salt and pepper, and a box of chicken broth (though Libby doesn’t ever take shortcuts like that when an old hen is at hand), and simmer till cooked. Then I add a couple of glugs (say, ½ cup) of dry white wine and the same of heavy whipping cream, and heat just to a simmer. I top with shredded, aged cheddar and snipped chives.

WOWZER!

Now that you’re salivating, let me give you a “taste” of my novel. In this excerpt, Libby is applying for a job at a mom-and-pop diner named Phil ’Er Up—not at all haute cuisine—and initially the owner/chef seems disinterested:

“Experience?” Phil wiped his hands on his apron.

“I’ve worked with the public most of my adult life, usually in sales.” She hoped he’d skip over the part of her résumé that showed lack of references from her most recent employer.

“Cooking jobs?” Apparently Phil didn’t speak in full sentences.

“Uh, well not in a restaurant, per say, but I’m handy with soups.”

“Sorry, no openings.” Phil turned away, crumpling the sheet of paper into a ball and aiming at the garbage can.

“I should mention that I just completed a seminar over at the Belle . . .” She hadn’t finished her pathetic pitch before Phil spun around.

“Virgil Oxenbury’s seminar?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Got Simmer, Scoop, Slurp right here.” He reached for the cookbook and slapped it onto the counter between them. “Certified?”

“My certificate is coming in the mail.” She hoped so, anyway. “I love to design soups. I’ve been cooking since I was quite young and have a real repertoire of recipes I’d love to share with you.”

“Such as?” Phil removed his bib apron, waved towards a table, and poured two cups of coffee. She assumed she should sit.

“I make a terrific Beet Borscht with dill and shreds of beef—”

“No Ukrainian.”

“Um, well I have a great little Thai Chicken Coconut Soup with lemongrass and chili seasoning—”

“No Asian.”

Libby sipped her scalding coffee. Apparently this wasn’t a very ethnically diverse restaurant. What attracted Phil to Chef Virgil if not his global palate? She’d love to describe her fantastic concoction of Butternut Squash and Mango soup—fragrant with fresh ginger and turmeric—but Phil’s ban on Oriental flavors put the kibosh on that idea.

Libby glanced at the paper placemat menu lying on the table in front of her. Ah, he was playing to the Midwestern taste for down-home farm cooking. She could do that!

“My Corn Chowder would knock your socks off, Phil.”

To learn whether it does or not, you’ll have to wait till the novel is finished!

          NOT SO ENGAGING

I’ve been a very errant blogger of late because my head has been in the clouds of novel drafting. I’m just at the stage now of cleaning up my manuscript so I can see what I really have, and then I’ll  begin edits in earnest before I send it off for the perusal of a select few victims and finally pitch it to the agent of my dreams.

Also, it being summer, I’ve been physically running to and fro; for example, I spent five days in July celebrating my 60th in NYC with my daughters, and tomorrow afternoon I’m going tubing with them down the South Saskatchewan River. (Note the Chinese sunhat I’ll be donning for the event.)

And now another lovely dalliance has arisen, as I’m leading a couple of workshops for the Inscribe Christian Writers’ Fellowship conference in Edmonton on September 26-27–demanding some quality development time. I’ve been a women’s speaker for quite a few years now, with the Stonecroft organization and also more recently for several church retreats. However, this is my debut as a facilitator for writers, and I’m excited to share what I’m learning and stimulate conversation to learn more.

The conference, featuring the joyful and hilarious Phil Callaway as plenary speaker, has as its theme PROCLAIM THE WORD. It’s open for registration, if you’re an interested writer and plan to be in the area this fall.

Meanwhile, I have a manuscript to deal with, so I’m once again begging off from “engaging” further with you through plentiful posts. But drop a note into the comments below and tell me what’s keeping you busy this summer!

          LEMONY YUM

A friend of mine in Saskatchewan—a neighbour I know from ranching days—is a farm wife who grows lentils. I asked her for her favourite recipe, then tweaked it a bit, and might use it as one of the soups appearing in my novel. (Feel free to improvise your own ingredients.)

It’s delish!

LEMON LENTIL SOUP

A splash of lemon-infused olive oil (a tablespoon or so)

A large onion, chopped

2 cloves garlic, finely chopped

1 tablespoon Hungarian paprika

1 teaspoon cumin

1 1/2 cups red lentils, cleaned and rinsed

6 cups chicken stock

Zest and juice of 2 large lemons

2 tablespoons fresh cilantro, finely chopped

To taste: sea salt from the South of France and freshly ground Turkish pepper brought home from Istanbul!

Method:

1. Heat oil in large saucepan.

2. Add onion, garlic, and paprika (or hot pepper flakes). Cook on low heat for 5 minutes.

3. Add cumin and lentils, combine well. Add stock, salt, and pepper, and bring to boil.

4. Reduce heat, cover, and simmer until lentils are tender and soup is beginning to thicken, about 30 minutes.

5. Add extra liquid if needed. Add lemon juice.

6. Serve sprinkled with cilantro (or regular parsley).

FAN CLUB 

I just got off the phone with my dear friend Christelle, whom I met twenty years ago in a small town in the Savoie department of the Rhône-Alpes and who now lives in the South of France with her husband and two boys. Christelle is a true Frenchwoman, a university teacher who has taught me much about enjoying life (and food!). She tells me she’s enamoured with my novel, and our discussion today centred around her continuing education and her plans to use The Third Grace as a text in her graduate studies.

“I love how allusive of the Bible your writing is,” she said to me. “This isn’t common in France, and your book makes me want to go to the Bible and read it for myself.”

I get goosebumps just typing this. Here is a reader who understands my whole purpose in writing fiction! Someone—of another culture, at that—gets that my literary intention is to point back to the Scriptures, and is intellectually and spiritually stimulated to pursue God’s Word because of my imaginary story.

This is my satisfaction in writing—to know my words make a difference.

Two years ago this month, The Third Grace won The Word Guild’s prestigious Grace Irwin Award. You’d think this would be enough to carry me through the drafting of my second novel, almost done now. The validation of the award does go a long way in that direction and, anyway, I’m writing out of a solid conviction that I have a contribution to make. But yet I find myself flagging, wondering if all this time spent in my head really makes a difference to flesh-and-blood people out there in Real World.

My fan club is either minuscule or shy, but every now and then I learn about someone else who’s read my work. For example, upon request from a local business owner, I stopped by her establishment this past week to sign my book. When I walked in, she got all excited and dragged out her very worn copy (What, was she reading it in the tub?) for me to add my John Henry. It encouraged me to see her delight in having the signature of “the actual author” and hear her inquiry into when the next book would be out.

Granted, not everyone likes The Third Grace. I was at a cattle branding recently and a neighbouring rancher with cow poo on his boots told me his wife forced him to read it.

“I didn’t get it,” he said to me. “Your words are too long.”

I grinned and thanked him for his sacrifice in making it through to the end. I meant it; not many men I know have read the novel, and it honoured me.

I’m not alone in enjoying acknowledgment.

Yesterday I read a Facebook post from a fellow writer who’s many more times published than I am or might ever hope to be. Linda Hall expressed a similar thrill over a recent review of her latest book—number 19, I believe. That “famous” writer still gets a positive charge out of one review.

My point isn’t to elicit more praise from my readers! In fact, if you are compulsively driven right now to tell me how much you like my novel, please save it because I’ll know you think I’m pathetic.

My point is that for some reason I’ve tended to believe people who are having successes don’t need positive feedback from others, as though I should “save” my verbal support for those who are more obviously struggling in their lives. But my own experience with the publishing of my first novel, as well as my observation of those who are more proficient or qualified, is telling me something very different.

We all need encouragement.

How can I, today, spur someone on to love and good deeds (Heb. 10:24)?

Whom do you know needing a cheer of support, a confirmation that he or she makes a difference in your life? Perhaps it’s your pastor, or a politician, or another writer immersed in solitary work.

Join me in taking time today to tip your hat to someone you think shouldn’t need it.