Tag Archives: Isaiah

Isaiah’s Rules for Writers (1)

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In State of the Union, I suggested that Isaiah, in chapter 61, while prophesying the ministry of Jesus, may have also offered career advice to us writers.

Suppose he did, and suppose a writer who decides to follow the prophet’s advice chooses to start with the assignment “proclaim the good news to the poor.” Now the writer may ask, “What exactly does this mean to me?”

Let’s say she’s writing a novel. In the context of a novel proclaim could mean present by example in the life of a character. The content of the good news she proclaims could effect a change for the better in the character’s actions, situation, or attitude. Since the good news as a whole is way too broad of a theme for a single novel, this writer will need to ask herself exactly what element of the good news she feels most passionate about. Maybe she deeply values freedom. Perhaps freedom from fear, or greed, or lust, or vanity.

Basic knowledge about her novel’s main character and the good news she means to present can give her what is commonly called a story arc.

The story arc in the film Tender Mercies: Mac is a country singer whose life has fallen into ruins on account of guilt and alcohol. Then a woman’s love and faith help deliver him from overpowering guilt. His life rises out of the ruins. Here the good news of freedom from guilt is proclaimed in a simple story so well done it won five Oscars.

Suppose our writer wants to proclaim a piece of good news that Jesus offered during his Sermon on the Mount: the merciful are blessed because they will receive mercy. Say a character’s conflict is that she suffers under an abusive husband. Maybe she flees to protect herself and her children. Now the writer could imagine a dozen ways the character and her kids might get blessed with mercy. As soon as she picks one way (or more), she has a story arc.

Warning: the story arc isn’t a roadmap. It’s more of a compass, to consult when lost or unsure of the direction.

When a good ballplayer steps up to bat, she quits thinking about her swing and just swings. Likewise, a good writer stashes analysis and preconceptions in the back of her mind, then lets go and lets the story take on a life of its own.

State of the Union

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I listened to President Obama’s state of the union address.

A wise old friend of mine split the world into two kinds of people — those of good will, and the others. Mister Obama appears to be a person of good will.

But on every issue, what he addressed was essentially the application of Band Aids.

I mean, every woe he hopes to fix or lessen is a symptom, each of them caused by people acting in their own “interest” rather than in the interests of all.

Ebola would not be nearly such a problem if extreme poverty had been eradicated as it should have been long ago.

Global warming would not be an issue if not for our lust after and addiction to extreme luxury and comfort.

Wars, obviously, would not happen if not for our inability or unwillingness to consider our fellow humans as important as ourselves or our families.

Here is Isaiah, in Verse 61, the prophetic passage Jesus later quoted to introduce himself:

The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me, because the Lord has anointed me
1. to proclaim good news to the poor.
2. He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
3. to proclaim freedom for the captives
4. and release from darkness for the prisoners,
5. to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor
6. and the day of vengeance of our God,
7. to comfort all who mourn,
and provide for those who grieve in Zion—
to bestow on them:
8. a crown of beauty
 instead of ashes,
10. the oil of joy
 instead of mourning,
11. and a garment of praise
 instead of a spirit of despair.

I numbered the challenges for emphasis because I believe we who think of ourselves as Christian writers, or as both writers and Christians, should consider:

If we think writing is our calling, which most of us do; and if we believe that as followers of Christ we should attempt to model our behavior on his, which is what most of us profess; then we ought to base our mission on his, which Isaiah stated clearly and in detail.

Whether or not we’re anointed, as Isaiah claimed to be, is another issue. Still, I’ll suggest that we at least try to live so that if anointing (inspiration) is available, we can grab it and pass it along.

Back to the state of the union: if we who call ourselves Christians had acted in accord with the teachings of Christ, then surely, over 2000 years, we could’ve created a world in which good will would so obviously prevail that there would be little need for Band Aids.

Mahatma Ghandi famously answered a fellow who asked why, since he essentially followed the precepts of Christ, he was not a Christian. His answer was something like, “If I had ever met a Christian (i.e. someone followed the leading of Christ) maybe I would be a Christian.”

Perhaps he hadn’t looked very wide or hard. I mean, even I with my limited experience could point to several true Christ followers. Still, Ghandi’s point is well taken. Most of aren’t likely to be noted for our selfless, sacrificial behavior.

But to quote from a ’60s anthem, “Don’t think it can’t happen just because it hasn’t happened yet.” History aside, if as writers we think of ourselves as Christians, shouldn’t our primary goal be to awaken readers to what Christ stood for? And if that’s our goal, I’ll suggest we take our cue from Isaiah.

Which is why I believe in Perelandra College, whose mission is essentially to help people of good will promote good will in others, by (1) cheering them with good news; (2) offering solace to the hopeless and brokenhearted; (3,4) leading those in all kinds of captivity toward freedom; (5,6) giving our readers a glimpse of eternity and comforting them with glorious visions; (8) creating and sharing beauty; (9, 10) presenting the multitude of reasons for joy and gratitude, and in all ways lobbying against despair.

So, let’s get busy.

Write What and Why?

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In the context of advising a friend about what kinds of books to read, Franz Kafka asserted, “A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us. That is my belief.”

K’s assertion offers us writers plenty to think about, no matter if we agree. Whatever we believe books should be, or can be, we ought to know what we’re aiming for. Clarity about what we hope our books can accomplish may inspire us with direction, help us set boundaries, or give our work what writing teachers refer to as unity.

Some of us may respond to the Kafka quote (see a longer version here): “So what if I write not to awaken anybody with a blow to the head but to commend and strengthen their faith, which is constantly threatened by messages and temptations the world throws at them?”

That’s swell. You have a purpose, and a goal. But I’m betting most of us aren’t yet clear about our purpose for spending countless hours wrestling with ideas, or plots, or characters. So we ought to resolve to get that clarity.

Reading the journals or letters of a writer you admire might deliver some clues about what you are up to. Aside from Kafka’s, Flannery O’Connor’s letters come to mind. Or, since you read the Bible, how about praying for a clue from that most worthy and reliable source. Say you’re a romance novelist aiming to help people lift their spirits and keep hope alive. Then consider this line from the prophet Isaiah. “The Sovereign Lord has given me an instructed tongue to know the word that sustains the weary.”

Aristotle, in his Poetics, noted and described three “unities” he considered crucial to the success of a dramatic work: unity of time, unity of place, and unity of action. I would suggest that more important than any of these is unity of purpose, which derives from the author knowing and applying what on earth he or she hopes to accomplish through all this time and effort.

What I mean to offer here is an admonition to go beyond the sense that you were called to write and ask yourself “So what exactly am I called to write? And, why?”