BJ Hoff's GRACE NOTES

My Wish for You ...

I'll be away from Grace Notes until after the holidays, so I borrowed something I wrote for my web site some time ago to offer as my Christmas wish for all of you...

If I had three wishes for Christmas, I would wish for:

The love of Christ to fill every home, every heart, throughout the world...the healing of Christ to touch the heartbroken, the helpless, and the hopeless...the mercy of Christ to seek and save the forgotten, the abandoned, and the lost.

If I could give three gifts to the world at Christmas, I would give:

The music of heaven, to lift our human hearts above time and place and self to embrace the unimaginable, inexpressible magnificence and majesty of the Divine...the hope of heaven, to help us live today without looking back on what might have been, and without fearing tomorrow for what might, or might not, be...the light of heaven, to banish the shadows of suspicion, the blindness of bigotry, the darkness of despair...

If I could bring to each of you three priceless, enduring blessings, I would offer you:

Full measure of contentment...a treasury of happy memories...a life of grace and peace--all this to share forever, together with family and friends.

My warmest wishes and a special prayer for each of you for a Christmas season to cherish and a New Year that brings you God's peace and enfolds you in His love. 

BJ 

The Gift of Time

 When we think of the time we devote to writing a novel, it's doubtful that we consider it in terms of a gift. In fact, if we think of the time factor at all, the word "work" is more than likely what comes to mind. So much goes into the development of a novel, and all of it requires time in one form or another: doing the research; naming characters; constructing the plot; the actual writing of the story; rewriting; working with the editor on any changes, including a review of the proofs--it can be, and often is, an exhausting work, and one that seems to involve an endless amount of time.

But it is a gift--and it's probably fair to say that it's a lavish, even precious gift. Time spent can't be recaptured, which makes it an even more precious gift than some. The quality of the gift--the meaning of it and its value--perhaps depend on the writer's motivation: why we do it, why we give ourselves so completely to such an effort. If the purpose behind all that time and effort is simply to become a public figure, to advance one's self for nothing more than a membership in the cult of celebrity, then we can hardly deem it a gift. It's little more than self-indulgence.

But if our hearts and minds genuinely perceive of what we do as an offering--an offering to the Creator and His creation, our readers--and if we care enough to give it our best, to give the vast amount of time and conscientious effort called for, then I believe we can rightfully call it a gift. 

As do many of our readers when they write with their thanks and appreciation for the "gift" of our stories and the work we do to create those stories for them.

BJ       

S is for Simplicity

 Like many writers, I have a genuine love for language, for rhythmic, lyrical--even elegant--prose ... when used carefully and at the right time and place. Even so, while I hope for a certain distinct rhythm in my fiction, I try not to clutter the page with too many words that will need to be looked up by my readers or me-talk-pretty phrases that rhyme by design or virtually drip alliteration.

Little annoys me more (in the field of fiction) than a novel that seems to have been written for the sole purpose of impressing me with the writer's extensive vocabulary and erudite facility with words. I have read far too many stories, novels--even blog posts--that are so pretentious and obscure as to be nearly incomprehensible. Like most of you, I think I have a fairly broad vocabulary and a decent grasp of grammar (just don't edit my blog posts too closely, please), so when I run into a piece of writing that cries for a dictionary and/or an English grammar guide every few paragraphs, I (1) don't finish it, and (2) tend to avoid any work by the same writer in the future.

Can we make an honest effort not to force our readers to work too hard, but instead to give them the gift of writing in the style the work itself requires? A novel shouldn't read like an academic essay or research paper, and a short story is probably best tailored like a slice of life rather than a piece of poetic pie.

I'm not advising against making our writing rhythmic or lyrical. By all means, let it sing, even soar. But let's keep ego and the tendency to "show off" or pontificate out of the work.

Otherwise, while a few readers may stand in awe of our incredible literary prowess, many more will grow disgusted with the effort it takes to wade through the mire that masks the story. 

BJ

Reaching for Infinity

 In continuing the letters that make up the name of  Christ, I chose "I" for the word Infinity. It may not be the easiest thing to do--even the idea may sound somewhat nebulous--but writers: when you're thinking about gifts you can give your readers, don't forget to offer a sense of the infinite. Reassure them that there really is something larger, something beyond this world where war and tragedy and suffering--and evil--are all too commonplace.

Do you live with that sense in your everyday life, that awareness that this isn't all, that there is much, much more than what we can see and feel and touch? Do you sometimes catch a hint of wonder in the ordinary, a glimpse of glory in the mundane? Do you ever almost hear a faint music humming through the wind or through the morning silence? Then share it with your readers by allowing some of your characters to see life through the same lens. Let your story people know the same wonder and be touched by the same grace. Not all characters, of course. But you can create in others a longing for that "something more," for something bigger than themselves or their own small universe.

Don't be afraid to let your writing resonate with this sense of the infinite or at least a longing for it, a seeking for it. If you can implant this yearning in the heart of even one reader, you may just change a life.

BJ

R is for Real

 You've probably noticed by now that in thinking about the gifts a writer might bring to her readers, I've been using the letters from the name of Christ. "R" wasn't the easiest one to identify with a gift, but it finally occurred to me that there is a gift--and a very important one at that--beginning with that exact letter: realism. 

Relating this to my own writing, I have to think in terms of fiction. So what does that have to do with realism? Well, for starters it means that I can't afford to look at my characters, my story, or its spiritual elements through some sort of gossamer veil. I owe it to my readers to give them a tale about people who are as "real" as possible, not paint a dash of this and a splash of that onto their development and use those elements as mere props while rushing through the story. Shouldn't I allow them the weaknesses, the confusion, the fears, the struggles ... and, yes, the sins ... with which my readers can identify? Shouldn't I allow them to be real?

And what about the setting? Yes, it might be entirely fictional, rather than that of an actual city or area, but that doesn't give me an excuse to avoid doing whatever research is necessary to bring it to life, to make it authentic and visual and livable. Readers don't want pop-up books that keep them at a distance. They want to enter the world--the space and the place of a novel--and live there for the duration of the story. Think details.

Nor do I have the right to use one-dimensional people or places, clichéd circumstances, or trite solutions to force my story to an inevitable ending. Better that I confront the reader with questions for which there may be no cut-and-dried answers rather than tack on a lot of foolish, implausible, white-washed platitudes that mark the story as hackneyed and mark me as a lazy writer.

Realism in fiction comes with great care and much work. It can be effected only by paying attention to the small things--those details that at first glance might seem insignificant, but in truth are vital--and by heeding the admonition given to all writers of fiction to "show, don't tell." (On the other hand, there must be some telling or a story becomes more a screenplay than a novel.)

If our goal is to usher our readers into the world we've created for them, allowing them to explore its depths and experience life there with our characters, we need to commit at the very beginning of a new work to avoid the easy way, to give the story--its process, its people, its setting, its emotions, its circumstances--whatever it demands to become real.

BJ

What Better Gift Than Hope?

 If the books I write leave my readers with only one gift and one alone, I pray that gift will be Hope. I can think of nothing else this world needs more. If there is a common lack, an emptiness, that can kill the very soul, it's the absence of hope. Nothing can dull the senses or wring the life from a heart or bring on the deadliness of despair more completely than the total loss of one's hope.

In a culture where the arts increasingly spread meaninglessness and helplessness and worthlessness--where a painting is no longer so much a thing of beauty as a scream of  rage and a sculpture panders to the profane; where music is often drug-induced noise or melody-reduced chaos; where many a novel sends the reader in search of a shower or a shredder--it becomes more and more difficult to find that element that evokes a sigh of appreciation or a heartfelt "yes ... oh, yes!" How can the writer, even the Christian writer, begin to offer the hope of something better, something of value, something more?

I believe it begins with this: we can give only what we have.  A gift first has to be ours to give away. The hope that is ours is the only hope we can give to others, to our readers. Any method to implant or insert something in our stories with which we're unfamiliar ourselves will be a futile effort and come up pathetically empty. If hope is mine, then it will weave itself through what I believe, what I live ... and what I write. Readers will recognize it and be attracted to it and reach for it.

"We have this gift as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure."

May God breathe the gift of Hope into our writers' hearts this Christmas, and may our readers see it for what it is on every page we write.

BJ

About Gifts ... for Writers and Those Who Aren't

I'm about to take a brief leave of absence from Grace Notes to prepare for the holidays and spend a little extra time with my family doing so. There's still a deadline looming, though, along with all the seasonal preparations. So over the next few days I'm going to republish some of the Christmas entries I've offered in the past. For some, these will be new; for others, not so new. Whichever the case, I hope you enjoy them, and may they help to touch even your internet experience with "a little Christmas."

~~~~~

This is the season of the year when we spend a lot of time thinking about gifts, even before we get around to making them or purchasing them. Hopefully, our first thought during this festival of giving will be of the greatest gift of all: the Child Who changed history and brought hope to a hopeless world ... the gift that will always be, for His followers, the incomparable, shining, enduring gift, the only gift that could reflect the love of God in all its glory and wonder and splendor.

As writers, we often speak of our "gift" when we refer to what we do. But what does this gift of writing encompass? What's it made of? How, exactly, has God "gifted us" for the work He placed upon our hearts? And not just our gifts--the "writerly" ones--but the gifts that enable each of us to do what we're called to do. He gives different gifts to teachers than to surgeons, different gifts to musicians than to artists, and different gifts to writers than to scientists. As writers, how aware are we of those gifts that work together to form the abilities and skills, the artistry and rhythms, the stories and word pictures of our craft?

Surely imagination would rise to the top of any list. Without that inexplicable, elusive, and at times the seemingly mystical ability to think and imagine--how would we ever begin, and continue, to write? No one can actually define it, nor can we ever hope to understand it. Because imagination is a gift. A part of who and what we are, certainly--but a gift all the same.

What  about patience? And perseverance? The will and the willingness to "keep on keeping on," to remain steadfast when it would be so much easier to stop and rest, or to quit altogether.

And can you imagine how difficult it would be--if it were even possible at all--to go on writing if no one in the world cared whether we ever penned another word? If we had to labor without the love and support of our families and friends--and, yes, our editors and publishers? Sometimes that faithful, unflagging support group is the only motivation we have to continue on, especially in the early years when it seems as though no one is ever going to want to read anything we write.

Gifts. Each and every one of them, all of the above...they're special gifts.

So in the midst of making lists and taking those last-minute trips to the mall, I'm also trying to take a moment when and where I can to say thanks for the loved ones for whom I purchase every gift ... and especially for the One Who gave me everything He knew I'd need in order to imagine, to be patient, to persevere and be encouraged and sustained all along the way in this journey of being a writer.

BJ

Meeting Captain Gant

 Today I'll be interviewing Jeremiah Gant--"Captain Gant"--from my historical Amish series, The Riverhaven Years. First, though, for those of you who aren't yet familiar with the residents of Riverhaven, I thought I'd introduce a few folks from this Old Order Amish settlement that's grown up near the Ohio River in southern Ohio. 

Rachel Brenneman--a young widow with a secret--a secret threatened by the arrival of a stranger who bursts into the remote Amish community like a torrential storm off the river, needing a safe place to recuperate from a wound inflicted by a ruthless enemy.

Jeremiah Gant--"Captain Gant"--a suspicious, perhaps even dangerous, "outsider" to the Amish, who brings his own secrets and conflict to the unsuspecting settlement. The Amish know nothing of this "Underground Railroad" of which he's a part--nor do they want anything to do with the wounded stranger who threatens their peace-loving community with the consequences of a violent past ... and his forbidden love for their own Rachel.

Dr. David Sebastian--friend and family doctor to the entire Riverhaven community. Over the years, this transplanted British physician has grown to love and respect the People, especially the one woman he can never have. 

Susan Kanagy--Rachel's mother and a woman devoted to her Amish faith--yet torn between that faith and her desire to help the wounded outsider who befriends her and the People of Riverhaven, even as he falls in love with Susan's daughter. 

Asa--freed slave, friend and co-conductor, along with Jeremiah Gant, on the Underground Railroad. A devout follower of Christ who lives his faith by leading others out of their chains into freedom.

Gideon Kanagy--Rachel's brother, who disputes the Amish belief in nonresistance and vows to put an end to the persecution that has plagued his people for generations.

-----

What follows is an interview with Jeremiah Gant--"Captain Gant--" from The Riverhaven Years. For some of you, this may be the first time you've met him. For others who know him from reading the series, perhaps you'll get to know him a little better through this interview. 

Some brief background information on him:  

An Irish-born riverboat captain who's been in the States since he was a boy, Gant first appears in Riverhaven with a serious gunshot wound, desperately needing medical attention and a place to heal. With the help of his friend, Asa, he makes his way to the home of Rachel Brenneman, a young Amish widow who at first resists offering them shelter. Given his critical condition, however, she relents and takes both men under her roof--an act that soon brings her under the scrutiny and disapproval of the Amish leadership and some of her neighbors. 

I met with Captain Gant at his recently acquired carpentry shop in Riverhaven. He's a tall man with a head of rather unruly dark hair, a dangerous-looking mustache, and a surprisingly quiet voice in which his Irish accent is still distinct, despite his being a citizen of the United States for several years. He's probably in his mid-thirties. An unmistakably keen, mercurial intelligence simmers about the man, as well as an  unpredictable sense of humor. I soon learned that he seldom makes a move without the big, sturdy black dog he calls "Mac" at his side. Mac seemed harmless enough, but something in his manner let me know he would tolerate me only so long as I didn't create a problem for his owner. 

Gant himself seemed friendly enough, but as was the case with his dog, I caught a sense of a complex nature that could turn dark in an instant. In other words, a man one might not want to provoke. He seems to possess a certain confidence that doesn't approach arrogance, but instead is more the demeanor of a man comfortable with who he is but not overly impressed with himself. It soon became clear that he's not given to revealing much in the way of personal information, so you may find his replies to my questions brief, even abrupt, in places.

But that's enough introduction. I'll let him speak for himself from here ... 

-----

BJ:    So, Captain Gant--my research tells me you're considered a 'master carpenter' in addition to having been a highly capable riverboat pilot. Are you devoting yourself altogether to your carpentry trade now, or do you still spend some time on the river? 

JG:   I'm pretty much settled in with the shop these days. A bum leg is no good on the river.

BJ:    (I was embarrassed that I'd forgotten that Gant is severely lame, due to the damage done to his leg by a gunshot wound.) 

You're originally from Ireland, isn't that so? (He nodded) What brought you to America?

JG:     A need for survival.

(I must have looked puzzled, because he went on.)  Ireland was starving at the time, you see. Most likely still is. I left to stay alive.

BJ:    (He was nothing if not direct.) And what made you decide to settle here, later on, in such a small area--and in one that's predominantly Amish? 

JG:     (With a shrug and a somewhat evasive glance) I was here quite some time while recuperating from an injury, long enough to get to like the place and the people. So I stayed. 

BJ:    But an Amish community? I've always thought the Amish an insular, even clannish sort of people. Have they actually accepted you into their midst?

JG:    The Amish community isn't the town of Riverhaven, but a neighboring settlement. And, no, I'm not a part of the community, but they've treated me well enough. I have a few close friends among them, and for the most part, they're friendly folks. 

BJ:    You like them, then?

JG:    (With a nod) I do. They're good people. 

BJ:    Any interest in joining their faith--becoming Amish yourself?

(Gant's reply came with a slight narrowing of the eyes. For a moment I thought I might have offended him, but apparently that wasn't the case.) 

JG:    I'm not a great one for looking too far ahead. And if you don't mind my asking: what, exactly, is this 'interview' for anyway? Why did you want to talk with me?

BJ:    Your story seems to fascinate many of my readers. They want to know more about you. They're especially interested in your...relationship with Rachel Brenneman. Would you like to comment on that?

JG:      I would not. 

BJ:     Not at all?

JG:     Not at all. (This said with one raised eyebrow and a distinctly challenging look. Needless to say, I didn't press the issue.)

BJ:    Well, then, how about talking a little about your work with the Underground Railroad?

(This brought a look that would have withered a cactus, accompanied by a slight thickening of his Irish accent.)

JG:    What would that be, this--'Underground Railroad?'  

BJ:    Captain Gant, there are rumors that--

JG:  (With a shake of his head and a thin smile)  You'd do well to pay no heed to rumors. They're not worth the air in your hand.

BJ:     Really, sir, your name is often associated with the work being done with that particular organization--the 'Freedom Train,' as some refer to it.

JG:     Is that so? Well, as I said--rumors aren't worth much.

BJ:    So you're not associated with it at all?

JG:    (Again that thin, rather unpleasant smile) Did I say that? I thought you did.

BJ:    (At this point I was reaching for a question that he might at least answer.)  Would you like to comment on the trouble the Amish have been experiencing in this area? No doubt you know something of the harassment and ill-treatment they've endured.

JG:    (He leaned back in his chair at this point, crossed his arms over his chest, and studied me until I grew more than a little uncomfortable.) You already seem to know a great deal about me. So why all these questions, I wonder?

BJ:    As I explained, my readers are curious about you. I'm really doing this interview for them. 

JG:     Curious about me, eh? 

BJ:    (I nodded, trying not to appear too hopeful that finally he might be about to open up about himself.) Yes, that's right. Very curious.

(At this point, he got to his feet, looked down the length of the table at me, and cracked a much friendlier--if somewhat wicked--smile, and said:) 

JG:    Then it seems to me that what you should do, ma'am, is simply recommend that the lot of them read those books you're writing about me. When it comes down to it, I wouldn't mind a copy or two myself.

That was, as you might imagine, the end of the interview.

BJ

*For other character interviews, go to the "Character" section of Grace Notes.