BJ Hoff's GRACE NOTES

Afterglow

2010-01-03T15:06:09-05:00

Hear the silence? That's the sound of After-the-Holidays: Absence of car horns and traffic jams. Company now gone. The blessedly inactive calculator. Children soon to be back in school. The end of squawking, dancing Santas at the mall and frantic shoppers vying for position.

Unfortunately, it's also the sound of missing Christmas carols, gone from the airwaves until next year. Silenced silver bells. Fading echoes of church cantatas and carillons and singing children. Sighs and lingering good-byes of loved ones leaving.

It's over, and life is ... mostly ... back to normal again. And even though we don't miss the squeezed budgets, the crass commercialism, the desperate retailers hawking their wares, the late nights, the frenzied trips and wearing fatigue, and the noise that seems inescapable--isn't there, deep within, a small part us that feels an emptiness, a yearning for the colors, the music, the smiles of strangers, the good will that somehow thaws the coldest of hearts for a season?

Don't we miss the meaning and the magic of those winter weeks that make the ordinary things shine and set the common things aglow? Don't we, every now and then, at least in secret, wish we had it back so we could capture the best of it to take out and look at when we need to touch the wonder one more time? We'd treasure it more, be more sensitive to its beauty, more reverent in its holiness, more thankful for its gifts--the ones without a price tag.

Next year, we tell ourselves. Next year will be different. We won't rush as much, buy as much, bake as much, eat as much, fret as much. We'll do less and enjoy it more, bask in the priceless things and cherish each passing moment. We'll live the season so thoughtfully, so gratefully, so generously, there will be no feelings of lament, no memories to regret, no sadness when it passes ... only a fullness of joy and a smile of remembrance.

-----

Can you tell I was feeling nostalgic when I wrote that one? Well, "next year" is here, and just as I was last year about this time, I'm already missing the season--at least my favorite parts of it.

We haven't "undecorated" yet--I delay this as long as decently possible and as long as I can before the neighbors start shaking their heads as they pass by. Radio stations have already pulled the plug on their Christmas music (and while I'll admit I won't miss hearing "Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer" a dozen times a day, I'm grateful for all our Christmas CDs so I can keep the sounds of the season going as long as I like). Most of the lights on my street have been taken down and packed away. And the "Christmas spirit" that seems to shed more kindness, more thoughtfulness, more "peace and goodwill" among us every year is slowly but surely drifting out with the fog.

Now we're left with tacky "year-in-review" shows and gaudy after-Christmas ads. Some are no doubt relieved that the house is quieter and neater (a little too quiet and neat to suit me), and everyone talks about getting "back to normal" again. Whatever that is. I'm not so sure "normal" is my favorite part of life.

Did you have a white Christmas? We didn't, but better late than never. Now the ground is white, helping me prolong the season and my favorite things ... things such as hot chocolate, lights reflecting on the snow, carols and church bells, the laughter of rowdy grandsons, "The Sound of Music" and "It's a Wonderful Life," leftover candy and cookies, a blanket of laughter and love mingling with peace and nostalgia, and ... well, you know.

I can almost see the eyes of some of my friends rolling heavenward about now. "There she goes again ... why doesn't she just turn over her calendar and face reality?"

Well ... the reality is that I have always loved Christmas. Even those Christmases that were bittersweet or sad for one reason or another. I think it's because the season is that one time of the year that allows us to become children again, to see the world through the unjaded eyes of the young, to make wishes and believe they just might come true, and to know the wonder of days and nights bathed in beauty and light and hope.

So even though I've put the gifts away, transferred the calendar, stuffed the freezer with leftover goodies, and made out a brand new To-Be-Done list, I'm going to hold onto Christmas-past just a little longer before allowing "normal" to descend.

For now ... and for 2010, may God rest ye and bless ye!

My Wish for You ...

2009-12-24T14:35:08-05:00

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.

The Gift of Time

2009-12-22T19:20:51-05:00

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

2009-12-20T18:37:06-05:00

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

2009-12-18T19:08:06-05:00

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

2009-12-17T11:11:53-05:00

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?

2009-12-15T17:03:59-05:00

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

2009-12-10T19:30:45-05:00

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