Driving, Writing, and Living On the Wrong Road

"...a 1000 roads lead into the wilderness." CS Lewis

"Drive left. Look right! God, help me to do this right--I mean, correct!" So I tell myself and pray in the days and hours before leading another group of aspiring writers on the Oxford Creative Writing Master Class. At Heathrow, I warily circle the nine-passenger rental van and then lunge into the driver's seat on the right side, murmuring to myself to keep the vehicle on the left side of the road and a weather eye to the Bentleys, Minis, red buses, and black cabbies bearing down on my right side. Though it is not my first rodeo (not to be construed as a cliche; it is a metaphor chosen precisely to reflect how it feels swerving around about every frantically encircling roundabout intersection), I have driven in the UK on the wrong side of the vehicle--and the road--over many years now. But I still pray earnestly before loading the van with precious human cargo and braving the blaring streets, curvaceous back roads, and bustling motorways of Britain.

And then there's the matter of my talking--while driving (whilst motoring, to be more colloquial). One previous OCWMC participant, her hand trembling, passed me an almost illegible note on which she had scrawled out a plea for me to stop using hand gestures as I talk--and drive. "Please, please, keep both hands on the wheel," she implored me (I nodded, looking down at the clutch and gear shifter, wondering just how I was supposed to do that when every vehicle in the UK seems to be equipped with a manual transmission). As I teach my master class writers the evil of exaggerating language, I will avoid pronouncing it "miraculous," but it is a significant answer to prayer, with many instances of divine intervention, that I have never had an accident whilst motoring in Britain (okay, a few close calls; every one of them, I am morally certain, not my fault, like the one en route from London to Oxford opening day of the master class when a raven-colored Peugeot nearly strafed the side of us on the M-40, clearing my arteries, invigorating my vocabulary, and making me still more grateful).

In Oxford, or anytime I talk about writing, I emphasize the importance of figurative language, of metaphor. "The greatest thing by far," wrote Aristotle in his Poetics (384 BC - 322 BC), "is to have a command of metaphor. This alone cannot be imparted by another; it is the mark of genius, for to make good metaphors implies an eye for resemblances." And for the rest of us who are emphatically not geniuses, we work at training our eye and ear so we are equipped to use the most appropriate metaphors, the precise imaginative comparisons, the best mini stories to awaken the imagination and immerse our readers in the larger story.

Which makes me pause and consider driving on the wrong side of the car and the road as a metaphor, a miniature story very much like life itself. The author of the book of Proverbs employed a similar metaphor: "Turn not to the right hand or to the left. Keep your foot from evil." When driving a car, if I turn right when I should have turned left, or if I don't keep my eyes on the road ahead of me, screeching tires, broken glass, mangled metal, and far worse can follow.

Similarly, when writing a book, if I take my eyes off the real issue for my protagonist, or when I lose control of the story arc and the plot wanders aimlessly like an overfed bovine, sniffing at this or that irrelevant morsel, my reader gets distracted, yawns, closes the book, and (after awakening from his stupor), pounds out a scathing review on amazon.

How much worse when this happens in life. When I wander to the right and then to the left, grazing for fulfillment and happiness in this tidbit and that morsel of this life, I will always come up empty, unsatisfied, idolatrous, lost. And damned. The stakes are high. Those who persist with this try-this, try-that, foraging approach to life will end this life and enter the life to come with the most horrific words ringing in their eternal ears, "Depart from me you cursed into everlasting fire where there is weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth." When we do this in life, the result is infinitely worse than a car smash-up or a bad review on amazon.

Though our culture persists in shrieking the mantra, "There are many roads," or in effect, "Take whatever road feels good. There is no wrong side of the road." Imagine driving or writing that way. Made in the image of God, we all know at the deepest level of our being that there is only one road that leads to heaven. "One road leads home and a thousand roads lead into the wilderness," as CS Lewis put it. Left or right, O the pain of those thousand roads. No one gets to heaven by scrupulously following the right path, the path of self-improvement and good works; or from swerving left, following his heart and doing what he feels.

If not to the right or the left, where are we to keep our eyes? If there's only one way, The Way, how are we to get on--and keep on--the road? There's no equivocation. Nor is there any alternate route. The Word of God makes the path of life plain. Abandon all hope in ourselves and "Gaze upon the beauty of the Lord." It is what we were made for, not just on Good Friday or Easter, We are designed to keep our eyes straight ahead, to "Fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of faith." We do this because by his finished work on the cross in place of sinners and his righteousness imputed to those same sinners' specific account, Christ is alone the path to life; in his presence there is fullness of joy; at his right hand their are pleasures forevermore (Psalm 16).

God alone places us by his grace on the right road--and he alone keeps us on it. All other roads lead into the wilderness.     

Douglas Bond directs the Oxford Creative Writing Master Class. Contact him about the next OCWMC at bondbooks.net@gmail.com

"It's just what it is!" Meaning and Purpose in Writing: INKBLOTS

Five of us, frigid evening, snow yesterday, but none on the ground at the moment, though forecast for more snow imminent. But we're warm and cozy in the Scriptorium, ready for a productive evening of discussion about writing, reading manuscript excerpts, critiquing one another, and laughing a bit too (at ourselves).

Jonathan Anderson, AP literature high school teacher, began reading Flannery O'Connor and Hawthorne and Dostoevsky, all of whom conspired to help Jonathan create meaning in the midst of authentic literature. After receiving many rejection notices, and plans to self publish, he then received an acceptance letter, after only a week and a half, from Severed Press, a publisher dedicated to printing the works of speculative fiction writers.

Before Jonathan read, we launched into a discussion about meaning in literature. Are the best books, as some passionately insist, just what they are, no meaning, no message, no higher purpose, no bigger picture or issue the author cares deeply about? I have had this discussion with several. It is remarkable how passionately held, how vein bulgingly doctrinaire this view is insisted upon by its advocates and devotees (and how utterly ironic that is, though they don't seem to get the irony). But nobody who carefully reads any of the best authors thinks that they do not have a purpose for writing, a truth they want to convey, a falsehood they want to expose. Honest authors admit this. I'm pretty sure the others use the argument as a ruse to cover for the real agenda they want to insinuate into their readers imagination, but in the guise of no agenda. "There are no moral or immoral books," insisted Oscar Wilde... which is, of course, a moral judgment about books in and of itself. The amoral book argument is a clever disguise and many do not realize it's there; nevertheless, the idea conveyed, foisted on the reader, is no less purposeful. We discussed whether or not art is diminished when the artist has a purpose for writing, a particular concern that they want to explore, a characteristic of life and meaning they want to unearth. The favorite new dictate that writers not have a message, is a thinly veiled guise, that stands in defiance of the centuries, yea, the millenniums of literature from whatever the culture.

Jonathan reads from chapter three of his new speculative fiction novel,  just released with Severed Press. I'm not a reader or a writer of speculative zombie literature. There, I've said it. Nevertheless, right off, it is clear to the reader that Jonathan has literary taste and skill; there is a narrative fluidity to his style, clearly written by someone who has human sensitivities and philosophical and theological objectives. Cross, old fashioned and womanish. Sound of the vacant wind tore through. Crowd used twice in two back to back sentences; maybe try varying with mob or other simile. Trevelyan sounds like a media figure. I find it fascinating how you give brief vignettes of the oncoming zombies, features from their former life. This works so well. I think it is remarkable how you have been able to feature biblical thought in a favorable light and yet not drive a secular publisher away. I was reminded of Jezebel being dump out the upper window and the dogs falling to on her body and blood. This is grim material, bloody and ugly, as I think you intended it to be. I think the reaction you have for your protagonist is so important to this story. He feels remorse, or some anguish at the horror he experienced as he defended himself against the hoard. You have your character reciting Psalm 23, "The Lord is my shepherd..." Just as a point of accuracy, an automatic pistol is not, strictly speaking, a gun. I feel the inexorable nature of your protagonist's dilemma, they just keep coming back. The woman sniffed, or was it a scoff (at his Bible). Jude, Jonathan's protagonist, is an unapologetic Christian, and Jonathan has managed to have this book published by a secular publisher, remarkable. This is not my genre, but Jonathan does it remarkably well. You do a good job of giving the antagonistic unbeliever voice, letting her express all the antagonism toward Christianity that is real from the unbeliever. Deep longing, overwhelming. The intensity of the horror is so real. I probably won't sleep tonight!

We often talk about the use of coarse language, cursing and swearing, at Inkblots. Is there a way to express the coarse realities of foul language, the way so many of our neighbors talk when they are angry or afraid, or, for some of them, it is simply the only vocabulary at hand to the frustrated, angry, individual outside of grace, who can only find satisfaction, power, control, in lashing out verbally--is it possible to convey the reality of this kind of verbal expulsion without actually using the language? Why does this work, that is, make us feel fear, see, feel, and smell the reality of the unreality of this speculative image? Specifics. Jonathan gives us precise, incremental specifics, blow-by-blow.

Bob commented how I always nail him for not engaging all the senses. Jonathan engages the tactile sense more so than others. John commented that there were disconnects. The boy with the key, the woman in the woods. Puzzled John. Jude did not go get a weapon. Seemed like that would be the first thing he would do, get a weapon. Bob thought you could fine-tune your adjective use, use one where you have two, for example. Very fine writing, and a big congratulations on new published book!

Rachel picks up her story about the Russian chef on a mission to discover the finest cheese. I love the clothes on his back and the price on his head. Rachel does a good job of being specific, precise details about the table, dining, cuisine. Rachel, so excited about a connect with a real Russian. wringing her for information, plans to read more next time. We await with baited breath.

Bob gave us another snippet of his O'Henry-esque crime yarn set in Soap Lake Eastern Washington, shyster preying on the unsuspecting. We moaned and groaned when he told us he was going to abandon the project. New Leyden congregation, Dutch congregation, hard-working farmers. Bob has
a way about him, and his writing. It has that Norwegian detachment: I told you I loved you when I married you. I'll let you know if anything changes. What more do you want? Pastor Van Houten. Bob, you are a crack-up.

Shift gears, Bob is writing the 95 These for the 21st Century. We didn't have time to read it tonight but next time. We will email the gang about meeting or not meeting on December 20.

By the way, I can squeeze in one last participant for the April 1-18, 2017 OXFORD CREATIVE WRITING MASTER CLASS. Plans are finalizing, so don't delay. If you know someone who is ready to take their writing to the next levels, this week-long intensive on-location where so many of the great writers learned their craft, may be for them (or you!)

Money and Writing: Can you make a living just writing books? INKBLOTS

Okay, Inkblots could not help talking about the debate. The what? Has it really come to this? These two individuals are our two options for president of this country? Finally liberals and conservatives can agree: If I were a liberal, I would be sick, disgusted, embarrassed; I am a conservative and I'm sick, disgusted, embarrassed. The debate showcased the violation of basic things about good communication, written or spoken; let's start with honesty, clarity, accuracy. Who won? Lester Holt, slam dunk. Who lost? America, slam dunk. M. W. Jacobs' perceptive observation seems apropos: "There are men (think man and woman) whose independence of principle consists in having no principle on which to depend, whose freethinking consists not in thinking freely but in being free from thinking, and whose common sense is nothing more than the sense that is most common."

Itchy face or was Hillary playing catcher-pitcher with Lester?

The Scriptorium is warm and cozy this mild autumn evening. Debate teeth-gnashing behind us, we launched in talking about writing, about monetary return therefrom, and related topics about marketing and actually selling books. No author makes a living writing books. Authors make money when books sell. Funny thing is, I just had to field this question on the phone today; a man inquiring about the Luther tour asked me about making a living writing books. I assured him no author has ever made a living writing them; it is in the selling of books that an author makes a living. Facts of writing and publishing life. We have a small group tonight, five of us, serious about writing, loving writing (okay, not always), wanting to write better (always). True for all of us.

John leads off with reading a rewrite of a chapter we critiqued last time. A good strategy. It is helpful to hear it rewritten. This was the chapter that needed more fight, emotion, passion. Grace is the daughter of a cop who tends toward being racist, and she is pregnant with the child of a football star, African American. It is a confrontation ready to explode. I think she would not be able to tell him it was the black football player. Have the dad figure it out, incrementally making the connections. The mom seems pretty acquiescent, maybe too much so. The reconciliation seems to come too early in the chapter. Dean, the dad, tells about the black cop partner who saved his life (his wife does; he could come back into the room and finish the story). The dad is having to confront his racism. But wouldn't the fact that he was saved by the sacrifice of his partner have begun the change? There's an opportunity for him to acknowledge that he had not fully dealt with his racism. The reader should not be preached to at this point, but should feel the sense of this being true for the reader too. It is the nature of sin, racism included. And racism is not just one color. It's human. Regardless of race. There is an important opportunity to peel back the dragon scales of this constant in human sin, and to make this book even more white-hot relevant to current events.

We talked about racism. Racism only matters if it comes from a vantage point of power, so says the popular narrative, hence, white people are prejudice (true, let's be honest here), and so are all the other races, on some level. Since the fall. White people (Inkblots is, sadly, mostly, more or less, white people; we eagerly welcome authors of other races, for the record) tend to feel off the hook on our own prejudice when we see the prejudice of other racial groups. The best fiction confronts this, exposes the far-reaching tentacles of racism. John brought up the reality of entitlement and how that mentality destroys segments of our society. "Write what you need" (Lewis). I think this is the key. We will write far more engaging fiction, fiction that matters, that changes hearts (starting with ours), when we are honest about what we need.

Suicide mission. Patrick reads his speculative fiction space station narrative. Space station, Hector One, the telescope through which he had seen the ... The protagonist suffers from claustrophobia. Not a good condition for someone confined in a space station, in a space suit, magnetic boots, mask over his face. Yuck, if you suffer from claustrophobia. Dogwood deactivates his magnetic boots. I wondered how Patrick created all the intricacies of the space station and space travel. Can you show mannerisms, emotions, as he communicates with his loved ones. There is emotion here but it feels flat. Does he have an emotional mannerism. Yes, his breathing and heart rate increase, but it is only from anticipation of meeting the Jade Zealot (comic book character who helps him deal with his claustrophobia), and the launch. John wants to see the protagonist have a more central problem. My thoughts? Good stories are good stories. Regardless of genre. What is his real problem? How does the story confront that problem? And change him, and bring about some degree of resolution? Put in other terms, how is the reader going to be confronted and forced to reevaluate and change? Patrick had good answers to these questions. One of the limitations of Inkblots is hearing only a snippet.

Bob's words of wisdom. His theory of fiction: plot, description, dialogue, character development. Patrick is going to post more of the story so we can see where it is going. This is a short story. I think that is a good idea, and I would like to see more of us in Inkblots do this.

Bob reminds us of his guru from Soap Lake Healing Water Spa in Eastern Washington. Bob is clearly having a fun time with this yarn. Good details about a spa for sale near Spokane. Needs some TLC which may mean he could get if for a steal. So his protagonist Bill negotiates. Good details, smell of a truckload of hay on the highway. Lava lamp, year around iconic image, mostly enjoy all that Soap Lake has to offer... We get the deadpan irony of this. What were they smoking when they wrote that. Most of the buildings dated from the McKinley administration. Town smelled of rotten eggs. Bob is writing humor (Dah), in the spirit of O'Henry, to my ear. Personifying the building that couldn't remember when it had been painted last. Rocking chairs personified, couldn't remember when they had been rocked by someone last. Bob does a great job of putting us there, and he does it with specific details, blue cabinets the color of.  Slam on sophisticated Seattle-lites. We get that. Could Bill run his hand across the surface of the counter top or the mantle, or something, to appeal and awaken the reader's sense of touch? "Well, you're looking at her." Bill did look at her. This was a good segue, glue that kept your narrative and dialogue flowing together. I love the bargaining between prospective buyer (operator) and the seller. We talked about smells, and touch (running his hand across a door frame and getting a sliver, rat droppings behind a chair. And sound as Patrick suggested could come from turning a radio dial and not getting any stations only static and fragments of game shows or the farm report. John thought the seller should interject more in the bargaining.

I read from LUTHER IN LOVE. Bob though maybe that wheezing would make the face red not pale. Using his pet name for Katie, my rib, for the first time is confusing when Luther is having a fit of coughing; Patrick thought it sounded like he was having pain in his rib. Bob comments about the variety of details brought into the story, the sense of urgency, the elements that will come together as the story unfolds. I will post a draft of the first chapter to forthcoming LUTHER IN LOVE in another blog post shortly.  



We meet again Tuesday October 11. 

Obsessive Compulsive Editing at INKBLOTS

One of 50,000 dogs who served in World War I

Frigid, rainy, January evening, temperatures in the 30s in Kitsap County, but fire hissing comfortingly to my right, glass of Menage a tois and French chocolates near to hand. We discussed what we've been talking about for months and months. Plans to have another session in the next week on typesetting and readying manuscript for book printer. We discussed the need for careful and skillful proof reading and copy editing (and the cost); however good a grammarian an author is, there are things we miss. We must have other eyes--honest, critical, experienced ones--on the manuscript. If the author is the artist, a good copy editor is the quality-control technician. And it doesn't hurt if the copy editor is 7/8ths OCD. Here are some helpful links about the different degrees of editing and the costs:http://tommangan.net/verbnerd/how-much-should-editing-cost/. I've included some of the publishing industry information and standard rates for editing here: http://www.bondbooks.net/readingservice.htm.

John read from his Russian novel underway. This is an intense, gritty, and realistic chapter about a young girl who is about to be violated by an intruder. She reached for a knife. I was terrified... Show what terrified looks like, in her trembling, her heart racing, the quickened breath. CS Lewis put it this way: "Don't use adjectives which merely tell us how you want us to feel about the thing you are describing. I mean, instead of telling us a thing was "terrible," describe it so that we'll be terrified. Don't say it was "delightful"; make us say "delightful" when we've read the description. You see, all those words (horrifying, wonderful, hideous, exquisite) are only like saying to your readers "Please will you do my job for me." John used the metaphor a wide berth--use another metaphor. This one is overused. Dougie Mac pointed out that John shifted from first person to third person in this chapter, an easy thing to do in first draft. It may indicate that you have not yet locked into which point of view works best for what you are doing in the novel. But you must lock in to a consistent pov. Alisa commented that the female antagonist is not going to observe the warm sunny day when she is feeling the impending threat. Justin commented that if she had planned ahead for her own self preservation where the knife was, her terror was regulated by calculation. The peace of the warm sunny morning is like a plate shattering after carrying a serving of bacon and eggs. The importance of the scream, a natural and necessary reactive impulse. 

Alisa has written two 1930s era manuscripts on a small town, Roslyn, Washington, based on a real murder that took place in this remote mining town.  A telephone operator overhears a plan to kill someone.  I wonder about the flash forward to the boy rocking back and forth glazed look in his eyes. I think you were creating foreshadowing but I wonder if you gave away too much. Remembering his mother's words... Why not actually let the reader hear them in his recollections. His mother talking about his wandering ways. Again, put this in him remembering her words in dialogue. This will create layers of character development; we'll hear his mother's words and get to know her unique personality, and we'll learn more of the dynamic of his relationship with his mother (if this is important to the story). You used Incredibly. I think this description would be stronger without the adverb.  Took gun out and studied it. How about his revolver, spinning the chamber to be sure it was loaded. What does it sound like. Heart racing as when he awoke after dreaming about monsters. Could you make this more specific? Monsters--too general. Jack the Ripper, or the Gill Man, or something more precise. His favorite miner--do you show this earlier? Yes she does. More specific details to show how meticulous the character is. Dougie Mac brings out a Smith & Wesson 357 revolver and explains double action and how Alisa could describe the antagonist preparing to use his. In fiction, I tend to avoid the who/which phrases in favor of a participial phrase (who was running down the road, better, running down the road. Who/which in fiction can sound too explanatory, in my opinion.

I read from War in the Wasteland where Lt Johnson pushes back on Lewis's atheism the night before going over the top. The push back from my 'Blots colleagues was that it was too weighty a discussion for the pace and needed more break to trench and war context. I'll get on that. Visit the link to read a pre-publication excerpt of War in the Wasteland.

Dougie Mac reads from his Western Front German perspective novel. I love how you use the Kant reference. His protagonist is reading a letter from his aunt. Hubert contemplating his aunt's unbelief and her conflating of all religions into one pot. This was a fascinating scene, a German sergeant showing one of his privates who is in charge. Well done.

Weeping and Writing--What Makes Me Cry When Writing

An Interview with author Douglas Bond

Written by Robert Treskillard on December 28th, 2013 @ 12:51:00 pm    (46292 views)

As part of a previous contest, I interviewed award winning author Douglas Bond, and wanted to re-post the interview here for all my loyal blog readers.
This is a great pleasure for me, because Doug and I met at the 2009 Reformation Day Faire up in Peoria, IL. Doug was speaking on the life of John Calvin, and our family was blessed through his gifted teaching and books. We’ve been able to see each other three times since then: twice at conferences in St. Louis, and then again when I flew out to Seattle for the ALA Mid-winter for a book signing.
Another fun detail is that Doug and his wife are great friends with a couple that my wife and I used to work with up in Twin Cities, Rick & Lisa Demass.
So, now for the interview!
TRESKILLARD: At what age did you realize you wanted to write? And if I may ask, what was the first creative thing you remember writing?
BOND: I’m not one of those guys who had a passion for writing from my training-wheel days. Not me! In high school I did everything I could to get out of writing–hated it. Writing was too much work. In Journalism class I signed up to be the photographer in large part so I could ditch out of writing articles. Sorry to disappoint readers who are young, passionate, aspiring writers. You’ll probably chuck my books out the window now.
So, all that to say, I’m a late bloomer as a writer. In college, however, I was asked to write an article for the college newsletter. Meanwhile, I was reading Spurgeon and being fascinated with his command of words. I really enjoyed writing that article (truth be told, it probably was terrible, full of fragments, split infinitives, and pedantic ugliness).
Later in graduate school I found that I absolutely loved doing the research and then writing my master’s thesis (it was supposed to be in the 35 page-ish range; mine wound down at 118 pages). Next I began writing some articles for magazines, ones that paid me for their right to publish the articles. That was fun. Shortly after that I began secretly working on writing fiction; I would slink around like a housebreaker, concealing what I’d attempted to write from prying eyes, terrified that sometime, somewhere, someone would find me out.
TRESKILLARD: Far from chucking your boots out the window, they’ll probably be bronzed one day, Douglas … you bloomed at just the right time! So, for question two, which authors, including Spurgeon, have had the strongest influences on your writing?
BOND: I know it seems almost cliche to admit it, but the imaginative works of C. S. Lewis have probably done more to inspire me than any other single author. I have also found great inspiration in the historical fiction of Rosemary Sutcliff, the Swallows and Amazons of Arthur Ransome, Flannery O’Conner, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Milton, Dickens (especially his Great Expectations). I would follow that line-up with the disclaimer that I don’t attempt to write like any one of them, though their works have significantly helped in the on-going process of finding my voice as an author.
TRESKILLARD: That’s quite a lineup of influences, and good company to be in. For the next question, what’s your view on e-books and the new publishing revolution? Are there any self-published e-book plans in your future?
BOND: E-books and the publishing revolution. I love books. My living room, front hall, dining room, bedrooms–every room in my house has books, lots of books, in them, old leather bound ones, new releases, and almost everything in between. I’m conservative by nature and the quintessential tech-tard, so put that together and you might expect me to be a teeth-champing opponent of e-books and the rest. But to be so would be akin to the Renaissance collector of ancient manuscripts setting up a picket line in front of Johann Gutenberg’s house in Mainz, Germany and chanting, “Moveable-type printing–it’s a sin. Move it to the recycle bin!”

Has electronic media changed the way we read and how we process information, maybe even how our imaginations work? I think it has, and not all for the good, I fear. Nevertheless, I don’t see how opposing e-books will solve the real problems. My wife was the first to get a kindle, and even I, techno meat head that I am, have read a few books on my ipad (especially when traveling and doing research abroad).
At the end of the day, however, curling up in front of the fire on a blustery evening, cup of Earl Grey in hand, Bach’s Orchestral overtures playing in the background, and reading a book–a real one, with pages made from trees–will always for me trump the sterility of the touch screen.
TRESKILLARD: Amen! And I love that mock picket-line chant in front of Johann’s house … hilarious! Next up is a question that I don’t intend to be morbid, but rather hopeful. How would you finish the following sentence?
At the end of my life, I want people to remember me and my writing as…?
BOND: Compelling, authentic fiction that when all was said and done left the reader enthralled with Jesus Christ; “I must decrease; he must increase.”
TRESKILLARD: So … If you could have dinner with three people, living or dead, who would they be? And, knowing you, I must also ask the follow-up question of what would you have for dinner?
BOND: That’s a tough question because there are so many I would love to sit down with over a delicious meal and talk and talk and talk. My first would be John Bunyan and his wife (and my wife, of course). I can just picture us sitting around a plank trestle table, wooden trenchers of coarse peasant fare, honey mead to wash it down with, and talking about Pilgrim’s Progress, of course, but I would want to ask him more about his book, The Mystery of Law and Grace Unfolded.

And then a meal with C. S. Lewis and Joy (and my wife, of course) at the Eagle & Child in Oxford (where I have eaten a number of times, but never with Lewis, though reading aloud from his books to some of my students after the meal). We would have steak and ale pie, he and Joy drinking beer, my wife and I, cider (Thatcher’s Gold, if you please), and talking about the change I have observed in his theology of free will from Screwtape (1942) to Magician’s Nephew and Silver Chair (both penned more than a decade later). And I would want to find out just what he disliked so much about most hymns (though I expect being in heaven since 1963 has changed all that). My wife would want to chat with Joy about her knitting, and I think Lewis would not think this unimportant in the slightest–and he would be absolutely right.
I think I would like to sit down with John Knox and his wife at Trunk Close on the Royal Mile in Edinburgh, five children bustling about the place, my dear wife at my side, of course. We would be eating haggis, nips, and tatties, and drinking a Rhone wine he brought over from his time in Geneva. I would want to ask him what he wishes he would have done more of and what he wishes he had not wasted his time doing at all (I suspect, not being from the modern world, he would not entirely understand the second part of this question).
TRESKILLARD: Very fascinating! I had at first envisioned one meal with all three together, but of course three different meals, each appropriate to the time and person, is much more fun … and having it a family meal and discussion adds so much as well. Thank you for those details—I almost felt like I was watching it all happen. And speaking of watching … what’s this I hear about a DUNCAN’S WAR movie in the works? This is REALLY exciting, and I must know more, so fill us in!
Bond: I have gone from excited to cringing over one of my books being turned into a movie. It has been a roller coaster for me. So often when I go to see a movie based on a book I’ve read, the movie disappoints me. And I don’t want that to happen with Duncan’s War. And I especially don’t want the substance to be tampered with in any way; let’s not turn Sandy M’Kethe into a hand-wringing 90s parent. The guys spearheading this movie project won’t do that.

There’s still lots of hoops to pass through for Duncan to go from playacting in the opening scene of the book to actually being playacted in a real movie. But these guys (Phillip Moses, Producer/Director, and James Chung, Art Director, etc.) feel the same way I do about that. Nobody wants to do a lousy movie flop of this book. You’ve heard what John le Carre is supposed to have said, “Watching your book be turned into a movie is like watching your oxen be turned into bullion cubes.” Hence my cringing.

But all that said, they are in the “development and packaging” stage of creating this movie. I’m learning all kinds of new terminology from these guys. And the soft launch at the AFM convention in LA went far better than either Phillip or James anticipated. They were meeting with potential distributors and financiers who seemed very impressed with the grass-roots enthusiasm for Duncan’s War becoming a big-screen film. Over 1,100 likes and lots of people talking about on the fb page (https://www.facebook.com/DuncansWar), and all in about 4 days time. Now they need some deep pockets to make it a reality. Finally, all of this is in the Lord’s able and wise hands, and there’s no better place for me to rest either.

TRESKILLARD: It’s certainly a scary and exciting thing to have this happen … may this process be more like giving juicy steaks that feed hungry souls! So, with the potential for a Scottish movie in the works, it is quite appropriate to ask the next question … If you had to choose one place to live other than Tacoma, where would it be? Britain, Scotland, France, Switzerland, or _________? You’ve written about so many places that I won’t venture to guess the answer.
BOND: That is a good one. Before I answer, I want to pause and think of the line of poetry from Anna Waring, the Welsh poet and hymn writer, “Content to fill a little space if Thou be glorified.” I love traveling. I find it so stimulating to my imagination, and I especially love writing on location. While researching for Hammer of the Huguenots, I wrote in a huge cavern high up in the Cevennes in the south of France where as many as 900 Huguenots would gather in secret to worship the Savior. I sat there in the dark with my iPad and wrote what I was hearing, smelling, feeling, and what it must have been like filled with fugitive worshipers of King Jesus. So right now, I’d say I would want to live with my family in La Roque sur-Ceze, a tiny medieval village in the south of France, near where Huguenots lived and worshiped, suffered and died in the 16th century.

But I really do want to live in a little space where I can glorify the Savior–and after being away I always love coming home to my little corner in the Pacific Northwest.
TRESKILLARD: Your travels definitely add a sense of realism to your novels, and I can’t wait to read that cave scene! Do you have a favorite piece of writing (novel, non-fiction book, short-story, article, poem, or hymn) that you’d like to tell us about?

BOND: I wrote the initial draft of this scene at the early end of my research for Hammer of the Huguenots while sitting in the square around the village fountain at the coastal town of La Ciotat. At that point I wasn’t sure where it would fit in the big story; only later did it find its place near the end of the novel.

Caught

Philippe had never felt thirst like this. Burning and constricting so intense that he feared it was irrecoverable. He had halted, and almost collapsed at the village square in the town of Tillac near Navarre. At that particular moment he was so thirsty, hungry, and exhausted, he little cared if the enemy rode into the village and he was discovered.
He listened to the chuckling of the fountain, a massive stone bath, the water poised on the rim, here and there trickling over in rivulets that filled a narrow moat surrounding the entire structure. Four grinning stone dolphins spewed an unrelenting stream of water from their mouths, dribbles of it falling from their rigid lower lips.
Fountains worked like magnets, thought Philippe, drawing all living things to themselves. No one had to tell creatures to come to fountains. It seemed as natural as breathing to find refreshment in their cool waters. His horse had buried its mouth in the fountain and was breathing in great gulps of water.
Not only horses but all creatures knew what to do at fountains, including pigeons. Pigeons cooed softly from window sills, tile roofs, and the stone niches of the tall narrow arched windows of the parish church. In a flurry of clapping wings and contented squeaks, the gray and white feathered birds descended to the rim of the fountain, there to plunge their heads in the cool water for a refreshing drink. Not satisfied with a mere drink, several of them dipped and bobbed until they had drenched themselves entirely in the cool water. One flew to the top of the fountain, a large round stone capital that reminded Philippe of a cannon ball, there to dry its feathers in the sun. Philippe wiped droplets from his face as more of them flew off to their various perches around the square, dripping water from their feet and beaks.
Extending his hands haltingly, Philippe closed his eyes and breathed deeply at the feel of the cool water. For what seemed like weeks, he had had little time to look at his hands, what is more, to wash them. Ladling handfuls of water onto his arms he scrubbed away the layers of caked on dirt and grit and blood. He could recall few things in life that gave him as much pleasure as bathing his hands that day. And then, when his hands were sufficiently clean, he cupped them and breathed in a long cool drink, and another and another. He was on his knees now. Bathing his face and neck, he drank again in deep silence, as if it were a holy activity too sacred for words.
Through louvered shutters high above the little square, women and children—few boys and fewer still men—peered cautiously at the stranger bathing and drinking at their village fountain.

TRESKILLARD: Excellent scene! As a follow-up to that, have you ever found yourself weeping while writing?
BOND: Guilty, big time. The time that first comes to mind (there have been many) is when Sandy M’Kethe was fatally wounded in the rescue in Rebel’s Keep. My father was going through his induction Chemo therapy for AML Leukemia as I was writing the book. He had suffered every complication during six horrific weeks of hospitalization for the mega-doses of chemo they were pumping into his body, with several near-death episodes that brought us to his bedside in the middle of the night. I wrote that scene (I’m starting to choke up recollecting even) with more than verisimilitude informing my imagination; I had just been at my dying father’s side, stroking his brow, holding his hand, praying, singing, comforting and encouraging him with the gospel promises he had taught me. Yes, without apology, I cry like a baby as I write. Which makes it a bit awkward at times. I do a good deal of writing at Collins Memorial Library at the University of Puget Sound near my house. College kids don’t seem to appreciate it when a white-haired dude in his fifties is hunkered over his laptop blubbering like… well, like an old man.
TRESKILLARD: That’s a very powerful example, and I can relate. We really do pour our souls into our writing! For a final question … tell us about the book you are contributing to the giveaway — HAND OF VENGEANCE. Also, do you have anything new in the works? Any secret projects?
BOND: I loved writing this book! Hand of Vengeance, set in 8th century Anglo-Saxon Northern England, is a tale that emerges from the days of the mead hall, the battle axe, and the mounting threat of Viking plunder and pillage along the northern coast of Northumbria. The Lindisfarne Gospels are being crafted an th Venerable Bede is teaching and writing a few mile down the coast. The novel is my first murder mystery–and a tale that explores true biblical romance. Whether you love it or hate it, I doubt that you’ll put it down until the last page. So much enjoyed writing this book.

Today I began writing on my next historical fiction book, set in my backyard–almost literally! I guess it will be sort of a Bond version of some of the favorite frontier stories out there for young adult readers. Mine will have lots of beaver trapping, PNW trading musket shooting, salmon fishing, horses, HMS Beaver steamer for the HBC, small boat sailing, Douglas fir felling, log cabin building, trading and friendship with coastal Indians, frontier tensions between American and British settlers, the Pig War, and the rising storm to the Civil War. A good deal of it set at Fort Nisqually, a short hop from my front door. So no secret about it!
TRESKILLARD: Thank you so much for the interview, Doug. Your new novel sounds like it will be a lot of fun to write … and to read! Any M’Kethe’s involved? Oh wait, that’s another question … this interview might go on forever if I don’t stop.

My CHS Students Win 9 of 18 Awards!

CHS Writers NOT in the dog house!

In the regional Writing and Art contest, Our Own Expressions, sponsored by the Pierce County Library Foundation and the Morning News Tribune, with more than 1,200 entries, my writing students managed to win 6 of 12 awards in the short story and poetry categories. And over-all CHS students won 9 of 18 high school cash prize awards (including sweeping the drawing category for 9th and 10th grades--way to go Eva Battle, CHS art teacher extraordinaire!). 

 

CHS students will read their winning short stories and poetry and comment on their drawings at an awards ceremony held on the campus of Pacific Lutheran University later in May. 

 

Note below that Hana Jang, 1st Place in the short story category, is writing fiction in English as a second language; special congratulations to you, Hana!

SHORT STORY:

Grades 9 and 10

1st Place - Abbie Welch, Covenant HS
2nd Place - Noah Peever, Home School
3rd Place - Karli Stevenson, Covenant HS

Grades 11 and 12

1st Place - Hana Jang, Covenant HS
2nd Place - Jessi Pitts, Emerald Ridge HS
3rd Place - Casey Morrison, Covenant HS

POETRY:

Grades 9 and 10

1st Place - Fiona Macdonald, Gig Harbor HS
2nd Place - Myles Moulton, Bellarmine Preparatory
3rd Place - Claudia Speakes, Kalles Junior HS

Grades 11 and 12

1st Place - Claire Summa, Gig Harbor HS
2nd Place - Matthew Pfefferle, Covenant HS
3rd Place - Christina Lyro, Covenant HS

DRAWING:

Grades 9 and 10

1st Place - Bao Nguyen, Covenant HS
2nd Place - Abbie Welch, Covenant HS
3rd Place - Nani Woodard, Covenant HS

Grades 11 and 12

1st Place - Chelsie Conroy, Bonney Lake HS
2nd Place - Hanbi Hyon, Lakes HS
3rd Place - Cole Maurmann, Home School