Psst! Wanna read the book early?

Well, fam, I just discovered an unpleasant truth. Which is that KDP doesn’t do preorders for paperback versions of a title. So, if I publish the Ryswyck paperback, it goes live right then, and leaves my e-book twisting in the wind till Memorial Day. Damn!

So here’s what I’m going to do. If I can sell 100 e-books in the next two weeks, I will release the paperback early at what would have been the promotional price for preorders. If I hit 100 e-book sales before May 11, I will release the paperback then.

At Amazon you can set it so that if someone buys the paperback they can get a discount on the ebook version; pity you can’t do it the other way round. But think of it this way: for a preorder price of just 3 bucks, you can get an absorbing and “impeccably written” (according to an early reader-reviewer) epic tale and make it possible for someone to get the same enjoyable experience in paperback for less. And if you’re one of those committed souls ready to purchase both an e-book and a paperback in the next month, I will find some damn way to reward you.

So there you have it. The e-book is available for preorder at the distributor of your choice. Fly, my pretties. Spread the word! Spread the love! Someone who doesn’t own a Kindle and wants to read Ryswyck will thank you!

Charted waters: map reveal!

Happy Friday to all you cats and kittens! I am about to go out and have some beer with my church, because that is how we roll, one Friday a month anyway. But before I do that, I will announce: we have achieved mappage!

Tori McDonald was both kind enough and intrepid enough to expand her portfolio and draw me a map of Ilona based on my sketch, and I have to say, the results are awesome. I’m working on the incorporation of the image into my manuscripts as we speak, a week ahead of my planned schedule, which is also awesome. Check her out and give her the love she so richly deserves.

Does this mean I am close to releasing the paperback for preorder? Why yes, yes it does. Watch this space.

Full, perfect, and sufficient

It’s funny how you read something referencing a particular text or situation, and then lo and behold, you run into another reference to that thing soon after. There’s a word for this, a Greek one, I think, which basically says that the only thing funny about it is that you noticed it. But never mind that.

So last month I picked up Fleming Rutledge’s massive book on the Crucifixion — which includes a whole section devoted to rehabilitating Anselm’s Cur Deus Homo? — and yesterday I ran across a link to this article by Elizabeth A. Johnson, a theologian I greatly admire, dismissing both Anselm and the whole theory of substitutionary atonement, root and branch.

Now, I’m not sure I really want to get in the middle of this. I like both Rutledge and Johnson, and I agree with much of what each has to say, and enjoy engaging with the rest, and if they were guest speakers on a panel together I would happily sit in my seat and not trouble myself to go to the audience mic with a question.

But this is my blog, and it’s Holy Week, and not only have I been thinking about the exigencies of forgiveness for a long, long time, it’s baked into the original story I told myself that then eventually became Ryswyck. So I guess we’re doing this. If theology is not your thing, feel free to jump back onto the platform before this train pulls out.

One of the arguments that Fleming Rutledge made so powerfully was that when we talk about sin in this context, we’re not talking about an aggregate of discrete and somewhat arbitrary infractions, to which God’s wrathful response is equally arbitrary. No, what we’re talking about is the Power that moves us to gloat over others’ misfortunes, to torture, dehumanize, and deface — in defiance, seemingly, of social and mental health — both collectively and in the secret of our own hearts. I could pull ten headlines at random from today’s news in illustration of this, so I won’t belabor the point. Today and every day, things are being made horribly, infuriatingly wrong: and on more than one level we are helpless to put them right.

I doubt Johnson has a serious disagreement with this. But Johnson isn’t the only one to find the narrative theme of substitution-as-atonement dissatisfying, arbitrary, and facile. It’s made worse by contemporary evangelistic churches who insist that this narrative theme is the only theme of the cross that has any theological meaning. If you don’t acknowledge that Jesus died for your sins…well, you know what awaits you.

So far so obvious. But one of the problems I wound up having with Rutledge’s book is her dismissal of “forgiveness” as an ineffective response to the gravity of the evil we are wreaking on this world and on one another. And “forgiveness” as generally understood really isn’t adequate: but even before reading Rutledge’s book I have long thought that the general understanding of “forgiveness” leaves people not knowing what forgiveness really is.

So for this here blog I am going to outline the narrative theme of forgiveness as I’ve worked over in my mind for twenty years.

It started with a reread of Hannah Hurnard’s allegory Hinds’ Feet on High Places. In this story, Much-Afraid is brought by the Shepherd’s path to the Precipice Injury. At first she refuses in panic to try to climb it, but eventually she obeys and toils her way upward. Halfway up the cliff she rests in a cleft, where she meets a small flower growing from a tiny crack in the rock. When she asks the flower its name, it says, “My name is ‘Bearing the Cost,’ but some call me Forgiveness.”

That name stuck with me, more than anything else in that story did. I hadn’t really thought of forgiveness as bearing the cost before, but I could see that it was true, that when someone wrongs another, it’s the hurt one who has to pay the damages. Even on the grossest monetary level, if you empty my bank account, you may be sorry and give the money back later, but in the meantime I still have to figure out how to pay my rent and buy my groceries. And if you do harm to my soul with physical or psychological abuse, it might make things easier if you were sorry, but it would still have to be me who cleans up the inner mess.

Forgiveness isn’t anything to do with repairing a relationship with the wronger, or finding a sense of compassion for them, or even acknowledging the wronger in any way; it isn’t about devising a comfortable way to think about the situation, or superficially dismissing the charges, or contorting oneself into believing it’s one’s own fault after all. No, it’s definitely the wronger’s fault. To forgive is to say, “I am not going to wait for an apology; I’m going to own this mess and get on with cleaning it up.” It is entirely possible to forgive a wrong and still be angry at the person who did it. And sometimes the hurts we do to one another are so great that we just don’t have the wherewithal to repair the damages. We seek for help wherever we can find it, with varying success.

We can’t hurt God in the same way we can hurt one another. But sin is damage that God cares about and has to fix. So then, narratively speaking, it makes complete sense to understand the cross, “an instrument of shameful death” that takes to an extreme all the public degradation, dehumanizing, humiliating, torturous abuse we humans can devise, as God’s way of “bearing the cost” of not just our “sins,” our discrete and piddling infractions and dishonesties, but the power of evil that has roots in every one of us.

So why doesn’t Anselm discuss the resurrection in his treatise? I don’t know, maybe because it’s implied? How many thousands of people were tortured to death on crosses? To take all that cost upon oneself and then rise victorious — that is what the Christian draws upon for hope. Not just hope for the wrongs they have done, but for the wrongs done against them, that they are too poor to pay the damages of. Our insurance policies are a mockery of this divine subsidy; there are no premiums, no deductibles, no schedules of benefits. Give us today our daily bread, and forgive our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. It’s all one thing.

So I don’t subscribe to crude notions of arbitrary sacrifice, no. But anyone who’s ever had something to forgive knows that it is a labor and a struggle, even without the question of reconciliation. This is how the story goes.

It’s a story that has fascinated me for as long as I can remember, and it’s the kernel of the story that Ryswyck is now. When I first conceived this story, I sketched the character of General Barklay as a simple monster, and the story as being about the struggle of various characters to forgive his wrongs. But as I wrote, Barklay himself refused to be that simple. He insisted on being a mix of decency and selfishness, honesty and mendacity. He wanted both to repent and to hold out for justification. His wrongs are both personal and systemic, not his fault and entirely his fault. No mere substitutionary sacrifice could address his situation. Yet the costs are really there, and have to be borne.

There are endless stories to be written on this theme. Because it’s written on the walls of the world itself.

Good life choices: a fencing manual rec

A week or so ago I joined Instagram — largely because I feared I might be boring my Facebook readers with new views of my cat asleep, and other such random photos as Instagram appears to be specially made for. Instagram is great, I discovered: vastly more simple to curate, with a feed presented in order by date posted (that thing which every user of a social media service wants and every service developer hates to give them), and easier to discover friends on.

It’s thanks to Instagram that I discovered that a longtime fandom friend has just finished a project illustrating a fencing instruction manual. So naturally I bought it; it arrived today, and it is clearly the Best Purchase Ever.

For one thing, fencing — whether HEMA or sport — is a small world. The author dedicated an acknowledgment to a fencing instructor whom I’ve actually met — and I don’t get around much in fencing circles. For another, the manual is both serious in approach and light in tone, which is no mean feat when writing instructions for practice and pedagogy. My friend’s illustrations are simple but clear and excellent.

I’ve read a few fencing manuals for knowledge and entertainment, and this one really raises the bar for both; it does not over-assume what the reader knows, yet the explanations are not heavy. Seriously, snag this puppy right away, even if you’re not a fencer yourself. (I mean, that can always change. Right?)

Congratulations, Kat and Russ!

And now for something completely different

Well, not completely: music and art make their way into my blogging on the regular, and there are plenty of interesting things to post about.

A couple months ago I bought a 24-pan set of watercolors, because I wanted to reproduce my cover-art concept for Beth Leggett. This is the best view of the result:

But the upshot is, I have new watercolors. Yay! So every now and then I pull them out and practice.

Ultimately I’d like to produce an image strong enough to cover “Household Lights,” but that stage is a ways off.

Meanwhile, I have discovered some new music! First, a piece by an Icelandic artist that crossed my path in a Lenten devotion, which informed me that “brot” means “bread” in German and something like “torn” in Icelandic, making a cross-lingual Eucharistic pun of sorts.

And last weekend I was at the symphony (no, I didn’t light my cell phone and call for the Widor Toccata — Carmina Burana was the featured piece and that was quite enough to be going on with), and the opening piece was a new one by Sarah Kirkland Snider called Something for the Dark.

None of my companions liked this piece, but I found it moving and interesting. The reflective motif introduced by the flute in the middle has a strong delicacy that is attractive in itself; and since my head’s been full of Ryswyck since ordering the proof, it made me think of Speir and her perspective, how it gets fraught by events; how it perseveres. If I were making a Ryswyck playlist, I would be tempted to put this piece on it.

Up next on my art-and-music docket: fun with photography. We’ll see if I can get a good walk in between thunderstorms.

Proof proof of life

Look what came today!

I’ve already changed the document since ordering this proof, but I’m not sorry because holding this book is amazing. I am so stoked, in case the pic doesn’t give that away.

Just a few more ducks to line up and then the paperback, too, will go up for preorder.

Stay tuned!