I am delighted to present to you this short interview with the very talented and funny Jennifer Trafton. Jennifer is the author of The Rise and Fall of Mount Majestic, a novel for young readers and old readers (see Question 1).

Idea: Why not spend some of that Christmas cash you got on a fine, beautifully illustrated story? Or you could buy illegal drugs? I think the choice is clear.

Jennifer is personally autographing every edition purchased from The Rabbit Room bookstore. I assume that other people are autographing the copies sold in other locations. (Bad form. Not very British of them.)

My 7 year old daughter has The Rise and Fall of Mount Majestic sitting beneath our tree, awaiting her discovery on one of these 12 days of Christmas. We’re all very excited to get our hands on it after she reads it in one day.

1. What are your thoughts on what makes a story “for children” and, conversely, “for adults?” Any thoughts on what makes “children’s lit” unique/worthwhile?

I’ve never been very concerned about putting things into categories. Good stories are good stories. In my view “children’s literature” is any literature children like to read – which can, of course, differ from child to child. When I think of the stories that have tickled my funny bone the most, that have stretched my imagination in myriad directions, that have dealt with profound issues of life and death in ways that are searing in their simplicity, I usually end up in the “children’s section” of the bookstore. If such stories are not “for adults” as well, I pity the adults.

There is nothing wrong, of course, with a book having a specific intended audience. A story has two participants, the writer and the reader, and they make a kind of magic together. Whether or not that relational magic works has less to do with formulas than with empathy. When I picture the readers with whom I want to be in that relationship as a storyteller, I picture kids (often particular kids I know) because I love their imaginative scope, their freedom from many “adult” concerns and hang-ups, their lack of cynicism, their embrace of silliness as well as mystery. So I write “for children” because I feel like, at the level of the imagination, and in the stories I love to read and love to write, I’m one of them.

2. What is your favorite color and what do you want to be when you grow up?

My favorite color is joyful and I want to be red when I grow up.

Wait. Stop. Reverse that.

Okay, continue.

3. Is there a deeper reason why you believe you are called to write novels other than for the billions of dollars you make?

No, the billions are enough. Occasionally I wake up in the morning and say to myself, “Jennifer, you have all those imaginary dollars lying in your imaginary bank account, doing nothing but gathering imaginary dust. Isn’t there more to life than this? Making art is a treacherous and beautiful adventure. It requires great courage and creative playfulness and a healthy sense of self-mockery. A story can change someone’s life; it can wiggle its way into a child’s heart and plant a seed there that will grow and blossom as the years go by, until one day that grown-up child (who has never fully grown up, thankfully) will look back and say, ‘That story was one of the things that shaped who I am as a person.’ What a terrifying privilege for a storyteller! What a responsibility! What a calling!”

This line of reasoning convinces me until my rent is due. Then I pray everyone rushes to the store and buys my book.

4. On a scale of 1-3, how irritating do you find scales?

Seven, at least. Seriously, they are the bane of my existence these days. I’ve tried everything—soap, rubbing alcohol, scouring pads, pliers . . . They will not come off. And believe me, they itch.

I think my next book should be about a dragon.

5. What’s next for Jennifer Trafton, author? A new novel? A line of knitted green berets for the “army stuff” section at Wal-Mart? A run for Governor of Puerto Rico? Spill the beans!

In 2011 I’ll be diving back into a third novel I’m in the middle of writing, which I am very excited about, because I will get to think about giraffes and ridiculous inventions and call it “work.” (How many of you can say that about your jobs? Other than the zookeepers and mad inventors reading this, of course.) I will also be rearranging my closet, editing things that need to be edited, washing dishes occasionally, warning people about giants, and eating way too much ice cream. Beyond that, I’ve given up on “planning ahead” in life. The best (and worst) things come unexpectedly. I hope there will be many new friends to meet, great books to read, travels to new places, much to laugh about, a lot of Oreos, and very few beans, spilled or unspilled. Like the heroine of MOUNT MAJESTIC, Persimmony Smudge, I am craving a new adventure right now. But as Bilbo Baggins once wisely said, sometimes all you have to do to start having an adventure is to go out your own door: “You step onto the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no telling where you might be swept off to.”

Thanks, Jennifer.

Find Jennifer at her website. (You can read the first chapter of her book here.)

Jennifer on Twitter.

Jennifer at The Rabbit Room Store. (Autographed copies.)

There are things I wasn’t crazy about in the movie, The Nativity Story (what have you done to the Magi?!). But one thing I loved about it was that it helped connect me to the story in an emotional way that slipped past my “I’ve heard it all before” gatekeepers. I love that.

This is one of those things where they take scenes from the movie and put it with a song. Andrew Peterson’s “Labor of Love,” sung by Jill Phillips. I was in tears from the beginning, where they hear the street preacher declaring the good news. “From the river to the ends of the earth…”

Andy Gullahorn sings a lovely song he co-wrote with the amazing Jason Gray. It’s not straight-forward, you may even say it’s a bit post-modern, but in a way it’s deeply truthful. (Does that make sense?)

More on this song from Jason and Andy here.

A.S. “Pete” Peterson is a Marine Corp veteran and the author of two novels, The Fiddler’s Gun and Fiddler’s Green. He also is a bit of a pioneer in the fascinating modern world of independent publishing.

Pete is also the brains (and brawn) behind the enormously successful Hutchmoot (the Rabbit Room’s conference/retreat/gathering). Pete has been a force in coordinating the Rabbit Room community and serving that community in many ways. I want to thank Pete for his kindness to me personally and for his ongoing service to the Rabbit Room community in particular and Christians sub-creators and appreciators of sub-creation in general. Also, thanks for that wicked rug-burn I had for months after you tackled and wrestled me to the ground in front of a hundred people.

Get Pete’s book right now, or suffer a similar fate.

Here’s some questions I asked Pete as an expert journalist and part time wrestler.

1. Fiddler’s Green features some excellent writing. Tell us about your theory and method of sentence-crafting and what it means to you to “feed the troll?”

Thanks, Sam. I don’t know that I’ve got a ‘theory of sentence-craft” but words and sentences certainly do sing a kind of music to me that I love to read and therefore love to write. I often find myself having to admit to people that I’m slow reader. I wish sometimes that that weren’t true but the fact is that when I read, I read “aloud” in my head because I want more than just the information a sentence conveys. I want the flavor, rhythm, and sound of it, too. When I read a book I often read sentences and passages multiple times just to appreciate them, especially if it’s a good book. So my love of the sound and mystery of words is such that I find I’m skeptical of people who are quick readers. If a person can read a book in a day, I have to wonder if they are really taking the time and putting in the effort to appreciate what they read. Maybe they do, but consider me a skeptic.

The job of any good writer (and I hope to be one someday) is to pay attention to the way words are put together. It’s not just about what the words are telling the reader, it’s about how they tell the reader. Ideally, every word, every sentence, every paragraph should be working overtime to convey more than one piece of information at once. If I can get a single word to communicate character, theme, and plot all at the same time then I’ve found the correct word and putting together sentences and paragraphs filled with those exactly correct words is what the art of writing is all about.

I think the end of your question is referencing the term “feeding the gnome” which is an idea that Stephen King talks about in his excellent book On Writing. He suggests that every writer has a gnome in the basement that supplies the writer with his stories. To get good stories from him, you’ve got to feed your gnome well. If you don’t feed him at all he might die. So feeding the gnome is about remembering to refuel yourself creatively. It’s about reading. It’s about watching movies. It’s about hiking through the woods and paying attention to the world around you. And it’s also about doing these things well. I could feed my gnome a steady diet of reality TV but guess what kind of stories that gnome is going to hand back to me? Not the kind I want to write, that’s for sure. My gnome is currently looking a little thin. I’ve just come off finishing Fiddler’s Green and haven’t had much time to feed him. I’m looking forward to fattening the ugly little guy up after the first of the year.

2. What has having a community of artists, readers, and other weird people so close by and connected to you meant for you as an author?

Being a part of a thriving artistic community has been invaluable. It’s great to be able to look around and see other people working hard to put beautiful and meaningful things into the world. The best part is seeing the day-to-day reality of it. New artists often have an idealized vision of what it means to live the artist’s life. They imagine it’s having the time and luxury to spend every waking moment pursuing your creation. The reality is that artists are really hard working people–not only working hard at what they are creating, but working hard to support their families, to pay their bills, to survive another month. Very few subsist on their art alone and there’s no shame in having to work a real job. That’s part of the deal. If you aren’t willing to work a nine to five job and pursue your art at the same time then you might be in the wrong business. Being in a community of artists who have worked their entire lives without giving up on what it is they love is a real inspiration for me when I go through periods of feeling like I’m doing it all for nothing. Doing it for nothing is kind of what it’s all about. You’ve got be willing to do it for nothing. You’ve got to love it that much.

3. Describe how your vision for Rabbit Room Press figures into the complex and ever-changing future of publishing and tell us whether or not you’re optimistic about independent publishing?

I think one of the areas where a lot of publishers have let readers down is in their failure to brand themselves, and that’s what I really want to see Rabbit Room Press do. In the film industry the analog is Pixar. People will go to a Pixar film simply because it’s Pixar, because they trust that Pixar knows good stories and will not disappoint. I want to develop a press with that kind of reputation, and I think that’s something that today’s incredibly vast market is hungry for. There’s actually too much choice in the market. I think readers are overwhelmed by the sheer volume of product available and they have few ways to discern the good from the bad. The solution to that is to provide an offering of work that’s guaranteed to be good so that if someone enjoys one Rabbit Room Press book, they’ll be comfortable reading another even if it’s outside of the genre they typically read. Twenty years from now I want readers to be able to walk into a book store and head straight for the delightfully English-looking Rabbit Room Press section because they know it’s filled with exotic worlds, and big ideas, and beautiful things. I want the Rabbit Room Press logo on a book’s spine to be an invitation that a reader can’t refuse.

Idealistic? Maybe. But it’s always best to aim high.

4. What is your life for?

My life is for Taco Bell Chili-Cheese Burritos. I die a little every time I enter a Taco Bell that doesn’t serve them. This is my most desperate hour. Save me, Taco Bell. You’re my only hope.

5. Now that Fin’s Revolution is finished, what’s next for A.S. Peterson, author? Can we get a scoop on some future novel possibilities?

I’ve got a few things stewing and I haven’t decided which I want to commit to. One is a sort of middle grade science fiction novel, one is a comedic mystery set in early 20th century St. Louis, and one is an epic western. I’m currently leaning toward the western but I haven’t yet found a way into the story I want to tell. We’ll see.

Sounds excellent, Pete. I vote for St. Louis science fiction and according to a commercial I saw, my vote counts.

Find Pete at his website.

On Twitter.

On Facebook.

On The Rabbit Room.

Thanks, Pete.

Behold, the Lamb of God.

Visit this handy-dandy website to listen to the entire record, see the tour dates, buy the record, or dvd, etc.

A must-own for Advent and Christmas! 5-7 thumbs up. My kids love it. My wife loves it. Myself loves it. Mylanta loves it?

Here’s a little outtake from Lanier Ivester’s wonderful post over at The Rabbit Room, Two Trees.

“The affair in the Garden was not about keeping rules or breaking them so much as choosing the Desire of our souls or choosing His counterfeit. At the heart of this poem lies that ancient choice, as terrible today as it was when God first granted it in the Garden: heaven or hell? Life or death? Not only for all eternity but for this very moment snared in time. ‘Gaze on this,’ the poet pleads, ‘not on that.’ Love and long for—in other words, submit to and believe—the ecstasy of the Life offered you. Take faith to turn from the ruin of your own heart and fix your eyes on something that is truer than all the sorrow of the world put together.

“It has been said that for every look at self we must take ten looks at Christ. I find that truth expressed with such magnificent beauty in this poem. For while the accepted interpretation—and for all I know, the original intent—of these lines may uphold an inward search for goodness apart from Christ, as a Christian I take great delight in the freedom I have to celebrate the gleaming flashes of truth that glitter and sparkle with such inexorable joy in the world around me. We’re miners, really, we servants of the true King, plunging through a darkened world in enemy territory to retrieve the scattered bits of Eden that were made to flame in the light of the sun. For though far-flung and often couched amid the hard crust of error and inaccuracy, they are there all the same. As C.S. Lewis recounted in Surprised by Joy, longings that disclose eternal realities may be mediated to us by ‘the water-colour world of Morris, the leafy recesses of Malory, the twilight of Yeats…’ That is just the wonder of poetry—or of anything beautiful, for that matter. They bear the opportunity of communicating spiritual truth, these remnants of a lost paradise with which our tired earth is endowed like veins of living gold, and give us courage to hope in a Redemptive Plan that is steadily, patiently, unrelentingly working to restore all things to their original purpose.”

I recommend the entire piece, which includes the poem, The Two Trees, by Yeats. Lanier and her husband, Philip, live in a farmhouse in Georgia. I was privileged to meet them at Hutchmoot 2010. She is a wonderful, careful and thoughtful writer.

She also has a website and a bookstore where she probably has what you’re looking for for the bibliophile in your family this Christmas. Note: It’s not for Kindle.

I hate traffic, especially drug traffic, but also the congested, automobile variety. Today I was held up by a vast, right-lane conspiracy of cars blocking the road by driving so slow they seemed to be going somewhere between 10 mph and reverse. I angrily imagined my vehicle fitted with sidewinders and me pressing a button, saying, “fox 1, away!” and “fox 2, away!” Just like in Iron Eagle, or whatever.

Calming down, I listened to the cheerful chirrups of Jason Gray and wished that the sadness of being stuck in traffic would come untrue.

I wondered if it was God’s will that I be late for work. Why would it be? How is that good? Why doesn’t my vehicle have side-winder missiles? You know, the big questions.

Mostly I pondered sovereignty. I thought of how often I’ve heard people thankfully say that they were saved from a terrible wreck because of some irritating delay. A child couldn’t find his shoes and we were delayed. If we’d been on time…. A wrong turn. Delayed by a storm. We’d have been right in the middle of that terrible accident.

Accident?

The unifying element in these tales is thankfulness to God for rescuing the teller from what was very close by and terrifying. I’ve been impressed and conversely distressed at hearing these reports. Part of me is eager to embrace them, to say: “Good, see the hand of God in all things and be grateful for mercy.” Another part of me says, “Would we be giving thanks if the delay had caused the wreck? Or would we still attribute the calamity to God’s hand?”

These questions, these kinds of puzzles, are what keeps the wise-as-serpents part of our minds busy while we go hunting for the innocence of doves.

But I know why bad things happen. It’s because of rebellion.

I’ve been studying the Pentateuch, particularly Genesis, for the past several months. The beginning of Genesis is so profoundly instructive, as well as being a deeply moving story, teeming with pathos. In chapter three we see the attempted de-Godding of God by the first parents.

The heartbreaking results follow fast. In chapters four and five the hearts stop, the blood runs, the refrain echos out: “And he died…and he died…and he died…and he died…” Etc. On and on the deaths pile up, a grotesque contrast to the unfallen before.

In the acrid air of usurpation our first parents got new clothes, a sacrifice to cover their naked shame. A hint of resolution, restoration brewing.

God is still sovereign. Even in suffering. Happier still, he is merciful down deep, slow to anger and abounding in love. He offers rebellious, treasonous mankind a great exchange, our sin for the righteousness of Christ. We can be acceptable to the Father again, by the mercy of God in Christ.

I don’t know how traffic jams and wrecks work out for God’s glory and the good of his children. I know, in the short run, it often feels terribly wrong.

But death feels wrong because it is. It isn’t natural, isn’t the way things ought to be. It’s a fearful, final foe. But one which will be defeated by the victorious King Jesus.

I don’t know how sovereignty works out. My father, quoting Walter Staton, always said, “God is sovereign and man is responsible.” That helps me.

People say, “When God closes a door, he opens a window.” I am always tempted to blurt out, “and sometimes he knocks the house over on the people.”

God isn’t safe.

So do we give credit to God for deaths in traffic as well as praise for when we are saved from the same by lost shoes or a bad sense of direction?

When we read the Bible, we see pretty fast that God kills people, sometimes in large groups all at once. This may bother us, but we can’t pretend it isn’t so. Wrestling with this is fine, even appropriate. But this reminds me of what Jared C. Wilson said.

“It’s okay to wrestle with a biblical text, so long as at the end it masters you and not the other way around.”

It’s popular to say that doubt is humble and certainty is arrogance. This depends, of course, on what we’re certain of and what we’re doubting. There can never be enough of doubting God and his Word to please an entrenched rebel in his pride. If we doubt ourselves, however, we may be on to something (this is humility). If we habitually doubt the faithfulness of God, this is no poetic virtue; it’s called unbelief. Who of us hasn’t prayed, “Lord I believe, please help my unbelief?” But let us keep on praying it and not surrender to our proud misgivings. Keep on fighting, keep on praying. Doubt is a thin shield, a hollow creed.

So, brothers and sisters, let us struggle and lose. Let’s understand that God isn’t simply responsible for the deaths of the Egyptian army in the Red Sea, or the many who worshiped the golden calf, but of Moses too. In fact he isn’t caught off guard by any death. He is sovereign over all, never asleep, feckless, or disinterested. We are responsible. We chose and go, drive and die, but God works his will over all.

Whether I am spared death (for now), or meet my end today, I am glad. I’m thankful. Uncertainty about how it all works out abounds, as well as doubt in my own ability. But let me be certain of him and his Word. He is good. He is just. He is merciful. The Story is true.

At his right hand are pleasures, evermore.

This post was first published at The Rabbit Room.

I just got home from watching The Legend of the Guardians: The Owls of Ga’Hoole with my family. I’m eager to share just “owl” much I loved this movie. And with that bad joke I demonstrate explicitly how far I am from being qualified to review a movie. I have none of the skill of the learned chaps who know what they’re talking about when it comes to “cinema.” This will be a review from a person who has never seen most of the movies that get reviewed by people who know a lot about cinematic art. Most of my male relatives chew tobacco.

Owls movie, regular idiot review, with commentary on raising kids in a toxic world…go.

Firstly, Legend… is breathtaking to watch. It’s a visually stunning, captivating movie, with wonderful detail and animation (is it still called animation?). I recently finished reading Neil Granger’s book, Walt Disney: The Triumph of the American Imagination. I couldn’t help but think of Walt. I thought of how he accomplished something incredible with Snow White and how amazed he would be at a film like this. It was a real joy to watch. 3D? I loved it. Maybe that makes me a real hick from the sticks, unable to appreciate how 3D is devastating modern cinema. This was a movie where, for me, 3D aided the suspension of disbelief and the imaginative quality of the picture.

Movies with good “special effects” are in great supply. (Do they still call them special effects?) But there are fewer movies that have a great story and fewer still which don’t undermine the truth about the world God made either in slight, or flagrant ways. This movie, to unholster a tired cliche, has it all.

I loved the story. I bought in like a rich investor, took the bait hook, line, and sinker. Was it a basic good vs. evil story? Yes. I love that. The story was so fundamentally good that I just sat there grinning throughout. My review can be summarized in one word: fantastic. But this has a lot to do with where I am in life and who I was sitting with.

I sat between our 5 and 7 year old kids, my wife held our sleeping baby throughout. Our 5 year old boy has only been so for a few days. Yesterday we celebrated his birthday with a “St. George” party. My older brother dressed as a dragon and our son, distinguished from his comrade knights by the St. George’s cross on his chest, led the attack on the castle to save the princess (well-acted by his brilliant and beautiful sister). It was a great time, though I’m sure if there were any dour, P.C. scolds watching they would have been horrified. (This is unlikely in rural West Virginia farming country.) What we emphasized in that party and what countless tales told to these children over and over emphasize is this: If you have strength, it is not to dominate and control, but to love and serve. If you are a leader, then you are not to rule by lording it over others, but to lay down your life. To serve. To die.

I must say (though I know it is hard for some modern ears to hear) that I especially emphasize this point with my oldest son (and will with his brother in time). My old-fashioned understanding? Boys need to know that strength is not for lording, intimidating, tyrannizing, and it is for dang sure not about serving yourself. We. Look. To. Jesus.

Jesus is our example. The Son of God who, though being rich, became poor; though being strong, became weak; though being Majestic in Glory and Deserving of All Power and Praise, put on a servant’s nature. He came to serve. Husbands are therefore commanded to be like that as they lead. My heart is for that in my own life (though I fail regularly) and my training and instruction for these boys must be “in the Lord.”

So, back to this movie about owls. Inside the story there is a story (I love that kind of thing.) The story within the story is one that our main character, Soren, loves and retells over and over. He believes this story (of the legendary Guardians) with all his heart, though others deride him for his faith. A beautiful element of this movie is how the story that he believes to be true, though he can’t see with his eyes, impacts his entire being. He is different because of how this story works on him, in stark contrast to his unbelieving brother.

This is pretty much the situation for Christians.

Of course Soren is right, his faith eventually becomes sight and he meets his heroes. In a lovely touch, his number one hero is not as physically impressive as he expects. This clever turn points to the underlying theme of the story and the oath of the Guardians. They are charged with, “mending the broken, making the weak strong.” In contrast with the evil “Pure Ones,” (wondrous, ironic nomenclature) who wish to manipulate, dominate, and enslave the weak and vulnerable.

The Guardians protect the vulnerable, they serve the weak. They do not use their power and authority to serve themselves, but fight for those who cannot fight for themselves. The Guardians also have a hierarchical structure; they have a king and queen. But the use of this power and authority, as in Tolkien and Lewis (and Scripture), is operated by the “good side” not for self, but for love and service. It is, frankly, a beautiful thing to see.

It is a rare joy to go to the movies and so explicitly see the values that we emphasize in our home be, not undermined, but underlined. I was ecstatic.

Sure, it’s fine to talk over all the core toxicity of films with our kids, to learn something from the bent expressions of the fallen imagination. These can sometimes be very fruitful –especially, I suppose, with older kids. But man, it’s great to just see something good. Real good.

This is why I love Andrew Peterson’s books. Fantastic stories brilliantly told, but without the core deceptions of a man-centered worldview. A modern author…and we can trust him! Don’t wonder why Christian parents rejoice at such things. It’s a rare treasure found. There are others of course (my kids have read hundreds of good books), but the “total package” thing is pretty rare in my experience. I feel like that’s what you get with AP’s books.

This movie feels pretty close to that as well. I haven’t read the books (The Owls of Ga’hoole), but this movie was a deep delight for me to see with my kids. I enthusiastically stick all the thumbs I have and can borrow from my neighbors in an upward direction.

Note: Some of the action/peril might frighten young kids, but my 5 year old (prepped) was not bothered –and he is not exposed to a lot of scary images/movies.

Note 2: This post was originally published at The Rabbit Room.

Jonathan’s new book, The Charlatan’s Boy, releases today. Some of you are familiar with JR’s trilogy (Wilderking). If you have middle-graders who haven’t yet read them, may I recommend them to you? And now there’s more, The Charlatan’s Boy releases today! I sat down with JR in different states and he answered 5 questions for us. –Sam

1. Fact: The Wilderking Books are gold for children (and adults) on many fronts. Truth? Check. Goodness, Beauty? Check, check. Were you inspired to write the trilogy by any concern over a lack of worthwhile fiction for kids, or was your motivation simply to make billions of dollars?

I wouldn’t say any ‘concern’ about existing children’s fiction motivated me. I was quite ignorant of what was out there when I started writing the Wilderking books. I’m only a little less ignorant now. I will say I’ve been pleasantly surprised at how much worthwhile fiction is out there–though there is plenty that isn’t worthwhile. Here’s the thing, S.D.:  I want people to like what I like. I think that’s a good enough reason to write stories. I have a particular vision of the universe, and I believe things would be better for all of us if more people shared that vision. I’m joking, but only half-joking. It takes a lot of work to write a book; in order to stay motivated to do that work, one needs an overblown sense that it’s important for people to hear what one has to say. The billions of dollars, that’s just a bonus.

2. What sets The Charlatan’s Boy apart from The Wilderking Trilogy?

Sadness. There’s a sadness in the Charlatan’s Boy that has no parallel in the Wilderking books. I’ve been dipping into Buechner’s book, Telling the Truth: The Gospel as Tragedy, Comedy, and Fairy Tale. An amazing book, by the way. As Buechner argues, the grand comic vision of redemptive history is rooted in the reality of deep sadness and hurt  and danger from which we have to be redeemed. I think (I hope) the comic vision of The Charlatan’s Boy is more fully realized than that of The Wilderking–in part because the sadness, loneliness, and hurt are more fully realized.

3. What are two important things for aspiring writers to remember as they work on their craft?

First of all, let me thank you for the way you phrased this question. You didn’t say, “What are the two most important things…” You said “What are two important things…” Do you realize how much that takes the pressure off? I know lots of important things aspiring writers should remember. I don’t know which two are the most important. So here are two from the list:

a) Pursue your audience. Woo them. It’s not their job to stay interested in what you write. It’s your job to keep them interested. As a corollary, don’t try to impress your reader. That’s for sophomores. Try to love your reader.

b) Speak English. When there’s a word derived from the Latin or Greek and another word from the Anglo-Saxon and they mean the same thing, the tie goes to the Anglo-Saxon word. There are reasons to go with the Latinate word; just be sure you’ve got one, and it’s good a reason. Let your default be the Anglo-Saxon word. It’s true (I think) that something like 75-80% of the words in an English dictionary derive from Latin or Greek. But here’s an exercise for an aspiring writer. Pick a favorite passage from the King James Bible. Count the words in the passage, noting how many derive from Latin or Greek. Divide the Latinate/Greek words by the total number of words to get a percentage. It won’t be 75-80%. It won’t even be close. It may be as high as 25%. It will probably be considerably lower. That’s something for aspiring writers to put in their pipes and smoke.

4. What is your life for?

I don’t see how I could improve on the Westminster Confession: “The chief end of man is to glorify God and enjoy him forever.” I do like John Piper’s suggestion that we glorify God by enjoying him forever. The ability to enjoy the good things that remain, by God’s grace, in this shipwreck of a world is a vitally important thing, I believe.

5. Tell us what makes your books, which are speculative in nature, so American. Why not just do another England-inspired fantasy?

I love British literature as much as anybody. I’ve got a PhD in British lit, for crying out loud. But when it came down to producing rather than consuming literature, it seemed important to me that I speak in my native tongue. There is a vitality, a vigor in American storytelling traditions. I’m an American [cue Lee Greenwood], an inheritor of that verbal and narrative legacy. It makes sense that I should make use of it.

Thanks, JR. As an American, who’s proud to be, I especially liked the part about Lee Greenwood.

Jonathan is also the author of a great little book on Saint Patrick called Saint Patrick. He lives in Nashville, TN, with his wife Lou Alice and their six children. Lou Alice is a peach.

Note: This was posted at The Rabbit Room recently. So, you may have seen it there. Do not read it twice. It’s like seeing yourself in time-travel. –sam

Last night I wrote a fable. It’s fabulous. And by that I mean it’s a fable.

With me?

Words really mean things. I want to be some one whose appreciation of this fact fuels more intentional investigation on word origins.

I only have one book on my shelf that I can think of right now about word origins in English. That book is pretty amazing (now I’m thinking of what amazing history the word “amazing” might have), but I ought to have more. I almost have aught.

I remember hearing Ken Myers talking to some fellow about how he was grading a student paper where it was said that a boat had “arrived half-way across the ocean.” The fellow was objecting to this use because the word “arrive” has in it the notion of coming ashore. So one cannot arrive half-way. It means to get there. Specifically to “come to shore.”

So, at Hutchmoot (the Rabbit Room conference) this idea of the power and origin in the original power of words arrived on the sandy beach of my mind. Courtesy of Walter Wangerin, Jr.

Walt (I call him Walt, because I was close enough to yank his pony tail –but I didn’t, amazingly) was amazing. <—– I haven’t looked that up yet.

I felt a thousand things as he spoke, which I feel incapable of putting into adequate words. I feel like a clever monkey trying to explain to Beethoven (who is deaf and dead) the joys of flinging poo. I felt validated, inspired, full, hopeful, peaceful, joyful and the list goes on and on like a long, long list.

But here is one thing. Walt knows words.

He inhabits language like the oldest local. He speaks as one with authority, as if in his naming the thing may finally –again– be itself. It was not that words were used by him, or that he was commanding with them. I can aspire to that. It was more.

He cooperated with words. Co-operated. He and the words were on the same side. He has arrived on their side after a long, literate life’s journey.

His relation of the history of schap (forever on the chalkboard of my mind) was a significant life event for me. Because, in so many words, he told me who I am.

I am a schap. A shaper. This is how he talked about storytellers.

And words are the tools of my trade. I will use them, care for them, add more to my bag and hope that one day I will do more than use them. I will inhabit them. Know them like an intimate friend. Partner with them. Conjure up with them a vision for those without eyes to see. And tell stories.

Like Walt.