David Meigs is a novelist with a background in youth outreach, specializing in ministry to at-risk youth and their families. Though his writing is enjoyed by all ages, his novels provide a unique, life-changing quality, critical for the youth of today. David and his family lives in Seabeck, Washington, where he serves his church as youth pastor.

Happy birthday, Christian Fiction Online Magazine (CFOM). This issue marks our first anniversary. Congratulations to Bonnie Calhoun, owner of CFOM, and to Michelle Sutton, our illustrious editor in chief, for a job well-done. In honor of this auspicious occasion, I am delighted to e-mail a generous serving of cyber birthday cake (quadruple chocolate) to any and all who read this column. The cyber foo-foo coffee (all flavors) is on me too. It is the least I can do.

One year ago, when Michelle first contacted me about writing a column on the subject of fiction that changes lives, you could have knocked me over with a feather. Were it on any other subject, I doubt I would have agreed, but the pastor-writer in me is passionate about crafting fiction that changes lives. Since that first issue, we have showcased several excellent novels and examined some of what is needed to pack that life-transforming punch into our books.

So here’s the question: Can fiction really change lives? Granted, virtually everyone who reads this column knows it does because most, like me, have experienced it for themselves. So I guess you could say that I am preaching to the choir. Nevertheless, I am equally as sure that nearly every one of us has at one time or another picked up an inspirational novel that, for whatever reason, didn’t deliver. Sometimes the reason is as simple as it was not our cup of tea; however, I believe that more often than not, a book falls on its face because it wasn’t very well written. I bet one or two titles have already popped into your mind.

So the answer to that question is yes and no, with some novels more or less effective than others. I thought that today we should examine what can choke the life-changing power from what we write. For example, a few years ago I agreed to critique a novel at one of the online groups I belong to. Early on, I was delighted by the rich detail and interesting characters. Plenty of action and sufficient plot kept me glued to the story. Then, out

of nowhere, just before the end, the protagonist started preaching and didn’t quit until pages later. It was so out of place that I thought I had somehow tumbled down a hole into Alice’s Wonderland. It was as if the author, as he neared the end of his book, decided it was not “Christian” enough. Then when I pointed out that he had killed an otherwise good book, this person had a meltdown. I don’t think he ever said another word to me again.

Admittedly, I used an over-the-top example to illustrate my point here, and I doubt that novel has a chance at getting published in its present state, but this practice does happen, albeit to a lesser extent in some of the inspirational titles I have read. A few of the ways that lessens a novel’s effectiveness is by creating overly perfect, Christian characters who never make a mistake, who after a prayer receive perfect outcomes, and overly sterilized content so that it is guaranteed never to offend anyone anywhere. Don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against good clean fun or happy endings. My point is that these things do little to promote the life-changing quality of a story. By its very nature, life-change is born of adversity.

The Shack, by William Young , is one of the most celebrated and yet at the same time vilified novels to be published in recent history. Those who hate it often cite theological differences, or parts of the book that are less well written; but those who sing the book’s praises will often do so with a tear in their eyes and tell you how the book helped them to forgive someone from their past, or to finally accept that God really does love them just as they are. Love it or hate it, few would argue that the book did not move them.

That’s all for now. Until we cross paths again, keep your writing gritty and real.