Today we feature a guest post by author Pam Williams. Her first novel, Living It Down, was published by Walnut Springs Press in May 2014. Her second, What Took You So Long, is being published by Walnut Springs Press this month. This post is an update of an essay she wrote in 2009.
LDS Fiction: Changing Paradigms
WHERE DID WE COME FROM?
Jennie Hansen’s 2009 Meridian Magazine assessment of the state of LDS fiction shed positive light on what faithful Latter-day Saint writers are producing these days, but it didn’t go far enough. Likewise, Jerry Johnston’s Mormon Times column that year, questioning whether there will ever be a great Mormon novel, was too dismissive. Improvements in this species of literature are evident with every crop of books released. In fact, LDS writers, and especially Mormon-oriented fiction, have grown in significant ways since 25 or 30 years ago when I gave up trying to find something meaty in it that fed my soul.
Recently I’ve tackled it again in an unscientific survey of chiefly adult-oriented LDS fiction, and I’ve seen some high quality work. I think it portends many great Mormon novels, which could be written by Latter-day Saints for the LDS audience, or by Latter-day Saints for a general audience. We aren’t there yet, but our writers are well equipped and we’re on our way. Readers who didn’t like it 25 years ago, or even ten years ago, should give it another chance.
I’ve often pondered the scriptural edict to “teach one another out of the best books.” Church leaders attending the school of the prophets in Kirtland received that injunction, but like most scriptures, it has multiple applications. Teaching one another out of the “best books” implies, first, that good books are out there, and second, that we can be the authors of high quality material, whether fiction or nonfiction, generating from whatever we have learned “by study and also by faith.” There’s power in teaching one another through fiction because our common belief system facilitates communication. We’ve all had the experience of sharing an incident from our lives and having a listener say, “Aha, I see what you mean.” That should be what we experience when we read LDS fiction; it’s one way writers can connect with readers on a personal level to bear one another’s burdens. If “write what you know” is the standard, the field is wide open for writers with knowledge of non-fiction topics, as well as those with astute observations about the daily effort of living the gospel who articulate insights into the complexities of human nature.
“Teach one another” means it’s okay for LDS fiction to be instructive, as any literature can be. Nobody wants to be preached at but it’s a given that a novel has a theme, a personal take-away for the reader, and that take-away can be offered in an absorbing, entertaining, appealing way without crossing the line into tedious didacticism. Many years ago I saw a ward roadshow depicting the story of Romeo and Juliet pretty effectively in twenty minutes, followed by a person coming out to address the audience: “This would never have happened if they had been married in the temple.” Now THAT’S didactic and quite oblivious of Shakespeare’s intended take-aways. Our best LDS writers are too smart to fall into that trap. Wouldn’t we rather a good Latter-day Saint teach our children’s Sunday School classes than someone off the street who doesn’t know the doctrine or have the Spirit? It’s the same principle with LDS fiction writers. Our purpose as writers shouldn’t be to preach; it should be to represent who we are, and how and why, in the same way Chaim Potok opens the Jewish world to his readers.
Some people don’t mind a steady diet of literary snack cakes, but eventually most readers want substance. Latter-day Saints are much more sophisticated now, on the whole more highly educated than the general population, and educated people want a commensurate literature. An old maxim that told us we should write to the eighth grade mentality is no longer true, unless we’re actually writing for eighth graders. As a writer, I believe in that educated audience and I respect their intelligence. When I couldn’t find meaty LDS-oriented literature 25 years ago, I decided to write the kinds of books I wanted to read, to give other readers rich vicarious experience through compelling stories. Many of my writer friends have said the same thing. An influential college professor once said to me, “If what you write is good enough, your work will find an audience.” This is probably the opposite of what editors would advise me now, but following that recommendation I have spent more time on perfecting my craft than on marketing the product.
Motivations differ, but our LDS worldview makes us who we are and puts us at a different starting place from other authors. We are a peculiar people intellectually because our cosmology of pre- and post-mortal existence is so non-traditional. We know the rules of Christianity through the Book of Mormon, and the guidelines for this dispensation through the handbook that is the Doctrine and Covenants. As with secular writers, it’s inevitable that who we are will underpin our writing, even though not all of our characters will believe as we do. Our LDS concept of the necessity for opposition in all things overarches our work, and the axiom that wickedness never was happiness undergirds it. Alma the Younger experienced a taste of hell before he repented and knew the sweetness of heaven, and it all happened in three days. That’s drama. All of this leads me to think that we should develop out of our uniqueness a new paradigm in literature that sets us apart.
WHY ARE WE HERE?
Without conflict there is no struggle, and without struggle there is no story. Some critics think that “having all the answers” through revelation to modern prophets robs us of available conflict and prevents us from acknowledging or engaging with anything ugly in the world. That’s an oversimplification, but if LDS authors are thus painted into a corner because of accepting certain doctrines, then the question is how an LDS insider/writer can get out of the corner and find in the Mormon milieu the conflict essential to page-turner fiction.
A critic who read my contemporary novels about marriage suggested I remove all the LDS references and sell them in the larger national Christian market. In pondering that advice in light of what I believe my purpose as a writer to be, I realized that my compulsion to write for the LDS audience is driven by my knowledge of being LDS and my desire to comment on issues I know my own people struggle with. I do not worship at the feet of the New York Times best seller list, or even the Norton Anthology of Literature. I think of the circle of priesthood holders participating in blessings or ordinations, or a prayer circle in the temple, and find in them a symbolic safety net of mutual support. That same kind of power is available in the stirring prose of well-conceived stories.
Some LDS writers and critics may disdain my view as too narrow, aiming too low when there’s that big wide national market out there, and if we can just conquer that, we persecuted Mormons can prove we’re just as good as anybody else. But that begs the question. Did we not arrive here with gifts and powers to be exercised for the benefit of each other? We who have the Mormon experience need to speak out on uniquely LDS topics; the secular world can’t do justice to our story. No one understands the expansion of the American West the way pioneer descendents do if they know their own family history. Readers will be moved by a great story, no matter who has written it, but they won’t stand for being manipulated, and LDS readers won’t stand for their doctrines or their history being distorted by someone who doesn’t know our world from the inside.
Conflict is the basis for story, and because contention is evil, Mormon Times columnist Jerry Johnston doesn’t think we will ever produce a writer who can write a nitty-gritty book; we’re too isolated from pure evil to wrestle with it the way secular literature does. However, choices aren’t always clearly between good and evil; the more difficult choices may be between two good things. With human beings, the natural man is the ever-present universal conflict. Some of us come from shakier starting points than others, and many forces try to pull writers away and make us lose focus, or keep us from finding our purpose, or lure us to abandon our personal and literary standards. Those daily challenges to live the gospel more fully ARE large issues, valid for ourselves and for our characters.
Is it possible to be a believing, striving Latter-day Saint and still be acquainted with the level of evil that truly explores the heights and depths of the human soul? As with non-LDS writers, most of us will probably never be tempted to commit murder or betray our country or engage in great evil, even though we may create characters who do. Considering the damage it could do to their spirits, most Latter-day Saint writers aren’t willing to test that side of the spectrum of experience simply to explore a writing topic. It requires meticulous personal attention to meet all the requirements of our Christianity as writers and as individuals. That matters. Like our readers, we aim for perfection while dealing with the realities of the world that intrude on our goal-oriented focus of trying to live up to high standards. We are blessed, but as Brigham Young said, many of us don’t live up to our privileges. Therein lies the essence of scintillating fiction.
In every issue of The Ensign we find examples of conflicts Latter-day Saints confront daily, hourly. To me, the never-ending struggle of good but flawed Latter-day Saints is compelling because it’s also my experience. As a reader I’m probably unusual because I have a hard time willingly suspending disbelief for a vampire story, but show me real but flawed Latter-day Saints trying to live the gospel, and I’ve found my touchstone. No matter what genre we choose to write in, we can connect the unique voices of LDS authors and “teach one another” from a number of platforms.
Story still connects with us, even though we live in the Age of Instant Everything. As author Robert Coover said, “The narrative impulse is always with us; we couldn’t imagine ourselves through a day without it… We need myths to get by. We need story; otherwise the tremendous randomness of experience overwhelms us. Story is what penetrates.” Vicariously, through fiction they can relate to, readers can grapple with the daily challenges of outsmarting the natural man. And yet readers today are not like readers of even ten years ago. Editors now tell us tag lines except “said” and “asked” are passé, adverbs are literary suicide, and long descriptive paragraphs even brilliantly written will lose the average reader. In Dickens’ day, when there were no electronic devices to depend on for entertainment, people read to each other in the evening, enjoying the language, the adventure, and the descriptions of Little Dorrit, Oliver Twist, or David Copperfield. Readers today are sometimes too impatient to meander through a story and savor the richness of its nuances or the subtleties of storytelling or the delicious prose.
Perhaps our LDS paradigm can begin with the way LDS artist John Hafen said it: “The highest possible development of talent is a duty we owe our creator.” We have this talent because the Creator thought it was necessary at this time for us to use it for someone’s benefit, to create through literature a circle of support. Some LDS writers don’t care about the LDS market and others don’t care about the national market. Regardless of the pendulum swing, we’re heading toward different heights more receptive to that necessary new paradigm, not so confined by the conventions of the past. We each have permission to define that new paradigm for ourselves.
WHERE ARE WE GOING?
As an LDS writer, I sometimes ponder the 1888 statement by Elder Orson F. Whitney: We shall yet have Miltons and Shakespeares of our own. God’s ammunition is not exhausted. His highest spirits are held in reserve for the latter times. In God’s name and by His help we will build up a literature whose tops will touch the heaven, though its foundation may now be low on the earth.
Is this not a mandate? And yet I’m reminded of lines from an Elizabeth Barrett Browning poem:
Earth’s crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God;
And only he who sees takes off his shoes;
The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.
Perhaps not fully appreciating the sacredness of their gifts or their potential to participate in celebrating the joy of redemption, some LDS writers are content to pluck blackberries. I am not. There’s probably a trashy novel in almost all of us; that’s the literary natural man we struggle with that constitutes an abuse of talent. Overcoming the temptation to write that kind of book is to acknowledge the heavenly source of our talent and accept the responsibility to use it respectfully. It’s impossible to separate the giver from the gift, and those who try to do so misunderstand the purpose of their gift. It may well be that our gifts and talents are traits inherited from our heavenly parents. Clearly, expectations are high—to paraphrase the scripture, where much talent is given, much excellent output is expected. That gives us permission to become great.
There will never be another Milton or Shakespeare but their works are the paradigm of the finest literature at Elder Whitney’s time. Had Milton and Shakespeare known the Plan of Salvation their works might have been even more sublime. They were born at their times in their places for the same reason we were born in our time in our places—to fulfill a part of an eternal plan. Had he lived in the 20th Century, would Elder Whitney have mentioned Hemingway or Fitzgerald or Faulkner? Would he have referred to Nephi Anderson as the standard for LDS writers? Perhaps having “Miltons and Shakespeares of our own” means they will have a different definition than the world might give them. I believe Elder Whitney’s observation means our LDS potential Miltons and Shakespeares should shift the paradigm and establish their own rubrics.
An author who sees his LDS roots through a noncommittal haze of sardonic cynicism is not spiritually equipped to write a great Mormon novel; he’s a cultural Mormon, what my father used to call a Latter-day Ain’t. Perhaps the question of developing great Mormon novelists depends on our desire to live the gospel. What could be riskier than the decision to be a true Christian every day, in every way? Perhaps my own ambition to share my stories, and my deep caring, i.e. almost OCD compulsion, about doing it well skews my accuracy in assessing the present LDS literary landscape. Given that LDS readers and writers are all at different places on the strait and narrow path, and acknowledging that one person’s sappy novel is another person’s revered guide for life, LDS writers still need to keep writing and being honest and meeting high standards of excellence so that the best manifestations of their talents will shine. We can’t be so busy trying to earn the world’s approval that we are embarrassed by who and what we are. No matter what we do, some people on the outside looking in will always dismiss us as naïve.
To limit ourselves to safe cotton candy topics and to ignore or refuse to write in a realistic way about very real problems in our world implies that those problems either can’t be acknowledged or don’t exist. That’s a collusion of silence that helps no one. In this there is a crushing irony. Novels dealing with sticky topics for which there may be no answers in this life can help people experiencing those things to know how to handle them—think of that circle of support—and yet books dealing with those topics likely will be rejected by major LDS publishers. Even kissing between married characters can’t be in a sexual context. Marriages and families are falling apart all around us but we walk a fine line when we deal with that in literature because we might offend someone. Delicate subjects can be handled respectfully, without gratuitous detail. Perhaps developing Miltons and Shakespeares of our own—superior LDS writers—depends on finding and meeting the demands of an audience of superior LDS readers.
Today’s LDS writers sometimes choose subject matter of the “latter times” that isn’t what Elder Whitney imagined. Sometimes people have to go to some dark places to learn life’s hard lessons before they can rise up to spiritual heights to rejoice in the atonement. Writers acknowledge that, and they don’t go there to praise the darkness; we visit temporarily to show the contrast and to celebrate the triumph over it; its portrayal is a necessary part of the story.
Having opposition in all things means having choices. I didn’t grow up with vulgar language in my environment, nor did I marry into it, so reading it in books was a shock at first, but now it’s easier to ignore. Ironically, even J. Golden Kimball’s notorious damns and hells aren’t as naughty as they used to be. I understand that rough, coarse language is more the norm than the exception in our world, but I won’t inflict that offensive language on my readers. A young writer friend of mine observed that not everybody is into perpetual sweetness and light because that doesn’t reflect real life. Here’s another fine line to negotiate.
Years ago, someone who read my short story The Bellwether asked if I aimed to be the next Carol Lynn Pearson. As much as I admire that icon some saw as a leader in LDS literature at the time, I respect even more—and she would too—the potential of each writer to make a unique contribution. My reply: “No, I thought I’d take a shot at being the first Pam Williams.” I know I’m a good writer. I pray my way through every phase of the writing process; that isn’t to say that I should be published because I’ve been inspired. It simply means I had some moments in the process that told me to keep going.
Readers read and writers write because they are compelled by story. It’s a healthy kind of codependency. Writers need responses from a discerning readership, and readers seeking additional insight and encouragement through life’s trials want to be taught out of a good book written by a source they can trust. Today’s LDS literature deserves another chance.
BIO: Pamela Stott Williams is a native of Portland, Oregon, and a graduate of Brigham Young University. She has been a newspaper reporter, writing teacher, poet, playwright, essayist, editor, and novelist. A member of the League of Utah Writers and the American Night Writers Association, she has won contest prizes for her work. She feels a particular calling to speak to believing Latter-day Saint readers about the challenges of being alive and living the gospel. As the OCD Queen of Tweak, she rarely begins a sentence with “the,” and shuns question marks at the ends of rhetorical questions. Pam and her husband Roger currently reside in Provo, Utah, but have lived on Guam, in Iran, in Navajoland, and most recently spent 33 years in Richfield, Utah. Pam and Roger are the parents of three and grandparents of seven.
Contemporary novel series:
Living It Down (Walnut Springs Press, May 2014)
What Took You So Long (Walnut Springs Press, February 2015)
(watch for See You in the Morning)
future Book of Mormon series awaiting its turn:
Journey to Mormon, Zarahemla Road, The Way to Jershon
From Pam’s family:
Pamela Gay Stott Williams passed away peacefully at her Provo, Utah home on September 29, 2015. She was 72.
She was born in Portland, Oregon on January 12, 1943, to Verland and Navienne Stott. She loved Oregon; she was raised on wild berries and she loved the rain. She graduated from Jefferson High School in 1961. She received her BA in English from BYU in 1968.
On December 30, 1969, she married her best friend, Roger Kent Williams, in the Salt Lake Temple. They lived in Guam, Iran, and Arizona, before moving to Richfield, Utah in 1976, where they lived for 33 years. In 2009 after retirement, they moved to Provo, Utah.
Pam worked at the Provo Daily Herald, the Pacific Daily News (Guam), and Sevier School District where she wrote district news and tutored budding writers at Red Hills Middle School. She also taught a few creative writing (evening) classes for Snow College and SUU while in Richfield.
She served in the Eastern States Mission in 1964-65, during which she had the opportunity to serve in the booth at the 1964 World’s Fair in New York. She served faithfully in many callings in the Church throughout the years, but her favorite was her 12 years as Gospel Doctrine teacher. Pam and Roger were blessed to live in the Richfield 7th Ward and the Provo Parkway 5th Ward. She served as a worker in the Provo and Manti Temples. Her greatest desire in life was to share her testimony of the beauty of the Restored Gospel and the divinity of the Book of Mormon.
Pam was determined to blossom as a rose in the desert. In Richfield, she founded the Sevier County Commissioners’ Art Show in 1981, which is still an annual event. She was heavily involved in the Tri-County Music Guild, bringing concerts and artists to the area. She wrote, directed, and produced her play “Common Bonds,” and her trilogy of Book of Mormon plays. She directed community plays: “Because of Elizabeth,” “A Day, Night, and a Day,” and “Brother Brigham.” She has written and co-written several family history projects. In 1997, Pam received the Utah Governor’s Silver Bowl Award for community service. She was a member of many organizations throughout her life, including DAR, Sevier County Community Theater, Sevier County Arts Alliance, American Night Writers Association (LDS), League of Utah Writers, and the Parkway 5th Ward Book Club.
After moving to Provo, her novels were finally published. “Living it Down,” “What Took You So Long,” and “See You in the Morning” are found at Deseret Book and on Amazon.com. She was diagnosed with breast cancer on the day that her second novel (about breast cancer) was published. She had poems and recipes published, a few of which won awards. She left many unpublished works on her computer.
She was an excellent cook, and her neighbors received annual Christmas presents of delicious, award-winning jams and jellies. Her shelves were always full of bottles she had canned herself. She found comfort and grace in classical music, and it played in her home constantly. She loved to visit with friends and neighbors, attend plays, play games, do puzzles, study the Gospel, do indexing, and read.
She is survived by her husband, Roger; her children, Jennifer (Kevin) Wise; Elin (Randall) Dastrup; and Jordan (Heather) Williams. She has seven practically perfect grandchildren: Preston, Belinda, Ethan, Kayla (serving a mission), Courtney, Coralyn, and our angel Elijah. She is also survived by her siblings Andrea (Tim) Tucker, Lamont (Connie) Stott, Lin (Cindy) Stott, and Craig (Rosie) Stott; and her “Sibs,” the Williams in-laws. Her brother Bryan and her amazing parents preceded her in death. She had many beloved, supportive friends, especially Bobbette Shepard (her Richfield visiting teaching companion for 23 years) and Elaine Wayland.
Funeral services will be held at the LDS Church at 2801 W 620 N, Provo on Monday, October 5, at 10:00 a.m. There will be no public viewing, but friends may greet the family prior to the funeral from 8:30-9:30 a.m. Interment will be at the Provo City Cemetery, where she can watch over Elijah.