Lenten Reflections

Beware of Formulas

In the past year I’ve submitted some of my short fiction and essays to journals that have periodic competitions and claim to have the eyes and ears of agents and publishers. I’ve not won any prizes, not gained any contacts, but I’ve received a blizzard of emails offering seminars on how to whip my writing into shape.

Some of the offerings are rather broad – “Sixty Days to a Bestseller” and “Fundamentals of Fiction” – while others are very specific: “Creating Memorable Characters,” “Plot Perfect Boot Camp” and “Conflict and Suspense.” Some seem to offer tried-and-true formulas, such as “Build Your Novel Scene by Scene” and “Story Mapping and Pacing.” There are even courses on specific genres: paranormal, mystery, science fiction, fantasy, thriller. And this just in today: “Essentials of Romance Writing.” It must be good because the instructor’s last name is Valentine. Seriously.

I also receive email blogs about writing, and every now and then there is something helpful – if not something new, then something that confirms a belief. Under the heading of “How long should novel chapters be?” I read this advice: “There are no hard-and-fast rules on how long or short a chapter needs to be. It could be three pages. It could be 22. It could be 40. You shouldn’t set manuscript guidelines for yourself on chapter length.” And there it is: The formula for chapters is that there is no formula.

Formulas are critical in many areas of life. Coca-Cola and Pfizer have made fortunes based on strict chemical formulas. The relative safety of modern flight is governed by aerodynamic formulas. Formulas are fine if you want consistency and look-alike products – whether they be soft drinks, drugs, movies or, yes, books.

I’m skeptical about formulas for writing, and even more so about formulas for life, love and faith. (And don’t get me started on formulaic books that provide formulas on life, love and faith.) The variables are too many and the desired results are equally so. None of us are the same, and none of us want the same thing.

Perhaps that is why Jesus didn’t come on the scene with formulas for better living. He didn’t prescribe what to sacrifice, how many candles to light, what scriptures to read or hymns to sing, who to congregate with. He simply said, “Love one another.” He didn’t say what that love was to look like; he just said, “Love one another.”

And that, like a good book, leaves plenty of room for conflict and suspense, laughter and romance, interesting characters and wild plot twists.