Every now and then I encounter a comment like this: “What’s a ‘horror novelist’ doing, writing Christian commentary?” The people who make these comments seem rather ticked off that I should be writing anything at all.
Thirty years ago, I was writing horror novels and four of them got published. Lifeblood was my first–and note the tiny little letters for the author’s name. I wrote them because I’ve never wanted to be anything but a writer, all my life; I like scary stories; and horror was booming at the time. And even if I do say so myself, as Steven King knock-offs go, these were pretty good.
But it was thirty years ago, and it would be a sad thing if I never grew and matured spiritually in all those years. Obviously I don’t write that kind of book anymore. I doubt I could, even if I wanted to.
So, because I used to write such books decades ago, that disqualifies me from ever writing anything else? Is it like an armed robbery conviction and prison term suddenly appearing in the resume of a political candidate? Some folks out there seem to think so. But I think this phase of my writing career was a door that I had to pass through to get to where I am today.
I once wrote for the glory of me. Now I write, I hope, for the glory of God.
Robbie Update: They gave her a shot to subdue her nausea, and since we came home this morning, Robbie has already eaten more than she has in the last two days put together. Not a lot, but enough to give us some encouragement. Please, Lord, in Jesus’ name, make this turn out right! Amen.
And now this old horror novelist is about finished for the afternoon.
