There's clean . . .

 

. . . and there’s not so clean. “Clean” can often be used as a synonym for “safe” in literature. “Safe” for me is a misnomer because of its application to certain works of fiction. “Clean” on the other hand means or suggests a lot of things in writing.

 

In no particular order, the word clean in the broadest sense often refers to stories without cussing/swearing and/or explicit sexual situations. It’s also used to describe a certain type or style of prose which consists of lean writing techniques and very little variations in common language usage. Light on descriptions and grammatically correct typifies “clean” writing.

 

I’ve said many times I’m not a fan of Hemingway’s writing. Never liked it. The leanest writer of contemporary fiction that I do like is that of Brandilyn Collins. Even though I prefer her early suspense novels which were longer and not so lean, I’ve enjoyed her most recent novels. The staccato brand of writing suits her stories, and it’s her unique style of rat-a-tat-tat word usage that makes it all work.

 

Getting to the “clean” reference in subject matter. I’ve exhausted this topic here. Sexual attraction, tension, interaction, etcetera, all of it. However, I acknowledge the delicate, intimate, and private nature of tackling sexual issues in fiction, especially Christian fiction where many readers wish to escape the banality of its depictions in secular or general market literature. I’ve always maintained that readers should have a choice of what they want to read. And Christian readers do. To a point. There is a multitude of “clean” fiction from which to choose.

 

Again, there’s clean and there’s squeaky clean. Squeaky clean does not fulfill the role of good fiction for a lot of us readers. We see the contrast of this kind of story to the way life is really lived for many people, and we don’t react well to the unbelievable aspects of squeaky clean when applied to romance novels.

 

And there’s not so clean—at least according to those who read squeaky clean and delight in it. I don’t write for them. And neither do I enjoy their brand of literature. But I’m glad they have it to read because my choices in this arena are slim and none. That’s why I write what I do.

 

 

God, you give me words. What can I say but thank you? I love you, Lord. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.