The topic of religion was posed by panel member Mary Akers. She and several writers she knows had a discussion about why their stories that involve religion, or faith, are consistently rejected. I thought it was a valid question, and one worth posing to our panel of Get Real participants. Thank you, Mary!

Question:

Why is religion a taboo subject in literary journals? A story can contain violence, drugs, sex, etc. but if religion is involved, the story seems to inevitably get rejected. Has this happened to you? If you’re an editor, do you shy away from stories with religious themes? If so, why? In general, how do you feel about religion in fiction?

Mary Akers writes and obsesses in Western, NY. She is currently trying not to think about the pending offers for her non-fiction book.

I’m not an editor, but I have heard / read interviews with editors who have said they don’t touch religious-referenced stories mostly because they don’t want to hear from the wackos and crackpots.

For example, say they print a story that depicts a born-again Christian behaving badly. One (or many) born-again Christians who read the story may get offended by the depiction. Because they feel that their faith is under attack, they write a letter, or cancel a subscription, or even make veiled threats. (So, then you have art reflecting life–religious people behaving badly.) But my question surrounding this, is twofold:

One, why, in a democracy, would we let religious extremist readers dictate what we print? Isn’t that a form of complicit censorship? Extremists behave badly so we shy away in response? Hmm, are we then reinforcing the notion that wackos who make a stink will get what they want? Sure seems like it to me.

And two, why are believer-readers so touchy that they’ll react in such a fashion? Are we supposed to believe that not one single Seventh Day Adventist has ever behaved badly and so all should be exempt from a critical lens? Literature is an exploration and it should reflect, amplify, and expand on real-life people and experiences. And religion–like it or not–is a huge part of our everyday lives, even if we don’t consider ourselves to be believers.

Our own president says, “God bless America.” Our news media spends weeks covering the removal of a feeding tube for one long brain-dead woman. We follow every newsy detail of the segregationist Mormon cult with its teenaged wives and mothers. Our country’s greatest modern tragedy was orchestrated by Muslim extremists. Religion is everywhere in our country! Everywhere except in the literary journals. Why? I really do want to know.

Mostly I want to know because I also believe that religion is part and parcel of the universal human condition. Who among us has not struggled at some time with what and how to believe? Even Bob Dylan went through a born-again phase. And I guess I feel that writing about religion has come to carry its own Catch-22. If I write something that favorably depicts religion, I am seen as proselytizing, which no one wants to touch. If I write something negative about religion, it is seen as a taboo subject and something no one wants to touch. I’m not sure how we get around this and still manage to represent modern life in all its complexity.

Ann Amodeo blogs at www.zenofwriting.com.

I welcome religion, or spirituality, in fiction as long as it’s not fundamentalist, preachy and transparent. In fact, I look for stories of personal quest-type spirituality — they’re hard to find. I’ve never written a story with a religious theme, but my science fiction novel has a bit of a religious theme, one of the characters is on a religious quest, and the book is getting some attention from agents, although it’s post-apocalyptic and that is a popular topic.

It doesn’t seem like religion itself is interesting to most readers or editors — maybe the secular nature of our society? Organized religion has bad connotations, a bad rep, and deservedly, much of the time.

Matt Baker is a writer. His favorite snack food is a hardboiled egg with Louisiana hot sauce.

I’ve never had any experience with it personally because I don’t typically use religion as anything more than a descriptive device. I don’t think there’s any taboo against it. There are plenty of hugely popular novels and films that deal with religious redemption and struggles with belief. They don’t show up in literary journals, most likely, because not many people choose to write about it in literary short fiction form.

In general, I’m neither here nor there regarding religion in fiction. It often helps shape the character, setting, etc. On the other hand, sometimes it can turn into disquieting digressions that never go anywhere except back to the same place–faith. Personally, I’m not interested in what characters believe or don’t believe as much as I am in what they do and say.

Ramon Collins lives on the NE edge of the Mojave Desert and is often seen running with a pack of scruffy coyotes.

It might be caused by the old saying, “Don’t talk about politics or religion.”

With LINNET’S WINGS, I have no taboos, just tell an interesting story. But know the difference between exaggeration and the grotesque.

A story in the religion genre shouldn’t be a disguised sermon and a politically-based story can’t be a speech.

It’s the difference between erotica and pornography.

Steve Hansen has had limited success as a writer, having published stories over the past 10 years at FRiGG, The Danforth Review, The Paumanok Review, and a few other online “reviews.” He currently spends his time and energy trying to meld the worlds of high finance, literature, and comic books at www.tqrstories.com.

As a writer, I can’t really look at the stories I’ve published without getting vertigo from excessive eye crossing; I’m still too close to them to be usefully analytical. But I think many of them deal with faith on some level and have religious themes. One in particular, titled “What God Has Made Crooked,” was published in FRiGG. So, I haven’t really felt any prejudice on this topic.

As an editor, I welcome good fiction no matter the subject matter. I’m not sure how many religious stories we’ve published. None immediately come to mind, but I’m pretty sure we’ve published quite a few stories dealing with the age-old questions that humanity grapples with—generation after generation—and that religion was created to make sense of. I suppose by this definition, you could argue all stories that are worth a damn have some kind of religious component.

To me, a religious story doesn’t necessarily mean Father McKenzie and Mother Theresa or Moses. I mean, the closer you identify with the great pillars of any faith, the harder it is to overcome the layers of rote and clichéd systems that have been deposited there over the centuries, and then the narrative becomes heavy handed, ham-handed even. Just like it’s easier to parody a public figure than a character you’ve made up for a particular story because the public figure comes with baggage. Anyway. I’m a bit off topic here. The bottom line for me is quality of narrative, does it move me and all that regardless of subject matter. At least that’s what I hope is true.

Debbie Ice’s work has been online and in small print. She’s written a novel like everyone. Two actually, if the first bad one counts. (they all count) She lives, writes, fishes in Connecticut. She used to live, read, fish, get in trouble, in Georgia. She has no idea what happened. But here she is.

I am not an editor, so I can’t speak for them. I would think there are probably more practical reasons than emotional/faith based reasons why stories with religious themes are rarely accepted. Good stories generally reflect upon a basic human condition, a truth that resonates with all of us regardless of religious belief, sexual proclivity, race. I think a story about faith, God, may have a tangential relationship to a basic common emotional experience; nevertheless, that first round reader will probably not see these themes as common to everyone. I also think religion is just plain hard to write. Flannery O’Connor was such a terrific writer, she succeeded. And set a high standard for everyone to follow.

Personally, organized religion is not important to me; spirituality is. When I think of spirituality, I think of our innate desire for spiritual completeness, grounded in redemption, forgiveness and soulful yearning for unconditional love. This may or may not include a God. For example, many Buddhists are very spiritual, but worship no God.

I think stories with spiritual themes are the most complex and intense. I would go so far as to say I’ve never read a short story I thought was “great” that didn’t tackle spiritual completeness. I’ve read very good ones– funny, tragic, true etc–but not great ones, which leave me pondering them for days. Jill McCorkle’s “Intervention” was very spiritual and one of the most profoundly moving stories I have ever read. “Drummond and Sons” by Charles D’Ambrosio moved me tremendously. Alice Munro’s “The Progress of Love” and “The Bear Came Over the Mountain” have spiritual themes that were intense and thought provoking. I have no idea whether or not these writers believe in a God or a religious philosophy. Probably not. Their writing is still spiritual.

I wish I could read all the journals out there and talk about trends in spiritual themes and writing, but I haven’t, so I can’t. I just don’t know. I usually only find these themes in well known writers–the ones who land in all the anthologies and receive all the awards. It may be due to the fact that these themes are so difficult to write that only the best succeed at it. When I tackle spiritual themes (usually when I write about tragedy or parenting) I think of it as aiming very high. I feel overwhelmed by it. I do think I succeed at some, but still have a hard time placing them. It would be presumptuous of me to guess why.

I did have some experiences, one that was rather funny. I sent this surreal, strange, and kind of funny story with spiritual themes to this small print, and it came back with the editor’s ink all over it. There was no rejection or acceptance, just his scribbles here and there. One long scribble at the end suggested that his big problem concerned my theme. He then proceeded to tell me what my character should do in the order to promote what seemed to be his world view –you don’t forgive, you tell people who hurt you to go f-k themselves and that is that. I am not sure, but I think he truly expected me to rewrite the story to reflect his way of being in the world as opposed to my way of being in the world.

I never contacted this editor to ask the purpose of his response. I folded the first page into an airplane and sent it flying down my hall.

I sometimes wonder if this editor is not really different from others. He is simply more honest. Maybe the well-known writers can get away with anything, but if you are not there yet, they all expect not only conformity of style, but also conformity of world view.

But to say this one man reflects the lit world is unfair, because I really have no idea what goes through everyone’s mind, just as no one knows what goes through mine.

There is no answer. I think eventually you come to realize the best thing to do is not think about it. You put what everyone else wants aside. You push the competitive, political writers aside. You push what the world thinks, how it judges aside. Maybe you even push reality aside. Screw realism!

You go off to a corner by yourself, write your heart, your soul, and let the world decide.

Jason Makansi, author of Lights Out: The Electricity Crisis, the Global Economy, and What It Means to You, as well as two previous books and six published short stories, is an electricity industry consultant by day and by night gropes around in the dark for something else to do.

I’m not sure editors are queasy about religion or religious topics, or even overtones, in fiction, but I gotta believe that they would strongly prefer that religion be worked in metaphorically or allegorically. Whether it’s religion, politics, the social cause du jour, etc, I think the writer’s responsibility is to not beat the reader over the head with a baseball bat but instead pitch to him or her over nine innings, and play small ball.

And this observation may have little bearing on reality, but I suspect that what people want out of literary fiction is diametrically opposed to what they get out of all of the other stuff they are exposed to on a daily basis. The last thing I want to read in a short story or creative essay is a repackaged version of something I just got whacked with on the news, in a documentary, on the Web, by a neighbor, etc etc. I have an adverse reaction to the word, “blessed,” right now, because I sense that everyone is using it to “hint” at their religion (usually Christian) and it is short for “God Bless You” but since it’s not PC to say inject God into the discussion…anyway, if I see it in a story, I’m liable to go ballistic. I’ve had similar spells with words like palpable and luminous–they enter the lexicon like hi-test, super, supra, and ultra at the gas pumps.

Sometimes I look at it as the difference between fiction being “spiritual” and being “religious.” I can handle spiritual…

Jacob McArthur Mooney is a poetry editor with ThievesJargon.com and the founder of The Facebook Review. His first collection of poems, The New Layman’s Almanac, is due in March from McClelland & Stewart. He lives in Toronto.

We don’t have any problem publishing material with religious themes, especially if it portrays the holy as dumb, dangerous, ignorant or influential.

Steven J. McDermott is the editor of Storyglossia. His short fiction has appeared in numerous literary journals and in his collection of stories Winter of Different Directions.

As a writer I haven’t experienced a closed door to a religious themed story, but it’s not really the type of story I write. By analogy, though, after 9/11 I began collecting a lot of rejections with comments such as “great writing, but too dark,” “we’re looking for stories that are more uplifting,” etc. That went on for a few years and then those same stories began getting accepted and published. So I do think themes, styles, and subject matter go out favor and fall victim to cultural group think.

As an editor I don’t have any bias against religious themed stories. What I expect is that it be organic to the work, and not, for example, a disguised polemic, or a thin plot wrapped around dialogue where one character is trying to “convert” another. I’ll reject work such as that regardless the theme. I actually don’t see very many submissions where religion figures prominently, at least to the point that I think, oh, that’s a “religious” story. And if I publish stories about sex, drugs, and rock-n-roll, it’s because the devil made me do it. Nah, it’s because I enjoy (reading about) sex, drugs, and rock-n-roll.

I’m quite curious to hear what others have to say on this topic as it never occurred to me that this might be an issue. But I can see how it might be. Religion is already one of the dominant discourses: The Bible after all is “The Book” communicating “The Word.” Literary journals–at least the university sponsored variety–seem generally teed-up to provide the humanist counterexample to the dominance of “The Book” and its influence. Non-university sponsored journals tend to be “alternative,” with all that entails, thus not a likely haven for religious themed stories. Given those dynamics we shouldn’t be surprised if religious stories are not universally welcomed. Still, there must be plenty of journals out there that would be eager for religious themed stories. Probably just requires being more selective when submitting.

Ellen Parker writes fiction and edits the online literary journal FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry.

If religion is a “taboo” subject, then FRiGG is interested in it! We tend to like stories or poems having to do with any subjects that make people uncomfortable. We would be especially drawn to stories about religion that would piss off your relatives or proponents of a religion that you’ve turned away from. So you might want to keep it in mind that if your story appears in FRiGG, it’ll be online forever and anyone in the world can read it at anytime. Suffice it to say, if you’re Salman Rushdie, maybe you shouldn’t cultivate a large presence on the Web.

J. M. Patrick lives in Connecticut with a small cactus and a squirrel named Todd. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in SmokeLong Quarterly, The Summerset Review, Night Train, and NOÖ Journal, among others. She can be found online at www.jmpatrick.org.

I don’t know why religion is such a taboo subject in literary journals. Religion is one of my favorite topics, though I have very little filter for what is normally socially taboo, anyway. It often gets me into trouble.

Perhaps the risks outweigh the benefits when it comes to publishing fiction about religion, but to me, it would matter how it was done. Admittedly, I would have a hard time reading a journal or story that was preachy or that extolled the virtues of one belief or another. No one wants to feel as though religion is being shoved down their throats, and it’s a fine line to dance on because it’s subjective and so very personal.

I wrote a piece recently about an Iranian couple who slowly loses faith after immigrating to America. The wife, at one point, masturbates while her husband is praying. As you can imagine, I had a hard time placing that one. Thankfully, The Summerset Review was not afraid. It’s refreshing to know that there are literary journals that don’t shy away from pushing the envelope. It’s also refreshing to know that there is still an envelope to be pushed.

Gerard C. (Jerry) Smith is a southerner. He’s a writer. He writes novels, short stories, flash fiction, poems. His work can be found in a bunch of different print and cyber zines.

I’d think that editors shy away from religion/faith in stories because they often push a particular POV, interesting to a limited audience. Violence, drugs, sex, etc are POV neutral, they just happen. Stuff like violence is never-the-less interesting and is the stuff around which a moral can be woven.

But what does this atheist know?

Anyway;

On the Corner of Religion and Jazz

He didn’t believe, still don’t,
he tries sayin’ no but he listens;
’cause ole Jesus is out there singin’,
shaking he tambourine and lettin out an oh yeah
Jesus be da man with the message and with the music.
so go hear da word, my friend, get with my man Jesus and his
rinky-tinky band that play every night in the honky tonk;
you know the one with the big neon sign says come on in an’
join the real Jesus; hear he word at the corner of Religion and Jazz

Yeah, that Jesus. He’s doin’ the talkin’. –GC Smith

Kelly Spitzer is a writer and an editor with SmokeLong Quarterly.

Yeah, religion in fiction. Not my thing. BUT. I would never reject a story outright because it contains religious or faith-based content. When Mary first came to me with this topic, I thought: ooooh, this is me! I don’t like to read stories that contain scripture, or talk about God, or, worst of all, come across as a lecture on how a person should live and what they should believe. Ewww. But then she reminded me that I liked her story “Strandings” which questioned faith and belief. And yes, yes I do. I like that story a lot, and I have no idea why it hasn’t been picked up by a good journal. I think the difference is that in Mary’s story, this questioning of faith is inherent to the plot. It feels very natural that her character would be exploring the role of faith in his life considering what he’s going through. It is NOT a plot built to satisfy a religious agenda. Send one of those my way and I will be very displeased. It would be like trying to sell me a stolen truck by telling me you’re a Christian. And yes, that’s a true story.

Jill Stegman is a high school teacher from California’s central coast. She has published in several journals including South Dakota Review, Isotope, Storyglossia, and RE:AL.

I have had “bad luck” with my stories involving religious topics. I think it is a touchy theme for editors and I understand why. I just need to put myself in their shoes. I don’t like to read about overly “gooey” themes which are obviously written with ulterior motives, i.e. “god is great,” “the wonderfulness of my life since I found The Lord.” The author’s own voice comes across too often in these stories. The minute I hear the churchbells ringing in the background, I stop reading.

However, my stories don’t fall into the above category; they’re about people whose faith does not work for them. All of these stories have been very soundly rejected. So, from my own experience, I would say that something else is operating when an editor reads and rejects “religious” stories. It could be that the religion issue must serve to enhance the story in an unusual way. It must be a part of, rather than the end result of the story.

In truth, I think that editors do not necessarily shy away from topics of religion. I often come across stories dealing with religions other than Christianity. Laila Lalami has a collection which addresses the Muslim faith in many different contexts. Also, the journal Image consistently publishes stories pertaining to all denominations.

Probably the key is steering away from coming across as proselytizing.

Craig Terlson’s fiction has appeared inCarve, Smokelong Quarterly, Cezanne’s Carrot, Hobart and elsewhere. He is currently working on a novel and still goes to church every Sunday.

This is a topic somewhat close to my heart - I am a part-time pastor and practicing Christian (does that mean I am not that good at it?) It seems like certain magazines are more open to stories with a “spiritual” component, rather than a Christian one. Cezanne’s Carrot comes to mind. My story, “The Days are Numbered” mentions the Book of Revelations, but it is more a story of obsession rather than faith. Another one of my stories deals with baptism, but it is more about the judgment of others than some religious message. Incidentally, this story is laced with profanity – I have a fondness for the word “fuck”, especially as used by David Mamet and Lewis Black.

So I say Christian because that is what comes to mind when the word “religious” is used. Religion carries a negative connotation with it - usually associated with strict laws against sex, drugs and rock and roll (two of which I am quite fond of) or linked with fire and brimstone preachers that call down storms of locusts on the uncleansed. Who, when thinking of religious stories thinks of Muslim, Buddhist, Hindu, or Zoroastrian fiction?

Now, I know there is a brand of fiction out there that is dripping in the sentimentalities of Christian imagery; or worse, drenched in Aesop-like morality tales of “seeing the true light.” I don’t write those and reading them is akin to wolfing down mayonnaise sandwiches. But my faith will be a part of my world-view, in the same way that someone involved deeply in social justice will reflect those values in their fiction.

I received a rejection recently where the editor said the story was too didactic. Some other things he said implied it had to do with an underlying spirituality in the piece. I re-read and admitted there were sections that drifted into that arena, so I cut them. Not because they were religious, but because they were heavy-handed, forced, as is any story that pushes its morality. Again, certain views of the world and of the human condition will emerge out of the writer’s personal views. I think this is natural.

My best guide for this is Flannery O’Connor’s quote (which may be apocryphal, I know I heard it somewhere) when asked why she didn’t write more Christian stories, she responded, “That’s all I write.”

Marilyn Marie Wilkins hails from San Antonio, Texas. Her most notable recent accomplishment was being named to Laura Hird’s Best of 2006.

I have a story about an abused Mexican child who loves to write and aspires to be a writer. But his alcoholic father burns his notebook. In the end, I do mention that God will heal that hurt and other stories will come to him and he will be successful. I doubt it will ever be accepted. It’s a bit preachy. Yet I have run out of places to submit it. I can entirely change the end and I may do that. That’s my experience.


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