[stylist] please help with kinks

[Neil Butters]

Hello Bridgit,

I’ll give you some feedback, but first I should tell you I am not familiar 
with creative nonfiction and its conventions. Some of what I say may not 
apply.

The work had a particular resonance with me as I attend an evangelical 
church. I am not a member though, for some of the reasons you mentioned 
(e.g., views on homosexuality). For this reason I found it interesting. I 
liked the imagery, the vividness of the words, especially in the first few 
paragraphs. However, I thought it was a bit unclear. You don’t explain 
clearly why you despise the church. It sounded as if religion changed your 
father for the good, and your beef is with one guy, the pastor. You 
mentioned that you are unsure why you are dissatisfied, but maybe you should 
speculate or summarize the reasons in a concluding paragraph. But not the 
last paragraph. I like the one you have now; it is positive and reassuring. 
It didn’t seem to trail off to me.

Some grammar and style concerns:

“…highway, and the crunch of snow under foot.”
*I don’t think this needs a comma, although I don’t know if it is wrong.

“For ten years my family gave their life to this church.  For ten years my 
family was trampled on and eventually spit out.”
*My immediate thought is the following: Why did you stay for ten years if 
you were trampled on all the time? Perhaps you should explain briefly why 
you stayed.

“I stand here now wishing to burn this abomination to the ground.”
*To me, this sounded as if you had a gasoline can in hand and were ready to 
do the deed.

 “The only audio cue …”
*Sighted readers won’t know what is an audio cue.

 “Growing up Christian does not mean I escaped witnessing my mother’s lust 
for the material and my work-a-holic father to
busy to watch his children grow.”
*This sentence is  a bit jarring. You might try for some parrallelism here: 
“…witnessing my mother’s lust for the material and my father’s devotion to 
work, to busy …” Something like that.

“The wiggle of questions finally wormed their way to the surface though….”
*This paragraph almost seems misplaced. You want to burn the building to the 
ground. Why? I don’t think it’s because you don’t agree with their views. 
Maybe this paragraph could go elsewhere, or you could change it a bit. Maybe 
edit it and combine it with the following paragraph. That paragraph makes 
more sense; you are frustrated and disgusted with their two-headedness.

“A man steps to the podium as the crescendo of the music begins its 
 descent.”
*You can simplify this to something like “A man steps to the podium during 
the decrescendo of the music.”

“eventually he was asked to perform weddings and funerals.  My dad is 
well-respected in the community.”
*You might consider starting a new paragraph with the “My dad is …” 
sentence. It didn’t seem to be a logical progression from the previous 
sentence.

“My dad is well-respected in the community.  The Friend, well he has grown 
jealous and spiteful.”
*Did you mean that your dad gained respect while the other guy just grew 
spiteful? Or was your dad always respected?

“The compound-like church sits on the western end of town.  I always hated 
the building.  It is dark and no light enters.”
*The meaning is a bit unclear. Is the church dark now? During worship? Is 
this why you hate it?

“My dad finally stepped out on the infamous faith I was always told about. 
“
*Are you sure the right word here is “infamous?” I thought you were always 
told the faith was good and right.

“The Pastor paced the stage like a tiger looking for his next prey.”
*This is a bit confusing because I don’t know when it happened. Perhaps you 
should try “The pastor would pace the …”

“and accepted even if home life was rocky.”
*You might want to give an example of the “rockiness” here; this might be a 
case of telling rather than showing.

“My parents hang from the ropes of their faith even though they are 
constantly knocked down.”
*Maybe I’m just unfamiliar with the phrase, but isn’t being hanged from a 
rope bad? It sounds as if your parents were being strangled, held against 
their will almost. If this is so, then the “even though…” part doesn’t make 
sense; you are saying the same thing twice.

“Isn’t this what Jesus taught? To love one another.”
I think the second statement should also be a question, or the question 
should be changed to a statement: “This is what Jesus taught, to love…”

Some of the paragraphs near the end are fairly long. Consider shortening 
them. I think for most of them you can just simply start a new paragraph.

Overall, I thought it was compelling and interesting. I enjoyed it, and I 
think others will as well.

Neil




--------------------------------------------------
From: "Bridgit Pollpeter" <bpollpeter at hotmail.com>
Sent: Tuesday, April 27, 2010 1:35 PM
To: <stylist at nfbnet.org>
Subject: [stylist] please help with kinks

>
> Hello list,
>
>
>
> This is like a second draft, but it needs so much polishing.  I feel like 
> the end trails off and I am having the proverbial writer's block.  Let me 
> know what you think.
>
>
>
> Bridgit
>
>
>
> The parking lot of Crossroads Christian Center is desolate.  The only 
> sound I hear as I walk towards the entrance is the nearby cars whizzing 
> down the highway, and the crunch of snow under foot.  I pause before 
> opening the heavy metal door.  The primal thump of music vibrates along 
> the cinder block walls of the building.  The once familiar environment 
> places heaviness on my spirit.
> For ten years my family gave their life to this church.  For ten years my 
> family was trampled on and eventually spit out.  I stand here now wishing 
> to burn this abomination to the ground.  I swing the door wide and the 
> thumping grows into a raucous musical tirade.  My ears ring from the 
> volume.  The only audio cue I can make out is the surround-sound music 
> that blares like a rock concert.  Worship loses its meaning.  Some how a 
> dolled-up woman belting center-stage as she is illuminated by theatrical 
> spotlights make it difficult to focus on Christ.
> I was raised Christian.  I never thought to step too far outside what I 
> was taught.  I was determined to keep the faith despite the dysfunction of 
> my family and my own bouts of depression.  Growing up Christian does not 
> mean I escaped witnessing my mother’s lust for the material and my 
> work-a-holic father to busy to watch his children grow.  Feeling isolated 
> from the rest of mankind for some quirk (referred to as depression I had 
> the misfortune of being born with) left me alone except for the God who 
> claimed to love me unconditionally.  Doubts crossed my mind, but 
> ultimately my faith was bigger than any misgivings.  The wiggle of 
> questions finally wormed their way to the surface though.  Homosexuality, 
> pre-marital sex, burning in hell for believing in a deity not named 
> Christ; I no longer can ignore my doubts in the name of faith.  I do not 
> believe (I never truly did) these are mortal sins damning us to hell.  I 
> won’t go through the motions.
> A man steps to the podium as the crescendo of the music begins its 
> descent.  He sputters a guttural cacophony of some long-lost ancient 
> language while the small congregation hoops and hollers.  The worship 
> leader belts her agreement.  A pagan tribe swirls and leaps around a 
> roaring fire in my mind as I cringe and fight my instinct to dash towards 
> the microphone and begin my own tirade.  “What the hell is wrong with you 
> people?  Hypocrites and self-righteous, pig-headed bigots.”
> My family moved to Council Bluffs towards the end of my senior year of 
> high school.  My dad was hired as the Head of Maintenance with his 
> Bachelor’s in business and MBA.  He had left the world of business to 
> pursue the ministry though.  Ministry became a family affair.  Mom and my 
> three siblings were involved in some capacity, but it was Dad’s passion. 
> Sunday school, worship team, nursery, children’s church, we all had our 
> hand in some area.  Crossroads Christian Center was an Assembly-of-God 
> church pastored by a long-time friend of the family.  The Friend, a 
> self-proclaimed former drug addict who viewed higher education as a tool 
> of the devil, felt my dad was suited to the life of cleaning up after 
> others.  Dad, who was in the process of receiving his seminary training, 
> was not trusted to “Shepard” people.  In a short period of time, though, 
> the congregation would turn to my dad for advice and counseling, and 
> eventually he was asked to perform weddings and funerals.  My dad is 
> well-respected in the community.  The Friend, well he has grown jealous 
> and spiteful.  When Dad attempted to apply for a pastor position in 
> another city, the Pastor-friend said, “You really don’t belong in the 
> ministry.  You are being tempted and should resist.  Your place is here, 
> keeping the church beautiful for the Lord.”
> The compound-like church sits on the western end of town.  I always hated 
> the building.  It is dark and no light enters.  My dad finally stepped out 
> on the infamous faith I was always told about.  “All things are possible 
> with Christ.”  The frenzied Sunday morning sermons and concert-like 
> worship hour did nothing for the soul.  “Rejoice in the Lord always,” 
> spread in a jovial arch above the choir loft as the Pastor raved about sin 
> on Sunday mornings.  “This world is going to hell.  Maybe a few Lutherans 
> and Catholics will be in heaven, but it is up to us to keep the faith. 
> All you who listened to secular music or watched television last night 
> must repent and become holy for the Lord.”  The Pastor paced the stage 
> like a tiger looking for his next prey.
> Yet, I kept my faith in tact.  I recognized this place for what it was, 
> but the fibers of my being still knew and trusted the core of this 
> religion called Christianity.  I saw the hypocrisy and was disgusted with 
> the politics, but I thought God was bigger than human intrigue and 
> ambition.  How do I come to mistrust it all now?  Mornings spent sitting 
> at the well-manicured feet of my mother while she reads from the 
> story-book full of Bible tales plays through my mind.  The book is white 
> and a Caucasian Jesus garbed in blue and white sits among a group of 
> contemporary-dressed children.  I loved the stories of bravery and heroism 
> and romance.  All pointed back to the salvation of this wonderful savior. 
> I felt comfort in knowing I was loved and accepted even if home life was 
> rocky.  I read every night in bed with my red flash-light trying to ignore 
> the muffled shouting seeping from my parent’s bedroom.  I would hunker 
> down among my blankets with the pink Cheerbear Carebear and brown stuffed 
> cocker-spaniel to keep me company.  We read the story of Ester, the 
> beautiful young Hebrew girl chosen to marry the pagan king.  Her trust in 
> God saved not only her life, but the lives of her fellow Hebrews.  God’s 
> love was greater than any evil and those who trust Him are showered with 
> this love.  As I shot into a teen I clung to this idea of unconditional 
> love.  Knocks upside my head delivered in frustration by my parents were 
> no match for the love of Christ.  Sitting, crying silently, unable to 
> breathe, I knew I was held in loving hands somewhere.
> That assurance is gone now.  I believe in a higher power, but who they 
> are, I can’t answer that.  My parents hang from the ropes of their faith 
> even though they are constantly knocked down.  Whether it is over-due 
> bills or rejections after interviews or constant life-threatening 
> illnesses, my parents find their comfort in Christ.  This differs from the 
> parents of my childhood.  I see the change and want to believe it is all 
> due to the grace of God, but I question.  The transformation of my 
> money-hungry, designer suit wearing, quick to anger father has done a 
> one-eighty.  The remnants of my childhood father no longer remain.  I 
> remember the abuse, but that man left.  This gentle man spends hours 
> watching his grandchildren play on the Moonwalk instead of enjoying the 
> baseball game in the stadium.  When sheets of rain keep me from attempting 
> a dash to the bus stop, Dad is on speed dial ready to drop me off where I 
> need to go.  This is the man I love, and this is the man I wish to protect 
> from a slanderous, spiteful Pastor who did nothing but give grief to those 
> who opposed him.  Dad knew the truth and confronted the Pastor.  Dad spoke 
> in his usual soft tones while the Pastor shifted his eyes around and 
> gripped the edge of his desk.
> “You're out of line brother,” Dad said.
> “I’m out of line?  You don’t know who you are dealing with,” the Pastor 
> said.  His nostrils flared as he stared Dad down.
> “You’re ostracizing people who want to help.  No one is trying to replace 
> you.”  Dad folded his hands and smiled into the red, angry face of the 
> Pastor.
> “You all want to take me down.  Satan is speaking through you.  I know 
> your secrets.”
> “Brother, I have no secrets.  I’m not proud of my past, but God’s 
> forgiveness has granted me mercy.”
> “Your lies and deceit are what keep you from providing for your family.” 
> The Pastor smirked.
> Dad’s eyes looked down for a moment, and he met the Pastor’s glare with 
> remorse.  “I’ve made mistakes, and my family has had to pay for them, but 
> I’m trying to make up for it.”
> “Look what your education got you.  You clean up after others.”  He stood, 
> grabbing his black leather jacket purchased at Wilson’s.
> Dad sat and turned in his chair.  Zipping up his faded sweat-shirt he 
> said, “The least of you shall be first, and the first shall be last.”  Dad 
> passed through the door before the Pastor said anything.
> My dad never loses sight of his faith.  For years he has struggled to 
> support his family, and at fifty-one he still scrambles to pay the bills. 
> Never once does his belief in god waver.  Prayer and meditation bring him 
> peace.  I was taught that without the peace of God people are empty and 
> have no purpose.  I have not experienced this emptiness without God.  I 
> wonder where my faith went, but I am at peace with who I am.  Perhaps it 
> is all about perception and preference.  If I find contentment, is it 
> necessary to know where it comes from?  I admire those who stick to their 
> guns no matter what life throws at them, but my spirit is not in turmoil. 
> Maybe one day I will find the right light switch and the beliefs I held 
> for so long will return.  For now I find new ways of experiencing God.  In 
> the love I have for my husband and his love in me.  The joy of nephew and 
> nieces who have become my surrogate children.  The fleeting anger I feel 
> towards Crossroads Christian Center and the Pastor only solidifies my new 
> belief that no one person or group has all the answers.
> While the Pastor continues his message of darkness and fear, I find a 
> religion based on love.  The gentle hand sweeping hair from my face to 
> kiss me good-bye every morning as I sleep.  The 15-month-old Curly Sue who 
> wraps her chubby arms around my neck every time I see her.  Even the 
> high-strung puppy that seems starved for attention as she jumps into my 
> lap.  Most importantly is my dad who would give his life for any of his 
> children.  Isn’t this what Jesus taught?  To love one another.  I have an 
> abundance of love in my life, and this allows me to touch God everyday.
>
>
>
>
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