Lee Stephen

The website of author Lee Stephen

faith

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The C-Word

I thought long and hard about whether to post an entry about this. Truth be told, there’s a part of me that still doesn’t want to. The problem with that is that I have no good reason for keeping it to myself, especially when there are people out there whom I know would want to know. This isn’t because I did anything wrong. Much as Type-1 diabetes picked my wife at age sixteen, this decided to pick me at thirty-one. So here goes.

This  past Tuesday, I got a phone call from my doctor informing me that I had cancer.

Before this goes any further, I feel like I have to say something. Whenever people see or hear that word, they immediately think the worst. Allow me to assure you: I am not going to die. The particular cancer I have is called mycosis fungoides, and it’s a type of cutaneous T-cell lymphoma. It is extremely rare, only affecting five in every million people (for those who keep up with me on Facebook, my “I’m five in a million!” post will now make sense – that was typed literally as I was leaving the doctor’s office). Despite its name, mycosis fungoides is not fungal. It does, however, have some of the physical characteristics of a fungal infection, hence the name. I did put a link to its wikipedia page up there, but take my advice and resist the urge to look it up too in-depthly, because all it’s going to do is make you think, “Bull crap, Lee, you are going to die!” I’m not. The pictures of mycosis fungoides you’ll find on the internet are nothing – let me repeat, nothing – like what I have. I have several small patches that don’t look anything like the massive sores and lesions you’ll find if you look on Google images. I was fortunate enough to catch this very early, still in its infant stage. Typically, mycosis fungoides is incurable (but manageable), however we may have even discovered it early enough to wipe out entirely. That’s the prayer.

I took my first dose of pill-based chemotherapy on Wednesday, addition to being prescribed two potent steroid creams specifically geared toward this type of condition, which is strictly surface-based (in other words, this isn’t in my organs). In two weeks I have a follow-up, at which point I’ll know a lot more about how well the treatments are working. I believe they’ll work well, as I’ve already seen signs of significant improvement in less than a week of utilizing these creams. And obviously, the chemo will do its thing, too. For those wondering, no, I won’t be losing any hair. The only side effect I’ve felt to this point has been a headache that came the day after the pills, which are once-a-week pills.

There’s a chance, being what it is, that I may have to deal with this for the rest of my life. Though it can go into remission for 10+ years, unless it can be wiped out completely at the outset, it’s always there. Lurking. Waiting. Like a necrilid in the dark.

I put that last little bit in there for a reason. I’m still me. Is this depressing? Yeah. Is it stressful? Heck yeah. I feel about like you would if your doctor told you that you had cancer. But all things happen for a reason, and all things work for the glory of God. I have no clue what will happen, here. As confident as everyone is that this will be wiped out, there’s always a chance it won’t be. That’s life. But I was never in control of life, anyway. As a writer, I can put Scott Remington, and Svetlana, and Jayden, and Esther through terrible things. I can pretty much wreck their lives. But I can do this because I, unlike them, know what the next pages hold. I know chapters that are books away that they can’t even begin to see in the midst of their crisis. And I know, because I love them, that they’re going to be okay. That trials will make them better. That though none of them are guaranteed smooth sailing or even survival, I will never forsake them, because they are mine. If I, the wretched sinner than I am, can feel this way about characters I made up, how much vastly greater is God’s love for me, one of his children? It can’t even be compared.

In the meantime, please just say a prayer for me. That’s the best way anyone can help. Forgive me if I’m occasionally a little “blah,” and if you happen to be an Epic fan, good gravy, please talk to me about Epic. Escaping to the world of Novosibirsk, and Room-14, and Bakmas, and E-35s is like, the greatest therapy in the world right now. It’s like medicine.

And that’s it. I don’t plan on harping on this topic, but I will keep people posted as things develop. Hopefully I won’t need to for much longer!

 

(because I’m cured, not dead)

 

By

Facing 2013

I have never been a good blogger. It is, perhaps more than any other tangible reason, why I struggle to maintain social relevance. I know this, and so it is no mystery to me. It is among the things I am worst at.

There is a front that I have always put up. Perhaps I am alone in this as a writer, though I suspect not. It is not a front of confidence. Every writer has a measure of confidence, and we are often far too eager to share it for the sake of gaining prospective buyers, or as we prefer to call them, fans. If anything, we often have more confidence than we should.

My front is one of knowledge – not a lack thereof in the general sense, rather a specific knowledge. The knowledge of what to do next. It is a risky endeavor to confess that one doesn’t know what they’re doing, as they are sure to face a barrage of impeccable wisdom from people who have never walked in their shoes or experienced what they’ve experienced. But just the same, the reality remains. I have no idea what I’m doing. I never have. Sometimes I’ll have a general awareness of where “what should be done” is lurking, but it’s usually through third-hand information or by catching fleeting glances of its shadow as it darts around the corner. I am not referring to the general progression of Epic, the series, or of the process of actually writing text and creating products. My lack of clarity is, to put it simply, regarding what to do with those things once I’ve finished them. I don’t know how to sell this series.

I have tried to sell it, in many ways that I’ve always felt were creative and new, but few of which have bore the kind of fruit I’ve envisioned. And so I try more, and I try harder, as this creation called Epic pillages me of the placidity and lackadaisicalness that has always come naturally to me as a human being. I work myself to death. I plow fields of futility in the never-ending search for the grass that is always growing on the other side. I put my ducks in a row, then I watch as they scatter. But it hasn’t been until now that I’ve found enough of my center to lean back and examine myself without toppling over – and to listen to my wife as she told me again, “Lee, it’s because you have no faith.”

It is both challenging and humbling for a Christian – a church deacon, no less – to confess that he lacks faith. The faithful servant does his duty to the best of his ability, then leaves it to God and moves on to the next thing, knowing that God’s will will be done, and that regardless of the outcome for him personally, all things will work for the greater good. The analytical capitalist, however, examines what he’s done, measures its successes and failures, then returns to it to constantly tweak and fiddle in a vain effort to grab perfection while the mirage is still there. When he fails, he tries again. He asks why. He works harder, because in America, if you work hard enough, you will succeed. The thought of leaving something alone – of letting it go and leaving its fate in the hands of something else – is borderline lunacy. It’s also the right thing to do.

My goal for 2013 is not to work harder. It’s not even to work smarter, despite the fact that some steps will be taken to do so. My goal is to have faith. To do, to the best of my ability, then to let go. To not worry about the fact that I haven’t begun Enemy One yet, or that I’m producing an audiobook that I have no idea how to release, or that the author over there is soaring to the heights of financial prosperity while I am not. My goal is just to trust. To remember that no sparrow can fall to the ground without the Father’s allowance. To remember that I am more valuable to God than many sparrows. This is not a New Year’s resolution. This isn’t limited to a 365-day time span. This is a change.

I have a lot of things planned for this coming year that I believe Epic fans will love. There’s the Dawn of Destiny audiobook, the novella I’m writing for Goldhawk Interactive called Xenonauts: Crimson Dagger. There is something incredibly cool that I’ve already alluded to in a post on Epic’s Facebook Fan Page (that I’m fairly certain no other indie author has done before), which I don’t mind saying now is related to question #4 on my “Next Big Thing” blog post. There’s some breathtaking artwork that will be posted soon, courtesy of a very talented artist from the website deviantART, along with some Epic merchandise that might actually be worth buying. I’ll even be going to boot camp with Toni and Shannon, the tag-team from Duolit, to begin my transformation from socially irrelevant indie peon to a lean, mean, force to be reckoned with. I still have a drive to be the best. I am still ferociously competitive. I will never be a person satisfied with “good enough.” But I also realize that without faith, all labor is for naught. And that as much as any artist strives for prosperity, it isn’t what’s most important (regardless of how competitive one happens to be). What’s important is that work is given to God, and entrusted to God, that it might be used by God. Only then will it be what He intends for it to be. I am learning to be okay with that. I am striving to desire that. It is easy to say, “I want God’s will,” when all too often what we want is our own success and the praise that comes with it. It is difficult to be Christ-like. This is the struggle for the Christian.

Long ago, before I wrote the first line in Dawn of Destiny, I dedicated Epic to God. Slowly over the years, I’ve wrestled it back, not necessarily in the scope of the plot, but in the scope of my own efforts in trying to market it. I’ve tried to do this myself. But I can’t. Nor should I. And so now, once again, I am turning this series over to God. I will trust that its success or failure is not contingent on my ability to be all things at all times for it. I will do the best that I can, then I will hand it over. What happens then will be out of my control – as it was always intended to be.

And that will be okay.

By

Does Faith Belong in Sci-Fi?

“I have nothing against Christian or Christian writers, but when I want a ‘Christian’ story, I will buy one. When I want military Science Fiction, that is what I want.”

“Pages upon pages of God this and God that … Oh GOD cut it out! If I want to be preached to, I’ll go to a sermon. When I read military science fiction, I want a good story, NOT a spiritual rant.”

“The main character had a fixation on the Bible. For no apparent reason he would start thinking about his ‘faith,’ question god’s ‘plan,’ do some soul-searching, then decide he is doing what god ‘wants’ him to do.”

 

Well…that answers that!

Not so fast.

The quotes that kicked this entry off, if you haven’t figured it out, are from selected 1-star reviews for Dawn of Destiny, the first installment of my Epic series (NOT representative of the vast majority of its reviews). The same sentiment can be taken from each: an unequivocal insistence that stories of faith have no business being in science-fiction. They are oil and water. Wheat and chaff. Teenagers and turn signals. So the question remains. Does faith belong in science-fiction?

My answer is unabashedly, wholeheartedly, yes.

Now before some of you get all crazy on me, take a moment to understand the statement you just read. It did not say, “To not advocate [insert any name of any religion] is to fail.” Nor did it read, “To say that God is not real is to fail.” Take a look at the fundamental basis of the originally-proposed question. Does faith belong in sci-fi?

According to a 2011 survey, 51% of the global population has a belief in God, with varying percentages falling under such options as, “believes in an afterlife,” or “undecided.” Only 18% classify themselves as “not religious.” Bear in mind, “not religious” does not equal “atheist.” It simply means “not religious.”

Faith is real. That is not to argue that it is correct, or proper, or in need of emphasis. It is simply to state what it states. Faith – the human belief in some sort of Almighty – is real.

This is really just touching on something that has become somewhat of a passion point for me lately: the mindset that the word “God” should never appear in any sort of science-fiction (unless it’s followed by an expletive). Characters who seem real should appear in science-fiction, and if characters who seem real should appear in science-fiction, then characters of faith should appear, as well. That’s not an opinion. Unless your protagonist is an atheist who will have zero contact with any other human throughout the course of your story, or the full length of the narrative takes place at an atheists’ convention, then faith must appear to some extent to capture the essence what we should strive for: realism..

Obviously the question still remains, to what extent should faith exist in a science-fiction story? And the answer is, “whatever you want.” Including faith does not mean pushing it. It does not mean leaving footnotes to Bible verses. It doesn’t even mean making the person of faith the hero (heroes are heroes, religious or atheist). But it shouldn’t be ignored. It exists, in the same way that atheism exists, in the same way that agnosticism exists, in the same way that this whacked-out kid who married a cow ( http://www.metro.co.uk/weird/830794-man-forced-to-marry-cow-faints-at-wedding ) exists.

Me, personally? I’m not a fan of laying it on thickly. In spite of what the reviewers at the top of this entry think they read (I’m fairly certain it wasn’t my book), my preference for faith inclusion leans toward light and subtle. Because isn’t that how most of us are, most of the time, with everything we do? Realism is captured in subtleties. Now, the faith element of Epic and in particular in Scott Remington – my protagonist – is absolutely there, and I make zero apologies. But we – and particularly the owners of the quotes that kicked off this entry – make a mistake when we view “there” as “preaching.” We make a mistake when we don’t want faith present at all. We might as well marry a cow.

Okay, so that last line didn’t make sense. But just the same…what the heck was that kid thinking?