Johnny Townsend Writes What He Knows

In the eighth in a series of posts on 2016 books entered for The Story Prize, Johnny Townsend, author of The Washing of Brains, discusses the particular niche his fiction occupies.

One of the comments I hear most often when I tell friends about my books is, “Your writing is too narrow! You need to broaden your appeal!” And in a sense, they’re right. There can’t be that many people reading about disaffected Mormons. And it’s not every Mormon who will pick up a book entitled Zombies for Jesus or Sex Among the Saints.

I started out my writing career with an MFA thesis, a collection of short stories about my two years as a gay Mormon missionary in Italy. Now that’s specific. I was told at the time, “You need to appeal to a larger audience.” But my professors weren’t criticizing me for writing about Mormons. This was the 1980s. They were criticizing me for writing about gays.

Today there are so many gay novels being written that an author could easily be lost amid the crush of publications. And this is my beef with the criticism in general. My friends tell me to stop writing about Mormons and ex-Mormons and instead “just write about people.” I assure them that it is hard enough rising to the top among a pool of fifty writers. It would be next to impossible even to be noticed among a pool of tens of thousands.

And I have another beef with the criticism. No good author writes the sentence, “The woman put on her best dress, looked in the mirror, and knew she was ready for a fun evening.” What in the world does the reader now know about how that character looks? We need specifics. Details are what make a story interesting. William Faulkner created an entire career writing about the folks in small-town Mississippi. Those weren’t just “people.” They were from a very specific culture and environment.

I’ll go one further. Isaac Bashevis Singer wrote about ultra-Orthodox Jews in the shtetls of Eastern Europe. How’s that for a niche audience? Especially since by the time he wrote those stories, that entire culture no longer even existed.

I hardly need to remind anyone that both Faulkner and Singer won the Nobel Prize for Literature.

So did Sigrid Undset for writing about Norwegians of the Middles Ages. As did Halldór Kiljan Laxness for writing about the Icelandic people. And Miguel Angel Asturias for writing about the indigenous peoples of Latin America. If you look at the history of those awarded the most prestigious prize in literature, almost all of them were writers who chose to write about very specific subsets of people because they realized that one could only honestly tell the universal by detailing the particular.

There’s no guarantee that I’ll ever sell more than four hundred copies of Mormon Underwear or Marginal Mormons, much less win any recognizable awards. But if I just write about generic “people,” I’m even less likely to be noticed. There is simply too much competition out there. It’s not a matter of being a big fish in a small pond. It’s a matter of finding any water to thrive in at all.

I’m involved in the Mormon literary community, such as it is. I proofread for a progressive Mormon magazine (yes, there are a good three or four hundred progressive Mormons out there!). I proofread and edit for a small Mormon publisher. I help critique the work of other Mormon and ex-Mormon writers, and they do the same for me. I financially support their work as well when I can. At the very least, there is camaraderie inside the niche.

Plus I follow that age-old maxim: write what you know.

Yes, I have a very specific audience, but the fact is, at least I have an audience. And there’s always the hope that with a little skill, some hard work, maybe a bit of useful marketing, and that special ingredient of luck (or Divine Ex-Mormon intervention), I can eventually reach that mythical “larger audience,” who I firmly believe care as much about specific people as they do generic ones.

Johnny Townsend Writes for the Record

In the seventh in a series of posts on 2015 books entered for The Story Prize, Johnny Townsend, author of Despots of Deseret, discusses his subject matter.

When I first began reading the stories of Isaac Bashevis Singer, I was instantly fascinated. He had so thoroughly described a culture that in just a few years had become completely extinct. Yes, Jews survived, but Eastern European shtetl Jewry did not. There were problems in that culture, to be sure, recounted in detail, but there was a real beauty as well.

As an eleven-year-old boy in New Orleans in the summer of 1973, I watched a horrifying news story of thirty-two people who died trying to escape a French Quarter bar which had been set on fire by an arsonist. The images of people burning to death halfway out the windows haunted me for years. When I came out as gay in the late 1980s and learned for the first time that the UpStairs Lounge had been a gay bar and that the arson had occurred on Gay Pride Day, the horror of that day came rushing back. I wanted to read more about it, but there was nothing to read.

So I decided to write something myself. I tracked down survivors of the fire and friends and relatives of those who had been killed, and I tried to tell the stories of the people who’d been in that bar that night before those stories were lost forever. This was at the height of the AIDS epidemic, before any successful treatment existed, and people in my community were dying daily. That book, Let the Faggots Burn, may not be my best writing, but I consider it a useful historical document. Now, twenty-five years after I wrote my account, other people are telling the story in new books and in documentaries, and they are thankfully learning information I didn’t know, but the vast majority of my interviews with people involved in the fire simply can’t be replicated given that so many of them have since died. 

UpStairs Lounge: Commemorative plaque

I recorded history, however inadequately. That feels like something important.

I suppose in many ways, this is the same motivation behind my writing Mormon short story collections. With the advent of the Internet, so much information about Church history is now available, and Mormons are leaving the Church in droves as they learn that much of what they had always been taught simply isn’t true. Other religions also have issues with their past, of course. Catholics have the Inquisition, to mention just one. Yet even something as horrific as that didn’t destroy Catholicism.

But the situation for Mormons is slightly different. We have absolute proof that some of the scripture Joseph Smith claimed to translate from Egyptian papyri was completed fabricated. We know because we still have those papyri, which have been translated correctly now by Egyptologists. There is DNA evidence that proves the Native Americans did not come from the Middle East as the Book of Mormon claims. We have documents that prove Joseph Smith lied about his polygamy, even to members of his Church, and was married to girls as young as fourteen. At some point, even “faith” isn’t enough to prevent members from realizing the whole thing might really be just a great big sham.
And yet, despite the many problems I have with Mormon doctrine and social practices, I also had many wonderful experiences as a member of that Church, and I don’t truly want to see it dwindle away completely. Improve, yes, but disappear, no.

So I write about Mormons. True believers are horrified by my work and won’t touch it, and many ex-Mormons are so “over” religion that they certainly don’t want to read stories about it now. So I’m not sure I’ll ever have much of an audience. But it feels important to me to record the culture honestly. I understand Mormons, both their strengths and their weaknesses, and I believe they are people worth knowing.

Jewish culture lived on despite the destruction of the shtetl. Gay culture survived the death of many of its greatest artists from AIDS. And Mormonism will probably continue on as well. But there is no doubt it will be changed by the current events shaping it just as those other cultures were.

I write stories to entertain, as any writer does. But I also write them to record.

That attempt gives me comfort, even if few other people in Mormon culture have any desire to read my books. As a writer, I obviously want my work to be known, but ultimately, I write out of the belief that history and experience are things worth preserving, and in the hope that if something is recorded well, it never really dies.

Johnny Townsend Wrestles with the Truth

In the 13th in a series of posts on 2014 books entered for The Story Prize, Johnny Townsend, author of Selling the City of Enoch, discusses how his fiction borrows from real life.

Is it better to make up stories completely from your imagination, or is it better to use the material around you every day in the form of friends and newspapers?

Personally, I think it’s best to take your ideas wherever you can find them.

A coworker, Keri, once told me of her friend, a pilot, who was killed when her plane caught fire and dove straight into the ground. Keri had access to the voice recording of the flight’s last minutes. “You don’t want to hear it,” an airline official told her. “There’s a terrible scream right at the end.” Keri decided to take his advice, though I was never sure that was the correct decision.

I was deeply moved by that account, but a full year passed before a story idea popped up that seemed just right to use it. I’d read an article about a Mormon bishop who disguised himself as a homeless person to test his congregation. I wanted to write about that, but it wasn’t until I added the bit about the pilot that the story came together, a tale of how much it really does matter to be with the right person in order to reach one’s full potential, and how much influence we can have on those around us to help them build the strength to make good choices in life.

I met Jeff in the first grade, so we’ve known each other 47 years. We’ve been both close and distant, but in the end, I have so much history with him that there will always be a strong bond. And yet, he has repeatedly made deliberate attempts to do things that any normal person would understand are alienating and hurtful. Why would he do those things, when I know he genuinely likes me? My story, “A Life of Horror,” came out of that situation, when I finally realized he was simply protecting himself from the pain he’d learned to cope with as a child.

Temple wedding: Surprise?

I read another article about a young Mormon couple who married in the temple, and it wasn’t until later that the husband realized his “wife” was actually a transgender, still pre-op with all his male parts. How could I not write a story about that? “Mrs. Mariposa” is also influenced by the play, “M. Butterfly.” I think it’s always best to have two or more things going on in any one story.

My husband’s brother in Salt Lake has a gay son, and years ago when the son came out to his father, his father asked my husband what he should do. Gary replied, “If you don’t want to lose your son, then accept whatever partner he brings home as part of the family.” My brother-in-law seemed to make that attempt, despite being a bishop in the Church. But when gay marriage became legal in Utah and the son went to the courthouse with his partner to marry, my brother-in-law said he couldn’t make it, he had too much work to do. His son married with no other family members present. It was a lost opportunity that can never be recovered. That’s where my story, “Making Plans,” came from.

Finally, a fan contacted me once and asked if we could talk. We met at a coffeehouse near my home, and after I determined he wasn’t a crackpot or murderer, I invited him back to the house to meet Gary. It turned out that this man was still an active Mormon, with a wife and children, but he was also sexually active with other men. I asked how he managed to leave his family so regularly to trick, and he replied, “Oh, I just tell my wife I’m going Home Teaching.” Home Teaching, of course, is a Mormon program where congregants visit each other to give a spiritual message and make sure the family is okay. I found his actions appalling, but I also knew that someday I’d write a story about it.

So there is always an abundant source of “real” material, which I then have to make some effort to disguise so as not to offend the people I’ve based the stories on. What is satisfying is developing a story, no matter where the idea came from, that seems to take on a life of its own. 

Johnny Townsend Asks "What If?"

In the 32nd in a series of posts on 2013 books entered for The Story Prize, Johnny Townsend, author of Dragons of the Book of Mormon, throws out some ideas.

Hamlet was wrong. The question isn’t “To be or not to be.” The question is “What if?” That’s the question we as writers need to ask all the time. When people ask me where I come up with my ideas, the answer is basically, “Everywhere.” The trick is to see or hear or read something and let it spark a question in your mind. “What if?”

Once I was in an elevator on my way to work, and the elevator stopped between floors, just for a moment, but enough to give me a scare. Then I thought, “What if I were a woman, and I was trapped on an elevator with my lecherous boss?” Thinking about that led to my story, “The Elevator Ceiling.”

I recently attended a friend’s wedding. It was a lovely event, but I thought, “What if a supporter of Prop 8 was forced to attend his boss’s gay wedding?” That led to my story, “Bumper Sticker Theology.”

I read an awful story in the news about two friends who were lost while hiking in the fog in a state park. After a park ranger found them and brought them to their car, they drove off right into the lake and drowned. My immediate reaction was horror, but only a moment later, I thought, “What if a man who felt trapped in his marriage subconsciously forced his wife to do dangerous activities, like skydiving or taking hikes in the fog?” That led to my story, “The Eyes of March.”

Temple Men

Even reading a relatively humorous news story can lead to an idea. I saw a short article about Pakistan’s newest superhero—the Burka Avenger. Many people would just read the article and be amused. But if you’re a writer, you have to let things like that inspire you. I thought, “How can I turn that into a Mormon story? What if instead of the Burka Avenger, we have Temple Man, a guy who shows up at crime scenes dressed in Mormon temple clothes?” That led to yet another story.

Sometimes, it’s just a matter of reflecting on Mormon theology or doctrine. The Book of Mormon teaches that Three Nephites asked Jesus if they could live from A.D. 34 when they met him until his Second Coming, so they could spend two thousand years bringing souls to God. The practicalities of such an arrangement, when they didn’t ask for immortal wives, led to my story, “The Three Nephites Get Syphilis.”

There are ideas everywhere. What if the Golem of Prague was really Rabbi Loew’s secret lover? What if a Jewish scientist tried to develop the “God spot” in patients’ brains in order to create a Messiah? What if a “bad” person who goes to Mormon Spirit Prison after he dies decides to break out? What if a schizophrenic woman on anti-delusional drugs loses her delusional belief in God? If scientists debate whether or not there could be silicon-based life forms, what if a woman’s breast implants come to life? The ideas can be serious or humorous, but those ideas are everywhere out there.

Of course, there are always the stories based on personal experiences. My entire book The Abominable Gayman deals with my two years as a Mormon missionary in Italy. My story, “The End of the World,” details the last three months of my third partner’s life as he died of liver cancer. “The Removal of Debra” tells the story of my mother’s death from leukemia. Remembering years later an epic quest to buy Coke for my second partner suffering from AIDS led to my story “Partying with St. Roch.” Almost everyone has some real drama in their life that can end up as a story.

People talk about having writer’s block. If I don’t have a story idea, I just go about my daily life and don’t worry about it. Days or even weeks can go by with no ideas. That’s okay. The object is just to be open to ideas, and sooner or later they’ll come. I see no reason to fret about it if today I don’t have any story ideas. There’s no law that demands a writer write every single day. I write when I have an idea.

Watching Downton Abbey, I thought about the Mormon belief that the best Mormons will become gods one day, but those not quite good enough will become their ministering angels, kind of an Upstairs, Downstairs for eternity. What if there were class unrest in heaven?

I think I’ve got my next story idea.

Johnny Townsend on Excommunication Versus Communication

In the 35th in a series of posts on 2012 short story collections entered for The Story Prize, Johnny Townsend, author of Marginal Mormons, tells how not fitting in has spurred his writing.

Mormons are the only religion that considers Jews to be Gentiles. Mormons are the real “chosen people,” members of the One and Only True Church. They are a separate people and have a testimony that they are superior to others.

I suppose most groups feel this type of superiority and justify it in whatever way they need to. And like many such groups, you are only one of the “good” ones if you fit in perfectly. Mormons are nothing if not religious Stepford Wives.

Only I learned early on that I didn’t fit in. I was gay, and gays were evil. I tried not to be evil, of course. I went to Seminary classes for four years. I read the Book of Mormon 11 times. I served as a missionary for two years overseas. I prayed and I fasted. I wanted to be good.

Even after being excommunicated from the Church and shunned by friends I’d known for years, I never hated the Church. There are many things about it which I still like. I simply don’t agree with it’s insistence that there is no room for diversity.

So I write about the Mormons who don’t fit in. In story after story after story, I show Latter-day Saints who slowly come to the realization that it is okay to be different and to think for themselves. In some ways, this means I have a very niche audience, but honestly, I believe these are universal issues. Almost everyone from any culture at some point has to learn to make choices based on what they personally think is right, and not just on what they are told to believe.

I first decided I wanted to be a writer long before any of these questions entered my life. While still in elementary school, I committed myself to writing books as good as that wonderful Happy Hollisters series. (I recently reread one of them, horrified to see how poorly written it was, but I was captivated as a child.)

I also read Conan Doyle’s The Lost World and later became a big fan of Robert Heinlein’s juvenile science fiction books. I wanted to bring the same kind of joy to people’s lives that these authors gave me. At the age of sixteen, having heard that Mary Shelley wrote Frankenstein while still a teenager, and having read that Edgar Rice Burroughs wrote one of his books in a week’s time, I set out to write my first novel, a science fiction adventure.

It took me a year, but I did it (and you can be grateful that I later destroyed it). I destroyed my second novel as well, another SF narrative. But in college, I started signing up for writing courses, and they all focused on short stories. I began telling tales of my missionary experiences, and a few years later, when I came out, began writing gay stories.

It took a while before I realized that what worked best for me was telling Mormon stories in general, whether gay or not. I’ve written stories in one sitting, in just a couple of hours, and other stories have taken me many weeks to complete. When I’m having trouble writing, I make myself write just one paragraph but commit myself to making sure that one paragraph isn’t boring. I can worry about the following paragraph another day.

I can get inspiration anywhere, from a phone call from my aunt, an email sent by a gay Mormon group, listening to my in-laws in Salt Lake, or simply talking with my partner, another ex-Mormon. I get ideas from newspapers or from watching coworkers. Ideas are everywhere. I usually write one story a month, sometimes two. The most important thing is belonging to different writers groups where I can both get and give feedback on writing. Few writers are good enough to get it completely right all by themselves.

I suppose I am envious sometimes when other people write something wonderful I wish I’d written. Shirley Jackson’s “The Lottery” is exactly the kind of thing I aim for but rarely achieve. If I could write a novel, it would be To Kill a Mockingbird. But I don’t have the experiences and insights of those other authors. I only have mine, so I try to create the best stories that I can write.

I want to entertain, enlighten, and give hope to people that becoming a person in their own right is something they can do, no matter what culture they come from or belong to.

Johnny Townsend on the Journey from Self-Hatred to Self-Acceptance

In the 10th in a series of posts on 2010 short story collections entered for The Story Prize, Johnny Townsend, author of The Abominable Gayman, offers an essay that explains the title and background of his self-published short story collection.

“I could jump off this ferry into the Mediterranean, and everyone would think I slipped in the storm. Mom and Dad might be sad I’d died, but at least they’d never know the terrible truth about me.” Those were my thoughts as I left Sardinia and headed for the mainland of Italy back in February of 1981, shortly after I began my two-year mission to Italy. I spent those two years trying desperately to purge the homosexuality out of my soul by dedicating myself to God with all my heart.

But there were problems. My mission leaders told me I could baptize 500 people a month if I had faith. Yet no missionary in our entire mission baptized more than a handful of converts during the whole time they were there. Were we all faithless sinners? Or were the leaders saying things that simply weren’t true?

We went door to door telling people how happy they could be if they just became Mormon. And yet I knew from talking to the other missionaries that I wasn’t the only miserable person there. What was going on? These were supposed to be “the best two years” of our lives. And I found myself dreading church meetings and despising the rule to stop people on the street to ask them “the Golden Questions” so they’d invite us to their homes where we could indoctrinate them.

And yet, in retrospect, while these were definitely not the happiest years of my life, they were in fact probably the “best.” They gave me an opportunity to think for myself rather than blindly continue following others. They let me see the world outside of Mormondom and outside of America. The dissonance I felt was unsettling, but I felt more alive than I ever had before.

Then I fell in love, and the world changed for me forever. My Italian missionary companion would hold my hand, put his head on my shoulder, and kiss me goodnight. It turned out he was completely straight, but I learned that affection between men was a good thing. That revelation changed my life.

Shortly after I returned to my hometown of New Orleans, I started taking writing workshops, and missionary stories began gushing out of me. I spent the next 28 years revising and refining them, while also writing dozens of other Mormon stories as well.

I heard a good friend say in Priesthood meeting one Sunday, “I hope they don’t find a cure for AIDS until all the gays are dead.” After I came out, a friend called to tell me my presence had made her so uneasy at a church social that after I left, she had to call the bishop to come cast out the evil spirit I had brought. Church members told me over and over how they “hated the sin but loved the sinner,” but when good friends I’d known for years would see me and cross the chapel so they could avoid shaking my hand, I didn’t feel very loved.

I was excommunicated from the LDS Church, and though I have many issues with the organization in addition to their harsh position against gays, I am forever grateful for those two years I served as a missionary. “The Abominable Gayman” tells the story of my journey from self-hatred to acceptance, and of the friendships made along the way, which endure to this day.