Back when I lived in Utah, I belonged to a couple of different writers' groups. By
and large, the members of these groups had two things in common:
They wrote some combination of science fiction, fantasy, and horror.
They were involved, to one extent or another, with the Mormon Church.
I could probably write a whole dissertation on why I think those two characteristics
seem to form such an inevitable pair. I'll save that for another day, but for
now I'll just try to sum up in a sentence the common belief that my Mormon
writer colleagues and I all seemed to share:
Membership in Mormon Church seems to encourage wild speculation and
universe-spanning imagination.
I don't know whether the material that follows will support my thesis or
disprove it. All I know for sure is that, as hard as I've tried to fight
it sometimes, my life as a Latter-Day Saint has touched and colored a good
portion of what I've written. Most often, the connection to Mormon themes is
subliminal, hidden; on occasion, however, I produce something that deals with
those themes directly.
And those are the stories you'll find on this page. Not all of them, mind
you -- only the ones that have seen print, or that have failed utterly to
see print, or that I've abandoned before completion. I have at least two
stories -- one a collaboration with my sweetheart Karawynn -- with explicit connections to
Mormonism that you won't find here, because they are still making the rounds
of the magazines and anthologies.
I won't pretend that this motley assemblage -- this slim book of Mormon
stories, if you will -- in any way represents Good
Literature. I will, however, pretend that you may gain a bit more
insight into the Mormon view of things if you dip your toe in these
fictional waters:
Cut Without Hands. I hope you'll forgive this simplistic little tale
of space shuttles, satellites, and Latter-Day Saints. I was sixteen when
I wrote it, but I guess that's no excuse. It appeared in LDSF-2: Latter-Day
Science Fiction (Benjamin Urrutia, ed., Parables, Ludlow, MA, 1985),
sandwiched next to a Jack Weyland story. At least I looked good by comparison.
Rise Up, Ye Women That Are at Ease. A story of
odd happenings one fine winter morning in Salt Lake City. This "blatantly
feminist" story appeared in Washed by a Wave of Wind: Science Fiction
from the Corridor (M. Shayne Bell, ed., Signature Books, Salt Lake
City, UT, 1993).
The Normal Guy. An unfinished comic novel about
a rebellious returned missionary looking for love in Provo, Utah. I drew
inspiration for this from the music of Yes and the Fletch novels of
Gregory Mcdonald. You can skip my impenetrable introduction, if you like.
Cellmates. A semiautobiographical bit of
fiction, based on the night I spent in jail as a missionary. This one hasn't
ever found a home, but it garnered me very nice rejection letters from GQ
and Atlantic Monthly.
A Passage to Netherheim. My Xenobia friends liked to call this novella
my "Mormons in space" story. I call it a personal favorite, despite the fact
that it apparently wasn't good enough to actually wind up in a paying market.
This one deals with L.D.S. society hundreds of years from now, the members of
which wonder why Christ has never deigned to revisit them.
Hell, forget dipping a toe. Why not dive in headfirst and thrash around in
the water for a while? I wish you happy swimming.