I’m an Awful Christian and a Bad Writer

A confession to everyone reading this.

Having a Substack is impossible.

I guess it’s impossible in the same way having social media is exhausting. You’re supposed to be about one thing—even though your life, like mine, is about fifty.

But people don’t have the bandwidth for fifty things. They want one story, one lane. We want Stephen King to scare us, John Grisham to put us in a courtroom, and Taylor Swift to write about her exes.

Which is fine—until you’re me.

Because I’m writing a thriller.
And I’m a Christian.

I know that sounds like, Oh, you’re writing a Christian thriller.

The fact that you even think that—even for a second—makes me want to throw up. I can see you picturing it: Fireproof meets Gone Girl.

I can see you’re thinking one of two things: either I’m an awful Christian, or I’m a bad writer.

This may, in fact, be true. Both of them. But probably not for the reasons you think.

Let me try to explain.

1. I’m an Awful Christian

Christians, the thinking goes, should not be into stories like Zodiac, Silence of the Lambs, or Gone Girl. I was raised with a Philippians 4 kind of faith: “Whatever is lovely, whatever is true, whatever is noble… think about those things.”

So, for a while, I did. I tried to only read and watch things that were lovely and noble. Stories where the good guys always win, the wrongs are always righted, and everything ties up neatly by the end.

And they did not connect.

Not because they were bad, but because they felt a little too clean. They didn’t look like life. I’ve seen fear. I’ve seen brokenness. I’ve watched people I love get dragged down by sin, betrayal, and addiction.

So why—why—did I find more truth in Zodiac than in a Hallmark Christmas movie? Why did the serial killer movie feel more honest about the human condition than the film where everyone learns the true meaning of the holidays in ninety minutes and a snowstorm?

The answer is probably yes, there’s something wrong with me.

But also no.

Because as Stephen King put it:

“Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win.”

The thing is, different stories serve different purposes.

I had a murder happen across the street. I had to tell my kids about it. I still look at that house every single day. There’s real darkness out there, and it doesn’t care if you’re a Christian, an atheist, or a guy who just wanted to live in a quiet neighborhood with decent schools.

So I wanted to write a story that’s weird and fun and scary—something that deals with the darkness without letting it win.

That’s honestly why I started this Substack: to find people who might resonate with that tension. People who understand that it’s possible to love both a good sermon and a good murder mystery.

And it’s been wild.

I have Christian friends who tell me, “I love true crime podcasts—I’d totally read your book.”

And I have non-Christian friends who say, “I’d never read a ‘Christian book,’ but I like what you’re doing.”

That gives me hope. That maybe there’s room for a story like this.

Which brings me to the second part.

2. I’m a Bad Writer

I’ve spent most of my life consuming stories and studying how to build them. I take the craft of storytelling seriously—borderline religiously.

For this book, I studied Gillian Flynn’s precision, David Fincher’s control, and Valerie Bauerlein’s incredible book The Devil at His Elbow, to name a few pieces of inspiration. Bottom line: I’ve read a hundred true-crime books, listened to a thousand hours of podcasts, and taken enough notes to make my therapist nervous.

So if I’m a bad writer, it won’t be because I forced a hacky moral into it. There won’t be a tidy redemption arc, a sermon in disguise, or a moment where someone kneels in the bloodstained living room and gives their life to Christ while a worship song swells in the background.

If I’m bad, it’ll be for normal reasons—pacing, tone, structure. Not because I tried to sneak a “life lesson” where a twist should go.

I don’t know if you’ll think the writing is good. Fiction is subjective. Everyone’s chasing their own ghosts. But there are two things that violate the foundation of good storytelling: cheap redemption and unearned preaching.

You won’t find either in my book or in this Substack.

What you’ll find is a dark, thrilling, honest murder mystery—Gone Girl meets Little Children. A noir set in the suburbs. The kind of story where you’re not sure if you should keep reading, but you can’t stop.

I’m giving everything I have to it.

But here’s the thing: I can’t only write about this. My life isn’t just plot twists and corpses. So if you see me writing about something lighter—faith, family, or the weird beauty of ordinary life—don’t think I’ve lost my edge.

And if you see me writing about murder, paranoia, and sin, don’t think I’ve abandoned my faith.

All I’m asking is a little space to be both.

And grace when I inevitably fail at it—

as a Christian,

and as a writer.