I. The Culture of the In-Between

Salt Lake City is a place with a dual personality. You can feel the friction just by driving from the manicured lawns of Provo to the graffiti and grit of Sugarhouse. On one hand, we all know the script: be the representative, be the "peculiar people," stand as a witness at all times because you are always being observed. On the other hand, we are human. We have vices, curiosity, and an inherent need to expand our station beyond the boundaries of a convenient shared fiction.

For many of us, that fiction—once a comfort—has become a source of resentment, hurt, and cages. We live in a state where we can simultaneously quote the Book of Mormon and The Book of Mormon musical; where we use the Lord’s name in worship on Sunday and in vain every other day of the week. We spend half our lives trying to fit into the box built for us, and the other half trying to claw our way out of it.

But there is a third option. You don’t have to be all-in or all-out. You can just be you. You are enough, and you contain multitudes. You can be the person who knows every folklore story about the Three Nephites from your days at Scout camp, and also the person who can recite every line of Pulp Fiction. We own our stories as individuals; we are not the property of an organization’s narrative.

The "In-Between" is a far more interesting place to live. If you never take a risk, never question, and never wonder, you never build an identity around your own core. To be "right" all the time is, frankly, boring. We seek out excitement, risk, and even vice because vice and virtue are the two halves of being human. It’s time we stopped hiding. It’s time to embrace the vice and choose our own virtues.

II. Defining the Genre: What is LDS Noir?

We’ve seen Mormon culture mashed up with satire, comedy, and reality TV. We’ve seen the musicals and the caricatures. But for those of us who respect literature—who crave complex characters and big themes but still want the high-octane thrill of a popcorn action movie—there has been a void.

I wrote Destroying Angel because the book I needed to read didn't exist. I was looking for a story that treated my heritage with the dark, gritty realism of Pulp Fiction, but I couldn't find it. What I found instead were two extremes: the "Sunday School" version—sanitized, censored, and laudatory—or the clinical, academic exit-memoirs that focus on facts rather than feelings.

LDS Noir is the bridge. It is a genre for the anti-hero. It’s for the twisted, dark, and strange turns that make you think while your heart is racing. It’s about taking the "insider language" of a peculiar culture and applying the violence of gritty literature to it. This isn't about being "anti"; it’s about being real. It’s about being pragmatic. It’s about criticizing the institution while fiercely embracing the people, the past, and the folklore.

This genre opens up a landscape of stories that have never been explored. We deserve to see our experiences—growing up in Utah, serving missions, marrying in the Temple, doing "everything right"—and then the seismic shift of changing our minds. Because it happens. And it’s okay. LDS Noir is where we stop pretending and start exploring the shadow-side of the Zion we once knew.

III. Reclaiming the Lore: The Art of the "Secret War"

We’ve all had the experience of someone trying to "convince" us. We’ve had the facts, the figures, and the news dumped on us by people deep inside their own truths. While those things might help us understand them a little better, they rarely help us understand ourselves.

Real ideas aren't conveyed in the head; they are implanted in the heart. That is where they grow. Facts, opinions, and talking heads can’t reach the places that art can. We’ve seen it throughout history: Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle didn't just provide data; it changed an entire industry because it made people feel the reality of the floor. Storytelling reaches the places that spreadsheets can’t touch.

In the culture I grew up in, we were taught that "warm fuzzies" were exclusive to a sacrament chapel or the laying on of hands. But inspiration is a universal human experience. You feel it in the courage of The Lord of the Rings just as much as you feel it in a hymn. It is that moment where your heart connects with your mind—where a feeling makes a connection with a truth. When you feel something, it becomes harder to doubt. It becomes a part of you, whether you like it or not. It is your heart telling your brain: This matters.

I don’t claim to know where absolute truth comes from, or if it even exists beyond us. But I know that as people, it is vital for us to connect. I know that we need to feel inspired. And I know for a fact that inspiration is not exclusive to the approved reading list of the LDS Church. By reclaiming our lore and putting it into the pages of "LDS Noir," we aren't just writing thrillers; we are creating a space where the "Post-Mormon" heart can finally feel something real again.

IV. Join the Movement

LDS Noir has arrived because it had to. Because there are millions of us who still speak the language but have outgrown the cage. Whether you are "Mormon-curious," "Fringe-Mormon," or completely out, this genre is for you. It’s for the part of you that contains multitudes—the part that loves your heritage and your R-rated action movies in equal measure.