Into the Fire

**I want to give a disclaimer before I continue. I am not naming this editor because he made these statements while graciously answering questions—questions I’d asked in response to a post he’d made. He answered in a straightforward manner and didn’t dodge my questions, giving his professional opinion. These quotations are pieces of his answers. You will be reading them out of context. The objective of this disclaimer is to say I don’t know this editor personally, so all I’m doing here is using his words to demonstrate a point. This is not a criticism of him or an attack on his words.**

I would say that most of us when we create something desire to share it. How many times when you were a child did you have to show Mommy and Daddy your latest project? If you received a positive response, you didn’t hesitate to share again. If you didn’t, chances are you were more guarded with your future creations—and possibly you looked for others who wouldn’t show you disinterest, distaste, or a thorough critique of your prized project.

As an adult who creates with words, a writer knows he will face rejection in one form or another at some point during the process of authoring a book. After his technical analyses, his emotional assessment, and the passion of his story all concur in his best effort, he will often share it with a few “test” readers to see if they will react as he hopes they will. Afterward the writer will be forced to evaluate the various discussions about his work, attempting to be honest with himself over his creative endeavor by seeing how it stacks up against his favorite pieces of literature and their authors. If he likes what he hears and trusts his evaluation, he will be encouraged to continue the journey toward publication.

A savvy author knows he must please himself when all is said and done. He must be satisfied. He also knows who his audience will most likely be. And if he’s a writer for God, it goes without saying who his first obedience is to, who he longs to please the most.

Good writers are usually avid readers. Some stick to specific genres in both their reading and their writing. Others read a bit of everything but write in one category.

Authors come in all kinds. Think Dickens, Hemingway, Flaubert, Hesse, duMaurier, Faulkner, Peretti, Kingsbury, Rivers, Liparulo, Alcorn. We all prefer our favorites, and we agree and disagree with one another as to who those favorites should be.

Serious writers for God work hard on their stories, determined to give their best to the craft. They know the objectives of writing a novel. They might not know exactly what they’ll be up against when they’ve completed their book, but if they’ve done their homework, they know it “don’t come easy”.

All of that to say this: facing a pub board is daunting—if your work ever gets that far.

“ . . . because my job isn’t to make artists out of my authors, but effective communicators and storytellers.” As if an editor or anyone else could “make” an artist. So, are we to assume then that most of the writers submitting manuscripts are ineffective “communicators and storytellers”?

“First 20-30 pages or the whole thing, I stop when I lose interest. And I keep going as long as I have interest. There’s no excuse for uninteresting prose anywhere in a manuscript.” The key here is the phrase “when I lose interest” coupled with the final sentence. The subjectivity of reading a book is inarguable. The subjectivity of evaluating a manuscript based on what a pub board thinks will sell is yet another factor. “Uninteresting prose”? By whose standard? One editor’s? One pub board’s? One marketing team’s?

If the business of publishing didn’t set itself up as the definer of good fiction but rather the selectors of various novels to attempt to satisfy the diverse attentions of interested readers of all kinds, it would be easier to understand–and to stomach.

Good editors are a blessing and a necessity, but they are only one piece of the writing gig. They are skilled and talented, but they are subject to their own opinions and those of their particular publishing houses. They do not define art. They don’t even define good writing—at least not exclusively.

Most editors are kind, helpful, and have the author’s best interests at heart—especially those authors who write to satisfy the criteria of the current trends in publishing and do so in a manner that appeals to the individual editor’s sense of valuable writing. Whatever that may be.

So then, the job to be done for a Christian writer is to write the story God gives you to tell, and do it to the best of your ability, being an “effective” communicator and storyteller. Because no one can make you become one if it isn’t yours to do. Only God can do that. And just because one editor finds it “uninteresting” doesn’t necessarily mean it is.

Father, in this business of words, help us to choose them carefully. Help me to write as you would have me write—to listen to the Spirit, to be thoughtful and obedient. Give me your insights, Lord. Help me to see through your eyes. I am desperate for you, Lord Jesus. Be close. Direct me, God. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.