Into the Fire

At this point in time it seems odd to me that I have completed seven, as in 7, novels. Those of you who visit regularly (or are recipients of either) know I have self-published two of the seven. I began a sequel to the first one and was well into it when I was definitely impressed to write and finish the second one (The Famous One) which it could be said is really the third one, but since the actual second one isn’t completed, I consider The Famous One my second novel. Phew—aren’t you glad that’s so clear?

The last two completed works are the shortest as I diligently bent my preferences to shear the word count. Number six is probably the briefest novel I will ever write (88,000+ words) and the most difficult/painful to write because of that factor. The characters deserved better—I really did like them, but, alas, their lives were crammed into scant petite visions and episodes without all the details that I so love to read . . . and write.

So, I took time off from the completion of a novel and focused on this blog. For awhile, it was therapeutic. Now as with most blogs, it nags me. I began Book number eight but it’s been temporarily postponed to get involved in Book number nine, but I keep thinking about Book number eight’s characters and how they’re frozen in mid-sentence or thought in neverland waiting for me. Drives me crazy: they, too, deserve better.

I got to thinking the other day how would I number them as to my favorites, but my ratings system confounded me because a couple of them are tied, and the first one must be kept in a category all its own because of so many factors which contributed to its existence, not the least of which was a near audible voice of instruction from the Lord, and the fact that after years of eclectic efforts at writing, I was once again entrenched in it with a certainty and a re-equipping myself with the craft. So, number one novel is my most inferior as far as craft is concerned. No doubt there. However, it is also a real bona fide accomplishment because of and not limited to the very act of obedience which took a long 8 and ½ years to complete.

I keep knocking around in my head the Big Picture, and when I do, I am so small. Writing isn’t a small thing. But sometimes the beast of writing is bigger than it should be. All consuming. The focus of so many people and to what end? Walk into a Borders. Walk into a good-sized Family Christian store. The number of books—heck, just the number of novels is enough to shrink the confidence of a megalomaniac. Well, maybe not them. But it sure does a number on me.

The thing is I’ve read a good 90% of the CBA novels in my preferred genres. I know the strengths and weaknesses of many writers. I see the tendencies of certain publishers. And above all the writing sensibilities, I know this: I have no viable platform.

Like any writer, I have something to say. Something I value and would hope others might also. Who doesn’t want to touch hearts or tickle funny bones or scare people? Whatever your aim, you want to hit it.

I have learned the most valuable lesson, though, in all these novel constructs. Over the years, I see my Lord in the work, in the vision, in the inspiration, and in the ownership. Therefore, I know the end result belongs to Him. His purpose for the entire process is the only one that matters. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. In that fact I can be content.

Father: thank you. Endlessly. Thank you, Jesus. Thank you Spirit of God. Thank you.