Into the Fire

Another frequent discussion around blogdom centers on this question: Are authors born or made? I’m surprised whenever different writers give a definitive answer to this question.

Let’s talk about “made” first. In this context made seems to indicate a writer is taught to write by instruction. That instruction can come from school(s), but if a writer takes up the task—er, craft—later in life, it can come from writing manuals of various kinds or specific courses taught at other venues besides schools, i.e. writer conferences, professional websites, etc.

While most writers/authors would agree there is definitely some instruction along the way first to learn the mechanics of grammar and expression, and then the ongoing processes of fine tuning and perfecting their writing, I would venture to say that those who’ve been writing since the early days of their lives struggle with the theory that authors are primarily “made”. I know I do.

For me, writing has been one of the few constants in my life. I’ve always been single-minded, throwing myself passionately into those specific focuses of my life: writing, horses, and drama. Throughout my life, those are the big three. Drama plays as a backdrop to the forefront of writing and horses and has been mostly acted out in my earlier choices as to how to live my life. But the underlying pull of “the screen” fuses its way into the way I write and the objective of attempting to put a movie into the pages of my novels. I want to “see” the characters as they live their stories.

As I said yesterday, I’m an absorb-er. I don’t diagnose the structures, plot points, red herrings, and all the other methodology of writing novels. I “feel” it when it works and react to it when it doesn’t. In other words I might not be able to technically communicate why a book works for me, but I can sure tell you why it doesn’t. What that means, who knows?

I’m fairly positive there are people who “make” writing come alive in their lives, confessing they never really considered it until one day they decided to just write, baby. And I think it’s possible to happen upon the idea and make good on it, although not for everyone. Whether or not talent rises from the words on the page, a book is created and if published, it’s obvious somebody went for it.

But here’s how I think. A lot of people can do many things well, but their passions lie in one or two specific areas. I don’t know if there’s a writing gene, but I’m convinced there’s at least a spiritual writing gene. And I’m also certain that we know if we have it. It’s hard-wired into our soul, and the only way for it to be released is to present itself in the written word. We stumble around in the process of establishing it in our lives where it takes on various forms before settling into the zone where it best fits and belongs. As Christians we assert this is God directing our paths. Some of us argue vehemently with Him—often without realizing we are—insisting the trail we’re pursuing is ours to own. Corrections and alterations normally follow our stubbornness unless God allows us the freedom to approach stupidity.

My older cousin Barbara shares her birth date with me. She writes. Not fiction but historical accounts of my mom’s side of the family. My grandmother (and hers) told the best stories of her youth and family times of long ago, and they were mesmerizing. She didn’t write, but her oral recollections were living stories.

To be fair there are both born and bred writers and made and manufactured writers, the two categories intersecting and containing different percentages of both. Either way, the goal to do as the Lord entreats should be common to all.

God, direct my steps in all things. Let me hear your voice and obey its instruction. I want to want what you want for me. Always. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.