Into the Fire

I wrote my sixth novel titled The Fixer with commercial appeal in mind. My sole purpose and aim was to squeeze and squish the story into the 80-100,000 word count. And although I succeeded, it was a miserable adventure with characters who I felt were short-changed in the process of writing it. And even though I enjoyed those characters, this little romance, which includes the trials of three striking sisters who were the illegitimate daughters of a famous photographer and his favorite model, the audience for this book wouldn’t include me, if I was shopping for a new book.

That’s a fine howdy-do, don’t ya think? No, it isn’t. How can we write a story to please an audience which doesn’t include ourselves? What I’ve come to realize as I’ve been trimming it down even more is I did write a commercial romance novel which would probably appeal to some of those readers who’ve liked the novels to which I’ve given either a negative or “bleh” review.

The novel is what it is, you know? It’s not what it should be. Because I don’t write these tidy little books with trim characters. I forced my writing to accommodate a requirement which inhibited the way I work, what I believe in, and how I write. The process was uncomfortable, no fun, and I’m not pleased with the result. If I hadn’t started two more novels to which I need to return, I’d blow The Fixer wide open and let those three sisters and their guys out of their restrictive cages.

Authors give writers all kinds of instructions. “Write what you know.” “Write from your heart.” “Write your passion.” Whatever. My exercise in compliance failed I’m not happy to say. Maybe that’s why I’m a rebel. Cue: “I gotta be me.”

Lord, you know me. You go before me. You give me my place in this world. Let me honor you in the process of becoming a better me. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.