Into the Fire

Marketing, I thought, was about publicizing a product worthy of consumption. Apparently, it's now about soliciting buyers without knowing their habits, preferences, or needs. When marketing morphs into convincing the masses they must have a product, it ceases to be honest. Not everyone needs everything when it comes to what can be advertised.

Writing is a long journey for some and a short trek for others. For serious writers who author novels the goal is publication – at least in some form. The objective: for others to read the books. Whether those novels are for personal treasures submitted to family members or for public distribution, writers generally want to share their wares. We're not talking diaries here. We're talking stories. And although most of us would admit to some elements of diary inclusions into those stories, what is often referred to as "the muse" takes the writer and eventually the reader into the places and circumstances which will comprise and constitute a journey. Forward in time or back, in the contemporary or fantastical, a novel is supposed to transport us to either the familiar or the foreign using all the senses of the soul. Covering the emotional, the physical, and the spiritual, this is the trinity of novel writing. While you can get away with leaving out an element, and while the writing itself can shine in brilliance, if the author chooses to eliminate one facet of the big three, something will be unrealized. The possibility of full impact will be forfeited.

I stand outside here. Like climbing from the sand to the top of a large rock, the footholds easy to grasp and set a shoe, the sight viewed from the flat top inspiring, sitting on the hard surface with nothing but the sound of the ocean waves gently striking one side of the base. Lingering in the sunlight, imagining a story or two, thirst or hunger distracts and it's time to go back to lodging. Looking down for the short climb, the water no longer gentle surrounds and slaps the rock and shore swims far away. Foolishness laughs at me. "Go ahead," it mocks. "Be an 'individual'," it jeers. "And now what are you going to do? See where 'principle' gets you?" The tone cuts me no mercy as the water is halfway up the rock's surface.

Can you sell it? I don't know.

God, you have the answers to all the questions. Sometimes you give them before we ask. And sometimes you're still. We interpret "wait" as unresponsive and "no" as no answer at all. How can we be so hard to please when we have everything in you? In the Name of Jesus, Amen.