Into the Fire

I get these flashes of surrealism in my life. Like whatever I’m doing isn’t quite real. I know—it sounds crazy. But it has more to do with big picture perspective and feeling like a dot on a massive canvas, undetectable to the human eye but there just the same. Insignificance. Yet a piece of this enormous landscape of life.

There are different circumstances which contribute to these “flashes”. Standing back from the tumultuous rigors of seeking publication, infiltrating the ranks of writers, establishing the connections desired to bring the reality of acceptable publication to a piece of writing, it hits me. What am I doing here? What is this all about?

Like walking into a bookstore—any bookstore. The walls of books, of novels. How can one novel stand out in the crowd? Really even matter amid all the others? Perspective.

Like seeing the anguish on the face of someone who’s just lost a loved one. Like observing the overturning of a country I love. Like hearing the word cancer pronounced upon anyone close. Perspective.

Can’t help slipping into the big picture focus. Sometimes it’s all about writing, but when it isn’t? What then?

Returning to the writing surrealism . . .

After these questions subject me to self-examination, I find myself lacking. Everything. Well, not the work. Seven novels under my belt. I know how to write a book. As most of us do who continue to write, I’ve improved considerably since that huge first endeavor. I wonder sometimes if it matters. These stories I’ve written showcase many characters, some desirable, some definitely not. I love some of them, am disgusted by others, and probably detest a few of them. Most of them are fairly ordinary—no spies, no presidents of countries, one film star, no hotshot professional athlete. And the film star began his life in a very ordinary way. So the conflict in the stories is more minimal than adventurous and stems from relationships more than anything else.

Honestly, sometimes I love parts of my writing. I would even argue that there are parts I think the Holy Spirit dictated to me because I’m so fascinated by what’s on the page. Then I stop to think what if somebody would hate this? Here I am professing to myself that the Lord has just written this section of the novel because it’s profound and beautiful and I couldn’t possibly take any credit for it, but what if someone else crinkles their eyebrows and frowns when they read it? This is definitely one of the times the surrealism rushes through my soul in waves of wind-blown doubt—like a tumbleweed gaining momentum at each additional question.

Is this all real? God, you’ve given me stories to write. And I know this—whether or not any CBA agent or editor or publishing professional rolls their eyes in mockery or disdain—that you have given them to me for one reason and one reason alone: I know I couldn’t have come up with them without you. Just not that creative. At all. They must have a purpose, no matter how large or small. If you ordained their existence the purpose is still important regardless what happens to them.

So. What? Some of you writers who’ve yet to be published are focused and pursuing, ready for the next step whatever it is and anxious to meet the requirements whatever they might be. I can’t say that I am. Not really. What is it about the skewed parts of the process that bothers me so much—that make me question why I’m involved at all, no matter how peripherally? Maybe my picture is surreal, and I don’t get it. Maybe I refuse to get it.

Just sometimes seems surreal. That’s all.

Father, you’re the anchor for my thought-tossed ship. You make earthly things seem irrelevant and I’m very grateful for those moments when I’m not clinging to the “success” of the hour, day, month, or year. I appreciate when the good and perfect gifts come because it feels so good to acknowledge your benevolence and generosity. I deserve none of it, but you’ve been so gracious to me. I love you, Lord. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

My friend Debbie discovered some winsome pictures from our past. She sent me a few yesterday, and one of them made me cry. The other two made me laugh out loud. We shared so much together. I wish I could remember all of it . . .

Anyone who would care to do so, please pray that our city officials will do the right thing concerning the sale of our and our neighbors’ properties. They’ve interfered with two sales over a time span of three years with moratoriums which caused builders too many delays in their projects so they had to withdraw our contracts.

I’ll be in the dental chair today for some crowns. I’d rather be there than at the doctor’s any day of the week.

I’m sorry this is so vacant.

Father, thank you for your kindness, your inspiration, your perseverance with me. Your amazing love never fails to overwhelm me. I love you, Lord. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

I love contemporary military novels. The only problem with writing them is that you can’t help but take a political stance. And therein lays a potentially difficult conundrum. A reader will inevitably try to figure out which end of the political spectrum the author is coming from and discerning that, whether or not the reader can be copasetic with the resulting story.

I’m a huge fan of former JAG attorney and author Don Brown (Treason, Hostage, Defiance, The Black Sea Affair). His stories give an in-depth purview of the military and its legal operations. The bonus is he’s an excellent writer.

In this week’s CFBA’s feature novel, we look at Mark Andrew Olsen’s Ulterior Motives which introduces the reader to an obscure, highly controversial and disregarded proposal known as The Tabula Rasa Protocol hidden in the Pentagon archives, unused and “with prejudice”. When the late December capture and treatment of the top al-Qaeda leader Omar Nirubi fails to yield the desired information regarding a New Year’s Day attack, a former Special Forces soldier by the name of Greg Cahill, who’s now involved in prison ministry, is brought in to see if he can dislodge the Islamic Jihadist’s hatred of America and somehow bring the prisoner into a new faith in Christ under a mission of forgiveness and clemency from the United States government—but more importantly from God—for the number one terrorist.

Within ultra secure locations and using the highest-tech security, we listen in on the conversations between this Muslim terrorist and this Christian man. Greg Cahill only knows a portion of the operation which has brought him together with the terrorist, and his motive is strictly non-political. Through twists, turns, and an unclear political betrayal, the story leads to a last minute sacrifice to halt an act of terrorism in progress.

Ulterior Motives is not covert about the gospel. Although the methodology to liken it to parts of Muslim theology doesn’t resonate well in light of extremism in the faith, there were good points presented in the dialogue between these two strangers. Some of it seemed over emphasized and repetitive, but within the framework of the narrative, I suppose it worked. Parts of the story seemed too contrived—again like there was a strict word count the author was aiming for while needing to fit certain things into the story. With that assumption, there were some plot points left dangling at the end, and I really didn’t follow the political betrayals which erupted suddenly and then just as quickly were subdued.

When I read military/terrorism novels, I don’t necessarily expect sterling writing, knowing that action and military-speak might overshadow any literary quality. This novel presents an interesting premise, but I think it falters a bit with its political vagaries and generic writing.

I only give this warning as an aside. If you’re an animal lover, you’re not going to like Chapter Two. I am, and I didn’t. It makes hatred of the antagonist too easy.

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0764202758

Father, you can see Mark’s heart and intentions and you desire to bless his efforts to honor you. Keep him steady on the pathways you have designed just for him. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

The Lord is good,
a refuge in times of trouble.
He cares for those who trust in Him . . .

Nahum 1:7 (NIV)

Karen Ball is doing a mini-series about titles on her blog. She brings up some interesting points from an editor and author/writer perspective. Once again the love of a title is subjective, but I’m sure you have your favorites, and I certainly have mine since I think the title is mega-important to a story.

You might recall in a review I did here awhile back how I thought a particular title (and the cover and back cover copy) did a disservice to the story itself. Titles really need to speak to the reader either symbolically, emotionally, or both and lead the reader into the story or depict a story resolution–or all of the “above”. They’re important and usually the first introduction a reader has to a book.

Here are a few of my favorites in no particular order and for multiple reasons:

Comes A Horseman by Robert Liparulo

The Famous One by Nicole Petrino-Salter; Hope Of Glory

Shoo Fly Pie by Tim Downs

Less than Dead by Tim Downs

Eyes of Elisha by Brandilyn Collins

Redeeming Love by Francine Rivers

In High Places by Tom Morissey

Blue Heart Blessed by Susan Meissner

The Stones Cry Out by Sibella Giorello

Treason; Hostage; Defiance by Don Brown

Demon . . . a memoir by Tosca Lee

Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier

The Brothers Karamazov by Dostoevsky

For Whom the Bell Tolls by Hemingway; The Sun Also Rises

God, your creativity is never ending. That you impart even a portion of it to the people made in your image is beyond my imagination. Thank you for allowing us to partake in who you truly are. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

This one thing I can’t quite shed my incredulity over such an utterly amazing anomaly . . . The publishing professionals admit that most, not some, but the majority of books produced don’t earn back their advances.

I’m sure that statistic is about to change because of the economic woes. Publishers won’t be doling out as many large advances to the lesser known or debut authors. And it’s been suggested there will be some very creative contracts negotiated which won’t be too lucrative should a book tank.

As I mentioned in prior posts, I attended a writers’ conference this year. When this statistic was presented with a comment indicating that 50% of the published books don’t earn back their advances, a savvy and reputable editor said two things. “Only 50%?” And “We don’t know what we’re doing.”

I think we’d all agree that predicting the success of any given book other than those written by authors who have garnered a following is impossible. Who in their right mind could have predicted the success of The Shack? Seriously. For those who loved and were changed somehow by the novel, they can’t imagine why anyone would question it. But for those who ranted about its theology or commented about its lack of quality writing, they can’t believe its success. And all those industry editors and pub boards who rejected it are kicking themselves as a result.

Regardless of what each individual editor in the industry looks for in a novel proposal, obviously from this astounding statistic, as a general rule, somebody isn’t doing a very good job predicting what will sell. Apparently there are a few pub boards who are out of touch with readers. They’re very familiar with those who read their top selling authors, but beyond them: not so much. Does anyone else interpret this statistic this way?

I absolutely marvel at this, and I can’t help but wonder if the marketing approach is somewhat responsible for this anomaly.

Thoughts?

Lord, the only thing I need is to be obedient to the direction you’ve designed for me. Help me follow that straight path, the one just for me. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Marketing. We all recognize it when it stinks. All we notice when it’s good is the product. Most of the time. When it’s exceptionally clever, we might admire how it’s done even if we don’t particularly care for the product.

Donald Maass, agent extraordinaire and author of the two acclaimed instructional books Writing the Breakout Novel and the new The Fire in Fiction, is probably the only professional in the entire publishing industry who plays down marketing. (And all I can say is, “Give this man a high, high five, a slap on the back, and a hip hip hooray!”) You can read a recent interview with him on “Novel Journey” a few posts back.

Some authors wear their marketing enthusiasm in a bubbly prospectus while others make grandiose plans to launch their books into the universe with flair and drama. Others of us question the sanity of the aforementioned group.

Right out loud here and now, this is why I don’t like to discuss marketing. Number one, other than what might have inspired a particular event within or the story itself, I don’t really want to listen to an author make a “pitch” to me about his/her novel over and over again. As you’ve no doubt noticed, the publishing industry parades its authors around when a new book is released exactly like the particular stars of premiering films suddenly appear on Jay Leno and David Letterman, or on Oprah if they’ve managed to somehow at sometime tantalize her and gain her attention (i.e. Tom Cruise, Jennifer Anniston), or wherever else their publicists see fit to place them. Interviews, pictures, radio. Whatever. There they are. At least some of them are.

Secondly, I get weary of hearing the repetitive plugs for the same novels over and over again. “Look at my new book trailer.” “You can read an interview with me here.” Maybe that stuff doesn’t bother you. But it bothers me. It doesn’t sit right. Doesn’t feel right. Makes me twitch. And sometimes turn red in embarrassment for all the fingers pointing inward.

There are people who “should” read my second novel The Famous One. Why? Because they’re lost even in their faith. They think Christian fiction is candy-coated (they’re wrong). They need to see sexual relationships, loneliness, no direction, and the choice that exists between living without Jesus and living with Jesus addressed in a contemporary setting which involves a rather ordinary guy who becomes extraordinary for one reason only.

But beyond that, what can I say? And how many times can I say it in how many places before it’s redundant, annoying, and ignored?

If those individuals who liked or loved my novel would simply suggest it to others, buy it for others, or talk about it to others, eventually the book would gain exposure. What happens beyond that is, was, and will always be up to the Lord. If I think someone might like the book, I’ll tell them so. If not, I’m not mentioning it to them.

Those of you who write, what will you do about your marketing proposal? Surely I’m not alone in becoming nauseated by some of the efforts being made to sell one’s books.

And please don’t tell me the objective is to sell books, make a profit, etcetera. I’m fully aware of the objective. It’s the current methodology which doesn’t work for me. How about you?

Father, no one can out-create you. If you are for us, who can be against us? Thank you that you are always for us even when we cannot interpret the multiple ways based on the circumstances we encounter. We know you are faithful even when we’re not. Thank you for that, Lord. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Straddle

I have one foot lodged in the niche of the Ancient Rock,
but the other foot pulls me away as it pushes down
in the sinking sand
Straddling the abyss of faltering commitment.
Before too long, a decision will be made,
for I concede I will not be split in two.

I feel like I am already—
split in two, I mean.
The one firm, steadfast, simple,
The other fraudulent, slippery, sordid.

I recall the strength of joy,
though not clearly now.
The fog is rising up from the foamy sea of doubt
obscuring my senses
of all things real, leaving only images overwhelmed
by grey.

The leaning is toward morose,
its tentacles embracing me,
illicit in its touches,
but I’m somehow drawn to them
like the whispers of fine wine,
seducing me into a bed of the dead.

Decisions! Why must I always make them?
I’m weary of trying to make them.
Demands of honor and rightness—
those foreign allies pestering me in silence.
Apathy and Compromise stalking me
with loud and jeering chorus.

My muscles ache as the pull of separation
presses against them.
Can I now move to either side—
or am I doomed to neverending, abysmal freefall?
My support giving way to indecision
as I glance between my legs?

The horror of such an impasse
creeps up my outstretched loins
and registers the deception.

My sickness has corrupted my vision,
the exhaustion has left me fragile
and immobilized.

I now lunge hard toward the Rock
but the sand sifts further away
because of my sudden shift,
and my body sinks with my foot.

A scream erupts—it is my own,
though distant and unfamiliar.
I hardly recognize my plea—
for it has a new desperation
in the tone.
One I’ve never known.

There is a breakthrough in the sand—
only doom awaits as I am up to my knee
in the cold wet granules
And I cannot hold apart my legs,
the pain will overcome me.

I remember standing on the Ancient Rock
contemplating the shapes of sand—
the castles, overrun by charging waters,
becoming the anatomy of many things,
and dissolving in the wasting waves.

Why was I drawn to them when I saw their destruction?
When I knew their taunting, teasing
promises of fulfillment
were as flimsy as the structures
which disappeared the instant I experienced them?

Is my devastation assured?
Has every attempt to salvage my wayward soul
been skewed?
Half-hearted efforts to seek the respite of the Rock?
My secret desire to claim all I can from the lying sand?

No more!
As weak as I am, I cannot reach for safety.
I cannot see victory—my view is concealed.
If there is mercy, I am in need!
Desperate to escape the sands of death.

The Rock becomes my focal point.
For now I realize it is the only solid form
in this life—
so fractured is my own, divided and
unmanaged.

I yearn for rescue, but am powerless.
The tears come unbidden, but from true sorrow.
Calamity and Ecstasy have bartered for my attention—
and received it.
When did I ever rest between them?

Why have I wasted such passion
pursuing paths of little value?
I surrender now.
Allow me sanctuary, and I will destroy
the paths of wicked ways—
or at least subdue them.

Grant me the firmness of your strong surface,
the depth of your crevasses
holding me, secure.
I need you.
To lift me from this death grasp,
to refresh my parched and withered spirit,
to allow me the renewal of clear vantage.
Of full breath,
of hopeful seasons,
of gainful energy to explore beyond the surface
of your massive parts.

For it is now that I come to know you
in all your beauty and refuge.
Now at my darkest moments,
where need is truly measured,
I reach for you.

Only to learn you wait . . .
For that moment when I relinquish
my hold, my stance, on everything I am and
give it up to you.

Lord, you are everything worth living for. Help me to be the one you want me to be. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

The goals of authors remain diverse. Even among authors who are Christians. In fact, Christians seem to struggle over the things which baffle others. Some rebel against being called a “Christian author/writer”, preferring to be called “an author/writer who is a Christian”, or even “one who writes for God”. Forgive me if I think the label is irrelevant.

It’s the motive that counts for me. Some authors desire to write “important” fiction. Others are content to write entertaining fiction. Within these two categories nearly every genre can be found. And while “entertaining” and “important” are not mutually exclusive, sometimes the motives are. “Important” fiction implies there’s a heavy-duty message, topic, theme, or event imparted within the pages of the story. The very idea of an “important” novel requires a “must read” tag at the end of the description. However, it can be just as probable to find that same tag applied to a wonderfully entertaining book.

Think about the novels you’ve read. Recall your favorites. Do any of them fall under the “important” label? How ‘bout the usual “entertaining”? Any qualify for the “both” label?

I’ve read some very entertaining novels which served up meaningful pleasure. Worthwhile reads for sure. But important? No. I haven’t read as many important novels, but when I have, they’ve usually qualified for the entertaining label, too, but not always. I once read a difficult novel due to the subject matter and hence the content. The author chose not to disguise the seriousness of the story, and because of that I couldn’t recommend the novel to most people specifically because of the topic.

When you consider your own writing, what is your goal? Important? Entertaining? Both?

If you answered “important” or “both”, what does that mean for you? Got examples?

Father, I would be willing to suggest that oftentimes what we consider “important” to us might not be to you. We can place value where there is no value. Lord, I just want to write the stories you have for me to tell—that’s what is important to me. Help me to do just that. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Never again will you be haughty
on my holy hill.
But I will leave within you
the meek and humble,
who trust in the name of the Lord.

Zephaniah 3:11b-12 (NIV)