Y o u r W r i t e r s G r o u p

Editor to Author: Letter to a Memoir Writer

Dearest Author,

I've been thinking about worth lately.

What's your story worth?

At a recent writers conference I taught a workshop on how I saw publishing changing. Modern publishing, the only time in history when we've had separate "markets" for books, has begun to fracture and redistribute. I've shared several times about how The Shack has shifted things. It isn't just a book, of course, it's a bridge. And those bridges are inevitable because it isn't only spiritual people or Christians who recognize God as creator.  

Blue Like Jazz came well before it and created connections between the Christian and secular markets. Lauren Winner's memoir Girl Meets God made some connection points before that, similar to how Eat, Pray, Love did more recently, from the other side of the spiritual divide. Several spiritual/worldly, secular/sacred books have become best-sellers as bridges in the long history of such books since the beginning of print, and some people have traced this line back to the best-selling book of all time: The Bible.

The Secret. The Purpose-Driven Life. The Alchemist. The Celestine Prophesy. The Late Great Planet Earth. Pilgrim's Progress. Books you've never heard of have sold over 30 million copies: Steps to Christ by Ellen White, In His Steps by Charles Sheldon, late-19th century Congregational minister and advocate of the ever-intriguing idea of "Christian socialism." Even Nikolai Tesla wrote about his life a true spiritual man and world-renouned scientist in My Inventions. The Canterbury Tales, The Odyssey, and The Divine Comedy by Dante, written in 1304, has "sold" more than anyone knows and we have no idea how it or any of these books have changed readers and the history of spiritual thought, becoming seeds for the trees of countless theologies.

But of course, we know this is what books are--seeds. And this is what they do: define life and defy death.

"So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee."

So this story that's a part of you, that is you, that defines your work and all of your effort and sacrifices to share it completely (or as completely as possible) for others to use--what's it really worth?

Don't answer. You can't. Simply try to see the fullness of the question clearly. Continue on...

Do you know where your worth is really found?

Yes, in God's ownership of the life and love he's created you to embody (1 John 4:7-12). His ownership, creating, protecting, guiding and infusing of his great, unchanging spirit into us. He dies that we might live (parents always understand this principle). And we die that others might live through our sacrifices. This is the daily work of writing.

Do you know what that is really worth?

Intimately known and held, seen and heard and helped in every way, this knowledge is invaluable, isn't it? We can talk of worth and value, and shift our understanding of that from copies sold to readers influenced, but it's the knowledge a reader will have by the end of your story that makes what you're doing truly valuable. And this understanding of how God fills us and dies for us is the greatest wisdom, the most valuable in the world. And if you are practicing that, that makes what you're doing invaluable.

I want to give you, as a witness of your discovery of that unchanging love, my invaluable opinion on it, my affirmation that you've been seen and heard and that what you've written down is completely worthy. And with your assurance that it's been well established and others will see it and respond, you can continue, knowing it's incredible and invaluable. 

So do you see what your story is really worth?

Because there's no true price tag you can put on it. There's no proper estimating the value of my work, my seeing it, or others' receiving it either. It's in-valuable. We have to simply trust together that whatever comes of it is just a small piece of its fullest value as a seed for God to use, and not at all connected to the worth of what you've written, or what I've done to help. I know you've sacrificed and given for your story, and I've been brought into the processing of it, but regardless of how it will be published and the realities of our modern marketplace, you must know:

What's your story really worth?

I remain your solid co-laborer in the process of delivering these invaluable words. Never assign its worth to money, public perception, publication, or anything else. Your heart is here, and that's established and it's something you have written definitively, and just as we have agreed together at the outset here, others will when they read it.

We don't know how it will all play out. But I'm on your side and not looking for specific outcomes big or small. Don't think in terms of what's "fair," but decide you will pay with your life what's necessary to give to this project. What you give is directly proportional to what that seed will be able to produce in readers. And in terms of return and profit, I believe Cohelo is right: the universe will conspire in our favor.

So what's your story really worth?

 

Your Loving Editor,

Mick

Ice Cream, Writers Websites, & Making Your Calories Count

Tillamook ice cream is one of the true pleasures of our moving to Portland.

I know I risk outing myself as a closet ice-cream freak, but I don't care. The way they pack so much lactocine goodness into every delicious spoonful is enough to make me want to move here all over again, just to have the pleasure of realizing I now, once again, have access to the greatest ice cream in the universe.

I am not proud of this. But I refuse to be ashamed of my obsession any longer.

Yeah, okay, there's Haagen Dazs. But that's not really ice cream. It's frozen butter. Of course that's going to be good. Dip a cold stick of butter in vanilla and sugar and go to town. It's tasty. It's also going to deposit you in coronary junction.

You think I'm kidding. Go ahead. Have your Haagen Dazs. We'll see who dies first.

But to bring this just a little bit nearer to my actual point, as I was preparing to indulge in my shopping day rendevous with a blissed-out ice cream coma, I came across a new ad printed along the plastic safety collar. You're familiar with these, and the same lawyers' work from tamper-evident seals on vitamin jars and baby toys. These same demons clearly made these evil little wrappers indestructible because they derive pleasure not from ice cream, but from making you convulse in frustration while slicing your hands on their cleverly-designed razor bands.

I could get scissors, but now it's too much like letting them win, so I decide teeth would be best and I bring the carton to my face to gnaw the daylights out of some shrunk-wrapped landfill.

And that's when I saw it. Little white printing in a playful serif font: "More ice cream per container." Well, I'll be chocolate-swirled.

That's it, I thought. Though even then, I wasn't quite sure what "it" was.

But something grabbed me in that claim that sounded vaguely similar to what I'm pulling together in my little corner of the information superflyway. Sure, you can go for those other writers sites and publishing packages that promise "editing" and thorough quality controls. But you'll get more ice cream per container with this site. And you don't even have to chew your way through uncertain danger to get to it.

I'm not big on self-promotion, so it can be tough to feel competitive against so many big guys who pump their ice cream full of air and diglycerides, just to make sure you think what you're getting is the good stuff. I also know I've been less than gracious about the end product of such. But "frozen dairy dessert" is not what I want for all my sacrifices in the supermarket of inspired dreams. Writers work hard for their visions. And no flashy ads or deep discounts from the other guys can supply the fullest experience my mouth and stomach deserve.

So I'm continuing on writing and designing the new site, hoping someone will notice the fact that there's more actual of the real good stuff shoved in here and that's what they really want. It's not going to catch everyone, but at least those who appreciate such things will know their calories are doggone gonna count.

Don't Quit Your Day Job

"I am a seven-foot-tall banana for a San Francisco–based fruit delivery company. I ride the train as the banana. I pass out bananas on the streets dressed as the banana. I get an awful lot of hugs as the banana, and more high-fives than anyone really has a right to."

"...Sometimes I think that no matter what I write, no matter how much I improve, no humorous essay will ever be able to compete with the sight of a middle-aged mom dressed as giant food."

Some special encouragement to all you brave authors out there who are sacrificing time, money, and dignity to survive and thrive.

See now? You don't have to feel bad just because you can't "survive" on your writing income. More importantly, are you thriving?

My Confusion-Free Christmas Plan

Alright. I confess. I’m not worried at all about losing the term “Christmas.” I’m also not concerned by Xs in place of Christ. The X is a cross. That reminds me of Christ. Maybe it doesn’t remind others of Christ, but that’s their prerogative. Why should I need anyone’s participation in my decision to be Christ-centered on Christmas? If you’re a stickler for keeping religion in your festivities, great! But “Holy-day” celebrations are still pretty sacred, aren’t they? And even so, you don’t hear anyone going out to get a “holiday tree” or forgetting what day it is when we open all the presents.

 

That’s right: Christmas with a capital Christ. I think it’s here to stay. So instead of Christians getting all bent out of shape by the ACLU and freaky fringe types, I want to remember there are big cultural problems involved in the fight for Christmas as well--such as losing our cultural identity through neglect and plain ignorance. Sure, sweeping Christ under the rug at Christmas is a fairly time-honored tradition in this country. But our tendency to lump all the holidays together and wish people happiness in all of them may be less about avoiding Christ than a preference for efficiency and inclusiveness. That's an American sort of thing to do, and frankly, I’m starting to wonder if some Christians really understand that at all. Do Christians really think Jesus is offended at people who don’t want to say his name? There's solidarity with the past and our fellow man in wishing people “Happy Holidays.” And if I care about making sure someone remembers Christ on Christmas, I’ll invite them over for egg-nog and cookies. There’s no call for being antagonistic about Christmas. Honestly, it looks bad when Christians whine about the ACLU and validate their bigotry, only to wind up making ourselves out to be the bigots when we wish someone a Merry CHRIST-mas!

 

This “keep-the-Christ-in-Christmas” campaign got me thinking about signing off Christmas entirely. Wouldn’t it be more socially conscious to take a complete and total break from consumerism—government, media, business, technology, economy, taxonomy, whatever? No television, movies, computers, cell phones, iPhones, or video games. Farm-grown trees and basic Christmas dinner, homemade decorations and gifts. I imagine my brother and sister-in-law getting our girls Disney princesses and Polly Pockets as we smile and nod and hand over their crocheted scarves and homemade preserves wrapped in banana leaves…

 

But there’s another thing that’s here to stay: the great muddy melting pot. Americans are Americans because we’re a mish-mash of cultures and traditions. Does anyone else wonder why we wait for the stuffing to go bad before hunting down a tree farm that isn’t charging $95 to bring home poison oak and a family of wolf spiders? You do? Well, Merry Christmas, American!

These days, I think we’re all doing well just to remember Turkey-and-Football-Day when the retailers have convinced everyone on the block to start putting up their Christmas lights the day after Halloween. In America, our holiday traditions are alive and well. Right here is where the tradition started of using New Year’s to celebrate starting over right before the credit bill for Christmas comes. This year, I want to remember that the holidays (i.e. “holy-days”) are wonderful, messed-up, formerly-pagan-Catholic-redeemed celebrations-of-family-traditions as varied as the snowflakes. And even in a mish-mash, there’s a camaraderie if you’re willing to embrace it.

 

So “Merry Christmas, you ol’ Savings and Loan!” And this year, as we watch the Christmas Day parade floats, let’s do our best not to try to explain all our varied traditions and just enjoy the spectacle of pop singers, flowers, ostriches, surfers, menorahs, African tribal dancers, and babies dancing in top hats on the monstrous floats. It's just an American thing.

Where does the time go?

Just came back and read the final line of my last post... What in the world? Why don't you people tell me when I don't make a lick of sense? That wasn't right. I think I was saying something about preserving the hope that edgy books will become safer publishing bets...oh, Max Perkins. Where have you gone?

Let that be a lesson to you: don't blog drunk.

Any-wa-hey, looks like the endless summer is drawing to a close. Tans fading. Vacations spent. Time to get back under the bricks. I'm really starting to think the worst thing about publishing is coming back after a vacation. No matter what, those books are still coming. At any other time, that's a very nice thing. But just at this moment, I'd gratefully give Hillary my vote to stall the things a good 3 weeks.

I'm also still working on that old manuscript I keep inwardly moaning about. Haven't visited a single blog in about a month, so I don't know what anyone's talking about (which, with my last post, means we're even). And to top it all, some commies are using animatronic bands to lead worship! Can the apocalypse be far behind?

At any rate, I've got some fresh, inspiring interviews for you from some writerly folks you should get to know better. So hang in with me while I try to regroup here. I promise I'll come back soon. While you're waiting you might try out the new Random Title Generator down there. Also, not that you have time for it, but I'm finding stumbling is pretty fun if you haven't tried that yet.

Eight Random Things

I've been tagged by Cindy Woodsmall, who probably thinks herself pretty clever to weasel me into this silly game of posting 8 random things about myself. Oh well. What do I have to lose?

Here goes...

1. I exhibited obsessive compulsive tendencies for about a year as an 8-year-old, needing to touch each of my fingers together equally if any of them happened to touch: tips-to-thumbs, sides-to-sides, whatever. Yeah. Seriously.

2. I've never been to New York.

3. My recurring childhood nightmare of being kidnapped from my bedroom in the middle of the night was recently solved when my 4-year-old checked out a library book of Richard Scarry's nursery rhymes in which a wolf breaks into a house and steals all the children in his big black bag. I hadn't seen the book in over 25 years.

4. I don't like frosting.

5. I generally try to read multiple books at once, a mix of fiction and nonfiction, so that I can evaluate the random connections and find different ideas according to the associated books I read them with. Not because I'm particularly intelligent, merely efficient.

6. I've never read a book I couldn't put down. Except one.

7. I once showed Danny DeVito to his seat at a movie premiere in Westwood. He said, "Thanks."

8. I cried so much reading my vows at my wedding, I could barely get through them.

The Rules:
1. Each player starts with eight random facts/habits
about themselves.
2. People who are tagged need to write their own blog
about their eight things and post these rules.
3. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight
people to get tagged and list their names.
4. Don't forget to leave them a comment telling them
they're tagged, and to read your blog.

Kelly Standish, Madison Richards, Mary DeMuth, Steve Parolini, J. Mark Bertrand, Tina Howard, Angie Hunt, Susan Meissner

Bored Game

Okay. Kingsbury may write 8 novels a year, but Joel's got a game.

...can someone make sure we didn't miss the rapture?

End-of-Year Contract Contest

For all of you who've been hoping for a book contract under your Christmas tree, here's a fun little contest.

Orham Pamuk's Nobel lecture

Why Evangelicals Can't Write

First one to properly connect the dots between these two ideas, and show how your work-in-progress responds to the question, will win a free manuscript evaluation and a hearing at my next editorial team meeting.

Leave a comment or email me directly.

I'm hopeful many of you will easily meet this friendly challenge. God's best and happy reading.

Random Reality Check

Man, this thing on Sesame Street going all over the world is fascinating. Talk about a vision for excellence. I wish people would leave Phil Vischer alone for his "equivocation" on Veggie Tales.

Anyway, Billy Graham recently spoke with Christianity Today, making a particularly interesting comment:

"Evangelicals have not tried to capture the intellectual initiative as much as we should. We haven't challenged and developed the minds of our generation. Though there are many exceptions, generally we evangelicals have failed to present to the world great thinkers, theologians, artists, scientists, and so forth."

I knew he'd been reading the blog...

But really, evangelicals as artists? What's he talking about? Shouldn't we all be evangelists? I mean, art requires independence, solidarity of vision and all that stuff. And we all know books in our industry are a collaborative effort, definitely even more so than in the larger market. Christian books are not a single artist's vision; they require many. There's a rulebook to follow and everyone has some different rules to apply before release. And while some say we're following the letter of the law rather than the spirit of it, what can really be done? The truth may be that “the spirit of the Law transcends the letter of the Law, and that those who enforce it to the letter don’t understand the need for the care of men.” But applying that is just not practical when it comes to particular books coming down the pipe.

Evangelical artists? It's just not feasible, is it?

I mean, sure, no writers write in a vacuum. Writers are not fighters who do their thing in their corner and then come out when the bell rings and start swinging. The myth is perpetuated by ignorance, and the truth shows a different picture. There's a team of people crafting Christian works behind the scenes in order to fit the standard, the expectations. This is just a fact, and a necessary one.

And sure, there may be real watchdogs on every level who restrict the work in specific ways, many in unhealthy ways. And maybe we've even seen it ourselves and know the frustration of the writers and editors who work on the books and believe in their freedom and ability to influence minds. Maybe we all know authors who have encountered this, and still others who are offended by even the suggestion. But if the books are being censored because of some delicate, albeit well-meaning, folks, what's there to talk about? It's a business and business is business. You can't change it. The battles will be fought whether we talk about it or not, on high-quality and low-quality books alike. The restrictions will either cause writers to work harder or not; they'll either be more effective or less, either more balanced or less. And if some are paying slavish devotion to the letter of the law rather than spirit in order to get their metered truth through the narrow gate, so be it. What's it to us?

I mean we're crazy to think the restrictions on art are going to change. It will not change until the current audience relents. And in the current system, books are rewarded for not achieving balance. Books are awarded for selling out to the lowest common denominator. Some books are given superior status for their lesser messages. What can we possibly do to change it?

And then there's the issue of airing all this dirty stuff which makes it easy to cast us as extremists. Sure, the label is sticky: Calling someone an extremist may say more about the one using the term than about the subject, reducing communication and shutting down debate. In extremism, everything becomes either all black or all white. It’s much harder to accept shades of gray and admit uncertainty, a reason for others' points of view. Those arguing for acceptance of "grittier," "edgier," "truer" fiction have been cast as extremists--and many even do it to themselves.

All of this is true. I can't argue. I just have some thoughts about it all. Like this supposed extremism in calling for balance on the shelves. What's more extreme? Supporting a fuller acceptance of creation and grace, or opposing its influence? Who are the extremists? Those who can’t accept reality, difficult topics, challenging ideas on grown-up's bookshelves? Who's fringe? And no, I don't think "judge not, lest you be judged" is a warning to others. It's to us. Look in the mirror and let's make double sure we're not doubling the evil by judging our judges. But let's try to see things as they really are, however dimly.

No one should be trying to offend anyone. People may choose to be offended by the idea that God is diminished by this systematic erosion of reality that's allowed in our industry. That's their business. And they have a valid point too. Ugliness and evil are deceptive and dangerous. And while the removal of all ugliness and evil may shift, weaken, or reduce truth, it's certainly safer. A sanitized world still has lots of problems to redeem.

Separating from the world, disengaging, may not be a biblical instruction. But the children must be protected and we can't always be around to teach them discernment. And who knows who might see our books and not wind up more godly or mature if we didn't include redemption and solutions? But then again, maybe if they’re old enough to read it, they’re old enough to be taught discernment and the book itself should be allowed to lead in this work without extra interpretations. Or further, maybe we should allow for multiple interpretations. Maybe God intended us to. Maybe that's why faith is so important.

Can we allow stories to be used the way they were intended to be used, as Jesus used them, as messy and interpretive? Open-ended? Confusing? Unresolved? Might Jesus have intentionally led some Pharisees down the wrong path with his stories? What a scandal that would be. Imagine the opportunity to show them their supposed God redeeming even the worst of darkness. Do you think he backed down and softened it for them? Maybe. I don't know. But they were offended, and some may even have been "led to sin" because of it. But these are the scandalous purposes of art: To reveal the world as it is, unqualified. To evoke a change in the viewer. To shine light on darkness and call meaning from the void.

How long can you ignore the world before you start seeing it differently? How many years have people been asking these questions and found no answers? Where will answers come from? These are difficult questions. And yes, artists have high purposes, but they're accountable and they need to realize it. Publishers are not on their side. Editors are required to be double-minded about all this. But we all decide how we will use our time and talents. I don't have answers, but I know--I believe through faith--that asking the questions is right.

Editor's Sonnet #1

Honey, I'm sorry for all the late nights,
Attempting in vain to refocus my sights.
And clacking away by the laptop's dull glow,
Checking out to recapture my mental tableau...

It's just that in book land, few things compare,
With new projects whose prose doesn't pepper my hair.
It's small victories I use to measure good days,
Like when word counts on rewrites have lowered, not raised.
If I miss a deadline and cause Copyedit to frown,
It's up from the grindstone, my nose I must brown.
All the emails, the phone calls, the proposals from Don,
Some days I forget just what planet I'm on.

But I come home, you greet me and kiss me each day,
And I know in that moment there's no advance I could pay,
No royalty offers could hold so much wonder,
As you and your gift of not stealing my thunder,
While I regale you with details of projects unending,
And your glazed look betrays the despair you're not sending.
It's then that I realize, the books don't much matter.
It's you and your trim size that fills up my platter.

Your effortless care of my heart's P&L,
Brings more joy than any 50% gross profit line can tell,
You balance my numbers with such swift delight,
For the treasure you bring, I would forfeit sub-rights.
And if this, my analysis, my projection, is sound,
Baby, your love is the greatest hardback I've found.
In your pages I know that our cycle of spans,
Will grow deeper wherever each rogue contract lands,
From endorsements to end pages, what I most endeavor,
Is just one more chapter in our book of forever.

Happy Hearts Day, Funny Valentine.