Monthly Archives: August 2015


An anecdote about the German poet Rainer Maria Rilke tells of his being invited by his friend the psychologist Karl Jung to undertake psychotherapy. Rilke declines the offer, saying “I’m afraid if my demons go, my angels will go with them.”

In legend and literature are a host of characters who have bartered with the devil and traded their souls for creative powers.

William Blake, especially in “The Marriage of Heaven and Hell,” portrays the angelic and the demonic as equally powerful and necessary. A Christian reading Blake may wish he could ask the poet, “Hey, which side are you on?”

Blake might explain that he roamed like a foreign correspondent through the spirit world, in the midst of a heavenly battleground, surrounded by firefights and war cries, reporting on what he saw and heard. He may have simply felt called to write what he witnessed and leave judgment to his readers.

Suppose a spirit gives us strange words, wild combinations of words, lines rich with meanings we have never consciously meant, and suppose they make us feel wicked, cruel or severely deranged, in a fearful way.

Just because inspiration strikes doesn’t mean we’re obliged to accept it. Perhaps Hitler was inspired to massacre people, Eric Rudolph to bomb abortion clinics.

Artists are called to partner with the spirit, not to be any spirit’s pawns.

If You Build It, He Will Come

Bill Kinsella wrote a fine novel called Shoeless Joe that got made into a movie called Field of Dreams. The premise of the story has become a popular phrase: “If you build it, he will come.”

It’s one of those notions that resonates and can feel not only true but also comforting, especially to us writers. It can encourage us to wake up and dive into a project of daunting magnitude, like creating a 500 page novel. If we can just complete the monster, somebody (say a topnotch agent or publisher) will show up and deliver our fortune and fame.

We Christians are liable to take comfort in that phrase more readily than most folks do. We probably believe God has called us to write. Then it stands to reason that he would make sure our efforts pay off. So instead of wasting time researching agents or publishers and/or promoting and marketing, we can eagerly and without misgivings move on to the next project God wants us to create.


Wrong. I mean I don’t see that attitude working out for people who live here in the “real” world.

Now, the failure of God to deliver our books to a legion of readers could mean we got it wrong, that we’re not called to write after all. Or, it could mean other things. It just could mean that we’re also called to use our creative gift in yet another way.

This summer, while my Zoe is off school, I have intentionally avoided most writing projects, because when I get deeply involved in a new novel, I might as well be an absent parent. Zoe deserves better. So instead of working on the latest, I’ve spent weeks studying book promotion and marketing. The subject is vast and frustrating. Definitive answers are few. Speculations and theories abound.

Out of dozens or hundreds of theories, strategies and gimmicks, the one I’m most convinced by is: in today’s book market, with millions of titles immediately available, the author’s first and most critical challenge is to discover what his or her book offers that the others (or at least most others) don’t. Since I can’t find just the right term, I’ll call it our “thing”.

If I can’t define what my thing is, I probably should stop everything and pester God with the question, “Why on earth did you call me to do all this writing, anyway?”

But suppose I can define my thing. Still, the work’s only begun. Now I need to turn my thing into a pitch, a hook, a sound bite. An image or idea that will pique interest or curiosity.

I resent this challenge as much as you do. Mostly because it’s hard. But when my Zoe tells me something she’s been asked to do is hard, I try to respond with a look that means, “Yeah. So what?”

I mean, if we won’t take on hard challenges, we’re doomed to a sad and tedious existence. Right?


Consequently, I’ve spent weeks wrestling with the pitch/hook/sound-bite issue.

I know my novels are intended to offer both dramatic entertainment and characters who, like the readers I hope to engage, grapple with both practical and spiritual challenges. And I’ve determined that a step forward from that thoroughly abstract description might be: in my novels, Christian attitudes and values meet the demands of the real world. But that description is still too abstract a message to stick in most people’s minds.

To pitch my thing effectively, I need to make it concrete as possible. To go from abstract to concrete, it helps to narrow the range of subject matter (Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance has a memorable discussion of the process). So I’ll narrow the subject matter from my hope its readers will ask for more.

My Tom Hickey crime series begins with The Biggest Liar in Los Angeles. Tom Hickey, a young musician, investigates the lynching of a family friend because the police and media have chosen to ignore the crime. I have used that problem as a hook/pitch. But it doesn’t reflect my “thing”: Christian attitudes and values meet demands of the real world.

The element in the book that does reflect my thing is skeptical Tom’s need to seek help from Aimee Semple McPherson, the most celebrated evangelist of the era. So a better hook might be: unless a famous evangelist will take skeptical Tom Hickey into her confidence, he may never learn who lynched his friend.

I’ll keep pondering and seeking inspiration. Once I have a pitch/hook that feels just right, I will look for a way to send more people to the book using that message.

Okay, marketing may seem a dreary and even odious chore. But it can also be a creative challenge. Which is what we writers live for, right?