by Brian Allain
(no, this is not an April Fool’s joke!)
by Frank Lee
I was in the front row at the “Writing for your life seminar when “The” Barbara Brown Taylor told us, “As an author, fame is not what you think; it’s kind of like telling folks you are the badminton champion of Chesterfield County.”
Right Barbara, it’s easy to disdain fame when you are number one! Secretly, we all wanted to be just like “her,” a New York Times best-selling author, writer of inspirational books, all of which hit number one. She was successful, famous, and at the top of the literary pyramid – the number one spiritual author in America! – well, at least for today, you see Frank Lee has plans!
Following months of agony writing my first book, “WHY JESUS LEFT THE CHURCH,” the moment of truth arrived, I took a deep breath, hesitated, and hit “send.” The manuscript was submitted, and the book published. I was now ready to be famous.
Much to my surprise, the first 72 hours did not go as I had planned. Sales were “modest,” Oprah did not call, there was no nomination for a Pulitzer or Nobel Prize, and Ellen did not invite me to be on her show. Something must be wrong? I would soon learn what it was. Authors – important safety tip, if you do not put in an author profile, Amazon will do it for you.
The host of the Christian radio talk show was also seeking fame and apparently channeling Woodward and Bernstein. He was poised and ready for the “ambush interview.”
“So, Father Frank, don’t you feel hypocritical writing about the church’s shortcomings in light of your other books? We know about them!”
The host then read some of “my” titles: “LUSH EROTICA” – “NAKED JOURNEY” “MIDNIGHT BURNS” and many more…
His ensuing lecture was delivered in an animated eloquence reserved only to those accustomed to carrying clipboards and pointing out the failures of others. The words “disgusting “and “purulent “were offered as descriptors of my sinful behavior. All this followed by invitation to repent right there on the air! At this moment, the switchboard overloaded with calls from listeners wanting to emphasize my depravity further or to save my soul before the next commercial break.
For those who do not know me, I did not write those books. Amazon attached the biography and books of another author named “Frank Lee” to my Bookshelf page. For those who do, you are aware my pet peeve is condemning folks with a “holier than thou attitude.”
The diatribe ended. The moment of truth had arrived. It was time to set the record straight. Then, For some unknown reason, I lowered my voice at least half an octave and proclaimed; “Yes, absolutely, those were all my books, and we needed to discuss the tragic effects of “judgemental finger-pointing” on the church.”
The next five minutes were truly interesting. At this point, someone must have clued in the host of his mistake, and he tried to pivot out of the discussion;
“Well, Pastor Lee, it seems we have been ‘misguided’. My apologies, I should have known a minister would not” …
I interrupted to opine;
“I’m sure my sins are worse than the other Frank Lee. Heck, he wrote about sin. I lived it.” There but for the grace”….
Strangely it ended as it should have begun, a real discussion about “Why Jesus Left the Church.” TOGETHER we decided just maybe people living in glass houses were a contributing factor.
It would take Amazon 11 hours to correct the Biography mistake. Along the way, I learned that the other Frank Lee sells lots and lots of books. Then I noticed something – all the books were lined up by category AND in order of popularity. There, officially certified by Amazon, was my book IN THE NUMBER ONE POSITION.
I’m sure fame is not in my future,
But on that glorious day, March 26, 2020.
For eleven exciting hours, I was at the top of the pyramid.
Certified as America’s number one author in Religious Writing!
Move over Barbara Brown Taylor; there’s a new badminton champion in Chesterfield County after all!
A Senior Encourager
NOTE: Please reference my official Amazon Documentation below.
The most powerful concept in marketing is owning a word in the prospect’s mind.
If the given words are computer, copier, chocolate bar, and cola, the four most associated words are IBM, Xerox, Hershey’s, and Coke.
[the above was written in 1993]
– Al Ries and Jack Trout – “The 22 Immutable Laws of Marketing”
Every gorgeous sentence, every sparkling idea, is well worth loving. But stay open to the possibility that there’s even more to love on the way. Lasting relationships between yourself and your story and between your reader and the story depend on this openheartedness.
Save a copy of your first draft and nothing you write will be lost. You can always retrieve that stunning sentence. The aha! moment at the end of your rough draft can become the premise of your second draft, and perhaps another aha! will strike you before you reach the revision’s end. If a second awesome sentence comes your way, then your new draft contains two great sentences and two aha’s. Fyodor Dostoyevsky wrote,
“Believe me, in all things labor is necessary—gigantic labor. . . . You evidently confuse the inspiration, that is, the first instantaneous vision, or emotion in the artist’s soul (which is always present), with the work. I, for example, write every scene down at once, just as it first comes to me, and rejoice in it; then I work at it for months and years. I let it inspire me, in that form, more than once (for I love it thus); here I add, there I take away; believe me that the scene always gains by it.”
First drafts don’t have a monopoly on the muse. Inspiration continues through and can be magnified by revision. In fact, revision can be more fun, creative, and insightful than drafting. For me, writing a first draft feels like scraping up clay with a baby spoon. In revision I play with the lump, molding it into a beautiful and effective form.
A spiritual director once told me that the greatest obstacle to an experience of God is a previous experience of God. The trouble with mystical experiences and inspired first drafts is our strong inclination to grow attached.
from “Living Revision: A Writer’s Craft as Spiritual Practice” by @Elizabeth Jarrett Andrew @Skinner House
It’s such a temptation to treat creativity as something extra, isn’t it? When I’ve done all my work and taken care of my family and straightened the house or office and done my good deed for the day—then, if I have time and energy, I’ll do something creative.
Humans are made in God’s image, and one of the ways in which we are like God is our ability to create. We take raw materials and make wonderful things: solid business plans, flower arrangements, meals for family and friends, works of art. Creativity is inherent to our daily activities. So, as you do your work today, examine it for its raw materials. Then reflect on this thought: What will this material become?
Prayer: Creative God, move through my ordinary tasks today, to make them beautiful.
from “small simple ways: an Ignatian daybook for healthy spiritual living” by Vinita Hampton Wright, Loyola Press
I enter a mild depression in the middle of every book I write (or edit, for that matter). I’m in too deep to back out, yet I cannot see the end and I’m just not excited anymore. Because I know this about myself, I now take this depressive period as a good sign; it means I’m halfway finished! I don’t worry about it or try to ease it; I simply keep going, because I know that I’ll work through it in a while.
– from “The Soul Tells a Story: Engaging Creativity with Spirituality in the Writing Life” by Vinita Hampton Wright Loyola Press
A few years ago I realized with a thud of dread that I had about a month to come up with the songs for a new album. I had two, maybe three ready to go, which meant I needed to write at least eight more songs, preferably ten or twelve. Some people start a record with forty or fifty in the queue and it’s the producer’s job to help the writer narrow them all down to the ten or twelve that will comprise the collection. Even when I was in college, spending every spare minute writing because it helped me avoid schoolwork, I didn’t have that many songs in the queue—ever. I’m so distrustful of my own abilities, my tendency is to abandon a song (or at least shelve it) as soon as I stop believing in it. It’s possible, I suppose, that that method thwarts the output, never allowing a sloppy song the chance to grow into a good one, but after twenty years I might as well stick to what I know. So in a couple of months, six weeks, maybe, I knew I’d be in the studio with a producer, shaking hands with the drummer and bass player, teaching them the basic layout of a few songs. I should have felt some anxiety about it, but I didn’t, mainly because there’s a last-minute rush of creativity that accompanies every project, the way Jamie used to nest like a madwoman in the weeks before each of our children’s births. (Never underestimate the power of a good panic to summon a song.)
One of them appeared while I was walking our woods. It arrived in the key of G, a 4/4 ballad that felt like something by British songwriter David Gray. I sang the first few words at the piano during a rare moment when Jamie and the kids were all out somewhere. (Never underestimate, either, the power of a quiet house, a few minutes in the half-light of late afternoon, when there’s no fear of being overheard, when one can make a fool of oneself with abandon. King David may have danced through the streets of Jerusalem—but that’s something I can’t imagine doing, not for a million bucks.) I sang the first line, mumbled the rest, changed the chords underneath, and landed on a phrase that felt solid and meaningful, and at once I could imagine the dim shape of the finished work. A car pulled up the drive and the moment was gone, but I had a nibble—enough to tell me there were fish in the pond.
I walked around our home, over the stream by way of the wooden bridge that my son Asher built, up around the old dam and the empty pond, down to the pasture with the stone wall, thinking, thinking, thinking about what verse two might be. I started with the same few words of the first verse, then changed it up enough to suggest a parallel idea, and by the time I hiked past the statue of St. Francis near the bend in the trail, there was another possible verse waiting to be sung at the piano—but not until I happened upon another miraculous moment of solitude when the house was empty.
At the risk of repeating myself, this is how it works. It’s not magic. It’s work. You think, you walk, you think some more, you look for moments to hammer it out on the piano, then you think again. A few days later I thrust the unfinished song upon Skye and Jamie, apologizing in advance for the discomfort such a performance would cause. That little performance is a crucial stage in the making of a song. You hear the song’s weaknesses because you’re able to listen to it through their ears. It’s like taking your mom to a film you love, and only then realizing how offensive the language is. But it also exposes the song’s strengths, if there are any. And this one, thank God, felt in the end like a proper song. A Song. An idea was introduced, a feeling conveyed, a response evoked. Weak and wobbly as its legs were, the thing took a few steps and held its ground. When the performance was over I ducked into my bedroom with a glimmer of hope.
Eight more to go. Eight more battles with fear. Eight more leaps of faith.
Do you see how God redeemed, and continues to redeem, the broken and selfish motives that drove me here? How all those fears that bang around in my head are gathered, sifted like wheat, and then turned into something better than self- expression, self-preservation? I’ll probably always be self-conscious, so the battle to make something out of nothing at all will rage on, and I’ll have to fight it in the familiar territory of selfishness until the Spirit winnows my work into something loving and lovable. I’m no longer surprised by my capacity for self-doubt, but I’ve learned that the only way to victory is to lose myself, to surrender to sacredness—which is safer than insecurity. I have to accept the fact that I’m beloved by God. That’s it. Compared to that the songs don’t matter all that much—a realization which has the surprising consequence of making them easier to write.
from “Adorning the Dark” by Andrew Peterson
If revision isn’t what our English teachers taught, what is it exactly? Revision is the work of seeing with new eyes. Creativity is the ability to make new things or think new ideas; it is the capacity to see or make newness. Revision is the flourishing of creativity.
A word closely related to revision is respect, whose Latin roots mean “look back at” or “regard.” Revision is the work of respecting creation.
For our purposes here, I refer to all drafts beyond the first as revision. But in reality writers revise as soon as an idea pops into our heads. A creative concept changes how we’ve previously understood the world. An initial draft takes that concept and gives it form—revises it—by embodying it in the printed word. When we lead curious, openhearted lives, revision is a natural consequence of growth. Taking revision onto the page allows us to participate intentionally, as active authors of our lives.
from “Living Revision: A Writer’s Craft as Spiritual Practice” by Elizabeth Jarrett Andrew, Skinner House