Charismatic Characters

What I am offering here is not mine. It is Charles Baxter’s.* I am bringing it here because it was an epiphany for me (or whatever the word is for a crystalized way of thinking about something one already knows experientially).

Baxter was speaking of charisma. He was wondering what makes someone charismatic, and how a charismatic character translates to the page. He stated that a reader cannot sufficiently experience a charismatic character on the page. Charisma requires that you be there, in the room, under the influence. 

He went on to explain that the way a reader experiences a charismatic character is by the effect that character has on other characters. It is through observation of these impacts the reader will come to understand a character as charismatic.

This is a fascinating realization.

In thinking about this further, it seems this is true of any psychologically hefty character. One who is charismatic, sociopathic, prophetic—all of these will be experienced by the reader indirectly, via that character’s impact on the other characters in the story.

Thank you, Mr. Baxter, for this lesson. Anytime we can obtain insight into how readers read fiction or how fiction works during that act of consumption, the better writers we will be.

*As presented to Sarah Enni on her podcast, “First Draft,” episode dated 1 August 2022. 

In Short: The Nature of Our Work

You cannot trust your day-in and day-out feelings about your creative work. These are no gauge. They are no metric. They are far too fickle.  They will jerk you around. Instead, you must trust the discipline and process of doing the work. The routine of sitting down each day and bearing up the required elements of time and attention. You must trust your God-bestowed creative capabilities.

Creative work is not analytical. Creative work is not reasoned, planned, and executed. It operates differently. Creative work moves like an approaching weather front or walking into a room of people you’ve never met. You can only be present and react. The outcome remains to be seen, and is certain to be different than what you imagined.

An Artist’s Blessing

And may the sweetness of the Master our God be upon us 

and the work of our hands firmly found for us, 

and the work of our hands firmly found!

– Ps. 90.17 (Robert Alter, trans.)

We are all fallen—broken—not yet realizing our created potential. This fallenness, from which God is seeking to redeem us, is evident in every area of our lives. We don’t need to look far to see this brutal reality in ourselves, those around us, and the culture in which we swim.

As creatives, we’re constantly striving for an imagined aesthetic, a space and a quality of production that we imagine to be ideal—our best work. We seek to fail at a higher level with each outing. As a believing creative, I perceive this effort to be the search for a divine creative space—one only The Maker knows—but for which He formed humankind.

While I am painfully aware of my fallenness, I sense my fallenness most profoundly in my creative work. My ability to produce beauty and truth always falls short of what I know should be possible. I am aware there is a ceiling I cannot rise above, beyond which is a creative space we will see and experience only in the life to come. I believe we will continue our creative work in eternity, and the satisfaction we’ll experience cannot now be conceived. Our creative capability, our design in the imago Dei, and our worship will meld as one.

For now, let our work point to His. May our effort be a candle beneath His sun, a hewn leaf upon His tree, a well-wrought sentence in the epic The Maker continues to write.

Editing Your Work

Writing and editing are vastly different tasks. Both are essential and both must be undertaken. It’s important to know when you’re doing one vs. the other, and to ensure they don’t overlap—or when they do you recognize it and control it.

We often slip from writing into editing too quickly. You’re writing along and you come to a pause in your flow. Too often the next step is to go back, read what you’ve written, and start tweaking it. This is a move from writing to editing. You have ceased the flow of putting words onto the page and begun the process of analyzing what is there.

There’s nothing intrinsically wrong with this switch. You just want to make sure it’s intentional. Don’t interrupt the flow of creating words to begin editing. Try allowing yourself to simply stop and think about what it is you’re trying to convey instead of bowing to the tendency to begin editing.

There are two primary types of editing.

The first is called copy editing. The effort in copy editing a manuscript in preparation for a next draft is in scrutinizing what is on the page, and spotting what’s not. Copy editing is an effort to flag sentences or paragraphs that aren’t yet working. It’s a macro effort.

The other type of editing is proofreading. This is a line-by-line effort to identify grammatical, word choice, or punctuation errors. This is sometimes referred to as line editing.

If you were to come and sit in my study and watch me write, you’d often see a fellow typing and sipping coffee; however, sometimes you’d see a fellow sitting, his hands resting on the keyboard, his coffee getting cold as he stares off into space. This is the part where flow has paused and thinking has taken over. It’s the result of a decision not to edit—not yet.

Under Contract: Waterborne

The famed prophet and shipbuilder lays in his tent on his deathbed. Family gathers, as family will. Each takes a turn at his side—a few minutes a day. Each brings their memories, scars, and burdens. A wife, three sons and their three wives—each knows the past. Each offers a telling of life inside the clan of Noah.

I’m planning to share this news via social media in the coming weeks, but being a faithful blog reader, you get the inside scoop!

In January I finished a manuscript called Waterborne, a retelling of life inside the clan of Noah (Genesis 6-9). I sent the manuscript to my agent, Joelle Delbourgo, who presented it to Bold Vision Books (BVB), the publisher who produced The Confessions of Adam. BVB said they were very happy with the writing, but wanted some significant changes to the manuscript—specifically in how the story was told. 

In late February, I presented a memo to BVB via Joelle outlining how I thought I could make the changes they were requesting. BVB took many weeks with this memo, discussing Waterborne in their weekly publication committee. Just before Easter, they came back to us stating their desire to move forward with Waterborne and their intent to purchase the manuscript, assuming the rewrites I’d outlined in the memo.

On May 18th I signed a contract with Bold Vision Books for Waterborne. I am currently rewriting the manuscript under contract. This means BVB has committed to publishing the novel and I’ve committed to delivering a rewritten manuscript to them no later than March 2023.

But there’s a bit more—these next details are just for you. I’ll not be sharing these on social media as we’ll have to see how the story ends.

On May 20th, Joelle announced the book deal on Publisher’s Marketplace—an online bulletin board for the publishing industry. The same day another publisher came forward stating their interest in the audio rights to Waterborne. On May 21st yet another publisher, based in London, came forward stating their interest in the rights to publish Waterborne in the UK.

We will see what happens with these other publishers and their interests—Joelle will help there—but BVB will be publishing my second novel.

So—mark your calendars for an anticipated late 2023 release of (working title) Waterborne: Chronicle of the Clan of Noah.

Creative Work: A Lament and Encouragement

I’d like to tell you that my writing life is precise and planned, that it goes off like clockwork, each day resulting in sure-fire productivity. I’d like to prattle on about how my craft is a steady source of personal satisfaction, and how I’ve permanently reserved, ordered, and designed the necessary mental space and energy for my creative work to thrive.

But this is not true. 

This is not true at all.

Getting creative work done is a constant and enduring challenge. Our culture, for all its delights, has been engineered on a construct of interruptions and distractions. This, coupled with fitting writing in among life’s many true and varied demands results in a war of art.*

My creative work—like yours—is a daily effort. It’s an effort to not only do the work, but to push back the many encroaching demands and challenges of life and make momentary room to write. Contemplative, deep work*—that which engenders focus, is fueled by time, and elevates the value of experimentation—is not native to modern life. Yet this is precisely the nature of creative work.

I often write with the concerns of corporate life clouding my head. I often write with a sense of being rushed, or in extreme fatigue from not enough sleep. I often write as if the writing is simply another item on my task list. This is how most of us do our creative work—tucked into our hectic and hurried lives.

So what to do? 

First, keep writing. A lot of days, if not all, it’ll be challenging. Write anyway. You CAN be productive under such conditions. Second, enjoy those days now and then (mine usually fall on weekends and holidays) when the pressures of life seem to abate and you enjoy an hour or two of focus solely on your craft. Finally, know this creative squeeze is a fact of modern life. And in practicing our craft we fulfill our created purpose.

*I’ve slipped into this post the titles of two important books: Deep Work, by Cal Newport; and The War of Art, by Steven Pressfield.

In Memoriam: Beware of Your Time

On Friday morning, 13 May, at 5:57AM, my friend Steve died. I visited Steve twice the previous weekend—Saturday evening and Sunday evening. He was unable to speak due to the ravages of throat cancer, but he had a notebook and pen he used in order to communicate—a simple, spiral-bound, single-subject notebook, and an inexpensive stick pen.

On that Saturday evening, several of us were gathered around his bed. At one point in our visit, as the conversation waned, Steve asked for the notebook and pen. We all fell silent and watched him write, just as we did each time he took the notebook. This was our way of giving him the floor. We waited. A minute passed, then two. He handed me the notebook.

In his all-caps scrawl—between lines about our plans for Sunday’s visit, and his frustration about not being able to have a conversation—following a few letters scribbled out, lay a single line. 

DAVE BEWARE OF YOUR TIME.

The others looked over my shoulder and read. I looked up at Steve. I told him I perceived he was not speaking of our visit, the time of evening, and the hour-long drive home that lie ahead. He nodded. Indeed, he was not.

I brought this page of the notebook home. In the corner, in pencil, I dated it, wrote his name, and the name of the hospital and its location. The paper sits on my desk in my study. I can see it from where I’m typing. This page of last words. And on it, this line—to me and for me—this warning, this admonition, this advice borne of experience.

What to do with these words of such weight? What to do with these words so freshly carved? 

For now, in honor of Steve, I will read them again.

Quote and Comment, L’Amour

Start writing, no matter what. The water does not flow until the faucet is turned on. – Louis L’Amour

This is plain and simple advice. And the starting point for every one of us. If a writer doesn’t start, there there is no progress. Writing is a matter of will. Writing isn’t like watching television or sleeping in. Writing isn’t passive. The writer has to initiate the action. The writer has to start.

Anything we do that has lasting positive impact requires such initiative. 

Note too that L’Amour says “no matter what.” It doesn’t matter if you feel inspired, have the time,  or it’s your birthday—”start writing, no matter what.” I don’t think he’s speaking solely of the initial start, but also that daily start as well—that daily effort of getting to work.

But, in all this work, there is a reward. “…the faucet is turned on.” Writing begets writing. Productivity is the result of having initiative and doing the work. You’ll see L’Amour makes no statement here on quality. The water (writing) that comes may be lukewarm, hard with minerals, or crisp and clear. That’s not the focus. The focus here is to ensure the water is flowing. The quality of the water? Let it flow for a while and we’ll see what happens.

Creative Collaborations

There is a skill that all writers must possess and use at some point in their journey in order to realize any level of success.

Writers must be collaborative team members.

I currently have three creative collaborations under way. My writers workshop is planning a reading on Sunday, 1 May; I’m working with a web designer and developer to create a new website; and I’m working with my publisher and agent on the arrangements for my next novel.

While writing is a daily solitary effort, it is only solitary when I’m writing. Being flexible enough to work well with other creative people is essential to growth in one’s craft. The writer can’t accomplish all that needs done by himself. Instead, the writer must regularly see himself as leading a team of equals, a team of creative and skilled people, all working toward the goal of reaching readers.

I have learned to welcome others into my creative space, and see them as essential partners in my creative goals. We were created for community, not hermitage. And this applies in the arts as well.

Writing When the Story is Failing

While writing earlier this week, the process felt like running in sand uphill. There was little evidence of progress. The desire to quit was great. It was then I paused and scribbled in my notebook a bit of advise to myself—advice perhaps you can use in your own work. 

“You must write, even when you feel like you’re only failing. Perhaps most when you feel you’re failing.”

Reading these sentences there in my notebook, I wondered why I’d written that last one. Why did that ring true? Why would writing when you feel you’re failing be somehow more important than writing at other points in a project? Over the past few days I’ve concluded the work takes on a certain criticality when it’s not going well. It’s imperative that we, when the story is a struggle, bear down and do the work. The reason for this is that failed drafts are what get you to the final draft. The focus of writing is not solely the draft you’re working on; it’s also the draft that will come after. The current draft is a means to an end. The only means to the end.