Come Gee! Come Haw!
Here’s the thing, writing a novel is like mushing in the Iditarod—a 1,150 mile race through some of the harshest and most beautiful terrain known to man. There’s lots of up hill climbs, down hill slides, frozen tundra, dense forests, river crossings, warm check points and frankly, unless you’re the lead dog, the view never changes. Uhm. Well, okay maybe writing is not that bad. But yeah, striving to be the lead dog is not a bad goal. Scripture tells us to be the best, to do everything as though it were expressly for Jesus. Do I do that? I try. But sometimes I admit that hanging back in the pack is okay also. It’s comfy—less threatening, less responsibility. But then again, I really want my novels to be the best. Maybe not the best according to the masses or according to The New York Times Bestseller Lists or any other list but the best that I can do. Doing my best, running hard, responding to my master’s call to Come Gee or Come Haw! I keep mushing. And if I get noticed and if I make the bestseller list then that’s okay also.
Occasionally I have a dog in basket—no not an IHop breakfast—it’s an injured pooch on the trail. Except for me it’s a manuscript in the basket. I hate that the most. It’s hard to put a story or a scene or even a character out of its misery or out of the race but it’s necessary if I am going to finish the race. It’s kind of crazy to keep a malfunctioning appendix in your body, right? It’s necessary to be brutally honest with my words if I am going to do my best, to have something that I truly believe I could set at Jesus’s feet. Well, a book and my heart. I mean really what else is there?