Tag Archives: freelance writing

A fallen ‘Lancer: Richard N. Côté, 1945-2015

Today I learned of the sudden passing of a good friend and fellow traveler in the writing world: Dick Côté. Evidently he fell on some steep steps at his home office, hit his head, and suffered major brain trauma. When brain death was determined, those close to him let him pass in peace, as he would have wished.

I first came to know Dick through my Amazon reviews, perhaps ten years ago, perhaps longer. I believe he sent me a review solicitation, and I accepted. I found him a highly competent social historian, and continued to review his books out of my interest in the subjects. We became friends, and I can remember many of what I fondly called Chardonnay conversations. He was a tremendous source of knowledge about writing and publishing, and I listened more than I talked. He always called me “my fine young friend,” which I found bemusing up to my early fifties.

Dick had an interesting life. A Connecticutian of French descent, by the time I knew him, he was living in South Carolina. His views were not largely mainstream in Charleston, but Dick was the sort of man who looks past such differences and inspires others to do the same. We have too few of his kind today. After college, he served in the Air Force in Vietnam, a role that troubled him all his days. He was a freelance writer who ghosted a great many books during the days when one could make better money doing that. The most notable might be Safe House, the autobiography of defector Edward Lee Howard. He flew to Moscow and spent several weeks mining Howard’s memories, then set forth to turn those plus Howard’s notes into a credible book. He later learned that it had all been a setup (unsuccessful) to lure Howard back to US custody. Dick was forgetful, so he retold me the story during nearly every phone call, which is why I remember it so well.

His last really major book project nearly broke him: In Search of Gentle Death. This was his social history of the global right-to-die movement, spurred in part by friends of his who were active in it, and in part by his memories of his mother’s unpleasant passing due to ALS. It was a first-class job of writing and research, and an absolute money sink from day one. I had the privilege of serving as proofreader, which was exhausting, invigorating, and fun. That’s how it was when one rode with Dick, those three adjectives. A man of perpetual good humor, no matter what the hour of the day, he always advised me to take the rest of the day off. A passionate hard worker, I know he understood the comedy inherent in that good wish.

Dick was a fairly outspoken atheist, so he did not believe that he is still with us in any spiritual form. (Think about the oddity of those verb tenses.) I, however, am not an atheist. I know this: I have lost a good friend, a fundamentally decent and caring fellow, and a source of wisdom about our line of work. I also know that if Dick was wrong, and is in fact eating crow watching us from an afterlife, he’s laughing at himself. He is also, in that case, breathing an enormous sigh of relief that he never had to face the question of how to end incurable earthly suffering, nor were his loved ones confronted with Schiavoian agony.

He has a Wikipedia page under “Richard N. Côté.” I am not sure the accents will work with a link, and I admit that I am not exactly in the frame of mind to twiddle with technical details. You can find it easily enough.

Dick, my fine old friend, take the rest of the day off.


That Titanic feeling

It’s a strange feeling, it is. While calling it after a massive maritime disaster isn’t really appropriate–my situation is not disastrous, but hopeful–it conveys a similar feeling. Within five weeks, six at most, I’ll be leaving the state in which I came of age. I look around at all the familiarities, and know that their days are numbered, just as the ill-fated passenger liner’s crew had to confront reality: in two hours, nearly all that they saw would be submerged.

A part of me is tempted to mourn early and often, which is irrational. I should not mourn. I lived thirty-nine years in Washington without considering myself a Washingtonian (nothing against the concept). What is ahead is appealing, reuniting and promising. How many local vendors am I eager never to give one more dime? I will be saying farewell to a city government that is a poor steward of the public trust, a library that cannot find useful volunteer work for an author, provincial myopia about the region’s past and present, complete social stagnation, mostly mediocre dining, and dust storms. I just placed a simple phone call to my ISP and got four different answers from four different people, only one of whom seemed the least bit concerned about the variance. The rest were resigned to it. Said it all.

Yet for a long time it was home, and here I met some of the finest people I’ve known, had many good times, loved our house with its strong natural privacy and kind neighbors. And though I should not mourn, I know I will. My last ride to Boise will be a contemplative and emotional four and a half hours.

Soon we part, Washington. Thank you for all that has been good and wonderful. You’re a beautiful state with many fine folks, and you will always be a destination for those seeking climatic diversity and free spirits. People will also come for the weed.


In a complete topic segue, it’s about time I made written record of my usual analogy for my status as a published author.

I am not the sort of published author most people think of, and yet I’m not self-published (though I may change that). I have contributed to a good number of books, but all had other contributors. One might say I’m a freelance writer who is entitled to call himself an author, having done his share of authing for pay and print. I edit, write and proofread. Most of my paid writing work is done on contract, which puts me at the lowest tier of the authorly ziggurat. I usually describe it thus:

You probably saw Titanic. In fact, you’ve probably seen it eight times in reruns whether you wanted to or not. You observed that the ship operated according to a class system, which had direct relevance to one’s chances of ending up in a lifeboat. This has direct analogy to the security of one’s position in the literary world. Thus:

Suppose that the literary world is a Titanic. (The way New York is handling things, the analogy is apt enough). The highest class are, of course, first class passengers, would Madame care for some more champagne, veddy good, sah, socializing in that rotunda with crystal chandeliers overhead and an orchestra playing, more caviar, please, waiter. These are the J.K. Rowlings and Danielle Steels, anyone who is always on the endcap at the bookstore. Almost all of them are getting off the boat.

The next class, second, are the leisure tourists. They do not receive the fawning deference reserved for the big spenders in first class, but they are treated well. They enjoy some amenities and general respect. They are the top-selling science fiction authors, the more famous travel writers, and sometimes the self-help book gurus. Most of them are getting off the boat.

Down in steerage is the third class, the people making their own music who live in a different world than the prominent. This category includes most of the crew. These are most indie authors, history writers, the folks that pen Harlequin romances, cookbook authors, most children’s authors, writers of books on religion, and so on. Most people have never heard of most of them. Most of them aren’t getting off the boat.

Continue into the bowels of the monster and you will come to the engine room, full of people stripped to the waist and sweating quarts as they shovel coal into the boilers. These are the stokers. Without them, the ship couldn’t have set sail, but no one in first class can name a one of them. Not only have they no security, but in time of danger, more important people will shut the watertight doors on them. They aren’t getting off the boat.

I’m a stoker.

Bloggings will continue until morale improves

When you are a ‘lancer, you write for anyone who will fork over, presuming it doesn’t violate your basic life principles (hope you have some). When it’s slow, you have to get creative.

With that in mind, this winter I turned my pen to technical writing on contract. No, it is not la vie litteraire. I honestly don’t think much of said vie, with all its pretense, pomposity and poseurs (and frequently poseuses). It is my belief that there is no such thing as writer’s block; there are people who want to write, and they do that. There are people who don’t want to write, and they do not do that. Right now I want to write, and I am obviously doing it. Well, to be a ‘lancer, you have to ‘want to write’ because you’ll get paid, if for no other reason.

Which explains why I spent the morning assembling a document concerning specifications for cable plants. (No, you goof, you cannot grow them in your garden. Silly gardeners.) Would I prefer to be approached by a major publisher to write a balanced history of the United States, one that would thus piss off everyone with a political filter and earn me hate mail calling me a Commie pinko and a Fascist pig in the same day? Moot point, for I will not be so approached. In the meantime, should I be expanding the ways I can present my ‘lancing résumé? If I don’t, I evidently don’t want to write that badly.

So, I’m writing about cabling. There are some benefits to this besides the money. While my engineer boss is a very good writer as engineers go, it’s fun to be engaged because of the perception that I know more than him about my trade. I realized that when I had to explain to him some of the proofreading marks and issues with punctuation. Mine to present the knowledge, his (as owner of the firm) to say how he likes it and wants it done, and mine in turn to do as all good ‘lancers do: produce quality content to spec on time with a diligent work ethic and a positive attitude.

Here’s the interesting revelation from the process of application. He had quite a few applicants, most of them fresh out of college with liberal arts degrees. I did not expect my nearing-fifty age to be an advantage, but it was. He found his applicants not mature enough for what he wanted in his workplace, which was someone who would show up on time, work without texting every few minutes, observe the recognized protocols of workplace dress, demeanor and focus, and in the end, do as asked without making some excuse. As I was working on my first assignment on my first day, he took a call from one applicant that pretty much said it all. The guy was checking on the status of his application, which had not received a response because he had misspelled his own e-mail address on his résumé. Let’s see. I’m applying to work for an engineer. Should I assure that my presentation demonstrates some attention to detail? Why, yes. Yes, I should. If I cannot manage that, should I pretty much fold the tent and find a new line of work? One thinks so. In any case, my new boss was urbane and courteous to the caller, but within my hearing, advised him that the position was filled. I smiled to myself and kept picking apart the proofreading I had been assigned. I perforated that sucker.

It’s not full time, and it’s not as many hours as I’d like to get, but that’s ‘lancing. You saddle up, you find out what is asked of you, and you do.

It is better training for your own writing work than you might think. It’ll expand your knowledge (I’ve learned a lot about how telecomm cables are organized, and why). It’ll give you the happy glow of cashing checks.

Most of all, it will teach you to write whether you are in the mood or not, whether you have a headache or not, because it’s time you did some writing. That’s how this blog post came about. It was time to do a blog post. I did not grant myself the option to just go upstairs and read my S.M. Stirling book, which was my personal whim–at least, not until I finished this post. Enough people have shown that they will visit here regularly that it is incumbent on me to continue supplying content I think will please at least some of the readership. Do that, and unless you have no idea what people like, that readership expands. Decide that you are in a blah mood and don’t want to write, a little too often, they forget about you soon–as good ol’ Stroker Ace taught us. “Blow their doors off, Stroker.” Just listen to that banjo work.

When in doubt, remember that bloggings will continue until morale improves. This one improved mine, at any rate.

Laura Miller on Spamazon

Here’s her article.

The emptor must caveat real well these days.  While I think that the advent of e-readers has a lot of benefits (though I don’t currently plan to obtain one), any new technology signals that it has become popular and mainstream when it is invaded by crooks, garbage and advertising.  (Okay, sorry, that was triply repetitive.)  Anyway, do keep an eye out when buying, so you don’t get sucked into the Great Internet E-Trash Vortex of these sorts of books.

Over time, having moved from writing into editing, I have also seen this evolve. For example, I used to get tons of book review requests, but one day they just ground to a halt. What replaced them? Seriously irritating spam trying to bribe 5-star reviews out of people. I’ve had to change my whole guidance to editing clients with regard to marketing, because I once knew how to generate book reviews, and it no longer works.

Trolling Craigslist for work

This is what ‘lancers do, troll around for assignments.  But how to winnow out all the crap from the legitimate opportunities? The former outnumbers the latter.

First, you can throw away anything where they don’t even give you a hint of what they want you to write, nor who for.  They aren’t professional.  The less they tell you, and the more hype, the more likely it’s spam.  For example:

Do you love writing???
Do you love making money???
Then this is the opportunity for you!
Internet companies are looking for fresh, new writers to create original content for their websites, blogs, and newsletters. The more articles you write, the more money you earn.
Write about almost and topic or subject you want. Write from the office, from home, or wherever…

This is obviously crap.  No specifics, no idea who it’s for.  Just ignore these.

If you are willing/desperate enough to write search engine optimized stuff, a lot of online writing leads there.  SEO essentially means marketing writing, which is probably the largest market out there for online writing.  What you are doing is writing something, but you are following some rules to work in the right keywords.  This will help the article float to the top of Google (and the other 15 search engines no one uses).  Companies get a big wood when their marketing floats to the top of Google.  If you are at all a competent writer and present yourself well, you can probably find SEO work (if you learn what it is and how it works).

Is there anything wrong with the literary prostitution of SEO? You’re asking me, the literary mercenary? The only things I won’t write for money are those which I a) am too incompetent at to even understand much less write, b) find too morally disgusting even for my rather unconventional moral code, or c) don’t get paid enough.  Most of what I turn down, that’s the reason.  The work sounds fine, but $3 an hour doesn’t cut it.  A lot of opportunity out there is designed to attract those desperate for exposure, which I am not.  I like to work with professionals who have high standards and clear expectations, with reasonable compensation for quality work promptly done.

However, I confess I got my start writing marketing stuff.

I don’t believe in ‘writer’s block’

Honestly.  I do not believe in it, and I believe giving it a name makes it a bugaboo, like a syndrome or disorder that comes to be the attribution for counterproductive behaviors.  “Why I can’t I write? Augh!  I have ‘writer’s block!'”

If you truly want to write, you will.  About something, anything.  Why am I currently writing this blog entry? Because I want to write.  When I am not writing, it’s because I am doing something I want or need to do other than writing.  Might be mowing the yard, might be playing Alpha Centauri, might be watching Looney Tunes DVDs, might be making something to eat.  Right now I want to write, and I’m doing so.

“But what do you do when you sit down to write and nothing comes?” I so often hear.  Well, here’s the usual dialogue:

“Here’s what I do.  I go to my filing cabinet.”

“Your filing cabinet? Is that where you keep your file of ideas?”

“No, it’s where I keep my file copies of contracts.  I pull out the most recent one and skip down to the part where the para begins ‘You will write…’  I read that paragraph carefully, as it delineates what I agreed to do.  Then I skip down to the paragraph that says ‘You will be compensated…’  I take careful note of the parts that point out, in short, that if I don’t do my work I won’t get paid, and if it sucks, I also won’t get paid.”

“And how the hell does that help you feel inspired to write?”

“It doesn’t help me feel inspired.  Inspiration is for creating art, and my writing is my job, not my art.  It does help me feel motivated.  As in, ‘you better sit your butt down there and get it done.’  I rarely even need this, because I like to write.  Nearly all the time when I have work to do, I like it and want to do it.  And when I don’t, tough; it’s a job.  I accepted it.  Time to knock it out, get ‘er done.”

“Okay, fine, but I’m working on my science fiction novel and I don’t have any contract at all to read, and I’m not getting paid any time soon.  I’m stuck!  How do I get unstuck?”

This part is hard.  “If you can’t figure out where to take your story, you need to do some thinking.  But if you know where you want it to go, and can’t put it on paper, then you don’t want to write badly enough right then.  If you did, you’d just start writing whatever part of it you thought of first, and fix it later.”

“Uh…but….” They taper off into silence.  I just dropped a bomb.  I said the thing you can’t say.  I may just have blown their supposed ‘writer’s block’ to gravel (I was certainly trying my level best), but it’ll take time to process that.  I just challenged their basic desire to write, the unchallengeable.  They look at me like I’m the kind of cold S.O.B. that just isn’t supposed to exist in the “Oh, for a muse…” world of Writer’s Digest.  Well, yeah.  I’m a freelancer, a literary mercenary.  If you want feelgood advice that will reinforce all your existing perceptions, I’m the worst person to ask.  However, I don’t get jollies from the fact of jolting eager psyches, so I soften it…

“It’s true.  If you think about it, you aren’t sure where to start with what you want to say, and you don’t want to redo it all later.  Sorry, more bad news:  you will anyway, so just embrace that.  Start with something, anything, even if you have to throw 90% of it away later.  Any writing at all is progress, and not writing is zero progress.  If you clearly understood and absorbed this, you will now desire to go immediately to your computer and begin banging keys.”

“(various confused and noncommittal responses)”

Now, none of this bothers me.  I’m used to it, it’s part of what I do, like a hardware store owner being asked by his brother-in-law about caulking.  Only two things bother me:

  • Arguing with me, trying to tell me how wrong I am.  Maybe I am, but you aren’t paying me for this advice, so if you don’t like it, or find it an annoyance, debating me is useless to you.  You gain nothing except that you can be sure that you’ll never have to worry about getting free advice from me again.  Do I mind healthy disagreement? Not at all–but something I am doing is working, so what I say can’t be too totally incredible.  And if what someone is doing is not working, then where is the knowledge basis for debating me? This blog began purely because my favorite author gave me some stern, kind, wise advice:  “You must start a blog.  People who like your writing want more of it, often, and you need to learn to think in terms of giving it to them.  They want to know the mundane stuff you can’t imagine anyone would care about.  You must have your own domain.  You must learn to present yourself in your profession.”  Did I argue with her? Hell’s bells, no.  I went and did it, within two days.
  • Ignoring what I said, and continuing to seek approval for the dysfunctional methods they’re currently using.  If you wanted to know, why did you just ignore everything I said? Surely you can understand that if I think you’re doing it wrong, I gain no happiness from having to break that to you.  It’s a service.  Freely given, but please think of what it’s like to be simply ignored and have the same thing thrown back at you.  It feels ineffectual for me.  It makes me want to stop.  I don’t fundamentally want to stop.  I like to help people.  I hope what I say will help them write more productively and happily.  If I’m not perceived as an authority, why ever ask me?

This has wandered afield from the topic a bit, I acknowledge, but it does all pertain (if tangentially) to the busting of this mythical ‘writer’s block.’  If you stopped believing in the concept, and started writing–something–anything–even a piece on abuse of the em dash, like someone on Salon recently did–the concept would go away.  Bang out 300 words about how frustrated you are.  Describe your beer can opener.  Rhapsodize about five hairs on your arm.  Write a scathing rebuttal to this, telling me I’m full of baloney.  You will be writing.  That’s the idea, is it not?

Writers want to write.  Non-writers want to talk about how cool it would be to write, or why they can’t write.

And if writers know they should blog, and have no idea at all what to write about some night, you can see what happens.

Dashing through the text…

A writer on Slate decided to have a little fun with hyperdependence upon dashes in writing.  I recommend the read.

My own besetting literary sin is the semicolon, though my guilt in the dash sector is more than it should be.  I’ve learned that, the longer it takes to edit a paragraph for clarity and flow–the more you have to move stuff around to remove this dash or that semicolon–the stronger your signal to rewrite it afresh.

If you fooled with it for fifteen minutes, you already wasted more time rewriting it than you spent writing it.  It’s fourth down; if you aren’t past midfield, punt.

You aren’t the whole process

I was compiling a list of the articles I authored for Myths & Misconceptions today for a friend, listening to Rex Navarrette (Pinoy comic, really funny) in the background.  Looking at my originals compared to what the editors published, it got me to thinking about the sentence I hear the most from people who say ‘I want to write’:

“Oh, I don’t think I could handle being edited.”

If you can’t handle being edited, you are writing for personal enjoyment only, because not only will you be edited, you need to be edited.  The author is not the whole process, nor even necessarily the most important aspect of the process.  Nearly all published work has aspects of collaboration.  I am not saying that one must never argue with an editor; I can and I have.  You can argue for a usage or a phrase or a description if you can justify its stet (‘let stand as set’…the term for canceling an edit) in terms of making the writing better, provided you have taken into consideration the space issues the publication faces.  ‘Because this turn of phrase sets up a joke later’ is a good one.  ‘Because this descriptive bit will orphan a later paragraph if nerfed’ is another.

What is not a good one:  ‘Because my ego is bound up in my cleverness.’

A good example would be the piece I authored for Armchair Reader:  World War II on the Warsaw Ghetto Rising of 1943.  It was a very difficult and painful piece for me for several reasons, difficult enough there is only one person who has ever heard the full tale, haunting even to see on the page in the printed book.  I suggested two titles:  Masada 1943 and “Juden Haben Waffen!” (this being what the SS cutthroats yelled out when the Jewish fighters opened up with their very limited supply of firearms).  I thought the first title was brilliant, evocative, and incorporated a bit of my own soul’s blood that poured that terrible day and night of my career.  I offered the second in case they didn’t like the first, knowing I was emotionally bound up in the piece.

The publisher used the second title, as I learned when I got my comps.  A part of me was crushed–but that was so me!  Obviously, it would have been entirely too late to complain; perhaps less obviously, it would have been very unwise of me to lobby real hard beforehand.  The editors make those decisions and the author needs to either be okay with it, or get okay with it, because my emotional problems are not something the editors can be expected to own.  Plus, if I really really wanted them to use my pet title, it was very foolish of me to present an alternative which they might take.

Do I still think my first title was much better? Oh, hell yes.  But that is because I am emotionally bound up with it, and my judgment is deeply biased.  My editors’ judgment was not.

I am not the whole process.  And if I try to assert myself as though I am, I will no longer even have a place in the process.

Researching with Wikipedia

Heh, don’t have a heart attack.  Wikipedia is great for research, but not in the way you’re thinking.  I use it all the time, yet rarely read the actual entry.

No, you can’t take anything you read there as authoritative.  However, you can see where it sends you.  Check the links, source notes, and all that stuff.  Armed thus, you can investigate those and make up your own mind about their reliability.  Website of some Holocaust denial maven? That’s a distrustin’.  Article by amateur historian? Better, if not fully authoritative.  Peer-reviewed article by expert, from whom further research indicates no predilection or motivation for bias? That’s pretty good.

The other benefit of Wikipedia is that it will at least alert you to high points of a subject for further study.  Reading about an event in its Wiki entry, you may believe nothing the author says, but you at least gain some idea of the main points of controversy.  Thus, if researching the Boston Tea Party, you would not let Wiki decide for you what its real motivations were–but you’d at least get a sense of how some construe the motivations, and from there, you could do some more substantive discovery and deciding.

I realize it’s un-AC (academically correct) to say anything about Wikipedia that doesn’t trash it, but in the editing process, I use it all the time. Suppose a client makes a reference to something I’ve never heard of. Unless it’s a proper noun, there exist a fair number of self-described editors who simply run spellcheck and grammar check, then ask to be paid. If the writer used an arcane term, too bad–they’ll just let the software change it. Laugh if you will, but I have seen the outcome. A competent editor looks up any word or term s/he does not understand; how can one evaluate its use if one does not know what it means? I wouldn’t use Wiki as my definitive source, but as a quick way to follow along with my client, it definitely has its niche.

New book: Fascinating Bible Facts

One fact of my work is that I can say virtually nothing about a project until it’s published.  Contractual confidentiality obligations.  However, once it’s published, I have some freedom, and in fact the publisher would like for me to talk it up.  So let me tell you a bit about its making.

First off, here’s the link:  Armchair Reader:  Fascinating Bible Facts.  It will be available in about a week; they’re taking pre-orders.

Those of you who know me well might be pretty surprised to imagine me working on such a book.  I’m Asatru (basically, old-time Germanic religion).  I do not deny anyone’s god or gods, but I’m not a Person of the Book (Christian, Jew or Muslim).  And when pushed, I can be rather strident about it.  There’s a reason there is a placard on my front door that says POSITIVELY NO SOLICITORS, NO MISSIONARIES.  I can get along great with nearly all people of any faith or no faith long as they respect mine.  But a Bible book? Me?

Well, in the first place…suppose you asked me:  “J.K., do you have more in common with atheists, agnostics, Jews or Christians?”  The answer would be that I have the least in common with atheists, since they are convinced there are no supreme beings of any kind.  Next agnostics, who don’t know.  Next Christians, who believe in a supreme being but who in many cases proselytize, an act alien to my thought.  Finally, Jews, with whom I have the most in common.  They are theists, like me, but they do not proselytize.  My point is that because I too am a theist, I’m not so ill-equipped to write about matters of faith.  Just happen to profess a very different faith, that’s all.

The way I get engaged for a project is, an editor contacts me and says, “We’re interested in having you do this.  What do you think?” I usually ask some questions and get a feel for it.  Sometimes it’s e-mail, sometimes a phone call.  Most editors, at some point, seem to like to talk on the phone at least once, just to get a sense of me.  (“Who is this guy, anyway?”) Since turning down work is not typical for me, I usually sign on.  Since it’s a buyer’s market, I really don’t have a strong negotiating position, so I don’t dicker about payment rates.  Some think that’s selling myself short, literally:  “Why not go out and get what you’re worth? You’ve done great for them!”  Answer:  perhaps I have–they keep hiring me.  And I might get more money.  But what then? “Well, we could engage J.K., but it’ll cost more, and we have plenty of others just as capable who cost less.  Sorry, J.K.”  And who could blame them?

So, when the acquisitions editors approached me for what would become AR:FBF, I was pretty straightforward.  “You do realize, I trust, that I’m not a member of any of the faiths represented in this book?”  I did point out however that I had a degree in ancient history (with specific focus on the early Roman Empire, which happens to coincide with the early Christian Era) and read some Hebrew, plus a bit of Latin and Greek.  They rejoined that, as a non-Person of the Book, I didn’t have a dog in the fight, so to speak.  Not being predisposed toward any of it, I might treat it with more balance.  I signed on.

It turned out to be both a very fun and edifying project.  I had three great editors to work with.  Whether I subscribe to John 3:16 is immaterial to my education; what is material is that the rise of Christianity is an important event in the history of western civilization, and I ought to have perspective on it.  I could not have researched this work without acquiring this.  In short, if you love ancient history, the Judeo-Christian scriptures are among your ancient sources.  You may, if they are not your religious scriptures (or perhaps if they are, or because they are; your call), evaluate their credibility with the same historiographical eye with which you’d examine Tacitus or Plutarch, and conclude what you will.  What you cannot do is dismiss them, even if you’re an atheist.  Not if you are worth a damn as an historian, you cannot.  Whether you believe the supernatural parts is no more material here than if you were studying Native American oral traditions, or even Scientology.

Having not yet received my complimentaries, I don’t know how much of what I wrote and was paid for was actually printed.  I’m pretty sure a lot of it was, and that I did a disproportionate share of the book, because in the Amazon blurb, most of the features they mention, just so happens I authored those particular manuscripts.  The basic process is that I’m either presented with topics, or invited to select from a list, or asked to suggest a list.  Sometimes all three happen.  The editors make some decisions (usually with some input from me, naturally) on length and subjects, and assign me the work.  I do it and turn it in.  The sooner I do that, the sooner I get a new assignment, so it is in my best interests to bust my butt and get all over that.

I am contractually obligated and expected, upon request, to rewrite or edit MS to the editors’ satisfaction.  Sometimes this is wanted, sometimes not.  But once I turn it in, I have very little influence over how the MS is used (if at all).  The publisher may use it in this book, or in a future book, in as many as they wish, with or without attribution to me (though they have historically been quite kind about that).  I have transferred the ownership rights, and in so doing, have warranted that they are rightfully mine to transfer (meaning, that it was my original work).  The publisher’s duty to me ends when I am paid.  That said, I’m very fortunate to write for PIL, because they’ve nearly always been kinder to me than the strict letter of the contract obligates.  They’ve been classy and professional and considerate, and I’m pleased that my name is in over a dozen of their books.  Good advice for ‘lancers:  try and be classy, professional and considerate to your editors.  If you are, you’ll probably be seeing them again.  People prefer to work with people who are easy to work with.

The whole process can take months to a year.  I know it’s going live when they contact me for a contributor bio.  That seems to be the publisher equivalent to a submarine skipper ordering the last man down the hatch to dog and secure it–when that happens, next step is to submerge.

Anyway, if you’re interested in some thoughtful takes on matters Biblical, the new book may be of interest.