Those of us who read (and review) books sometimes lose sight of the fact that a real person has spent time and emotion to put that story into words. And those of us who edit books can sometimes be even more oblivious, even insensitive, to the reality of an author’s efforts.
I thought about that this week when a fellow member of the EFA (Editorial Freelancers Association) posted a link to a letter John Steinbeck wrote upon completing “East of Eden,” one of my favorite novels.
A book is like a man—clever and dull, brave and cowardly, beautiful and ugly. For every flowering thought there will be a page like a wet and mangy mongrel, and for every looping flight a tap on the wing and a reminder that wax cannot hold the feathers firm too near the sun.
Well—then the book is done. It has no virtue any more. The writer wants to cry out—"Bring it back! Let me rewrite it or better—Let me burn it. Don't let it out in the unfriendly cold in that condition."
Thank goodness for brave souls such as Steinbeck, who, after laboring for months or years to tell a story, have the courage to put that story into the hands of an editor and eventually out to the public.
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