"If Fame Comes at All"

I work at a large university, and my Internet home page at the office is a screen that has, among other things, a box listing interesting campus events: lectures, sports activities, performances, and so forth. I usually give it at least a cursory glance at various points during the day… Okay, I look at it more than I should, probably.

A listing from the other day caught my eye, and I haven’t quite been able to turn loose of it since. It was a single sentence, mentioning an upcoming presentation by a visiting professor of biblical literature. The title of his lecture was “Meneptah: The Pharaoh Who Mentioned Israel.” I regret to say that I neither attended the lecture nor actually read the referenced press release in its entirety.

But the headline got me to thinking and wondering about Pharaoh Meneptah—or Merenptah, or Merneptah, as he is variously known. Turns out that this pharaoh is the only one who actually mentions the land of Israel in the carvings and monuments created during his reign. Rather a minor mention at that, the inscription is on one of the four large commemorative stelae the pharaoh had erected to memorialize his decisive victory over an army of invaders composed of an alliance between Libyans and “Sea People”—possibly Minoans or proto-Philistines. The twelfth son of the long-lived Rameses II, Meneptah was already retirement age when he ascended the throne, but the aging monarch rallied the deteriorating Egyptian military machine sufficiently to prevent the invaders’ encroachment on Memphis. Perhaps this victory accounts for his name, which means “beloved of Ptah:” Ptah was the god of Memphis.

Apparently, Meneptah was not only successful at repelling the military threat from the west, but also in putting down a revolt in the Palestinian cities of Ashkelon, Gezer, and Yenoam. He also engaged in various feats of diplomacy.

What struck me was that of all the accomplishments for which Meneptah may have expected to be remembered by posterity, it turns out that he is perhaps most famous for mentioning a relatively minor military exploit in a territory on the periphery of his kingdom. I seriously doubt whether the pharaoh, as he was ordering the carving and erection of his commemorative stelae, would have imagined in his wildest dreams that three millennia later, scholars in a land completely unknown during his day would be referring to him as “The Pharaoh Who Mentioned Israel.” In fact, I can almost imagine the good pharaoh pausing in his voyage through the afterlife to look back and say, “After all the really important things I did… this is how they remember me?”

That causes me to wonder what unsuspected thing—if any—I might be remembered for. What minor act—by my own reckoning—have I performed that will turn out to be the most important thing I ever did?

Maybe Alexander Pope was onto something when he wrote, “Nor Fame I slight, nor for her favours call; She comes unlooked for if she comes at all.” That seems about right, doesn’t it? Perhaps Ecclesiastes 11:6 gives us another angle on the same idea: “Sow your seed in the morning, / and at evening let not your hands be idle, / for you do not know which will succeed, / whether this or that, / or whether both will do equally well.” St. Paul might have said it this way: “Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart…”

One thing seems certain: fame is a fickle mistress, and her sense of humor seems ironic, at best. Better to focus one’s allegiance elsewhere.

Writing Advice

Every once in a while, I get a query from someone who wants to know about how to get started in writing. Here's one from about thirteen years ago. I think the advice I gave her still holds up... see what you think. (I've withheld my correspondent's name to respect her privacy).

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Dear Mr. Lemmons,
I am 30 years old with a wonderful husband and 3 children. I have been praying about becoming a novelist. I was hoping you could give me some advice since I heard so many good things about your writing.

I want to write Christian romance novels that are inspirational and not too frivolous. I want to leave my reader inspired and encouraged to walk with God as I guess every Christian author does. Can you give me some advice based on your own experiences? How do I begin and how do I hold on to my inspiration to keep writing for the Lord as my main purpose?



I'm looking forward to writing and already have so many ideas for story plots in my head. I dont want my stories to be frivolous but serious and heartwarming. How can I start and what do I need to look out for? But most of all what will writing require of me? Anything you can share with me will be greatly appreciated.

Thank you
(name withheld)


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Dear (correspondent),

Thanks for your note. I'm honored to be of service. I must say at the outset that I can't help too much with specific advice about writing romances, since that's not really my preferred genre.



By way of background, I would say that the most important thing for you to do is focus less on any message you want to send your readers, and focus most of all on telling a good story. I think it was William Faulkner who said something to the effect of "Trust the tale, not the teller." What I think he meant is that a story is something to be handled with care, for its own sake. If you are a Christian, that cannot help but come through in your work. Don't worry so much about leaving your readers "inspired and encouraged to walk with God" as about giving them an honest view of reality as conceived within your heart and consciousness. If you can do that best by writing romances, fine. It really doesn't matter what sort of fiction you write, as long as you bring your passion and your honesty to it. Good fiction is good fiction, whether it's Christian or Muslim or Buddhist or pagan. God isn't well served by bad fiction, even if it's written in His name.



I would advise you to read widely. Read those writers whom you respect, and would like to emulate. Don't be afraid to imitate at first: that's how babies learn to talk. Not that you're a literary infant; it's a valid principle that I still employ. I read authors whom I respect, and try to figure out how they do what they do.

As to what writing will require of you--I think the answer depends on what you want writing to do for you. Writing can demand everything you have. Not necessarily all your time; spending all day writing is a luxury few of us can afford. What I mean is that writing can cause you to face things within yourself that you'd rather not face. Writing (for me, at least) is not a release; it's more of an expense. It's hard to write well, and it demands a sort of uncomfortable honesty about myself and what I'm trying to do.



I hope my rambling has helped you somewhat. Good luck, and God bless. If I can be of future assistance, let me know.

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As I reread the above exchange, I can't help wondering how my correspondent is getting along. Lord willing, she's in her early forties now and still has a wonderful husband and three children (some of whom are probably adults by this time). I hope that she was able to write and that the experience was a good one for her. I hope that trying to make the words say exactly what she means and feels has enriched and challenged her, as it has me. If she has been fortunate enough to be published, I hope that someone, somewhere, was touched by her words and changed for the better. And I hope that they let her know.

Ghostwriting, Publishing, and the Monastic Tradition

I have a friend who's a university professor who just doesn't get the concept of ghostwriting. Every time I tell him about a book I'm working on as a ghostwriter, he shakes his head and mumbles something about intellectual prostitution. I think what sticks in his craw is the notion that someone else is getting credit (albeit, paying for the privilege) for something I'm writing. As a prof who came up the hard way in the academic trenches, scratching and clawing for every publication credit and scrupulously updating his curriculum vitae each time another journal published his work, my friend can't get his mind around the idea that I would gladly exchange payment for public recognition of work I've done.

It's a fair criticism. Frankly, there are other writers in my circle--especially novelists--who aren't too keen on the whole ghostwriting thing. Their notion runs something like, "Why should some big-name evangelist get to have the cover credit for 'his' novel all to himself, when all he did was maybe toss out a couple of plot points and write a check?"

I have a different view of what I do. I don't know if it's the right one for everybody, but I think it works for me. When I'm working on a book or article that's going to be published under someone else's name, I conceive of my task as similar to something a medieval monk might have done, meticulously crafting an illuminated manuscript. He wasn't going to sign his work; within a hundred years, it's unlikely that anyone would even remember his contribution to the book on which he spent so many hours. He would labor in faithful obscurity, for no other reason than that he had the necessary skill to perform the work that would make the book take on an extra measure of life and beauty.

When I'm creating a story, whether it's a novel, a memoir, or even something as mundane as a financial self-help book, I like to think that I'm kind of like that monk: I'm employing a skill that has been entrusted to me mostly as a gift, and I'm using it to do the best work I can on an artifact that has the potential to help someone else. I hope I'm getting paid a little better than the monk, since I don't think my wife and kids would much favor moving into a monastery. But the principle of focusing more on the work to be done and less on the public credit to be had is kind of the same... in my mind, at least.

In fact, every book contains elements of this principle. Unlike movies--where everyone who carried a cable, catered a meal, or cued up a soundtrack gets his or her name listed in the credits--books don't identify anywhere near all the people involved in their creation. Oh, sure, the author will usually acknowledge his or her agent, probably the editor at the publisher who bought the book, and maybe a few family members and friends who offered (or sometimes withheld) critiques. Academic books come a little closer, since scholarly authors (especially early in their careers) try to be pretty careful about acknowledging everyone--from their graduate research assistants to the chairs of their dissertation committees--who aided or abetted the publication effort. But nowhere in any book will you find a word of thanks for the typesetter, or the pressman who ran the signatures through the offset printer, or the imaging proofer who color-matched the illustrations, or the administrative assistant who mailed the publishing contract, or... All of these people, from the copyeditor to the warehouse guy who packs the book for shipping to the bookstore, had a hand in the author's success, but very few of them ever get thanked... or even noticed. But each of them--at least, the ones worth their salt--is proud of the contribution made, whether anyone remembers who did it or not.


So, I take a craftsman's pride in what I do. Sometimes, I'd like to think it approaches art. But even when it doesn't, I still feel good about putting the best words possible out there, in between the covers of books, for people to find in their time of need. I try not to worry so much about who gets the credit for it. In my best moments, like the monk in his, I believe that doing your best at what you do is reason enough.