My favorite prose artist is Colon Harrison, called the Poet Laureat of American thriller writers. Never purple. Hardly an adjective anywhere. And yet… spellbinding.

By the way, I didn’t comment over at Problogger; most stuff gets said in the first fifty comments, but I just wanted to say how much I liked the five point summing up, especially the emphasis on editing and the part about polishing your writing like an obsessive poet. I loved this line: “…craft is the product of evolved instincts colliding with proven principles.”

I have one query though; I agree with what you say about the importance of ‘voice’, and of brutal editing, but what if that voice is naturally lyrical, and bleaching all traces of “purple” from it is like stripping away the element of sound from a poem?

Last week I read a powerful, hauntingly beautiful novel called ‘An Equal Stillness’. It won a best debut novel award and read like poetry; no image felt superfluous, the metaphors meshed elegantly and the story structure was as tight as a complex sonnet. The author had intelligence, breath and presence as well as a distinctive voice. The writing was exquisite, intense and perfectly pitched, but didn’t tip over into purple prose as it could so easily have done. But it was lyrical and it did get published, and it did win an award.

There’s room for so much more in the world of published books than fast paced plot driven action, easy-read romantic teen horror, and formulaic chic-lit full of flowery detail-bloat. And thank God there’s definitely enough room in the blogosphere for more than How to posts.

Thanks, Larry, for always reminding us that hard work, talent and toolbox skills still don’t add up to success without great ideas, an artist’s sensibility and that “mother’s love” you mentioned in your post. We all need to be reminded of the hope left at the bottom of Pandora’s box.

Good luck with your writing this week. See you on the other side.

I’ve got my four novels sitting on the shelf above my desk. All I’ve got to do is look up and they are a constant reminder that I walked the walk.