Keyboard grunge, Anne Rice, and the light of other eyes

The amount of grunge that had built up on my 4-year-old keyboard finally flagged my attention. Dingy gray soiled the sides of the keys, between the keys, and even the tops. Sound familiar?

That grunge, it occurs to me, is like the congenital flaws you can find in any novelist’s work (including, dang it, mine). Grunge is missteps a writer takes—or steps he fails to take—that go unnoticed and accumulate, dimming and diminishing the narrative.

I got a bottle of cleaner and a paper towel, sprayed, and wiped. Back-lit as the keyboard was by my monitor and a lamp at one end of my desk, it looked fine. This effort, I later learned, was the equivalent of self-editing. I got the obvious stuff, but missed deeper grime because I couldn’t see it. Not enough light from the right angle.

Later, going to open Stein on Writing for a refresher course, I found that my lighting was terrible for reading because it came at me from the front. So I positioned a desk lamp for backlight. Which cast a front light on the keyboard. It revealed that my keyboard fairly dripped with grunge I’d missed.

Not only did it cover the sides of the keys, some scum still discolored their tops. Nasty. I went to work with cotton swabs, cleaner and a fresh paper towel, performed the equivalent of a rewrite after a professional edit, and now write this on a clean keyboard. That desk lamp was like an editor’s mind, revealing unseen grunge that gums up and weakens narrative.

I’ve learned (resentfully, because the learning curve seems to have no end) that I need independent, story-smart eyes to shine a revealing light on my fiction from a fresh angle.

Generally, my stories are seen as having involving plots, excellent pace, vivid action, and strong writing . . . plus big fat voids where I have not done enough with character motivation or revealed enough about characters to make them emotionally involving. It’s not that I can’t do those things, but I just fail to see that some wavelengths are missing. My deep inner knowledge of characters fills in the missing parts of the spectrum, backlighting the narrative so that I cannot perceive the lacks . . . the weaknesses . . . the grunge.

Some writers, especially hugely successful ones, adamantly blind themselves. Anne Rice once stated in a posting on that she refuses to allow an editor near her work. She defends her practice because she has worked so diligently on her art, writing of how she polishes every word. She wants no alien influence to besmirch her prose. I think Anne is mistaken on a couple of counts. The first is to somehow link an editor’s critique as a mandate for change that will corrupt or lessen her art.

Light only reveals. An editor can only observe and remark upon weak spots, hopefully with educated, empathetic eyes that reveal grunge the writer no longer sees. It’s up to the writer to clean it up. Or not. Anne doesn’t have to do what an editor says . . . but the light might show her where grunge has crept in, unnoticed but nonetheless there.

I’m a fan of Anne Rice, and enjoyed hugely The Witching Hour and The Vampire Lestat and The Queen of the Damned. Fascinating works of imagination. I suspect those books had editorial participation because they are not burdened by the muddiness and wandering I see in her later works. That’s her second mistake—her editor-free narratives have moved me from enthusiastic fan to a maybe-this-one-will-be-worth-it reader to a former fan no longer willing to expend the funds or time on her books. We both lose.

I came across the following post on a blog by a fellow named Trent. I quote his quote of Anne Rice’s misunderstanding of what a good editor does, and his response.

Anne Rice: “When you take home a CD of Pavarotti or Marilyn Horne, you don’t want to hear another voice blended in. I feel the same way about Hemingway. If I read it, I don’t want to read a new edited version.”

Trent: “Ah, but if the conductor notes that Pavarotti has sung the wrong note or key in rehearsal, should the conductor not inform Pavarotti of the mistake? A good editor informs writers of troublesome errors, worthless tangents, unnecessary repetitions–small and large–and so forth. The voice is not to be tampered with–unless it’s off-key or otherwise problematic and inconsistent.”

But it wasn’t successful writers such as Ms. Rice who got me to thinking about writerly grunge. They’ll get along fine (the money-in-the-bank thing). It was the rights postings on Publishers Marketplace made by unrepresented authors. I read the proffered samples and see promising writing tainted by grunge, some of it subtle, some of it obvious. For practiced readers (for agents and editors make that “jaundiced”), those samples foreshadow manuscripts marred by shortcomings—and not worth following up. Backs will be turned.

Every novelist owes it to herself and to readers to find other eyes, knowing ones that can see the grunge. Unless you’re very lucky in your critique group, that probably means an independent editor. Yes, an editor costs, but what is the cost of backs being turned on your writing? At the least, you can check out editors who will consider doing a free critique of a sample . . . but ONLY if you are willing to follow up with an order for an edit if you are convinced you need one.

Or find a critique group with fellow novelists whose writing you like and respect. Reader-friends may be able to give you good input, though in my experience even other writers, if not novelists, don’t know how to address the deeper craft insights a novelist really needs.

Don’t settle for admiring grungy work through me-colored glasses like Anne Rice, find other eyes—you’ll see what I mean.

(In the interests of full disclosure, due to the press of work events, this is taken from an ancient, but still valid, post on my blog, Flogging the Quill.)

Image from JoshHardin.


About Ray Rhamey

Ray Rhamey is the author of five novels and one craft book, Flogging the Quill, Crafting a Novel that Sells. He's also an editor who has recently expanded his creative services to include book cover and interior design. His website,, offers an a la carte menu of creative services for self-publishers and Indie authors. Learn more about Ray's fiction at


  1. thea says

    I, too, have read books by very successful authors and, after stumbling over many plot and character issues, wondered where the editor was in their process. And Ann Rice probably doesn’t have to pay for an independent editor! Great post (as usual), Ray.

  2. says

    Good post re: the value of a good editor — and well-executed, too, via the Rice reference: I’ve often thought that her later novels could benefit greatly from some effective editing (though given the quote above and her success now, it might be difficult to get that job done!)

  3. says

    I gave up on Rice at “Blood and Gold”. It was the first novel of hers where I noticed a tendency of the narrative to wonder away from the story to the point where I wasn’t quite sure what story she was trying to tell. I did eventually return with “Christ the Lord Out of Egypt” and she seems to have rectified some of the problems sadly, not enough to encourage reading the follow-up.

    And wholeheartedly agree on “Queen of the Damned” which is easily one of my favourites. Also high on my list is “Cry to Heaven”.

  4. says


    Thank you so much for helping to educate writers on what good editing is and what a good editor is for.

    I’ve been a writer for thirty years–I’ve published nonfiction and poetry, worked in journalism, written multiple novels, and worked for a long time as a technical writer–and now I both write and edit. I love writing, and I too would like to believe that I polish every word to a perfect shine. But I know my work, like everybody else’s, needs editing. It simply takes two pairs of eyes, two types of focus–the artistic focus (the author’s) and the business focus (the editor’s).

    Although my bills get paid through my nonfiction editing, I also edit fiction, because I love fiction, I love the act of creating and polishing fiction, and I love meeting fiction writers.

    Toward that end, I write articles on the craft of fiction on my blog at Please feel free to drop by.


  5. says

    Thanks for the post. Sad that when some writers get to a certain level of success, they acquire the blind spot. And egs of singers is particularly interesting, because singers hear their own voices differently than their audience. They need a trusted pair of ears to tell them what how they sound from the outside.

    May we never lose the ability to tell grunge from gems.