Art and Artists

There’s an ongoing conversation about separating the art from the artist, a topic that resurfaces each time negative information surfaces about an artist, musician, writer, or other creative person, and I usually view the concept in the abstract because I don’t know the person named and don’t engage with that person’s work.

This is a topic I cover during presentations, when I discuss the need for writers to act like professionals—do the work; deliver it on time; respond promptly to contracts, edits, and page proofs; and so on. During these presentations, I emphasize the need to not let personal actions and beliefs interfere with the business relationship between writer and editor, and I note there are writers I’ve published that, based on their social media, I would not associate with outside of the writer/editor relationship. That their beliefs and life experiences differ from mine does not negate their ability to deliver a well-written story.

My belief that it is possible to separate the art from the artist was shattered this past week when a writer I’ve known since Bouchercon Toronto—a writer I’ve published, dined with, hired as a speaker, and with whom I’ve shared hours of conversation about writing and publishing—was arrested and charged with a crime so horrendous that my world shattered.

He had just spoken at a conference I created, and my co-organizers and I had to issue a formal statement. He also contributed to an anthology I co-edited, and my co-editor and I had to ask the publisher to postpone publication until we are able to replace his story.

Not until after I dealt with all this, did I realize the impact these revelations had on me. I have not read any new submissions. I have not edited any stories. I have not completed the final round of corrections on an anthology that’s almost ready for the publisher. I look at all this writing and ask myself: What do I know about these writers? What secrets are they hiding?

And yesterday, as I write this, I participated in a Zoom call with a small group of mystery writers to discuss what we knew about the arrest and how we were dealing with the news. I kept my video turned off because I didn’t want them looking at me and I mostly kept my eyes closed because I didn’t want to look at them. These were writers and editors I’ve published, who’ve published me, with whom I’ve dined, and with whom I’ve shared hours of conversation about writing and publishing.

But how well do I know them? What secrets do they have? How do I trust that next week, next month, or next year, some revelation about one of them won’t shake my world?

I don’t.

I hope to soon return to work reading and editing but it may take a while to again trust in the basic goodness of people.