Not, in this case, an instrument of God. I take that as a given, and maybe someday I’ll actually get it right. (Nobody hold your breath.)
No, I’m thinking about the different instruments that different artists use: the paintbrush, the violin, or (in the case of an actor or singer) the body itself. In each case, the artist must study the instrument, learn everything about how and why it works, and then forget about it in order to focus on the art.
In the writer’s case, the instrument is the mind itself. Of course, I can’t really “forget” about the mind, but the same basic principle holds: I shouldn’t be thinking, “What do I think?” I should be thinking about the story. And there’s the danger.
When I’m writing, I shouldn’t be deciding what I believe. I should be unconsciously using what I believe. It should be the violin, not the music. But that means that before I start, my instrument needs to be properly tuned. Writing frightens me because, while I can lie to myself, I can’t lie in my work. And the question is not, “Do I measure up to what I believe?” (Answer: No.), but the far more terrifying, “Do I really believe it?”
