Writing is a peculiar thing. It is something that I have courted for years; from the time I learned the magic of reading I wanted to be the one to put the words down, to share in the wonderment and pure joy that comes from words. It is no wonder my desire to know the Word of God in its entire nuance of original language also makes me love the description of Jesus in the Book of John as the Word. It is no wonder one of my favorite Scripture verses note that death and life are in the power of the tongue. In our digital age, I would apply that to our technological tongues too, which have become an extension of our own physical (and mental) beings.
Yes words can be elusive. There is a hide-and-seek game that is played each time one ventures to write, trying to find the best words, the eloquence, and the flow that makes it worth reading. Words particularly enjoy hiding themselves when I think of titles for my blogs or short stories. Will it be eye-catching without being another click-bait article? Will it bare another piece of my soul or feel insignificant? Will it be enough to encompass the words within, to bolster them up to something that makes sense and can be savored by others? Am I just wasting my time with all of this, writing out of selfishness and false bravado? I always hope not.
So when the title was the first thing that came to me for my next work, I thought surely this could not be right. The first problem was the words themselves, and how very unlike me they are. Then came the whisper, This is who you will be, if you will just let go. There’s that control issue again. The title feels like big shoes to fill and could be a let-down to the contents inside, but again, a whisper, This is your story. You are not a let-down, you are of worth, and value.
That was nine months ago. I tried starting, twice. I hand-wrote out the beginnings, trying to make it witty and light-hearted, like a thin veil over a dark hole. And while I can be sarcastic or funny at times, this was not the right move. This story was too important to laugh it off. So I began to type it out instead, and got to one part and cried. And cried and cried. And I thought, how horrible. How terrible this all is and I cannot do this.
Instead of writing, I did what any other author would do- I wrote other things, I sat completely inept at my keyboard and wrote nothing at all, I read other books. And then I picked up a book on writing and felt like someone was speaking to my soul, and the fire sparked again.
Like a mother who has waited nine long and hard months for the birthing of new life, it is finally time. The pangs of giving birth give way to the joy and relief of something new, something that has been worth waiting for and giving up one’s body for. I feel that I will come away ragged, torn asunder, and a limping in pain by the time this is over with, but it will be for something better, something I need to give up and let out. It will be my biggest challenge yet and for fear of talking it up too much as something more than it is, I will not say much more until it is complete. But my hope is that through the writing of this next book I will continue to be inspired to write on here, to share and grow with each of you who read these pages.
I look forward to this journey and hope you all will come along with me.