I'm so sorry, gentle reader, that I've been away for so long. Fall, leading up into the holiday season, inevitably ends up being a crazy time for us here. Added to tha,t I've been pretty absorbed in working on my Red Wolf Trilogy, and it just hasn't left a lot of time for blogging. Hopefully all that time away hasn't been in vain though, since Red Wolf is progressing nicely, and I'm also working on some ideas for this blog, and hopefully expanding my audience.
The drawback to these wonderful plans, as always, is the issue of TIME. Turns out, I'm just not that great at managing time. It's a huge, ongoing struggle, and always has been. I guilt trip myself over it constantly, which isn't super helpful in the end, and usually leads to moping and discouragement. A couple weeks ago I was talking to my friend Abby, the amazing gal that did the illustrations for Unseen Things, and we got on this subject of really pursuing writing (or in her case, visual storytelling) as a full time job. Instead of fooling around, thinking or dreaming about being a writer or a cartoonist, to actually make a schedule for yourself and treat it like a job, and do it. Apparently she got really inspired by the whole conversation, because she actually took it to heart, and has been making amazing progress with her work in the last couple weeks. Me, I'm still balking a bit. It's an idea I definitely want to follow through on, I think I'm just really afraid of failing- again- so a good part of me really doesn't want to make promises. However, what I have to ask myself in the end is, what do I want more: a career doing what I love, or to waste twenty more minutes trolling Facebook? Maybe if I keep asking myself that question every day, as often as it comes up... well, we'll see.
I hope you all had a great Christmas. Our was really nice. Not too crazy for Christmas day. And Hubby, who well knows the path to my heart, gave me a Books A Million gift card. So if y'all don't hear anything from me for another month, it's likely because I'm living at the bookstore.
In all seriousness though, I hope to follow through on these big plans, so you can expect to see some changes coming to Wonder Redeemed, as well as news on Red Wolf. (So excited!!!) So, until January, have a wonderful time of continued celebrations, family, and cookies.
Tuesday, December 27, 2016
Saturday, October 1, 2016
When Writing and Life Merge.
Well, I hope you can all forgive me for being delinquent yet again with my posting schedule. Part of that last week was thanks to looking forward to having a couple wisdom teeth pulled - and by "looking forward" I mean the 'anticipating my last day on earth' type of looking forward. Thankfully, it wasn't my last day on earth, and after spending most of the week on the couch binge watching super corny fantasy/sci-fi/horror shows on Kindle (because, seriously, after getting two teeth dug out in pieces and being awake for it, who couldn't commiserate with a little slasher, monster action?),
I'm finally corralling my brain into a semblance of functionality again. Getting there as least.
Anyhow, on to topic. I've been thinking lately about how much being a writer has influenced me. From the decisions I make, to the books and television that I really love or really don't love - really it's shaped my world view in general, probably almost as much as Christianity has. Writing has never been as simple as a career choice, or a hobby. It's been who I am for almost as long as I've been anybody at all - by which I mean since I grew out of my obligatory childhood obsession with horses as was able to start making informed opinions and decisions. So I guess, thanks to that, it's always been so ingrained that I don't even give it much thought any more, except for once in awhile when I realize I've just done, or am contemplating, something that most people would never even dream of, much less consider. Or if they do, it's not for the same reasons. Or when I realize the thread of thought I'm following is just so bizarre it's a good thing no one can read my mind...
This past weekend was one of those times.
If I was a character in one of my stories, I'd be the little hermit lady living on the mountain, gathering herbs and milking goats, and keeping chickens, that's about two marbles away from being crazy, but the heroes, out of desperation, drag their dying comrade through the forbidden forest, fending off my pet dragon, to seek my herbalist wisdom to cure their friend. Yeah - I'm that character. Not the beautiful warrior maiden or the powerful queen. The crazy hermit. In real life I do keep a flock of chickens, have a garden, do canning and dehydrating, make every single thing we eat from scratch, and pick wild edible things, like huckleberries, dandelion, yarrow, peppermint, and elderberry, though I haven't found a good local source for elderberry yet. (By way of disclaimer, this is NOT any kind of medical blog, nor will it ever be. Nor am I a medical professional. I'm not offering advice, only sharing some interesting experiences. If this sparks your interest, I'd encourage you to do some reading of your own, and remember, it's taken me thirty years to get this crazy. It wasn't something I went looking for over night o.0 )
Anyway, I say all this to introduce the fact that I've already been harvesting yarrow for years, and am fairly well acquainted with many of its medicinal uses, like stopping bleeding, reducing fever and pain, and fighting infection, etc. It's pretty much a super star in its own right. Aside from the herbalist and homesteading blogging community, you don't really hear much about it, but historically, it's been used in fist aid applications for millennia. Something that any savvy novelist would be happy to know and file for future reference. Lately one of my friends who's also into obscure herb lore was saying how she's making yarrow salve, and I thought that sounded like a good idea, especially since I hadn't gotten any dried and put away yet for the year. So Sunday afternoon I dragged Hubby out with the 4-wheeler to take me yarrow picking on the family farm. Then, stocked with a bag full of fresh yarrow, some oil, string, and mortar and pestle, just like the crazy herbalist character, I went to work...
Yes, I do, in fact, own a marble mortar and pestle set. Just to get that out of the way...
So, while I'm using castor oil for the salve, which will need to marinate for a couple weeks before beeswax gets added, I also did a tiny little batch with olive oil, crushing the yarrow extra well, and heating the oil a little bit so that it would be ready to use right away. Call it my writer's eagerness to experiment, but I was like hey - wisdom teeth out on Monday, let's see if this stuff actually works. And for the record - yes it does. Also for the record, I used olive instead of castor oil on the small batch because I haven't tried castor oil anywhere but on my skin, and since I thought I might be using it in my mouth, I wanted to play it safe. Even though people do swallow castor oil. *Shudders*
Right now you're probably thinking "Man...even by writer's standards you're crazy." But that's not entirely true. I would have used my yarrow concoction with or without the incentive of "research," because it's something I had confidence in. I've used it before, and read a lot about it. It's real-world applicable, not just interesting for the sake of writing. And I wouldn't have used it unless I actually needed it. But after getting home from having teeth pulled, and not being able to get them to stop bleeding (probably because I was having a little panic attack at the time), I did use my yarrow/olive oil solution on them, and it stopped it. Instantly.
So, loooong story short, now I not only have reading knowledge of how something might work in the world of story, I have first-hand experience! Woohoo! Though I wouldn't have complained about a less emotional and painful way of getting it... still. The fact that, in the middle of a completely miserable day of turture, the thing that pops into a writer's mind is "well, this sucks. Maybe I can use it in a book some time," seems to point to writers being not fully human. A sub species, perhaps? There's a standing joke with one of my friends that I'm part were-wolf. Maybe there's some truth to that. On the other hand, maybe writers are the most human of all. Because of anyone, we have the most cause to embrace our pain, and to own our experiences, both good and bad. When you read a book and it touches something deep down in your soul, and makes you cry, or surprises you into laughter, or begins to heal a hurt - I guarantee that's the author's own blood, dripping invisibly onto the page and reaching out to you. Instead of trying to forget their horrible experiences, they've harnessed them, and used them to infuse truth into their fiction, mixing a potent brew as powerful as any spell, capable of healing, or wounding, of changing hearts or changing the world.
I'm finally corralling my brain into a semblance of functionality again. Getting there as least.
Anyhow, on to topic. I've been thinking lately about how much being a writer has influenced me. From the decisions I make, to the books and television that I really love or really don't love - really it's shaped my world view in general, probably almost as much as Christianity has. Writing has never been as simple as a career choice, or a hobby. It's been who I am for almost as long as I've been anybody at all - by which I mean since I grew out of my obligatory childhood obsession with horses as was able to start making informed opinions and decisions. So I guess, thanks to that, it's always been so ingrained that I don't even give it much thought any more, except for once in awhile when I realize I've just done, or am contemplating, something that most people would never even dream of, much less consider. Or if they do, it's not for the same reasons. Or when I realize the thread of thought I'm following is just so bizarre it's a good thing no one can read my mind...
This past weekend was one of those times.
If I was a character in one of my stories, I'd be the little hermit lady living on the mountain, gathering herbs and milking goats, and keeping chickens, that's about two marbles away from being crazy, but the heroes, out of desperation, drag their dying comrade through the forbidden forest, fending off my pet dragon, to seek my herbalist wisdom to cure their friend. Yeah - I'm that character. Not the beautiful warrior maiden or the powerful queen. The crazy hermit. In real life I do keep a flock of chickens, have a garden, do canning and dehydrating, make every single thing we eat from scratch, and pick wild edible things, like huckleberries, dandelion, yarrow, peppermint, and elderberry, though I haven't found a good local source for elderberry yet. (By way of disclaimer, this is NOT any kind of medical blog, nor will it ever be. Nor am I a medical professional. I'm not offering advice, only sharing some interesting experiences. If this sparks your interest, I'd encourage you to do some reading of your own, and remember, it's taken me thirty years to get this crazy. It wasn't something I went looking for over night o.0 )
Anyway, I say all this to introduce the fact that I've already been harvesting yarrow for years, and am fairly well acquainted with many of its medicinal uses, like stopping bleeding, reducing fever and pain, and fighting infection, etc. It's pretty much a super star in its own right. Aside from the herbalist and homesteading blogging community, you don't really hear much about it, but historically, it's been used in fist aid applications for millennia. Something that any savvy novelist would be happy to know and file for future reference. Lately one of my friends who's also into obscure herb lore was saying how she's making yarrow salve, and I thought that sounded like a good idea, especially since I hadn't gotten any dried and put away yet for the year. So Sunday afternoon I dragged Hubby out with the 4-wheeler to take me yarrow picking on the family farm. Then, stocked with a bag full of fresh yarrow, some oil, string, and mortar and pestle, just like the crazy herbalist character, I went to work...
So, while I'm using castor oil for the salve, which will need to marinate for a couple weeks before beeswax gets added, I also did a tiny little batch with olive oil, crushing the yarrow extra well, and heating the oil a little bit so that it would be ready to use right away. Call it my writer's eagerness to experiment, but I was like hey - wisdom teeth out on Monday, let's see if this stuff actually works. And for the record - yes it does. Also for the record, I used olive instead of castor oil on the small batch because I haven't tried castor oil anywhere but on my skin, and since I thought I might be using it in my mouth, I wanted to play it safe. Even though people do swallow castor oil. *Shudders*
Right now you're probably thinking "Man...even by writer's standards you're crazy." But that's not entirely true. I would have used my yarrow concoction with or without the incentive of "research," because it's something I had confidence in. I've used it before, and read a lot about it. It's real-world applicable, not just interesting for the sake of writing. And I wouldn't have used it unless I actually needed it. But after getting home from having teeth pulled, and not being able to get them to stop bleeding (probably because I was having a little panic attack at the time), I did use my yarrow/olive oil solution on them, and it stopped it. Instantly.
So, loooong story short, now I not only have reading knowledge of how something might work in the world of story, I have first-hand experience! Woohoo! Though I wouldn't have complained about a less emotional and painful way of getting it... still. The fact that, in the middle of a completely miserable day of turture, the thing that pops into a writer's mind is "well, this sucks. Maybe I can use it in a book some time," seems to point to writers being not fully human. A sub species, perhaps? There's a standing joke with one of my friends that I'm part were-wolf. Maybe there's some truth to that. On the other hand, maybe writers are the most human of all. Because of anyone, we have the most cause to embrace our pain, and to own our experiences, both good and bad. When you read a book and it touches something deep down in your soul, and makes you cry, or surprises you into laughter, or begins to heal a hurt - I guarantee that's the author's own blood, dripping invisibly onto the page and reaching out to you. Instead of trying to forget their horrible experiences, they've harnessed them, and used them to infuse truth into their fiction, mixing a potent brew as powerful as any spell, capable of healing, or wounding, of changing hearts or changing the world.
Saturday, September 17, 2016
Touring Some Memories
I'm seriously looking forward to the day when life slows down enough to get back into writing! Summer is winding down, but chaos remains. Leftover canning supplies, and a garden that still needs attention, plus my very neglected housework and a hundred other things, all keep conspiring to remind me that my to-do list is growing rather than shrinking. I've managed to steal a few minutes here and there to work on my Red, but have come to the point where it needs some more serious attention, sitting down and putting thought into it, and that just hasn't been doable. I'm so sad.
In spite of my chagrin at life's messiness, this week had one huge blessing. My friend Abby, fellow writing conspirator and co-creator of Unseen Things, was in the area briefly, and we got to catch up over lunch, and then do some local sightseeing. It was doubly awesome to get to see a good friend and share some deep conversations that got us both thinking. I've always loved the verse in Proverbs (not sure on the reference) that says "Iron sharpeneth iron, so a man sharpeneth the countenance of his friends." Sorry if I missed any words - typing from memory. LOL. I know I've said it before, whether or not it was in this blog, that God has really blessed me with my friends. The ones I've had for what seems like forever, and then some newer ones. Some have stuck around, and some have faded, hopefully temporarily, into the background of my life. But they've been friends who've kept me sharp! I don't know who I'd be today without all of them.
Speaking of friends though, our little tour around the Honesdale area the other day brought back some crazy memories of other good times with good friends. Back in the days when I had a Jeep Wrangler, and us girls would go driving around with the top off. There was a memorable "bachelorette party" before one friend's wedding that involved off-roading through the fields and taking scandalous photos. Then there was the time Tiff and went camping for a week straight, and freaked ourselves out hearing noises outside the tent. We came out in the morning to discover ourselves surrounded by turkey tracks. It became known as the infamous "saber toothed turkey" incident. Then going back even farther, when I used to carry a Wayne County road map in the car, and would drive around back roads until I got lost, then use the map to figure out where I was. Little did I know the unknown locations I was driving through at the time would be near where I'm living now that I'm all married and boring.
But seriously, those were some great times, and I had a great group of friends to share them with. This week has sort of been a blast from the past. Bittersweet now, because those times are sinking further into the past, and most of those friends I don't get to see much of. But it was refreshing to get to remember some of them. To be that kid again.
What are some of your great memories with friends? I love to hear them!
In spite of my chagrin at life's messiness, this week had one huge blessing. My friend Abby, fellow writing conspirator and co-creator of Unseen Things, was in the area briefly, and we got to catch up over lunch, and then do some local sightseeing. It was doubly awesome to get to see a good friend and share some deep conversations that got us both thinking. I've always loved the verse in Proverbs (not sure on the reference) that says "Iron sharpeneth iron, so a man sharpeneth the countenance of his friends." Sorry if I missed any words - typing from memory. LOL. I know I've said it before, whether or not it was in this blog, that God has really blessed me with my friends. The ones I've had for what seems like forever, and then some newer ones. Some have stuck around, and some have faded, hopefully temporarily, into the background of my life. But they've been friends who've kept me sharp! I don't know who I'd be today without all of them.
Speaking of friends though, our little tour around the Honesdale area the other day brought back some crazy memories of other good times with good friends. Back in the days when I had a Jeep Wrangler, and us girls would go driving around with the top off. There was a memorable "bachelorette party" before one friend's wedding that involved off-roading through the fields and taking scandalous photos. Then there was the time Tiff and went camping for a week straight, and freaked ourselves out hearing noises outside the tent. We came out in the morning to discover ourselves surrounded by turkey tracks. It became known as the infamous "saber toothed turkey" incident. Then going back even farther, when I used to carry a Wayne County road map in the car, and would drive around back roads until I got lost, then use the map to figure out where I was. Little did I know the unknown locations I was driving through at the time would be near where I'm living now that I'm all married and boring.
But seriously, those were some great times, and I had a great group of friends to share them with. This week has sort of been a blast from the past. Bittersweet now, because those times are sinking further into the past, and most of those friends I don't get to see much of. But it was refreshing to get to remember some of them. To be that kid again.
What are some of your great memories with friends? I love to hear them!
Friday, September 16, 2016
Intentional and Unconditional: Creative Life Devotional Series.
For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end. Jeremiah 29:11
I like the way the NKJV puts it: For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the Lord, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope.
By way of disclaimer, I have to admit I'm not super polished up on my studies in Jeremiah. Basically it's back and forth, warning of God's judgement, but promising to bless and restore, if only God's people will come back to Him. There's such a sense of longing woven throughout the books of the prophets. How deeply and passionately God longs to lavish blessing on His nation, if only they would turn back and seek Him.
I've had my share of floundering in doubt, fear, worry, depression and frustration. It always seems to cycle back. So lately I've been praying intentionally, seeking to know God, and His perfect love which supposedly casts out fear. How does one go about acquiring it? One of the things He's brought to my attention was this verse, and it's profound, far-reaching implications.
The English word for love is a little stilted. It's a one-size-fits-all label to include all the aspects that love can have. But the most powerful, most profound, and probably the most misunderstood form of love, (what Bible people call Agape), is what's called 'unconditional love.' Has a nice sound, no? To be loved unconditionally. No matter what I do, how I mess up or offend or even lash out at the giver, to be loved no matter what. Everyone together now with a big "AWWWW." But it's much more than that. Not only is this love not depended on the condition of the receiver- it's also independent from the condition of the giver. To love someone unconditionally means that you love them even when you don't feel love. Or like. Or even toleration. It mean that you love them even when you hate their guts.
So if unconditional love doesn't involve a feeling, what does it involve?
It's all about actions. Treating the person you love unconditionally as though you love them, even when you don't. Looking out for their best interest, even when they're walking all over you. Training yourself to think the best toward and about them that you possibly can. It's wishing, hoping, planning and praying for the best possible outcome of that person's future. But not stopping at "wishing them well," either. Putting feet to that wish. Striving to make it happen by whatever resources you have.
I know the thoughts I think toward you, says the Lord.
The God of the universe has bent His thoughts toward me. Not only to wish me good luck, but to plot and to scheme for my best possible future. Even when I mess up horribly- which, being human, is pretty much my entire life- He still is going to do whatever it takes to see those plans happen.
That's pretty great, but it's not all. Think about this. The God who arranges molecules not only is working on a plan for my future, He's taken pains to carefully and purposefully think that future through. And because He knows all about everything, He can take into account every detail of my hopes, dreams, personality, and passion. He has figured out exactly what the best thing for me will look like.
That's what God's thoughts are toward each of His people. To give peace, hope, and a future. But we're supposed to be reflecting that toward each other, as well. How many times have you or I prayed "Lord, please bless so-n-so," without bothering to give much thought toward what that blessing could look like. We aren't omniscient like He is, but we can still respond with the knowledge that we have, no matter how small it is- imagining, then praying, then, if circumstances allow, acting upon, that resolution to seek the very best for another person. Make an intellectual, creative investment in them. Spend some of your precious time wishing, planning, and praying for their wellbeing. After all, that's what God does for you.
Trying to act out that unconditional love toward another Christian isn't just what we're commanded to do, though. It gives us an idea of the effort God is putting into us. Only His is on a vast scale. Trying to act out God's love for me toward my friend gives me a better grip on the concrete reality of His love. It brings it out of the sphere of theology and philosophy (in my head I know that God says He loves me), and puts it into the realm of the physical (I can touch, see, feel, and experience it).
If I can, in my imperfection and minuscule scope of knowledge and influence, genuinely wish and seek the best for someone through prayer and actions... then how much more capable is God, who went so far as to die for my soul, of carrying out His greatest ideas for me?
I like the way the NKJV puts it: For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the Lord, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope.
By way of disclaimer, I have to admit I'm not super polished up on my studies in Jeremiah. Basically it's back and forth, warning of God's judgement, but promising to bless and restore, if only God's people will come back to Him. There's such a sense of longing woven throughout the books of the prophets. How deeply and passionately God longs to lavish blessing on His nation, if only they would turn back and seek Him.
I've had my share of floundering in doubt, fear, worry, depression and frustration. It always seems to cycle back. So lately I've been praying intentionally, seeking to know God, and His perfect love which supposedly casts out fear. How does one go about acquiring it? One of the things He's brought to my attention was this verse, and it's profound, far-reaching implications.
The English word for love is a little stilted. It's a one-size-fits-all label to include all the aspects that love can have. But the most powerful, most profound, and probably the most misunderstood form of love, (what Bible people call Agape), is what's called 'unconditional love.' Has a nice sound, no? To be loved unconditionally. No matter what I do, how I mess up or offend or even lash out at the giver, to be loved no matter what. Everyone together now with a big "AWWWW." But it's much more than that. Not only is this love not depended on the condition of the receiver- it's also independent from the condition of the giver. To love someone unconditionally means that you love them even when you don't feel love. Or like. Or even toleration. It mean that you love them even when you hate their guts.
So if unconditional love doesn't involve a feeling, what does it involve?
It's all about actions. Treating the person you love unconditionally as though you love them, even when you don't. Looking out for their best interest, even when they're walking all over you. Training yourself to think the best toward and about them that you possibly can. It's wishing, hoping, planning and praying for the best possible outcome of that person's future. But not stopping at "wishing them well," either. Putting feet to that wish. Striving to make it happen by whatever resources you have.
I know the thoughts I think toward you, says the Lord.
The God of the universe has bent His thoughts toward me. Not only to wish me good luck, but to plot and to scheme for my best possible future. Even when I mess up horribly- which, being human, is pretty much my entire life- He still is going to do whatever it takes to see those plans happen.
That's pretty great, but it's not all. Think about this. The God who arranges molecules not only is working on a plan for my future, He's taken pains to carefully and purposefully think that future through. And because He knows all about everything, He can take into account every detail of my hopes, dreams, personality, and passion. He has figured out exactly what the best thing for me will look like.
That's what God's thoughts are toward each of His people. To give peace, hope, and a future. But we're supposed to be reflecting that toward each other, as well. How many times have you or I prayed "Lord, please bless so-n-so," without bothering to give much thought toward what that blessing could look like. We aren't omniscient like He is, but we can still respond with the knowledge that we have, no matter how small it is- imagining, then praying, then, if circumstances allow, acting upon, that resolution to seek the very best for another person. Make an intellectual, creative investment in them. Spend some of your precious time wishing, planning, and praying for their wellbeing. After all, that's what God does for you.
Trying to act out that unconditional love toward another Christian isn't just what we're commanded to do, though. It gives us an idea of the effort God is putting into us. Only His is on a vast scale. Trying to act out God's love for me toward my friend gives me a better grip on the concrete reality of His love. It brings it out of the sphere of theology and philosophy (in my head I know that God says He loves me), and puts it into the realm of the physical (I can touch, see, feel, and experience it).
If I can, in my imperfection and minuscule scope of knowledge and influence, genuinely wish and seek the best for someone through prayer and actions... then how much more capable is God, who went so far as to die for my soul, of carrying out His greatest ideas for me?
Saturday, August 27, 2016
Unraveled by Words
Every month or two I end up taking a week or so off - by which I mean, not work on writing or extra housework for a couple days when I'm actually home. Usually it happens when something goes wrong, like last week, when I had the little bit of a tummy bug my loving hubby shared with me, and then didn't sleep for three days, thanks to feeling yucky and that dratted full moon. Or because there's just too much going on and my introverted soul is burnt out. Anyway, regardless the cause, I'm learning to accept it as a good thing, rather than beat myself up and feel guilty, which has always been my go-to response in the past. Instead I'll painstakingly pick out a new book or book series on Kindle and binge read. I used to find a TV series to watch, but I've found that that doesn't really do anything other than pass time. Reading renews my imagination and heals my heart like watching movies never could. And taking time out to do that is so refreshing and necessary.
So last week, as I was saying, ended up being one of those recharging weeks, or part of it anyway. There were still a million projects going on, which have carried over into this week, keeping me way too busy for comfort. But in the in-between times I've been working my way through a new series I discovered: The Staff and the Sword by Patrick W. Carr. I just finished the last one yesterday.
This has been one of those book series that picks up my world off its foundations and then shatters it. Every once in a while one of those will come along, and usually it's when I'm not expecting it. I read the description of the first book, A Cast of Stones, and nothing about it shouted "You will be destroyed!" but here I am, reeling and wondering what hit me.
As a writer I can appreciate good writing, perhaps on a deeper level than most, since I understand what goes into it. As an intuitive personality type, where literally every thing I think about is connected to every other thing, all it takes at times is a spark of an idea to start that blaze going. Well, this book had more than a spark waiting for me. Its themes of sacrifice and service are so achingly and beautifully presented, over and over again, ideas and images and scenes building upon each other into a crescendo as sharp and powerful as a sword thrust... I think it has touched every area of thought for me, from life, to faith, to philosophy, to worldview, and more than anything else, my own writing. As if I'd been painting portraits with finger paints, and then one day someone showed me the work of Da Vinci or Michelangelo, and now suddenly I'm just like "What am I even doing here? I have no right to wield the tools of my craft."
I suppose every once in a while it's good for a writer to be humbled. To find something to strive toward. There have been other authors and other books that have humbled me. But why does it at times have to feel like being undone? It's hard to pick myself up after one of those times and move on, when I feel like the meaning and the reason behind my own writing has been completely obliterated. It sends me seeking. Digging deeper. Crying while I drive or staring off into space until Hubby thinks I've finally lost it. In the end, I suppose, it makes me stronger. It makes me ask questions of myself, as a writer and as a person. It leaves me unsatisfied with myself, striving for more. Those are all good things, I guess. But my goodness, why's it have to feel like being a bug splattered on a windshield?
So last week, as I was saying, ended up being one of those recharging weeks, or part of it anyway. There were still a million projects going on, which have carried over into this week, keeping me way too busy for comfort. But in the in-between times I've been working my way through a new series I discovered: The Staff and the Sword by Patrick W. Carr. I just finished the last one yesterday.
This has been one of those book series that picks up my world off its foundations and then shatters it. Every once in a while one of those will come along, and usually it's when I'm not expecting it. I read the description of the first book, A Cast of Stones, and nothing about it shouted "You will be destroyed!" but here I am, reeling and wondering what hit me.
As a writer I can appreciate good writing, perhaps on a deeper level than most, since I understand what goes into it. As an intuitive personality type, where literally every thing I think about is connected to every other thing, all it takes at times is a spark of an idea to start that blaze going. Well, this book had more than a spark waiting for me. Its themes of sacrifice and service are so achingly and beautifully presented, over and over again, ideas and images and scenes building upon each other into a crescendo as sharp and powerful as a sword thrust... I think it has touched every area of thought for me, from life, to faith, to philosophy, to worldview, and more than anything else, my own writing. As if I'd been painting portraits with finger paints, and then one day someone showed me the work of Da Vinci or Michelangelo, and now suddenly I'm just like "What am I even doing here? I have no right to wield the tools of my craft."
I suppose every once in a while it's good for a writer to be humbled. To find something to strive toward. There have been other authors and other books that have humbled me. But why does it at times have to feel like being undone? It's hard to pick myself up after one of those times and move on, when I feel like the meaning and the reason behind my own writing has been completely obliterated. It sends me seeking. Digging deeper. Crying while I drive or staring off into space until Hubby thinks I've finally lost it. In the end, I suppose, it makes me stronger. It makes me ask questions of myself, as a writer and as a person. It leaves me unsatisfied with myself, striving for more. Those are all good things, I guess. But my goodness, why's it have to feel like being a bug splattered on a windshield?
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