Hitting Those Walls

I'm a fairly easy-going person. I think that everyone who knows me well will add that I have moments when I'm definitely not so easygoing.

This is something I try to hide. I think it may be a combination of oldest child/pastor's kid/Regular Baptist syndromes, but somehow I got the idea that I should present to the world a "got it all together" vibe.

I had no idea 8 years ago when I first felt God whispering to me about being an author that it would be such a hard road. I have always enjoyed writing immensely. So I had a flowery picture of me happily typing out a novel and skipping off to the publisher who would gush and throw money at me. God neglected to mention that it would be hours and hours of learning the craft. He didn't mention that I would be here, six completed novels later, still not ready to seriously try to sell anything I've written. Talent with words does not mean you are ready to wow the world by any stretch of the imagination. And so you see by the picture that eight years later I am still learning constantly what it means to write a story.

Sometimes, I can't stop writing and learning. Sometimes the words flow and I experience a kind of joy it would be difficult to describe, something I assume will be standard issue happiness in eternity. It is easy for me to fall in love with fictional places and people. It is pleasure to craft their stories. And in these moments I have faith that God will complete the work in me and do what He intended to do when the timing is perfect.

But sometimes, like today, I wonder. Have I wasted all the countless hours of my life, pursuing something that is not realistically ever going to matter? There are moments when people respond to the things I write, but most of the time, I feel alone in this venture. I don't see where all these people that are going to be changed by my writing are going to come from. Is it just foolishness? Silly dreams by someone with a small life and an overactive imagination?

When I read books intended for authors, true authors, they resound with me. It's easy to know that I have the heart of a writer. But there are so many other people writing. Will anything I put to paper ever really matter to anyone but me?

This is my deepest truth: I don't really care about fame and fortune. If I were to receive a windfall from a book deal, I honestly wouldn't want anything except to travel more often and to help those in need. For me, the desire to write has to do mostly with just wanting to enrich someone else's life by crafting an enjoyable story. By encouraging and lifting up the spirit of a reader. My heart is to show love to others through words.

This is my deepest enemy: My own doubts and embarrassment about not being perfect. It's hard to spend months writing something, and be really excited about it, then to finish it and put it away and come back to find that it just wasn't that special.  It's easy to come to the conclusion that I'm never going to feel strongly enough about any of my stories to go to the lengths it takes to get published in today's market. It's not uncommon for writers to send queries or proposals to 60 agents or editors and still be rejected 60 times. Being a writer takes a thick skin, hard work, and above all perseverance.

I'm praying for faith and direction. I have to believe all this will make sense in the end.

That's my truth for today.