Blog

Cares:
Check out Wendy’s blog at All in a Day’s Thought. She’s a soulful writer with a knack for spinning ordinary, every-day things into something fresh and insightful. Plus, she’s a super awesome, authentic woman who I happen to like a lot.

Revisions are still chugging away. I’m having it out with the ending right now. Hope to wrap up those big revisions/rewrites next week so I can work on line-editing (my favorite part of editing!) soon.

My agent’s query-hiatus ends today. I have a feeling she’s going to be absolutely slammed with emails. Pray for her sanity!

Concerns:
Haiti.

Celebrations:
My lil’ man Brogan won his first award! Go check it out at Patti Lacy’s blog.

I’m reading Bonnie Grove’s Talking to the Dead and soaking up every minute of it. I love finding talented authors.

A God who loves me despite my human-inclination to mess things up. A husband who goes the extra mile to make my life easier. A son who saturates the air with giggles. A church that challenges me to grow and learn. A home. Food in my belly. A secure job and great health insurance. A writing future filled with possibilities. To say I’m blessed might possibly be the biggest understatement of the year.

You!!

Question to Ponder: What are your cares, concerns, and celebrations today?

A process occurs while revising, a level of intimacy develops, whereby a story turns from acquaintance to lover. I’m not quite sure how it happens. Perhaps its the long hours spent in its company. Or the depth to which an author explores its caveats, nuances, and quirks. Or the heart and soul a writer pours onto the pages. Whatever it is, when it happens, it’s really sort of beautiful.

A couple weeks ago, I wrote a post about how much revising terrified me. I read Wishing on Willows and felt distant, like I didn’t really know my story. Imagine my chagrin when I realized that all the time I spent writing the rough draft amounted to nothing more than the casual, “Hi, how are you?”

My novel sat, waiting for me to make a move, and the thought of diving in, getting intimate, intimidated me. I went through all those common first date doubts. “What if I’m not good enough for him?” “What if I say something stupid?” “What if we don’t click?” “What if he’s not who I think he is?” Then you go on the date and feel 75% uneasy the entire time, unsure what to say or how to act. The second date is a little better. The third one a lot better. Until all of a sudden you’re as familiar with your story as Solomon was with his beloved.

As I spend time pouring over my words, my plot and my characters, I discover the core essence of what I want to say. I realize what brought me to write this novel in the first place. I learn what to accentuate, what to delete, what to add, what to twist and turn. Somewhere from the rough draft through the plethora of revisions, I understand what my story really is. And the fear I felt in the beginning turns to excitement. Thoughts of my story consume me. I’m committed and in love and desperate to give my lover all the attention it deserves, so the beauty I witness in private can be shared with the world.

Questions to Ponder: Do you feel you know your story after the first draft? Or do you need several go-throughs before you can claim intimacy with your work?

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Not sure if it’s my mood or the day or the time of year or what, but I’m feeling quite reflective right now. The kind of reflective where I’d like to escape to a cabin, Henry David Thoreau style, with just my laptop and my Bible and see what happens.

I have this yearning inside me. This yearning to write fiction that matters. It’s like my heart aches to make some sort of eternal impact with my words.

You see, there’s this story stirring in my soul, only it has no shape or form. No plot or structure. It’s just lurking somewhere in the corners of my mind. Growing. Shrinking. Flickering on and off like a half screwed light bulb. Every now and then, I’ll hear a song, or see a person, or feel some emotion, or read some Bible verse, and it’s like a glimpse into this phantom story. Like a sneak peek into something both familiar and foreign. I can make out the blurry edges and my desire swells. I wish I could cast out a net and reign the story in. I wish it would come to me in all its shapely glory. I wish I could sit in front of my computer and let the words pour from my fingertips. But it remains distant. Like it’s not ready to be told quite yet. Or maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m not ready to tell it. I hope someday I will be.

Until then, I will continue to write the stories that do come.

Question to Ponder: Do you ever feel the urge to create something larger than yourself?removetweetmeme