Show me your nightstand and I’ll show you mine.

Since I just submitted the manuscript for my third novel, yet another season of binge reading has begun. Books on writing, books out of my genre, books in my genre, books resembling the ideas bumping around in my head for my fourth novel. Books my kids want me to read. Books recommended by others. Books long beside my bed collecting dust.

I’m really enjoying Ann Patchett’s book, This Is the Story of a Happy Marriage. The title is deceiving–it’s really a collection of her essays, many of which involve her thoughts on the craft of writing. Here’s a section that resonated with me:

“Novel writing, I soon discovered, is like channel swimming: a slow and steady stroke over a long distance in a cold, dark sea. It I thought too much about how far I’d come or the distance I still had to cover, I’d sink. As it turns out, I have had this same crisis with every novel I have written since. I am sure my idea is horrible, and that a new idea is my only hope. But what I’ve realized over the years is that every new idea eventually becomes the old idea. I made a pledge with myself that I wouldn’t start the sexy new novel I imagined until I had finished the tired old warhorse I was dragging myself through at present. Keeping that pledge has always served me well. The part of my brain that makes art and the part that judges that art had to be separated…”

Here’s a picture of my stack of reading. Throw in a box of Keebler Coconut Dreams, and it’s quite a binge-fest.

  

And here’s my audio book line-up (for whenever I can tear myself away from Maroon 5): 

  

Oops. 

I don’t know where he came from.

  

What about you? 

What are you reading these days? 

Have you read any of the ones in my stack?

Desperate or deliberate? 

My favorite college literature class focused on American Transcendentalists. A famous passage from that era from Henry David Thoreau reads:

“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms.”



Note that Thoreau did not write: “I went to the woods to live desperately.”

Because I think that’s how many, if not most, of us live.

Desperate.

We are the Great Martha (Luke 10:38-42) Generation, the do-ers, the be-ers, the movers and the shakers.

We not only force our own lives to happen, we ultimately force what we believe to be the hand of God in our lives…even onto the lives of others.

We make the plans and then tell God to join us.

Our constant heart cry is, “Are we there yet?” when God wants us to be still and know and perhaps…perhaps to enjoy the ride. Our constant posture is shoulder-to-the-grindstone instead of resting in the easy yoke of His guiding hand.

We forge ahead when God says wait.

I attended the Mount Hermon Christian Writers Conference this weekend to sit at His feet, to renew my writing purpose, to refocus my all on Him, to clear my mind of everything that distracts and burdens and sucks the marrow out of my soul. The world does those things to an artist. The blessing and the curse of a creative is that we are born with ears that over-hear, with hearts that over-feel, our senses skittish and overwhelmed by all the world tells us we should be doing, rather than what the Creator made us to be. Spending time shoulder-to-shoulder with other writers seeking Him beneath ancient redwoods centers me again. 



Being with other writers and creatives makes me determined again to live deliberately.

Walking with Him, and not sprinting ahead.

Listening for Him, and not talking at Him.

Refusing to act on any muse other than the Spirit moving in my heart.

It is only in that intimacy, only in that grace, only in the mercy of his light and loving load that life becomes worth living.

Only then can story be written.

“For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” Matthew 11:30

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*****

What about you?

Do you live desperately or deliberately? 

Is your burden heavy or light?

What can you do to live more intimately, more in-step, with God, today?

My novel releases today. So what am I doing to celebrate?

I’m watching my son run.

My son runs like the wind. He pushes himself to the limit every day, practicing when he’s not feeling well, stretching when he feels strained, and pulling every last ounce of energy from the depths of his being in the final seconds of a race.

I want to live like that.

I want to write like that.

No matter what happens with this novel, I’ll know I’ve at the very least finished this race well. I’ve dug each sentence from my heart, turning and tweaking, stretching and straining, pouring over the text for years now. Yes, I’ve given it my best.

But there are more books left to edit.

More skills left to learn.

More books left to write.

More hope to pen for a weary, broken world.

So today, when my first novel releases, I am watching my son run.

I am grateful.

I am praying.

And I submit all my words, current and future, to The Author, that I may continue on in Him, and that I may finish strong and well whatever He has planned.

*****

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