I am a writer, and I can't help it. It is something that happens all the time, the thinking, pondering, trying to make sense of things, playing with words to make them reflect reality, or to escape it. Whether or not it gets on a page, wheter I publish or delete, still, always, I write.
There is something so gratifying in finishing a project, especially when it's a project that comes alive in book form. The books I have nurtured have grown up, spread their wings, and left home.
Every now and then I get to hear how they are doing. I spoke at a local group this week, and I met a woman who just moved here, who found my book who knows how who knows where, and it blessed her through one of the most difficult times of her life. It's amazing to me, that what was a mere project to me, one that is dead and finished, still lives and grows and is used to bless others in ways I would not have guessed.
Writers gonna write, and I can't wait to tackle that next big project.
But not yet. Not today.
I will not be setting my gifts on the shelf, but I will use them in smaller ways in this season. I'll write my own children and in this little space, right here. And for the sheer joy of it, when time allows.
With a prayer that my hands and feet and body and words may be used to bless those God sends as He wills.
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This post is part of Five Minute Friday at http://lisajobaker.com/
The Word is Writer.
I like what you express here.
ReplyDeleteYes, if you are a writer it is ingrained. Inescapable.
I recently sped-read Madeleine L'Engle's memoir, can't remember the title something about "a circle of quiet or burning bush?" anyway. In it she wrote about that before she got published for her Wrinkle in Time novel she received so many rejection letters. One time after she received one, she balled and balled walking through the house, when suddenly she stopped because she realized that subconsciously, as she wailing how she is swearing off writer forever, part of her was thinking about how to develop a character who has experienced rejection! She knew, in other words, it was not something she chose, it was her. I always remember that when I feel almost indulgent of foolish in my continuance in writing. And is you said, the words live on, after our project is done and over. A lasting gift that does not come from us, but God. Your blog seems to reflect a lot of my own passions. Will be sure to poke around.
Cheers,
Leah
One must explore the reason for writing: to share thoughts, to inform, to ask a question and desire feedback, to bring up controversial topics, to comment on an issue or event.....but never just for an egotistic desire to hear the sound of our own shallow existential wanderings.....because who really cares?
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