That Fearsome First Draft
I’m working on the second book in The Irish Quilt Legacy, and if I’m not careful, I can get overwhelmed at such a daunting task. The fear of the blank page staring back at me on my MacBook Pro. The ominous Table of Contents that I know is empty of words and will probably change quite substantially over the course of the next several months. The 70,000-word or more word count before I get to “The End”.
For me, the scariest thing is to realize that it’s only a “draft”. Are you kidding me? I sit at my computer for hours, days, weeks, months, and get to the end knowing it’s a “draft”? Eghads!
Personally, I like the word manuscript much better. It sounds so…polished and professional.
But what I’m writing now and in the weeks and months to come is really a draft of the manuscript. It will change, and sometimes it will change a lot. So I need to be pliable, willing to work with the Holy Spirit who, I believe, is guiding me along this writing journey.
Before, during, and after writing the first draft, one of the things I feel is most important is to bathe it all in prayer. Without Him, I can do nothing, even if I know all the novel writing tricks and have all the writing and editing skills at my fingertips. So I ask Him for wisdom, for creativity, for inspiration. I give Him my hands and my mind and my motives. And I implore Him to journey with me through every word of the story.
In my first novel, I experienced that a lot. I’d come to my computer and have just one sentence for my plot idea: “Maggie goes to The Irish Shop”. I’d sit down and wonder, “And? So what? What’s going to happen?” And guess what? I’d meet new characters or experience new events or get caught up in a really provocative conversation that would bring me to tears!
What a blast!
In reality, I have to simply be willing to be His scribe and go with His flow. I know, professionally, it’s called “free writing,” but I love to experience that deeper “scribing”—the parts of the story that He inspires and that rarely gets the cut when I get to the revising and editing stage.
I also have to remember to turn off my editing self. Since I was a professional editor of twelve different publications for eleven years, my editor self likes to rear her critiquing head up far too often. Sometimes she squeals like a naughty pig. Sometimes she roars like a lion. And sometimes she’s as wily as a weasel on a henhouse. So I have to put her in her place and banish her from my draft-writing world.
Then I write. Everything. I know that much of it will move or change or be deleted. And that’s okay. But sometimes a character will give me a glimpse into some fear or dream that I need to explore with him or her later in the story. Sometimes I see something or smell something or feel something, and when it all gets written down, I can later let the editor take over, move it or revise it, and clean it all up.
Most of all, I enjoy the journey. I set aside all the distractions and, like I mentioned last week, I go out to play. Whether it’s a draft, a manuscript, or the makings of the next great American novel, I’ll embrace the experience of birthing this baby!
Do you enjoy writing your first draft? If not, why not? I’d love to know!
Treasures in Your Family Tree
I had just put my baby and toddler down for their naps when the phone rang. It was Mom, calling for a chat. A few minutes into the conversation she said, “Today is the anniversary of your dad’s death.” I asked her to tell me more, and what she said, changed my life.
Just ten hours before he died, Mom was so frantic that she went into the hallway to regroup. There she saw a minister who had just left a patient’s room. So she went up to him and asked him to pray for my dad. The man not only obliged but also led my father in a prayer of repentance and salvation!
My dad died three months before I was born, but knowing that he became a Christian before he died was a treasure in my family tree. One day, I’ll meet my father in heaven, and that will be a glorious day!
In most of our family trees, there are beautiful branches of faith, limbs that appear gnarled and confusing, and new growth that struggles for life. But all of the lives in our family tree are precious to the Lord, the Creator of life.
Grandma Graham was my dearest companion growing up. Her strong faith in the Lord, her steadfast trust in Him, her constant devotion to serving God and family taught me a lot during the 13 years she was in my life. She laid a firm foundation for helping me know who God is and why we are here on this earth.
Grandma Grace was a gnarled, grouchy, and sometimes mean woman who had Alzheimer’s disease. She turned deep into herself and did weird things I didn’t understand, like walk downtown in her see-through nightie—which mortified me! But as she lost more and more of her mind, she could still do one thing. She could play the piano. So in her last days, Grandma Grace spent hours playing hymns and singing all the words correctly. Her life, though confusing, was in His hands, and it taught me that God’s word just doesn’t return void.
My brother Paul struggled to live for the first two years of his life. Seizures attacked him daily, and he was in the hospital more than he was home. It was hard to understand why my baby brother had to struggle so, but today he’s a productive man who loves God and cares for our mother.
In every family tree there are shining lights, confusing lives and heartache. Too often we are so busy that it is hard to dig out the treasures buried deep in the stories of each life. Whether those stories are ones of miscarriage, infant illness, childhood tragedies, or long productive lives, there is a sacredness that every human life carries with each one. It may be from a glimpse of a baby on an ultrasound or a struggling life who knew challenges that no one should have to deal with. It may even be self-imposed addictions that ravage a person but he somehow overcomes.
God sees and knows, and our stories are important to Him. We have the opportunity to redeem our story and those in our family tree. We can look at the beauty of each life and see God’s redemption, even in the most broken lives. My dad wasn’t a believer until ten hours before he died. My grandmother couldn’t remember who she was but remembered every word and note of the hymns she had learned as a child. Digging out these treasures can heal deep hurts, redeem ugly memories, and change our lives.
What treasures have you found in your ancestory? I’d love to know!
My Favorite Playground
When I’m with my granddaughters, one of our favorite things to do is to go to a playground. Their imagination goes wild! Swings let them fly like birds. Slides let them soar like a dolphin in the blue ocean. Monkey bars let them be monkeys swinging in trees. Rings and balance beams let them be acrobats in the circus. It’s great to watch them have fun, use their amazing imaginations, and be creative in their play.
My very favorite playground is my imagination. For me, there’s nothing more exciting than dreaming up a lovely setting or a compelling dialogue or discovering a character’s new perspective that changes her life. When I write, I’m definitely in one of my favorite play places, and when I’m done “playing”, I feel like I’ve had a fun afternoon at the playground.
I’m tired but happy. I’m satisfied and energized. I’m content.
When we use our imagination—and have a creative calling—creating makes us feel so fully alive, and when we fully access the possibilities of it, it’s a blast. We hear sounds and see details that we might not ever see otherwise. We smell the rain coming and taste flavors we might never taste with our tongue. We feel the leather or the rough homespun cotton. We hear conversations that make a difference in the lives of others.
Our mind’s eye becomes electric with the details and scenes and characters and plots that challenge our fingers to virtually fly over the keys, trying to keep up with our mach-speed creativity. We’re enjoying the journey so much that it doesn’t matter if our stomach is growling or sweat forms on our brow or our girlfriends are e-mailing. We are in the zone. We are playing in God’s playground.
We’re giving birth to a story, and we know it’s God leading us to write it down.
For those of us who are not writers or haven’t yet experienced such elation, don’t worry. We writers are not crazy. You’re not crazy. We’re all just unique. And that’s okay.
Whether you’re a four year old on the playground, a fourteen year old in English class, a forty-year-old beginning writer, or an eighty-four year old seasoned author— allowing the imagination to play and creativity to grow will open your world to an exciting new life. And even if you’re not a writer, creating a new recipe or building a new wood project can give you that creative excitement and play.
So no matter where you are in life, go and play in the playground of creativity. Let your imagination soar and let inspiration and creativity flourish. Make time for it. Develop the skills to grow in your creativity. Let the childish play begin, and see what God might do.
How do you enjoy using your creativity and imagination? I’d love to know!
Blessings
So much of our Christian walk has to do with “…knowing that tribulation brings about perseverance; and perseverance, proven character; and proven character, hope; and hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out within our hearts through the Holy Spirit who was given to us,” Romans 5:3-5. But how can all the hard things of life be counted as blessings?
Laura Story’s husband was diagnosed with a brain tumor shortly after they were married. After surgeries, vision loss, and memory loss, their lives have changed dramatically—and he still isn’t completely healed. But Laura has redefined what “blessings” really are, and she continues to trust and worship God through it all.
So should we. As believers and as writers, “God loves us way too much to give us lesser things,” and sometimes our prayers for success or a contract or a muse or a bestseller simply aren’t answered in the way we want them to. Sometimes “blessings come through raindrops” or failures or tears. And sometimes “the trials of this life are His mercies in disguise.”
So for all of you who are frustrated or discouraged or lonely or weary, hear the words of this song and know that He hears your prayers and He loves you way too much to give us lesser things. Thanks, Laura, for this important reminder.
“Blessings” by Laura Story
We pray for blessings, we pray for peace
Comfort for family, protection while we sleep
We pray for healing, for prosperity
We pray for Your mighty hand to ease our suffering
All the while You hear each spoken need
Yet He loves us way too much to give us lesser things
‘Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops
What if Your healing comes through tears?
What if a thousand sleepless nights
Are what it takes to know You’re near?
What if trials of this life
Are Your mercies in disguise?
We pray for wisdom, Your voice to hear
We cry in anger when we cannot feel You near
We doubt Your goodness, we doubt Your love
As if every promise from Your Word is not enough
And all the while You hear each desperate plea
And long that we’d have faith to believe
‘Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops
What if Your healing comes through tears?
And what if a thousand sleepless nights
Are what it takes to know You’re near?
And what if trials of this life
Are Your mercies in disguise?
When friends betray us, when darkness seems to win
We know that pain reminds this heart
That this is not, this is not our home
It’s not our home
‘Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops
What if Your healing comes through tears?
And what if a thousand sleepless nights
Are what it takes to know You’re near?
What if my greatest disappointments
Or the aching of this life
Is the revealing of a greater thirst
This world can’t satisfy?
And what if trials of this life
The rain, the storms, the hardest nights
Are Your mercies in disguise?
What kinds of trials have you endured that you’ve found to be His mercies in disguise? I’d love to know!
Leaving Home
The more I researched and wrote about young adults of the 19th century, the more I realized how different they were from our young adults today. Yes, they did have similar dreams of marriage, family, success, and the like. But they launched into adulthood very differently.
Back then, parents often chose a spouse for their child, flirting and dating was frowned upon, and sex outside of marriage was rare and scandalous. Long engagements and simple church or at-home weddings were common, and divorce was nearly non-existent.
Once the young adult left home, usually still a teen, he or she was considered to be fully an adult and was expected to be responsible, independent, and mature—even if he or she lived in the family’s home or on their land, and regardless of whether they struggled financially or relationally. There was no safety net, and when they immigrated, moved west, or left their hometown to make a new life, as they often did back then, they might never see their family for the rest of their lives! With technology and transportation, I’m glad it’s different today.
In today’s world, whether because of economic situations, school debt, or career changes (to name just a few) young adults often return home for a season or stay at home well into their 20s. We call them the boomerang generation, and it’s become a part of our culture.
Unfortunately, some young adults get too comfortable with such convenience, and they stay “children” under their parent’s roof way too long. They get stuck in a kind of Peter Pan syndrome, and they fail to launch and become healthy, responsible, and independent adults.
Though it’s not easy to require young adults to act their age and become responsible human beings, it’s really an act of love and benefits not only the parent and child but also helps society as a whole. We help to create a society of independent, confident, productive, and capable people who impact their generation and the generations to come.
As I researched the mid-1800s family dynamics of launching adult children, I have come to think that, although difficult, their way might have been the better way, hard though it was. And though I don’t envy the difficulties they endured and things they suffered, I do appreciate their intentional decision to raise responsible adults who left us a legacy of hope and promise.
What do you think? If you could live in any decade of history, what span of time would you like to live in? I’d like to know!
Speak Life
Recently I was listening to the radio and heard a song that brought me up short—“Speak Life” by TobyMac. The song talks about changing people’s lives by the words you say.
I know that’s true, of course, and I try to speak—and write—life into people’s lives whenever I can. But the words of this song struck me with the reality that “we can turn a heart with the words we say. Mountains crumble with every syllable? Hope can live or die.”
That’s quite a responsibility, but the Bible says, “a soothing tongue is a tree of life, but a perverse tongue crushes the spirit,” (Proverb 15:4), among many others. Do a word search, and you’ll likely find some sobering counsel.
Our words matter. And in this rough and tumble world of the 21st-century, there’s not a lot of wholesome and holy words going around. There are so many broken-hearted people, and with our words we can “watch them come alive as soon as you speak hope, you speak love, you speak life.”
So whether I am writing a novel, a Facebook post, or a blog, or whether I’m having lunch with a friend, texting, or emailing, I want to “use my words to inspire, spread love like fire, and rain down hope” in all I say and write. Thanks, TobyMac, for the wise reminder.
“Speak Life”
by TobyMac
Some days, life feels perfect.
Other days it just ain’t workin.
The good, the bad, the right, the wrong
And everything in between.
Though it’s crazy, amazing
We can turn a heart with the words we say.
Mountains crumble with every syllable.
Hope can live or die
(chorus)
So speak Life, speak Life.
To the deadest darkest night.
Speak life, speak Life.
When the sun won’t shine and you don’t know why.
Look into the eyes of the brokenhearted;
Watch them come alive as soon as you speak hope,
You speak love, you speak…
You speak Life
Some days the tongue gets twisted;
Other days my thoughts just fall apart.
I do, I don’t, I will, I won’t,
It’s like I’m drowning in the deep.
Well it’s crazy to imagine,
Words from our lips as the arms of compassion,
Mountains crumble with every syllable.
Hope can live or die.
(repeat chorus)
Lift your head a little higher,
Spread the love like fire,
Hope will fall like rain,
When you speak life with the words you say.
Raise your thoughts a little higher,
Use your words to inspire,
Joy will fall like rain,
When you speak life with the things you say.
Lift your head a little higher,
Spread the love like fire,
Hope will fall like rain,
When you speak life with the words you say.
(repeat chorus)
Some days life feels perfect.