When a Book Moves In

Balance? I’ve heard this word and it always rings strangely in my ears. This is especially the case when I’m in the midst of a tricky edit or when a rough draft is practically writing itself.

It’s more like triage around here. And I’ve come to accept that and thank God so has my family.

When a book moves in I’m aware of all that goes by the wayside. My methodology to keeping some semblance of balance comes down to this: the important stuff gets done.

Everything else … {shrugs}

Right now I’m not only hosting one book in my brain, I’ve got two roaming around up there making quite a ruckus. Working through edits. Picking up dirty socks. Wiping down streaky mirrors. These characters can make a raging mess. And they love to hog my attention.

I’ve trained them to sleep when my kids are home. They’re not great sleepers. I’ve debated slipping them some NyQuil, but so far it hasn’t come to that. There are some nights they’ve stayed up partying so hard, pinging inside my head until the wee hours, they end up crashing hard during the day. Crazy house guests these books are.

But I suppose I love them and I haven’t yet found a way to kick them out (trust me, I’ve tried). In the meantime, you might see my kid wearing two different types of cleats or you may wonder how long can clean clothes rest on a bedroom floor before they’re considered dirty again.

Some people crave physical order before they’re ready to face the day. For me it’s all about mental order and mental order begins with me preparing my kids for school, kissing them goodbye, then shaking my house guests awake, never knowing what surprises I’m about to encounter. 

The Only Thing that Matters

“Once again the only thing that mattered was the work, except now he realized that the work was

him.”

Noah Hawley, BEFORE THE FALL

The joy gets lost. There are dark seasons, seasons when you forget why you’ve invested so much time and effort into a calling that seldom produces the results you hope for. Before you think I’ve gone all doom and gloom on you, I’ll say there is an alternate perspective. It’s not easy to embrace. In fact, it’s only when you’ve endured the broken, humble seasons that you discover if you have it in you to rise up and take hold of this more hopeful view.

I’m referring to life as a writer, but highs and lows are experienced in any artistic profession. It’s dangerous when you begin to build in your mind a sharp expectation of how things should be. That’s what happened in the book I’m reading, BEFORE THE FALL. This painter named Scott clung to certain ideas of how it was supposed to look for him when he hit thirty, then forty, finding himself increasingly disappointed his career didn’t pan out the way he’d envisioned. And when he fell short, the love for his craft was compromised until ultimately his craft was compromised. The joy got lost. It wasn’t until Scott was reminded of another passion he had as a boy that his love of painting reignited. Not the search for approval, awards, or accolades. The life-giving pull toward his calling.

“There is no separating yourself from the things you make, he thought.”

Yes, we create distance when it comes time for reviews or when we move on to a new project, but the fueling discovery that Scott lands on is that we are the real works in progress.

If we’re growing and challenging ourselves and becoming more in touch with humankind while we craft, well then isn’t that the point?

Does the end product not matter then? Of course it matters. But I happen to believe we reach the best results when we fling off all expectations, when we unabashedly throw ourselves into our art, when woulds and coulds and should haves are ash under our feet.

Our greatest potential shows up only when we become aware that we are the real work being created.

From Seedling to Story

It’s the job of a writer to create images in the minds of our readers. To illuminate moving pixels in their brains. Pixels that spark questions. Questions that cause the reader to crave more.

I don’t know what happens to most people when they see an image like this. 

I instantly feel a story move around inside me, testing the waters, seeing if it’s ready to be born. Often the embryonic seedling is comfortable in its womb, unwilling to blossom into anything more than a pondering, a fleeting curiosity. Multiple scenarios—what ifs—flit around my head, like a halo of fireflies. But then there are times when an image like the above will conjure something from deep inside me, striking the center of a ripe idea, coaxing it to fruition. Or, at the very least, to climb out from where it’s been hiding and become a rough draft on the page. Messy ideas, dripping. Sluiced with amniotic remnants.

Until the day it stretches its limbs and becomes fully alive. Braver. Sturdier. Daring independence.

I know then that it is my job to raise the idea well. To listen. To invest time in understanding. To groom and do the hard work. I also know it would be cruel to ignore what has so beautifully and mysteriously found a way to the surface. In the process of bringing a story idea to life I’m at all times partaking in a nuanced and complicated dance of both nurturing and letting go.

It’s the best way I know how to honor both the story and myself.

So, what do you think about when you see an image like the one above?

Between the Bright Moments

I’m reading Elizabeth Gilbert’s inspirational book, BIG MAGIC. In a section about persistence Gilbert refers to the fun part of the writing life, when everything is going great. Words are flowing. You are affirmed in every writing relationship. Accolades are pouring in.

But then Gilbert brings up the all too familiar moments between. She writes, “You don’t leap from bright moment to bright moment. How you manage yourself between those bright moments, when things aren’t going so great, is a measure of how devoted you are to your vocation, and how equipped you are for the weird demands of creative living. Holding yourself together through all the phases of creation is where the real work lies.”

Man, is she ever talking my language in this section. This is the true heart of discipline. We are all well-acquainted with these in-between and not-so-glimmering seasons of life. Whether you’re a parent, an artist, or you’ve dedicated yourself to a craft for a duration . . . you know the bridge moments. The day-to-day monotony of marching across the bridge. When you’re scared. When you’re exhausted and dripping with sweat. When the only view that snags your attention is the petrifying distance below. When you feel entirely alone on your journey—the moments between.

Today I’m offering five things to consider, as well as motivation to march on when you’re amidst a bridge season of life.

Use the time to pay attention

The world has a tendency to look different when you’re trudging across a bridge. You could choose to perceive everything at an impossible distance or you could admire the rare bird’s eye view of the trees. Marvel at the knotted rope holding you up. Or the ever-shifting cloud patterns in the sky. Take note of those who’ve walked before you and made it across. Find encouragement in the path—seek it.

Tap into an internal well of gratitude

No better time to give thanks for all the blessings in your life than while you’re on the bridge. Often we get distracted in the valleys and peaks. Bridge moments provide excellent time for reflection.

Reflect upon the distance you’ve traveled and all that you’ve learned

Mimic Lot’s wife. Look back. But briefly, and for the right reasons. You’ve come a long way. There’s dignity in this. And a pattern. You’ve invested much already. In your children. Your vocation. Your craft. Giving up now would be foolish. Years of hard work wasted. You have learned through every hardship, every failure, every misstep. Reflect, then onward.

Challenge your previously held perspective

Maybe you believed you’d be at the other side already. Or you thought someone would have come along to walk the rest of the way with you. Maybe you can’t stand how crazy and stupid long this one bridge is and are desperately eager to quit moving along. Maybe someone broke a promise or a deal went through or all your wishes weren’t granted. So? What now? The bridge is the perfect place to ask yourself what you expected to get out of this thing are you in this and what keeps you committed? The bridge has questions like these scrawled all over it.

you’re devoted to—and why you’re devoted to it. Are you in it solely for the praise? For returned affection? Or is there something deeper calling you to carry on? Despite the dizzying height. The rickety upward slope ahead. The wrestle with disillusionment. Why

Reassess the shoes you’re wearing

Have you equipped yourself with the best tools to make it across? A positive, tenacious spirit. Long-term vision. Giving attitude. Willingness to strip away jealousy. Dedication to put in the time it takes to push forward. Anyone would grow discouraged with gaping holes in the soles of their shoes. With puffy blisters reminding them how painful the walk is. It takes more than just talent and skill to traverse certain bridges. Choose wisely when you put your shoes on. You want them to carry you far. Through any and all terrains you encounter.

The bridge is ready. Are you?