Wouldn’t it be neat if houses cleaned themselves? If dinner made itself? If words organized themselves into sentences and became amazing stories–by themselves? Maybe yes for the housekeeping and dinner, but not for the story-ing.
Many days I gather my Bible, my notebook, my delicious Leelanau Roasted “Laker’s Blend” cuppa hot, creamy awesome, and settle in for a good time in prayer. I sit in my comfy chair, meditating on my work in progress, and I don’t feel guilty about where my mind is taking me.
When I connect with my most important critic, I gather details into my story I never could had I not offered them up in prayer. I need guidance when I write. It’s not some kind of super-spiritual-insight or any whacked out thing, but I feel God’s pleasure when I write. If stories wrote themselves, I’d miss out on this amazing Divine connection.
#writerproblems is a popular hashtag on Twitter. There are many I do connect with. #toomanyideas, #notenoughtime, #mybutthurtsfromsittingsolong, but wanting the story to magically appear finished is not one of them for me. I love the work of it. I feel satisfied when I’ve finished a good day of writing. I know I’m doing what I’m meant to do.