Author and Inspired Writer

A couple of days ago, I thought I had the beginnings of a new poem.  I was excited because, as I said in an earlier post, I’ve been experiencing some trouble transitioning from preaching mode back to writing mode.  I came to my writing desk, wrote out the line, and waited for the rest of the poem to follow.

Nothing came.

I wrote the line out again, and waited some more, and then realized that it was meant to be inserted in an already existing poem.  And indeed, it fits like the proverbial glove.

That’s all I wrote that day.  That’s all I wrote all week.  But far from feeling bad about my lack of output, I am elated.

Ernest Hemingway experienced much the same thing.  He writes in “A Moveable Feast”:  But sometimes when I was starting a new story and I could not get it going, I would sit in front of the fire and squeeze the peel of the little oranges into the edge of the flame and watch the sputter of blue that they made.  I would stand and look out over the roofs of Paris and think, “Do not worry.  You have always written before and you will write now.  All you have to do is write one true sentence.  Write the truest sentence that you know.”  So finally I would write one true sentence, and then go on from there.

What I had written wasn’t even a sentence, just a seven word fragment, but it is one of the truest, most powerful phrases I have ever written.  I kept reading the poem over and over, out loud, and when I reached that line there she was, the Magdalene, raging at God, shaking her fist in the face of the Almighty and demanding he explain himself.  And I knew I would be given the, pardon the religious word, but the grace to continue this collection of poems.  And if I start to panic at what I perceive to be the slow rate of progress, I will say to myself, “Do not worry.  You have always written before and you will write now.  All you have to do is write one true sentence…”

A while back, I asked Vanessa Shields, writer/editor extraordinaire, if she would share something about her writing process on her website www.vanessashields.com .  Her loves me, so her said “Why yes!”  It’s posted for y’all to read on her web site under “My Writing Process – Part 1”.  It’s a wonderful insight for writers or aspiring writers.  Check it out why don’tcha?

Yesterday completed my five week preaching rotation, and I must say I had THE MOST fun!  Yup, it was actually fun!  Of course I had the perfect congregation listening to me – attentive, affirming, and patient, oh so patient!  Their positive energy carried me through, almost literally so.  I had plans to be strong, healthy and full of energy during the weeks I preached.  And while there were no major problems, every morning at breakfast I’d tell The Mister, “I feel like I’m in a trough, energy-wise.  All the dials are reading “Low.”

“Never fear, Missus,” he’d assure me.  “Once you start banging on the pulpit, the energy will come.”

Well, I never did bang on the pulpit (although I’ve put it in the Maybe File for next year), but he was right about the energy boost as the service went on.  It was the people.  I’m sure of that.  They so wanted me to do well!  And they were so grateful that I did my best to serve them.  And it also kept me mindful of Who’s really in charge, and Who has pledged to see me through.

Now, time to get caught up on all the stuff I let slide for the last five weeks (like my dreaded accounts) and get back to writing.

I’m ready.

The temperatures in my neck of the woods have been beastly these past couple weeks.  We’ve had several days of 100 degree temps, and that’s without the humidex added in!  The AC has been blasting non-stop, there isn’t a lawn in the neighbourhood that’s survived, and all nature seems overwhelmed by the onslaught of this equatorial heat.

So The Mister has been filling up the bird baths several times a day, but the birds are not the only creatures to receive his tender ministrations.  The squirrels, with whom I have a love-hate relationship, as they enjoy chewing through the telephone lines leaving me without phone or internet for days at a time, also rate his consideration.

“Just look at the poor things trying to make it through the day wrapped up in their l’il fur coats ‘n all,” he says.

“Mm,” I says.

“Now Missus, they’re God’s creatures too, you know.”

“All I said was ‘Mm.'”

“It was how you said it.”

“Mm,” I repeat.

Anyhoo, The Mister has taken to leaving a dish of water for the critters.  When he comes out to change it, he’ll throw what’s left under the bench in the back yard, and fill it up with fresh water.  After a day or two, we noticed that the squirrels were fighting each other over who got to stretch out under the bench just after the ground had been doused with water.  And by stretch out, I mean stretch out – flat on all fours, eyes closed in bliss, tail barely twitching.  We gather our unintentional mud puddle gives them welcome relief from the heat and parasites.  Well, if they’re happy, we’re happy.

I guess.

Then a few days ago, The Mister was retrieving our bikes out of the shed for our morning bike ride when I heard him utter those immortal words, “What the…?”

“What the what?” I asked.

“Look in your bike helmet.”

I keep my helmet in the basket of my bike, (The Mister doesn’t feel he needs a helmet) and I thought if some varmint has befouled my protective head gear, there’s gonna be trouble!  But what should I discover rolling around inside it, but a black walnut, big as you please!

It looked for all the world as if the squirrels were saying, “Missus, this is for The Mister.  Would you give it to him and tell him ‘thanks’.”

Welllll, all right.  But stay away from the phone lines, ‘kay?