I have a friend who has a knack for writing striking devotionals. Despite their short length, she manages to pack memorable images and messages into just a few lines with finesse I admire (and honestly envy a bit).
Ironically, last week this friend surprised me by saying that when she writes a short non-fiction piece she’s happy with, she calls it “doing an Emily.”
Um, what?
I laughed and told her I have a document on my computer where I have over twenty pages of started and (so far) failed blog posts. (Since I’m drafting this post in said document right now, I can report that the true number of pages is thirty-five.)
I don’t remember exactly why I named this working document August, but I think I had ambitions of writing my posts for the month of August early one year, so I created a file in which to do so.
Word tells me that since I created the file in July, 2016, I’ve spent over 1000 hours editing it. I have no count of the hours I’ve spent editing directly in Blogger, where both Seriously Write and my personal blog are hosted, but they are many.
Writing is a way of life. A way of processing. But not every word is worth sharing, and those that are often do not come easy or fast.
As well as I know this about my own writing, I can forget when I read others' work.
We often only see the end result of each other's efforts. The heavily edited words, the final drafts.
Even between close friends who routinely help each other with critiques, sometimes we're unaware of what happens behind the scenes. My own friend, one who's heard my complaints about coming up with topics for posts and whom I believe I knew when I created August, didn't know such a file existed.
So, for the record, I have pages and pages of failed blog posts. I have entire novels on my hard drive that will likely never see publication. Poems. Stories. At least one essay.
So. Many. Documents.
I haven't gone rummaging through other writers' hard drives, but I don't have to see the deleted or ignored documents to know that those whose words I value also try and fail.
Writing is a struggle, and none of us are immune.
Behind each admirable piece, there’s an awful lot of work, false starts, and undeserved grace.
You may feel like you’re trying hard. Why does it come so easy to everyone else?
For the most part, it doesn't.
Good writing comes through God’s empowering grace. It comes through perseverance. It comes through showing up and putting in the hours quietly, in spaces no one will see.
No one but God, that is.
Jesus sees what we do in secret and will reward us for being faithful. When we submit to the humility of trying and failing, of working behind the scenes, of learning one word at a time, He does a work in us we cannot force. He sharpens skills and brings out the vibrant colors of a masterpiece.
Resting in this, we can set aside jealousy and comparison. We don't have the full picture of others' journeys to really compare to anyway.
On the level playing field of grace, writers are free to help and support each other, knowing that in due time, God will use everything we submit to Him.
Even that file of false starts.
Writing is a struggle, and none of us are immune. Behind each admirable piece, there’s an awful lot of work, false starts, and undeserved grace. via @emilyrconrad #amwriting #amediting #seriouslywrite @MaryAFelkins
On the level playing field of grace, writers are free to help and support each other, knowing that in due time, God will use everything we submit to Him. @emilyrconrad #writing #faithwriter #seriouslywrite @MaryAFelkins
Good writing comes through God’s empowering grace. It comes through perseverance. It comes through showing up and putting in the hours quietly, in spaces no one will see. @emilyrconrad #seriouslywrite #writetip #writing @MaryAFelkins
Photo credits
String of lights on open book photo by Nong Vang on Unsplash
Stack of books photo by Toa Heftiba on Unsplash
Handwritten book photo by Kiwihug on Unsplash
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JUSTICE
The love of a lifetime, a quest for justice, and redemption that can only be found by faith.
Jake thought he was meant to marry Brooklyn, but now she's pregnant, and he had nothing to do with it.
Brooklyn can’t bring herself to name the father as she wrestles with questions about what her pregnancy means and how it will affect her relationship with Jake.
If Harold Keen, the man who owns the bookstore across from Jake's coffee shop, has anything to do with it, the baby will ruin them both.
Can Jake and Brooklyn overcome the obstacles thrown in their path, and finally find the truth in God's love and in each other?
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