It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas, but what does that mean to us?

We’ve survived the biggest sales day of the year. We’ve shared viral videos of the mayhem and brawls in stores over this year’s “Must Have” items. Homes are lighting up with festive decorations and food flows both ways through the door as we gather together to celebrate the season.

It’s both one of the best times of the year and one of the worst.

We hold the end of the year up as a time to gather together and give thanks, to focus on thoughts of peace on earth and goodwill towards mankind, but sometimes it seems we’ve forgotten what compassion looks like. And so much is lost as a result.

As I walk through the streets of my town, I’m more and more aware of just how much I’m surrounded by eyes filled with hurt, with a longing for recognition and a simple word of kindness. And I’m not just speaking of the homeless. It’s in our nature to crave a gesture from someone that affirms we have value, that we’re important no matter where our lives have taken us.

The need to know our worth seems especially great this time of year.

Christmas is a season to focus on the needs of others. It’s a time to reach outside of our comfort zone and into the lives of complete strangers. It’s a moment in time that allows us to experience deep joy and a sense of fulfillment that only comes when we freely give of ourselves to others — with no expectation of any reward in return. 

The holiday season offers us a moment to say, “Your life has a purpose and it is valuable.”

For me, that’s what the birth of Christ is all about: God coming to earth to affirm our value.

It doesn’t matter if he was born in winter, spring, summer, or fall. God, in need of nothing, ruler of all creation, willing chose to become one of us. He experienced cold, heat, love, joy, grief, sorrow, pain, rejection, and abandonment by those he counted most dear. He knew what it meant to be homeless and hungry. To be hated by some and selfishly used by others.

He experienced it all, not to satisfy his ego, but because he simply wanted to know and be known.

The Christmas Story isn’t just about a birth in a stable, a sky filled with singing angels, and the worship of shepherds and wisemen. Like all the best stories, it’s a story of sacrificial love — the most powerful “magic” ever known to humanity. It’s the only kind of love that can battle through the darkest, coldest night imaginable against the strongest, vilest villain anyone could think to conjure up and emerge victorious in the light of the morning sun.

It’s that type of love story I want to write. Not on paper, but in life. And not just in this season, but in every season beyond.

Admire the Problem

"The Dragon"

One of the most used Aps on my iPhone is “Shanghai” (not to be confused with the multi-player card game), a game in which the player matches tiles in order to clear themed boards such as a “Dragon,” a “Beatle,” a “Coffee Cup,” and the like. As far back as I can remember this style of game has been my favorite distraction when mulling over a problem or when needing to kill some time in a waiting room.

The thing I enjoy the most about “Shanghai” is that when I finish a board I’m treated to three “Fortunes.” True to form, some of the sayings are vague (ie. Your emotional nature is strong and emotional), some are rather comical (ie. Never, ever fry bacon in the nude), and some just really make you think.

Enlightenment comes while ducking the “unsolvable” riddle

The other day while avoiding my keyboard I noticed something interesting — when I consider the entire board I am able to find multiple matches at once, when I look for a specific match I tend to get stuck. Then I get frustrated and have to put it down for a bit. It’s very similar to what happens when I’m writing. When I focus too much on one particular aspect of the story without considering the entire plot I get blocked, I get frustrated, and I pick up my phone.

I think the game read my mind while I was thinking those thoughts because when I finished my puzzle it gave me the following fortune:

If you don’t have a solution, you should admire the problem.

Now I know what admire means, but I decided to turn to my dictionary and read the definition again. The origin of the word, according to Merriam-Webster, is “from the Middle French admirer, to marvel at, from Latin admirari, from ad- + mirari to wonder…” Synonyms include: appreciate, consider, esteem, regard, respect, and set store by.

Going by that definition I returned to mulling over my “fortune.”

When we take the time to admire a problem we’re able to distance ourselves from it, to consider it from all angles before coming to a conclusion —one that may actually be something we wouldn’t at all have considered had we just been staring at one aspect of problem itself. (This is exactly the sort of thing Sherlock Holmes has been preaching to me since I was in middle school, but like Dr. Watson, too often I see without observing.)

This brought me to my next epiphany...

Writers are by nature problem solvers.

We enjoy creating hopeless scenarios and then working to find THE solution. Like Captain Kirk, we don’t believe in a no-win situation. If we can’t find the answer we’ll rewrite the story to suit our purposes.

And therein lies one of the writer’s biggest challenges.

When a solution does not readily make itself apparent we get frustrated. We curse our inability to write well. We mope about in our pajamas. We avoid our manuscripts saying we’re too busy or too bored with the concept. We obsess. We pout. We threaten to quit. Then, wouldn’t you know it, the moment we step back and throw up our hands…LIGHT BULB!

When we take the time as writers to “admire” the problems we come up against in our writing, to consider them from all angles, a full picture emerges in which the possibilities become readily apparent. Rather than coming at a problem like a hurdle that must be overcome at all costs, perhaps we should approach it as like a piece of artwork that takes a little time, a little patience, and a dash of respect to discover its many mysteries.

Who knows what we’ll uncover when we do.

Your turn! How do you look at problems that arise when you’re writing? What helps you work through them?

A Declaration of Conviction

“…Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security.” –The Declaration of Independence

When thinking of the document that marked the beginning of our nation, our minds often bring to the forefront the Continental Congress’ declaration of certain inalienable rights: Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness. We forget about the weight of responsibility, the careful consideration of intent, and even the evidence of men wrestling with an impossible choice that colors each and every word on the page.

The Echoes of Conviction

As I read through the Declaration of Independence in its entirety again this morning I was struck by the power of a conviction so strong it is still palpable after more than 200 years. These men had come to a difficult decision, they made their case before God and men, and although they were ready and willing to do what they saw they must, you can feel the ache of sadness and the overwhelming desire that the situation did not warrant the course of action they were about to embark upon.

I can’t see the Founding Father’s faces. I will never be able to interview them on their thoughts as they drafted, penned, and signed such an explosive document. And I don’t need to. Everything I need to know is already on this page.

Which left me wondering: Should any of my writing survive centuries into the future would my words capture the depth of my convictions, or would they simply be letters on a page?

Knock. Knock.

The most terrifying and exciting aspect of knocking on a door
is not knowing what happens next.

I’m exhausted. Honestly, with the exception of my final weeks of college, I can’t remember a time in my life I’ve ever felt this bone-weary.

I’m terrified. In the past six months I’ve watched door after door close (or never open). Except for this one.

I attended a writers’ conference in April that I couldn’t afford because of the generosity of others. I met incredible men and women who were perfectly placed in my life in that specific moment to encourage me to lift my hand one more time. And I returned with an editor wanting a proposal, an agent wanting to meet, and two-thirds of a book to rewrite.

It feels like an eternity has passed, but in reality, it’s just been shy of two months.

Most days I feel like I’ve made little progress, but in reality I’ve finished a complete re-write of a nearly 50,000 word middle grade fantasy, and I’m about to finish the most in-depth proposal I’ve ever written for both the editor and agent.

That’s why I’m shaking.

During my conference I heard from more than one editor and agent that of all the writers they request work from more than 80 percent never respond. So, I thought, for every 10 pieces they ask to see, they get maybe two?

At the time I thought such behavior was completely insane. We’re writers. No matter what stage of our career we’re in we’re working towards publication, right? Being terrified of sending out queries and proposals cold is one thing. I completely understood that, but if someone was asking to see my work…that was the dream, wasn’t it?

Seven weeks later I have a better understanding of why so many writers drop off.

Perhaps, like me, they feel moments of intense pressure to submit something so perfect the editor can’t do anything but accept it.

Perhaps, like me, they love the fact that someone is waiting to see their work, but they fear the moment they send that piece out it will be yet another door that closes, or refuses to open.

And the pressure and fear continues to build until it becomes more than they can handle.

But what about the ones who push through, despite all of that?

For me, the past several weeks have seemed so long because they’ve been so full (and not with just writing). One day blurs into the next because I’ve had to train myself to focus on one thing at a time. First by finishing my rewrite, then by turning my attention to the proposal.

I’ve come to accept there is no such thing as a perfect book or book proposal. There is only my best effort to complete something I am heart-and-soul passionate about. 

No matter what my writing resume looks like, there will always be the chance an editor or agent will say no. But if I don’t take the risk and follow through, I’m not giving them the chance to say yes, either.

And, as a friend reminded me last night when I had a momentary breakdown, if someone asks to see our work it’s because they saw in us during that brief moment our paths crossed something that intrigued them. That made them want to know more.

The question I have been asking myself every day since I got home is: Am I one of the majority who holds back? Or will I be one of the few who despite the feelings of uncertainty steps out and keeps trying?

Which is why today, like every day for the past seven weeks, I’m plopping myself into my chair and blocking out as many distractions as possible so I can finish what I started. Then I’m going to go see if this door in front of me is going to open when I knock.

How about you?

Untitled Midnight Thoughts

It’s early yet. The night is still deep, yet as I step into the freezing fog to grab a few more logs for the fire the patio is washed in a pale glow. Looking up, a nearly full moon peaks through wisps of silver and I wish the cold weren’t sucking all the heat out of my feet so I could stand and watch a little longer. It’s quiet now, but earlier the frogs were calling out so loud it seemed as if they could fill the pond to Egyptian-plague-like proportions. Stepping back inside, wood in hand, it dawns on me. This is my last night in the stillness that can only really be found at the base of the mountains.

Tomorrow instead of watching the geese and ducks diving into the water it’ll be cars speeding through a street they should be more cautious on. Bass solos will replace the birds’ chorus, and competing television programs and the occasional wail of an emergency will take the place of the midnight chirps and croaks.

And surprisingly enough, as I add one last log to the fire, I find myself ready to go home.

Running with Horses: A Writer’s Reflection

A talented friend training with one of her horses. Courtesy of A. Noble 2011

“…If you have raced with men on foot and they have worn you out, how can you compete with horses?” Jeremiah 12:5

Lord,

You have shown me you know me so much better than I do, and you have a purpose for every high and low point I face. I want to run now, but you have been preparing me to run a much bigger race — one that requires training and preparation.

In your wisdom, you knew I needed to learn how to face criticism as a tool to build me up rather than tear me to pieces.

I needed to learn that the rejection of a particular story wasn’t a rejection of who I am or who I aim to be.

I needed to see there would be days when words would come easily and weeks where they wouldn’t, and that I needed to persevere equally during both seasons.

Anyone can run with men. Lord, I want to run with the horses. Not the tame ones that prance along. I want to be able to keep pace with the mustangs that run and run, and yet never seem to tire.

30 Days of Thankfulness in Writing – Day 4: Pen & Paper

It’s easy to focus on the negative in the world around us. In observation of a month many dedicate to counting their blessings, I’ve started a 30-day challenge in which I’ll focus on one aspect of my writing life for which I am thankful. I’d love to have you join by sharing about something that has blessed your own writing life in the comments section below. - Jen

It’s probably a no brainer, but today I am thankful for pen and paper. They’re both cheap and easy to come by, but there was a time (and it some places it may still be the case) where they were considered precious commodities. Not only did you have to have the money to spend on them, you needed an education to properly utilize them.

I’ve been blessed with both. I always have a notepad of some sort and a pen with me. Yes, I also own an older iPhone and have the ability to record voice memos or use the notepad feature, but I just love watching the ink bleed onto the page and I am less apt to edit myself while drafting a project.

For example, last night I spent an hour staring at my screen trying to think of what to write next in my story. I had the pieces outlined, I knew where the story needed to go, but I just couldn’t get the thoughts in my head to translate into words in my document. This in turn led me to turning my wireless back on and I ended up perusing through my news feeds “hoping my jumbled thoughts would work themselves out in the meantime.” Not very productive in terms of reaching my daily word count, obviously, so I closed the laptop and grabbed my nearest notepad.

Then this morning I packed up my car for a weekend visit to see my sisters. Joining me are my two brothers and sister-in-law. I of course have my laptop with me, but I put two notebooks and three pens into my bag (this doesn’t include the ones I have in my purse). The first thing my brother asked when I picked him up was if I had any paper and a pen with me so he could leave a note for his roommates. Cue the “Did you really just ask me that?” look.

As technology continues to progress I sometimes wonder if we’ll come to a point where we don’t utilize these simple tools anymore. If it does we’ll be losing an incredible art form. Fortunately, that day is not to day, nor is it tomorrow. So I’ll continue to stock up on pens and paper and admire the unique way my ideas seem to flow so freely when I have crisp white sheets and ink in hand.

30 Days of Thankfulness in Writing – Day 3: Morning Walks

It’s easy to focus on the negative in the world around us. In observation of a month many dedicate to counting their blessings, I’ve started a 30-day challenge in which I’ll focus on one aspect of my writing life for which I am thankful. I’d love to have you join by sharing about something that has blessed your own writing life in the comments section below.
 -Jen

While at Youth Group last night one of the high school students shared with me that one of her family members was about to go in for a major operation. He has diabetes and has to have his second leg removed. It’s no surprise that I immediately started wiggling toes and trying to imagine what it would be like to be unable to walk on my own. It took all of a second for me to decide I would probably go insane. It’s hard enough having to constantly read labels to make sure I don’t accidentally poison myself with gluten.

I love going for walks. It’s a simple exercise that allows me to clear my mind, work through conflicts, process story ideas, and it’s amazing getting to see the scenery changing around me on a weekly basis. It also gives me a chance to spend time talking with the people I love without the distraction of texts, e-mail, or phone calls. (Our walks are technology-free zones so we can have 30 minutes to completely unplug.) As I write this I’m just starting to warm up from my trek through the local park. It was 40 degrees out and raining, but as long as I was moving I didn’t really seem to notice.

So today I’m thankful for the ability to exercise — to stretch my arms and legs, and flex my cold fingers and toes.

I’m thankful that I can see the flaming reds and yellows and oranges clinging to branches and covering the ground.

I’m thankful I can hear the geese and ducks arguing with each other while standing on a bridge watching from above.

I’m thankful for the heat I felt seeping through my coffee cup into my mitten-clad hands. For the rich taste that warmed me as I took each sip.

I’m even thankful I could smell that pile a careless dog walker “didn’t notice” their pet left in the middle of the pathway.

It’s so easy to take the little things for granted, but when I stopped to consider them this morning I realized how big an impact each one has on my life. I also realized that without these amazing yet simple abilities my job as a writer would be a much more challenging task.

30 Days of Thankfulness in Writing – Day 1: Professors

During the past few years I’ve seen several of my friends embark on a 30-day Thankfulness challenge for the month of November. The idea is to post on their Facebook page one item each day for which they are thankful. I was so intrigued by this that I decided that this year I would attempt to update my blog every day with something or someone that has been a blessing in my writing life. I’d love to have you join me by visiting each day and perhaps posting something for which you are thankful for in the comments section below.

Today I am thankful for four college professors I had who saw a talent in me they decided to foster by pushing me harder than I at times thought fair.

I am thankful for Rick Thompson who saw in a ridiculous and very short story an ability to engage the imagination and create a world he thought children would love to explore. It is because of him I first started dreaming of becoming a real writer.

I am thankful for Luis Perotti, a World Lit professor who realized I just needed someone to sit down and explain a few simple mechanics in order to really excel in writing, and who opened a whole new world for me as a result. I only had one class with him, but he always stopped me in the hall when he saw me to catch up with me and see how my education (and writing) were progressing.

I am thankful for Mada Morgan who introduced me to the joys of writer’s manuals and gifted me with my first Moleskine notebook upon graduation. She also taught me the fundamentals of rhetoric and editing, and worked alongside some fellow students and me as an advisor while we created a departmental e-zine and two annual writing competitions for English & Writing majors.

And I am thankful for Craig Wright who never allowed his students to use five words where one would suffice. Who taught me the difference between having a well-rounded vocabulary and flipping through a thesaurus. I am thankful for all the times he forced me to cut a story in half, then in half, and then in half again until I finally discovered that in order to write one must first have a story to tell.

I am thankful for these four individuals because they are the beginning of my story. It is through their efforts, their patience, and their guidance that my eyes were opened to see the first archway in my three-act play, and it is because of their encouragement that I had the faith to step through it.

Using music and words to stir the soul

There are few things that stir my soul the way music does. I love how the arrangement of melodies and harmonies can capture the essence of the human spirit; how a few simple cords can inspire one to climb to new heights or descend to the lowest of depths, all in the space of a moment. If you looked at my iTunes library, you’d find I’m particularly drawn to instrumental music, and I don’t mean strictly “Classical.” Although there are no words, each piece paints a vivid picture that speaks specifically to me. 

As with reading and writing, my parents introduced me to music at a very early age. It was rare something wasn’t playing at home or in the car. My siblings and I grew up taking pieces by Beethoven, Rachmaninov, Tchaikovsky, Gershwin, and numerous others and creating plays to go with what we heard. We climbed endless staircases made of couch cushions battling to “Mars” from Holst’s “The Planets.” (Luke Skywalker’s famous battle with Darth Vader was the inspiration for that one.) When it was time to clean up, we often danced about the living room like little cleaning fairies to “The Nutcracker Suite.” And there were more than a few café scenes done to “An American in Paris.” 

It wasn’t just classical music that played in the house, though. My dad loved artists like Vangelis, Ray Lynch, and Jean-Michel Jarre, whose works were the soundtracks to many space-themed adventures. My mom grew up with Nat King Cole, Bing Crosby, and Frank Sinatra. So I suppose it doesn’t come as such of a surprise that when I’m writing I have appropriately themed music playing in the background. For example, when I’m writing a reflective scene I tend to have my soft reflection playlist going which has music from movies and video games mixed in. There are also Techno and Electronic albums I turn to when editing. And when I need a pick me up, I love listening to music that really should be played on an old turntable rather than my laptop.

I think one of the things that has always fascinated me so much about music is that though there are relatively few notes available, men and women are still able to create art that is so incredibly varied. Each piece is like a snowflake; you can spot similarity to others, but it is also a uniquely individual thing. Somehow the composer is able to capture and express a specific emotion that I can completely relate with, and yet at the same time when I’m listening to the music it feels so incredibly personal — as if I’m the only one who can ever truly understand its meaning.

That feeling is something I want to happen with my writing. When a reader sits down with me I want them to see the similarities and the differences of past experiences. I want them to feel as if the story was written specifically for them — as if it’s a secret only the reader and I can share in. Like music, there are only so many stories to be told (really, everything has been done before), but like the snowflake it can also be unique. And like the music playing in the background as I write this, it can be used to stir the soul.