All my writing projects now feel inconsequential in light of this global pandemic. I opened my Scrivener document and scrolled through chapters yesterday, wondering how to write when there feels like a Before and After—a hinge in history that didn’t exist before.
I feel full of words, but they’re suspended in air like confetti and I’m waiting for them to shuffle into some kind of pattern that will help make sense of the world. But just as I’ve learned that I need to get outside and jog for my mental health, I know I also need to write. Writing is not a want; it’s a need.
This past week one of my favorite podcasters, Ann Kroeker, encouraged writers to journal and document the days. Although it seems hard to imagine, we will forget what this is all like. People may never see our wrestling and wrangling of words during this strange season, but writing will help us work out the kinks in our own souls. If you are a writer, carve out time and space in your day to write.
I once told a friend that I wasn’t a verbal or internal processor. “I need to write things down to make sense of them,” I told her. “What does that make me?”
“A writer,” she said.
I’ve always been more of a tortoise than a hare when it comes to making sense of things. I was never the first kid in class to raise my hand because I need time to process. I know this about myself. For a recent essay I published, I had mulled over those ideas for nearly a year before I wrote it. Madeleine L’Engle always encouraged her writing students to spend lots of time thinking, then to write without thinking. Often our ideas must be seeds hidden in the damp ground long before they become flowers.
Just two months ago I added an extra morning of preschool for two of my kids so that I would have nine hours a week to pursue freelance writing. But then the world closed its doors and we are living on top of one another in our house. Now that I am home full-time with my kids, aged 3, 5, and 7, that time to write evaporated.
My husband already works from home, so we rejiggered our schedule so that instead of working from 9 to 5, he now works from 10 to 6 and he gives me the morning hours to hide out in his office and fight with words on the screen. Can you enlist your spouse and get creative with your time? Perhaps there’s more fluidity to our schedules than we thought.
Making space for creative work will help sustain us through the next weeks and months of isolation. Writing will give us an outlet for expression and perhaps open portals into truth and beauty we might have missed otherwise.
Keep writing.
Keep writing, painting, creating. At times, invite your children into your creative endeavors. Perhaps they too will catch the passion. Don’t apologize for carving out time and space to create—even if no one buys your words or even reads them. Writing will keep us afloat. And it may buoy others as well.
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How are you getting creative with your time so you can write?
[In the style of Verlyn Klinkenborg, one of my favorite authors on writing. I wrote this after writing and publishing my first book so I wouldn’t forget–just in case a next book wants to be written.]
1. Your book proposal is the blueprint of your book, but it will change.
2. Save at least 15 percent of your advance to use for marketing your book later.
3. Your final draft should bear little resemblance to your first draft. Tell (lie to) yourself: “It’s okay to write terribly. No one ever has to read this.”
4. You’ll be tempted to quote people smarter and more eloquent than you. Don’t let this become a crutch. Say it your way (and ignore all The Voices telling you why you can’t or shouldn’t do this work).
5. When you revise, print out your pages and mark them up. Highlight your verbs and nouns—are they vibrant, active, and concrete?
6. Schedule days (and maybe even weeks) to rest and let your manuscript sit, like dough rising.
7. Carve out space for solitude and listening. Go on long walks, runs, or bike rides alone. Pay attention.
8. Build up a support network years before you publish.
10. Print out your entire manuscript and bind it like a book. Do this after every major revision. Read your entire manuscript aloud several times over many months.
11. Use scissors to revise. Sometimes cutting, rearranging, and retyping the entire thing will help smooth out the wrinkles in your transitions.
12. Spend 80 percent of your social media real estate promoting others, 20 percent promoting yourself.
13. Save the stories you cut to use for articles and essays later.
14. Don’t apologize for writing, selling, or marketing your book. If you’re not excited about it, no one else will be.
15. Figure out how to use Scrivener. It will save you tons of time in the end.
16. Social media is not writing.
17. Platform building is not writing.
18. Reading books about writing is not writing.
19. Fans aren’t doing you a favor by buying your book. You did them a favor by writing it.
The bookstore manager, Pam, takes me behind the desk to the backroom of Macdonald Book Shop in Estes Park, Colorado. I plop my bags on a table in a snug break room. One door leads to a bathroom.
“The lock doesn’t work, so be sure to knock first. Then leave the door ajar when you go out so we know it’s available,” Pam tells me.
Another doorway leads to a tiny office with a desk facing a window. The owner, Paula, is an elderly woman with a warm smile and curved upper spine. Later in the afternoon, I’ll see her sitting at this desk and imagine she’s ordering books for customers; or perusing reviews online to determine which books will sell to tourists and her loyal customers.
Pam steers me out another door to a room in the bookstore with a worn brown leather chair Pam calls “Grandpa’s chair” in front of a fireplace. A table is next to the chair, with a small poster of my book cover announcing the book signing today from 2 to 4 pm. I’ll sit in Grandpa’s chair between the kid’s book section and the Colorado and Native American book section, which is rather large for a bookstore of this size. Later, another worker, Sally, will tell me she works at the Native American museum in Arizona, and I wonder if she’s responsible for this sizable selection.
I scribble a nametag that I brought for myself: “Local Author Leslie Verner” and stick it to my dress, then hide my pen and post-it notes behind the display. I prop my clipboard with a sign-up for my newsletter on the floor next to the table and wonder if I should sit, stand, or chase down customers to talk about my book (as Pam suggested).
This is my first book signing for my first book. I’m giddy. Writer friends had advised me to avoid scheduling book signings because they’re awkward, not profitable, and are time consuming. But independent bookstores have my heart. If my husband and I travel to a new town, the first thing we do is identify the coffee shops and independent bookstores. We wander to our respective genres: him, to the sci-fi, fantasy, and nature writing aisles; me, to the poetry, essay, and writing sections. If we have our kids with us, we take turns waiting with them in the kid section and rotate after some minutes so we can browse kid-less.
It’s a Friday and overcast, a rarity for the end of August in Colorado. The crowds of tourists have thinned since I stopped by just two weeks before to drop off some posters and copies of my book. Kids have returned to school and summer is quickly melding into fall.
Settling into Grandpa’s chair, I wonder if anyone will stop by at all.
I had contacted the local newspaper to alert them of my signing. Later, Pam will send me a clip of the article—a write up from my Goodreads description of my book, a headshot, and my book cover—vibrant even in newsprint. All three book sales today will result from local residents reading this article and stopping by to meet me and have me sign the book they buy.
What I sacrifice in time and actual sales, I make up for in conversation. I talk to Sally, the employee who volunteers at the museum in Arizona. She’s worked here every summer for over twenty years. I ask her if she reads a ton and she answers, “I try to. But at my age, I’ve decided to only read non-fiction.” I nod, thinking of the truth embedded even in the fiction books I read, but choose not to disagree. I ask her if she’s read any Joan Chittister and tell her I’m reading The Gift of Years, a book on aging. She smiles, “I think I understand aging pretty well.” I wonder how old she is. Seventy? Seventy-five? I have no idea, but I wonder if I’ll be more choosy with my books as I age, knowing my time is limited.
I talk to a mother and daughter for a long time about transition, finding friends, and community—they are dropping her off at college in Boulder. They seem excited about my book until the mother reads the back cover. I wonder if the word “Christian” in the description turns her off.
“How long’d it take you to write it?” another man asks, sauntering by as I sit in Grandpa’s chair, reading my library book in the lull.
I laugh, “Twenty years?” I say. “But from the time I started thinking about writing it to actual publication, about two years.”
A few minutes later, I see a man reading the back cover of my book at the front of the store. I hear Pam tell him the author is here if he’d like to meet her. I see him look up, then stride back to meet me. I stand and he leans down to point at my book on the table, flipping it to the back. “You say here this book is about ‘holy hospitality’ and ‘how hospitality is at the heart of Christian community,’ but when I read about Christians in the news …” he drops off.
I know what he’s going to say. He starts again, “I grew up kind of going to church, but it seems to me the church isn’t doing what it should be doing.” I didn’t disagree. I told him my book was less of a commentary on the church at large, and more of a consideration of small pivots of faith to follow Jesus and love people around us.
Later, Paula writes me a check in the backroom for the five books I had sold–three today and two of the ones on display in the previous weeks–and three more to keep in the shop ($12 total profit for eight books after subtracting what I paid my publisher for the copies). Pam helps me gather the remaining books and we talk about my conversation with this man.
“I kind of overheard it, but didn’t hear all of it,” Pam says. I tell them I had forgotten the word “Christian” was even on the back of my book and was taken off guard.
“I wish the publisher hadn’t used that word,” I say. “It’s such a trigger word for people in our society.” The women agree. Sadly, the word “Christian” often carries a negative connotation for people today.
Afterward, I order a vanilla latte (using nearly half my profit) at Inkwell and Brew, a coffeeshop behind Macdonald Bookshop, and settle into a small booth overlooking the river glimmering through downtown Estes.
I had about seven long conversations on friendship, community, isolation, and the state of Christianity in the world. I advertised my book in the local newspaper and had my book on display in the window of an indie bookstore I’ve visited many times over the years. The booksellers handed out my bookmarks to local residents stopping by to pick up the books they had ordered and random tourists buying the latest bestsellers. Pam put up posters with my book cover around town. And in the days to come, if a customer is looking for a book on spirituality, hospitality, or community, my guess is that Sally, Pam, Paula, and the other employees will steer them to my book.
As in all aspects of the creative life, it’s best not to gauge success by dollar signs. Creators deal in a mysterious currency. Did our art act as a conduit for connection, depth, and soul? If so, I call this “success.”
My book Invited: The Power of Hospitality in an Age of Loneliness is now available where all books are sold online, but also in some brick and mortar bookstores–check your local Barnes and Noble, or support your local independent bookstore by ordering it from there! You can also order it from your local library.
SO many ways to get your hands on it! 🙂Sign up for my newsletter and I’ll send you chapter 1 for free!
Statistics tell us that 81 percent of people want to write a book in their lifetime. Since I wrote my own book, many friends in real life have confessed their secret desire to write a book of their own. Other online friends in writing groups ask questions about how to format their book proposals, query agents, or build their platform.
I often get asked the how. “How did this come about? How did you know what to write? How did you actually write it?” But before addressing the how of writing a book, individuals would benefit from musing over the question of why?
Why do you want to write a book–and why now?
When I wrote my book, I was 39 years old and had a one, three, and five-year-old at home. None of my kids were in school. Although my husband takes full responsibility for praying that book into existence, I still wrestle with my choice to write a book during an already full-to-the-brim time of life. Did it pour life into me and my family, or siphon off joy, peace, and family harmony? Why did I need to write it then?
Over the past few years as a blogger, book launch team member, and book reviewer, I’ve read many non-fiction books written by various authors with different publishers. As a writer, editor, and writing teacher, I have two thoughts:
1. Many books would benefit from better editing. While I’ve read some fabulous books, many that I read were too long, too wordy, or not structured well. Publishers are busy and editors have too much on their plate. Editors don’t have time to struggle back and forth with an author to get it just right. If you are writing a book, I recommend setting aside a portion of your advance to hire your own writing coach. The classics became classics because they had outstanding editors (see The Artful Edit).
2. Many people write their books too soon. We are eager to birth our stories into the world, but many of them are born prematurely. We harvest the gardens of our lives long before they have come to full bloom. Patience should be the writer’s greatest virtue. Our stories usually benefit from a longer time in the ground, on the stalk, or growing on the vine.
Last week my kids and I watched the 2016 animated film Leap about an orphan who becomes a ballerina in Paris (love me a good dancing movie). Throughout the film, her mentor asks her, “Why do you dance?” She doesn’t know, doesn’t have a good answer. Until the end. It is only when she internalizes her “why” that her dancing demonstrates the passion, grace, and conviction required to take her from average to extraordinary.
Some writers claim that writing is their calling. I wrestle with the concept of “calling” because I believe we over-spiritualize and amass undue weight to “Our Call.”
Instead of thinking of writing as my calling, I think of it as my compulsion. Writing is this thing I can’t not do. It’s this thing that helps me illuminate what I ultimately believe about myself, God, and the world. It attunes me to wonder in the world and invites mystery into my ordinary days. Writing–in my journal or for an audience–works out the kinks in my psyche and soul in a way just pondering or talking about those things can’t quite do. Writing, for better or for worse, is an addiction. A compulsion. A need.
I recently finished reading the compelling memoir When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalanithi, a neurosurgeon diagnosed with lung cancer who died before completing the manuscript. When he finally resigned from his work at the hospital, he poured all the rest of his creative energy his last year of life into “finally writing that book.” In his final chapter he writes, “Words have a longevity I do not.” We write to immortalize ourselves.
But writing a book costs us. For me, the price of writing this book was:
Less physical time with my kids (which I was fine with, actually–“I have a book to write” feels like a noble excuse for temporary escape. Much better than “I have a blog post to write or novel to read.”)
Fractured and distracted time with my kids and my husband. (Nothing like a surprise invasion of imposter syndrome, comparison, or “But I can’t do this” lament to sideline foreplay.)
Much money spent on babysitters, new headshots, postage for mailing books, writing at a nearby Abbey, paying my own book coach and publicist, writing software, purchasing books for research, paying for my own advance reader copies (ARCs) to distribute to influencers, paying for ads on Instagram, and for my launch party. (My husband calls all this “investment in my career”… most days I agree.)
The mental/emotional toll of All The Voices. The result for me was often insomnia, sometimes tears, and the occasional freak out.
Loss of friendships. Every spare moment was spent writing my book. While I used to spend naptimes calling long-distance friends, I now needed to spend that time researching or writing my book. While I used to have time to chat with moms at pre-school pickup-up, I needed to rush home to get to work on a book about making time for people and building community (the irony!).
Before you write that book, count the cost. What’s it worth to you? Could your stories wait?
One friend says she makes decisions based on the criteria: “Does this give life to me and my family or steal life from me and my family?” But is it fair to use the “life-giving/life-stealing criteria” for evaluating the creation of art? Or is the transformation of my readers, their churches, and their neighborhoods worth the temporary strain on my marriage, friendships, and family? (This is where believing in a “Higher Calling” would come in handy. Higher Callings demand personal sacrifice for the greater good of humanity. Do I believe my writing is that far-reaching?)
In Walking on Water, Madeleine L’Engle says that “if the work comes to the artist and says, ‘Here I am, serve me,’ then the job of the artist, great or small, is to serve.”
I don’t write because it brings me or my family greater happiness (though I confess I’ve had moments of exhilaration). I don’t write because it brings me greater peace, joy, or helps me sleep better at night (it doesn’t). And I don’t write because I want to be famous, rich, or accomplished. I write because I must. Not writing is more painful, awkward, and–dare I say–foolish. Not writing feels like disobedience. Not writing would be leaving behind the topo map, compass, and binoculars I’ve been gifted to instead bushwhack through the forest blind.
Until we know why we write, our faulty reasons for writing and wanting to publish a book will lead us astray. (To be fair, sometimes we write to pay the bills … this is not exactly what I’m talking about here. There are usually about three hundred better ways to put groceries in your fridge and gas in your car than becoming a writer.)
Before you pursue that agent, that book proposal, that book deal, I urge you to wrestle with your why. And after that, ask yourself some questions:
Why is now the right time?
Would my stories benefit from a bit more marinating? A bit more time curing and being cultivated in secret? Has my story reached maturation?
Must I write?
As writers, we can google “how” to write a book. We can take classes, read books, join online writing communities, and listen to writers on podcasts. But every writer must work out their own “why.”
Why do you write? And are you meant to write that book now? If your answer is yes, then go in peace and serve the work. It may well be the hardest thing you ever do. (Just don’t say no one warned you.) And don’t be shocked if when it’s turned in, printed, and launching out into the world, instead of relaxing in a kayak on a serene lake or tickling your children under an apple tree, you feel The Tug. And you know. You may just need to do it all over again.
Since I began writing online several years ago, I’ve discovered many tools along the way that I use daily, weekly, or monthly to share content on my blog and on social media. As a former teacher, I’m a huge believer in not reinventing the wheel, so if you, too, are a writer, I hope you can save yourself some time, money and effort by using this list. Feel free share other ideas in the comments!
I mainly go to Canva to create Pinterest images. If you’re new to blogging or writing online, then you may not know that your Pinterest images should all be oriented as portrait, not landscape. Canva can also be used to create images with text for any type of social media.
When Facebook is not showing the correct image for my blog or if it’s not showing any image at all, this site will help reset it so it will display the correct image (I have NO IDEA what “debugging” means, I just know it works!)
When links are too long to include on Twitter, this will make your link a more reasonable length. For example, Amazon links are incredibly long, so when I want to share about a book, I usually shorten the link before posting it.
I prefer this to Pixabay mainly because I think the images are a bit more artistic, but it tends to have more upright (portrait) images, which is good for Pinterest but not best to use for blog images.
This free little program strips away formatting before you copy and paste text to use on your website, in emails, or social media posts. I use it daily.
I started a newsletter list in 2018 using Mailchimp and I think it’s been a great tool for connecting with readers. It’s free up to the first 2,000 subscribers (which I am far from hitting, so this is not an issue for me).
I wrote my book using Scrivener last year and LOVED it. You can easily move between Word and Scrivener. The advantage is that you can see your whole book at once and move pieces around like a puzzle. As a visual person, that was super helpful as I wrote.
Though this seems to be unrelated to writing and blogging, I have connected with many writers using Voxer. Most people don’t have the time to sit down and email you, but they are usually more than willing to leave you a five minute message about their writing process, tools they use, or to share their expertise.
I started my blog with a free site in Blogger and wish I had started it in WordPress so it would have been easier to transfer over when I started paying for my site. It’s been fairly intuitive and I haven’t had any issues in the three years I’ve used it.
Which websites and programs make your life easier as a writer? Let me know in the comments! For more writing resources, check out this list of books on writing and podcasts for writers.
Sign up for my monthly(ish) newsletter here and I’ll send you a list of hospitality resources for uncertain hosts!
I compiled another list! Surprise, surprise. (Perhaps a procrastination technique to not actually write. . . ?) There are millions of online journals, but sometimes it’s hard to know which ones are worth your time. I’ve published at some of these places listed below, but the rest come by recommendation from writing friends. Can people of faith publish in secular journals? Of course–and I hope you do! But for those of you looking for a niche, I hope this list nudges you to submit your work to the world.
Most do not pay, but maybe I’ll share in a future post about why publishing for free is still valuable for new writers. Please let me know if there are some sites you would recommend that fit the flavor of this list and I’ll consider adding them. Be sure to sign up for my newsletter for more helpful information like you see here. (I don’t always curate lists, I write sometimes, too.)
You’ll notice the list runs the gamut “side”-wise, and not every publication listed is a site for people of faith, so read each publication before submitting to ensure that it’s a good fit for you! These links will take you to their submissions pages. Happy writing and publishing. May your rejections be few and your acceptances many.
Did you know books with traditional publishers almost always release on Tuesdays? You’re welcome for that random bit of trivia you can use to wow strangers at your next party. Until I entered this publishing gig, I had no idea. According to this article, the main three reasons may be “ease of distribution, a level playing field for booksellers and a better shot at the bestseller list.” Who knew?
I’m marking my Tuesdays for the following books coming out in 2019. Be sure you do the same (and offer up some book/writer-love by sharing this post and pre-ordering a few of these amazing new titles!).
Exactly one year ago this week an acquisitions editor contacted me and asked me to send her ideas for a book. She liked the ideas I sent, so three months later I sent her a proposal and three weeks after that, they offered me a contract to publish a book in August of 2019.
I already have a full-time job as a mom to three kids, age five and under, and they are not the Angelic-Sit-and-Color-type of children. So I’ve written this book in every sliver and crack of time I have. I’ve edited at red lights and waiting in drive-thru lines at Taco Bell. I’ve woken up at 4 am some weeks and at 5 am on all the other weeks. I’ve paid someone to clean half my house every-other week and neglected cleaning the other half. My kids have eaten way too many frozen pizzas and watched three times the amount of T.V. they usually watch.
At times the Book felt like a third person in our marriage and at the very least it has made for some extremely predictable date night conversations. I’ve sacrificed money, other writing opportunities, time with my family and time with God. My insomnia has gotten worse.
This week my daughter asked why I have to work on my book all the time. I’ve been asking myself that same question.
Why write a book? Is it worth it?
I’m sure we all have our own reasons why we write, but I wrote this book because I had something to say and someone invited me to say it. I wrote so my babies could hold a piece of my story in their small hands and one day know their mama better. (It’s hard to resist the immortalizing promises of publishing–whether true or not.) And I wrote because to ignore the compulsion felt like tricking gravity, fighting a fierce wind, or letting fear win. And I wrote because this book offered me the privilege of being its messenger. And I said yes.
But the demons have been alive and well:
“Who do you think you are to write a book?”
“No one’s going to buy it.”
“If they do buy it, they’re not going to read it.”
“Okay, if they do buy and read it, they’re not going to understand it. They’re going to think you’re navel-gazing. They’re going to hate it…”
“Wait, people are going to actually READ this soul-spill that I wrote???”
My husband helps me slay the demons when I’m too weak to muster healthy self-talk, prayer or even logic. He is the only reason a word of this book will be in print. He has read every single page. Twice. If people hate it, I will hold him solely responsible.
As I made the final edits of my manuscript this past week, I felt like I was losing control. The massive ship I created from sketch to structure was leaving the shore. Without me. It didn’t need me any more. The final paint touch-ups, equipment checks and emergency drills have to stop. I’d have to let her go.
On Thursday I emailed and mailed the manuscript to five friends. I wondered if I’d feel more worried once she was out in the world without me to defend, edit or revise her. Instead, I slept more peacefully than I have in months. I felt like I handed over the burden for some other people to carry for a stint. They can sail around on her and put post-it notes on the walls that need a different color paint job, or jot down the places on deck that could use some reinforcements.
I feel a strange tranquility in the not knowing, the not controlling, the not even seeing how she is received. It’s time to release this ship. We’ll see where she sails without me guiding her any longer.
Whether it’s brilliant or boring, misunderstood or celebrated, timeless or short-lived, my job was to approach the page with my whole self, and offer what I had at that moment. And I did that. I wrote the book. And now I have to let her go.
“Are you dating anyone?” the woman asked me after church over mini muffins and bad coffee.
I shook my head.
“Oh, you have plenty of time,” she said to me. Turning to my mom, she added, “My daughter was a late bloomer.” I was spending the summer at home in Florida after graduation from college. I planned to move to Chicago to start teaching in the fall.
“Yeah, she got married in her late twenties,” she continued, my mom nodding along. I clutched my Styrofoam cup, inwardly marveling that I was no longer a college student, but was now labeled according to my marital status. I was now “a single.”
Even at the time I thought she was being a bit harsh in expecting her daughter to get married right out of college. And over the years, that phrase, “late bloomer,” has always grated on me.
Can God be “late”?
When you try to put your feet in the steps of Jesus as you live your life, can you describe any transition as “late”?
According to that woman, I would have gotten married “late,” at age 32. I would have had babies “late,” at age 33, 35, and 37. And I would have started writing “late” in my mid-30’s. But I don’t believe God is ever late.
Spring dragged her feet in arriving to Colorado this year. Tulips and daffodils, the first signs of spring, eased from the ground a few weeks later than they usually do.
We made it home from vacation last week just in time for the peonies in early June. I nearly didn’t see them because the thin stems couldn’t support the huge, fat blossoms and their faces were flattened against the rocky ground. As a first-time homeowner, this is my first summer here and I’ve watched curiously as each new flower type surges up and out, exploding in the Colorado sun, then shrivels just as a different bloom takes over the show. First daffodils, then red tulips, white apple blossoms, lilacs, irises, and now roses and fluffy peonies.
Not a single bloom has been late—each one a note rightly-timed in the rhythm of spring’s symphony.
Because spring seemed delayed this year, I was more eager—desperate, even–for its arrival. Spring unlocks a suppressed something in me and I want to weep when I spy the first green shoots poking from the dirt or bright flowers decorating the yard. For me, spring is an emotional release from months of cold, dreary, color-less winter, a catapult back into lusty life.
Waiting primes us for greater gratitude when the thing we wait for finally arrives. Though I fully embraced being single and knew that marriage would not bring me ultimate joy or pleasure, I still longed for a life-long companion. And though I knew (or thought I knew) how children would alter the landscape of my life, I still yearned for the interruption. The long years of hopeful winters made me more thankful for spring when it finally came.
I’m not a young mom, but I do have young kids. I don’t fit the “young mom” category that many church ladies cluster women into. In fact, many moms with kids the ages of my kids are at least ten years younger than me. But I still don’t believe I got married or had kids “late.”
I published my first piece of writing at age 36, not because I was a “late bloomer,” but because my talent bloomed exactly when it was supposed to.
“My soil is like silk,” my 78 year old neighbor—my gardening mentor–boasted when I lamented that mine is like a rock. “You need to really work on your soil before you try planting in it,” she advised.
Art, too, often requires years of silent cultivation before the first flower can break through the ground.
Browsing through a bookstore recently, I picked up a book from the shelf about Laura Ingalls Wilder. I was surprised to learn that she didn’t start writing until she was in her 40’s, and didn’t publish Little House in the Big Woods until she was in her 60’s. Perhaps her childhood experiences needed years of marinating before they were ready to share with the world.
“Late” implies something didn’t go as planned. Perhaps the Master Gardener needs a bit more time with his hands in the soil, kneading, folding in nutrients, transforming rot and death into healthy soil for new growth to form. We may long for change, but waiting doesn’t mean Jesus isn’t there, that God isn’t working, or that plans have gone awry. Because in God’s kingdom, nothing blooms “late,” but always right on time.
***
What are you waiting for? In what ways are you a “late bloomer”? How would your life have been different if everything had followed your own timeline?
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Our theme this month is “Create.” If you are a maker, artist, or creator and you would like to guest post, I still have a few spots left! Otherwise, check out the themes for the coming months here. The theme for July is “Hospitality Around the World.” And if you’re not interested in guest posting, follow me on social media (buttons on the top right) to be sure you don’t miss a post this month!
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I’ve been hesitant to make a big deal out of this. In fact, I’ve mostly been telling myself it’s not true. But after opening the envelope with the advance check made out to me last week and having a conference call today with the whole team, it seems pretty official.
I may as well get it out in the open: I’m writing a book.
I haven’t wanted to plaster it all over social media for a couple reasons. For one, I have friends who have been trying to get published for years without any luck. If you’ve ever tried to get pregnant, then you know the pang you feel seeing one announcement after another of friends getting pregnant “on accident.” Having yet another friend announce their book deal is painful and I want to be sensitive to that.
Secondly, I’ve mostly been in denial. I kept thinking I’d get a call telling me they’d made a mistake, that they didn’t mean to tell me they wanted to publish my book. Until I held the check in my hands, I truly didn’t believe this was happening.
But it is. My book will be published fall of 2019. It’s really happening.
In August of 2017, an acquistions editor contacted me via the query form on my blog, telling me she had found me through Redbud Writers’ Guild and wondered if I was working on anything. I wrote a writer friend, “What do I say??” She told me to say “I was working a few ideas into proposals.” I quickly emailed the editor back, surprised that I had three ideas. She said she’d love to see a proposal for one, maybe two of the ideas.
“I’ll get back to you in a few weeks,” I said, which turned into three months.
Writing a book proposal felt like packing for a long trip, but not being sure what I should take and what I should leave behind. And much like packing, it wasn’t until right before I was finished that I felt close to being done. Clothing, shoes, books and cosmetics were strewn around the room in a huge mess–ideas, words, stories and quotes all piled in a heap.
I probably spent 100 hours on that proposal, inviting over 10 different friends to give their input on various parts and stages. People had said it was difficult, but I had no idea what it felt like to pull a book magically out of thin air and write a one page book overview on a book that DOESN’T EXIST.
My husband took a couple mornings off of work just to watch the kids so I could write. I stood in my office and nearly burst into tears because 1) I had an office and 2) he actually believed I could do this. He is the only reason I’m even walking this journey right now.
Looking back on the book proposal process, it felt like piecing together the outer edges of a puzzle–enough structure to guide your next step, but not enough of the picture to tell you what the whole puzzle would actually look like in the end.
I turned in my proposal on December 5th, 2017 and I felt like the answer would be a lose-lose rather than a win-win. If they didn’t want it, then I did all that work for nothing. If they did want it, I’d have to actually write a book. They got back to me on January 23rd.
“Look,” I said to my husband, holding out the phone. “They want to publish my book…” The tears came and the familiar feeling I had when I found out I was pregnant the previous three times: elated, but overwhelmed.
I didn’t have an agent, so a few friends with Rebud Writer’s Guild helped me navigate the intricacies of the contract and I finally signed it in early February.
I’ve written seven chapters of a 10 to 12 chapter book that I’ll turn in this December. It still feels surreal.
When I’m writing, I believe it’s happening–I get caught up in the flow and follow where it leads, but as soon as I step away, the voices start in on me.
The hardest part has been writing more than 1000 words. Most blog posts and articles I’ve written are short, so writing a book feels like trying to run a marathon when I’ve mostly trained as a sprinter. It can feel choppy and disjointed. But I’m also enjoying indulging in long-form narrative, much like the episodic story arcs of T.V. shows with six, seven or eight seasons. For the first time, I can laze about with my story.
“So what’s your book about?” is the million dollar question these days. Honest answer? I’m still figuring that out.
But according to the edges of the puzzle that are guiding me, and the outline I offered in my book proposal, my book is about reimagining biblical hospitality from a cross-cultural point of view.
It is a mosaic of personal stories and lessons I’ve learned from living overseas, studying culture, and having international students live with us. It’s about what the western church can learn from non-western cultures about practicing biblical hospitality to family, friends and strangers, living in community, and deepening our relationships.
Biblical hospitality is less about pretty tables and more about dying to ourselves. Less about image and more about imagination. It’s about inviting and being invited by Jesus and turning around and doing the same thing in our ordinary lives. It’s about quenching our loneliness by pouring ourselves out.
This book is kicking my tail, because I can’t write one way and live another way. If I’m going to write about selfless hospitality, I need to be living it. If I’m going to write about reserving space for people, I need to actually do it.
So that’s the scoop. I’m writing a book and I’m terrified. I’m scared no one will read it and that I’ll get it all wrong. But I’m also trying to let go and trust the woo woo writer magic to wave it’s pixie dust on my words. Mainly, I’m trusting the mystical Holy Ghost to guide me and give me words as I go. I didn’t seek this out, the book found me.
And on my runs as I slow to a walk along the lake in the gold morning light, I’ve been praying like crazy for myself and for you, my reader. (In fact, the other morning on my run, I was praying loudly and very audibly for my readers when I spotted a man on his back deck cradling his coffee just a few feet away. I pretended I was talking into my phone). I’m praying this message will be for us.
Writing a book feels scary and sacred, weighty and wild, so I appreciate your prayers for me as well. Please send me personal messages if I come to mind to let me know you’re mentioning me in your prayers. I’m going to need all the help I can get.
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