Maybe it started with an “aha!” moment. You had something to say, something to write, and you knew you just had to mark the moment forever. So you decided to write a book.
And you discovered that writing is hard.
You wonder–do you really have a book inside you? Maybe there’s not enough for a full-length manuscript, but perhaps there’s just enough, and the story is just right, for an article.
Or you have a novel simmering in the recesses of your mind. Or some lessons learned. An urgent message. A personal experience. Perhaps your tragedy fueled nights of writing, a cathartic experience, helping you to understand the pain and to push through the messes of life.
Or, after you shared your bigger-than-life adventure, someone said, “You ought to write a book!”
Maybe you started your nonfiction treatise, your novel, or your article, but you’re stuck. You can’t quite figure out the next step. Or you’ve gotten some discouraging feedback. Or, worse, the white page is taunting you.
I’d like to encourage you in your writing journey. You are unique. Your story can make a difference in others’ lives. Maybe just one life or a whole generation of lives.
I hope you find something here to inspire you, even nudge you, to go ahead and tell the tough story. Or the funny story. Even the sappy story. To share incredible moments, zany characters, and buried dreams. And maybe, just maybe, to lead you to another “aha!” moment, to kindle the passion for the story that you, and only you, can tell.
My all-time favorite Christmas gift came when I was in fourth grade—an almost-toy typewriter that really typed. Complete with carrying case that went everywhere with me. Many of my childhood secrets and dreams were committed to history on that glorious machine.
During those years, the elementary school library never stocked enough biographies or mysteries—I read every real life story and whodunnit by the time I was ten. Mysteries with a touch of romance merited more than one read.
I heard the call of God in the quiet moments, and I really wanted to please Him. But no matter how hard I tried, I discovered that I almost always messed up, and His grace covered me every step of the way.
When I was 12, I gave everything I knew of myself to everything I knew of God. I nailed it down during a West Texas thunderstorm, fearing that nothing else in life—specifically, the little farmhouse with a feather bed—was sufficiently nailed down. And I began to live where grace abounds.
Anne Frank convinced me that the world paid attention to a young teen listening to the call of hope. Dreams explored through the lens of a fourteen-year-old could impact the whole world.
The triumphs, turning points, and tragedies of life all amplified the call of the pen. Writing became cathartic, healing, and life-changing.
And even fun. Making sport with words on paper often kept me away from culturally relevant places like Mayberry and Penny Lane.
The entertainment provided through reading and writing, combined with times of pouring out my heart to God with an open Bible before me and pen in hand, helped me muddle my way through life. Capturing those moments in ink enabled me to sort out the uncertain details and to even smile at my future. I often closed my journal with renewed confidence in the few certain things of life.
Through trophies and disappointments, specific answered prayers and confusing unanswered prayers, childbirth and parenting, public school teaching and homeschooling, special needs cruelties and life-threatening illnesses, marriage woes and friendship blessings, weddings and funerals, delights and joys, and three incredible grandchildren, the Word of God has been my anchor.
And writing has been my memorial to God’s sweet grace. It’s all about grace.
