We put a challenge out on our Facebook group to write a humorous essay (800 words or less) about the writing life. What is it about the writing life that makes you laugh, cringe, or just feel a little crazy? We often say that God has a sense of humor--and we definitely think it's true when it comes to our writing dreams and goals.
We had some great submissions, and had a hard time making our choices. But here is our first place winner (who will be receiving a fun prize in the mail!), and our other top three selections.
These stories all sure made us smile. I know the rest of you will enjoy them as well!
First Place:
"Scattered Thoughts" by Carla Henry-Lewis
So you think you can write?
This sounds like the name of a reality show. After all, they have "So You Think You Can Dance," "The Voice" and "America’s Got Talent." Those shows have been the platform for many “dreammare”; yes, I’ve coined a new phrase. It’s not a nightmare but a “dreammare” because you are wide awake and scared. If you're like me, watching those shows caused you at one point or another to think, I can do that. I can dance, I can sing, I’ve got talent.
And talent is always subject to interpretation or inspiration.
As writers we get to experience creating, like God. “Earth was a soup of nothingness, a bottomless emptiness, an inky blackness. God’s Spirit brooded like a bird above the watery abyss.” Genesis 1:2 MSG. My interpretation: The paper was a soup of nothingness, waiting for my thoughts to leap out and write with inky eagerness. I brooded like Michelangelo’s David waiting for his loincloth.
Ping!
Growing up I was fascinated with the arcade ping pong machines. The ball is released and begins traveling amidst the intricate maze. Careening and bouncing from one side to another. This is the life of a writer. Thoughts hurtling through the air like Thor’s hammer. They come while on the “throne," driving down the highway, 2:00 AM, working out, on a hike, at work, on a date or during prayer. Oh my, where’s my pen or recorder? Please, Lord, help me remember this awesome idea.
Ping!
I write because the world has so many gaps
I write to connect the dots
I write to connect doubt to dream killer
I write to connect lust to abuse
I write to connect hate to ignorance
My mind wonders again. Ping! My granddaughter comes home talking about some roaches she saw at someone's immaculate house. There’s a relationship blog idea. There are three types of cockroaches in the US according to the American Pest website; American, German and Oriental. Seriously, I’m not making this up. The interesting facts we find as writers. I’m going to make some analogies about setting boundaries.
Ping!
I write to connect joy to freedom
I write to connect comparison to suicide
I write to connect peace to God
I write to connect love to acceptance
The watermelon is so sweet. Then I see a fruit fly. Now, where did that come from? Yep, my husband has left a banana in a bag. Ping! An article idea. Fruit fly versus horsefly. What are you attracted to? The fruit of the Spirit or poop? What do YOU attract? Fruit flies or horseflies.
Ping!
I write to connect pain to my rite of passage
I write to connect my rite of passage to my message
I write to connect my message to the journey where my gifts and the need for my gifts collide
I write to connect the dots and the image I discover is me.
There is a phrase about "scattered pictures” from the song “The Way We Were.” As a writer, you will have scattered thoughts. Ideas are ricocheting through the syntax of your brain. Don’t run from them; run to them. All ideas are precious (ok not really, but it sounds good). Write them down, let them simmer. Like a patchwork quilt, all those random thoughts will come together and create a piece that will inspire someone.
So you think you can dance? Yes! The Voice, you think you can sing? Yes! America’s (Carla’s) got talent? Yes!
So you think you can write? Yes!
Top 3 Winners
"The Passion Problem" by Stephanie Robertson
For years I let a seven-letter word worry me to distraction.
A word, mind you. I wasn’t concerned about climate change or the national debt. No, while everyone else agonized over politics and Y2K, the word “passion” haunted me.
Why?
Because I was on this crazy, seemingly-impossible quest to be a traditionally published author, and all I heard was that it had to be my passion.
Hang on, there.
What if I just really wanted to write a book? I didn’t know why, exactly…I just wanted to. Is that…passion?
“Are computers your passion?” I asked my left-brained husband one night after he got home from his job as a software guy.
He looked at me, perplexed, as if I’d asked him if my jeans made me look fat.
“I dunno,” he hedged.
Later, I asked my close friend who teaches Kindergarten, “Is teaching your passion?”
“Um, well…I never really thought about it…I do enjoy making a difference in kids’ lives. So, yes, I suppose it is my passion.”
I asked my writers group.
One lady answered, “If writing isn’t your passion, why do you write? What’s your motivation?”
I thought for a minute.
“Because I want to publish a book,” I said, although that didn’t seem like an adequate answer for something as important as a passion.
Frustrated, I turned to the inter-web.
“What if I don’t have a passion?” I typed into the search box.
Google was equally confused—Was I looking for romance?
Sigh….
Eventually, I happened upon a TED Talks video that sealed the deal.
For her fifteen-minute talk, a woman in a red power dress ruminated about my tiny but intimidating word. She said she also felt the pressure to find a passion and pursue it.
Me too, lady. Me too.
This woman suggested that people should stop searching for one passion “to the exclusion of all else,”* and just do whatever it is that you wanted to do.
That was my answer!
I’d write a book. And I’d make enough money to send my daughter to college in four years.
“Is your name J.K. Rowling?” a writer friend asked.
“No.”
“Well don’t expect to become a millionaire.”
Fine. I’d have to accept that God did not supply me with any gifts that would earn a substantial income. Nonetheless, I decided to pursue writing with my whole heart, which was a huge step in the right direction.
My other options would henceforth be put to rest. (For those who are intensely curious as to what those options were, I’ll tell you: furniture painting, home staging, farming, training wild horses, Navy Seal-ing…)
The decision to pursue writing was the hard part.
Or so I thought.
Somebody somewhere told me that I needed a social media presence, which introduced a completely new challenge.
Since then, I’ve worked the social media angle like a mad scientist develops a new pharmaceutical, trying this formula and that one.
I would post something like: Hey, y’all, the sky is blue.
I’d get crickets…Deafening silence…No comments whatsoever…No smiley faces or other such emojis.
Minutes later, a friend would post: Hey, y’all, the sky is blue.
She’d get two-hundred-thousand LOL comments along with laughing-to-tears emojis.
What gives?
Once I thought I could work Mark Zuckerberg’s algorithm by deleting all but 25 Facebook friends. That didn’t work, and my friends thought they were being hacked when I tried to re-add them later.
I’ve heard that Facebook is the way to go for my target audience. I get that, but I like Instagram better. As nerdy as it sounds, I love coming up with hashtags. Love it! It’s my social media (ahem!) passion.
I’m a wordsmith, after all, right?
I keep telling friends, business contacts, and my networking group: Forget Facebook! Go to Instagram, instead! Forget Twitter and Linked In.
By the time I’m done blogging, ‘Gramming and Facebooking, I’m out of words.
Literally! (Please excuse the pun.)
I'm not giving up on my found passion, though. I learned persistence from my husband, who patiently works the problem, whether it’s an issue with a car or an ailing refrigerator. If one thing doesn’t work, he tries something else. He’ll work for hours until the problem is solved.
Unlike me.
I’ll try solution A and then B. If neither work, my face turns purple and I have to go into the back yard and do Tai Chi. (I highly recommend Tai Chi over exploding into a million pieces.)
Part of my problem is that I don’t like researching solutions. I’d rather have TMJ surgery than read through user’s forums.
As I alluded to before, I’m not a patient person.
But at least I’ve found my passion.
"The Reluctant Writer" by Wayne Brady
Here I am, 5:00 a.m. and not a word. Where are those thoughts and ideas that have been
running back and forth in my head for the last hour?
On my back, resting comfortably beside my love, a thousand words flashed before me. They danced around in some deep recesses of my mind, teasing me like a beautiful dancer wearing a bright multi-colored outfit, luring me to rise and join her on the dance floor in front of a boisterous crowd?
“Come on handsome, dance with me, you’ll love it. You’ll see.”
“No, I won’t,” I protest.
She takes my hand, “Come on, I wouldn’t lead you wrong.”
I feel the tug, “No, I can’t dance.”
“I will teach you. Follow me. I’ll show you all the right moves. I have every word you
need to write the winning story; I won’t embarrass you. I promise.”
Reluctantly, I respond to her persistent calling, take her hand and steal away to my lonely
computer.
The blank screen is drawing me, “Where have you been? The night has been so long. I
have missed your tender touch. I did everything you wanted, responded to your every thought, to your every desire. I am here for you.”
So many words just minutes ago, and now, nothing. None of the words that I have written
so far were part of the appeal that pulled me out of bed and led me to this lonely place.
Why do I have to write? I don’t know. I didn’t want to, at least, not for the first fifty years
of my life. Why do I sit for hours searching for the best way to say something? The answer is
simple. God called me to write. Before that, He called me to learn to write right.
Just now, God showed me that I could have made this so much easier if I would have
recognized Him when I was young. How many times did He call? How often had He led me to a place where we could become friends, and I turned away?
I played in high school more than I studied. I had fun, but I paid a hefty price for my
minimalist attitude toward academics. I loved cars, and had my studies been about them, I would have graduated with honors. Cars, and a few other extracurricular activities consumed my time.
Needless-to-say, I short-changed myself during the original time allocated for me to learn and discover a clear path to real joy and satisfaction in my life.
Nearly twenty years after graduating from high school with an average education, far
below what I could have done, I realized I needed to know more. I had to upgrade my skills.
Because I hated English, I determined that I would take the two required English classes. If I
failed either, I would quit, and that would be the end of my studies. If I passed both, I would
continue my education, but never take another English class.
English-101 turned out to be a fun class, nothing but writing essays. The teacher
explained, “Most people don’t make every possible grammatical mistake. Generally, we make only a few mistakes in writing, but we make them over and over. Conquer those few recurring errors and your writing will flourish.”
I did.
She was right.
I believe God chuckled really loud and probably called my daddy over to watch as I
entered my first English-102 class. There she was. No, it can’t be. My high school English
teacher now instructs at the college level. Another sign that I should have studied more the first time. This time, Mrs. Leatherwood taught me how to do research and write papers that I would need to complete my studies.
Later, I studied literature and then creative writing. I discovered I have a talent for
writing, and I love to share it. Writing is different than fixing things, which is what I did the first
twenty years of my working life. There are only a few ways to fix broken equipment. Generally, restore it to its original condition, so it operates like designed and you’re done.
Not so with writing. A writer must be infected. Infected?
All writing begins with a germ, an idea that spreads quickly as you seek to cure it.
How else can we explain how writers come up with such varied ideas?
Germs attack each of us differently.
One day, while walking to the front of the church for communion, I passed a table lined
with handbells the ladies would be playing in a few minutes. I really wanted to pick up the bells, shift them around, take my seat, and watch as they played “O What a Savior.”
Mark Twain would’ve been proud.
"Don't Shoot the Cuffs" by Jan White
My deadline approaches. Ideas swirl in my head. I must sit down at my computer and create. But...I've got a couple of more weeks. I've started doing the research and must zero in on three main points of my How-to. But first, I must clean my house.
Fast forward to the next week. I must focus on my topic after my Book Study group. We just started an interesting read and I've got to hear my friends discuss the book.
The day before the deadline dawns. My article is due tomorrow! Panic sets in! "Why do I wait 'til the last minute?" It's going to be a long day and a longer night. Thank goodness I haven't missed church in awhile, so I don't feel bad skipping the mid-week service.
Here goes. I opened Word's Windows. And, I knew what was coming. That dreaded blank screen! Do I dare maneuver the mouse to open a new file? My article must be emailed tomorrow, so I sit in front of the monitor, debating with myself about the lead.
I've heard it said, "It takes a paragraph for a writer to clear his or her throat." I lose more time on the lead. Okay, I must ignore the editor in my head telling that sentence won't work.
My cell phone rings. There's no name and I don't recognize the number. Curiosity distracts me. I answer it only to find an old college friend calling about our upcoming class reunion. I am excited too, but now is not a good time to talk. I try to politely say. I do not have time to talk today.
Half hour later, I am once again focused on my article. It's coming together. Then, I get a text that my husband will be late coming home from work. I'm thankful for that extra quiet time. I hear an email notification and automatically switch screen to satisfy my twitch to know who is contacting me.
In the meantime, I chase some rabbit trails I discovered doing my research. Facts fascinate me. I raise and lower my desk chair, but can't seem to get the Goldilocks position. I put a pillow behind my back to improve my posture. I experience a burst of creativity and then editing agony before reaching the work count. More editing and proofreading and I feel like I've birthed my article after hours of labor.
Finally, after my husband/editor proofreads and critiques the article for me, I run spell check two more times. Now it's ready to submit it to my editor electronically. I click send and breathe a sigh of relief.
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