WORDS
I never, ever learn.
I've been through the book writing process four times now, (We are no longer sulking here on Negative (N)ellie about the lack of book deals. Nope, we are celebrating every milestone.) and somehow, I forget what it's like each and every time. I go into each new project thinking I'm armed with what I've learned from the past one, yet the pattern that follows never ceases to surprise me. And hurt me.
Every author has their own process for crafting a story. Every author has parts of that ordeal that they enjoy, and parts that they despise.
I am what they call a pantser in the writing world, which shocks me beyond belief. Pansters, as opposed to plotters, go into their manuscript without a solid plan in place. They have a vauge idea of the plot, characters, ending, and key points, but they don't yet know how all of those connect. They let the story tell itself, to them.
You can see why I am shocked that this is my writing style. In all other aspects of my life, I am a planner, through and through. But when creating? Nope. I let my characters do the work.
(For the record, there is no right or wrong way to write. Plotters and Pantsers are both accepted and loved in the literary world. You do you, boo.)
However, sometimes fumbling your way through has its downsides. Such as questions like:
Does this story even make sense?
Is it any good?
Will anyone like this?
Do I even like this?
How does it end?
Why do I have to be the one to figure out how it ends?
These questions come pre-packaged into every first draft. You can't escape them, no matter how experienced you are. They are always there, lurking in the background. Until, you finally go back for the second draft and see that the pile of garbage you pieced together really doesn't smell all that bad.
I should expect to feel this way. It shouldn't rattle me each and every time. I should be prepared for the dreaded, despised, disgusting first draft. I should be aware it is always, always better than I first think it is.
But I don't. And I am. And I'm not.
A few weeks ago, I reached this point in my current manuscript. Moving forward seemed foolish, as no one would want to read the mish mash of words I had managed to slap together in a somewhat cohesive storyline. No way, no how. It was better just to trash it and find another career path.
See? Never learn.
Luckily, I have a wonderful mother who helps me through the first draft process, each and every time. She hears me moan and groan about how hard the career path I selected is. She watches attentively as I break down in front of her. And finally, though she will again read the story when it is all tied together with a pretty bow, she listens as I rush through the summary of what I plan to do with my book.
And then she compliments me.
Now, I know that mothers are biased, and I often joke that my own sees her children through the rosiest of rose colored glasses. However, my mother's opinion can be trusted most of the time. She loves me enough to tell me the truth, even if it hurts. I wonder who she got that from?
Just like Grandpa J, when my mom says something I've done is good, I can trust that it is.
Her encouragement always sparks a fire in me. It gives me the commitment, drive, and excitement to push through the dreaded first draft and make it to the beloved second one. She is my number one cheerleader, and her cheering constantly changes me for the better.
Words have power.
I've been thinking about that a lot, lately. Words have a lot of power, for good and for harm. They can change our whole viewpoint, inspire us, challenge us. Words can be miracle workers, as I know from personal experience.
Now, hold on. This probably isn't going to seem like it connects, but bear with me.
A few weeks after my mother's pep talk, I was going through my four billionth rewatch of The Chosen, and came to the final episode of season one.
FYI: This television series has impacted me in more ways than I can count, completely altering how I see my Savior. The Chosen finally gave me a lense where I could truly know Him, and I am so grateful for it. And my brother, who turned us on to the show.
In this last episode of season one, the story of the woman at the well is depicted. As the final few minutes roll out, this woman is seen running for joy down a hill, shouting at the top of her lungs her testimony of the Savior, Jesus Christ.
This time around, that image hit me really, really hard.
I wish I was like that. How did I lose that feeling?
My desire to be like her was so, so strong. I wanted to be alerting all to the knowledge I had of my Savior. But lately, I felt like I didn't have any. I felt like He wasn't there, that He wasn't listening, that He didn't care about me.
That is not the way one wants to feel going into the Christmas season, but it is how I felt.
I needed that to change. I was tried of feeling so beaten down and weary. I wanted to change. I wanted to be like the woman at the well.
So, I began to ponder. What caused her metamorphosis? What altered her entire life?
The words of Christ. One conversation with Christ, and she was changed forever.
The woman then left her waterpot, and went her way into the city, and saith to the men,
Come, see a man, which told me all things that ever I did: is not this the Christ?
Christ proved that He knew her, and that redirected the course of her life completely. It gave her hope, enthusiasm, forgiveness, courage, and light.
Christ says similar things to us. He proclaims He knows us. He's proved He knows us, through His tender mercies, sacrifice on the cross and in Gethsemane, and His perfect comfort.
Christ keeps His word when He says He knows us. So why don't we believe Him? Why don't we let that fuel us?
Why do we believe the voices of others, the voices of ourselves, and doubts and fears, over the person who truly knows us best? Why don't we trust when He says that we are good? That we are glorious? That we have infinite potential? That we are loved?
Why don't we trust that His promises to us are sure? That His guarantees of something better than we could ever imagine will come, even when they are delayed past what we expected?
Why don't we understand that He truly does want what is best for us, even in the trials and difficulties of life? Why aren't we willing to see what He can change us into when He promises us something better?
Why don't we believe when He says we are His? We are forgiven? We have power? We have hope? We can have joy?
I don't know. I don't know why out of all the words in the world, we don't believe His. He's proved they have merit, value, and worth time and time again, and we fail Him so, so often.
But that's the thing about Christ's words, they never lose that power. They never diminish. No matter how far we stray, no matter how far we think we have gone, no matter what changes come, what insecurities we have, or how much time has passed, Christ's words ring true.
We are His. We are loved. We are worth it. We can face the challenges before us. We just gotta believe it when He says it.
Here is the clip from The Chosen. I'd give it a watch, if I were you 😁
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