Push

 

There is something about being outside in nature that instantly calms and awakens my senses.  I'm an avid hiker/outdoors person and this past weekend I decided to visit a new hiking trail in my region of Southern California. The trail wasn't very crowded so there was ample opportunity for quiet contemplation and reflection with Jesus. 

I will be pitching a scifi horror screenplay this week and I have wrestled with the content in it. Is it godly? Is it worldly? I don't want to put forth an image that isn't my true self. I came to realize, that the horror in this screenplay is the reality of so many lives. The original idea came from a traumatic experience of my own. 

My main character choose differently than I did. She pushes when she should stop. She forces when she should be still. She think and believes that she alone knows the solution and ignores wisdom. 

I am a truth teller. Horror is a vessel to tell that truth.  I don't sugar coat anything, because the world doesn't need that. There are brutally emotional moments in my screenplay and they were hard to write. Hard but necessary.  Because we beautiful human make choices; steer our ship towards that iceberg, expecting it to break against our paper thin hull.

When I look at this picture it reminds me that when I hike outside, I lose sense of time and let go of any fear, doubt or worry I may have. I chose to stop. Be still. Not push. Not force. Any door that needs to opened will be. 

I'm looking forward to pitching my screenplay. And I have begun work on another. It is horror. And it's about a family in a fight for their very souls. 

Are you pushing when you should stop? Go take a hike. Seriously. It will change you. 

Be Still and Know

 I had the privilege of attending the Festival of Faith and Writing at Calvin College last week. When you attend a writing focused conference, and a faith based one at that,  you have a set of expectations. "I'll listen to authors, take notes, hear God proclaimed in writing, meet people, drink coffee, hear some creative practices I can incorporate into my work, eat a lot of good food (I'm a foodie), get my favorite author to sign my favorite book, etc. " That absolutely happened, except the book signing part. What I did not expect was there to be another part.  

Fear has been an anchor in my life, holding me captive like a dog chained up to a tree only able to move in a circumference of three feet.  I listened to fear. Believed what it said about me and about my worth in this world and modeled my life around it. 2020 and the pandemic lockdown brought cracks in the anchor of fear; rusting away the heavy chain around my neck. This conference? This conference obliterated the remains of that anchor and chain. 

Every talk and interview I went to I marveled at the boldness and honesty with which the authors spoke and with which they wrote. Is that what authors do? I wondered. Is that what's been holding me back? Keeping me from being traditionally published? Keeping me from more than writing? Fast forward to Saturday and my mind was heavy after an author's talk. I walked over to the Seminary Pond after lunch, as it was a beautiful sunny day, and I had an extra hour and a half before the next author talk...I ended up missing the talk. 

I sat at that Pond on a beautiful piece of white sparkly granite. Me and God. And I wrestled with God. I had to be still to hear Him. And answer Him back. I had heated words. He did not. I had tears. He remained. He repeated the same words to me "Let Go", over and over and over again. And my reply over and over and over again was: No. 

God is patient. And when I had exhausted myself emotionally I had two choices, get up from that rock and go to another talk having missed the one after lunch, or stay and surrender. 

I surrendered. 

There is healing in being still. I like the passage in Romans about renewing your mind, but until Saturday I didn't fully apply that to my life. 

I am going to be working on a book this year for women who have been sexually assaulted and abused. Both were true for me for decades. it's time for us to "Let Go."

My Sword

 I dropped my sword out of fear. 

Fear of what would come after me if I continued to use it. 

Fear of the loneliness I expect as a sword wielder. 

Fear of attention and unending expectations. 

Fear of being seen as an unchristian. 

Jesus gave me this sword. He intends for me to use it. 

With a roar I pick up my sword. 

Tighten my grip on my shield. 

And run into battle. 

Trauma Writing

Trauma Writing

There is a movement happening where people are invited, in a safe space, to write about their past trauma. I’ve done this before and found it very therapeutic. The trauma writing I’m talking about today is what, through prayer, I discovered in my creative writing. My past trauma was woven so thickly into my novels, screenplays and poems  that I could not see it. All I knew was that I struggled with an over abundance of darkness, sorrow and pain in my writing. And I wanted to write for children. I thought this was my true writing self and that I would always write this way. 

Then I had a chance to attend an online conference and meet, via zoom, an author whose  work I’ve loved since middle school: Alan Dean Foster. I took extensive notes, and even got to ask him a question and show him my copy of Cachalot. He told me (and the conference goers),  the backstory about the novel and about the cover on my book. There was one sentence he said that resonated within me and would not let me go. He talked about how he doesn’t write dystopian because there is enough darkness in the world and he doesn’t want to add to it. 

That’s what I was searching for but was unable to put into words. I’m done with putting darkness, sadness, and despair into the world through my trauma writing. It’s taken me seven months to recognize, confront, accept and let go of the trauma that had woven its way into my writing. Now my writing is heartfelt, it’s rich, it’s vibrant and it’s alive. When you ask God to help you, He always makes a way. 

Reflection

Looking into a mirror isn't just to help us apply makeup or to shave. The mirror helps us remember and helps us reflect--no pun intended. 2020 Was a year of mourning. It was also a year to reflect on our lives and change what no longer worked; change who we were never created to be. As we step firmly into 2021, take time to look in a mirror. I have several scifi and horror writing projects coming out this year. My horror writing is steeped in truth, sorrow and triumph. I know that may seem odd, but it is my truth...my path. We each have a path to walk and to light. Best be on your way.

Twelve Weeks

This is the time of year I post about nanowrimo or about finishing the year strong with your writing project. This is the time of year I write about making a final push to reach those goals you made in January. But this is 2020. This year has forced me to stop my fast-paced life and look at what truly matters; let go of the past. Because I submitted to the process, I am able to write from a place I'd never thought possible. I realized what is truly important to me and that change is a good thing. A healing thing. And as the last twelve weeks of 2020 thrust themselves upon us, if you have not submitted to deep reflection about who you are, who you want to be, are you living your true life, what fears are you still holding onto, etc. Take the time now.

Break the Mold and Be Free

Break the Mold Last night I painted. I haven’t painted in over ten years. It was past time. I broke out my watercolors and acrylics. The first painting I did was horrible. Why? It was confined. Restricted. See, my high school art teacher would correct me whenever I tried to draw or paint abstract. Even in advanced art honors classes she would continue. I was never allowed to unleash me. Now I won lots of awards for my scenes of wildflowers and farm life, but there was something inside me that wanted to break out of the “expected of me” mold I had been shoved into. Last night. I took a blank sheet of mixed media paper, acrylic paints and watercolors and placed them before me. I turned up the cello music. Closed my eyes and let myself feel. Opened my eyes (sometimes). And I painted. I haven’t thought of a name for it, my painting, but a family member saw it and was amazed by it. Said she could see raw emotion in it. Today I got back to writing poetry. And I decided to do what I did for my painting. I chose to not write in the confines of stanza and line breaks and iambic pentameter. I wrote from my inner core. Five poems. My fiction writing has changed as well. My adult novel is full of hope and despair; love and perseverance. I don’t flinch from anything in this novel. I hope to finish it in March. Whatever is holding you back. Break out of it. Be free.

Be encouraged

This post is not for everyone. This post is for anyone who has seen all the publishing success of friends and it has started making you feel bad. You may feel bad because you haven’t achieved a book deal or landed an agent. You may feel bad because your books no longer sell. May I have a moment. You are amazing. No one call tell your stories the way you can. No one has your distinct voice. You may be knee deep in diapers or working two jobs (that was me), or so busy with what life gives you that your writing has shriveled down to nothing. You are amazing. You care and provide for yourself and your family. Your writing isn’t gone. Your writing practice isn’t gone. Both are at a different position than when you started this writer’s journey. You are amazing. What is the one novel, poem, short story, picture book, screenplay, etc. that you’ve always wanted to write but didn’t think anyone would care to read? Write it. Write it in snippets of the day. You only did a paragraph today? Yay. You only did five pages this week? Yay. You can’t find five minutes to write? DM me so we can talk about what’s really going on. You are amazing. And I am here to help anyone that wants it. Desiree