Ditching the Black Dog

Photo copyright Susan J Bruce - all rights reserved

Do you ever find that the difficult patches in the writing life come at unexpected times?

The last part of October and the first part of November was an encouraging time for me. I won the unpublished manuscript section of the Caleb Prize and I flew to the Gold Coast on the following Monday to do a Margie Lawson writing Immersion. For those who don’t know, Margie is an international writing coach, and I was delighted when a place became available in one of her teaching weeks. And yes – it was AWESOME. 

Life was busy when I returned and I lost some of the rhythm that I had built up prior to doing the Immersion. Then I received some negative feedback, had a flare of some health issues and then for some reason I stopped writing. Discouragement struck – and I became stuck. The launch of If They Could Talk: Bible stories told by the animals, an anthology for which I was editor, helped lift my spirits. But even this milestone couldn't fix my writing doldrums.  

Maybe I’m the only one who goes through periods like this. Maybe the rest of you intrepid writers have it together and never feel like a four-wheel-drive bogged to the windows in Gobi desert sand. 

No? 

I also have to admit to a tincture of perfectionism somewhere in the mix. Perfectionism would be okay if we were perfect, wouldn’t it? Imagine a first draft that you never needed to revise. Ah, bliss! Cue serene music…

But back to reality.

Discouragement, seeded with grains of perfectionism, can lead to procrastination which leads to more discouragement and more procrastination, etc., etc., etc., which leads to hopelessness and before you know it, the black dog is something other than my cheeky Chihuahua/ Shihtzu cross pictured above.

I wrote nothing, playing a LOT of Sudoku instead. The only good thing that came from it was that I finally beat my husband’s best time on the online version of the game. We’re not at all competitive in our house by the way (cough). Other than that one moment of domestic triumph, I was sad to the core and didn’t know how to break myself out of the funk. 

Then I remembered a section of a book I’d recently read. A friend had mentioned Stephen Furtick’s book, Greater, a while ago and I was intrigued enough to buy a copy. In Greater, Furtick uses examples from the life of the prophet Elisha to encourage Christians to live out God’s vision for their life.

In chapter five, the author refers to the Bible passage, 2 Kings 3. King Joram of Israel enlists the help of King Jehoshaphat of Judah to fight the Moabite army. The problem is that after seven days of marching in the desert of Edom, they don’t have any water left for their animals or their troops. 

Jehoshaphat, being a godly king, asks Elisha to talk to God about their problem. Elisha agrees and God says something strange. He tells them that they won’t see wind or rain but He will make water flow from the hills in Edom. It is easy for God to do this. In several translations (e.g., the NASV) God tells them to make the valley full of trenches – i.e., dig a vast amount of ditches (2 Kings 3:16). 

Imagine being those people. There were no clouds in the sky, just heat and dust and a sense of hopelessness. Two vast armies on the verge of dying of thirst, and God tells them to start digging. It would seem counterintuitive in the extreme. Sweat and toil all night when there’s no visible way of having your need for water met. Yet they did it, and in the morning the valley was filled with water.

Furtick uses this as a prime example of how faith works. He writes: 

It’s as if God says, “If you really believe I’m going to do what I told you I would do, get busy. Show me your faith, and then I’ll show you My faithfulness. Do your part. If you do what I asked you to do, I will be faithful to My word. 

(Greater, p. 66)

I agree with Furtick, but I also think it's one of the best metaphors I’ve ever read on the nature of the writer’s life. 
We need to believe in what we are doing and act on that belief. Most of us reading this have felt the call to write. We know God wants us to do this. So we need to do it, even if the ideas have dried up and the words we thirst for elude us. When discouragement invades and we feel like giving up, we need to seek God. And when we do, we need to act. Even if it's writing just a few words at a time. 

In this instance of depression God told me to ‘remember’. Remember that I have called you. Remember what I’ve promised you. Remember that I love you. Now go and do your thing. Write in faith: one word after another and I will fill your words with my life. Dig the ditches and I will send my rain.

And so I write – and the black dog morphs back into a naughty puppy again – and I have hope. 

How about you. Do you have times in your life where writing is hard? What helps? Does 'digging ditches' work for you? Let's encourage each other in the comments below.

Reference: S. Furtick, Greater: Dream bigger. Start smaller. Ignite God’s vision for your life., Multnomah Books, Colorado, 2017.

Susan J. Bruce, aka Sue Jeffrey, spent her childhood reading, drawing, and collecting stray animals. Now she’s grown up she does the same kinds of things. Sue works part time as a veterinarian, writes stories filled with themes of overcoming, adventure and belonging, and loves to paint animals. Sue won the Short section of the inaugural Stories of Life writing competition and recently won the 'Unpublished Manuscript' section of the 2018 Caleb prize. Sue is the editor of 'If They Could Talk: Bible Stories Told By the Animals' (Morning Star Publishing) and her stories and poems have appeared in multiple anthologies. Her e-book 'Ruthless The Killer: A Short Story' is available on Amazon.com. You can check out Sue’s animal art on Facebook.

To be right? Or right with God?

Image courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net/Stuart Miles

By Melinda Jensen

Writers are a pedantic lot. We have to be. We spend endless hours not just crossing t's and dotting i's but also meditating on metaphors, being punctilious about punctuation, honing in on history and all manner of tedious activities in the hope of catching the elusive eye of that most pedantic of all creatures – the publisher.

The competition we face is tremendous. It's huge, totally awesome; no competition is bigger than ours - :) If we neglect our perfectionist tendencies, we simply won't be published. Our manuscript will be tossed aside faster than Donald Trump's hair in a wind gust.

And we'd better get our facts straight because somewhere, sometime, our readers will know we got it wrong, and our credibility will slink out the door with our 'tale' between its legs.

I suspect many who nurse a deep-rooted longing to write are born with this predisposition towards perfectionism. After nature has stamped us, nurture follows up with admirable efficiency. We're both blessed and doomed.

When we're wearing our writers' robes, attention to detail is very much a blessing. It's when we swap those robes for our everyday garb that our pedantry can get us into trouble. Because it's such a life-long habit, one we generally view as a virtue, we often miss the damage it can do to relationships.

Does it really matter if our non-writer friends misspell a word or get the punctuation wrong in their posts? When they've expressed an impassioned opinion, does it uplift them to be on the receiving end of criticism? Or would they feel as though we've completely missed their point, and therefore misunderstood them, by focusing on what they perceive as irrelevant detail? What does it say about us as Christians if we're perceived as 'dis'-couragers instead of 'en'-couragers? Will non-Christians assume our dogmatism in one area also translates to dogmatism in our religious beliefs? I suspect they would.

I know how I feel (embarrassed and indignant) when I share a post that has six out of seven facts correct but one is a bit dubious ... and someone simply will not let it go! I'll quite likely be aware of its imperfection before I post it, but expect my friends, especially my Christian friends, to use some discernment in looking for the message; the underlying sentiment.

Courtesy FreeDigitalPhotos.net/StuartMiles

In fact it's my own recent experience with being 'pulled up' abruptly and publicly by someone I respect that led to looking at my own culpability in this area. No matter how long and hard I tried to explain the deeper message, and implore my friend to understand that I don't have time to completely reconstruct a facebook meme copied from someone else's page, her focus remained resolutely on an unimportant detail. It gave the wrong impression, she said. I clearly didn't check my facts, she said. It was fake news, she said. You're wrong, she said! And I, of course, desperately wanted to be right.

I struggled with how to respond in the face of such unnecessary conflict and like to think I stopped short of responding like a petulant child. But my inner child was, indeed, very much wounded.

Yet, at some point in this painful process, I came to understand that my friendship was far more important than continuing to argue over who was right and who was wrong. I stepped back and perceived that my friend was suffering too. She had a deep-seated need to point out the 2% of my post that was inaccurate and no doubt believed she was doing the right thing in revealing my 'error'.

So I conceded her point, telling her I understood now exactly what she meant and appreciated the time and effort she'd put into our conversation. In truth, I understood what she meant from the beginning but was too busy defending myself to notice.

My friend might just as easily have conceded the point first but she was too wrapped up in her own quest for perfection, and the need to be 'right'. One of us had to budge, otherwise our friendship was doomed.

Shortly after, my conscience began to reveal the times I'd been the one to unnecessarily correct another person over trivial issues, and I'm ashamed to say I recalled far too many instances. With that revelation I was confronted with all the pain I'd caused. It wasn't one of my finer moments.

Courtesy FreeDigitalPhotos.net/StuartMiles

The pedantic nature of writers is utterly integral to the writing process and is therefore a gift and a blessing. But like all aspects of human nature, it has a dark side; the negative side that

damages relationships in its egocentric push to be right.

We need to discern whether it's worth risking any ensuing emotional damage; and whether or not our 'correction' really clarifies an issue in any important way.

When we wound each other with our pedantry we use our words in a way God did not intend for His children, especially those children to whom he has given the gift of expressing those very words. We can uplift each other as writers by proofreading and editing one another's work; and feed that pedantic little inner monster inside us to our hearts' content. But outside that context we need to exercise wisdom.

God's own Word is very clear about His expectations regarding the way his people use words.

If one gives an answer before he hears, it is his folly and shame. (Proverbs 18:13)

Let no corrupting talk come out of your mouths, but only such as is good for building up, as fits the occasion, that it may give grace to those who hear.' (Ephesians 4:29)

'Whoever restrains his words has knowledge, and he who has a cool spirit is a man of understanding. (Proverbs 17:27)

As writers, we have a choice to make. Do we want to be merely 'right'? Or right with God?

Melinda writes both fiction and non-fiction, along with the odd poem. She has been published on a modest number of occasions, largely short stories and poetry. She does however, harbour a keen desire to write fantasy with an environmental theme for young readers, and is currently creating two such novels. This year's major project however, is a 'how-to' for adults, written from her own experience.

Image courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net/StuartMiles