The Work
Lately I’ve been trying to wake up at 5 am to write.
I wish I could say it happened daily, that it was this noble thing I changed my entire lifestyle and habits to accommodate, but that’s not true. I just try and do it, and succeed some of the time.
But I’ve been doing it. Over the last three years:
I’ve written, and re-written, and re-written a full novel manuscript, which I am currently sending into agent’s inbox to be shat upon.
Written 14 different children’s stories, 10 of which you can hear on my podcast, Lightcatchers. (The other 4 you will soon be able to hear on my podcast).
Written 4 short stories, two of which can be found “published” on websites that may or may not be run by ad generating AI copybots.
Co-written a TV show pilot.
Written the first 2000 words of a thing that will grow into a thing that has yet to be determined.
Written 8000 words of a new novel, which is my current work.
Written 8 full song and at least 5 partial songs. You can hear this one and this one on the internets.
The above is what I will refer to as “the work”. It is my long obedience. That thing that I can’t shake. The work is something to which I feel everyone has an obligation. Not that your “the work” is the same as my “the work”, but that everyone has that one thing that demands a faithfulness and steady showing.
Work
Then, there’s work. Although my long term goal would be to overlay “work” with “the "work”, for now they are like two children fighting in the back seat for my attention. I actually do write for work as well. I write blogs and emails and social media and websites and brochures and everything in between. Copywriting. I write words that go on things that try and get people to do or buy things.
I wouldn’t say it makes the big bucks, but it at least makes bucks. It supports the mouths that need fed, the mortgage, the dog food. We live more than comfortably and, for that, I’m incredibly grateful.
The work of the work
Over the last three years, since stepping down as a pastor of a church (which is a story for another time), I’ve tried to describe myself as a “writer”. Despite having written well over a hundred thousand words of stories, I don’t have anything substantive published, so it took me a while to even drum up the courage to say it out loud. It felt like a little kid trying out a swear word for the first time.
Saying out loud, “I’m a writer” was both thrilling and haunting. Like I was doing something wrong, even though that is, in fact, what I do.
To be honest, that feeling hasn’t changed.
In my best moments, I think of writing as an uncovering of the delight of God. As he spoke life, I write life. It’s a glimpse into the eternal and something that despite my worst moments, I will never be able to quit.
In my worst moments, which I would say are where I normally live regarding “the work”, writing is an everyday commitment to getting rejected. It’s taking the most vulnerable pieces of my inner self, placing them on the table, and inviting a crowd over to the table to laugh at, ignore, critique, and then light on fire. All writers must be masochists at heart.
The other thing that should be obvious about writing, but still shocks me at times, is just how lonely it is. Which brings me to this substack, blog, newsletter, spam, whatever you want to call it.
Selfishly, my goal in this is to help the work of the work become a little less lonely for me.
I’m going to promise to be vulnerable and honest about what it’s like being a writer without having become a “writer.” I’m going to share, and probably overshare, what goes on in my head when I receive rejection letters and feel like no words that come from my mind are worth reading and wonder why I’m not dedicating my early mornings and thick skin to something that helps cure cancer or fix homelessness or gets us to space.
I want to talk about “the work” and the struggle of the work of “the work”.
All I ask, for those who read and subscribe to this, is to participate in the struggle of it all with me. Share “the work” you can’t shake. Ask questions. Cry with me. Laugh with me.
I promise candor, and I ask that you return the same.
My goal is to publish regularly, but regularly will be loosely defined for now.
This is also free, for now. Mainly because I can’t think of anything I could put on here that’s worth shaking you down for cold hard cash. Once I think of something, circumstances may change.