A Prompt to Write by Carol Ford

I volunteered to a write blog for The Word Guild site on the 22^nd of each month, and February’s theme “love” was idling in the back of my mind, but I was having trouble moving forward with the piece.  Then I remembered our writers’ group had written a devotional specifically for this purpose. How could I have forgotten this source? Do you sometimes forget to apply the very ideas you have put in writing to inspire others?

I leafed through our book As the Ink Flows: Devotions to Inspire Writers & Speakers and found the devotion entitled “Writing with Love,” written by Glenda Dekkema. Here was the prompt I needed. Glenda had written out 1 Corinthians 13:4-7 and replaced the word “love” with the word “writing”.
"Writing is patient, writing is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Writing does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.”

At the end of this devotion, Glenda asks the reader to reflect on the words of Mother Teresa, “I’m a little pencil in the hand of a writing God, who is sending a love letter to the world.”

She also prompted the reader to write a love letter to the world, the army, a victim, or my nemesis.

This gave me an idea for today's blog. I chose to write a letter to a victim.

Dear victim of war,

Nightly, when I view the news, I see the violent and shocking ways your life is being destroyed and abused in the turmoil of war.  My heart aches for the misery and sadness I see in your eyes, especially in the eyes of your children. I watch your desperate flight from enemy fire, the bleeding injuries to your loved ones as they lay in overcrowded and unsanitary conditions, the mud and snow you have to trample through to carry out your daily chores, and the temporary shelters that make up your home. I cannot comprehend the depth of anguish and pain you must be feeling, but I want you to know, that with every meal I eat, or when I crawl into a warm bed, or observe wet and cold weather from my dry and comfortable home, I’m acutely aware of the contrasts and of God’s blessings in my own life. I feel guilty. I ask God, “Why am I safe and sound when so many others are suffering in the world?”

I feel helpless to right these injustices being inflicted on you, and, although I pray, give money to missions and look for opportunities to help those in my own community, it never seems to be enough.

I wanted to write this letter to tell you that you are not forgotten and that God loves you, and he knows all about your trials.  He really cares and so do I. The following scripture might be of some comfort to you. These words are from The Holy Bible, words believed by followers of Christ around the world. “For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Romans 8:38-39 New International Versions (NIV)

As I close this letter, be assured that many of us continue to pray for peace and restoration in your country.

In Christian Love, Carol

Carol Ford is a co-author of As the Ink Flows: Devotions to Inspire Christian Writers & Speakers and has a short story in Hot Apple Cider with Cinnamon. She is a career coach and speaker. 
https://carolfordassociates.wordpress.com/

https://www.facebook.com/As-the-Ink-Flows-Devotions-to-Inspire-Christian-Writers-Speakers-831092453662406/?ref=aymt_homepage_panel

Trust That This is a River - Carolyn Arends

I recently had the opportunity to interview Wm. Paul Young, the "accidental" author who penned The Shack as a Christmas gift for his family and watched it sell 18 million copies.  I wondered if he might have faced the world's worst case of writer's block when he sat down to intentionally write his next novel, Cross Roads.  His answer--"No, I think writer's block just means there's something else you'd rather be doing"--aggravated me to no end.  (I'm prone to more than my share of blocks.)  When I expressed my incredulity, he offered a perspective on his creative process that I suspect will be instructive and inspiring to all of us who seek to co-create anything (literature, art, music, business solutions, Sunday School lessons, etc) with God.

In the fall of 2007, when The Shack started taking off, I had this night of epiphany—something that’s never happened before or since. At 2 am, I woke up and I was under a waterfall of creative ideas.  After an hour of this, the thought crossed my mind, “I’ve got to get up and write this down.” And it all stopped. 

The Holy Spirit spoke to my heart and said, “Paul this is just like you. You don’t trust that it’s a river. So you want to dam it up and get your little bottles out and get all the water you can and then sell it—for identity and worth and value and significance and security and meaning and purpose. You want to commoditize the river because you don’t trust that it’s going to be there. “

So anytime I write, my first thought is always, “I trust that this is a river.” And if the timing is right, I’ll get swept down-river somewhere.  -- Wm Paul Young

You can read my entire Light Magazine interview with Paul HERE.

Learn more about Paul's new book: Cross Roads

And visit me at CarolynArends.com

Splash in the river today!
Carolyn

Writer’s Block – It’s A Nasty Thing - Atchison

I am sitting with idle hands, trying to figure out what to blog about here at the TWG blog. Writer’s block is a nasty thing, almost like bottled up tears that just won’t come. You know you have to cry, but are either too mad, or upset to let go and do it. The key here is blockage and trying to figure out why the words won’t come.

Free fall writing is one tool an author can use who is experiencing writer’s block, which can come from wanting to censor or edit as we are writing. The inventor of the freefall method of creative writing was well-known Canadian author, W.O. Mitchell. To practice the free fall method of writing, writers must tune out that internal editor, which is nagging them with thoughts of what and how to write. Forget the editor, and write whatever thoughts come to mind. Be sure to take into account sensory information and memories. The trick is to keep writing, leave the editing and read-back until the end of the writing process.

Free fall is a great idea and wonderful tool to use in most cases of writer’s block. But creativity can still be diminished by those thoughts and feelings that are dragging us down and upsetting us. In this case, it can be just as easy as shutting down the computer and going for a walk, doing meditation, letting go and crying, or praying – leaving it simply for another day. Deadlines loom though. What is a writer to do?

The theme of self-help these last few years is information about The Law of Attraction, thinking positive thoughts, putting out positive affirmations. I believe with the Lord’s help, it is good to be positive, but at times, we also have to let our true emotions surface so that we can take care of ourselves and acknowledge that which is upsetting us so. If we keep trying to build a hard shell, over time, surface cracks may appear and threaten to break apart.

Writers are especially vulnerable to writer’s block through mood upsets. Unless there are a fortunate few who can loose themselves within their projects and forget their emotions. This might work well for a novel, or non fiction piece, but a blog? Blog articles need to reflect a high level of creativity. Words written need to come from the heart and be of interest to the audience.

So as this author struggles with writer’s block after being away on a beautiful summer vacation, struggling to catch up on work that has piled onto my desk, I hope that some creativity, though a bit bland may have peeked out of my surface cracks. I’m still tending to the giant crater that has blown my creativity to bits. (*smile*).

Patricia L. Atchison
Website: www.patriciaatchison.ca
Writing & Publishing Blog: www.aboutwritingandpublishing.com

How to get unstuck - Kimberley Payne

A question was posed on The Word Guild discussion forum, asking, "What do you do when you are itchy to write but feel stuck, blocked - can't go anywhere. How do you get unstuck?"

I remember when I was stuck on where to go with my novel. I took an extra long walk and talked all the way. I discussed with God the troubles I was having and by the time I returned home, I had my answer!

Lisa Wilson does a freewrite. “You know, pick one of those crazy exercises from a book - write for five minutes about what is going on in this picture - that sort of thing. I find that helps to get the 'creative juices' flowing.” She also suggests writing from a different point of view. “If I'm working on a particular project and feel stuck, I'll try writing from a different POV, (even if I know I won't be including it) or start the next scene in a new way than I have before, a flashback, new setting, whatever. Often, I won't include those in the finished project, but these short starts get me going again.”

Jane Harris-Zsovan agees with Ed, “I think all of Ed's suggestions will work. For those of us with a visual, tactile, or auditory orientation, sketching, painting, dancing, singing,
praying out loud, or even story-boarding will also help.”

Carla Coroy likes to talk to friends. “When I get stuck like that I know that it's time to call one of my friends. I have a few that will always stir up a passion in my through our conversation and when we get off the phone, I'm ready and raring to go!”

Donna Dawson shares, “When I am stuck, I pick up a local newspaper and start reading. You would be amazed at what will jump out at me and get me started again. Sometimes it's an article. Sometimes it's the comics. Sometimes it's the crossword puzzle.”

How do you get unstuck?

Allegory of a Nest - Smith Meyer

It’s just an empty nest in a maple tree that has been visible all winter. Occasionally it was mounded with freshly fallen snow, sometimes coated with freezing rain—cold and uninviting. That vacant nest signified fledglings now matured and flown. The haven of possibility now barren.

The scene bore a marked resemblance to the writing area of my mind. My latest fledgling grown, matured and in print, the creative nest sitting cold and bare for several months now. Oh, the winter activity blustered and blew around it. The death of my brother, my cousin and three other close acquaintances just amplified the barrenness of this season in my life and the stark emptiness of the nest that once cradled creativity. The frigid snow attempted to cover and beautify it, but no life stirred inside.

Then came the warm days of last week—the pungent aromas of spring in the air, the snow melting like a piece of chocolate on the warm tongue of the sun-drenched earth, the first tips of daffodils peeking through the mulch in the flowerbed. They reminded me of the recent day I spoke to a group of precious women eager to learn and stretch their boundaries. Two came afterward to tell me how they had grown in self-understanding through reading my books. That affirmation, like the sun with the daffodils, pushed the pregnant bulb of creativity within me to stretch toward the light.

From the daffodils, my eyes travelled upward to the maple. The still-bare branches continued to support that same nest, but something was different. In my mind, instead of emptiness, I saw great potential—almost as if the nest was sporting a sign “Available for Immediate Occupancy.” That nest and my mind seemed suddenly to be wide open to new possibilities. The winter has ended My heart is filled with longing to once more hatch ideas that stir within me—the desire to see a whole new nest full of inspirational stories and writing is waiting to be given wings.

Seedy Consolation - Wegner

In a kind of “thumbing of the nose” to winter, garden seeds have appeared at the local grocery stores. Recently those colourful harbingers of spring, standing erect in their private display case positioned next to the bakery counters, gave me cause to stop and dream. As if the mouth-watering fragrance of fresh-from-the-oven rye bread wasn’t enough, it was the sight of impending flower patches and succulent cherry tomatoes that stopped me dead in my tracks.

The bread I might resist; the seeds, I could not.

Ambling through the aisles of imported fruit and winter-storage potatoes, I found myself dreaming of crisp carrots, dew-dripping lettuce and snappy peas. After all, is there anything more soul-stirring than those little paper promises of summer in the dead of winter? No matter if winter consists of leaden-grey skies, incessant rains or bone chilling temperatures of -50 with the wind chill, I mused, the hope of harvest springs eternal in the hearts of those who love working in the dirt.

Perhaps one of the most fascinating parts of the display was the variety. Packets of petunias and parsley, carrots, calendula, spinach and sorrel competed for space next to wild flowers, green peas, pole beans, or golden corn. Tucked above, below and next to them was an array of herbs. While thyme and basil vied for space between alyssum and beefsteak tomatoes, the ever-present zucchini and summer squash asserted their presence. It was enough to make the head swim and the imagination salivate.

I continued shopping but only by a deliberate act of the will, an organized grocery list, and familiarity with the store’s layout. On the outside I picked up milk and yogurt; inside my head, I was planning where to sow the spinach and the cucumbers. This mental preparation of summer salads and pickled beets nearly - but not quite - braced me for what seems to be a weekly increase in the price of next Sunday’s roast. “See,” I told myself, “You really should consider becoming a vegetarian.”

After tossing in the last tin of tuna and a tube of toothpaste, I chatted briefly with the clerk about…I’m not quite sure...then headed out the door. I sighed, allowing my thoughts to return to the garden and a few related issues.

“The trellis the neighbourhood kids wrecked last summer- actually they wrecked it twice - needs to be repaired,” I mused, mentally starting yet another list. “Hubby may as well paint it at the same time. Come to think of it, he might as well extend the cage for new raspberry shoots at the same time…and prepare a new frame for peas because we really should plant more this year.” The variety of chores that came to mind was matched only by the multiplicity of garden seeds motivating this train of thought.

”Hope spring eternal” someone wrote and it’s true. The most bitter of winters creates its own kind of hope for another season. So, tomorrow - or maybe in a month or two - I’ll face the realities of moisture and temperature levels, bugs and slugs, and the myriad of moulds just waiting to suck the life from my crop. But, not right now. Today, grocery bags in my hand, I am transported to another place, aided by thoughts of the beans and berries I froze in balmier times.

And to my fellow writers: May the chill of writers’ block and letters of rejection be replaced by the warmth of God’s approval on our words.

Linda Wegner

Writer's Block

I sit staring at the blank screen . . . and staring . . and staring. Nothing.

A massive writer’s block, like an arctic cold front, has frozen all creativity. My fountain of ideas is a block of ice. I shiver. Why, oh why, was I so stupid as to accept this assignment? With the deadline a few days away I feel desperate. My kingdom for a warm idea!

Well, I’ll just check my e-mail. Hum, cheap drugs—cheap stock options on a gold mine—cheap Rolex reproductions. OK, back to the grind.

A blank screen. What gave me the idea I could write, anyway? Why didn’t I take up curling or tiddly winks or knitting?

No use sitting here biting my lip. I’ll work on another project already in process. That should unthaw my idea bank.

Ah, that’s better. An article already roughed out. But as I scroll through the story, a terrible truth dawns. It’s appalling. I darken the first two paragraphs and hit the delete button.

Whoa, Nelly, that might not be wise in my current state. Better to restore and come back another day.

A cup of coffee, that’s what I need. So I measure out the grounds—extra to make it strong—pour in the water, flip the switch and pace up and down until I hear the beep to tell me it’s ready.

Back in my office I set down my steaming mug and stare again at the screen. Take a sip and stare. And stare some more. Take a long slurp and turn my attention to realigning my stapler, flicking some dust off my keyboard, and checking the calendar. Maybe I’ve mistaken the deadline. Wishful thinking.

Obviously, coffee won’t do it. I’ll just check my e-mail again. Might be some new messages. No?

Maybe I need a walk or an hour spent grubbing in the garden. Get real Eric, it’s March.

Get out of the house. That’ll do it. Buy groceries. Wander up and down the aisles of Canadian Tire. Find some useless doodad.

Much later, the groceries put away, I sit and stare again at a blank screen.
Better check the e-mail. What’s this? A note. "Your last article was a real blessing." Well, maybe I’ll keep writing after all but I better call it a day.