Lately, as I write, I feel the effects of my decision to get organized and dressed in the morning as part of the writing process. For years I celebrated the impulsive, emotional, inspirational quality of writing…flinging myself at the computer in my pajamas, my hair stuck out wherever the pillow had pushed it in the night before. While the impulsive passion to write was wild and wonderful, it was also just a bit too crazy.
Writing had become one hundred percent emotional outburst. At odd moments of the day, words had to be contained inside my mind, building up pressure, because I had no desire to discipline my writing to fit into the times of the day, the later moments, the planned afternoons when I was dressed and subject to organization.
If I couldn’t write a burst of words in the early morning, then the day was useless for writing. Once errands called me to buy groceries, pick up Justin from school, or deliver tax forms to the accountant, then all the “fun” of inspiration evaporated. Afternoon writing was only good for letters, notes and lists of tomorrow’s errands and duties.
When morning writing was interrupted or delayed, I collected the words inside my head, hoping that tomorrow, while still in my pajamas, before anyone could mess with my mad inspiration, I would be able to run to the computer for just a little “work” and pour them out all over the page.
I had confused my own madness with God’s inspiration. Funny. Now that I insist on eating breakfast, applying makeup, and dressing before I walk to the office and boot up, I am hugely surprised to realize that God can still use me.
Better still, perhaps He can make better use of me because I am willing to submit to the quiet of the moment as I sit, planning to write, whether I “feel” emotionally free – or not.
My passions may feel cool now in my first minutes in the office, but I have finally made room for God’s passions. Where my mind is empty and dry, I trust anyway. I close my eyes and lay my fingers on the keys in trust.
And where my mind is quiet…my fingers dance and pull out thoughts I never knew I had.
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THE WRITER’S LIFE
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