My Writing Origins - pt 1

Sometimes you just know. 

When I was thirteen years old in the seventh grade I had a literature class. One day our teacher held up a picture of a lady looking forlornly off into the distance. 

Our instructions were to write a story from that picture. She gave us guidelines for length, and scope, etc. It was to be a short story, not just a page or two. 

Immediately when I looked at that picture I knew it was the end of my story. I began to write feverishly. I had the story and I worked to just get it out of my head and onto the paper. 

We had only an ink pen or pencil and lined notebook paper. I don’t know how long I worked on the assignment. It seems like we had a day or two to complete it. 

When I was done and reread the story, it gave me chills. I knew right then I had a gift to write. I couldn’t wait to turn my paper into the teacher. 

Waiting For Praise or Rejection

After she had graded them all, she chose mine to read aloud in class and gave me such praise that my belief about the gift was confirmed. 

That was several decades ago. For many years I dabbled at writing stories, but never seemed to have the attention span to finish lengthy projects. 

I wrote several short articles for small local newspapers, but not on a long term basis. Boredom would always quickly set in. 

My career path set me square in corporate American and I flourished. I was thankful for my writing skills. 

When in Human Resources I wrote lengthy policy and procedure manuals. I also was required to write many professional letters that were meant to persuade different parties on specific policy and actions to be taken. 

My Very Very First Novel

Then, about two decades after that initial praise, I decided to write a novel. I had a splendid idea and my schedule permitted me time to do it. 

I wrote about a fourth of the book. Then something upset my emotional apple cart and I just gave up. I was so discouraged about things happening in my life I just couldn’t muster the creative energy to work on the novel. 

Fast forward another decade and that book still taunted me. I would pray about being ‘stuck’ and not able to move the storyline forward. I felt as though all the storylines were tied into a knot that I could not unravel. 

Just Tell The Story

God would always reply, “Just tell the story.” I prayed and He would reply over and over again always the same. I knew that whenever I would write it was just about telling the story. 

I never did finish that novel. But, then another decade later while in prayer one day I heard God say, “It is time to write.” And so I did.

I want to encourage you to leave me any comments below. They are so encouraging and motivating to me. 

   --- stay tuned for part 2 ...

Nancy

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