I am trying to get used to all the changes in my life. The last two days, I have been trying to work on my latest novel. I’ve been working on it since November and haven’t been able to figure out have to make it into what I want it to be. It’s crazy, but I have a faith that if I just work at it long enough and keep trying different angles that eventually I can make the story work.
When I talk to my husband about writing, he tells me that there is difference between him and me. When he would write a story and it just wouldn’t work, he’d give up thinking that he couldn’t make it work out right. For me, when I am writing, if something doesn’t seem to work out okay, I never feel like it’s hopeless. I always think that if I just keep approaching the story in different ways, I will eventually find a way to make it work out. I sort of feel like the Michaelangelo thing. He is said to say that when he looked at a piece of marble, he could see the statue within it, and he felt like he just needed to find a way to bring it out of the piece of marble. Almost like the statue already existed and he just needed to bring it forth out of the marble. I feel like the story is there already, I just need to figure out the best way to tell it to other people.
My husband has this undying optimism about life, but when it comes to writing, he gives up easily. Then, with me it is the opposite. I wish that I could see my life the way I see stories. I wish that I could look at it the way that God sees it. He already knows everything that happens, but He loves and accepts me. So, why can’t I accept that my story already exists? I just need to figure out the best way to tell it.
My faith saved me. May God’s peace reside in all of our hearts.
