The Writer and Anticipation

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The emotions of the writer run the gambit. We get excited over new story ideas. We get frustrated when we get writer's block. We are ecstatic when we get a request for a full manuscript from an agent or editor. We wallow in the depths of despair when we receive a rejection in our email box. Up and down, up and down, our emotions ride the roller coaster.

But there is one emotion in the writing journey that we tend to overlook because it is subtle.

Anticipation.

When I hear the word anticipation, I am reminded of Christmas Eve long ago. While a pregnant woman was being settled by her husband into a stable, heaven awaited with baited breath for the coming of the Messiah on Earth.

Anticipation.

While a baby lay in a manger, shepherds were hurrying to find the Christ, King of Kinds and Lord of Lords.

Anticipation.

You know the feeling....it is the hopeful expectation of things to come. The longing for something better. The desire for something new and good to come our way. The hope of having our dreams fulfilled.

Writers await with anticipation on a daily basis. We hope for a completed manuscript. We desire contest wins. We anticipate publication. Anticipation keeps us going.

While we write with the expectation of having our dreams realized, so often we let fear and comparison cloud our view. It is like fog creeping across the land, clouding our path and slowing us down. We must learn to slow down and focus on the path. Just keep writing and enjoy the journey, letting the words flow from the heart. The fog will soon dissipate and the way will grow clear once again.

Kindle the fire of anticipation. Just as we should always anticipate the return of our King Jesus not just at Christmas, but all year long, we must keep the anticipation of our writing dream alive.

There is much to anticipate in the coming year. What are you anticipating?

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This post is brought to you by

 Sherrinda Ketchersid

Sherrinda is a minister's wife and mother to three giant sons and one gorgeous daughter. A born and bred Texan, she writes historical romance filled with fun, faith, and forever love.

The Plank, Pimple-picking, and Preachin’ to the Choir

Now, I know you are wondering how on earth I can make these title topics cohesive. You’ll have to read on and see….

The Plank

Arrgh! I spend my day with little boys so inevitably my mind goes to something like this. My apologies.

So a plank is something people walk before they jump, or are pushed off of into the shark infested waters below, right? Pirates, and whatnot. When we—as writers, professionals, doctors, singers, musicians, pretty much anything—put ourselves “out there,” our dreams essentially become damsels clinging to a flimsy board over open seas.

Sometimes someone says something, rejects you, fires you, and it is enough of a poke to send you over the edge in to the crushing waves below. Swimming in rejection is not at all fun. And sometimes, we are tossed, wave after wave, struggling to keep our head above water. Clinging to a life-raft like hope, maybe stubbornness, or perhaps even delusions of grandeur, in wait of a slice of land, or a passing yacht that might bring about some shift of fortune.

Whether you are on the plank or in the water, you are in a vulnerable place, my friend.

But I got to thinking about that wooden board. What if instead of a plank, it’s a diving board? -And why are all the metaphors about water always about drowning and struggling to find the surface? I like swimming. I find it refreshing.

What if we view those failures as some super sweet exercise? And we think about that dark sea writhing beneath you like a clear blue lap lane…

So often, we can learn, tone, and refocus when we hit that water and tool around long enough to get pruney. It’s great cardio, by the way!

Now, hold on to those thoughts about your plank for a few moments while we move on to the next glamorous point.

Pimple-picking

 

I never had that crazy combination skin, thank you Jesus! But there were, and still are, those occasions when my inner Venus manifests as a sort of pubescent boy. Zits! Ick!

I banished that mega-magnifying makeup mirror years ago because I honestly don’t like to scare myself with that much microscopic truth.

I don’t know about you but when I’m feeling great, or I’ve had a good day, I wash my face, brush my teeth and crawl into bed without a second glance.

BUT… when I’m feeling particularly worn-out, stressed, vulnerable, or maybe rejected, I pick. Yes, I’m a picker. I lean in, scan my clean pasty complexion until I can find someway to squeeze out my frustration. Anyone else do this?

I create problems for myself this way. There might be a tiny clogged pore that that no one would ever see, and yet, when I’m at my worst, I pick at it, I inflame the situation. I take one tiny speck and turn it into the giant red blob.

Now I’m gonna bring these points home by Preachin’ to the Choir…

How many times have you felt this way when someone tells you that “God’s got a plan.” “All in God’s time.” Or even “Well, God’s in control.”

Yeah, yeah. We know that. I’m pretty sure that was ingrained in Sunday school rhyme-time or song-circle.

But the point of all this is for you to see how YOUR perspective changes everything!

Sometimes when those rejection letters come back, it’s difficult to see God’s perspective—His plan for your time in the pit.

Yes, we can rationalize that His timing is perfect. His plans are to prosper and never harm. But sometimes God’s plans feel painful. They push us out on that scary ledge. They expose some microscopic insecurity and turn it into a mountain that you walk around with on your face for all to see.

Now, I don’t want to preach at y’all but the Word is a pretty good defense against our perceptions…

We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ. 2 Corinthians 10:5

And…

Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is--his good, pleasing and perfect will. Romans 12:2

You see, our minds and emotions can be frail when allowed to swim in the deep end all alone. It’s like flailing around like tasty shark-bait for the enemy.

 

But YOU have the power to change your perspective.

To see that plank as your spring board.

To view those waters of rejection as a way to firm up those muscles for the long road ahead.

To refuse to let those little snags in your reflection rise up and define who you are and what you can become.

In the wake of some bad news God showed me that I could spin my perception of that rejection into something empowering and truly encouraging.

Give it a try. The view from the other side is great and the water is quite nice. 

Talk to me: When was the last time you turned lemons into lemonade? How do you defend against those planks and pimples in life that tend to skew our perspective? Or what scripture encourages you the most when things look bleak?

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Amy Leigh Simpson writes Romantic Suspense that is heavy on the romance, unapologetically honest, laced with sass and humor, and full of the unfathomable Grace of God. She is the completely sleep deprived mama to two little mischief makers and would challenge anyone to a cutest family contest. Represented by Chip MacGregor of MacGregor Literary Inc.

A Vein of Hope

From the time we are little girls, twirling in our princess dresses, hope fills us that someday we will meet Prince Charming.
And it continues into the tumultuous teen years when our hearts seem too big for our bodies, and we crush on that ONE guy whose every look in our direction, every brush of the arm in a crowded high school hallway, every word spoken (even if it is “excuse me, I need to get to my locker”) sends us into a dreamy state of wonder. What did he mean by that? It must have meant something to make my insides flutter so. Surely he felt the same, right?

And we hope. 

We feel deep things, sitting for hours at a journal, or filling the back of notebooks with poetry that opens doorways into a bleeding heart—a young, ripening heart that clings to the hope of finding the love we read in English class, between Romeo and Juliet, Heathcliff and Catherine, Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy.
When I think back on my sweet innocence of falling madly in love with THAT guy in high school...the one who probably didn't think of me unless I tripped up on my untied Keds right in front of his cool self...I see one huge constant of that era:

A vein of hope.

It may have been delusional on my end, but it kept the dream alive and helped me put up with all the junk of life.
If ever a book was written to elaborate this vein with a deeper God-driven intensity, to thrust it into the hearts of women, not just girls, it is my favorite historical romance, Thorn In My Heart by Liz Curtis Higgs, the first in her Lowlands of Scotland series.

I read it as a married woman, past all the stuff of love-sickness (I got my man :) ), but my soul was so rattled by the familiar hope of a woman in love in the story, it resonated to my very core.
Set in 18th century Scotland, Higgs creatively weaves the Rachel, Jacob, and Leah story through the lives of her characters, Rose, Jamie, and Leana. Rose is vibrant, beautiful, and young, catching the eye and heart of Jamie. Leana is plain, sensible, calm, but with a beautiful heart, a God-fearing spirit. Through Leana, the vein of hope is established, urging the reader to ache for her, and hope alongside her as she yearns for Jamie's affection and courtship, and then love, once a proxy marriage set up by her scheming father, binds her to him for at least 7 months to produce a baby or end in divorce, and then Jamie can marry her sister Rose, who he is in love with.
It is just after this proxy marriage that I would love to illustrate to you this theme of hope, even though it is ever present throughout the story.

From the very beginning, Leana doesn't stop clinging to hope, even with Jamie's harsh words and constant rebuke from the first moments of their honeymoon:

"My heart is spoken for. You may have the rest of me for seven days, but no longer."

How heart wrenching to know that the man you've married doesn't love you back, and is only fulfilling his duty on the honeymoon because of your father's request? The only practical hope Leana has is for an heir to be produced to lock their marriage in permanency, and according to Jamie, only in the short 7 day honeymoon.

We see Leana's heart's intentions when Jamie asks,

"What's all that rubbage?" 

as she brings a basket filled with 

herbs, her favorite scented soap, her best gown, and one good dress 

on their honeymoon, and Leana responds,

"Hope," she said simply, settling into her seat as he shook the reigns and their journey began. "'Tis a basket full of hope."

And from that first day of their honeymoon, the vein of hope woven through Leana's character tugs at the reader's heart, pulsating in and out of reach, as we catch glimpses of Jamie's teetering thoughts.
Slowly, ever so slowly, Jamie contributes to the vein of hope in the eye of the reader, as well as in Leana's presence, thus growing it to a substantial hook for the reader to cling to for the rest of the book.

In Jamie's POV:  

She was not a beauty. Her face was too long, her eyebrows thickly drawn...But in the dark of the night, when she'd smoothed her hands across his chest and whispered his name, all those unappealing details had flown out of his head. Leana. He'd spoken her name once, not meaning to. She'd wept without making a sound even as he cursed himself for being careless, for giving her false hope. Heaven knew she'd brought enough of that in her cone-lined basket.

Ah, but was it false hope to Leana? She had a mighty God and a pure heart, and the hope becomes more and more real during their honeymoon week:

Without hesitating, Jamie slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her against him to keep her from falling onto the muddy street. He held her only for a moment until she righted herself but long enough to flood his mind with vivid images. His resolution to make her bridal week a miserable one was crumbling like Neda's shortbread.

And beyond the honeymoon we catch glimpses of Jamie's inner turmoil when Rose mentions,  

"But you've looked at her." 

More than you know. More than I should. 

He kept his voice even. "No more than necessary, for politeness' sake. She is my wife, if only by law--"

There are moments of Jamie tripping up on the bounds of marriage in flirtatious bouts with Rose, even calling out her name in his marriage bed with Leana, but through the devastation this brings not only to the character, but the invested reader as well, Leana is steadfast in her grip on hope as she remains firmly rooted in God's love.

And isn't that the stuff of life, the thing you wish you knew as a teenager, striving at hopeful hints of love--that beyond all else, God is there for you, and in Him, your hope will be fulfilled someday, even if it doesn't look like what you expect it too? In her darkest moments, Leana turns to God:

Curled up in her bed, in a lonely corner of the house that creaked in the stiff breeze and groaned from the cold, Leana warmed herself with her prayers. "Almighty God, do you see me? Do you see my emptiness?" The wind moaned but did not speak. "Fill me with his child, Lord." She whispered into the dimly lit closet that was her refuge, her eye on the window that looked toward the heavens. "Let a son be growing beneath my heart. Maybe then Jamie will love me."

I don't want to spoil the ending to this amazing book by Higgs, it is just too good. ;) But as I think back on the romance of the book, why it intrigued me so, what it taught me about writing a successful and long-lasting story in the eye of the reader, I find that my heart was hooked along the long, swelling vein of hope internalized in the characters and eventually blooming into their journey.