Heart Art: Writing with Purpose

There are times, when my very right-sided brain tiptoes to that great divide and suddenly plunges its colorful toes into the waters of word count and spreadsheets and structure. I'll admit, the chill hits almost immediately, my pulsing creative juices freeze, and I wonder if I've committed to a business I'll never master completely.

My brain just wants to play with the colors of words, the textures of scenes, and the weaving of character journey. My fingers itch to get the words out, the essence out, the glorious swirling in my heart out.
But...
If I focus on the word count, the hours, the deadlines--THE NUMBERS--then I may as well turn off the writing light in my heavily one-sided brain and walk away from my story.

Of course, there is a delicate web of all these things coexisting. And I've yet to lack in word count, miss a deadline, or not gain something from "roughly" plotting out my chapters. However, if I am not careful, I get so tangled up in the overwhelming spin of numbers, my love for the craft is suffocated.

Maybe it's because I've tasted the reward of allowing my heart to overflow in my writing without inhibition? It's during those moments when I trust God, and write whatever comes through my fingertips, when I keep my heart bowed down and my eyes up to the One who guides me, that art of writing bursts upon the page.

Over this past year, I've written, rewritten, and edited three different stories of mine. They have different characters, different themes, different settings--even different time periods--but the journey I've taken through each of them, is the same.

The gift I've received as I allowed my heart to flow in the depths of the plot, has been a glowing purpose, deeper than anything I
could have come up with in an outline or a chart.

This past year I have found that my greatest joy isn't in the completion of the story, but in the realization that those bursts of creativity somehow thread together and when it's all flipped over, they reveal a very purposeful journey within my story's bounds.

Perhaps, the purpose is the very center of a creative session, the very essence of what makes art beautiful. Purpose is what keeps a patron staring and wondering at a piece of art for hours on end--without worrying about the hours spent, isn't it? Analyzing, deciphering, wondering about the artist's intent--about the whisper of the human condition--about the intricacy of a brushstroke with so much power bulging in its meaning.

When I write from the heart, casting aside any thought or concern for the numbers, I am an artist creating. And somehow, when I've poured out my words in complete obedience to the One who fills my heart, my story elements fit like a puzzle with this surprise purpose, and this thing we call story...

Or what I'd like to call, Heart Art.

********************************************************************************

Angie Dicken is a mom of four children and lives in the Midwest with her Texas Aggie sweetheart. An ACFW member since 2010, she writes historical, historical romance, and dabbles in contemporary romance. Her debut, The Outlaw's Second Chance from Harlequin Love Inspired Historical releases in September of 2017, and her novel, My Heart Belongs in Castle Gate, Utah from Barbour, releases in November 2017. Angie is represented by Tamela Hancock Murray of The Steve Laube Agency. 

Sign up for my news at www.angiedicken.com

Social media:

Facebook: www.facebook.com/dicken.angie, 

Twitter: @angiedicken
Pinterest: pinterest.com/agdicken

What if... I fail?

I struggled with what to write that would reach people in this time of such division. Some are hopeful, others cynical, and yet others still are angry. When I looked back over this post from one year ago, I knew if we could just put our swords down and be vulnerable about our fears instead of casting stones, we might just find we had common ground all along. This here was me being transparent about the fear of the unknown. Rest in knowing we are never without hope. In fact, we are in very good hands. <3

Whenever something is closely tied to your heart it has power over you. No matter how tight the threads of those big, beautiful dreams are woven in, they are still suspended over this vulnerable space where they cling with more fortitude than the delicate wisp should realistically have.

Despite the strength and determination behind them, dreams are fragile things. In most cases working towards the fulfillment, daunting and disheartening as it may be, is considerably less scary than reaching the summit. Once you're there it may look different than you imagined, or perhaps the view simply exposes how very far down you have to fall.

There's no going back. You're there. You've poured your heart and all those expectations out. You've bled and cried and stumbled and picked yourself back up for the uphill battle and then... you've made it. The point of no return where you will either lift off and soar to fulfilling those dreams or you'll struggle against the wind until you realize your wings don't quite cut it at that altitude. And then what?

It was so much safer on the ground, wasn't it? And even on the climb you still had your feet firmly on the ground, working your muscles at your own pace, taking a breather when you felt the strain.

Personally, I've always placed high expectations on myself. And each dream got my all, even when it eventually withered away and opened my heart to a new adventure. But right here, standing on the precipice of my very first book release, the excitement and anticipation are warring for the top seat, but there's also that worry that nips at their heels. And we all know that worry is just a prettied up name for the real culprit.

Fear.

Fear of failure. Fear of having to start again. Fear of seeing your dream plummet, taking all the hope and heart you invested back to the bottom to begin the arduous journey all over again.

Because let's face it, not all writers are going to become published authors. Not all published authors succeed. And even once successful authors can lose their clout. We can't all be the #1 Bestseller. And even the top dog will be knocked off his pedestal eventually, right?

Man, this is sounding pretty depressing, isn't it? Why dream at all? Why put yourself out there and risk the fall?

Ah, but you see, in the oddest way that is the beauty of it. The mystery. Nothing worth having comes easy. And very often the struggle makes the reward that much sweeter. Your "what if"... would be one of regret. Of never knowing because you never tried.

So to keep things in perspective I want to ask you this... What does failure look like to you? Or better yet... What is your measure of success? Because until you decide what it is you are aiming for you might decide that your summit isn't quite as scary as it seems. Maybe dreaming big doesn't have to come with all that fear. Because what I know for certain is that perfect love casts out fear. And that dream you have been nurturing... it has a purpose. That purpose may not be to make you a million dollars. That purpose might be to touch one person's life. It might be to touch yours. Without even knowing it, sometimes my own words come back and minister to my own hurts and insecurities. Sometimes I teach my self a lesson I was too stubborn to hear until I spelled it out on paper in plain English. Other times I simply love getting lost in where the story takes me, regardless of how marketable or profitable that story might be. My measure of success has more to do with doing something I love than proving to the world that I can make a living doing it. Sure, it'd be nice to have it all. But sink or swim, I'm where I want to be.

So you see... here I am at the summit. I'm braced for flight. Passion blazing in my heart so fierce it could launch me to space. And yet I'm still praying through the doubts that swamp me with every peek over that steep edge. Still making sure I've got my emergency landing gear on standby. The first aid kit at the ready to patch up for the next stretch if need be. But no matter where I land, I know that the journey has been more than worth it. Because I LOVE this. Not the doubts. But the story. Even mine, walking up that mountain. I'd walk it all over again, and maybe I will. But I'm not gonna let the "what if" ruin the exhilaration of catching air for the first time. Because what if I keep on flying. Stretch your wings. Enjoy the rush. And let tomorrow worry about itself.

Happy flying!


<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

Amy Leigh Simpson is the completely exhausted stay-at-home mama to the two wild-child, tow-headed toddler boys, one pretty little princess baby, and the incredibly blessed wife of her hunky hubby.

She writes Romantic Suspense chalked full of grace that is equally inspiring, nail-biting, and hilarious. And a little saucy! Okay fine, a lot saucy. :) She is a member of ACFW, and now uses her Sports Medicine degree to patch up daily boo-boos. Her greatest ambitions are to create stories that inspire hope, raise up her children to be mighty warriors for Christ, invent an all-dessert diet that works, and make up for years of sleep deprivation. 

Look for her debut novel WHEN FALL FADES out NEXT FRIDAY October 30th with WildBlue Press!

 

The Seed and The Harvest

I have a Plumeria cutting sitting in my office windowsill right now. My husband and I got it on our last trip to Hawaii, but the problem is, we went in October, which means I’ve had to do the rooting process indoors. And let’s just say I don’t have a greenhouse.

I want this thing to grow so badly. I bought the special root grower powder stuff, I did research on how to plant in the right way, and I’ve kept it near the sunniest window in the house to try to maximize its exposure to the sun while keeping it protected from the elements.

And then I've stared. Literally stared. I go in there all the time and just look at it, hoping, wishing, praying some leaf bud will form, some flower, something—anything that will show the evidence of life, of roots.

It’s been four months. You’re supposed to see leaves after one to two. In other words, it wasn’t looking good for my Plumeria. Should’ve bought the already-rooted kind, I keep thinking to myself. But the thing is, I didn’t. I wanted this one, with the pretty multicolored flowers on the packaging. From our favorite place on the North Shore. Not some mass-produced Floridian Plumeria from down the street. This is my heart flower, the one I was so careful to keep safe on the flight home.

This week, the Plumeria started changing. No, it hasn’t boomed yet. No, there are no flowers or even leaves. But a couple weeks ago, I adjusted the blinds to allow more sunlight to stream through, and it must’ve done something. Because now, the brown “scars” on the tops of the cutting are breaking up, and the littlest evidence of fresh-looking sprouts is coming through.

Now, I don’t know where you are in your writing journey or what you’re hoping will flower. But I’m writing this because I want you to know—and I believe God wants you to know—there is hope. There is always, always hope.

Maybe you’re looking at the plant that is your writing life, and right now, it looks like nothing more than a dead stick. A very dry, very brown, very brittle stick, breaking from rejection.

It’s very easy to yank up that stick and throw it away. Or to shove a prying finger into the soil to check prematurely for roots. But the thing is—and this is key—doing that will disrupt the natural progression of the beautiful mystery that is life.

God has called you. He has gifted you with purpose, and He desires to see that cultivated and propagated. Sometimes when the seed is still in the soil, the process seems invisible. But don’t mistake visibility for actuality.

Hebrews 11:1 says, “Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.”

Maybe it’s winter in your writing life. Maybe everything seems frozen and cold. Maybe God’s even got you on a windowsill beside the sunniest window in the room. Maybe you’re tempted to rip the whole thing out of the soil and toss it in the trash.

Don’t.

You don’t see what’s happening underneath. It’s exactly what you hoped for and so much more than you dreamed. And you don't want to miss the fragrance of dreams.

Where are you hoping God will sow seed in your writing life, and where has He already? Have you seen the evidence of flowers lately? What actions can you take to protect the “dream seeds” God has planted in your life?

*Pictures used from alohaislandweddings.com and exoticplumeria.com

********************************************************************************

Ashley Clark writes romantic comedy with southern grace. Born and raised in the South, her favorite vegetable is macaroni and cheese, and she loves sweet tea. Ashley has an M.A. in English and enjoys teaching literature courses at her local university. She's an active member of ACFW and runs their newcomer's loop. When she's not writing, Ashley's usually busy rescuing stray animals and finding charming new towns. She's thrilled to be represented by the fabulous Karen Solem. You can read more of Ashley's thoughts on writing, crafts, and life on her personal blog:http://ashleyclarkwrites.blogspot.com/. She's also on Facebook and Twitter (writerashley).