An open letter to friends and family from a writer
Dear Friends and Family:
(Note: This letter is not in any way a reference to my darling Mr. Himself!)
There have been some rumbles lately about the time I spend writing. To help us all get on the same page about this wordsmith-ing gig I’m into, I thought I’d write this letter to set a few things straight.
Few people understand the sacrifices a writer makes other than other writers. Especially writers with full-time jobs outside of writing. The perception most of the public has of people who write books, is that their work is easy and effortless. Authors sit down and *POOF* out pops a book.
When you’re a writer, people assume you don’t have a “real” job with “real” hours. Deadlines, to them, are just excuses to say no to things you don’t want to do, when the opposite is true. People also assume writers who are published get big royalty checks each month. Um, no. Not unless you’re a national/international best-seller. So far, no one is banging down my door offering me movie contracts or begging me to publish with them. And if a big royalty check arrived in the mail, someone stole it.
Some of you wonder how I juggle so many things and wear so many hats. It boils down to three basic things:
- I don’t watch TV. Think of how many hours you watch TV each week and add it up. That’s probably several whole days of writing for me. I get several whole extra days a week others don’t because I spend my spare time writing and researching instead of passively frying my brain on drivel. (As you can see, I have a high opinion of television these days.)
- Writing for me is as much a part of me as breathing. I must write. It’s been such a part of me, from such a young age, I simply can’t imagine not doing it. Ducks swim. I write. You hunt. I write. You are a car enthusiast, I’m a writer. I’m different from you. Different isn’t wrong, it’s just different.
- I’ve learned to say no. It upsets people. They call me names. They hurt my feelings by saying things like, “I’ll be sure they put ‘I have a deadline’ on your tombstone.'” (More about that in a minute.) But I’ve learned that no one will respect and protect my writing time but me. No one understands it, or wants it, as badly as I do.
I’ve learned that there’s no way to please everyone, so I’ve stopped trying. My aim is to please God and God alone. This has taken me far too long to learn. I wish I’d have done so many years ago. I’m thankful I’ve finally arrived at a place of self-respect and self-care.
You see, I really don’t mind having the epitaph of “I have a deadline” on my tombstone, because that’s exactly what I’m working for, that final deadline.
We will all stand before God one day. Alone. No one will stand there with us. The enemy will accuse us and Jesus will defend us. But we stand that day without any of our earthly friends and family with us.
“For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ; that every one may receive the things done in his body, according to that he hath done, whether it be good or bad” 2 Corinthians 5:10, KJV.
“…And if any man sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous” 1 John 2:1, KJV.
Heaven is the deadline I’m working toward. And that is why I must write. Far too many people don’t understand the outrageous love God has for them. Far too many live in deception and recklessly dance on the precipice of hell. I’m called to share the Good News with them. I’m called to rescue the perishing with my words.
I might not have the glamorous social life some of my friends have, or I might not be up on the latest pop culture, but I’m okay with that because I’m doing what I was born to do. Friends and family may reject me because of this writing passion. That’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make. I don’t live to please them.
I live to please my God. The One True God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. I look to the heavens every single day wondering if this is the day my Jesus returns for me. I look to those heavens with a mix of anticipation and excitement for myself, but sorrow for those I’ve not yet reached with His Words.
(Let me be clear. This does not make me more righteous or better than anyone else. My righteousness comes from my Messiah, Jesus, alone. In myself, I am nothing.)
My sacrifice is nothing compared to His. My sorrows nothing compared to what He endured on the cross. I don’t care if you call me addled or crazy. I know that I know Who He is, and Whom I serve. I serve a living God. I serve the God who created all those who call themselves gods. I serve the most powerful, most glorious, most merciful YHWH. I can no more stop writing to spread His message, than I can stop breathing.
So the next time you try to shame me into stopping this writing thing? I’ll hand you a copy of this post. Maybe you’ll understand. Maybe you won’t. But at least it is written. And like my father always said, “People believe if it is written, it is so.”
In this case, yes, it is indeed so. I will say no sometimes to fun, to something someone else wants me to do at the spur of the moment, when I’ve already carved out that time in my week to work (i.e., write). I won’t always be able to drop what I’m doing and get someone out of a bind because of something they failed to plan for. I am called to write, not fix someone else’s poor time management foibles.
That may sound harsh. But it’s what we writers must do in this day of rapid-fire-time-guzzlers. Someone is always going to misunderstand a writer’s need for space and time to create. Contrary to what people think, great words don’t simply magically appear at the end of our finger tips or pens and morph themselves into books, articles or blog posts.
If this writing thing was easy, everyone would publish a book. Newsflash to friends and family: this writing thing can be grueling. Yes, I love it. Yes, it’s what I’m made to do. That doesn’t mean that it’s not just plain hard work sometimes. There are times when people are asleep all snuggled up in their warm, comfy beds that I wish I was, too. Instead, I’m up earlier than the birds or later than the stars. I sacrifice sleep, family meals and going to the movies, just as you do at your own jobs. Writing is what I love, but writing is also time-consuming work.
If you love me, you’ll try to respect and understand this singular, unconventional path I walk. You won’t hold it against me when I can’t come running because I’m at work, just as you can’t rescue me when you’re at work. Instead of knocking me down, you’ll build me up and give me wings. It’s amazing what a little encouragement will do. I can go for hours, nay, weeks, on just one “atta girl!”
Finally, I love you. I love you with all your quirks, bad habits, and bad choices. I love you with all I have in me. Just because I’m writing doesn’t mean I stopped loving you. It just means I’m busy answering the call. And I promise. I promise. In between projects, I’ll emerge from my writing cave, and we’ll party and dance and eat and celebrate with outrageous abandon like a fat, sassy robin in springtime.
But there will come a day, when the cave will beckon me in again, and I will hibernate. Some hibernation times last longer than others. But never fear. They don’t last forever. When I emerge, like a moth from a chrysalis, I will fly back into the real world and do all I can to make it up to you.
Just please try to understand. This writing thing can be hard. The path is often lonely. And it’s made all the worse when I don’t have the sustenance of your blessing. I may not live to please you, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want your support.
And maybe, just maybe, a movie-maker will knock down my door. And when that happens? You’ll be right there with me on that red carpet.
I guarantee it.