Even if there's no road
I have a quote kept near the top of my notes as a reminder of the type of character I’m trying to create for the thriller I’m writing. It’s from David Livingstone, and it reads, “If you have men who will only come if they know there is a good road, I don’t want them. I want men who will come if there is no road at all.”
I’m writing to you from my favorite spot on the couch once more. It’s been a while since I’ve done this—stepped away from fiction for the afternoon and typed up something people actually get to read not long after I’ve written it. There is a comfort in knowing I don’t have to overthink this too much. Overthinking is something I do well. It’s something that often keeps me from doing anything.
I took a break from this newsletter during November. Not from writing, but from writing publicly. My writing group and I did NaNoWriMo—National Novel Writing Month—and I knew I had to focus. And for the first time ever, I actually did it. I wrote 50,000 words for The Sent to the Saying, my thriller, in a month.
This story came as a tiny idea on December 27, 2019. On January 1, 2020, I started drafting what I thought would be a short story. I’ve now written 111,000 words of a draft, chapters have been critiqued by several readers and writers I trust, and I am hopeful about where this novel will end up. I don’t know what will happen, but I’ll steward this story until it reaches an end or I can go no further.
I still haven’t read everything I wrote last month. It’s not at all perfect or pretty. The thing about drafts, and months where you just write instead of edit, is they’re supposed to be ugly. Drafting usually means most of your ability to use the language runs out the door and all you’re left with is a dictionary and your hands and an idea you can’t look away from.
Writing 50,000 words in a month was different than I imagined—harder and more helpful than I expected. I had to focus on getting an average of 2,273 words on the page nearly every day. I did my best to only write sections that added to the story. I couldn’t edit. I couldn’t allow myself to overthink. The thing is, the more I wrote, the more I realized writing is the only way I will ever write a novel. So even though the words and scenes were rough and raw, they built on ideas. The story became clearer and clearer, like chipping away at stone and finally seeing the face you set out to carve.
My favorite part of last month—really, my favorite part of writing—was the days I had no more words. I couldn’t go any further. Those days, I would be reminded I can’t do it alone. That I am human. I need help to write, to be creative. So I would pray. Then the words came.
Writing is a puzzle—one where you get to create the pieces and figure out what the final picture is. It’s daunting and thrilling, humbling and hopeful. Like the quote above, my protagonist is a person who is going where there is no road. And as a writer, I’m going with him—and, like him, I have to be willing to go where there is no pavement or gravel or even a cleared path.
It isn’t an easy journey. But it’s absolutely worth it.
One more thing
Something really exciting also happened in November—I’m officially now a published author! I got to help write two liturgies for a collection called Words for Winter over the summer, and a few weeks ago, I got to hold the book in my hands for the first time. It’s beautiful, full of hope and longing and truth, and if you haven’t checked it out yet, they don’t have many copies left, so don’t take Treebeard’s advice from The Lord of the Rings—be hasty and get one!
Thanks for reading. I appreciate you, and I hope you’re finding ways to steward your gifts and be creative this winter.