From the panel I got to be on at church:
I have read tons of books on writing – how to write, why to write – I have an MFA in Creative Writing, I am in constant conversation with others about the craft, but no book has told me more about writing’s call – what it does, how it feels, what it means – than LM Montgomery’s Emily series.
Here’s an example of what I mean:
Towards the end of the first book, Emily is talking about her writing with her teacher, Mr. Carpenter – a cranky, sort of dark, and extremely passionate man. Emily’s given him several poems to critique and for three pages he lays into them sharply:
- “”Sunset – Lord, how many poems have been written about a sunset?”
- “And this – To Life – ‘Life, as a gift I ask no rainbow joy’ – is that sincere? Is it, girl? Stop and think. Do you ask ‘no amount of joy’ of life?
- “You should study the art of titles, Emily – there’s a fashion in them as in everything else. Your titles are as out of date as the candles of New Moon.”
And then:
“Ten good lines out of four hundred, Emilly – comparatively good, that is – and all the rest balderdash – balderdash, Emily.
I – suppose so,” said Emily faintly.
Her eyes brimmed with tears – her lips quivered. She could not help it. Pride was hopelessly submerged in the bitterness of her disappointment. She felt exactly like a candle that somebody had blown out.
“What are you crying for?” demanded Mr. Carpenter.
Emily blinked away the tears and tried to laugh.
“I – I’m sorry – you think it’s no good -” she said.
Mr. Carpenter gave the desk a mighty thump.
“No good! Didn’t I tell you there were ten good lines? Jade, for ten righteous men Sodom had been spared.”
“Do you mean – that – after all -” The candle was being relighted again.
“Of course, I mean. If at thirteen you can write ten good lines, at twenty you’ll write ten times ten – if the gods are kind. Stop messing over months, though – and don’t imagine you’re a genius either, if you have written ten decent lines. I think there’s something trying to speak through you – but you’ll have to make yourself a fit instrument for it. You’ve chosen a jealous goddess. And she never lets her votaries go – not even when she shuts her ears forever to their plea.”
These lines Mr. Carpenter says are precisely what I believe about being called to write:
- I believe Something is trying to speak through me.
- I believe I must make myself available so that I can be used.
- I believe in the jealousy of the call. That is, I believe God’s given me this gift, but it’s my choice to work, to figure it out, to take the plot of my days and turn them into stories. I am the most myself when I write. All of what I am – the broken, scattered pieces; the sharp edges – is laid bare in the loving hands of this Jealous Goddess who promises me nothing except to show me each time I come to the page that I am wonderfully and fearfully made.
Read the rest over at Project Redux.
At the talk, I passed out a few resources for reading and writing. Feel free to download them (below).
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