Now If I Could Just Think of a Title….

Hi, I’m Will. I suffer from word count envy.

I marvel over the seeming quickness of pen and flow of words of prolific authors, and envy that apparent ease. How could so much ink be spilled so quickly?

It’s been a mere 23 days since I started this daily writing practice, one with a publishing deadline. (My longhand journal entries tend to vary with anger and melancholy, and rarely record anything but, leaving blank pages on the calendar.) And in that short time I’ve felt the writing become easier, more fluent, so that I almost feel like two or more pieces a day is not inconceivable.

Hey! Maybe this practice thing actually works. 🙂

Hi, I’m Will. I have word count envy.

In the Scriptorium

Only try to do it yourself and you will learn how arduous is the writer’s task. It dims your eyes, makes your back ache, and knits your chest and belly together. It is a terrible ordeal for the whole body.[*]

I sit hunched over the keyboard or this book. That is how I sit: hunched. My head dipped toward the surface, back arched, lungs squeezed against my stomach — my body changing to fit my tools. This way I can see what I’m doing. Or I could lean far back and look through glass. There’s no in-between. Helpful eyes, these.

Outside it is grey, low clouds, fog on the hills, a thin rain. Inside, darker still. I can hear the crows. I associate this time of year with Medieval Europe for some reason. Must be the weather. I’ve enhanced the mood with candle, incense, and Anonymous Four.

But I Get Up Again

I didn’t hit publish on my latest until after midnight, so it looks like I missed two days, not one. I could fudge the record by back-dating posts, but I’d rather not. Instead those gaps in the calendar stand as an example, assuming I continue writing.

Everyone stumbles and falls. Some get up and keep going.

How we approach failure matters. Even in this one sentence, this one paragraph, I keep writing even though I’m not quite sure how best to say what I’m thinking. I could wrestle over each individual word used before I put pen to paper, and do — that’s how I normally approach the page — but when I do that two things happen: I forget what I was trying to say, and I don’t write. Why would I even do this to begin with? I’m not producing permanent etchings on rock; I can change words as I go along, or come back later and revise whole sections — and that’s just on paper. Digital ink is even more flexible. But I’ve done this for decades; I stopped writing in a journal when I was 11: my scribblings were defacing the beautiful book.

I recall some author attempting to make the case that these specific lines in Led Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven” were proof that they were a Satanic band, because you can’t get to Heaven on the highway to Hell:

Yes, there are two paths you can go by / but in the long run / there’s still time to change the road you’re on.

Which is funny because this point is made several times in the Gospels: there’s still time to change. We are all sinners, redeemed by the grace of God. As Paul argues in Romans, because God has forgiven you, refrain from continuing to sin, and instead walk in the path of righteousness.

What shall we say then? Are we to continue in sin that grace may abound? By no means! How can we who died to sin still live in it? Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? We were buried therefore with him by baptism into death, in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in newness of life. — Romans 6:1-4 (ESV)

(Now that I think about it, that commentary on Led Zeppelin hides a temptation. Shall we despair and continue to sin because there is no hope?)

Let not your sins be a heavy burden, but get up and walk with God, “for my yoke is easy, and my burden light.” That attitude applies not just to grievous faults, but to every little mistake we make. As the Zen Buddhists say in teaching mindfulness, and the yogis in teaching yoga, approach with beginner’s mind. Return to the breath if your attention wanders. It is still there. Observe that thought passing through, how you are not your thoughts. Begin again.

“Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. — Matthew 18:3 (ESV)

We carry the mistakes of the past with us, as lessons: The bee may sting if you try to pet it. What lesson will we learn? What will we teach? If we do not risk failure, if we win without effort, is that success? Each moment, this moment, is new. Pick up the pen and write.