Next, Please

The crucible of endurance

Photo by Roudy Salameh

Last Thursday I submitted the final assignment of my bachelor’s degree program. In the two weeks leading up to the big moment, I had two distinct feelings competing with one another: excitement to finish well and move into new ventures with my writing, and dread at being untethered from the place that has kept me accountable in the pursuit for the past two years.

However, when Thursday came and went, the latter took up residence and I spent the weekend moping around the house, not sure what to do with myself. The untethered sentiment came out the victor when all was said and done.

I’ve been processing this over the past few days, trying to sift through the “feelings” and get to the root of my malaise. I think I’ve boiled it down to three things:

First, I have been planning on pursuing an MFA in writing after my bachelor’s degree. I’ve applied to two programs, and I’ve been accepted into one (yay!), but I’ve been waiting to hear from the other for almost six weeks, most impatiently, I might add (I may or may not have checked my admissions portal twice daily since I submitted my application). I won’t move forward until both decisions are in, and this leaves me in limbo. A feeling I don’t relish.

Second, with the MFA piece dangling loosely (and with six months before a program begins), the responsibility and direction of my writing has suddenly and completely fallen into my own lap. The first draft of the manuscript I started in the program is only half completed, and I’m feeling the terror of doubt that I can finish well. I know this is a typical writerly woe, but that knowledge doesn’t seem to quell the encroaching fear. Writing a novel is hard, and insecurity is casting a shadow as I look to the next few months of doing this thing on my own.

But I think it’s the last of my considerations that is causing the bulk of my distress. This whole novel writing business is one of endurance, and as much as I’m drawn to it, and even think God is nudging me in that direction, endurance is not my strong suit. Not by a long shot. Not by any shot.

I am a sprinter, not a marathon runner (personality metaphors only, I don’t even run to the mailbox in a hailstorm). I like fast. I like new. I like change. When I did my journalism internship, it appealed to me because of its short form, quick turnaround assignments. There was always something new on the horizon with deadlines coming at me quick and furious. That worked great with my fast-twitch mental muscles, for the girl who is always saying, “Next, please.”

The problem is, I have these stories spinning, and I want to write them. But looking at the 26.2 miles of writing a novel…oh man…it seems almost laughable that God would be saying, “This is the way, walk in it.” Emphasis on walk…not run.

Endurance for me is a crucible. A trial that goes against my innate ways, though I can tell you this isn’t the first time God has asked me to take a path of perseverance. He asked it when we prepared to go on the mission field for three years. He asked it when we pursued adoption for four years. He asked it when our son battled a life-threatening illness for a decade.

So, why am I still not any better at this?! I can’t even wait six weeks for the MFA decision!

Why does the idea of completing a novel strike terror in my innermost being? I think I doubt my ability to sustain effort, to stay upbeat and committed. What if I have to rewrite something ten times to get it right? Or trash whole sections? I’m currently looking at some major rewrites for the first several chapters of my work-in-progress. These are all common scenarios, but it can be a bit demoralizing.

But perhaps the biggest fear is the potential waste of time. What if I spend a year of my life, and it amounts to nothing? I wrote about this earlier in my “Alabaster Flask” post, but my current anxiety is outweighing the romantic feelings I penned that day. It’s one thing to endure and end up holding a fruitful bounty and another to endure and end up with a handful of air.

Of course, then there is the question of what constitutes a fruitful endeavor? But I suppose that is another post.

The bottom line is, I don’t want to fool myself. If I put my hand to this, I want to know it is from the Lord and that I can succeed. I’m not talking money and renown. That is an elusive goal for a writer. I’m talking the work matters and somehow brings a little beauty and meaning to others, and/or directs people to the Creator. I mean, otherwise, what is the point?

So, why you may ask, do I share all this here today? I guess I’m just spilling where I’m at…sharing a writer’s inner turmoil. But I’d like prayer, too. For encouragement, and direction, and hope. And…if this really is God’s plan (and I’m inclined to think it is) …a little prayer for endurance probably wouldn’t hurt either.

Last thing, if fellow sprinters in the crowd also find themselves in need of endurance, look no further. I doubt you’ll find a more empathetic prayer partner!

~Tiffany