You Have Been Blessed With a Burden

While watching the movie “Freedom Writers” the other day, I heard an interesting comment made during it that made me hang my head and smile. For I felt all too well the weight of those words in my life. They were this: “You have been blessed with a burden.”

Several months ago, someone close to me commented that I have “soft skills” because I am a writer. It was stated factually, not as in insult. Nonetheless, the words stuck. Unlike the highly schooled and respected skills of engineers, doctors, scientists, firemen, and other such professions, writers have “soft skills”. And supposedly my skills require less education, less intelligence, and less effort. They are less desirable in society, less respected, less sought after, and significantly less compensated. Supposedly.

Years ago, this person’s comments about my “soft skills” would’ve burn my ego like hell. They would’ve made me feel insignificant and worthless. I would’ve felt guilty about the money my parent’s invested in my writing degree. Years ago, I would’ve let this person opinion, or rather the majority of society’s opinion, of the work I do bring me to my knees. But that was before I was put through some of the hardest tests of my life and shown just how crucial and un-soft my skills as a writer truly are.

Writers are among that rugged but beautiful genre of humanity known as artists. Alongside them are dancers, musicians, sculptors, painters, and countless others. Some of them are educated—others self taught. Some live in mansions—others in boxes on the street. But all of them, all of us, live and die by our art. It is who we are. It is our most inherent quality. And it cannot be remove—even on the days when we plead with God to remove it.

We aren’t doctors. But we save lives every single day. That song you hear on the radio after a devastating break up—that one that calms your restless heart for a moment—that song was written and performed by an artist. Those words read aloud in churches all across the globe each Sunday morning—those words were scribed by writers brave enough to share their beliefs and spread the word of Christ. The words of the Bible save countless souls each day.

We aren’t civil engineers, but we build masterpieces that take people’s breath away. Every year, millions of tourists travel to the Louvre Museum in Paris to witness in person the creations of da Vinci and Michelangelo or to the Sistine Chapel to see the depiction of the Last Supper. They travel to Florence to see the statue of David.  

We aren’t scientists but we make discoveries and bring new ideas into the world. Shakespeare taught us of the exquisite depth and devastation of true love. Thoreau showed us that living simply and within our natural surroundings may very well bring us the greatest inner peace and happiness. Martha Graham dared to bring new and more modern steps into the dance world. 

We aren’t daredevils, but we do the impossible each day. Beethoven was deaf throughout most of his composing career, yet wrote music so beautiful it made people cry. Picasso broke every rule of art during his day with his cubist paintings and never sold a painting during his lifetime. Yet today his paintings sell for well over 100 million dollars.

We don’t run into burning buildings to save anyone, but we do put our very hearts and souls on the line for our art. We work for little money—sometimes for free. We spend our lives being judged, misunderstood, and ridiculed. We shoulder the relentless burden of rejection. Our lives are often plagued by solitude and loneliness. And yet, despite all of this, we wouldn’t have it any other way.

My greatest moment of revelation as a writer came nearly two years ago when a friend asked me to help him write a memorial speech to read at his sister’s funeral that had passed away from Leukemia. I was overwhelmed with both grief and joy at the request. It was the greatest blessing and burden I have ever been bestowed with. But I bore it all with the compassion and dignity and grace that all artists are called to bear.

Artists, of any type, may be bestowed with soft skills. But they aren’t soft people at all. We have one of the hardest jobs on earth. We are responsible for holding people and life itself together with one note, one word, one step, one brush stroke, one dent in a mound of clay. We dare to say the things the rest of the world is too afraid to say. We put things on the stage, in the frame, on the page, that others simply do not know how to. In moments, both personal and historical, when others flounder, we are the ones people look to for inspiration and comfort. To make something disastrous appear beautiful once more. To make sense of what seems so much against God’s plan. To bring light into the darkness of our world.

Being asked to compose a eulogy for a grieving friend is not a request many could answer. For me it was never a request. It was simply part of my calling from God as a writer. Being a writer is no easy job. It requires sacrificing parts of your soul each day in order to put words on a page that will change lives, inspire lives, preserve lives. It is a burden. But it is a burden God blessed me with and one that I bear with all the willingness that Christ bore the cross.

Give thanks today, but don't forget about tomorrow

“Cultivate the habit of being grateful for every good thing that comes to you, and to give thanks continuously. And because all things have contributed to your advancement, you should include all things in your gratitude.” (Ralph Waldo Emerson)

All of us know about one of the first Thanksgiving meals shared in America between the Plymouth colonists and Wampanoag Indians in 1621. But the official holiday wasn’t put in place until over a century later.

In 1789, Elias Boudinot, member of the House of Representatives, moved that a day of Thanksgiving be held to thank God for giving the American people the opportunity to create a Constitution to preserve their hard won freedoms. A Congressional Joint Committee approved the motion, and informed President George Washington. On October 3, 1789, the President proclaimed that the people of the United States observe "a day of public thanksgiving and prayer" on Thursday, the 26th of November. This tradition was continued, but not on a consistent basis. Then in 1827, Sarah Josepha Hale, editor of Ladies Magazine and Godey’s Lady’s Book began pushing for the establishment of an annual thanksgiving holiday. After 36 years of crusading, she finally got her wish. On October 3, 1863, President Lincoln proclaimed that November 26 would be a national Thanksgiving Day, to be observed every year on the fourth Thursday of November.   

Up until know, I had never heard about these historical pieces behind the Thanksgiving holiday we know today. But I found it incredibly heart-warming that people have always for a day to give thanks for all of life’s blessings.

I always find it annoying in November when everyone on Facebook writes about something they are thankful for each day of the month. I know that as soon as the holiday comes and goes, they will all go back to being completely oblivious to the things they were so grateful for weeks earlier. But this year, I’ve had a change in heart. Whether you list out your blessings on Facebook or say them aloud around the Thanksgiving table, everyone is bound to forget those things as soon as Black Friday hits. But taking one day, or one month a year to remind yourself of those things is a good training exercise. It’s like people who only pray during a crisis or when they need something. It might not be the best form of prayer or recognition of God, but it at least proves that one does hold a belief in something greater than themselves. That moment of selfish prayer or singular day of gratefulness may seem hypocritical and transparent, but is a baby step towards offering words and prayers of thanks on a daily basis---for the good and the bad things in our lives.

So on Thanksgiving, give thanks for all of the blessings in your life. But when you wake up tomorrow, and each day after, try to remember to give thanks on those days too.

The Power Behind a Handwritten Letter

Long before I actually knew I wanted to be a writer, I developed a love for writing hand-written letters to people. For those who know me, writing is the way in which I best express myself. But that’s not the reason I write letters. Something about the act of actually sitting down and scribing out thoughts to someone just seems so genuine and heartfelt. We live in an age now where we largely communicate with each other via texting/email/Facebook. We have lost the type of personal contact that I think is so important to maintaining and deepening our relationships with loved ones. For me, writing letters is a way of slowing down and actually taking the time to express my thoughts and feelings to someone in a seemingly archaic, yet beautiful way. And from my experience, people are always shocked and extremely appreciative of such letters.

This past weekend one of my friends went on a Cursillo, or a spiritual retreat. While I have never been on a retreat myself before, I know several people who have and most of them found it to be a good and rewarding experience. Part of the retreat involves family and friends sending letters as a surprise for the person attending the retreat to read.  I was asked if I would be willing to write a letter to send to my friend on the retreat. I couldn’t have been more excited.

When I sat down to write the letter, I had a general idea of what I wanted to say and I didn’t think it would take too terribly wrong to write. But several hours later, I was still working on the letter. Apparently I had more to say than I realized. The thing about writing letters is that you don’t have to deal with the pressure or uncomfortableness of having someone right in front of you when you tell them your thoughts. You can say things you might not have the courage to say otherwise. And there is no urgency to spit everything out all at once. You have the freedom to write what you want, when you want. And of course, you have the option of revising. I tend to write letters very quickly initially, but then I go back through and revise things until I am confident it says exactly what I want in the way that I wanted to say it.

Whenever I write a letter, I always know what I want it to say…..or so I think at the beginning. But once I start writing, I often discover that I have more thoughts on the subject at hand. In writing the letter to my friend on the retreat, I wanted to focus on some of the special memories I have of him. And I wanted to thank him for being there to support me through some difficult times in my life. I had some specific things in mind that I wanted to reference, but once I started writing, my head was flooded with all of these little details and memories of him that I didn’t even know I remembered. In the process, I realized what a truly good friend he has been to me throughout the years and that I really miss spending time with him. By the time I reached the last page of the letter, I found myself apologizing to him for not being a better friend as of late and promising to make a more concerted effort at setting aside time to come visit him and catch up on all of the happenings of our lives.

I wanted my letter to him to be meaningful, particularly since he would be reading it on his retreat. But it ended up being a revelation for me, as well, on my relationship with him. Writing the letter reminded me of just how lucky I am to have him in my life. It also forced me to reexamine the type of friend I have been to him lately, which led me to realize that there are some serious changes I need to make in order to rekindle a valuable friendship in my life.

After finishing the letter and sending it off to be delivered to the retreat, I kept wondering what my friend would think when he read it….all 7 pages of it. I also kept thinking of how truly wonderful it would be to receive a big pile of letters from people sharing words of encouragement and thanks. I was glad that my letter would be among those he read.

On the day my friend’s retreat ended, I receive a text from him in the evening thanking me for my letter. I was so thankful that it had proved meaningful for him. As with most of the things I write, it is not the act of writing itself that is important to me, but rather knowing that my words have touched the lives of someone else in a profound way. That’s when I know that I’ve succeeded as a writer.

Most people I know wouldn’t write a hand-written letter unless they were forced to. But I think, given the opportunity, they would better come to see what a beautiful gift letters are---not just for the person receiving them, but for the person writing them.

As Henry David Thoreau said, (the quote that is also on the back of my business cards), “A written word is the choicest of relics. It is something at once more intimate with us and more universal than any other work of art. It is the work of art nearest to life itself. It may be translated into every language, and not only be read but actually breathed from all human lips—not be represented on canvas or in marble only, but be carved out of the breath of life itself.”

Quotes to Live By

Not many people know that I have long kept journals where I hand-write quotes from different people. Being a writer, I am fascinated by words and constantly look to the words of others as a source of inspiration both for professional and personal reasons. I started my first quote journal in high school and am now on my fourth book. I have literally thousands of quotes from all different people and on practically every subject imaginable.    

When I first started writing down quotes, I wondered what on earth I’d ever do with them. If anything, I assumed I would just keep them for myself and perhaps glance back over them from time to time. While I do often flip through the pages of my books in hope of being comforted when I’m feeling sad or frustrated, I have found many other uses for my quote collection.

In writing articles, I often use one of my quotes at the very beginning in hopes of provoking readers to ponder on a specific topic relating to the piece. I have used quotes in letters I’ve written to people when I recalled one that expressed a thought better than anything I could come up with. And I’ve even found myself reciting certain quotes I know by heart to people when a good opportunity presents itself.

My quotes herald from celebrities, athletes, actors, friends, and people I’ve never heard of. Some come from experienced writers and others are merely lines I underlined while reading a book. And because I am a poet at heart, I throw in the occasional poem I stumble upon on as well. The topics drift in and out of whatever I am pondering or struggling with at that moment—be it relationships, love, faith, writing, loss, work, persistence, forgiveness,  But regardless of where the quote came from or who said it, they are all beautiful words that I cherished from the moment I first read them. In wanting to remember these words, I write them down.  My quote books have become my own personal bibles of wisdom and inspiration and my hope is to someday pass them along to my children so that they can better come to understand who I am, what I believe in, and what why I write.

Here are just a few of my favorite quotes right now…and some of the ones most recently added to my books:

“Making a hundred friends is not a miracle. The miracle is to make a single friend who will stand by your side even when hundreds are against you.” (Unknown)

“Just because someone has more followers than you does not mean they’re better than you. Hitler had millions. Jesus had 12.” (Unknown)

“Is it so bad, then, to be misunderstood? Pythagoras was misunderstood, and Socrates, and Jesus, and Luther, and Copernicus, and Galileo, and Newton, and every pure and wise spirit that ever took flesh. To be great is to be misunderstood.” (Ralph Waldo Emerson)

“They may forget what you said, but they will never forget how you made them feel.” (Carol Bucher)

“I hated every minute of training, but I said, “Don’t quit. Suffer now and live the rest of your life as a champion.” (Muhammad Ali)

“Life begins at the end of your comfort zone.” (Neale Donald Walsch)

“I am thankful to all those who said NO to me. It’s because of them I did it myself.” (Albert Einstein)

“A writer is a priest of eternal imagination transmuting the daily bread of experience into the radiant body of everlasting life.” (James Joyce)

“Your profession is not what brings home your paycheck. Your profession is what you were put on earth to do with such passion and such intensity that it becomes spiritual in calling.” (Vincent Van Gogh)

“We are asleep with compasses in our hands.” (W.S. Merwin)

“If you grit your teeth and show real determination, you’ll always have a chance.” (Charles M. Schulz)

“I get up every morning determined to both change the world and have one hell of a good time. Sometimes that makes planning my day difficult.” (E.B. White)

“Learn the rules like a pro, so you can break them like an artist.” (Pablo Picasso)

“A woman without a man is like a fish without a bicycle.” (Gloria Steinem)

“I almost wish we were butterflies and lived but three summer days—three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain.” (John Keats)

What I've Learned as a Writer...

A few months ago I was approached by a former college professor who inquired as to whether I would be interested in teaching a small writing class, one morning a week before school at one of the elementary schools in town. Apparently the school was looking for someone and she suggested to the principal that I would be perfect for the job. Having no experience or real qualifications to teach, I was flabbergasted at her recommendation. But I also felt a great sense of pride. I have never had a desire to teach…none whatsoever….but I immediately saw this as an opportunity to push myself out of my comfort zone and try to ignite a spark for writing in others. After all, if it hadn’t been for my creative writing teacher in high school, I might never have pursued it as a major in college. This was my chance to impact students in the same way that my teacher had.

So I accepted.

I have only taught a few classes so far and am still struggling to find a foothold in this whole teaching business. I have dozens of ideas for writing prompts to keep the kids busy writing, but what I can’t figure out is what to actually TEACH them about writing. Grammar and the technical aspects of writing are unimportant and pointless at that age....and any age in my opinion. It’s always been my belief that anyone has the capacity in them to be a writer as long as they have true passion about what they are trying to write about. Technicalities can be taught and dealt with later. Passion is the real requirement of writing and the one thing you can’t teach.

While struggling on figuring out what to teach my kids and how to make them better writers, I began pondering all of the things I have learned about writing and being a writer in the past several years. They aren’t necessarily the kinds of things I would preach to a 4^th grader but they are what I would tell anyone if they asked me what being a writer entails.

1.    Writing won’t guarantee you money, success, fame, or respect. But when done for every reason outside of those, it will bring endless fulfillment and a sense of purpose.

2.    Writing is an extremely lonely act, so it’s important to be comfortable with spending lots of time with yourself and your thoughts.

3.    Learn to toughen up your skin early on and accept that you will hear the word “no” far more often than you will ever hear “yes.”

4.    Failure and rejection is hardly a death sentence. It just means you need to keep trying and knock on the gate (or editor’s door) a little louder next time.

5.    Persistence will often times get you farther than talent, reputation, or the size of your portfolio.

6.    When you are passionate about something, pick up a pen and start writing about it right in that moment.

7.    You are never done with or above the learning process of writing. There is always something new you can learn and ways you can improve on your craft.

8.    Always take yourself seriously as a writer and don’t be ashamed or reluctant to tell people that’s what you do.

9.    Remember to thank those people who have helped you along the way to becoming a writer. People love to feel appreciated and will be more willing to help you out again in the future if you appreciate them in the beginning.

10.Write only if you cannot live without writing; write what only you alone can write.

11.Don’t fret over people who belittle your job as a writer. J.K. Rowling once scrawled ideas for Harry Potter on napkins at diners and now she has her own theme park near Disney World.

12.No matter how many or few things you’ve had published, always present yourself and your work in a professional manner. People will be more likely to take you seriously if you take yourself seriously first.

13.Take writing jobs and write about things that push you out of your comfort zone.

14.Writers often write while bleeding, but just know that those are the moments when you’ll produce your best work.

15.Write about the things that other people are too afraid, ashamed, or unable to write about.

16.The first time someone besides your mom cries after reading a piece of your work, you know you’ve really done some good work.

17.Having people ask you to help them write something may turn into the most rewarding moment of your career.

18.Describe, describe, describe. When people read something, make sure they can really see, hear, taste, feel, and touch all of the sights and sounds you are talking about. Being able to bring the page to life is what separates out the good writers from the truly great ones.

19.When all else fails, go outdoors when seeking inspiration and reason to write.

20.There may be times when writing brings you to your knees and nearly breaks you. But in the end, writing may also be the one thing that saves you.

21.Writing is not for the faint-hearted. It takes real guts to enter into and persevere through the work and life of a writer. And even if you aren’t one of those people, at least respect the ones who are trying to make it.

Transitioning into Fall

Even before crimson and orange hues saturate the trees around town, I can tell it is fall. There’s just always this moment in late September or October when I step outside and I suddenly feel it...that shift in the air that reminds that the seasons are changing---and life along with it.  

To me, fall is a time of transition. You trade in your sun-faded flip flops and tank tops for tall leather boots and knit scarves. The days grow shorter and mornings are often stenciled with frost. Kids head back to school and families start planning for the holiday season. You wondered how it took so long to get to summer, but before you knew it, it was over.

Fall is also a time to pause and reflect on the past year, which is rapidly transitioning into the next, and to daydream of all the things you hope will come to pass in the coming months. I was doing just that the other evening when I caught a glimpse of Spring Meadow Lake out my window. The water was placid, without even the faintest ripple across its surface. Trees dipped in brilliant shades of yellow wrapped themselves around the lake’s edge. With so many anxious and nostalgic feelings about fall bouncing around in my head, I longed for the sort of peace that Spring Meadow echoed that day. 

So I decided to go for a walk.

There is a trail that winds around Spring Meadow that’s approximately one mile long. There were several people jogging and briskly maneuvering strollers along the trail when I got there. I, however, chose to meander along slowly trying to absorb the overwhelming silence of the lake, save for the gravel crunching under my feet. The sun dangled low in the sky and I knew that the peaceful fall day would soon be over.

I made two loops around the lake that day without even realizing it. As I walked along I thought about so many things.

I thought about the friend I had seen earlier that day that is in her final few weeks of pregnancy. Her face absolutely glowed when she ran her hand across her belly telling me how anxious she was getting. She will welcome her first child into the world by Halloween and thus begin the biggest transition of her life—becoming a mother.

I thought about how my boyfriend of eight years has lived in another town from me for the past three years and how I much I desperately hope to close that gap soon and transition into starting a family together---like everyone my age seems to be busy doing.

I thought about how much progress I have made as a writer in the four years since graduating college. Between two newspapers, two blogs, and one magazine, my plate is forever full of opportunities to write. I couldn’t help but wonder how much further I will have progressed as a writer by the time the snow of winter has come and gone and summer graces the Montana skies again. Transitioning and growing are all part of being a writer after all.

And I thought about Thanksgiving and Christmas coming up, which always make me think about distant friends and family. Though there are some I seldom see or talk to anymore, I keep track of their transitions in life like engagements, weddings, babies, new jobs, and vacations through texts, photos and posts on Facebook.

I finished my walk feeling more at peace with the dynamic nature of this fall season. Like the metamorphic leaves around me, I hope the changes of fall will leave my life and those around me even more brilliant than before. 

The Joys of Being Published

I still remember the first glorious taste I had of being a published writer...

While taking a creative writing class in high school, I submitted a poem called “After the Day” in a writing contest my teacher told the class about. She told us that the pieces selected would later be published in a small publication called “Anthology of Poetry by Young Americans.” Several weeks passed after my teacher mailed out our submissions before I received a letter informing me that my poem had been selected. I was both shocked and ecstatic at the prospect of having something I wrote actually published and read by others. 

There was a small fee for each copy of the publication you wanted. Since this was my first published work, my mom and I both figured that we would need at least a dozen copies. It might have been overkill, but it’s not every day a kid gets published. We mailed out our request for the copies and then began the grueling waiting process.

Maybe I’m a lone writer in this feeling, but while receiving news that a piece of your work is being published is exciting, it is not what I anxiously wait for like a child on Christmas morning.  What I wait for is that moment when I actually hold the book/magazine/newspaper in my hand and observe my name beaming out from the pages with inky solidity. I wait for the ink to smear off on my fingertips so I know that I’m not dreaming. That’s the moment I know it is real. That’s when I feel the sheer ecstasy of what it means to be a writer.

After months of waiting and checking the mailbox daily, it finally arrived! It was a very small, thin book… but it was a book….with my poem in it! I dashed back to the house from the mailbox, my bare feet scratching against the asphalt driveway and hollering at my mom the whole way.

It was my first taste of feeling like a real writer…..it was intoxicating and addicting....and still is.

In the four years since graduating college I have had a number of articles published in various publications including Queen City News, the Helena Independent Record, and the Helena Vigilante. And regardless of the length or subject matter of the piece, I am still always excited to see the final, printed version.

But after four years of writing for various newspapers, my desire to spread my wings in another direction finally hit. After pestering the editor of Distinctly Montana magazine for a few months, I finally received my first assignment. “Twitterpated,” is the only appropriate word I can think of to describe my reaction to reading that email asking if I would write about the Montana pronghorn. I knew absolutely nothing about pronghorns, but from that moment, on I was determined to write about them as though they were as mesmerizing and glamorous as the Eiffel Tower illuminating the Paris skyline at night. Over the course of the next month, I poured more time and effort into what would only be a 700 word article than I have into any piece of writing in years. I was determined, as always, to prove myself as a writer.

After a month of researching the animal commonly referred to as the “speed goat” and even chasing after a herd of them on a four-wheeler, I completed my 750 word article. I emailed it to the editor and hoped that it would measure up. A few days later, she wrote me back and said that the staff thought it was great and that it would be printed in mid-September. 

Time has never moved so slowly as that month of me waiting for the magazine to print. And even when an online version of it was released beforehand, I wasn’t satisfied. Because like I said, the physical act of seeing and holding your piece is what reminds you that you aren’t dreaming, but rather, living the dream.

The day the magazine hit the stands, I rushed right out to grab as many copies as possible. I even made my mom take a picture of me holding the magazine amid a backdrop of colorful magazine covers. Part of me wanted to brag to others that among all those fancy covers was an article with my by-line on it. And part of me simply needed additional proof that I did in fact have my first article ever published in a magazine. 

Myself, and I think it would be safe to say, that most writers do not write in the hope of gaining some sort of celebrity status at being published. They write because they have been called to do so, because it is who they are, and because they couldn’t imagine living life without writing. But seeing your carefully sculpted words in print does bring a tremendous sense of accomplishment and joy to a writer’s heart. While my transition into magazine writing is small yet, it is still another step towards my dream. Someday, I hope to walk into any book store in the world and find my name and words gracing the cover of one of the thousands of books so humbly shelved on a bookcase. That, I believe, will be the crowning moment of my life.