Category Archives: Creative Life

Inciting Incidents Book Release

Christians love to talk about story. We call it a cosmic narrative, the grand drama of redemption, personal testimony or storied living.

But the whole conversation gets a bit nebulous at times … we’re in love with the broad-stroke concept, but we lose touch with what pursuing God’s story in our lives really looks like in the nitty-gritty of our everyday.

This is why I have loved getting to work with the writers and creative minds behind Inciting Incidents: 6 Stories of Fighting  Disappointment in a Flawed World published this month. I’ve long been a big proponent of memoir, and when I started talking to Moody Publishers about what a memoir project might look like over a year ago, I couldn’t have guessed that the result would be this talented a group of people behind this beautiful a book.

Curated by Sarah Cunningham, contributed by  Jeff GoinsDave HickmanBlaine HoganTracee PersikoMandy Thompson and David Wenzel, and edited by myself, Inciting Incidents traces the thread of grace through six memoir-esque stories. Here is a group of people who sincerely said “yes” to every plot turn and twist God sent their way—despite their fair share of struggling—and their honest stories will challenge you to  put the same amount of intentional pursuit into aligning your own daily details with a much bigger and more beautiful scene.

Read a sample chapter here,  visit the website for more info and freebies or to find out how to share your own story with these writers and other bloggers. 

When You Feel Like You’re Just Treading Water

These past few weeks, I drove to Massachussets, swooped across states to Chicago, flew to Florida to start a new job, and returned, all on the heels of a big decision for my husband and I. We’re selling our house, figuring out new job set-ups for both of us, and trying to fit in as much good friends and family time as possible before we leave.

And I can’t say that I have been very healthy or balanced in my approach to braving the transition. I am, however, learning as I go, and have found a few things to be helpful:

Take care of your body. I found this gem of insight from Scottish scholar and evangelist Henry Drummond:

“If you would know God’s will in the higher [realm], you must begin with God’s will in the lower; which simply means this — that if you want to live the ideal life, you must begin with the ideal body. The law of moderation, the law of sleep, the law of regularity, the law of exercise, the law of cleanliness — this is the law or will of God for you. This is the first law, the beginning of His will for you.”

In other words, eat well, rest, exercise, take your vitamins, make that chiropractor appointment you’ve been putting off because you’re too busy (I am completely writing to myself here). These are the essentials that fly out the window as soon as we feel stressed, but without them, our work and our faith will suffer the effects. We need to care for our bodies so that we can use them for the good work to which we are called.

Strike a balance. Sleep, good time with my husband, reading and writing, and even just sitting are important. And if I don’t make time for them, I will fool myself into thinking that I have to be wired up 24/7. But my days will be far more enjoyable and far more effective if I don’t cram them full with “to do” items.

Follow the advice of Psalm 127:2: ”In vain you rise early and stay up late, toiling for food to eat— for he grants sleep to those he loves.” It’s a false assumption that by sacrificing our rest and well-being we can get ahead.

This often means exercising the discipline of saying “no” to an otherwise good opportunity. We can’t do it all. Don’t take on an extra project that will have you working late into the night, even if the compensation is tempting.

Let go of guilt. I’m generalizing here, but it seems to me that women have a particularly strong tendency to sink into the guilt of what we haven’t accomplished in a day. But I want to feel good about what I’ve done at the end of the day, and I’m realizing the difference is determined not by tasks, but by outlook. If I am realistic about what I want to accomplish, then I am more likely to feel content about what I am able to do. And if I don’t get something done, I am learning to give myself grace.

When you’re busy and stressed, what is usually the first thing to go? What ways have you found to keep a healthy balance? 

 

This Week’s Writings and Readings

“Thinspiration”  Yesterday I wrote for RELEVANT on the stomach-turning carousel of comparison I get swept up in by Pinterest, magazine, ads, etc., and why we need a new body model (which comes from a surprising place).

I’ve been immensely enjoying The High Calling’s “Everything Matters” series, exploring the idea from the vantage points of vocations across the spectrum that our work matters and creates culture. Today I’m privileged to contribute a few thoughts on why book marketing is not “dirty work,” but actually participates in an incarnational movement of Word becoming flesh, in Everything Matters: Book Publicity as Cultural Act.

This month when I was traveling, I missed out on both reading blogs and writing posts. But now that I’m back, good grief you people put out some good stuff! These are three posts that have fed and challenged me this week, and hope they will do the same for you:

  • Image Journal’s Good Letters blog is simply one of the best. And novelist Sara Zarr’s contribution this week, Writing on Empty, came just at the perfect time. Read it, and remember it.
  • Why the Bodily Resurrection Matters–Especially to Women by Sharon Hodde Miller is something I sincerely hope all my sisters will  be able to internalize–that our bodies are not shameful, and that the resurrection affirms that God cares about us as whole people, body and soul.
  • If you’re an overachiever like me, you might tend to over-commit, and then get miserable when you’ve taken on too much and it’s too late to back out. Christianne Squires has a word for us in her graciously challenging post, Living a Rhythmed Life: Having to Say No.

What have been your favorite reads this week, whether online or in print? 

Has Our Attention Span Stunted Our Spiritual Appetite?

For our wedding, my husband’s boss gave us a copy of A Severe Mercy by Sheldon Vanauken, writing slant inside the cover, “Zach and Steph, their hearts have so much to teach. Learn and live.”

It was not an easy book to digest. I picked it up, and put it back down, for months. But I always came back, because if ever there was a book that was the result of opening a vein on paper, this is it.

A Severe Mercy is deeply honest in a romantic throwback style–a couple falls in love, buys a sailboat and breaks a bottle of baptizing wine on its bow, they travel to study at Oxford, living cheap in a small flat with a hot pot, and befriend C.S. Lewis, who is instrumental in their eventual coming to faith. But perhaps most romantic, and most heartbreaking, of all is the moment when Sheldon realizes he is no longer Davy’s first love. The jealousy he feels for her Savior is very real, unclouded by years of faith grown familiar, still new and sharp. As Sheldon says himself, “This book is, after all, the spiritual autobiography of a love rather than of the lovers.” 

And that it is. Through painful renegotiation, Sheldon comes to terms with his beloved’s new first love, and he slowly wrestles to make it also his own.

I was saddened by a review of this book by a woman who disliked it because she felt the “C.S. Lewis plug” was a cheap marketing ploy, played up beyond the truth of their acquaintance. This seems telling about our expectations of books and authors today. We expect them to pull out a bag of tricks. And tragically, somewhere in the process, bad art has conditioned us to be suspect of good art.

A Severe Mercy goes against the grain of the books that are published today, but it is one of the most honest books I have read in a long time. It threads an organic grace through its pages that I did not find as calculated. It is a slow read, not a page-turner, but something to savor. I can fly through the Hunger Games in a weekend and get caught up in the grip of its plot, but I won’t underline a single sentence. My copy of A Severe Mercy is jagged with ink, prose I could not bear to lose.

Neither does the book hook the reader in by dazzling solutions to felt needs, but it ministers to something even deeper, like those people you hear about who unknowingly carry around head injuries for years and finally receive healing.

Our attention span is shrinking, yes, but I have a theory that our capacity to be awed remains the same. We need what is sacred and what is beautiful as much as ever, only our hunger for it has been stunted. Sheldon writes it best, “If, indeed, we all have a kind of appetite for eternity, we have allowed ourselves to be caught up in a society that frustrates our longing at every turn.”

Thank God for books that are harder to read, that stretch the limits of attention and distraction, that cultivate spiritual imagination, that strike a deep nerve that provokes us to longing.

What books, or art, or movies, or other mediums have you encountered recently that have challenged you in a similar way?

 

Impressions: Festival of Faith and Writing

Well, I had grand intentions of writing an essay about the Incarnational movement of words to flesh, how language pours into our living, the beauty of digital friendships culminating in face-to-face hugs and hellos.

But truth be told, I’m pooped. Still catching up on the work that was put on hold two weeks ago for the ever-inspiring Festival of Faith and Writing. And the best I can do right now is bullet points.

The Festival of Faith and Writing is a biannual event hosted at Calvin College, and all I can say is that if you love the Word and words, I can’t recommend a better event or conference for you to attend. This was my third time and it is always soul-stirring, luminous in its art and craft, and enriching in this community of reading and writing folk (some of the best kind, I think).

A few impressions I took home with me:

  • The insecurity we often feel as writers is universal. It seems a good 3/4 of the speakers at the Festival began their talks with disclaimers, self-deprecating jokes, apologies for not being capable or poetic or eloquent enough, and then they all continued in their talk and did just fine. Show me a confident writer, and I will show you a sham. We may love what we do, but we always wrestle through it. This is comforting to know that the best of them feel the same.
  • The Festival is a rare environment where an author can use “damn” as an adjective in a seminary chapel, and no one will flinch.
  • “Writing and spiritual practices are both about rising and failing, over and over.” ~Author and editor Jana Riess, who wrote Flunking Sainthood
  • The Festival is a funny place where birds of a feather flock together. Day 1, we creative types get drunk on idea, conversation, and art, complaining about the isolation of writing, and then by day 3, because the creative types are also the introvert types, we all get slightly grumpy and exhausted and caffeine-drained and want to back to our familiar writing nooks at home.
  • “Expect to bury something as you create a body of work. You will either have to bury your faith in fear, or you will bury your talents in fear.” ~ Ann Voskamp
  • There’s nothing quite like meeting digital friends out of their avatars and face to face.
  • I loved Zondervan Editor John Sloan’s description of foreshadowing as “the echo before the sound.”
  • Caring for Words author Marilyn Chandler McEntyre urged us to “PLAY with words,” to incorporate play into both the writing and the spiritual life. We don’t have enough of this.
  • I’m intensely grateful for great books on the fringes. A publisher, big name endorser, or title hook is not always an indication of a great book, and it’s healthy to widen our reading range.
  • Volumes could be written about the parallels between the writing and spiritual life. I am grateful to sit and learn from a community of people who draw connections between the two, who are committed to both.
  • It seems that balance is the constant envy of all writers, a quest which never ends. We all feel the tension of keeping the wheels spinning, between writing, living, relationships, and responsibilities. Whether or not this is encouraging to know we’re not alone in this, or downright depressing, the jury is still out.
  • Gary Schmidt, Claire Vanderpool, Marilyn Chandler McEntyre and others all talked about the irreplaceable value of teaching children to love books. It teaches children empathy, heightens self-esteem, enhances interpersonal communication, cultivates imagination. I will be afraid of any generation who is not raised to love story.

Fresh on my reading list, thanks to Festival recommendations:

What’s on your shelf or reading list these days?

How Easter Sets the Pattern for Great Storytelling

When I read, I can enjoy following one solid plot line until its resolving end, but in my opinion what makes for really excellent reading is when a story weaves not one thread but three:

  1. The immediate story of the narrator, well-told
  2. The story of the personal life of the reader as drawn out by parallels through personal identification
  3. And the story of Christ’s unfolding drama of cosmic redemption, as the author and the reader both are led to walk through, inhabit, and reenact His life, death, and resurrection

I was reflecting on this storytelling craft this weekend, as the church moved through Holy Week. As hundreds of thousands of people this weekend walked through the greatest story ever told, culminating in Good Friday, Silent Saturday, and Easter morning.

My parents often took my sisters and me growing up to a passion play, and every year I seemed to forget that the play ended just as the sun set, with the sealing of the tomb. It killed me that the story left off suspended in such high tension, everyone walking silently to the parking lot to go back home. But I have since learned of the soul’s need to dwell in the funeral hour before rushing ahead to the resurrection.

Like the hinge of success for the perfect joke, timing and pace matters in storytelling. If we get stuck in the grief of Good Friday, the liminal space of Holy Saturday, our hope will crumble like the dust. And if we skip ahead to the hallelujahs and the empty tomb, our victory becomes shallow.

The Good Story requires us to walk faithfully, thoughtfully, through each scene. It requires us to witness the violence of Good Friday, the disturbing details of which the gospels do not censor, and certainly aren’t family-friendly. It requires us to wade through the shadowlands of Holy Saturday, unsure and in between. And then it invites us to experience resurrection.

This is the kind of story I want to read, live, and worship.

What stories, books, testimonies do you enjoy that have exhibited this redemptive story pattern? Does this kind of story development resonate with you, or not?

P.S. If this kind of story appeals to you, I invite you to check out a new book project from Moody Publishers and STORY Chicago which I’m excited to be working on behind the scenes.

 

A Writer’s Most Dreaded Deadline: Sleep

Many people use Lent as a sort of detox for the soul, bringing them back to simple and essential grace, and I’ve been curious to hear the experiences of others during this season. Today’s post is by blogger and author Ed Cyzewski, whose Lenten discipline is one we all need to cultivate: rest. 

I feel like Lent is that time of year when you try to change something that would otherwise remain untouched. It’s like only the thought of a sad, disappointed Jesus can keep me in line sometimes.

This year I targeted one of my greatest struggles: sleep.

It doesn’t take a lot to keep me up at night. A little anxiety, a captivating book, or a west coast game for the Philadelphia Flyers have all stolen my sleep, leaving me groggy the next day and 2-3 hours behind schedule.

Once my sleep schedule is wrecked, I have a hard time recovering. Prayer time is squeezed off the schedule. Valuable morning work hours vanish. I work after dinner trying to catch up, only to fall behind on my house work. So I stay up late to do the dishes or laundry.

I wake up the next day with the same issues: I’m whining for coffee, frustrated, and behind schedule.

I used to wake up at 5 am and write for a few hours. It was amazing and fun. Really. I got so much done, and then I’d have a lot of confidence for the rest of the day.

My mission this year was simple enough: go up to bed at 9 pm. I’d like to wake up at 5 am, but I also realized that I needed to take things one step at a time. So I have one goal: just get upstairs and start brushing my teeth at 9 pm.

We’ve just passed the mid-way point of Lent, and sleep has been a struggle. What I didn’t expect is that once I got into bed at 9 pm, I rarely fell asleep right away. Sometimes it took hours to fall asleep.

Some nights I’d struggle with anxiety attacks. Other nights I’d try to read in order to calm myself, but then I’d just get sucked into a book. Still other nights I just laid there for hours, unable to shut down my mind.

I’ve had to really rethink my day if I want to go to bed at 9 pm.

In some respects, I’m a lot more focused during the day because of my Lenten practice.

I only have so many hours. I can’t extend the day infinitely. It ends at 9 pm no matter what. That helps me tackle the dishes in the afternoon before they pile up, keep the laundry going, and bump the most important projects to the top of my list.

I’ve also learned that I need to exercise a lot more—like, a lot more. So now I’m setting aside chunks of my day for vigorous walks or gardening projects that involve lots of energy. Consequently, these walks and outdoor activities have been good for my mind and spirit.

While I still struggle to fall asleep at my 9 pm bed time during Lent, I think I’ve trimmed off some of those black holes in my day where I genuinely waste time.

When I need leisure time, I make it count.

When I need to work, I focus.

When it’s time to clean up the kitchen, I attack.

When I sit down to pray, I remove any possible distractions.

Life is one big work in progress that we’re always editing and rewriting. Sometimes deadlines help us get the most important things done. In the case of my 9 pm bedtime, I have an immensely helpful deadline that has challenged me to rethink how I spend my entire day.

I also dread every west coast trip that the Flyers take.

Are you observing Lent this year in any particular way? In the midst of endless things to do, how do you discipline yourself to take the time and rest? 

Ed Cyzewski is the author of Coffeehouse Theology and Divided We Unite. He blogs at www.inamirrordimly.com and hopes the Flyers can win the Cup this year—preferably against an opponent who is not on the west coast.

Truth and Family Fiction

Today’s post features guest writer Shawn Smucker, in celebration of his new book, My Amish Roots, which I would encourage you to check out as a fascinating narrative of homespun family story over generations of shared blood. Sometimes we just need to see the big picture to understand our place in it, and Shawn is a master at revealing the full story in panorama through creative and compelling writing. Drop by his blog to find out how you can win a free copy of his new book, and connect with Shawn on Facebook or Twitter!

History, n. an account mostly false, of events mostly unimportant, which are brought about by rulers, mostly knaves, and soldiers, mostly fools.

AMBROSE BIERCE, The Devil’s Dictionary

* * * * *

“The Truth? You can’t handle the truth!” 

A Few Good Men

* * * * *

If postmodernity can be trusted (and the verdict is still out on that), it has taught us one thing: perspective is crucial. Postmodern novels are populated with the observable narrator, the unique point-of-view, and the classic story retold. Postmodern movies brought the cameraman into the scene, put us inside the brain of John Malkovich, and introduced The 300, giving us a new version of the Battle of Thermopylae.

What is history, postmodernity asks, but one person’s version of the truth?

This struggle between truth and perspective has never been more apparent to me than during my recent attempt at writing my family history.

* * * *

When I think of the history of story, I think first of primitive people sitting around a fire. Hungry people. Exhausted people. No movies, no TV, no Internet: only each other, joined together in an immense struggle. Stories have, after all, been told for millennia, long before the existence of classifications like fiction, nonfiction, history, or poetry. Long before sentence fragments earned you a green squiggly line.

I imagine that the last question on the mind of the hearers of those fireside stories was:

“But did that actually happen?”

* * * * *

Perhaps the most beautiful aspect of family history is it’s meandering nature, the way it constantly dwells in this nebulous land between fiction and nonfiction. Except where the common family history intersects with recorded history (births, deaths, deeds, etc.), everything is up for grabs. The great-uncle who tells the most convincing stories, with the most conviction, becomes the source. The written words of the great-great-grandfather, who kept a journal, are accepted at face value as fact.

Which version of your own family history have you been convinced to believe?

* * * * *

While searching the mist of my own family’s legends, I realized that what I was creating was not a family history that could be read as such. What I was creating was a family mythology, stories that would be told around the fire (or dinner table) for as long as this book survives.

I think that’s something to be proud of. I think it’s a worthy gift to give a family.

* * * * *

What do you think about the relationship between story and fact in the context of a family history?

Shawn lives in Paradise, Pennsylvania with his wife, four children, four chickens, and a rabbit named Rosie. His most recent book, My Amish Roots, explores the roles of family, death, life, tradition, and legacy against the backdrop of his Amish ancestry. He blogs daily at shawnsmucker.com about writing, the strange things his children say, and postmodern Christianity.

In Media Res: A Blog Conversation Part III

If you’ve been following our blog series this week on what it means to live in media res, you’ll know that Preston wrote a searingly beautiful short story on Monday about sisters and cicadas out of season; you’ll know that David reflected on Tuesday in eloquent non-fiction about giving a proper conclusion when a death comes in media res; and now you know that I have the challenge of following up these two provocative and powerful pieces today.                                                                                                                                    
I’ll attempt to do my part, and conclude our series with a reflective essay on the question of what it means to inhabit lives and stories marked by in media res. 

 

We all are born into the middle of a story, infants hurled howling into a plotline and expected, like a cat, to land on our feet.

It is in life as in literature: the reader is thrown into the middle of the story to engage our immediate interest and stir our curiosity, in what is called in media res—Latin for “into the midst of things.”  In media res is The Odyssey, the opening scene of which reveals Odysseus captive on Calypso Island, and then backtracks to the beginning of his journey, circling back to this event in chronological order. It’s Paradise Lost, the epic which unfolds out of a fallen angel’s monologue in the lake of fire at the end of the world. It’s William Faulkner’s The Sound and the Fury, which startlingly begins, “Through the fence, between the curling flower spaces, I could see them hitting.” 17 syllables, and we are hooked.

In writing, in media res is refined literary technique. In living, it is often brute survival.

In her eulogy for Steve Jobs, novelist and English professor Mona Simpson said, “We all—in the end—die in media res. In the middle of a story. Of many stories.” We do not get to choose when we are first thrust into time and when our bodies finally allow us to transcend it. Time is a fine wire, and the best any mortal can do is walk until we reach the end.

Perhaps this is why we love stories. Finite beginnings, middles, and ends are comfort to us in our messy, middled lives. “Once upon a time” is a sweet assurance. Conclusions are a luxury, affording relief, when reality is rarely so clean, so seamless. They give us bearings in an uncertain landscape, anchors to cling to during our incalculable days.

It is human nature to fear the middle, because we fear that it might really mean that we are lost. So we punctuate our lives with ceremony, to make sense of our lives just as chapters bring order to our favorite stories, commemorating first days of school and sweet 16s, graduations and marriages, retirements and funerals. We crave sequence and significance, celebrating new beginnings and honoring noble ends.

But our ticking anxieties can take heart; there is a sequence that is sure. There is a beginning and end that is not fiction, because God became like us, the Alpha and the Omega stooping to our mortal state and entering the world, like we, in media res. He met us in the middle of time, an infant god who interrupted our human hours, to rescue us into His eternity.

And then He taught us a new way to live in media res. He taught us to live, as some say, in the already/not-yet, the thread of our lives knotted taut between two kingdoms. Eden and Heaven. The resurrection of One and the resurrection of many. We still live and die in the middle of our stories, but in the meantime, in the midst, we walk not in fear but in courage—orienting our hours to His coming Kingdom, and walking confidently forward.

If you haven’t, I invite you to read Preston’s short story, David’s creative non-fiction, and to chime in with your thoughts on all! 

In Media Res: A Blog Conversation Part I

Something exciting is underway! I’m privileged to take part in a 3-part series this week with gifted writers Preston and David, as we three explore what it means to live in media res–in the middle.

I’ll let Preston explain in his intro below, and we invite you to follow us this week hearing from Preston today, David tomorrow, and your truly on Wednesday, and join the dialogue!

I am thrilled–and a little nervous to try and explain–to announce a blog collaboration between DavidStephanie, and myself.

A handful of weeks ago, David and Stephanie came up with the unique idea for all of us to blog together within our respective genres, to tackle some issue or idea through the varying lens we love. And here we are. Fiction for me, narrative nonfiction for David, and meditative essay for Stephanie.

We settled on the moving words of English professor and novelist Mona Simpson in her eulogy for Steve Jobs. “We all — in the end — die in medias res. In the middle of a story. Of many stories.”

As this concerns fiction, this was particularly hard to grapple with. Moreover, it being a reflection on life and writing. As for life, you’ll find it here. As for writing, I’m not sure. The story doesn’t address writing, but it addresses the act. For this story came together quickly, spilled out quickly, and is now not simply incarnate on the screen in front of you but is, in a cruel irony, somewhat dead itself. Of all my stories thus far, I both love this one and its potential the most and, at the same time, feel that it’s not quite ready or quite done. But it’s midnight and the deadline is here, the “Publish” button must be pressed, and in a sense the story of my story ends in the middle, ends before it’s ready to be.

And, as this story illustrates, that is the fearsome point.

As always, there’s some Scripture floating around in this. The names matter. I suppose that’s enough said on it for now. Tomorrow, I shall direct you to the words of David. Come Wednesday, Stephanie. But for now …

Click here to read Part I of A Blog Conversation In Media Res on Preston’s blog, a story titled “In the Valley of Elah”

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