To my fellow Faithful Creatives:
When I think of people who inspire me, I realize I am not easily moved. I've never been drawn to Katniss-like characters or the powerful strength of superheroes. I am inspired by people who have lived real, gritty lives plagued by obstacles and years and years of hard work—by people who have held on, tooth and nail, to a dream that is much bigger than they are. Recently, I read Brian Houston's LIVE LOVE LEAD, and I am deeply moved by his pioneer spirit and his devotion to seeing God's vision realized in Australia and across the world.
Following up that fantastic read was a sermon by Christine Caine that focused on endurance and how it took her nearly 30 years to grow her ministry. Hillsong, too, has been growing for that long.
I'm entering the new year with an ending of a season, and I don't just mean the literal definition of season. It has been a season of great heartache and one I wondered many nights if I'd ever recover from. Perhaps you're walking through the same season. If you are, know that you're not alone. There are many of us scattered amongst your life, and it's highly probable that you may not even know who we are. Broken people are everywhere in our lives, but O how we’ve gotten really skilled at perfecting our masks and pretending.
So allow the writer in me to get real, raw.
Last year, I met a sweet and talented writer who didn't do anything “by the book” in industry terms but somehow landed a major book contract before having written the whole book or even finding an agent. Not to mention, she landed this miracle with her first attempt at writing a book. I know, right?! At that point, I had done everything I knew to do to be in her shoes, and yet I wasn't. She, and everyone else—or so it felt—still looked at me as an inexperienced writer. She treated me that way as she went on with her spiel about not giving up. I struggled to hear her out with a smile, because my heart was screaming, "Who are you to tell me about not giving up, about what’s meant to be, and about the importance of timing?" I couldn’t help but wonder how this sweet lovely well-meaning lady could teach me anything about perseverance. I had wrote more books than her, pursued this career for longer, and had been working towards this dream that she’d already obtained for seven years (at that point). And then when she said, "I never even wanted to be a writer," the dagger that she'd been unknowingly stabbing me with for twenty minutes served its fatal blow. I didn't tell her all my writing credentials or the fact that at the time I was training to be a literary agent. I didn't say anything. Mostly because I couldn't. I was literally afraid to open my mouth, scared all that was going through my mind might spill out. I simply smiled and walked away feeling more defeated and minimized than I’d ever felt before.
I wanted to give up. After all, maybe she was right in her thinking. When I’m good enough, it’ll happen. Just like it did for her and for others.
The enemy almost had me fooled this year. I have thought about that well-intentioned but crippling conversation these past twelve months, and I still struggle to be okay about it. The short of it is this: Whatever my purpose, whatever God's perfect will is in my life, now is not the time. He is building my endurance, strengthening my muscle, and equipping me to run the race before me. That's why I don't connect to people who have had easy journeys. I'm inspired by people who are fighters, relentless in their pursuit of dreams. Visionaries who kept going when they felt like giving up and who moved forward because they didn't know how to stop.
I don't know how to give up writing. I have often wished God gave me an easier dream, one that wouldn't hurt so much, but the greatest works ever done we're completed outside of comfort and inside of radical.
You have not given me into the hands of the enemy but have set my feet in a spacious place. - Psalm 31:8
I want a grand, free spacious life, but I've also always wanted it to be simple and quiet. Both desires have been hard to obtain in my current walk, but God is teaching me more and more about how my passion for both is actually obtainable if I choose to simply follow, trust, and most of all, just be me.
5 Tiny Steps to Moving Forward
1.) Don’t look around. Comparison leads to death. Dreams die when they stand next to giants. So do we. Our smallness and insignificance become the loud voices that rule our lives and defeat us before the enemy even has the chance.
2.) Savor humble beginnings. “Do not despise these small beginnings, for the Lord rejoices to see the work begin…” Zachariah 4:10. I am reminded of this verse and it's importance. I've been missing the joy in my humble beginnings because of my desire to get to year 30—the fulfillment of a dream. But it's the time leading to that fulfillment that gives us our story, our testimony, and our relevance.
3.) Don't take it so seriously. It's hard for dreamers to not take their big, still small, dream seriously. We are committed to it, after all. Wholly devoted to what moves us. I write books, fantasy ones mostly. They're fun, and I still try to include some applicable wisdom of life in them. But they’re still only stories, meant to make days more enjoyable, not change the world. I want to give light, hope, and magic to my readers, but I must keep in mind the weight of their importance in the world. Not to diminish the years of work involved and the skill to create them, no. I only mean to keep myself grounded in truth. My real contribution to the world is a life lived for Him.
4.) Let it go. We must lose our life to save it. We have zero control of our creative careers. Artists face a unique challenge. No matter how hard we work, work does not equal success. It's one of the rare instances in the world where reaping and sowing do not equate. I have known many writers who are like me, in the trenches for years and years, while others have quick success. There's no rhyme or reason that our mortal minds can make sense of, but His ways are not our ways. We are completely subject to His plan. In order to live fully and happily, we must learn to let our dreams go and rely on hope, while staying committed to being content with the present.
5.) Don't be afraid to cry out for mercy. There is more than one entry in my prayer journal entitled Mercy. When I was a kid, my parents liked the tickle bug. They'd tickle and tickle until my brother and I would be gasping for breath between giggles. Remember that feeling? Minus the happy laughter and fun, that's what I feel like sometimes—a helpless kid crying out for mercy in a moment when I cannot control anything. Lord, I'm desperately gasping for breath. Plant me on solid ground, teach my feet to follow only after you, and guide me to abundant life. Rid me of my desperation, insecurity, brokenness, and discontent. Lord, please. Mercy.
Hope is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. - Hebrews 11:1
God has put my feet in a spacious place for this season, maybe forever.
While that grand, big spacious place can feel lonely and overwhelming, not knowing where to go from here, I am also reminded how free it is to be standing here—just God and I staring into the clouds, dreaming a dream, telling stories, and planning a hopeful future, however impossible it may seem.
God has tied my heart to a dream that I love and that sets my soul on fire when I stop trying to define success in the world's terms. Words are—have always been—my safe place. I will no longer allow words to be used as anything else.
As for the writer who tried to share encouraging words, I know her heart was pure and kind. She simply doesn't know or understand my journey, and that's okay. If you've had relatively quick success in your profession, that's wonderful. A blessing. You've been spared. And I imagine you have a strong testimony in another avenue of your life.
That's yet another blessing in this journey: I never had a strong testimony in my personal life. I've been spared in that regard, but God is revealing to me more and more that my writing career will be how He reveals Himself in my life as He molds a better character into me.
This is my trial, my season, my cross to bear. For now and maybe forever. But in thanksgiving I will walk forward, continuing to tell my stories without focusing on anything other than the joy of just creating. In this I will be faithful, even on difficult days and through gut-wrenching conversations.
I will keep walking. Keep writing. Keep believing. Won't you join me? If you feel that you're tied to a dead-end dream, take my hand. We'll get through it together, keeping in community with other likeminded warriors is important. You are my people. God made no mistake when He made me or you, and it was no mistake when He planted this dream in our hearts. May we enjoy our season. It will never be here again, and someday in the far, distant future we will look back and see His purpose in our pain and how it molded a future that surpassed anything we could have ever dreamed, even with our wild imaginations.
A Forever Faithful Creative
First, allow me to share a universal professional truth with you and the world: Agents get rejections too. Many agents also have writing aspirations of their own. They entered this industry as a way to help people reach their dreams because they understand how hard it is to maintain a professional writing career alone. They long to be a part of your process, a helping hand on your journey. But writing agents, like me, also have to manage their own dreams.
There are no favorites in publishing. It's all about the book. Is it marketable? Will there be a high chance for success? Does the author have a strong platform?
It's hard. Hard for us on both sides. For me personally, I feel the sting of rejection every time one of my clients receives one. Ouch. I really had high hopes for that one. On top of that, I receive rejections on my own books. Almost daily, negativity whispers, "Just give up." Sometimes that voice seeps into our very being, crippling our ability to feel brave.
I visited my beautiful cousin, whom I rarely see, the other day. She has been managing a popular makeup store for many years, and she gifted me with some products. I found myself asking her advice on application. It felt like we were teenagers again, sitting on the bed playing with makeup. She gave me two bright colored lipsticks. If you know me, you know that I don't wear a lot of makeup and certainly not lipstick. I usually use a tinted lip balm, but as I held those lovely colors in my hand, I confessed to her and to myself that I've never been brave enough to wear bright lipstick. I love it on other people, but every time I've ever tried, I always felt like a fraud. Like it doesn't belong on me. I can't pull off that type of BRAVE.
Somewhere along the line, I've bought into the lie that I'm not capable of succeeding with my own writing efforts. I have always found it easy to be someone else's champion, fighting relentlessly for my clients and for works of other people, but when it comes to my own, I'm timid and unsure. I'm slightly tinted lip balm when I want to be bright, beautiful, confident lipstick.
So, today, when I was feeling especially un-fierce, I painted it on. My first step to feeling brave.
Regain Your Fierce
Next time you're feeling stuck in the pit of rejection, remember the millions of amazing people who are standing next to you. Every single successful person you've ever known has stood in your shoes. Want to know what success looks like? It looks like a road paved with rejection letters that ends with your destiny. Every "no" is one more step towards your "yes."
Take a step with me? I promise to hold you up, should you stumble, if you'll promise to do the same. We're all in this together--from every aspect of the industry.
Breathe some life-giving words into someone today. ❤
This is a tough topic, but one I feel strongly about. I recently attended a wonderful well-known Christian conference. I loved everything about it. The people were warm and friendly. There were lots of hugs and words of encouragement, and everyone wanted to help each other succeed. It was a breath of fresh air, for me.
But I dreaded something about every conversation. That inevitable question that makes believers who write for a secular market cringe: "So what do you write?"
When I say, "fantasy" I get that questioning look, AND when I throw in the words "for a secular market" it's like I've committed a sin right in front of their very eyes. Given, my interpretation may be totally off, but that's what it felt like. I felt like I didn't belong. Like I was too worldly for these amazing people, whom I really connected with and understood and who actually, without them really knowing it, understood me. My soul.
It's been a few months since I left that conference, but I haven't been able to stop thinking about that feeling. I'm convinced that there are many other writers like me who have been confronted with this:
If God gives you a gift, you should use it for His purpose.
kI've done a lot of soul searching on this idea, and though this may not align with everyone's beliefs, it has kept me writing and growing closer to the Creator who inspires everything.
Let me tell you a secret: YOU ARE USING YOUR GIFT FOR HIS PURPOSE.
Our work may not overtly mention faith or God, but it does have His truth intermingled in the way our characters interact and the moral throughout. I dare say some good vs. evil is probably in there too, and maybe you even use magic as a catalyst! Uh-oh. It's okay. You shouldn't feel guilty about how God has inspired your writing. He is the creator of entertainment, even yours! He loves His children to explore their imaginations, and for a brief time, catch a glimmer of what it's like to be Him--the ultimate creative.
Secular Christian writers, allow me to speak to your soul for a minute. The same soul that has been tossed to and fro because of the hurtful words of others or the pressure to write only faith-based works when your heart pulls you to other endeavors. You're joining the greats, like J.R.R. Tolkien. You are expressing yourself through art. That's what artists do. If there's an element of Truth and Hope there, you have succeeded in using your gift for His purpose. You are going to the highways and hedges to reach the unchurched. Is that not what the Great Commission is all about?
There will always be well-meaning people who will question why you write what you write, but give them grace. They don't understand your purpose like you do.
In the beginning was the word... God uses words, and He'll use yours. Be encouraged, my friends. So long as you're drawing closer to Him and relying on His inspirations, you are fulfilling His will in your life.
So, for heaven's sake, go write something.
There once was a seed planted deep in the depths of my young mind by a wrinkly one whom I loved. She whispered and nurtured it throughout her days until she fell asleep and could no longer. At first, I thought it dead, but bit by bit it recovered from its dormant phase and sprouted ever so tiny tendrils of thoughts that stretched and wove from there to the paper.
Years flew by like a quick wind, sorely felt and never seen.
Once upon a pair of eyes found that tiny tidbit and coddled it. Those eyes saw something I didn't realize I put there and watered the seed a little more. The more water it received, the more it stirred and created until hundreds of tiny somethings flittered across my desk. With every kind eye, the seed mulled itself into a thousand bitty dandelion fluffs that then scattered themselves across every cranny of my inner being until it finally burst forth like its own being, leaving me surrendering and at its mercy.
I always thought childhood was the time for magic. It turns out magic matures as it's nurtured with age.
She's tiny with tight blonde curls that hug her pink, round cheeks, and she's petite, wearing a flowing white summer dress. Peach lipped, curt at times, with moods that change faster than Southern weather. She bounces between admiration and cursing. She's fiery like a dragon one minute and prim as a mint julep the next. I don't know what to make of her. I'm almost scared to be in her presence. I don't talk much for fear that she'll use something I say against me. What if she decides not to come back? How will I finish the next scene?
There she is, flitting through the room, her teeny wings beating so fast they're invisible.
I turn away and keep my eyes directed to the computer screen, trying desperately to never make eye contact.
She's silent, probably still brewing from our last encounter when I demanded too much, or so she said. I only wanted a few hundred more words. Was that too much to ask from the ONE who's supposed to give them?
My fingers hover over the keyboard, anticipating her words before they ever touch the air.
"Any day now," I sass, without thought and instantly regret it. I glance up, half expecting her to not be there and having left again before giving me anything. But she's sitting on my desk, her porcelain legs swinging daintily off the edge.
I hate when she's like this.
She lets out a long sigh and glances at me from the corner of her eye.
"What's in it for me?" she finally says, breaking the silence and my patience.
"This is your job. I'm starting to wonder what's in it for me!" I push the keyboard away and fold my arms across my chest. This is war. She knows it; I know it.
"Don't squish your face like that. You're getting hideous wrinkles," she says in a condescending, motherly tone.
I feel the anger rise and flush my cheeks. I imagine her spontaneously combusting. POOF.
"We don't have time for this, Poppy. I need to work. Now where were we? Maggie makes her way to the store where the shopkeeper tells her an intriguing bit of information that's pivotal to the plot..." I prompt, deciding to push away my frustration in hopes of salvaging the day.
"Tisk. Tisk. Tisk." A wicked smile stretches across her doll face. "I think, I'm tired. I'll be back later...sometime." She stands up, smooths the wrinkles from her dress, and prepares to fly off.
"Like when? Midnight? When I'm driving down the street? O, how about when I'm sleeping at 3am? No, no, no. You're not going anywhere, missy." Overwhelmed with animosity, I grab her tiny body in my fist.
"What are you doing?" she demands.
I'd never touched her before. I've always found her intimidating and domineering, but now, with her teeny body in my hand, I feel strong. I squeeze a little and feel her squirm in my fingers.
"Ow! You're hurting me!"
Now I am the one wickedly smiling. Something like rage creeps its way into my heart and wraps its evil intentions around the arteries, pumping it through my veins and into my mind.
"I don't need you," I tell her, finally realizing the truth that'd been there all along.
"Yes, you do. You can't write without me! You don't know what happens next!" Her pretty face turns desperate.
"Actually, I think I do." Scenes flash before me like a movie reel. My characters act out the elusive plot. I squeeze tighter. "I think we're done, Poppy."
"We're not! You can't!" she pleads.
I close my eyes and squeeze until I feel her go limp, and then squeeze even more until I feel nothing. I open my palm to see that it's empty. No trace of the the being who had taunted my life for all these years.
I focus on the scenes again. Maggie and the shopkeeper, the action, the dialogue. Without intention, my fingers dance across the keyboard forming words, sentences, paragraphs, PAGES without her!
When I think of Poppy now, I still find myself smiling. I'd believed a lie. I never needed to wait on her to give me the story. It was in me all along. All I needed to do was sit and type.
I'm glad I killed the imposter.
Vanessa K. Eccles
Sharing wisdom on living a creative life.
Author of FABLED (2015) / Founder of The Faithful Creative Magazine / Executive Editor of Belle Reve Literary Journal
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