C. S. Lewis said, “Write about what really interests you, whether it is real things or imaginary things, and nothing else. (Notice this means that if you are interested only in writing you will never be a writer, because you will have nothing to write about…)
Writing is definitely not for sissies! But, if it is what you were born to do? What choice do you have?
I believe joy and destiny walk together.
I also think that this business of destiny is often like an illusive butterfly. If you chase it? You will find yourself running up and down many dead-ends and blind alleys.
But, if you stand still?
If you wait for The Author of Life and listen to His call?
Ah, then, destiny may float down and land softly on you!
That is how becoming a writer was for me.
I did not set out to become “a writer.”
On the contrary, I remember the day I purchased my first blank journal. I was at my bursting point with frustration. I was desperate! I needed a healthy way to channel all my pent-up energy.
So I bought myself a pretty, flowery collection of blank pages… (I had no idea what I was going to do with them.) I just began pouring out all that frustration and confusion, figuring that if I dumped it onto the blank page?
I just might find some kind of blessed release.
And so I wrote, and wrote… and wrote!
And I did feel better!
For years I “wrote” my questions, my confusion, my hopes and dreams—finding in the writing—a way to peace of mind and heart.
I still had no idea of becoming a writer. (Are you kidding?) That was for the elite brainiacs! The confident verbose. The royally educated. Me? I was just looking for a way to keep a healthy hold on my sanity.
Then, one day I got it!
I had been writing for ten years and I had filled a trunk full of journals.
A kind of wonder came floating down filling me with this deep sense of joy and purpose.
And I marveled, “So this is destiny?”