Glimpses

where I spend my days...

I've tried for days to think of something thought-provoking, or inspirational, or - hey - just funny, to share with you. Nothing. Nada. Not. a. thing.

"I got nothing." (More on this atrocious yet humorous use of the English language in a future post.)

Whoa! Did I actually just say I already had material for another post? Maybe my dry spell is about to end just as I'm about to admit that my creative flow must have taken a very hasty and unplanned vacation because I've had nothing of substance to offer.

So - it it's okay - I'll just share the trivial, yet meaningful. How's that for a compromise?

Last August I blogged about writing spaces. I interviewed and collected pics of office photos from twelve of my writing friends and posted them, secretly getting a thrill out of "seeing" where all the inspiration takes place.

Fast forward to the present and I'm now sitting in my newly put-together office, tucked away in a corner bedroom of our new house. Now since I've always officed out of our bedroom, you may be wondering why THIS room rates blog-worthiness. Well - for starters - there is no BED in here!

It is an honest-to-goodness, office-only, writing space. For me. Just me.

 

To say that I'm loving this space would be a HUGE understatement but, because this is a blog and because I'm currently suffering from proper word retrieval, let's just say that...I'm lovin' it! During the daytime, natural sunlight filters in, bathing the room in a soft, almost translucent, light. And at night, my many lamps lend a homey, cheerful place that my son and his friends enjoy hanging out in.

Ooops. That's right, it's suppose to be MY space, right? But I have to say that I love having my family get as much enjoyment from it as I do. Even if that does mean that Jorge and his pals take over my computer, desk, and guest chairs many evenings!

While I write, or email, or do research, or pay bills, I am completely surrounded by things that inspire me. Photos of my family. My journal that my friend, Bonnie, made for me. A Kristin Schobert original painting. And books. Lots and lots and lots of...books! But one very special one, The Greatest Salesman in the World, has a place of prominence on my desk, where it is always very visible to me.

And there you have it. The 5 cent tour of the office of Staci Wilder. Just as soon as my scrapbook work station is set up in one corner of the room, I'll be live with pics and pans from there as well.

Until then...or until something creative decides to give me another chance, I'm signing off and going to grab a Diet Coke. 

Toodles, y'all.

The sound of silence...golden? Or just lonely?

The person who seeks all their applause from outside has their happiness in another's keeping."
---Claudius Claudianus, Egyptian Latin Poet
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Writing is a solitary occupation.

On my writing days, many times I'll go for hours at a time without any real verbal communication. From the time I sit down at my desk with a steaming mug of coffee around 8:00 a.m. until I finally tie up loose ends around 3 or so, I am alone.

Although I talk - basically all day.

Or maybe I should say I listen.

I listen to Ella and to Luke...to Emma, Jackson...to Reggie...And - right now - to Faith and Marshall.

My characters constantly whisper in my ear, their animated conversations reverberating through the hallways of my mind, playing on the front porch of my conscience. They smile, they cry,they shout, and call for me, always urging me to stay around and hear what they have to say.

Is it any wonder then that on some evenings my family glances at me in curiosity, wondering if I'm okay. "Why are you so quiet tonight?"

I'm a talker by nature, a full-fledged communicator, and they know this. And yet, for these few moments I crave the silence, the peace of just...being.

I shrug. "I don't know...I guess I've used up all my words for today."

It's at that moment that I realize something. In the process of my work day I had spent six hours at the computer - hearing, feeling, seeing - a kaleidoscope of emotions, all played out on the big screen of my mind.

I've said it all.

I've heard it all.

I've felt it all.

It's time to recharge.

And how do I do this?

Solitude.

Some folks recharge their depleted proverbial batteries by losing themselves in a crowd of people. They draw a much needed jolt from the energy that is radiated off others. Though they may enter the room exhausted, this type of person will leave at the end of the night renewed, invigorated.

And then there's folks like me.

Put me in a quiet room, dim the lights, turn on some soft music, and close the door. It's only then that I begin to feel like myself again. The noise around me and inside me becomes muted, raw emotion loses its ragged edge, and calm begins to seep through the pores of my skin. Bit by bit, minute by minute, I'm infused with regenerated inspiration, renewed enthusiasm, and optimism that but a short while ago seemed all but impossible.

It's in those times, those moments of solitude, that I hear the voice of God the clearest. In my vulnerable state I'm at the very place where His gentle probing and prompting can make its way with ease through my soul.

Once again I feel the tingles of inspiration.

I see with clarity the plan He has for me.

And I listen with bated breath as He whispers encouragement to a soul that has grown parched and weary throughout the day.

It's as close to heaven as I've come, and I've learned to look forward to these times of solitude. For me, being alone is the farthest thing from lonliness. Instead, it's where I draw fresh strength, examine weaknesses, and learn the things about me that only He can teach.

Do you hear that...?

...the sound of silence calling to you?

It's golden.

Introspections

When I started this blog, the intention was to give tiny glimpses into a writer's mind. Not necessarily a writer's life. 'Cause let's face it. The writing life - most days - isn't that grand! Instead, it's a lonely road, one you want to detour from often, just so you can *see* folks again. Feel connected to the real world.

That's on most days.

But then - quite unexepectedly - comes that morning when you wake up, your blood pumping just a bit quicker, your heart fluttering with excitement, nerves calm, fingers itching for the keyboard, your soul full to overflowing.

Fresh annointing.

A renewed one-on-one connection with God. The assurance that you're on the exact path He has laid for you. The certainty that the stories on your heart - the ones that won't leave you alone at night, even hours after you've logged off the computer - are the ones you're meant to write.

You, and you alone.

Those mornings, those days - as rare as they sometimes seem - are worth everything.

Worth every hour I spend staring at the blank page, certain I'll never come up with another intelligent, inspired sentence again. Let alone a whole book of them.

Worth every hour I shut myself into my office space, refusing to free myself from my self-imposed prison until I achieve my daily word count.

Worth every rejection I receive from well-meaning publishers, who love my writing (okay) but "don't see your stories fitting the direction we plan to go at this point."

It's all worth it. And the reason for it seems so simple on those rare mornings.

I've found favor with my Maker. I'm doing the very thing He's asked of me. I'm writing, and I'm writing the stories, the characters, the events He lays on my heart, imbeds in my conscience, and pierces through my soul.

I'm content in obedience.

Thank you, Lord, for this call to write. Thank you for the privilege of having days free to pursue this calling. Thank you for trusting me - ME - to tell stories that, in faith, will one day minister to specific needs in the lives of people I've never met.

I love being a writer.

Today.