Five Minute Friday: Write (Take 2)

The thing about writing is that at some point somebody's going to want to read it.
-Lisa Jo Baker

I can't remember a time without this passion, this drive.  A child, too innocent and ignorant to do anything but surrender to it.  An adult, too unsure to even acknowledge it.

So I put away childhood dreams and entered adulthood with this passion awkwardly beside me.  It straining around and around, me craning my neck further and further away.  I ignored it, but we both knew I knew it was there. 

It kept pecking on my shoulder and I kept pretending like I didn't feel a thing.

I was afraid to write.  Because who will read my words?  Who would see my heart laid bare?  I don't know.  Once on paper they could get to anyone.  Far too dangerous a risk for me.

And that was life.

Until I began to write for a living.  And hiding behind others' names and agency titles, I was free to let words flow anonymously.  Mine, but not really and I got to practice my craft.  And the passion grew and burned and became an overpowering flame.

And still these days, my page stays mostly blank.

[That's five minutes, but I'm going to continue...]

Fingers hovered above a keyboard, trembling.  Still afraid to write.  Because who will read my words? 

A different question than before.  No longer how can I keep them hidden, but now how can I see them exposed?  Flung into the world, will they even be relevant, significant at all?  I don't know.  And that makes exhausting work harder and leaves it undone.

But I am reminded that I am not the one in charge.  That there is One who is author, editor, publisher, reader.  That these words inside should be let out and entrusted to Him.  That the words I saw a girl today, legs stretched out, and a man hunched over her feet, shining her boots will rattle around until I release them.  And I only need to let them go, not worry who will receive them.

Because I know He read my words when they were written just on my heart.  And world aside, He reads what I write today.  And writing for an audience of One is more than enough for me.

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Read my first take on the Write prompt here.

Lisa Jo Baker invites bloggers to freewrite for five minutes each week on specific prompts. And then to share with the world what's on the page when the buzzer sounds. Learn more about this anxiety-inducing freewrite flashmob here.

Five Minute Friday: Write

This calling to lay down words is a holy wonder.
-Tonya Salomons, Stone to Heart






Write.

But the words won't come.  The deadline looms and the words aren't there.  The ones forced out just aren't right.  The silent buzzer sounds and I must surrender what I have.  Defeated. 

And then the words flood and gush and overwhelm.  Mostly still not right but at least there.  Present and accounted for.  And I can find strange comfort in the clacking of keys.  Something is better than nothing.  This is what I tell myself.

I've been writing -- crafting stories committed to paper -- for more than two decades now.  I only -- reluctantly, half-heartedly -- accepted the title of writer two years ago.  And it still feels like a ruse.  I still feel like a pretender.  Not really real.

And I wonder when I will ever feel powerful over the blankness.  When I will ever approach blank white in control.  Maybe not ever.  I will always be a servant to words, humbly arranging them and offering them timidly.  Breathlessly.

I write them.  Move them around.  Delete them.  Hurl them.  Fling them.  Caress them.  I hold them in and pull them out.  The words are good enough never.  Except for those few glimmering moments when they are.  When brilliance comes from heaven and I get to be a witness.

And so I write and wrestle and wait for brilliance to come.  Never knowing when it will arrive, never knowing when it will leave.

It's hell writing, but it's hell not writing. The only tolerable state is just having written.
-Robert Hass
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Lisa Jo Baker invites bloggers to freewrite for five minutes each week on specific prompts. And then to share with the world what's on the page when the buzzer sounds. Learn more about this anxiety-inducing freewrite flashmob here.

My disclaimer: My five minutes is approximate.  And while I only write for those five(ish) minutes, I do an unaccounted-for number of minutes reflecting beforehand.  And very much against the rules, I edit after.  I always edit.

Five Minute Friday: Mercy

        O give thanks unto the Lord; for he is good: for his mercy endureth forever.
O give thanks unto the God of gods: for his mercy endureth forever.
        O give thanks unto the Lord of lords: for his mercy endureth forever.
To him who alone doeth great wonders: for his mercy endureth forever.
       To him that by wisdom made the heavens: for his mercy endureth forever.
To him that stretched out the earth above the waters: for his mercy endureth forever.
        Who remembered us in our low estate: for his mercy endureth forever.
And hath redeemed us from our enemies: for his mercy endureth forever.
        O give thanks unto the God of heaven: for his mercy endureth forever.
-Psalm 136: 1-6, 23-26


Mercy is the cross and the price that was paid.
Mercy is sunshine and warmth when the world is falling apart.
Mercy is being held through the storm.  And being held even when I fight against it.
Mercy is patience and patience and patience. Overwhelming, awe-inspiring patience.
Mercy is not getting what they deserve.  Or what I deserve.
Mercy is love despite everything. Acceptance even though.
Mercy is the money to pay the electric bill.
Mercy is a piece of chocolate.
Mercy is decadence and simplicity.
Mercy is a night out.  A day in.  A job and time off from it.
Mercy is people and solitude.
Mercy is peace when it is unexpected.  Peace that is indescribable.
Mercy is a book and a cup of tea. 
Mercy is snow and fluffy clouds and flowers blooming.  The mountains and the oceans.  A harvest and blessings when there is no harvest.
Mercy is deliverance.  Unbelievable and unmerited.  Beautiful, sweet safety from what should have been.
Mercy is better than expected.  Wonderful, knock-you-off-your-feet surprises, packaged perfectly.
Mercy is always and forever.
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Lisa Jo Baker invites bloggers to freewrite for five minutes each week on specific prompts. And then to share with the world what's on the page when the buzzer sounds. Learn more about this anxiety-inducing freewrite flashmob here.

Five Minute Friday: Red

Writing is an act of faith, not a trick of grammar.
-EB White

Every word I commit to paper or screen for public consumption feels like an overwhelming act of faith these days.

Which may be why my first thoughts on the "Red" prompt quickly led to the temptation of just writing privately or differently or for more than five minutes.

I have always loved the color red.  As a child, I would have told you it was my favorite of all the colors.  I painted my dresser drawers red.  I commissioned a red blanket and red curtains from my mother, talented with creating things from cloth.  I surrounded myself with more red than most people thought prudent.  I just thought it was beautiful.

I still appreciate the color red.  Now, only more from a distance.  I made curtains myself this week for my kitchen.  In JoAnn's Fabric down on my knees, surveying bolts before me, of my narrowed-down selection I ultimately chose the fabric with the most red flowers. 

All these years.  Red.  Still bringing a sense of joy, happiness, reassurance.

That's five minutes.  I've decided to stop there.

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Lisa Jo Baker invites bloggers to freewrite for five minutes each week on specific prompts. And then to share with the world what's on the page when the buzzer sounds. Learn more about this anxiety-inducing freewrite flashmob here.

Five Minute Friday: Story

How we offer our words and inside bits and pieces of our lives.  Trusting that they will lay themselves down one plank at a time, to build a bridge for friendship and understanding to walk across.

-Lisa Jo Baker


I love stories for the power they bestow.  To the reader, yes.  But especially to the writer.

I cannot control many of the things that happen in my life.  But I can control the stories I tell.  I decide my words, my audience.  I choose everything about my stories.  What is important, what gets elevated.

Like the description of the blue of the sky.  And how it frames white, fluffy clouds.  The warm sun shining down.  Two birds communicating a message never to be deciphered by human ears.  And the sound of the soft breeze on the hilltop carrying a stray strand of hair gently back with it.  Flowers bloomed and spilling over.  Quintessential Kentucky spring afternoon perfection bringing a message of love from above.  Affirmation of hope.  A promise of beautiful, better things to come.

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Lisa Jo Baker invites bloggers to freewrite for five minutes each week on specific prompts.  And then to share with the world what's on the page when the buzzer sounds.  Learn more about this anxiety-inducing freewrite flashmob here.