Since I began my project of writing a book, I have noticed that there are many people who are trying to do the same. One of my favorite books when I was growing up was called The First Man on the Moon. I read it over and over and dreamed what it would be like when I was the first man on the moon. I read about certain activities that the astronauts would practice, including being on a machine that turned round and round. I thought being an astronaut was in my future, but the problem was I got dizzy on a merry go round. At some level I knew my aspirations fell short of my abilities. I feel that way about writing a book. But aren’t all the cool kids doing it?
Evidently they are. I have noticed that both Google and Facebook have discovered my desire and the ads that fill both have to do with the newest, shiniest online course that claim to “help you become a best-selling author.” I admit that when one of my favorite non-fiction author recommended a seminar, I clicked on the ad.
The temptation to shell out the 25 dollars a month is palpable. It is the magic pill approach. Maybe there is gnostic, hidden approach that will help the neophyte author discover her voice and produce a product people will stand in line to read. Of course, if there were such a secret method, there will soon be thousands of best-selling authors.
Both writing and story-telling have always come easy to me. I like to both. I enjoy either going back to a time when something happened, or sharing a story that emerges in my imagination. I like the challenge of going beyond the details and discover the smells, taste the food and pay attention to the details that surround me as I experience the stories as they unfold. I find two-dimensional writing that simply describes “this happened and then this happened” to be unfulfilling. It’s like the difference between a five course meal and a cheeseburger, French fries and a Coke, even if it’s supersized.
I find it pretentious and empty to seek to become a “best-selling author.” I have no interest in that. That is not why I feel compelled to write, including this blog that you are reading. It is not that I don’t think I have anything to say. I do. But the purpose is not to sell books but to get the stories out of my head, on to paper, and in the process, sleep better at night. If they are helpful to others, then I will be pleased. But there are songs in my head that need expression. I write in order to find peace.
Sometimes songs are happy and bright and other times they are filled with pathos and darkness. My heart connects to both. I can put a song on repeat as it fells my heart with emotions. I do this with books as well. If it made a difference in my life or worldview or faith, I keep it. Pulling it out of my bookshelf and re-reading it in entirety or just small segments, can bring to life the original help that it brought me and sometimes teaches me something it did not the first time. That is my hope. Once written, I will not simply place it on a dusty bookshelf but bring it out on a regular basis to hear the song sung again. That’s why I write. Ultimately it is rather self-serving. I am not trying to sell my story, but simply to tell it.
So I will save my 25 dollars a month and just write. My first book is already finding expression and it feels good to get the song out of my heart and head and sing it.
Until next time,
DP