Michelle DeRusha

Every Day Faith. Faith Every Day.

writing

How to Value the Season You’re In

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My last official blog post here was June 7 – a little more than three months ago (I admit, I cheated a bit on my hiatus and posted the pieces I wrote for the Journal Star in June, July and August). It was a good and necessary break – even more necessary than I initially anticipated, as it turns out, because…

…I am writing another book…two, in fact! This past spring I signed a two-book contract with Baker Books — one for non-fiction and the second for an “Undetermined” Biography/History. I admit, before I signed my name, it made my heart nearly cease beating to realize I was committing to write my fourth and fifth books. Somehow embarking on books four and five makes the whole business of being an author feel very real. I think because my first three books weren’t knock-it-out-of-the-park best-sellers I didn’t really consider myself a legit author, which I realize is the most ridiculous thing ever, but there you go…sometimes we are our own worst enemies.

Suffice to say, I slogged through a few thousand words or so of book one this summer, and let me say, for the record, it was a S.L.O.G. I am super excited about this book. It’s something I have been thinking about and living into for at least the last two years (and I see hints of it in my journals even longer than that). This is a book of my heart. BUT…that doesn’t mean it’s always going to come easily.

Which leads me to my next point. A few nights ago I told a friend, “I failed at summer.” When she asked me what exactly I meant by that, I explained that for most of the summer, rather than accepting the different rhythms and routines (or lack thereof) of the season, I pushed hard against what I saw as summer’s limitations. I tried to force the season to be something else, something it wasn’t meant to be. For the entire eleven weeks of summer, I never stopped trying to force it. It was, in a word, exhausting.

While I knew going into it that a new part-time job and two teen/pre-teen boys and a husband home for the summer would seriously limit my capacity for the deep, creative work of book-writing, in the end, I refused to go with the flow of the season and embrace its freedom and gifts. Instead, I pushed, pushed, pushed against it with all my might. As a result, I was not only hugely unproductive, I was also constantly frustrated, resentful, and generally a giant pill to be around. I was like the Peanuts character Pig Pen, except instead of a cloud of dirt hovering around me, I emanated doomsday despair and negativity with a heaping side of grouchiness.

The funny thing is, when I finally did sit down to write actual words on the page after the boys returned to school and my husband returned to his classroom in mid-August, I found I was ready. I may not have produced much in terms of word count over the summer (which was extraordinarily frustrating at the time), but it turns out, I was still very much working on the book that whole time.

I was reading. Taking notes. Jotting down relevant quotes. Journaling. Staring into the middle distance. Ideas were percolating and gestating. By the time I sat at my desk and put my fingers to the keyboard, the book (or at least a big chunk of it) was ready to be written. Those three months of seemingly little concrete productivity had actually been an important part of the creative process. I just hadn’t recognized it as such because the outcomes were not immediately apparent or tangible.

This summer I learned the hard way about the importance of trusting and valuing the season I am in. Ecclesiastes said it best, right? “To every thing there is a season. And a time to every purpose under heaven.”

This summer was my season to tend – to nurture the scattered seeds, to water and fertilize them, to wait patiently, biding my time while the first tender seedlings rooted and sprouted. This summer was a gestational season – an important, dare I say absolutely critical time in the process of writing a book. I just wish I had recognized the necessity and value of this season and embraced the beauty and gift of it, rather than pushing it to be something else.

Trusting every season doesn’t come naturally to me. I’m great with the harvest, with seasons of obvious fruitfulness and productivity. But I’m learning that the slower seasons, the periods in which we step back, surrender, and quietly let things be, are necessary and important too. Slowly, largely through great trial and error, I am learning that there is indeed a season for every activity under the heavens. Even, or perhaps especially, when the activity of that season doesn’t look like you expect it to. Even when it’s an activity that does not produce immediately apparent results.

When You Are Called to No Words

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I’ve been thinking about words lately, mostly because it seems I have fewer these days. Back when I first began blogging eight years ago, I posted every day, seven days a week. Over time that frequency diminished to five days a week, then three days, until, most recently, I settled on once a week. Some weeks, even one post feels like a stretch.

I’m not sure why I seem to have less and less to say. Maybe after eight years of blogging, 1,547 posts, 86 columns for the Journal Star, three books, and dozens of articles, I’ve simply burned out.

Or maybe I’ve said all I have to say.

Or maybe, in a world that feels noisier every day, I’ve become more discerning about what and how much I add to the cacophony of voices and opinions.

I’ve been reading Henri Nouwen’s The Way of the Heart. It’s a small book, but it’s packed with powerful insights. Nouwen has (ironically) a lot to say about the value of silence:

“Let us at least raise the question of whether our lavish ways of sharing are not more compulsive than virtuous; that instead of creating community they tend to flatten out our life together.”

Nouwen wrote those words long before the advent of blogging and social media, but I can’t help but read them through the lens of the present day and from my own experience as an author.

When I posted that quote on Instagram (again, the irony), a reader commented that she didn’t understand the last bit, the part about how shared words can flatten out our life together.

I’m not sure I totally understand what he means either, but I know from my own experience, I often come away from social media feeling flattened — numb, distant, distracted, fragmented — whether I’ve shared myself or read what others have shared. To me, there is a false intimacy and a one-dimensionality there, even as we strive for authenticity, depth, and connection.

Nouwen also writes about the importance of faithfully caring for the inward fire.

“It is not so strange that many ministers have become burnt-out cases, people who say many words and share many experiences, but in whom the fire of God’s Spirit has died and from whom not much more comes forth than their own boring, petty ideas and feelings.

Our first and foremost task is faithfully to care for the inward fire so that when it is really needed it can offer the warmth and light to lost travelers.” 

On one hand, caring for the inward fire as my first and foremost task feels selfish to me. As a “Christian writer,” I feel compelled to use my gifts to share the gospel — to offer, to the best of my ability, a little light by which to see along the journey. Caring for my own inward fire — especially caring for it first and foremost — doesn’t feel self-sacrificial enough.

Yet here’s the clincher: that inward light is what feeds my words. If I allow my own inner light to be diminished or extinguished, my words will become a mere clanging cymbal — noisy and persistent, but empty of truth.

The inward light also feeds me. Without it, I am an empty shell without a pearl; a body without a spirit.

“As ministers, our greatest temptation is toward too many words,” Nouwen writes. “They weaken our faith and make us lukewarm. But silence is a sacred discipline, a guard of the Holy Spirit.” 

I think, in all these years of writing about faith, I’ve come to fancy myself as a conduit of the Holy Spirit. But the truth is, the Holy Spirit doesn’t need me or my words. The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going.

I think I’ve mostly reversed the order here by trying to care for the inward fire of others before my own. And isn’t that, in some ways, irreverent or perhaps even blasphemous – to assume the soul-care of others is my job, rather than God’s?

I guess this is a long-winded way (again, the irony!) of saying I’ll be quiet in this space for a while – perhaps for the rest of the summer, perhaps longer. I’ve resisted this decision. For a variety of reasons I’ve tried to ignore the nudge. To stop blogging seems both unwise professionally and a little bit unfair to my readers, some of whom have been faithfully walking alongside me here the whole long way (bless you!).

Yet I also know it would be more unwise to keep pushing. I don’t want to become the person who says many words and shares many experiences, but in whom the fire of God’s spirit has died.

Thanks for your understanding and patience, friends. You are very dear to me, and I am more grateful to you than you will probably ever know.

Peace.

6 Tips to Help Your Creative Process

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6 Tips for Establishing a Writing Routine

I’ve had several people ask me lately about my daily writing routine, and since it’s a topic I love to talk about (you know, because I’m all about routines!), I thought I’d share some insights with you. My theory is that a writing practice needs routine, because routine remind your brain what you are there to do.

Here are a few of the routines that work for me:

Declutter Your Counters to Declutter Your Mind
This may be my Triple Type A personality talking, but I find there’s a direct correlation between my work environment and my creativity and productivity. Clutter – on my desk, the coffee table, or the kitchen counters – distracts me and produces low-level agitation. One of the first things I do in the morning is clear surfaces – I put the dishes in the dishwasher, wipe down the counters, gather up errant books and papers, arrange the sofa cushions, and stash the remotes in a drawer. My house isn’t necessarily clean, but at least it’s clutter-free, which helps me focus on my work for the day.

Exercise to Get Your Creative Synapses Firing
Most mornings I run four miles, the same distance and the same route I’ve been running for the last 15 years (See? I really like routines). Running is good for my mental health, and it’s good for my creativity (and it’s not just me…read this article about the connection between exercise and creativity). I often work out a blog post or ruminate on a verse for a devotion while I’m running. In the past I ran without headphones, but lately I’ve fallen hard for podcasts, so I often listen to one of my favorites. It helps me forget about my achy legs or the stich in my side, and I’ll often get an idea for a blog post or article from the show I’m listening to.

Treat Your Writing Like a Job
Because it is! After my house is decluttered, my run is done, and I’m showered, dressed and sitting at my writing desk (by now it’s about 9:30 a.m.), I don’t let anything get in the way of my job. This means I don’t do housework between the hours of 9:30 a.m. and 2:30 p.m. I also don’t run errands, schedule appointments (if I can help it), Vox, text friends or even answer the phone (unless it’s my mother…and sometimes not even then). To be honest, I rarely meet people for coffee or lunch during these hours, especially when I am working on a book. I have a five-hour work day, so I try to make the most of every minute.

Dedicate a Specific Amount of Time to Email and Social Media
When I first sit down at my desk in the morning, I glance at my emails and reply to those that need only a quick response (I save longer, more detailed emails for late afternoons or evenings). I also check in on Facebook and Twitter, and, if I have a blog post up that day, I’ll link to it from my various social media accounts. I admit, this is dangerous ground. Social media is my Charybdis, so I have to be super vigilant about not getting sucked into the vortex for too long. I typically spend a half hour with email and social media before I get down to serious business. Then I turn off all notifications (too distracting!) and dig in.

Eat the Frog First
As Mark Twain said, “Eat a live frog first thing in the morning and nothing worse will happen to you the rest of the day.” I always start my work day with the project I most want to procrastinate. If I’m writing a book, I definitely start with book writing, because it’s the most important, and it’s also the most difficult. My goal when I’m book-writing is to write 1,000 words a day, and I’m not a super-fast writer, so 1,000 words can easily take me three or four hours. The biggest, dreadiest projects require the most brain power, and if I procrastinate, I’m typically too depleted later to be very effective or productive. Plus, it feels good at the end of the day to know that I’ve made progress on a hard thing.

Do Lighter Work Later
I do what I consider my “lighter” work – the work that typically requires less brain power, like editing, proofreading, blog post writing, marketing and promotions, social media, and responding to emails – later in the afternoon, usually after lunch and definitely after I’ve eaten the frog. I also try to use the time waiting in the school pick-up line wisely, by either decompressing, reading, or catching up on Voxers, texts and phone calls.

And one final note that’s more observation than routine…
You Fill What Time You Have
My boys are now in high school and middle school (hold me), and are gone from 7:30 a.m. until 3 p.m., so I have the luxury of a big block of time and a quiet house. I don’t take that for granted, but I will say this: you fill what time you have. Honestly, I got nearly as much writing done when I worked part-time outside the home and had young children. I had less time overall to devote to my writing, but I was more efficient with the time I did have. I have more time now, but I don’t necessarily get more done.

So tell me…what’s one routine you swear by (and it doesn’t have to be a writing routine)? 

Why It’s Taken 46 Years for Me to Say No

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My editor emailed me recently. He had a great opportunity that he’d love for me to consider, he said. I was excited when I read his email, and when I clicked on the link he included for details, my pulse quickened. It looked good, this opportunity. Really good.

Without getting into all the nitty gritty, the opportunity had to do with book marketing, strategy and branding. The expert was looking for a handful of candidates with whom to beta-test a new service. For free.

Scrolling further, I saw that this particular marketer had worked with a number of very successful Christian authors – people I respect and whose books I regularly read and have sitting here right on my shelves. It all looked too good to be true.

And in fact, it was too good to true. For me anyway.

You see, I noticed something as I was reading through the website. Along with my quickening pulse, I felt a sinking sensation begin to gnaw deep in my gut. It was what I refer to as The Pit. I wasn’t sure exactly why The Pit had yawned open in the bottom of my stomach, but I knew enough to pay attention to it.

I clicked off the site. I didn’t do anything else that day. I didn’t email my editor. I didn’t return again to the website, or re-read my editor’s email or the marketer’s pitch. I simply put it all aside for 24 hours. I let it rest.

The next morning I started from scratch. I re-read my editor’s kind and generous email. I re-read the marketer’s pitch. I returned to the website and re-read the content. I looked closely at the list of best-selling author clients. I read every single word, slowly and carefully.

And I felt it again: the undeniable presence of The Pit in the bottom of my gut.

The Pit was telling me No.

I’ve come to think of The Pit as the way the Holy Spirit most often makes his presence known to me. Maybe you get sweet, gentle nudges from your Holy Spirit. Mine punches me hard in the gut. I think He knows what it’s going to take to get through to me.

I didn’t want to say no to this invitation for a whole variety of reasons. First, I didn’t want to disappoint my editor, who had so graciously selected me to benefit from this opportunity. I also didn’t want him to think I am a big fat slacker. This is the editor of my next book, after all, the one that releases in just a few short months. The last thing I wanted him to think was that I am unwilling to work hard to help make that book be as successful as it can be.

I also didn’t want to say no because saying no feels like quitting to me. It feels like giving up. It feels lame and lazy and timid and weak. Saying no is antithetical to my Type A, people-pleaser, “Make It Happen” personality. I never say no.

And finally, and this was the biggest hurdle, I didn’t want to say no because I was afraid of missing out. Because the truth is, I do want to be successful. I do want to be known. And in the back of my mind, I couldn’t help but wonder “What if?”

What if this is IT? What if this is The Thing – the thing that makes the difference, the thing I’ve been waiting for, the tipping point, the cracked open door?  The thing that propels me from an unknown, barely-making-a-part-time-living writer to A Successful Author.

What if?

pathinwoods

Storm Clouds

rain on lake

Lighthouse in fog3

This past summer has been transformational for me. I’ve had a lot of time to think in a very deep way about who I am. I’ve glimpsed a truer identity for myself than the one I have fashioned for the last 46 years. I’ve felt my soul come alive in a way I have never before experienced. And I believe it’s because I have glimpsed who God is, who I am in relation to him, and who he has created me to be.

My deepest desire is to hold on to this new self, this new identity, that’s been revealed. And that desire has made me more aware than ever of dangerous ground, of the pitfalls that could trip me up and send me hurtling down the path of soul- and self-destruction.

The truth is, I had to say no because I know, once I go down that road, I won’t be able to stop my desire for success, my pursuit of more, from taking hold.

I don’t have the inner fortitude to resist the temptation. Once I give in, the drive simply takes over. Because I am driven to achieve, and because (this is hard to admit) I have so often defined my self-worth based on my achievement and success (or lack thereof), it doesn’t take much for me to fall back into my old ways of more, more, more; push, push, push; compare, compare, compare; hustle, hustle, hustle. I can go headlong into the hungry pursuit of “the next big thing” quicker than you can blink.

And I know, from a lifetime of experience, that when I do that, I lose some of my soul in the process. I lose some of my whole self.

The beautiful, pure truth I discovered this summer is simply too precious to lose. And so I said no to a great, possibly career-enhancing opportunity.  I said no to the “What if?” I said no to what might have been The Thing.

I said no to save my soul.

My Reaction to the Facebook Reactions {or…Use Your Words, People!}

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get-facebook-reactions-anywhere

So in case you missed it, yesterday Facebook exploded in celebratory glee over the introduction of its new emoticons, otherwise known as “Reactions,” according to Facebook founder Mark Zuckerberg. No longer do we need to feel limited by the lowly “Like” button; we now have a heart Love button, a haha Laughter button, a yay Happy button {by the way, the Yay button is only available in Spain and Ireland right now…because apparently the Spanish and Irish are a lot Yayier than the rest of us}, a surprised Wow button, a frowny Sad button and a beady-eyed Angry button.

Ever the late adopter, I posted my own reaction to the Reactions on my Facebook page:

“Am I the only one who doesn’t love the new Facebook emoticons? I have 58 toothpastes to choose from, 148 kinds of deodorant, 9,000 kinds of cereal, 14,000 television stations, and now I have 6 Facebook faces, too. It’s too much! My brain is melting! Choice overload! How about we just go back to “Like” or move on? My head is going to pop off the first time someone gives me the angry face on a status update (go ahead, try it – who is going to be the first?!) ‪#‎curmudgeonly‬ (where’s the face for that, eh?)”

Plus, there’s the fact that I know myself. I already take note of the “Likes” on my posts (oh come on, get over it, you know you do, too). I can see how this is all going to go down…

“Huh. Only four Loves. Why only four Loves? Why 47 Likes but only four Loves? Why am I worthy of Like but not Love?! For the love, where is the LOVE?!”

Or… “Hey, she gave me the Angry Beady Eyes. What did I ever do to her? What did I do to deserve the Angry Beady Eyes? Yeah? Yeah? Fine. Angry Beady Eye right back at you, babe.”

I mean seriously, I’m already a navel gazer. These six new emoticons are only going to plunge me into a whole new level of navel-gazing, and it ain’t gonna be pretty.

I was mostly joking last night when I posted that status update about the new emoticons, until later, that is, when suddenly I wasn’t.

You see, I got to thinking about when I was in college. I wrote in long-hand (what, pray tell, is long hand?) to my nana and to my nana’s sister, my great aunt Mary, at least once a month – on my very own monogrammed stationery, no less. And I received letters from them in return. I still remember crouching down to open the tiny metal door of my dorm post office box and spotting the telltale dusty pink envelope, knowing my grandmother’s notepaper, with a rosebud at the top, just above the delicate script, From the Desk of Elizabeth DeRusha, was folded inside. I didn’t keep any of those letters (I got the Anti-Sentimental Gene from my dad), but I still remember how much I cherished receiving them at the time.

Now, I may sound like I am 1,009 years old for saying this, but for heaven’s sake, what have we come to with these Facebook emoticons?  Your coworker posts a sentimental note on Facebook about the death of her grandfather, and you click Frowny Sad Face and move on. Your sister posts a selfie of her new haircut, you click the heart. Finito. Your BFF posts about her terrible, awful, no good, very bad day, and you click Beady Angry Eyes to signify “Grrrrr, those are the worst.” Or do you click Frowny Sad Face to demonstrate empathy? Or do you click both for good measure?

Click. Done. Scroll on. Click. Done. Scroll on.

Facebook’s new “Reactions” simply give us another excuse and another way to skate through life on vapid autopilot. They let us off the hook by allowing us to pretend we are expressing heartfelt emotion – joy, sorrow, empathy, compassion, anger– when in fact, all we’re really doing is taking the easy way out. We’re not connecting, were clicking. And clicking. And clicking. And clicking.

Here’s what Mark Zuckerberg had to say about the Reactions launch on his own Facebook timeline yesterday (by the way, did you know that Mark Zuckerberg has 52,254,708 followers? For reals. It’s practically a ticker tape!) :

“Not every moment you want to share is happy. Sometimes you want to share something sad or frustrating. Our community has been asking for a dislike button for years, but not because people want to tell friends they don’t like their posts [ahem, clearly Mark hasn’t visited the Christian Facebook community lately]. People wanted to express empathy and make it comfortable to share a wider range of emotion. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about the right way to do this with our team. One of my goals was to make it as simple as pressing and holding the Like button. The result is Reactions, which allow you to express love, laughter, surprise, sadness or anger.”

I hear what you’re saying, Mark, I really do. People do want to express a broader range of emotions beyond the bland, pallid “Like.” People do want to express joy, sorrow, disappointment, empathy, compassion and anger, in real life and on Facebook. People do want to react. But there is an effective, meaningful way to do this, and it doesn’t entail simply “pressing and holding” a button.

It’s called using our words. Our powerful, eloquent, insightful, angry, sorrowful, poignant, beautiful, celebratory, life-giving words.

Words are still important, even in this Brave New World of emoticons and Reactions – especially in this Brave New World of emoticons and Reactions. In spite of what Mark Zuckerberg says about “making it comfortable” to share emotion, the truth is, sometimes emotion is uncomfortable. Grief is uncomfortable. Anger is uncomfortable. Sorrow and loneliness are uncomfortable. What we need is to learn how to sit with and in this discomfort. Words, though not always perfect, allow us to do that in a way that robotically clicking a cartoony “Reaction” never will.

Words have the power to move us to tears. Words have the power to make the hair on our arms and the back of our necks stand on end. Words have the power to make us dance, shout, curse, and cheer. Words have the power to start a movement. Words have the power to change us. Words have the power to change the world.

Words give us life and breath and love. Words are Life and Breath and Love. 

God gave us words because they have the power to connect us — to help us see and hear, to know and understand one another. Words, plain and simple, are a gift.

So maybe the next time we go to click one of those emoticon faces, we can take a second to pause and remember that. Let’s remember that words are a gift we can give and receive…even on Facebook, even in this Brave New World.

{and yeah, when I post this on Facebook, you all better give me a whole lot of those hearts}