I weave in and out of seasons with reading.  Sometimes I find myself so emerged in a good story, my reality is greatly shaped by it. Other times, not so much. 

Recently, I’ve been comforted by some random words from one of my favorite authors.  Of course, he is a top selling, “millions of copies sold” kind of guy. I am drawn to his vulnerability. He “puts it all out there” if you know what I mean.  He shares his personal battle with writing.  

He hates writing. He loves what’s written.  

Make sense? For this writer, his words resonate well with an often fatigued mind.

Most hobbies are enjoyable. Gardening, Sports, Running, and Shopping. Though it’s often a battle to carve out time, the specific exercise is enjoyable. Not writing. It’s a battle from beginning to end. Until I hit the final “send” on the page, I grapple with the process.


While I’ve wrestled with this question over and over, trying to find a solution that I can formulize to three easy steps [and write], my best guess is that, for a writer, each piece acts as a mirror reflecting one’s inner soul.  The continuous grappling I often feel is simply me wrestling to “take a look.” To expose the depths. To readily express. To make the leap from all that’s locked deep inside to opening a window that gets viewed as black ink on a piece of paper.  Many critique.  Many find my words offensive. Many hate. Many are too busy. Many don’t take the time to notice. Many disregard.

I wonder if that’s how God feels about His writings.