TITLE: The hardest part about writing
By james ealey
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The toughest thing about writing is not learning the craft. We all have the God given talent to learn any skill. What one man can do another can do. Iíve studied many books on writing. Iíve pounded my brain with techniques, plots, styles, finding your voice, punctuation, endings, hooks, figures of speech, and the like. Iíve read novels and non-fiction until I could regurgitate mounds of information. Itís when I find the courage to sit and place my own thoughts on paper that Iím faced with my greatest dilemma. The frustration of sitting there twirling my pen in a state of blankness overwhelms me, and another day is lost forever in the sea of forgetfulness. The hardest thing for me about writing is writing.
Procrastination and inconsistency are my greatest foes. These beasts get the better of me at times and prevent me from writing every day. Carnivores of ages, theyíre set on devouring my dreams of aspiration. They are ruthless enemies not easily defeated, laughing at my calamity as I desperately try to break free. I imagine many donít escape and lay decaying in a sepulcher of defeat.
Stalking my motivation with precision and purpose, like a clan of lionesses searching the Serengeti for any sign of weakness or disease among the mighty water buffalo, they pounce, tearing into my flesh with talons of slothfulness and excuses. Their breath is repulsive as gaping jaws move toward my throat to suffocate me, silencing my voice forever. I fight. I resist. I kick with all my might. Their weight is unbearable but my passion to live keeps me upright. I know if I fall they will gorge upon my enthusiasm, and my goals will become as chaff in the wind.
I feel myself weakening. Panting. Almost out of breath. I will not die! I will not loose heart! I must fight to the death!
I think of Godís will to encourage me. I was created to walk among the great for I am more than a conqueror. Iím destined to graze the lands of success and drink from the fountains of prosperity, because greater is He that is in me than he that is in the world. I canít give in to these monsters. Theyíre only doing what they were designed to do, but I will not become their prey this day.
ďLoose meĒ, I shout with expectation.
With a mighty buck theyíre slung off my back. They stare in awe, realizing the source of my strength had been underestimated. Hissing and bearing teeth they attempt to reestablish dominance, but my spirit is revived and my heart beats with confidence. I lower my head presenting deadly horns of perseverance and invite them to try again. They snarl at my defiance, circling me, trying to find a better angle to attack. They will not accept defeat, the taste of my blood having teased their hunger.
One musters all his courage and makes one final leap, not knowing I have already anticipated his move. I drive my horns deep into his belly, he howls in horror, and I slam his broken body to the earth. His wounds are fatal, but mine will heal and toughen my hide. His accomplice flees knowing itís impossible to defeat me alone.
I return to the herd, taking my place with the overcomers. Looking back at the lifeless figure I see the vultures have already begun to gather around the carcass. I bless my Creator for this dayís victory.
This is neither the beginning nor the end of my struggles. As I endeavor to use my writing as a platform for the gospel of Jesus Christ, I realize I will walk in a plain filled with predators. In Him, I will not be eaten alive by any beast of the field for He will never leave me nor forsake me.
So here I sit, pen in hand and paper before me, motivated to use what God has given me to be a blessing to another. Writing now, actually writing. Halleluja! I pray that you, through these few words, will be inspired to keep pressing, to keep dreaming, to keep writing.
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