Into the Fire

It’s a pest. A nag. A pressing matter. A constant presence. A whimsical friend.

It produces tears, passion, frustration, exhilaration, condemnation, rejoicing, angry outcries, slow-moving imaginations, grog, empty stares, finger cramps, headaches, eye strain, and fear-laced enthusiasm.

Writing. It brings a satisfied smile, a scared reaction. Do I? Must I? Can I? Will I . . . write? And writing “well”? Well . . . that brings another host of horrified or disgusted reactions.

Loners, posers, shy folk, gregarious pranksters, scary personas, charmers, elitist snobs, ordinary, heavy, skinny, voluptuous, balding, hairy, mustached, bearded, clean-shaven, big-haired, blue-eyed, green-eyed, brown-eyed, hazel-eyed, one-blue-one-brown-eyed, shrill, baritone, passive, active, short, tall, and in between, old, middle, young-aged: those who write.

Best-sellers, mid-lists, family and friends for an audience, undiscovered, royalty, self and custom published.

Tears and fears. Joys and delights.

Those who write . . .

Father, thank you for the vision to write. The determination to write. The love to write. The trials to write. The call to write. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.