Afrika Writes

I stopped writing. I can't even say exactly when it happened, but as I reflect on it, I see why it happened. There were a lot of reasons, really.

When I was a little kid, I loved to write.  I wrote my first poem when I was five, I started writing in a diary when I was seven, and then I started writing stories . . . lots of stories. Stories kept me company. I didn't feel as lonely with all those characters surrounding me.

I finished the first draft of a novel years ago when I was part of the Christian Writers Guild. The Christian Writers Guild doesn't exist anymore (it closed in 2014), but I am so thankful for the experience I had. It helped to develop me as a writer, and connected me with a wonderful mentor. It also gave me the motivation I needed to finish the first draft of my novel in preparation for CWG's First Novel contest.

Unfortunately, I think that's when I started to allow discouragement to set in. I really wanted to win the contest, and didn't, and then as I tried to find a Literary Agent to represent me, I wasn't able to. Some said that my story idea was good, but with the economy being as it was, they were having a hard time getting their current clients published, so they weren't taking on new writers. I wondered if they responded the same way to all queries.

I tried not to, but I saw that rejection as an indication that my story wasn't worth telling. It wasn't just that I couldn't find an agent, though. I sent my story out to people who said they were interested in reading it, and then they either did and said nothing to me about it, or didn't read it. It's hard to admit (what did Langston say about a dream deferred?), but that silence was hurtful.

I thought of self-publishing the novel, but self-publication requires funds that I don't have. And if I couldn't even get people who know me to read it for free, I wondered if it was even worth trying to publish. My desire to write decreased progressively, like a bright balloon with a small hole. 

I didn't just experience feelings of disappointment and rejection with my novel. There have been a number of occasions when I took the time to write something important . . . to attempt to connect with people through my writing, and the recipients didn't respond. It's so hard not to feel invisible when that happens, or like your thoughts and feelings don't really matter. There's that, and battling feelings of resentment toward the people for not responding, especially when you share deeply personal thoughts and feelings. Being vulnerable starts to feel like too much of a risk. 

All of these things swirled together and created a perfect storm of sadness in me, and because my writing felt like a source of pain, it became a casualty of that sadness.

Thank God for resurrection. In the book of John, in chapter 5, Jesus encounters a man who had been disabled for 38 years, and he asked him an important question. "Do you want to get well?" The man responded by talking about what kept him from entering the healing waters. He said, "I have no one to help me into the pool when the water is stirred. When I am trying to get in, someone else goes down ahead of me" (verse 7). Jesus then said to him, "Get up! Pick up your mat and walk!"And at once, the man was healed.

If Jesus were to ask me, "Afrika, do you want to write?" My response would have been similar to this man's response. "Jesus, people don't always respond when I write, or they don't respond the way I expect them to. And even if I had the money to self-publish, I don't know if anyone would even buy my book." I think Jesus would tell me, "Write! Sit down at your computer and write." 

By worrying about whether or not people will respond to my writing (the way I want them to, or at all), I lost my connection to something very special. But now I'm remembering that connection. I love stories. I love listening to stories, and I love telling stories. Listening to stories takes me into an amazing place full of wonder, curiosity, intrigue, suspense, and connection, and telling stories provides me with an opportunity to invite people to enjoy the same.

I love connecting with people, and inviting people to connect with me. Some people reciprocate. Some don't. That's okay. I still need to be who I am. And God has shown me through a new friendship with someone I feel like I've known all my life, that when someone does reciprocate, it is such a rich and wonderful experience.

So why do I write? Is it for the response, or for the experience of expressing something important in me?  It's definitely the latter. The people who are meant to respond will. Working with BetterLesson has been such an amazing experience both professionally and personally. It is so refreshing to regularly have my ideas and contributions valued. It has provided me with the desire to re-enter that creative space personally.

Winning the When Words Count retreat has given me new focus and determination. I'll be enjoying a week of writing at the When Words Count Retreat Center in Vermont at the end of February, and I'm putting a plan in motion to rediscover my love for writing and creativity. I'll be blogging about my journey here.

I almost didn't enter the contest because I wondered if I even considered myself a writer anymore.  But I am a writer, and this is just the motivation I needed to remember who I am, and what I do. Afrika writes.