Pinkies & Piggy Toes

I think that God has a sense of humor. Not the kind that would make fun of others or be crude in any way, but I have to think that He must sit back and just laugh along with us sometimes as He tries to teach us the lessons we need to learn in life.

I have been a slacker writer for months now. I have piles of ideas, half finished projects, but nothing complete, nothing submitted, nothing to the point that it's useful to anyone - including myself. So since my kids started back to school a couple of weeks ago I have been praying for God to help me find balance in my life and asking Him to help me accomplish what He would have me do. I set a goal to write for two hours every day. Every day. I think in the past three weeks it's happened twice, maybe three times. Something was always coming up.

Last Monday morning, exactly a week ago, I slammed my pinky finger in the truck door. Hard. To the point I was holding back tears and gasping like a small child. My finger swelled up to the point it desperately hurt if I even bumped it. The nail turned completely black and pounded for days. I met my writing goal one day last week. Just one. Things came up. So this morning I was hurriedly doing the dishes before getting my kids off to school when I dropped a trivet on my toe. A trivet is not a made up word, contrary to my husband's insistence. It is a scrolled metal rectanglar object used to protect the table from hot dishes. This morning, however, it felt equivalent to an eight pound weight being slammed onto my innocent little toe. More almost-tears, more deep breathing, frustration, then suddenly laughter. How's that for an answered prayer?

I went to a writing workshop on Saturday and a local poet, Neil Ray, said he doesn't use the term 'writer's block'. When he gets stuck he calls it a 'wham bam koo' which means a rebirth. Well that pummeling metal trivetation on my toe felt like a 'wham bam sock it to you ma'am, get up off your can and write already' moment. Can't go shopping, running, yoga-ing, erranding, or anything with this throbbing little toe. Nothing to do today but write.

I started thinking about the last several months, trying to decide what has kept me from writing. Sure, I've been busy. Who isn't busy? I have three kids, a dog and a busy husband. But it's been more than that. I have an entire book outlined. I had set a goal to have three chapters ready to submit to publishers for consideration by September. Haven't touched it since I finished one chapter in June. I have a musical play only needing two new songs and final editing. I set myself a deadline for December. Haven't looked at it since May. I have piles of poetry sitting in notebooks and journals, not posted, not submitted, not published. I haven't even posted on my blog since April. Why?

I think in many ways obscurity is easier than mediocrity. You know the saying, "It's better not to have tried at all than to have tried and be dismissed as irrelevant". I can't be a disappointment if my work is never seen. I recognize that writing only for myself is somewhat selfish, but it's also been supremely safe. The unknown outcome still holds the promise of possibility whereas the known contains certain rejection, acceptance, or in the worst case - ambivalence. Writing requires a significant amount of vulnerability, a willingness to share openly the deepest insights and imaginations of my heart. In sharing, submitting, and publishing my work, I risk having that essence of myself edited, criticized or dismissed. But I realized something this morning as the teetering ten ton trivet hit my toe. In my fear of uncertain rejection, I have been missing the possibility of connection.

In the writing workshop Neil said that as writers we not only write to express ourselves, but we write to express for others what they feel but cannot seem to articulate for themselves. In my hobbited state of safety and reluctant fear, I have been in denial. I have denied not only myself, but others the ability to communicate, to share, to experience that resilient human connection of spirit that occurs when another person seems to say the words written deep within your heart. The ones you didn't know were there until you find them perfectly expressed by another's pen.

So I'm writing again...with my blackened pinky finger, swollen piggy toe, and God's laughter ringing in my ears.