![\"\"](\"https:\/\/clearwaterpress.com\/oneyearnovel\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/3\/2014\/02\/The-Burden-of-Purpose-500px-300x300-300x300.jpg\")
\u201cDo you want to be published?\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\nI have never answered this with a straightforward Yes.<\/p>\n
Our hesitancy to name ourselves as writers and talk openly about our creative goals is usually attributed to lack of confidence<\/strong>.<\/p>\n But, for me, it\u2019s about wanting to <\/b>keep my disappointment with myself private<\/strong>. Because the thing about admitting I\u2019m a writer is that then anyone can Google my name or ask to see my work and find out just how badly I am failing at it<\/strong>. (And you thought noms de plumes<\/em> were only adopted by people with a fondness for flair.)<\/p>\n It\u2019s like being followed by a balloon.<\/strong> Everywhere. By one of those black balloons made specially for The Big 4-0. Only inscribed with \u201cI want to be published, but I\u2019m not.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n Being tailed by such a balloon is self-serving, of course, since it saves me breath. But it\u2019s also disconcerting.<\/p>\n I am too proud to be that transparent about my dreams.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u201cThis balloon? No, it\u2019s not mine. I don\u2019t know where it came from.\u201d<\/p>\n When I was a writing major in college, I sat in critique circles with more mediocre writers of astonishing confidence than I ever want to meet again.<\/strong> I\u2019m one of those people who just can\u2019t handle watching others embarrass themselves. When I watch comedies like Mr. Bean, or even page through an Amelia Bedelia<\/em>\u00a0picture book, all I can think is, I pity your mother<\/em>.<\/p>\n Why doesn\u2019t someone tell them?<\/em> I\u2019d agonize, reading the excerpts in front of me. Why doesn\u2019t someone break it to them that their gift is for a smaller sphere?<\/em><\/strong> But I didn\u2019t want to be the \u201cmean critiquer\u201d so I just smiled and said, \u201cThis is great.\u201d I just left them to be disillusioned later<\/strong>, after<\/em> having spent all their college money. I am nice like that.<\/p>\n I\u2019ve never forgotten what my dad said once, when I was a kid, about a disillusioned friend who \u201cnever made it big,\u201d despite all his musical talent. \u201cHe doesn\u2019t see that his gift might have never been meant for that. Maybe his musical gift is for a smaller stage. Does that make it less wonderful? I wish he would set himself free<\/em>.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n Since then, it has been my life ambition not to set myself up too high. To be happy transforming my own sphere, my small stage<\/strong>. To accept that there are many ways to be successful<\/strong>.<\/p>\n But, deep down, I am haunted by my creative abilities<\/strong>. Haunted by the question, \u201cCould I do more, if I were only brave enough to take bigger creative risks<\/strong>?\u201d<\/p>\n I don\u2019t want to die never having written the story that hides inside me (published or not). I don\u2019t want to die having only attempted things I was sure of being successful at<\/strong>.<\/p>\n There\u2019s narcissism to this. The idea that the world would be impoverished if I never graced it with my eloquence.<\/p>\n But underneath the narcissism is something else. I hate being vulnerable.<\/strong> I hate caring. I don\u2019t want to be ordinary (read: weak).<\/p>\n There\u2019s a saying that \u201cGod does not require excellence; he requires faithfulness.\u201d But I am not satisfied with being faithful. I want to be the best.<\/strong><\/p>\n Daniel Schwabauer\u2014Mr. S. to many of you\u2014is known for his question \u201cIf you had to choose between writing a bestseller that would be read by millions and promptly forgotten<\/strong> and writing a novel read only by one person, but remembered and appreciated forever<\/strong>, what would you choose?<\/p>\n I\u2019d pick the second one, because, well, I would die of shame if no one cared about what I wrote (and, you know, it\u2019s clearly the \u201cright\u201d answer). \u201cBut what if the one person were you?\u201d<\/em><\/strong> asks Daniel.<\/p>\n Harumph. You had to go there.<\/em><\/p>\n …<\/p>\n What if the \u201cgrand purpose\u201d of my gift is<\/em> about me?<\/p>\n About God and me, sticking it out?<\/strong><\/p>\n The last few years have been tough for me. I\u2019ve wrestled with new physical limitations, subcultures that drive me crazy, and disillusionment with most of the causes that once enflamed me with zeal. I\u2019ve sometimes felt like my faith might not make it. Not surprisingly, my creativity has suffered.<\/p>\n It\u2019s felt like I am tethered, not to a mere balloon, but a humungous blimp. Proclaiming my failure to the world.<\/strong><\/p>\n But these tough years have given me one special thing: the revelation that the whole point of giving me the ability to write was not for other people.<\/strong> Not for you, or for anyone. It was for me. It was to make sure I would have a sure-fire way to reach him.<\/strong><\/p>\n If something I write helps someone else, that is wonderful, most wonderful. But that is not the purpose of the gift. In a sense, there is no purpose. It\u2019s not a means to an end. It\u2019s a gift<\/em>. A worship-opening.<\/strong><\/p>\n I found this out by writing again<\/strong>. Miles into my struggles, I started writing again. And as soon as I did, something happened that has not happened in (what feels, anyway, like) years and years: Worship. Connection. My spirit\u00a0actually moved<\/em>.<\/strong><\/p>\n The reason I noticed the worship was that it had been such a long time.<\/p>\n Sitting in worship services, singing worship songs, listening to worship pieces. And feeling next to nothing happen.<\/p>\n Until I wrote.<\/strong> And my spirit moved<\/em>.<\/p>\n In an instant, I understood. This<\/em> was why I have the ability and need to write<\/strong>. Because it\u2019s the only sorrow-and-cynicism-and-anger-and-disillusionment-proof way of connecting me to the Three-in-One-Persons who loves me.<\/strong> It\u2019s the way I dig for my most honest questions<\/strong>. It\u2019s the safety valve. The lifeboat. It\u2019s how I heal<\/em>.<\/p>\n The story hiding inside me needs to come out. But not for the world\u2019s benefit. The story needs to be told to me<\/em>. <\/strong>To change me<\/em>. To teach me<\/em>.<\/p>\n This is enough.<\/strong> And, of course, it\u2019s exactly why you might like to read it too.<\/strong> Because it\u2019s not for show.<\/p>\n It\u2019s time for a trip to the florist for some more balloons<\/strong>. Custom balloons for the special occasion of my existence.<\/p>\n I think I\u2019ll have them say:<\/p>\n Writing my story is how I grow.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n Writing is a gift to bless me, not torment me.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n Writing is a worship-opening and I am widening that hole.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n …<\/p>\n What would you<\/em> write on your balloon if you could order one?<\/p>\n …<\/p>\n About Tineke<\/strong><\/p>\n Before working for Daniel and Carrol Schwabauer, I studied creative non-fiction at\u00a0Houghton College<\/a>\u00a0and then worked as an editor. Taking\u00a0The One Year Adventure Novel<\/a>\u00a0class live last year gave me a lot of reasons to now try my hand at writing fiction.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Tineke Bryson, Staff Writer<\/strong>![\"Tineke](\"https:\/\/clearwaterpress.com\/oneyearnovel\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/3\/2015\/09\/Tineke-bio-shot-100x138.jpg\")
“Writing a book is work for me,” I noted in my 1st-grade journal, and it’s still true. Writing has always been something I’ve both loved and dreaded\u2014it takes the best I have to offer and then stands there asking for more.<\/strong> But as I am growing to appreciate, this is because it’s the most important effort of my life\u2014it’s the way God made me to worship him. And what does that look like? Most of the time it looks like digging. Slaving away under the hot sun of pain to unearth the most honest questions I have so I can present them to him as my offering.<\/strong><\/p>\n
\nDeep down, I am haunted by my creative abilities. Haunted by the question, \u201cCould I do more, if I were only brave enough to take bigger creative risks?\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":11881,"featured_media":1203,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[45,11,40],"tags":[148,70,146,16,74],"post_series":[],"class_list":["post-592","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-stuck-discouraged","category-writing","category-writing-tips-and-tools","tag-creative-gift","tag-fear-of-failure","tag-getting-published","tag-purpose","tag-worship","entry","has-media"],"yoast_head":"\n