When the inspiration well is dry

honorsproject

So remember last week when I was all like, “I’m blogging again, hooray!”? Well, after I posted that, I started thinking shoooooot I don’t know what to write about. In fact, I think I’ve forgotten how writing works.

That’s not true. I know there’s plenty I could write about. I know that when I actually sit down and put in some effort, writing usually comes out (not always good writing, but, y’know…). But I certainly haven’t been on fire to writing anything this week. Mostly I’ve been on fire to eat bagels with cream cheese and catch up on Nashville episodes.

You could call this writer’s block; a form of it, anyway. I know about writer’s block. I have two English degrees. I’ve written everything from poems to features articles to conference papers to a masters thesis, and I’ve hit roadblocks for every one. I learned all kinds of “cures” for writer’s block—including, the dark recesses of my memory tell me, something about a wooden block that one might put in the dishwasher. I also learned the value in the rule of thumb that writing begets writing. (Which is really good advice because, you know, you can get all the snacks you want and clean all the bathrooms you want but you’re not going to get any writing done without putting words on a page.)

And so when I’m not inspired to write a beautiful, remarkable blog post, and would rather browse Etsy or NoiseTrade, I sit down and start writing, and then I make the connection that—hey—this is a lot like prayer! Maybe there are some folks out there who are always feeling really inspired and on fire about their prayer lives. Well, good for you, people. I have lots of days when I would much rather toast bagels and watch television. Days when prayer feels like a chore, and a pointless one at that. Days when the inspiration well is dry.

Sometimes, on those days, I do skip praying and watch TV instead. (Sometimes I read a book instead and find out that I really am praying after all, but that’s another story for another time.) More often, though, I go through the motions of some kind of prayer practice (that’s why the BCP is so darn handy sometimes), because I’m convinced that praying begets praying. Getting started is the hard part, especially when you don’t feel like it.

Dame Julian of Norwich, in her Revelations of Divine Love writes, “Pray inwardly, even if you do not enjoy it. It does good, though you feel nothing. Yes, even though you think you are doing nothing.” And so I go on praying even when I don’t feel like praying and writing even though I don’t feel like writing, and I trust and hope that something will come of it. Maybe not the most beautiful writing or the most beautiful praying, but perhaps just the praying or writing I needed.

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What do you do when the inspiration well has run dry? Do you have any tried-and-true cures for writer’s block? For prayer’s block? 

Back in blogland

Well, friends, it’s been a while. The last few months have been something of a whirlwind—lots and lots of changes, a busy schedule. As it turns out, after 6.5 years of the flexibility that comes with academic schedules, working roughly 50 hours a week (and without a lunch break—I’m a nanny, so I can’t just take off in the middle of the day) feels like a major cramp on my scheduling style. These have been good months, though. I didn’t keep up with my something-new-every-day Tumblr (I told you I’m bad with New Year’s resolutions), but I definitely didn’t give up on trying plenty of new things—I’ve had a really rich few months.

A couple of the new things coloring my months have been distinctly episcotheque-y:

Remember when I mentioned the Diocese of Indianapolis forming a task force to talk about structure (based on the national church’s decision to do the same), and linked over to Brendan O’Sullivan Hale’s blog? (The last time I was “back again” on the blog…) Well, now I’m on that task force (dubbed the Diocesan Reimagining Task Force) along with Brendan and a crew of other really amazing people. We met for the first time at Waycross (our diocese’s ECCC, a really, really great place), and I’m really inspired by each and every person in the group.

Also: I’ve been pretty quiet about this, but I think many or most of you already know (or have assumed) from conversations we’ve had or things I’ve said: I’m in the discernment process toward the Episcopal priesthood. I’m still discerning; I’m not a postulant or seminarian (I’m an aspirant, if you’re all about words and labels and categorization), and I’ll probably remain fairly quiet about the process in this space, unless there’s any Very Important News to report. This process does, though, definitely influence how I think about the questions I tackle on this blog.

All to say, I’m back, or trying to be. I have a couple more weeks of nanny-insanity (I just like how that kind of rhymes), and then just your regular, run-of-the-mill insanity. I’m doing some other writing projects alongside the blog, and I’m about to (I hope) win my bread by contract-based copyediting. Insanity. But, we’ll see. I’m aiming for once-a-week posts, so that I can ease back in (hooray for possibly-manageable goals!).

To those of you who’ve been patient and stuck with me: thank you. To new readers: welcome.

Well, here goes!

Don’t read this, read that: meditatingpriest

People. I have been crazy busy (even the Tumblr hasn’t been tumbling). I will tell you all about it soon. Really. I just have to figure out how to work blog-writing into this 50-hour-a-week nannying gig that has become my life.

In the meantime, I have another blog for you. Remember when I pointed you to Joel’s awesome blog for thoughtful commentary, witty writing, and photos of Ezra Klein? So you know I won’t steer you wrong.

My priest, Hilary, is on sabbatical in France with her husband and school-age sons, and she’s blogging the experience. Her posts are funny, beautiful, and insightful, and you should go read them all. She’s also trying a new cheese every day and recording that, which is pretty much the best idea ever.

Patience

Those of you who’ve been following for a while know how my writing tends to drop off when I’m busy or stressed. My last couple of weeks have been full of driving, starting a new job (sort of, maybe…), and trying not to get sick. In my spare time, I sleep. So I’ll be back soon, but in the meantime, I’ve been keeping up with my Tumblr (the entries are a lot shorter and require less thought), so you can check that out.

Something new every day

coffee

So, I’m usually not much for New Year’s resolutions, but this year I thought, “Why not?”—mostly thanks to the Rev. Hillary Raining. Her resolution a couple of years ago was to try something new every day, and then she blogged those things here.

I liked the idea, so I’m jumping on board—I’m going to try to do something new every day this year. Because it sounds like an adventure, and because I think trying new things is an important part of remaining open to new experiences. I’m not in a rut—I’m already doing lots of new things in this transition period of my life, but this seemed like a fun and inviting challenge, so I’m jumping in.

I’m not going to blog my new things here, but I started a Tumblr (look at me, with my blogs), and I’m going to try to post every new thing I do/try every day, ideally with a photo. I probably won’t get all 365, I may not make it past January, but I’ll see where this experiment takes me, and you’re welcome to come along.

If you have any ideas for new things I should try, post them in the comments section!

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Do you have a New Year’s resolution this year? Are you in the habit of making them?

The messages of God

Me, imagining.

JOAN. I hear voices telling me what to do. They come from God.
ROBERT. They come from your imagination.
JOAN. Of Course. That is how the messages of God come to us.

George Bernard Shaw, Saint Joan

If there’s one thing I’ve learned from this blog, it’s that I have a few topics I keep returning to, themes that just won’t leave me alone. One is, apparently, humor; the other, imagination.

I encountered the above quote from Shaw’s 1923 play in a book I read for my thesis, about women in ministry. I don’t remember how the quote was applied, but it struck me and I made a note and copied it down.

You see, for a long time I was pretty sure God wasn’t sending me a whole lot of messages. And when I thought something might be a message, I talked myself out of it—don’t be silly, Alissa; you’re making stuff up; it’s all in your imagination.

A couple of years ago, as I was beginning to face a large and life-changing question. I really felt that God was calling me to something, but I couldn’t be sure. What if I had made everything up, constructed a message in my mind? What if it was all just my imagination?

I was troubled. This thought weighed heavily on me.

But, ever so gradually, I started to wonder: was there something so wrong with my imagination? What had happened to make me lose all trust in this part of myself? God spoke through dreams and visions all the time in the Bible, what was stopping God from speaking through the creative and imaginative part of me?

I like this part of myself. I’m a writer, a crafter, a creator, an imaginer—so why was I blocking these aspects of my self from the serious, important places? I think perhaps my strong, intellectual side took over, called for empirical evidence, for proof. Who doesn’t know this feeling, the longing for some proof? And here is faith.

In my last post, I mentioned a group where we spoke about how we know the resurrected Christ. Another statement I made in that group is that for me, speaking of Jesus’ resurrection can be difficult because it means putting something with infinite meaning into finite language. I know Christ’s resurrection most easily in poetry, in story, in song, in art—in those creative venues I would excise from my hoity-toity über-intellectual epistemology.

Enough of that.

Saving faith for me has meant re-welcoming my imagination, integrating my creative and intellectual sides. There is a place for provable knowledge, yes. There is also a place for paradox and poetry and, well, imagination. So I imagine a word from God. Yes, that is how the messages of God come to us.

Amen.

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How do the messages of God come to you? How do you use your imagination, your creativity? Do you trust your imagination?