It has been a while since I last was inspired to write. I suppose I should qualify that statement: by writing I have in mind a narrow category of works of imagination and delight or, more basically, works of fiction. Strictly speaking, I probably write more than I ever have before with the increasing length and number of papers expected of me through school and the lengthy e-mails that take up so much time (along with this blog) but I don't classify that type of writing in the category of fiction and they need little inspiration to get going. What I would love to have again is the same drive to write stories that I had when I was younger.
I don't know how many unfinished stories I have from my youth still sitting at home in some drawer or box or file. Lovely stories ambitiously begun yet usually petering out before they could even hope to be long enough. More often than not, the stories were of the girl I wanted to be or were placed in situations in which I imagined myself to be. As I grew, I managed to finish my writings more.
The script for a movie starring my group of friends had a deadline if it was to be approved by them before we started shooting it. I finished by the deadline and we started shooting but never finished the movie itself. I also did a few adaptions of classic literature for our once-a-month-plays for our families. Those were easier in many ways and quite an interesting exercise for creative writing since I had to transfer the story to a different medium as well as adapt the characters to the available actors. The lack of sets, props and practice time must have made them interesting to watch (it's a good thing everyone present was acquainted with the story beforehand!).
But that was all back in the time when I had buckets of time to sit and dream away on the 'sun-porch' of my fort in the woods with my pad of foolscap sharing my knee with my cat. That was before I ever had to write essays for a professor who wasn't interested in my imagination but merely in my completion of the assignment as laid out in the guidelines. I am not saying that essay writing is bad because it is restrictive instead I think that it is a valuable skill to be able to write according to what is specified by someone else. I just mean that much of the time I might before have spent thinking up impossible plots was now taken up in work along other lines.
Part of all this growing process I have been able to study in depth what truly is great literature; I came to see and acknowledge true genius. In comparison my own paltry attempts paled considerably. I could see that these authors had something that I have never had, something hard to define but that makes a work shine out. About the same time, I came to acknowledge that there is good poetry and I found myself enjoying and admiring poetry as well as my first love (novels).
So I feel drawn in two directions: I both want to write to give similar beauty to others but I feel my own inadequacy keenly when seen in comparison to greatness and begin to wonder if it is worth the attempt.
Of even more immediate importance, we arrive back at the fact with which I started: I have no inspiration beyond the vague desire to write something good. I now see the childishness of my previous stories. Now I have more practice and can say that my writing has improved immensely but I am story-less. Although I have a much greater understanding of the mechanisms needed I have nothing to fill in my frame. But I have heard several people report certain authors and composers (writing music is a whole other issue) who lived in constant fear that their inspiration would run dry. Well, I have nothing to fear in that way since it's already dry, so it's only up from here!
I need to acknowledge that I am not a genius and go through the very same process I've gone through with drawing, music and photography and come to the same conclusion: I can and should try to cultivate these gifts and if I can bring glory to God and joy to others and myself through them, but not to despair and/or give up altogether simply because I cannot be a master at them.
So, to be contented with where I am at present, I need to write what I can to the best of my ability and trust that the Lord is able both to use my present abilities for His purposes and to inspire me to write in time if that is part of His plan for my life. For now, I'll use my weak light to illuminate this little corner where He has placed me. Who knows what's in store? Is that not what makes this life exciting?
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