The Beauty of Language

I have a passion for language. The more I write, the more I recognize the power of language and the beauty of certain words. Think of the word edification. Say it aloud a few times. Stretch it out. Then try accenting each syllable in turn. 

Now consider the definition of edification: enlightenment, building up, teaching, nurture. It’s no accident that this word sounds beautiful since its meaning is significant. I remember reading it in the New Testament. In I Corinthians 14, Paul uses edification to compare the gift of speaking in tongues with the gift of revelation or teaching (imparting knowledge). He says that speaking in tongues edifies or enlightens the speaker rather than the listener since the language is unintelligible to others. He instructs the new followers of Christ in Corinth to speak plainly for the edification of others. In verse 12, he says, “...since you are zealous of spiritual gifts, seek to abound for the edification of the church.” 

I wanted to learn more about the word, so I researched it. Edification comes from the Latin root aedificare, meaning “to instruct or improve spiritually.” Its basis is aedes, which means “temple” or “edifice.” I wondered if the Hebrew word used by Paul had the same meaning. 

According to encyclopedia.com, the New Testament term for "building up" the Church, "edification," has roots in the Old Testament concept of building the temple. Jesus used it to speak of building the new people of God (followers of Christ), and St. Paul used it to emphasize the spiritual formation of the Christian community. According to Paul, each of us is responsible for edifying [enlightening, illuminating, building up] our community of believers. What a beautiful concept! What a powerful word! I wonder what would happen if we extended the gift of edification to everyone.

Have you noticed any particular words that trip off the tongue beautifully or carry significant meaning for you? Please post a comment.

Visit my author's website: https://www.cindylfreeman.com/

If Buildings Could Talk

Old buildings have always captivated me. During my first year of marriage, I took photographs of old buildings and nothing else. My new husband had bought our first Ricoh camera, and I would snap photos through the car window wherever we traveled.

“Why are you always wasting film on those dilapidated structures?” my husband would ask. Yes, film! We've been married a long time. I couldn’t explain my obsession with ancient edifices in a way that justified the expense to him, but it made perfect sense to me.

Long ago–by American standards, not European standards–someone in another lifetime employed the expense, effort, and expertise to erect a house, barn, store, shed, church, or service station. Each structure represents history and lives lived. If it could talk, just imagine the stories it would tell, stories of birth, death, and everything in between. 

As I study my snapshots (now taken with a cell phone), I am intrigued by tales I can only imagine. I want to ponder the reason for each building’s construction, who lived or worked there, and why they abandoned it. Does its history include romance, friendship, and family? Was it once cared for with paint, regular maintenance, and necessary repairs? Did it provide ample shelter or livelihood for someone? Could it have housed more than one set of occupants or generations? Who were they? How did they look? How did they dress? How did they speak, think, and act? 

To me, buildings possess character and personality. Like older people, geriatric buildings are worth getting to know because they have stories to tell. Sitting with them is like reading a book set in another time and place. It opens new vistas and expands one’s understanding of humanity. 

When I spot an old abandoned building, my imagination soars as my mind’s eye recreates possible plots, characters, scenarios, and even motivations associated with its history. 

Why do I care? It must be the writer in me. 

Please visit my author's website: HTTP://www.cindylfreeman.com

February Trick

February Trick

Daffodil, fooled into thinking it is spring,

dons a yellow sundress, opens her mouth to sing.

Sunshine plays a trick on her, expelling winter gloom,

dancing upon her budded face and coaxing her to bloom.

Yesterday was cold; the temperature dipped low;

quite normal for the month, we even saw some snow. 

Today, the sun shines brightly. The thermometer climbs to sixty.

Daffodil says, "Look at me! Aren't I just nifty?"

Now her leaves pop forth, reaching toward the sun.

She lets the warmth deceive her, "There's lots of time for fun.

"I'll come out to play and revel in the breezing.

Uh-oh! I took a chance, but now the air is freezing."

What to do? Stay or go? Too late to reconsider.

"I wish I’d brought a coat with me to guard against the bitter."

She promised that this year she wouldn’t rush to arrive.

She’d wait till spring was earnest, when blossoms could survive.

But memory fails our golden friend, for last year was the same;

 Sunshine fooled her that year too; in February she came.

Please visit my author website: https://www.cindylfreeman.com/

What is the Secret to a Long Marriage?

My husband, Carl, and I just celebrated our Golden Wedding Anniversary, which got me thinking. What does it take to stay married for fifty years? Is there one quality of a long marriage that stands out?

When we hear about long marriages, we tend to assume they have always been happy. The truth is no fifty-year partnership has been consistently happy. Two people living together that long are bound to have experienced differences of opinion and clashes of will. Certainly, Carl and I have had those moments…plenty of them. There was even a time when I wondered if we might be better off separating. But, we didn’t separate, and that’s the point I want to make. Instead, we stayed together and resolved to work through our differences.

 
Life can be stressful and hard. Marriage can be stressful and hard. So, if there is one quality that keeps people together through thick and thin, I’d have to say it is commitment. You thought I was going to say love, didn’t you? Let me explain.

Commitment
When Carl and I took our marriage vows in 1972, we committed to each other for life. Divorce was off the table from Day One. During the honeymoon phase, it was easy to feel committed. Our love was new and fresh. We were striking out on an exciting adventure, focused on each other and our future together. So, when life threw us its inevitable challenges, it would have been easy to give up, to forget about those vows we took before God and our loved ones.

Disclaimer: lifelong commitment does not apply to abusive relationships. In my opinion, abuse is a dealbreaker.

It may be love or even chemistry that brings couples together, but those feelings can be fleeting, and physical attraction can fade with time. Commitment is a different kind of love. It is not based on emotions or sexual energy. Commitment says, “I promise to love you even when I find you unlovable; I promise to love you even when I feel unlovable.”

Communication
Communication has been a huge challenge in our marriage. I don’t think we’re alone in this. Both Carl and I are introverts who don’t communicate comfortably. He is cerebral and private. I tend to shut down emotionally when I’m upset. That’s not a good combination for open communication. It has taken many years and heaps of courage to figure out how to argue productively and work through the issues in our relationship.

 
Disagreements in marriage (or any relationship) are inevitable, even when the parties hold similar values and personality traits; but no conflict can ever be resolved by pretending it doesn’t exist, holding onto resentment, or refusing to compromise from one’s position. Learning to “fight fair” is probably the most important skill a couple can learn because conflicts arise even in committed relationships. Sometimes learning this skill requires professional counseling. Always, it requires open, honest, respectful communication.

Humor
When one partner is sick or angry or exhausted, it is impossible to find the humor in situations. When the other partner sees everything as funny or makes jokes when the other is suffering, the relationship will be strained. For many years, I suffered with endometriosis, a very painful condition. Trust me when I say, “Nothing was funny!” Instead of cajoling me out of my depression, Carl’s attempts at humor only created resentment.

Now, in our golden years, humor is a tool we use to keep from taking minor conflicts (or ourselves) too seriously rather than a tool to put down the other person. When both parties find it funny, the humor can be shared as a tool for intimacy. When one person is not amused, it’s a sign the attempt at humor may have been offensive.

Forgiveness
Humans make mistakes. When that happens in marriage, the partner has a choice to either keep score or forgive. Forgiveness is grounded in a shared faith in God. It is also a byproduct of commitment. “What about infidelity?” you ask. I think commitment takes infidelity off the table, so I won’t even go there. But, let’s face it, mistakes and misunderstandings are part of every relationship. If God can forgive our sins when we “earnestly repent” and not hold them against us, don’t we have an obligation to both apologize for our offenses and forgive our partner when s/he earnestly repents?

Have you been married for a long time? What do you think is the secret to your long marriage? I want to hear from you.

Please visit my author website: https://www.cindylfreeman.com/

My Angel Incident

“Do you believe in angels?” a writer friend asked me. I must admit, I’ve never sensed the presence of a guardian angel, but I think that’s because I always have an awareness of the Holy Spirit’s presence. However, this question reminded me of an incident from a few years ago. Well, it was before cell phones, so I guess you’d say it was more than a few years ago, but it inspired two scenes in my novel, I Want to Go Home. 

 

I had just left a rehearsal in Newport News. It was around 9:00 pm, and as I entered Denbigh Boulevard, I saw that a heavy fog had rolled in. Since I had to drive to Williamsburg, I decided to pull into the empty parking lot of what was then Montgomery Ward and wait for the fog to lift. Big mistake. My husband was out of town on business, and our teenagers were home alone. I sat in my car for about twenty minutes but realized the fog wasn’t clearing up. If I’m not home by 10:00, the kids will worry. If I don’t call Carl by 10:00, he’ll worry. I had no choice but to start out and hope the interstate was clear. 

I twisted the ignition key, only to hear the sickening “ruhr, ruhr” that no driver wants to hear, especially at 9:30 on a foggy night. Of course, I tried several times, growing more anxious with each “ruhr.” All the stores were closed, the nearest service station was several blocks away, and I had no way of calling anyone to help me, no way to let my husband or kids know what was happening. 

I wanted to cry, but instead, I prayed. “Okay, God, I’m desperate here. I need your help. Please send someone to rescue me. In the name of Jesus, I thank you. Amen.”

For a while, nothing changed. I felt alone, frightened, and vulnerable, but I knew from past experiences with prayer that I could place my trust in God. I repeated my prayer just in case He hadn’t heard me the first time. After all, God has to deal with wars, natural disasters, and hungry children. There are grieving families, cancer sufferers, and pastors whose prayer concerns are far more important than my dead battery.

Then, as I glanced in my rearview mirror, I spotted headlights approaching from behind. “Thank you, Jesus!” I whispered. There was no doubt in my mind that God had sent someone to help me. I wasn’t afraid to step out of the car and greet a stranger. Rather, I felt total peace. 

A middle-aged man approached. “Looks like you might need some help,” he said.

“Yes, my battery’s dead. Thank you so much for stopping.”

“No problem. Do you have jumper cables?”

“I do.” I retrieved them from the trunk, and he connected them at both ends.

“Okay, start ’er up.” I slid into the driver’s seat, and as I turned the key, I heard the most beautiful sound since the first cries of my newborn babies!”  

“All set,” he said, handing me the cables. “That should get you home.”

“I’m so grateful! You just don’t know…” I gushed as I returned the cables to my trunk, fully intending to offer the man some money or at least get his name and shake his hand, but when I shut the trunk and turned, he and his car were gone. Vanished! 

Please check out my author website: https://www.cindylfreeman.com/ 

There you'll find a FREE book just for visiting. Someone in your life might need its offer of hope and healing.

Don't Read My Books

When I write a book, whether fiction or nonfiction, it ends up connecting to some aspect of life that touches readers’ deepest emotions. I don't do it intentionally; it just happens.

The older I become, the more I realize I am an ultra-sensitive person. Whether my own emotions or someone else's, I feel them intensely; I always have. I suppose that’s why my novels deal with emotionally charged social issues like domestic abuse and homelessness. It’s also why some people hesitate to read them, especially The Dark Room. Either they’re afraid my stories will trigger unpleasant memories from their own lives or they prefer to deny that such conditions exist. Of course, it’s easier to not feel pain, and my novels have the potential of triggering pain. But, more importantly, my writing promotes hope, help and healing and my novels always have happy endings. Those aspects of my writing are intentional. 

When one is in the throes of such misery as domestic violence, it’s important for someone to care enough to offer hope. Without hope, our spirits die. Without someone to offer friendship and real help, there is no hope. In order to provide hope and help to anyone, we must first be moved by the pain of others. 

A reader once told me, “I only read happy books; I don’t like feeling sad.” I didn’t argue with her because I knew it would be pointless. I didn’t tell her that I don’t like to feel sad, either, but that without compassion for other peoples’ pain, our days are meaningless and purposeless. We become like the flower children of the sixties, la-di-dah-ing our way through life and perhaps even turning to addictive behaviors to keep ourselves from feeling.

The intensity of my emotions used to embarrass me, but I have learned to embrace my sensitivity and turn it into compassion. When I read a novel, I want it to move me. When I write a novel, I want it to move the reader. 

So, if you don’t like being affected viscerally by a book, don’t read Unrevealed, The Dark Room, I Want to Go Home or After Rain. However, If you have been courageous enough to read one of my books, please post a review on Amazon. It’s quick and painless. I promise.

Please check out my author website: https://www.cindylfreeman.com/ There you'll find a FREE book just for visiting. Someone in your life might need its offer of hope and healing.

How do writers work?

Before I became an author, I often wondered how writers worked. I pondered what a typical day might look like in an author’s life. Surely they are all disciplined, carving out eight uninterrupted hours a day for penning a novel, magazine article, or whatever project is looming.   

Now that I’m a published author, I realize there’s no such thing as a writer’s typical day. I’d like to say that I write every day, but there are times when other responsibilities take precedence; and, while I tend to be more productive in the morning after a good night’s sleep, my teaching schedule dictates that many mornings are unavailable. Often I must catch an hour here or a half hour there. 

So, if I had nothing else to do--no lesson plans, laundry, grading, cleaning, practicing, doctor’s appointments, phone calls, meetings, etc, here’s what an ideal day would look like:

• Arise at 5:30 am

• Proceed straight to coffee maker--robe and slippers optional--and stretch while waiting for the Keurig to warm up and produce that first medicinal cup of Starbucks Breakfast Blend 

• Carry mug of hot, strong brew to sunroom, settle in recliner, snuggle under favorite flannel throw and sip adoringly 

• Refill coffee mug

• Open laptop and write for an hour

• Eat breakfast

• Write until lunchtime

• Eat lunch

• Write until dinnertime

• Eat dinner

• Write until bedtime

• Go to bed

• Start again tomorrow

Did I leave out anything? Oh yes, I forgot to get dressed or brush my teeth or do housework or laundry or exercise or interact with other humans. Somehow, it sounded better in my head.

Check out my author website: https://www.cindylfreeman.com/    

Standing on God's Promises

Have you noticed that when we are sick or grieving or afraid, it’s difficult to see beyond those limitations? When life is less than perfect, it’s challenging to focus on the positive aspects, to notice God’s blessings or even acknowledge God’s presence. Like a magnet, our attention is drawn to where we are hurting. Our pain, whether physical or emotional, distracts us from all that is still good in our lives. We just want the pain to stop. We may decide subconsciously that until we feel better, we cannot experience wholeness or happiness or fulfillment, so we put living on hold.  

The truth about pain, however, is that the more attention we give it, the more intense it becomes and the more self-involved we become. It’s like trying to reason with a toddler who is having a temper tantrum. Every parent learns that giving the child attention during a meltdown is just adding fuel to the fire. 

Both my husband and I have experienced illness this summer. At times it has seemed overwhelming. Fortunately, he has recovered fully, but I have yet to receive a diagnosis and treatment plan. It’s frustrating and inconvenient. I confess to sometimes questioning God’s purpose. I confess to sometimes feeling like my life has been placed on hold...like I can’t live fully until my health issue is resolved. Any unresolved issue, whether relationship, career, financial, etc. can trigger a similar reaction. As we wallow in our pity party, perhaps we think God is testing us or even punishing us. We might begin to doubt God’s love. Why would a loving God allow (or even cause) me (my loved one) to suffer? 

When such paralyzing thoughts invade, that’s when we need to dive into God’s Word and claim God’s promises. There are so many beautiful promises sprinkled throughout the Scriptures! They are precious treasures just waiting for our hungry hearts to discover (or rediscover) and embrace. I decided to start making a list, one that I can add to and refer to whenever I begin to slip into destructive self-pity. Here are a few of the powerful promises I am claiming as a follower of Jesus Christ:

• “I will never desert you, nor will I ever forsake you (Hebrews 13:5c).” 

• “This is my command-be strong and courageous! Do not be afraid or discouraged. For the Lord your God is with you wherever you go (Joshua 1:9).”

• “For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord (Romans 8:38-39).”

• “So do not fear, for I am with you, do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand (Isaiah 41:10).”

• “Let us hold tightly without wavering to the hope we affirm, for God can be trusted to keep his promise (Hebrews 10:23).” 

Please check out my author website: https://www.cindylfreeman.com/ 
where you’ll find a FREE gift just for visiting.

We Fear What We don't Understand

It seems to be human nature to fear what we don’t know or understand. But we have a choice in how we respond to our fear. We can either ignore it or we can face it. Ignoring fear is the easy choice but can result in abysmal consequences. Fear that is ignored or denied invariably grows and metastasizes. Because it doesn’t go away, it produces anxiety, distracting us from what and who are important in our lives. As it festers, fear can make us angry, causing us to lash out verbally or even physically. It can make us tired and sick, both mentally and physically. 

A close family member, someone I have loved my whole life, is living in fear. As a result, he has cut off his entire family. He is so fearful of our political differences that he can’t even entertain a dialogue with us. In fact, he has shut down all hope of communication. Sadly, I don’t think our family is the only one going through this.

In his final communique with me, he lashed out at someone he had always claimed to love, calling me names like “Commy, left-wing Socialist, and anti-American.” Incidentally, we have never discussed our political views. It’s just that he discovered we didn’t vote for the same party/candidate. Am I frustrated by his words and behavior? Yes. Am I hurt? Of course! But, after much thought and prayer, I realize his verbal assault and rejection are based on fear. He is lashing out because, as a White man in his sixties, he is afraid of losing his comfortable position of White male superiority. 

I’m convinced that fear is a powerful force underlying much of what we see happening in our country and our world. Political divisions, racial divisions, religious divisions...all are based on fear. I see White supremacy as fear of what will happen if Whites are outnumbered or lose their position of power, if Blacks or Asians or Mexicans or Native Americans are given power--or even equality--what will happen to us Whites who have been conditioned from birth to think we’re superior to people of color. Will we then have to contend with oppression or prejudice or slurs? 

Fear fuels race wars and political conflict. What if someone reaches a position of power whose belief system is not in agreement with our belief system? What if we let Muslims or Hindus or Jews infiltrate our so-called Christian society? Will they out-number us, over-power us or, heaven forbid, try to convert us? We fear what we don’t understand. But, unless we try to understand those who look different, worship differently, or vote differently, how can we hope to achieve harmony? If we refuse to move beyond our base (often baseless) fears, there’s no possibility of engaging in a healthy discussion that doesn’t require us to agree but only compels us to be respectful. 

I still pray that my family member will one day move beyond his fear to initiate open communication in the spirit of love we once shared; but at my age, I must accept the possibility that I may never see or hear from him again. That realization hurts far more deeply than any name-calling. 

"There is no fear in love; but perfect love casts out fear...(1st John 4:18)."

Please check out my author website: https://www.cindylfreeman.com/ where you’ll find a  FREE gift just for visiting.

A Pleasant Encounter

In general, I don't enjoy book-marketing events. Why? They're usually long and tiring. But, as an author, I know that, unless I hire a publicist (which is expensive), I'm ultimately responsible for marketing and selling my books. 

Don't get me wrong. After a year-and-a-half of quarantine, I was grateful for the return of in-person events; and I'm sometimes pleasantly surprised to meet exciting people who engage in meaningful conversations. They make all the entry fees, hours of standing--sometimes in the hot sun, other times in the rain--and sales-pitch repetitions worthwhile, especially when they buy a book or two. 

Last month's 2nd Sunday event in downtown Williamsburg was such an experience. Two other local authors and I shared a tent and marketed each other's works and our own. The weather was pleasant, and as we enjoyed good camaraderie, the time passed quickly.

Best of all, we met hundreds of friendly, kind, and interesting people. One couple, in particular, was memorable. Actually, they were two couples traveling together from New York City. The women approached our display while the men stood across the street talking, laughing, and obviously enjoying each other's company. One of the women suggested that her husband should be a character in a book. "He's definitely a character," she said. She said he hadn't had a bad day in his entire life; he laughed every day, and for their forty-some years of marriage, he had made her laugh every day. I told her I'd like to meet him, so she called him over.

I wish I could remember his name. I certainly won't forget his attitude. "Your wife says you've never had a bad day," I said. "What's your secret?"

"I've had plenty of bad things happen in my life," he answered, "but a long time ago, I decided to view everything as a blessing. I was injured in Vietnam. We lost a child in infancy. I lost my job once. The worst event was when my wife, here"--he wrapped his arms around her shoulders"--was diagnosed with kidney cancer. I thought my life was over because I thought her life was over. The lowest blow was when I discovered I wasn't a match to donate a kidney."

"But our son was!" she chimed in. "It was a miracle. That was twenty-five years ago, and I thank God daily for my life."

"And I thank God every day for her," he said, beaming.

"So, would you say that how we view life determines our level of contentment?" I asked.

"Absolutely! It's all about gratitude...being thankful for what and who we have, not moaning about what we don't have or what we've lost." 

As his wife turned back to her friend, he spotted my book, After Rain, and asked about it. I told him writing it had been my pandemic project. "I wrote it because I strongly sensed that we all needed comfort and peace." I mentioned that one of the devotions was about the practice of gratitude, the very thing we were discussing. "I have to remind myself every morning to be grateful," I said. "It's so easy to slip into complaining, especially during the last year-and-a-half when it seems like our world has turned upside down. That's why I wrote After Rain. I needed the reminder that, no matter what we are going through, God stands ready to walk us through it and help us triumph over the challenges." 

"Amen!" said his wife, who I didn't realize had been listening. She bought the book. Then, she bought one for a friend. I hope she and her friend are as blessed by reading it as I was in meeting her and her devoted husband.

Please check out my author website: https://www.cindylfreeman.com/ ,where you'll find a  FREE gift just for visiting.

The Mountains Called

The mountains called and we answered. Many people go to the beach for their summer vacations. That’s just fine, but my husband and I prefer the mountains. The idea of spending the bulk of our precious summer months in hot, humid Eastern Virginia gives us a severe case of the heebie-jeebies. The good news is that we can travel a mere three hours to reach the Blue Ridge with its lower humidity and cooler temperatures and still be in Virginia. There we can sleep with the windows open, dine al fresco, and hike without breaking a sweat. 

Our favorite get-away spot is Wintergreen Resort where

we rent a condo with a breathtaking view that includes

an abundance of stunning flowers and butterflies. We have access to tennis (golf, too, but we don’t play), and great hiking trails. We even hiked the Appalachian Trail this time...for about 100 yards. Whew! 

There are many good restaurants, wineries, and cideries in the area, too. You might even catch a glimpse of a black bear. 

The best part of our annual get-away is the Wintergreen Summer Music Festival, Erin Freeman, Artistic Director. After having to cancel last year’s event, Erin (no relation) outdid herself this year! We attended two of many concert offerings held in the Dunlop Pavilion, and both were stellar. From Bach to Brahms and Mendelssohn to a commissioned work for virtual chorus and live orchestra, every musical moment was mesmerizing. 

I know! This blog sounds like a copy ad for Wintergreen Resort, but trust me when I say, "Don’t go to Wintergreen Resort in the summer."

We prefer having it all to ourselves.

 

Please check out my author website: https://www.cindylfreeman.com/ where you’ll find a  FREE gift just for visiting.

  

Reentry

 

I tend to be a creature of isolation. It’s not that I don’t enjoy being with people, especially close friends and family members. It’s just that I feel comfortable with my alone time. Time alone allows me to ponder the universe, both macro and micro, both temporal and spiritual; and it allows me to express that pondering through my writing. So, last year, when social distancing became necessary, it didn’t feel like a sacrifice to me. Rather, it seemed like a gift. I could still take my walks and enjoy the beauty of nature; and with so much writing and editing to accomplish, I never grew bored. 

Last week, for the first time in eighteen months, I met three friends inside a restaurant, none of us wearing masks. At first, it felt strange and uncomfortable. Typically, we would have hugged. Later, I realized the idea of hugging never occurred to me.   

Our initial conversation was strained, yet we were the same four women who had so much in common, so many shared experiences, so much history together...before COVID. The server brought menus, and we buried our heads, hiding in the decision of what to order. With that task accomplished, we looked at each other, heaved a collective sigh, and shared a laugh at our awkwardness. Finally, with the proverbial ice broken, the conversation entered familiar, but long-neglected territory. We ended up talking and laughing until the servers began setting up for dinner.  

I left the restaurant feeling refreshed and exhilarated by the human contact that can never be replaced by Zoom meetings, phone calls, Facebook, emails, or text messages. Yes, I value and protect my alone time, but the pandemic has shown me how much I need human contact, with or without hugs.

I would love to hear your post-pandemic stories. Please respond and share how reentry has felt to you. Have you had to make adjustments that surprised you or did you jump right into life as usual? How about your children? What effects from isolation have you observed in them?

Speaking of responses, I received feedback from another writer friend about how to dispel a creative crisis. Lynn says he goes to a public setting and observes people. Then he makes up stories about them in his head. Often, a character will emerge that inspires a new novel. Thanks for the tip, Lynn! Fortunately, we can frequent public settings again. 

Please visit my website: https://www.cindylfreeman.com/

Tips for Managing a Creative Crisis

In my previous blog post, I wrote about feeling creatively depleted, uninspired, and a little panicky since summer flies by so quickly. Many writers call this phenomenon writer’s block, but that sounds so final...like chopping block or road block. I asked my writer friends to weigh in with some ways they address a creative crisis...and don’t try to tell me you’ve never had one.

As promised, here are the suggestions submitted by some of my writer friends. 

Cyrus says, “Close your eyes. Inhale good thoughts; exhale bad thoughts. Breathing deeply, take your body and mind to the stars. Release your mind from any thoughts and continue to breathe. Re-engage your mind with thoughts of walking without floors, seeing without eyes, hearing without ears, and become one with yourself. Empty your mind, fill your heart and breathe. Let the thoughts and words come through you and not to you.”

Wow! That’s some existential stuff there, Cyrus...very meditative. I do meditate in preparation for prayer, but I never thought about preparing for writing this way. I’ll definitely try it.

Monti, another author friend, suggests, “Go for a walk, find a tree, and discover an image in the bark patterns. Write about that image, tell what it means to you, and what the important words are. Put it in the little notebook you are carrying with you.”

Yes to the walking part, Monti! It’s one of my favorite energizer activities, and it works equally well for increasing both physical and mental energy. I like the bark idea, too. That’s definitely a new one, and I will try it. The “little notebook” is my phone, but it’s the same concept.

This morning, after my first good night’s sleep in a week, I realized I wasn’t in a crisis. I was just plain tired. Sometimes I don’t recognize when I need to take a break. I think I’m supposed to trudge through the fog of fatigue when stopping to rest and recharge would be a better plan.

But I appreciate the excellent suggestions from Monti and Cyrus. How about you other creative writers? What do you do to re-engage your muse?

Please check out my author website: https://www.cindylfreeman.com/ where you’ll find a couple of FREE gifts just for visiting.

Creative Crisis

Photo Courtesy of HighBabe

Okay, school is out for the summer, and I have time to write again. Yay! So, here I sit waiting for my muse to show up, and she is several days late. What to do! Let’s start with another cup of coffee.

Nope! That didn’t work, either. Even writing a blog post--something I normally enjoy--is a struggle. Is this how it’s going to be all summer? Do I just need to chill and wait until the mood strikes?

Some people call it writer’s block. For me it’s not so much a block as a fog. I can’t seem to concentrate or get my thoughts in order. Without an imposed schedule, I waste precious time and get distracted easily. Believe it or not, I have a YouTube channel. I was hoping to actually use it this summer...to post some videos about my writing career that might be helpful to other creative writers. But how can I advise others when I’m in a slump.

Fellow writers, what do you do to break the cycle of a creative crisis? I’d love to hear from you. Please send your helpful hints. I’ll compile and share them on my author page and website...maybe even on my YouTube channel. We’re all in this together.

You can visit my website here: https://www.cindylfreeman.com/

Pigpen and Me

 

Image courtesy of Wikipedia

We all remember the character, Pigpen, from the comic strip, "Peanuts." Wherever Pigpen went, a cloud of dust enveloped him. Little boys seem to be drawn to dirt. I have a picture of my son as a toddler dressed for church on Easter Sunday. As soon as I turned my back he was out the door and heading for the drainage ditch in our backyard. Before I could scoop him up, he had squatted to play in the mud, hands submerged up to his wrists, shoes covered with muck, and pant legs drenched. At first I was horrified, but then I couldn’t resist laughing and grabbing my camera. Now that he’s a grown man, I treasure that photo. It reminds me of how quickly we can become covered with the dirt of living. It happens when we run away from God; when we ignore God’s Word and God’s will.

I consider myself to be a good person, one who cares about others, one who tries to be kind and compassionate and truthful. But, like every human, I am a sinner. In Romans 3:22 and 23, we learn, “There is no difference between Jew and Gentile, for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” It doesn’t say “some” or “a few” or “everyone else” has sinned. It says “all.” This means every human is stained with the soil of sin. Fortunately, Paul doesn’t stop there. If he did, we would have no hope. In Verses 24 and 25, we learn that “All are justified freely by [God’s] grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus. God presented Christ as a sacrifice of atonement, through the shedding of his blood—to be received by faith.” 

When I think about all the mistakes I’ve made, all the little white lies I’ve told, all the times I’ve gossiped about someone or judged someone or envied someone or worried about a situation, I feel ashamed. I feel like Pigpen, surrounded by a cloud of dust, weighed down by my sins. But there is good news for every one of us sinners. God, through Jesus Christ, can wash away the dirt of sin that threatens to envelop us. How? Verse 25 makes it clear that redemption comes through believing in “Christ’s sacrifice of atonement, through the shedding of his blood--to be received by faith.” In other words, Christ’s sacrifice--through his crucifixion--is a free gift which can be received simply by faith in the resurrection.    

What would happen if, instead of charging headlong toward the mud puddles of temptation, worry, and selfishness, I allowed God to scoop me into his arms of forgiveness? Would my life be free of problems and challenges? No. Would I be free of sin? No. Would I be forgiven? Yes!

For a free gift, please visit my website: https://www.cindylfreeman.com/