#returning to projects
I know I am not the only one in the writeblr community who has struggled with their original work lately.
At the outset of our literary adventure, it’s seemingly inconceivable how we could ever tire of our beloved novel, our passion project, our masterpiece-in-the-making. Yet, despite our initial enthusiasm, that apparently-infinite source of fervor starts to wane. Our writing becomes a chore, a task, another check on the laundry list of life. And then, all too soon, the story ends without its climax, its resolution, its “happily ever after”.
It’s no small secret that these symptoms have plagued my projects recently. After months of continuous inspiration, that outpouring suddenly ceased. So, I rested. That’s a lie. I tried to “power through it”, to work myself into a stupor - and I did. I could not understand what interrupted the overflow.
Throughout this time, one song continually came to mind - Honest Questions by Daniel Bedingfield. Oh, I had a lot of honest questions to ask. Why had the inspiration stopped? Should I work harder to overcome this obstruction or should I take this time to rest instead? But above all else, I wondered: am I to blame for my own inability to yield the result I desire?
I wrestled with this honest yet unanswerable question for weeks. I searched for an answer in every nook and cranny I could…except for the very song that prompted this expedition. Amidst these lyrics of pain and promise, one phrase haunted me: “I will pour the water down upon a thirsty, barren land and streams will flow from the dust of your bruised and broken soul. You will grow like the grass upon the fertile plains of Asia. By streams of living water you will grow.”
I have never possessed the power to change Winter to Summer, Spring to Summer, nor Fall to Winter. Why would I assume I could command my life to produce fruit in a dormant season? I cannot control the seasons in my life - but I can choose to trust the One who can. Or, for those outside of my own faith, trust that every season in life, just as on Earth, will too pass.
Yesterday, I trusted. Today, I wrote again.
I would love to tell you that I have an answer for your inspiration shortage. I wish I could give you a formula to follow so that the creativity returns to you once you complete these three easy steps. But ingenuity is not so straightforward. Life is full of winding paths and impassable roadblocks and gates that cost a hefty price to pass through. You might need to fasten your bootstraps and strut through that storm until you pass the rainclouds by. Or maybe you need to lay by the wayside and sleep until the storm subsides. I don’t know. But I do know one thing: this season of fruitlessness will not last. Seasons are, above all else, only temporary. And when the new season comes, those storms will have yielded a hefty harvest. Hold on to this truth:
You will grow again.
You will create again.
Youwill write again.That is a promise.
