Let me love this world into being…
I’ll never forget the summer I saw Michaelangelo’s David statue in Florence. I could tell you about how impressed I was, how I circled him amidst a suffocating crowd, sketched his many expressions, and read about the million tiny sensors that monitor his body for cracks.
But what I remember most now are the dim statues leading up to David’s throne. Never finished or given a second glance, they seemed there to fill space. I studied the frame of a head, the bridge of a nose, and eyes still blinking away sleep. Would you believe me if I told you they seemed more human? I like to think of them now as the “Other Michelangelos.” They’ve come to represent my view of the creative journey—of writing and art—and even of myself.
Image courtesy: https://www.florence-tickets.com/blog/florence/michelangelos-prisoners-at-the-galleria-dellaccademia#:~:text=At%20the%20Accademia%20Gallery%2C%20in,sketched%20out%20in%20marble%20blocks.
Recently, a dream literary agent turned down my query for a novel I’ve been working on for about four years. I’d done everything I could think of—beta readers, a rigorous writing mentorship, endless revisions, and my manuscript had even been long-listed for an award with a small press. But still, room to grow! The agent wrote me a long, thoughtful email sharing the aspects she loved and ideas to make the story better. Thankfully, I wasn’t devastated. I hit the keyboard, ready to go at it again! But a few months ago, the let-down would’ve been harder. I’ve been learning to ride the waves of hope and rejection better.
Writing a novel, or creating anything worthwhile for that matter, is a lot like trying to bring something beautiful from a marble block. It takes grit, a bit of insanity (or devotion, you decide), and vision.
“Genius is eternal patience. I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free. The greatest danger for most of us is not that our aim is too high and we miss it, but that it is too low and we reach it. The sculpture is already complete within the marble block, before I start my work.”
I suppose every creator has to ask themselves, how far will I go? When am I finished? (Some, like Monet, say never.) I think the process of discovering the angel within the marble captivates me most. The thrill of bringing something to life that’s never existed before. That middle-of-the-night AH HAH! that sends me to the keyboard. That sparkling idea I must catch like a shooting star before it’s gone. It’s for the joy of writing itself.
But joy is a funny word.
I learned early on if I’m writing to get traditionally published, I should stop. The statistics are brutal these days—of the few children’s agents who take on debut authors, fewer prefer high fantasy, and far fewer manuscripts ever make it to a publisher’s desk. Many books die in the trenches (as some query-weary writers have tweeted). Statistically, it would be easier to get accepted to Harvard than to get traditionally published. Yikes! Now throw in the challenge of less kids reading books these days and an uncertain future with AI. Sometimes, it feels like I’m insane to keep trying. But the dream of having a book out in the world one day compels me. Better yet, the dream of having a book worthy to be out in the world compels me.
I can’t write for the masses. If I write, I must write for joy.
But like I said, joy is a funny word.
Creating isn’t always an emotional experience, either. It comes with fortitude. Sweat. Sometimes a good dose of misery. Going at it over and over again. I’m simply compelled to finish the great challenge of bringing something to life.
I think that is what keeps me sane while querying agents. I also wouldn’t be half the writer I’m becoming without community. Writers and authors I never would have otherwise met, from around the world, have expanded my little world. Challenged me to dig deeper into my craft, even where it hurts. Learning from each others’ creative processes has been like a fresh trip to the museum. I love seeing what each of us are becoming—not only our work but who we are as writers, artists, and friends.
As I wrap up this post, I’m also revising another manuscript—one I plan to query someday as well. I’m also 37 weeks pregnant, and savoring the rare, long hours I still have to write uninterrupted. How I will ache for them. But this new baby boy will be worth it. I wonder, what will this new season bring? Who am I becoming next?
I came across a prayer for fiction writers that I believe echos Michalengelo’s philosophy in its own way. As a Christ-follower, I see God as a sort of larger Michaelengelo, patiently chipping away my messy parts to bring out what is most beautiful. I believe that our divine desire to create begins with Him. The writer’s prayer begins with, “Lord, let me love this world into being…”
Which makes me think…love may be an even better word than joy when it comes to creating. For to make something excellent, you have to learn to love it. To keep returning to it. And you must love whoever you are offering the work for.
Ultimately, I write in hopes that I may impact my reader(s) for good—to bring a fresh perspective on what is already deeply real and relatable, to bring magic, to bring joy. To echo what is true and forever. I suppose that is joy in itself. And it is a form of love.
So I end now with the beginning of the prayer.
“Lord, let me love this world into being…
Take these my small offerings:
my pen,
my paper,
my words,
my willingness
to be still and present.
Fill my imagination.
Be to me both fire and wonder,
inspiration and guide…
Lord, let me love the reader,
ever writing for their good.”
