Right now I want to be doing anything else that is not writing this book. But I also don’t want to be doing anything except writing this book. Somewhere under my skin the story is itching to get out but the words jumble up and become a meaningless mass on the way.
I keep falling on technical details. What is she wearing? I thought I had an outfit for her, then it didn’t make sense that she’d be wearing that skirt in the scene so I took it out. In the end I just left out what she was wearing altogether so she might be naked for all I know. It would be a different sort of book if she was naked in the fight scene.
My mind wanders off to other things. I plan the specialist’s appointment I’m trying to make for my son. Without picking up the phone. I think about the present I should buy for my daughter’s first grade teacher. I wonder if anyone has clean underpants for tomorrow.
It feels pointless. Why am I still here doing this? What does God want from me? I’m doing my best but He’s making it hard. What am I supposed to be doing?
I wonder if I should find a different job. But what could I do other than write? Am I capable of holding down a regular job? I haven’t done it in such a long time. But how could I just give up when this was my dream.
I wish I could have some feedback. If God could give me a sign that I’m heading in the right direction. I feel like there should be some more reward for this level of difficulty. Where are the high levels of spiritual connection that come with suffering? Where’s that high of knowing everything comes from God?
I know that this test comes from Him. But it still doesn’t feel good. It feels frustrating, and lonely and hard. And like I’m waiting for a miracle while beating my head against a brick wall.
Then I remember that in the desert God gave the Nation of Israel water from a rock.
He can give me a book from a brick wall.
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