When you have nothing to write about
I wanted to write something about writing. I mean, I’m a writer after all. You’d think I’d have more to say about the craft of writing than I do. But no. All I can say there is practice, listen and learn from the experts, and have fun. That’s about the sum of my writing advice.
I wanted to write about something I read. It’s been a while since I critiqued a book. Unfortunately, I haven’t really read anything different–though my husband just finished reading Jim Butcher’s Harry Dresden books. All of them. Now, watching that was fun! But plenty of people have read and critiqued his books, and he doesn’t need me to do it again.
So where does that leave me? With what’s been going on with me?
Well, let’s start with Jim Butcher, shall we?
You watch someone else read books
My husband is not a big reader. At all. He’s a computer guy. Would much rather play computer games.
However, he is into big, ridiculous plots, grandiose characters, and puns. Harry Dresden has all of that.
So I managed to convince him to read the series. He did.
And it was so much fun watching him read a series of books I’d always loved and enjoyed. He’d read them when he was supposed to be working. He’d stay up to two AM to finish reading one. Every twenty minutes he’d laugh at something Harry said or did, and come running down stairs to tell me about it. He acted like a cross between a kid in a candy story and a kid at a comic convention. It was great to watch. For his birthday, I got him a Dresden t-shirt. Polka never dies.
And that got me to thinking.
And you wish your life was a fantasy
My knees hurt. Have been for months. Don’t know why because I can be a stubborn lady and haven’t gone to the doctor yet. I’ve been working out at the gym. Trying to lose weight. Succeeding, to my surprise. Lost 20 pounds. Legs still hurt.
It’s not the only things in my life that hurt. We’ve been trying to get some land. Bank approved our loan. We were all ready to sign the dotted line, when the appraisal came in and said, “land’s not worth that much. You’re going to pay too much.” So we’re back at what feels like square -20, waiting for the appraisal to go through. So the bank knows how much to lend us. So the seller knows how much he can sell it for. So we know what the price is going to be. And we’re stuck with no one talking to each other and no one knowing what is going on. And our contract has been extended twice and I can’t help but think, “we’re going to lose the land through no fault of our own!” And we have no idea what’s going to happen.
Through all this, my husband and I decided we want to have kids. Been trying for a year. No baby. We’re telling each other, “it’s okay. You got time. There’s nothing wrong with you.” But we look around and all we can see are kids. Cute kids, pudgy kids, screaming kids. Kids playing baseball. Kids in Halloween costumes. And they’re all so cute and precious . . . and not one of them is ours.
And this is why
If our lives were a fantasy, then our problems could be solved overnight. I could get bitten by a radioactive spider and be gifted with super-powers. Overnight I’d get buff and healthy and my legs would stop hurting. If I ever did hurt, it’s because I decided to go out and be a punching bag for someone.
Insta-heal. Insta-health. It’s the superpower everyone wants. Too bad it’s a fantasy.
If our lives were a fantasy, I could go to a mystic or psychic or the local wise woman, and she’d be able to tell me exactly why it’s taking so long for us to buy our land. She could also give me a glimpse into the future, tell me exactly when we’ll sign the dotted line, when the wait will be over.
Speaking of waiting. While she’s giving us predictions, she could tell me about my future kids. Will I have them? How many? Boys or girls? One, two, five or ten? And if her answer is no, then I could ask why? Is it not in God’s will for me to have kids? Is there something with me? My husband? Is it a problem that could be fixed?
And because my life is a fantasy, of course the problem could be fixed–maybe with a magical healing potion. Or maybe with a deal with a crooked fairy or something. And then I’d only get my kid at the expense of half my soul or something horrible like that.
Which is why life isn’t a fantasy. And why fantasy isn’t life. Real life is worse–and better–than fantasy. Because real life has God in it. God is the ultimate problem solver. I just gotta remember that.
So never ask God to give you patience. He just might give you a bushel of trouble instead.