Changing Seasons of Writing

For the last couple of years, I've been having trouble settling down to write a new novel. Since the nineties, I used to rip right into them very quickly, but that feeling of eureka in the planning stage has been eluding me. I would find that even when I devised plans which might have some merit, I couldn't force my enthusiasm to jump on board to the extent it used to. Since that sense of fizzing anticipation was once my green light, I didn't want to move without it. I knew there wouldn't be much point anyway. That strong drive to woo others to share my love of my plots and characters had been my motivator.

For some time, it distressed me if I thought about it too hard. I thought I had a case of writer's block, and faced all the frustration and loss of identity that went with it. Acquaintances would ask, 'What book are you working on now?' and I'd mumble something about sifting through ideas. On one hand, I really wanted my mojo back, but on the other, it was nice to have a break from all the emotional energy it took, which I'd been drawing from for several years, and one project after the next. Because my characters often had some pretty tough issues going on.

Anyway, this photo of my local wetlands in the summer heat seemed an accurate picture of what I thought my creative mind resembled then. A desolate looking dust bowl. But I didn't want to admit it to anyone.

Then one day it struck me that I was still writing the same volume anyway. The writing pads and pens I was flying through were still the same as before, and so were the number of hours I'd sit at my computer typing. I assumed I'd developed writer's block, but I was simply writing different things. One was a factional account of my grandfather's life, based on the prolific notes my Dad had asked me to type for him. I also wrote lots and lots of blog posts, including numerous lists and reflections about reading and writing. The source of my writing hadn't dried up at all. It had simply changed direction, at least for a period of time. I guess it can happen.

In fact, when it comes to ideas for blog posts, my mind is like this. The exact same spot, but during last year's floods. And that water got even deeper, so you couldn't see the bridge at all, because it was completely submerged.

I understand marketing advice to be clear about our personal brands, so we can convey them to the general public and our target audience. And I'm loving the new genre series, which are cross posted on this blog and Christian Writers Downunder. Passionate authors with a wealth of experience in what they write are sharing the wisdom they've gleaned over many years. I look forward to each new one, and the interesting details we might learn. Yet at the same time, I've been learning that I need to be flexible enough not to get so set in my own rigid decisions about what I write that I close myself off from the Holy Spirit's gentle nudges. Fearing that my writing time might be over, just because I wasn't working on a novel, was my own idea, and not necessarily God's.

At the moment, I'm considering the possibility that there may be no more contemporary Christian dramas from me. They might be a season of my life that really has dried up. Perhaps some things are for a particular time, and then a drive to move on to something else catches up with us. Maybe our spiritual antennae should be always primed to pick up new possibilities in the air. It makes a lot of sense that since we're all different, something which might be a lifelong mission for one person could be stepping stones for another. And of course, the outcomes that eventuate may be way different from the outcomes we plan anyway. (Of course I won't say that I'll never, ever write another one, because by the same token, I might be wrong. Some day a new idea might come.)

Author and doctor Rachel Naomi Remen wrote a personal testimony in her book, Kitchen Table Wisdom. It's a long time since I read it, but it went something like this. She'd planted a wonderful rose garden, intending to enjoy the blooms from a particular room of her house for many years to come. One morning, she glanced out the window to see a magnificent buck (male deer) standing in her rose garden, munching her new rose buds with great relish. He was so stately and majestic, with his spotted hide and elegant, spreading antlers that she couldn't help catching her breath. And something whispered in her heart, 'You thought you were planting this rose garden so you could enjoy the splashes of colour. But it turns out the real reason you planted it was so you could attract and enjoy visits from this awesome fellow and his friends and family.' And so it turned out to be.

In a similar way, I'm liking what I'm writing at the moment. I thought I started my book review blog just so I could request access to brand new releases from Net Galley. But maybe a more far-reaching reason turns out to be so I can ponder all sorts of ideas I'm getting from books, new and old, and making connections between different stories which help me see the world in ways that wouldn't have occurred to me otherwise.

And I thought I was just doing my Dad a quick favour when I agreed to type out his notes, but it turned out to be a consuming idea which gripped me for longer than I ever expected. For anyone who enjoys contrasting shots as much as I do, and what the great outdoors can show us, those are a couple more glimpses of my daily walk in different seasons.

Paula Vince is a South Australian author of contemporary, inspirational fiction. She lives in the beautiful Adelaide Hills, with its four distinct seasons, and loves to use her environment as settings for her stories. Her novel, 'Picking up the Pieces' won the religious fiction section of the International Book Awards in 2011, and 'Best Forgotten' was winner of the CALEB prize the same year. She is also one of the four authors of 'The Greenfield Legacy', Australia's first and only collaborated Christian novel. Her most recent novel, 'Imogen's Chance' was published April 2014. For more of Paula's reflections, you may like to visit her book review blog, The Vince Review.

Book review : Exploring the Depths: Poems

Book review : Exploring the Depths: Poems, edited by Janette Fernando

Published by Poetica Christi Press

Reviewed by Dale Harcombe

This is the third poetry book I have read this year and I found more poems that appealed to m in this collection than in either of the other two. This is interesting, when you consider that the other two were The Best Australian Poems 2013 and The Best Australian Poems 2012. Twenty five poems in this anthology were either winning poems from the competition run in 2013 with the theme Exploring the Depths or extra poems chosen by the independent judge. The remainder of the poems which bring the total number to around eighty were chosen by a committee of poets.

Although the initial starting point for each poem was the same, the topics and issues covered are as varied as the poets themselves.  There were so many poems I enjoyed in this collection by a number of poets. Interestingly in this collection there were many more poems written by women than by men.

This is a collection to savour slowly. Some of my favourites were: Oh Hold Me, 1933, Leaving Warrnambool, After the Rain, Of a Photograph, Snow Gum, Immobile, Release, The Dawning, Enduring Love, Guildford Plateau Poplars, La Nuit Blanche, Death of Cold, Winter Solstice, Anon, A Life, Black Dog, (the Winning poem) Nothing but Time, Underwater (winner of the Francis Webb Award,) Until Death, Slow Dancing, Ascending into the Depths, and Jacob and Esau. On another read through I could probably go back and pick out just as many more other poems that pleased me with their imagery, expanded my thinking or in some way touched a chord in me.

This collection explores the depths of many and varied life experiences. You'll find such topics as depression, loss, nature, retellings of biblical stories, everyday life, football, doubt and knowing God. Despite some sad topics this collection is anything but depressing. Rather it is uplifting showing the hope that can uphold a person even in dark times.

A smattering of black and white photographs adds to the attractive presentation of this collection. I am thrilled with the beautiful photo of a jetty over the water and the rising sun that illustrates my own poem Grief.