Of Authors and Friendship


Reading a book on a hammockReading a book by an author you haven’t read in a while – a favorite author – is something like meeting an old friend. A good friend.

You smile and their face lights up. You shake hands or hug. You chat over your usual order, or sit in the back porch over lemonade and begin to catch up. And before you know it, or without even really realizing it, your conversation has plunged into deeper waters than you dare to go with the average acquaintance. And that’s why they’re such a good friend, because you don’t stay on the surface. (It’s clear to all of us that there is much more beneath the slight ripples, more in the heart and soul that somehow should and could be known if we cared enough or were brave enough to venture in.)

But with a good friend we do just that. It’s not, “Hello, how are you?” or, “Wow, that storm last week was a real gully washer.”

It’s not necessarily even, “My son failed his math class and I’m not sure he still wants to go to college.” Though it might start there, it goes deeper. Why that decision of your son makes you fear your parenting over the years hasn’t been enough, or that you have somehow enabled him, or disabled him through your own set of fears and hang-ups.

Whatever it is, it is not, “Everything is fine.” It’s truth. It’s honesty. It’s revealing questions you have and fears that loom, and situations that still threaten to overwhelm you. Somehow, when shared with a good friend, they seem not as much. Or a light shines so far away as to seem only a pinprick that could very well be an oncoming train for all you know but, for the moment illuminates your conversation just enough.

As a friend bestows a little light perhaps through words. Or perhaps through your own words, when you’re finally honest and brave enough to voice them, you realize what’s at the core of that thing you’re fearing or running away from. You’re finally at home enough to where you can be yourself and in your own skin.

And somehow, in a way, reading a book by a favorite author has a similar effect. (Or is it just me?) You smile at their audacity to put something in print that you never would have confessed in a hundred years. It gives you confidence that maybe it doesn’t really need to stay hidden. You smile at their choice of words or are completely awed by the way they seamlessly weave together a concept or thoughts that you’ve always felt or wondered or held deep inside.

You know, Hey, that’s me in there. In those pages.

And maybe, just maybe, somewhere in their heart. Somehow, in that way that doesn’t really make sense but doesn’t have to. Because truth is stranger than fiction. And the words we speak and the words we write are somehow are part of us that come from a place so deep that we don’t know exactly what’s going on down there.

Perhaps that’s one of the reasons I write. To figure out who else might understand or relate or wonder the same things I do.

And that’s why when I meet an author through the pages of a book new or old, I know I have made a friend. I know I can be myself with that person, when and if I ever meet them. That our conversation would venture beyond the “how are you” and “I hope your health is not affected negatively by all the smog in the air.” Because for so long, through their words, they have been a part of my life, like a friend is – no matter how near or far.

Through them, or because of them, I have the courage to be myself, which is often the very bravest the best and worst of us can be, to let a bit of all that flows beneath the surface slip out for a glimpse from time to time.

Have you “met” an author like that? Please leave a comment if you have a favorite author or two who are like that old friend or kindred spirit.

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A New Year’s Journey of Writing … and Life


For a couple weeks at least, I had been pondering my writing goals for the New Year. After all, what better time than the start of a new year to make some concrete plans for writing and attempting to making progress in some of my books? There are, by now, well above 50 in my head.

I’ve made writing goals before. A few times this past year, I made writing goals at the beginning of each month – to have a particular number of blog posts written, and a certain number of words written in one or the other or a few books, etc.

The only problem was that I never really reached those goals.

I thought for a while that the issue was my lack of discipline. But when it comes to completing writing goals and editing projects for others, I always get it done in time.

I’ve only begun to realize that writing, at least for me, is somewhat a journey of faith. It’s not something that I can decide to write a certain number of words or have a particular book project complete by a specific date. Yes, it’s great to have goals, and to shoot for deadlines. But I’m starting to realize that doesn’t completely work for me.

This past summer I was looking forward to getting a great deal of writing done, and suddenly, everything was quiet. It was a silence that lasted for months. No ideas. No words were forthcoming. My blogs rested dormant. My manuscript documents unopened. My word count unchanged.

I knew I couldn’t just push my way through the silence, because writing is an inspiration. If I were to write without that, it would be dry, uninspired words … nothing more.

With the stirring of autumn, ideas and words began to flow again. But how long they will last and where they will lead, I do not know.

It’s kind of like the journey of life.

We make plans. We follow a path. We might know our eventual destination, but there is much we do not know.

And there are many surprises on the journey.

We often just have to trust that the One who designed the path knows where it is leading, and that it leads to a good place in the end.

Like the journey of my life, I know the end of the road for most of the stories I am writing, but the exact contours and delicate details of the road … I do not know.

It is a journey of discovery, and I look forward to the journey in the year to come … both the journey of life, and the journey of a writer.

My greatest prayer – in my writing as in my life – is that they can both serve as a light of sorts.

Perhaps a candle set on the table.

Perhaps a light on a hill.

Perhaps a star in the night sky.

All in some way, something that will help to lead toward Home. A place of light, life and beauty.

None of us are there yet, but I welcome you to walk beside me on the journey.

Happy New Year!