The Ring Reader
When I started writing the Ring Reader, the story that I had in mind wasn’t necessarily the story that ended up on the page. At first this scared me. Terrified me, actually, and I found myself wanting to pull back. To shy away from the alien living in my computer. I would read and re-read pages, and think to myself how horrible my writing was, because it wasn’t what I had previously envisioned. But then, something magical happened.
I just let go.
I let go of my expectations for Faye, and Elias, and how their story was supposed to go. I let go of the stringent standards I had placed on the book I was creating, and I simply let it be. As I did, I found that the reason I didn’t like the story was because it mirrored fears that I carried deep within myself, and it brought them to the surface. I was forced to look upon them like my own reflection in a pool of still water, just floating there, staring back at me. And it was uncomfortable.
My first reaction, as I said, was to turn away from my work. To throw it all away, or abandon my progress and start over. But the longer I stared, the more I realized that what I had created was actually better than what I had imagined in the first place. I had created a story that told a piece of mine—without meaning to—and that wasn’t a success that I was prepared to digest. I wanted to spit out the raw, painful truths that I didn’t want to admit about myself.
It’s hard to look your fears, your limitations, and your misguided anxieties in the face and welcome them into your life as part of who you are. Because if you acknowledge them, it means you have to fix them. You have to admit that there are broken pieces of yourself that need attention, and it’s not easy.
As I read through my book again, I was able to let go of some of my fears, because I read about how Faye had done so. My own character taught me that it’s okay to pursue a passion, and that it’s okay to create—even if it’s frivolous. Even if everyone around me thinks that I’m wasting my time, or my spouse’s time, or my kid’s time, or even God’s time. Because isn’t everything we have here really His?
He has given me my talent for writing, has given me the inspiration that flows freely into my brain. My sound mind, and body, and even my computer—all gifts from Him. There have been so many synchronicities that have happened in order for me to take up this path as a writer, that I feel it would almost be blasphemous to declare that I can’t be one. In every way, God has shown me that this is my calling, that this is what I’m to do with my precious time here on earth, or as much of it as I possibly can anyway. Because no matter how called I feel to this work, I still have to live real life on the side.
Through my heroine in The Ring Reader, I have applied a precious truth that I already knew, but that I was scared to apply to my own work: God delights in creation. My creation. And therefore, if we are made in the image of God, isn’t it apt that we too delight in creation? Our creations, God’s creations, they should all bring us joy, and gladness, as all that God gives us is good.
I didn’t set out to write a post so focused on divinity, or the gifts that God bestows upon us all, but here it is. I hope you can pull out the pieces of truth that resonate with you, and take the rest for what it is—the baring of my soul the best way that I know how. Be patient with me friends, as you and I are on this journey of creation together. I will be putting my work, The Ring Reader, out there for the world to see and consume, for good or for bad, and I’m okay with whatever the outcome is. Really.
As a reader, I’ve learned that despite loving literature, and devouring stories as fast as I possibly can, I rarely remember their authors. The stories, they have always been the living things to me, and I have never blamed the author if one didn’t go as I’d hoped, or if I found fault in its pages. The story seemed to be a separate entity entirely. I know that kind of thinking is too much to hope for from most readers, and surely unrealistic to hope for from any critics, but it’s what gives me peace. As I send my work out into the world, I know that my story isn’t a direct reflection of me. It’s not a measuring stick for my worth. It doesn’t add to, or subtract from my importance. My words are just that, words. Words that I made up in my head, that I hope in some way will make sense to someone else.
It’s ironic, now, as I strive to write, that I don’t actually remember the names of many writers, but it doesn’t worry me. I do not wish to be remembered. I wish only to create. And I know that this book is simply a stepping stone on my journey into the wild, wonderful realm of writing. It won’t be my best work, it could quite possibly be my worst work, but I finished it. Despite how fiercely I wrestled with The Ring Reader, it’s complete, and in a little while, I’ll be giving it to you. Be gentle with it, or don’t. However you receive it, I’m honored simply by the fact that you did so in the first place.