I’ve neglected posting of late. Life got in the way, but this lapse segues nicely into the next step on this writer’s journey: distraction and dedication. Although I’m a child of the 60’s I missed true hippiedom by a hair. I celebrated sweet sixteen during the Summer of Love and I turned down a trip to Woodstock, thus missing the biggest bang in hippie cosmology.

But all this peace and love was not totally lost on me. It primed me for the next big youth movement. I became a Jesus Freak. Faith colors my perception of things. What does this have to do with writing you may ask? Well, look at it this way. If I want to raise the dead, heal the sick, open blind eyes that kind of thing takes a dedication I didn’t have then and don’t have now. To do those works, a person is probably going to have to want it badly enough to miss a few of their kid’s soccer games and their family will resent it.

Likewise, writing takes a certain dedication. You must want it enough to miss movie-night, Aunt Edna’s birthday, whatever. Your family will have to prepare a few meals on their own and your family will resent it. Stand your ground, because if you don’t take your writing-time seriously no one will.

I have friends with far greater talent than I have. They construct clever plots within perfectly written first chapters, but they don’t finish manuscripts. Why? Life distracts them. There is a scripture that loosely paraphrased reads; the kingdom of heaven suffers violence and violent men take it by force. If heaven is the New York Times Bestseller List, I want to be that violent man… er, woman.

Now I have heard stories of fabulous husbands and angelic children who step up and support the struggling new writer in their midst, but they must be as rare as unicorns. I’ve yet to see one. This is the first threshold. Cross it if you dare.