Do you ever read books that make you want to write?
I’m not talking about the books that suck you in and you can’t get out of them for days… and when they end you feel like you’ve lost your friends. Those are great books.
I’m talking about the books that have a way with words. The words woo you and enclose you in their arms. They seduce you. The kind of seduction that you try to resist because you’re focused on the story, but they sway you anyway. You have to pull yourself away from the story and see a beautifully crafted line of words strung together and think “wow, that’s art”.
Those books are gems. Rare gems.
I’ve red two of these books in the past two months. I reread one. And am reading a second for the first time.
The adjectives, the nouns, the carefully crafted words together that describe vivid images in my mind wow me. I put the book down in mid-sentence sometimes. Absolutely stunned. Sometimes these words describe a world so broken that it breaks me, because the rawness in their descriptions. The words slap me in the face and leave a mark. A mark that stains.
Other times, the words are so tender they cause my eyes to blur, the blurred lines on a page. Not quite sure if it’s humanity or mere words that causes my heart to melt with their beauty. They leave me a mess.
Words are alive.
Whether they’re in the Bible, a story, poem, art… They’re alive.
That’s how I feel today.
Flabbergasted. Stupefied. Dumbstruck.
I walk around dazed, carefully crafting words in my head. Always hoping I can run home and write them down before they get away from me.
Words are fleeting.
Fleeting! They’re in my heart, in my mind, and gone. Leaving me utterly disappointed. I despondently walk around wondering “where are those words? Where is that story? What was that character?”
And my ideas vanish. They vanish.
I want to write a book. A story. Fiction.
How to bring words alive?
How to catch them? Their stories, their plot lines, despite their state of everlasting ephemerality?
I’m aware that was an oxymoron. Everlasting Ephemerality. Sue me.
I want to slowly build a story that has those qualities. That aliveness. You know? Where words twist together in a way that leaves its readers stunned. Where you read a story and are left breathless. I want the words written to reach out to readers and into their hearts.
I want to write a book about the most scandalous grace I’ve ever received. I want to twist the story with characters full of animosity, depravity, and hopelessness… With nothing.
And then give them light.
And let that light be the hardest thing they’ve ever looked into, because when you’re sitting in the dark for a long time and that pinhole of light comes through, it hurts.
But not for long.
That’s the plot.
Who? What? Where? How? I don’t know. Century? Time? Ages? I don’t know.
Male? Female? Struggles? Poor? Rich?
I’ve no idea.
I just know this.
I know Jesus. He’s my ultimate goal.
He’s my redeeming love.
He’s my grace…
He’s my story