Here we go! The month of insanity known as NaNoWriMo begins. That 30 day odyssey to write a 50,000 word novel completely within that little block of the calendar marked “November.” I have lived my story for the past few weeks, getting the characters and major events in my head.
And on Saturday, tomorrow, as I sit down to my computer with the first of many large cups of coffee and tap out the beginning words which will bring life to those characters…there’s nothing quite like that rush. There’s a sense of power about it – that appearance of something real that wouldn’t have been if not for me. And there’s a sense of awe, of wonder, as very often I stare at those words – some of them strangers to me – strung together in ways I had not planned or imagined.
What is that about?
And I realize those are the moments when I got to be the typist for the real Writer. We’re partners in this, He and I. Many many times as I’ve decried this writing bug, He’s reminded me that He gave me Story. It’s okay to love it and lose myself in it. I’m allowed – even encouraged – to have fun with it.
Doesn’t it stand to reason, then, that He enjoys this as much as I do? And when those words come that I hadn’t anticipated – that change in the plot that took me by surprise – it’s as if He’s announcing His presence. Reminding me we’re in this together. Perhaps also kindly prompting me to recall from whence comes the power, so to speak.
Yet I believe that those occasions are primarily moments of the deepest camaraderie – my Father as excited as I am, involved deeply with my heart, my life, accomplishing this deliriously exhilarating thing with me and through me.
Because we both do love a good story, my Father and I.