Laurel Thomas

writing Archive

Monday

4

December 2017

0

COMMENTS

A Stage At the River

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One night in 2009 on Britain’s Got Talent, a little woman walked on stage, hairy eyebrows and a saucy attitude. Nervous, she struggled to remember where she lived. In the background were snickers and whispers of ridicule as she shared her dream to become a professional singer.

Everyone laughed. The judges and the audience.

Until she opened her mouth and sang.

Platform. It brings us to the public eye. So different than where our writing begins, sitting with laptop, alone, doing what we do. Creating, putting words on a page that express thought and emotion – all that makes us human. All that connects us. And yet, crafted alone.

Susan Boyle had been singing for years, but never had a platform like Britain’s Got Talent. Her bravery to bring her song before multitudes was rewarded. Her voice was soon heard all over the world.

The very essence of writing is to communicate. To share. Platform positions our voice where it can be seen and experienced.

As an introvert, the fear of platform is like the terror of public speaking. Spinach in my teeth? The carefully prepared speech forgotten? Who wants to hear what I have to say, anyway?

Writers need to be read. Sure, a creation needs preparation to make it as clear and beautiful as it began in the writer’s heart. But it also needs platform.

When shared with others, all that we’ve learned to express our work well causes it to sing. Like when a courageous Scottish lady, mocked and ridiculed, opened her mouth and surprised everyone.

We can’t pretend that the solitary life of a writer is only that – solitary. Our words are meant to connect us to a world that extends across borders, into languages we can’t speak and people we’ve never met.
So, we do what it takes to say it well. To learn the craft, to make our message resonate with others.

Because that’s what writing does. It releases a song in us, through us, in a way that others can join in.
Will we capture the world’s attention? Not unless we’re willing to bring our art to a place where it can be seen.

Platform can be formed in many ways. Perhaps by the power of a blog touching readers from countries far from our own. Or instruction that brings your article to the attention of a magazine editor. Maybe it’s help with a website that needs brushing up or with navigating social media. If your story is finished, access to an acquisition editor can make all the difference.

Keep working on that manuscript, then bring it before others. It’s your song and it needs to be heard – by many.

 

Wednesday

6

May 2015

2

COMMENTS

What’s Next, Abba?

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I came to my chair to pray this morning, not sure how to receive from Him. Have you been to that place where you don’t want to go anywhere that might require what you don’t have? Makes me want run and hide.

The sad thing is I often treat God with a fear that He only greets me with a reminder that I’m not enough and with assignments I can only hope to fulfill.

Weird, I know. Coming to the Savior with my own salvation in short supply.

One thing I’ve learned this year. Writers are healed as they write. So that’s good news. I can pick up my pen and let the ink flow. Amazing how the Creator accepts my invitation as I ask a simple question.

What’s next, Abba?

I hope His answer comforts you, too, wherever you are and however you need Him today.

Abba’s response:

Do you believe I want to refresh you? That I know you’re tired and need to be filled instead of give? There’s a reason you come to Me with that fear. It has a name and today I’m breaking its hold on you. It is shame. Accept My war against it. Know that I’m never a part of its demonic agenda.

Instead of believing that I hand out shame when you need refreshing, know that My heart is a Savior’s heart. I am mercy. Not the kind some consider weak and just a nice idea. My mercy flows like a mighty river, strong and cleansing. It penetrates a concrete fortress of lies and embraces the heart’s faintest cry.

For so long you believed life had to be ordered, in careful perimeters. Not so. Look at the ocean you love. It laps over the shallows with gentle waves one morning, inviting a swim. It pounds sandy shores the next, reshaping and transforming them with its power.

So welcome to Me, beloved. Welcome to the wild side! You’re connected to My heart in ways you don’t understand yet. Yes, I hear you talking like you know it all when you’re insecure. I see you present a good show when you’re afraid.

Remember the ocean. Are you able to master it? Able to swim and get where you think you need to go? No? Okay, then, you can let that veil fall. It is a veil of shame. It isn’t My garment.

My garment fits you with perfection. Its lovely in My eyes. You didn’t have any hand in creating it. It’s all Me. I formed you in your mama’s womb, knowing how I would clothe your nakedness with exquisite beauty.

But shame, a subterfuge, blinded your eyes. Shame worked hand in hand with poverty. Trying was never enough. You were never enough. That lie required a hiding place and shame was happy to provide it.

So come into the Light, out of the shadows. Let Me robe you. You won’t need pretense or fragile efforts to cover your fears. You were meant to live in Me. Always. I’ll fill the gaping wounds with My oil. The oil of healing for you and for others.

I love you, dear one. Go into your day knowing that My hands have crafted a robe of glory just for you. Receive its reality and let its beauty shape your expectations.

Shalom,

Laurel Thomas