I accomplished a rough three pages of my project yesterday. I need to keep up/ increase the praying about my piece, because it’s definitely helping. (Not to say that these words are directly from God, but surely He’s doing something when unexpected answers show up while I write.) I had written down a rough two pages when I thought the piece was set in 1983 and Dawson was a security guard, so I basically rewrote the whole thing. Now it’s 2008 and Dawson works as a transporter. The pages are still definitely a rough draft, but I like them much better now.
The most surprising thing that came up yesterday was a man in Room 103. I didn’t think about giving the homeless patient a foil for this story, but once Cadence looked at the door, it made sense. I’m not sure if Mr. 103 will be running from anything or if not running from anything would be more effective. I’ll have to keep working on that. I think his wife still has her job, but he lost his, and they have five kids to take care of. And now he has pneumonia.
Why do we have to be so mean to people when we write?? I guess this is, or at least could be, a microcosm of how God feels about us. I know that Mr. 103 is going to help the homeless patient, but poor Mr. 103 only knows that he’s horribly sick and can’t provide for his family. As much as I want to skip to the end and solve all of his family’s problems, life doesn’t work that way. He has a couple jobs to do before then.
I agree with Ashley Abramson: writing really is a spiritual discipline.