Resistance, books, and the wilderness

Here we are in the second week of the new year and things are not going quite as swimmingly as I’d hoped. I blame it on Resistance—yes, it is capitalized.

In our first book coaching call last week, Ally Fallon mentioned a book called The War of Art by Steven Pressfield. I thought that sounded just a little dramatic, so of course I ordered it while she was yet speaking.

Ally was relating one of the topics in Pressfield’s book, that of Resistance. He capitalizes the word . . . I’m not sure why, but I hope to understand after I’ve read it. Amazon Prime’s free two-day shipping—the kind that costs $139 a year—should have it here in a mere nine days. But I digress.

The basic concept of Resistance is that when you try to be creative, something occurs that keeps you from it. He says mostly the somethings are self-made, even if only subconsciously, but sometimes other things come up. Resistance is sort of a physical manifestation of internal fears and doubts.

I immediately thought of my daddy passing five days before the launch of this project. Not that it’s his fault or that I blame him in any way, but try to get creative when you’ve lost a loved one and you’ll find a little Resistance.

Then to throw some icing on the cake, I developed a sore throat two days before the call, which is my standard precursor to a cold—or Covid or RSV or whatever the latest health crisis is. So here I sit in a puddle of wool blanket and mullein tea with my box of ultra-soft Puffs, nursing my very-non-creative self back from the brink and trying to figure out if this is actually writer self-sabotage. Did I will myself to get a cold? Did my body shut down its own immune system out of sheer terror at what I’ve committed to? It’s an interesting concept that I don’t completely buy into, yet here we are, congested and coughing and unable to do actual work.

You will be happy to know, however, that I’ve added up all the bits and pieces and snippets I’ve written in the past year toward this book goal and I already have 8,990 words written. Y’all. That’s almost 1/6 of a book! I feel famous already.

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But I have wondered if this is my body’s way of giving me time to read—you know what they say: writers are readers. I love that excuse. Here is what’s currently on my nightstand:

I finished Writing Down the Bones (Natalie Goldberg) and would give it a resounding meh. As far as writing help goes, I got more out of Bird by Bird (Anne Lamott) and The Power of Writing It Down (Allison Fallon), especially the latter. I might be a bit of an Ally fangirl.

I also finished Big Bend: A Homesteader’s Story (J.O. Langford) yesterday. This is the book I picked up off the table next to my daddy’s chair before I left the apartment last Monday. I really didn’t know what to expect from it since Daddy was more inclined to read sciency stuff that is way over my head, but I loved this story. It is entirely possible that I was drawn to it just because it was Daddy’s and I know he loved the Big Bend area of Texas, but I think you would enjoy it too. Imagine homesteading in the early 1900s in “a land said to be inhabited only by bandits and rattlesnakes,” and then have a baby there. Thank my daddy if you read this.

I’ve just started on The Book of Lost Names, so I’ll reserve judgment for now.

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On Saturday my daughter Leah posted this photo on Instagram and made me cry.

Inside Leah’s cedar chest

It is hard to describe all the greatness that was my dad. He was a brilliant scientist and thinker. He loved mountains and the ocean and all of the natural world. He devoted his life to teaching young people the wonders of nature. Well into his 80s, he spent Wednesdays leading groups of 3- and 4-year-olds through a park managed by the Izaac Walton League, rolling logs and finding bugs and searching for mushrooms and spotting birds.

He loved art and knew a lot about it. And he was such a talented builder. He built rocking horses for the little ones,

Ellie and Zola racing, 2020

bookshelves for the boys, doll cradles for the girls, bunkbeds for all the grandchildren, and when my oldest daughter was about to turn 16, she asked him to build her a cedar chest and boy did he. It was absolutely perfect with dovetailed joints on every corner and lines that met up perfectly. He went on to build one for every granddaughter and my mother, and they are family treasures that will last for generations. I’m so glad he put his name on them.

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Finally for the week, this verse of the day popped up and I thought it was so appropriate for me right now.

Remember ye not the former things, neither consider the things of old. Behold, I will do a new thing; now it shall spring forth; shall ye not know it? I will even make a way in the wilderness, and rivers in the desert. (Isaiah 43:18–19)

As an enneagram 9, I am past-oriented. In other words, I tend to live in the past, think about the past, ruminate about past events. I am the person who thinks of a great answer three days after the conversation. Can you relate?

Yet here is the Lord, telling me to stop doing that. He says I should stop living in the past because he will “do a new thing” and “it shall spring forth” and best of all, “I will even make a way in the wilderness.”

Let me tell you, this whole book things seems like the no-joke wilderness. I feel like an explorer with not one shred of equipment. How is this going to work? How will I survive? Where will I get food and water? Shelter? How will I defend myself against wild animals? Where will the words come from?? It’s like the TV show Survivor for writers.

But the thing that really strikes me here is that God doesn’t say he will make a way out of the wilderness; he says he will make a way IN it. God offers us help, but we don’t get to do hard things in easy places; we have to go in the wilderness.

In the first few verses of this chapter, he reassures us:

Fear not: for I have redeemed thee, I have called thee by thy name; thou art mine.

and

Fear not: for I am with thee . . .

He goes in the wilderness with us.

Yes, sometimes we are called to do a hard thing, but God makes “rivers in the desert” to sustain us.