I know something about mistresses. My dad had one.
As a writer, a blog can be just like a mistress for me. Here’s why:
1. Stroking. The instant gratification that comes from being heard with such ease (blogging) is the simple sticky honey trap for a person of words, like me.
2. Quick fix over Commitment? Sure, baby. Pounding out 80,000 words grows wearisome. Why not just pop out 800, for a quick fix? Sometimes, I ditch the old ball & chain writing project for a bit of Miss Right Now (blogging). Sometimes my dreams suffer for it.
3. On-the-fly modification. Meeting up with a mistress (my blog) can be exciting because not only can I be impetuous, but I can modify a lot to my liking whenever I please. I switch things up for added interest, or improvement. But, ink on paper…I’m married to it.
4. Familiarity breeds contempt. There’s nothing like living with your words to make them frustrating and lack-luster. Months on end of book project writing can just kill the romance, and lead to self-loathing at my own impotence. However, a short, hot rendezvous (a few hours) is the most I spend on any post. Hey, blog, don’t let me catch you leaving your toothbrush here, or it’s sayonara.
5. Adventure! Weekend trysts to exotic spots? Yes, please! I don’t have to be an expert when blogging. I can cover exciting, far-flung topics with just a few hours of pesky research.
My dad married his mistress, eventually. He still fought with wife #1 (my mom) all the time–but with the new wife, it was a new life of eggshell walking and apologizing. He probably didn’t anticipate this at the mistress stage.
I don’t think I want the same thing in terms of my writing. I have to keep blogging in check. The words, “Get back, you vile temptress!” comes to mind, until I realize that this would make it sound like it wasn’t my fault. But, it is.
Has your blog ever been like a “mistress” for you? In what ways?
And please share your insights.
What helps you stay on track with longer writing projects?
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Today’s post comes from Doug Jackson. Professor Jackson is a bona fide man of letters and a teacher of spiritual formation. He also blogs. He’s not the kind of expert that touts his CV. Rather, he’s a man acquainted with his humanity in a way the endears you to him right off, and a wisdom that can change you.
“For I am the sort of man,” Augustine once declared, “who writes because he has made progress, and who makes progress – by writing.”
Christian bloggers should rework Jane Austen’s dictum, “Write what you know,” and state it as follows: Write until you know. If we understand blogging as a process of self-discovery and even of self-formation, we may tread this track with greater gratitude and greater care.
Gratitude and care: Keeping an internal diary has long been seen as a spiritual discipline, from Augustine’s Confessions to Wesley’s journals to Mother Teresa’s recently published papers. The Internet tweaks this ancient practice by offering the perilous privilege of publication.
I say privilege because blogging encourages journaling by offering the incitement of instant readership. Journaling has never been one of my own spiritual practices because I am too much of a writer (or perhaps too little of a Christian) to stand the sound of one keyboard clattering. Writers write to be read, and while perhaps saints do not, most writers are at best saints-in-process. Tradition tells us that Abba John the Dwarf, at Abba Pambo’s direction, watered a stick every day for three years until it burst forth in fruit. I, however, simply will not chase the dead stick of writing if there is not a carrot of being read dangling somewhere on the end of it. George Bernanos’ country priest begins his Diary with the promise that after twelve months he will use it for kindling; by the end of the first chapter he amends it to “I’ll stuff it all away in a drawer to re-read it later with a clear mind.”
So blogging offers an incredible privilege: Writers who in the very recent past would have no outlet for their work can now find instant publication – and instant motivation. Anne Lamott notes the value of this kind of work:
I just try to warn people who hope to get published that publication is not all it is cracked up to be. But writing is. Writing has so much to give, so much to teach, so many surprises. That thing you had to force yourself to do – the act of writing – turns out to be the best part. It’s like discovering that while you thought you needed the tea ceremony for the caffeine, what you really needed was the tea ceremony. The act of writing turns out to be its own reward.
But the privilege comes laced with peril: the deadly sin of wrath.
Blogs are self-edited and self-published. I can say whatever I want. Blogs are also released to cyber-space: I can’t unsay anything, even if I want to. This makes a blog a great place to get angry, but a poor place to repent. When I played football we often drilled using foam shields known as “air bags.” I noticed that guys who avoided physical contact at all costs suddenly went Jack Lambert on us during these sessions. We dubbed such selective warriors “Air Bag All Americans.” A blog can be a playground for Air Bag Martyrs who speak boldly from the behind the bunker of their firewalls.
But wrath is a deadly sin for a reason. Jesus equated insults with murder. People often ask me, “Does that mean calling someone a jerk is just as bad as killing him?” My standard reply is, “Not to him.”
Which is largely the point and takes us back to blogging as self-discovery: My anger may or may not harm my targets (with a readership like mine, probably not), but it tells me something about me. “The pleasure of anger,” explains C. S. Lewis, “the gnawing attraction which makes one return again and again to its theme — lies, I believe, in the fact that one feels entirely righteous oneself only when one is angry.
Then the other person is pure black, and you are pure white.” Ranting blogs probably reveal very little about my airbag victims, but they should tell me something about the state of my own soul.
And then there’s the temptation of attention: Wrath translates to readership because everyone loves the vicarious thrill of an Internet takedown. If we write to be read, we must take care lest we automatically write what people like to read. Donald Kaul once closed a review of Robert James Waller’s chick-lit romance “The Bridges of Madison County” by admitting, “I still don’t know what Waller has, but if I thought it was contagious, I’d kiss him.” If cyber-sneering and digital drive-by’s mean viral results, we’re too quick to kiss – well, whatever needs kissing.
Harry Farra’s “Little Monk” begins keeping a journal early in his vows, and later finds it to be “a valuable record of a soul tamed by God.” Toward the close of the book, he abandons the volume to the care of a young woman. She shares it with her wayward son who finds that it changes his heart. Perhaps that should be the goal of the believing blogger: the charism of being overheard. An old joke says, “Live in such a way that you would not be afraid to sell your parrot to the town gossip.” I would amend it to: Blog in such a way that you would not fear to have your words read by a seeking soul in danger, one whom you may never meet.
I write these words as one more unknown note in the mighty symphony (or cacophony) of the blogosphere. My URL does not appear on big-time blog rolls. No one has contacted me to offer a book deal. Christian universities do not invite me to speak. But I don’t think I need the caffeine of fame (though, quite honestly, I’ll take it if it comes); what I need is the liturgy of writing. And who knows – maybe that is what someone who reads my blog needs as well.•
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After twenty-five years as a pastor, Doug Jackson finally made it to Tarshish as an assistant professor in the Logsdon Seminary program of the South Texas School of Christian Studies in Corpus Christi, where he teaches spiritual formation, pastoral ministry, and Greek. In addition to his teaching, Doug writes “Sermoneutics,” a weekly devotional and sermon-starter blog based on the Revised Common Lectionary: http://sermoneutics2.blogspot.com/.
Background in one sentence: On March 6th I went to my first all-day, silent, guided prayer retreat held at the Jesuit Center in Wernersville, Pa.
Simply put: I’m hooked, probably for life.
I’m not sure what can rival what happens when I finally unplug, quiet down, and let God be God. This was that sort of time.
In the morning, our group gathered for a brief preparation to guide our personal prayer time. Sr. Maria McCoy shared some thoughts and gave 2 rather simple but profound analogies for God and God’s presence. As we entered an extended time of silence and prayer, these (theological, and ontological) ideas about God were to pervade our experience. And did they ever!
Spiritual Guidance Tip: To get a snatch of the experience yourself, try this: Block off 20 minutes, or more if you can, for prayer. Then, read the following 2 analogies and take them with your into your time. Talk with God about them. See what happens.
She kicked it off like this, “There was once a baby fish…”
I thought, “I don’t care who you are lady, but anybody who starts a pensive day of prayer like that is a kindred spirit!”
The rest went something like this:
There was once a baby fish, who went to his mother and said, “What is water and where is it? I’m so very thirsty, and I think if I don’t find some water soon, I will die.” Her mother said, “Water is all around you. Sometimes you can’t even notice it, because it’s so close and so real.”
God is like water and we are his fish. God is real and ever-present. There is nowhere where God is not. As we swim about, we may not be able to feel God’s presence or see the boundaries of God. We cannot see these boundaries, because God has no boundaries. God continues. God is.
And then another one something like this…
Think of an ocean sponge. Think of an ocean sponge where it is supposed to be…deep in an ocean. The sponge is surrounded by water. But, the sponge is full. Full of that same water too. The water is in, and through, and all around the sponge. You are that sponge, and God is the water. Realize that God, who is your Creator, and everywhere present, is present at the core of who you are. God is the center. God is indeed in, and through, and all around you.
So when sticking to Christian theology, God is omni-benevolent (throughly good) and omnipresent (everywhere present) I pray differently. Sometimes I act more like a dried out sponge, and I forget this basic stuff about God. I forget how this Truth* plays out.
Another amazing gift is that before I went to the retreat, I used the language of water to describe my reason for going (see that part here). I mentioned how physical and spiritual dehydration can, after a while, turn into a kind of lack of thirst–the very opposite of what is most needed. I think refreshing and retreat go together.
When was the last time you noticed your spiritual thirst?
Verses of reflection:
Eph 3:16-19 I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.
Psalm 139:5-8 You hem me in—behind and before;
you have laid your hand upon me.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
too lofty for me to attain.
Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths {hell}, a you are there.
*Truth capitalized to denote Truth as a Person (God). Found or experienced in relationship more clearly or fully than through propositional statements or systematics.
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TOMORROW’S POST:
Reflections on God [or what happened with the Jesuits, part II] Click here for Part I.
(click for photo attribution)
Top Ten Signs that You Need Renewal
1. Observable deficits in enacted Fruit of the Spirit. (i.e. less qualities of love, joy, peace, patience, goodness, kindness, gentleness, and self-control)
2. You find yourself perceiving things others say as personally offensive, or as direct attacks.
3. You are “venting” more online.
4. You feel unloved.
5. Posting on your blog or being active in social media, or online makes you feel significant. (Accordingly, not getting that sort of instant gratification creates feelings of emptiness or frustration.)
6. You’re writing about your stuff rather than really working through it.
7. Increased tension in your face-to-face relationships, while giving greater significance to internet-based relationships.
9. You feel spread thin like too little butter pulled across toast. Or you feel toasted, or similar to toast, in any respect.
10. You’re in a creative slump.
If some of these ring true, spiritual refocusing and guidance will create more creative (and general) energy and renewal in your life.
What is your tip off that you need renewal?
Thankfully, some help is near. Guidance is at hand, and it works for non bloggers too! Search the category “blogging” for some helpful articles. Visit again soon, too. More resources are coming.
For personal spiritual guidance (for the courageous), use the contact button to get started (lower right), or to find a retreat center click here.
Beyond this blogging series…is an alliance of committed bloggers to keep Christian blogging a ministry of integrity. Integrity is a word I love, because its literal meaning is wholeness. When we are emotionally and spiritually healthy, we are whole as message-bearers. As people. We lack for nothing.
So, if you enjoy reading or writing blogs, I hope you’ll join in with the interactive community at Facebook.
This shaggy Jewish guy, Jay, who hangs out at the local coffeehouse tells some great stories, and a lot of people like to listen to him. People seem attracted to Jay, but not because he’s good looking or in with the shop owners. Smelly homeless guys, hookers, meth-addicts, weirdos, gang bangers, and lesbians are some of his best friends, much to the dismay of the local business owners who like hipsters with disposable income, and chic, classy professionals to patronize their businesses.
Would you believe his guy doesn’t even have his own phone? A “groupie” gave him a Tracfone once to help him out. When it ran out of minutes, he never got it refilled. He gave it to his friend Mary, who was down on her luck, along with a 20 he said he found near the river. Truthfully, he didn’t call on it most of the time. Plenty of people called him though, about all kinds of problems, and so his minutes drained pretty quickly. He doesn’t seem to get bothered by not having a phone. (Honestly, I don’t get that.)
There’s one story about the coffeehouse being super crowded one day. Everybody was hot, and there was no AC running. Maybe it broke. Everybody wanted iced coffee like crazy, and nothing in the shop was working right.
So, out of nowhere Jay says he’ll take care of it. He tells his friends to dole out pitchers of the stuff. It’s like it comes out of nowhere. Iced Coffee for everybody. Plus, muffins, and cookies, and organic quiche. There were actually so many leftovers that they had 12 trays piled high afterwards. Talk about weird.
Here’s another odd thing. Jay doesn’t have his own blog either. However, four of his friends write about him a lot at their blogs. Well, I think others do too, but those four have the most visitor traffic…I’ll put it that way.
His one friend Luke–who’s kind of OCD–tweets stuff he says. I think there might even be a category on Luke’s blog that is a collection of Jay’s tweets. It’s called something like…Sermon on the Sofa…or something like that. It’s full of this subtle subversive stuff, that if you co-opt with it, it could change everything. Everything.
Another tweet of Jay’s thoughts really stuck with me. It read:
“What’s the point if a person gains the whole blogosphere and loses her own soul?”
You know when you hear something, and it sounds like it’s just for you? That’s kind of how it felt when I heard it. I favorited that one.