Last spring, I applied to a very prestigious writing conference, taught by writers whose work is routinely praised, if not revered, by the literary community. Rationally, I knew acceptance was a long shot. On the other hand, I figured the admissions committee probably wasn’t sitting around at night hoping I might grace them with my presence. The only way I’d have a chance was to apply. Continue reading
Hours may drag, but years race.
Somebody wise has probably said something like that. If they haven’t—well, you read it here first. Continue reading
It all started with the “Wedding Day at Troldhaugen.”
On Saturday afternoon, as I sat at my desk working on a client’s rush project, one of my favorite classical stations began playing this delightful piece by Edvard Grieg. I say “delightful,” but for all I know, it could be part of something weird and dark. (After all, Grieg is the same person who wrote the Peer Gynt Suites No. 1 and 2, and Peer Gynt is not exactly a bright and sunny tale.) Continue reading
I don’t know if anyone’s ever done a study of the most frequently used word in the United States in the summertime, but if they did, I’m betting “vacation” was a top contender, if not the winner. The funny thing is that for all our talk about vacations, we’re apparently awful at actually taking days off work, even when it’s paid time off. Factor in those of us for whom a day of no work is a day of no income, and it’s no wonder that when you ask people how they are, many will say, “I’m so busy, I’m just exhausted.” Continue reading
Around eighteen or so years ago, my pastor told me to take a vacation.
Okay, he wasn’t talking exclusively to me. It was part of his sermon. I don’t remember much now, just that he spoke of the value of rest. Not long after that, I booked a trip to Captiva Island, Florida. Never let it be said that I don’t take direction well. Continue reading
The past two weeks have been challenging. The funeral of a friend’s mother, who died unexpectedly. Notifications of three lost writing contests. The death of Rachel Held Evans, whom I met once and whose work brought joy and laughter even as she wrestled with big questions and challenged people of faith to learn to rest in mystery. Twenty hours billed in one weekend, with the draft brief finally sent off at 3:30 last Monday morning. A rejection from a prestigious writing conference I’d hoped to attend. Continue reading
Credit: Angela Menke Ballou (@revangelamb) on Twitter.