I have been feeling a bit restless with my writing lately. I've had a few things published, but my dream is to get one of my novels out there. I know that in order to make that happen I should be sending out queries, contacting agents, and revising to perfection my novel, but with this being my senior year in college, it's hard to find the time to do that. I sometimes have trouble pushing my way through this stagnation, but always when I'm feeling like this, some divine intervention takes place and helps me back to my feet. Today I was reading some personal letters of John Keats (one of my favorite poets), and his words jumped out as if he had wrote that letter to me. In the letter he wrote a little poem which ends like this:
O fret not after knowledge - I have none
And yet the Evening listens - He who saddens
At thought of Idleness cannot be idle,
And he's awake who thinks he's asleep.
I can't think of anything that I needed to hear more today. I'm not sitting around like a bump on a log doing nothing to further myself. I'm not asleep. I'm awake; and I'm learning. I shouldn't about not doing enough. It is just not my season yet, but there is a season for everything (Ecclesiastes). For now, I will just enjoy the writing process.
I found it incredibly reassuring that he thought the same thoughts that I think sometimes: What if it never happens? He gives the best answer, and I will choose to respond to that question the same way:
I feel assured I should write from the mere yearning and fondness I have for the Beautiful even if my night's labours should be burnt every morning and no eye ever shine upon them.
Amen to that. We have to write because it's who we are. It's not what we do. We were created this way. We write in order to live fully.
Photo by Photl.