I survived the signing.
There really wasn’t anything to fear. The folks at Barnes & Noble were super nice and prepared, and the other authors were pretty cool too. AND, I didn’t have to stand up and do any public speaking about myself.
Of course, we were all stretched when a nice man with four well-behaved children and a sweet wife stopped by the tables and asked each of us exactly what it means to be a Christian writer.
Not that I haven’t thought about that already. It works its way out as I ponder themes and create characters. It pricks my conscience when I use my words poorly and don’t give my best. It makes me want to write stuff that matters and that’s written with skill. And it means that the stories I write have a deeper meaning than just a story. And it means that I pray. A lot.
I didn’t say all of that to answer the guy’s question. Instead, I told him about my story and about how I tried to weave into it a way of looking at life that the world’s trying to hide. I told his sweet kids about Roxan and how she didn’t feel like she fit in and how she wanted to be different and how in the end, she found out that what she wanted wasn’t what she needed at all.
And now I’m still thinking about his question, and I seem to be at some sort of crossroads.
Am I doing what I’m supposed to be doing?
I refuse to simply assume that just because I love writing and I’ve learned a lot over the last few years, that this is all God has in mind for me or the only way he can use me.
I’m trying to be expectant, and I’m looking for the deep life, the real one, the one that finds me prepared for eternity and bringing others with me. I’m not sure how well I’m doing at either of those right now.
But I think for now, I’m just supposed to be open, and I suppose God will show me what I need to know. And I guess for now, I keep writing.