My purpose to write
the aspiring writer
Matthew 25:14-15 (KJV)
14 For the kingdom of heaven is as a man traveling into a far country, who called his own servants, and delivered unto them his goods.
15 And unto one he gave five talents, to another two, and to another one; to every man according to his several ability; and straightway took his journey.
Ok this one is from the heart, so if it is not politically correct don't be too hard on me. I was born the only son of my parents old age. My father was just two weeks shy of his 65th birthday and my mother would turn 42 on the fourth July 1963. We were poor people and lived in a three roomed shack at the bottom of a hill on a dirt road.
Papa insisted on us getting an education, so my four sisters and I went to school( whether we wanted to or not). I was late going to school because I was crippled in my legs and wore bulky braces so the school had to decide if I could go. My not going to school did not mean that I was missing my education. Mama taught me to read the bible when I was three years old, and she also taught me to use the pronunciation chart in the front of the bible. That way I could pronounce words like Nebuchadnezzar.
Folks used to say that I was wise beyond my years and grown people would come and ask me for advice when I was still a child. I realized from a very early age that God had given me a special talent for dealing with people. I especially had a gift for understanding more of why a person did something, rather than what they had done. That talent came in real handy for me cause people were very unkind to a cripple sometimes. I remember when we would go to town, some people would walk on the other side of the street because they thought I was contagious. Mama would get so mad and want to give them a piece of her mind, but I told her; "mama don't get mad, they don't know any better, if they knew me they would like me!"
We lived twenty seven miles from town in most any direction, and we had few books at our house. So by the time I was six I had read everything we had to read(there are no library twenty seven miles from town). So at the ripe old age of six I discovered my second talent, writing. The first story I wrote was about a dam on the "Old River" which was about ten miles above our house. I smile now when I think of a dam on that lazy old river.
After that I started writing what I wanted read. If I wanted an adventure story I would sit down and write one, or if I wanted a comedy story I would write that too. I soon discovered that I had power in my pen. Why, with the mere stroke of my pen I could make rich, and I could make poor. With my pen, I could create beautiful or ugly as I so choose. This pen could kill and it could bring to life, with this pen I could even walk straight!(at least on paper anyways)
The ability to create characters and story lines was amazing to me, yet these characters were not just words on paper but they were people I knew. I knew all about them, what they looked like, sounded like, but most importantly what they felt inside as well as what they dreamed of. The same was true of the places I wrote about as well, somehow God gave me the ability to actually see and experience them even though I couldn't go there. Yes life as a writer was going to be wonderful, or so I thought.
One day some of my family members decided that I had dreamed long enough and they sat me down and told me the cold hard facts of life. They told me as gently as country folks could that you just can't make any writing stories. I was ( and to some degree still am) a very strong willed person. So I kept on writing until they shamed me about it so bad that I finally gave up.
After giving up being a best selling writer or a writer period I went into law enforcement and walked the wild side for a long time. My family was feared that I was going to get killed so they talked me into going back to school. There I was an old man of twenty six going to "jr college." I took a marketing/management course which required that I take English composition. One day while in my English class writing a poem,(that was not part of my lesson) and the teacher walked by and saw it . When class ended she said she wanted to speak to me, I thought: "great here I am an old man and in trouble with the teacher."
When I walked up to her desk she asked to see what I was writing, hesitantly I handed her the poem. After reading it she asked "Why isn't it in poetic form?" Poetic What? I asked. She gave me a short definition of poetic form and then she drug me down to the creative writing teacher and insisted that he put me in his class even though he insisted it was full. That year I won 1st place academic achievement for poetry, after that I knew that I was and would always be a writer.
If you are a writer and have written for any length of time, then you know that breakng into print is harder than breaking into Fort Knox. When I got out of school I wasn't the least bit interested in marketing or management. I tried writing but had every door went to slammed in my face. So I went back to chasing shadows(bad guys) and moth balled my wood processor once again.
Answering the call(s)
There is an old saying that says: "With age comes wisdom." I am here to testify that, that saying for me was true. As I got older I realized that I was not invincible and that death was unavoidable. I also began to realize I really needed Jesus Christ to be Lord of my life. So after many years of running I surrendered my life to the ministry that God had called me to with that first talent of helping people so long ago. Not long after that I found myself without a job, so I prayed and asked God what he wanted me to do? He said one word, write. I want you to write.
That was it I was sure my book contract was in the mail. Needless to say that was not what happened, once again I found myself barred from the writers inner circle I got involved with a few of these content writer's sites that made millions and paid pennies. So after a long absence I returned once again to law enforcement to pay the bills. I did ok till my baby daughter Rachel was diagnosed with colon problems and the medical bills began to roll in. I worked all the overtime that I could until it started to wear away at my family life.
Desperate I turned once again to writing to try and help with the devestating medical cost. Sad to say, I didn't write well enough to catch any paying editors attention. After several rejection letters I went to the lord in prayer and asked: "God I just don't understand, why would you tell me to write if no one will buy it?" It was then that the Lord helped me to understand that he was my provider and that he called me three times, once to preach, once to be a policeman, and once to be a writer. Then he helped me to understand that all three of these things take commitment and dedication,and that each of these jobs touch so many lives. He reminded me that each time he called I answered his call and commited and dedicated myself to each of them. In short I had done the most important thing, I obeyed.