But for a Time

What do you do when you feel hopeless, defeated, broken? Remind yourself that all will be fine … “but for a time.”

When your heart aches, those are four incredibly soothing words.

I first remember hearing that expression after my father passed and then recently on a podcast with author David Martin Lins. David and I are friends on Facebook, having connected at a writing conference years ago.  

I dove into the words, “but for a time” and discovered this meaning:

“… emphasizes the temporary nature of suffering or current circumstances in contrast to the eternal nature of God or the divine plan.”

It turns out, pain is not limited to physical death. The potential death of our writing career also brings a similar ache. Obviously, not as intense, but still, an overwhelming agony at the death of a dream. Just the thought of not succeeding can paralyze a writer’s creativity.

We’ve all heard it. We’ve all felt it. I see it on X constantly. That frustration that swallows up a writer’s aspirations when the obstacles to success seem insurmountable. You feel as if you’re in a rip current, paddling and paddling, yet getting farther from your goals.

I’ve been there. Many times. I’ve watched my friends drift off, giving up. Honestly? More friends than I can count. Only a handful of those I first found in 2009 on the old Twitter are still attempting to write professionally.

I was having one of those moments of doubt and frustration when I stumbled upon David's podcast episode. Seeking inspiration from fellow writers can be the salve we need to heal the deep wounds of an artist's life.

David spoke of the challenges in his life, his health, adopting his daughter, and whether he’d change anything. I’ll paraphrase, but his response went something like this … If you were to rewrite the script of your life, you might take out some really challenging times, but then you wouldn’t be the person you are today.

If your life were perfect, with no conflicts, no challenges, no drama, then you might not be writing the kind of stories you’re writing. The kind of stories that a manager, producer, or publisher yearn to find.

How could you write interesting characters if you lived a boring life? Worse, you also wouldn’t have anything meaningful to say to the world. And if you have nothing to say, no thought-provoking meaning to your work, then it’s just a jumble of prose on a page that amount to nothing—except one big yawn.

Sure, the screenwriting industry has contracted since the strike. The golden gate feels not just closed but locked tight. But is it? Is it really impossible?

But for a time.

Struggles are only temporary. Whenever I obsessively stress about something, my close friend always declares, “Ain’t nothin’ but a thing.” That truth would always put me back on track, knowing this, too, shall pass.

I’ll tell you a secret. I haven’t written in a year. Well, articles, sure, but nothing on my book. Why? Because I had to prioritize things that would make a huge difference for the people I love. My family. My mother. My children. And, yes, my little town. They needed my focus. I chose them over words.

I had to stop writing. But for a time.

Damn, typing that just made me tear up because I so miss putting words on the page. I hunger for it. Writing this article tickles the urge, but it’s a tease that pains me because I want more.

I may not have had time to write the novel, but I did have time to think. I’ve been absorbing our Symposium sessions and listening to historical-fiction audiobooks while walking my dog. Each book, each class, each day, I’d jot a quick note in a notebook or index card with a thought for a character or plot point, then go back to solving whatever was life’s catastrophe of the day.

(Pro tip: if you’re using index cards for thoughts, make sure you organize them, because I did not and have now created another obstacle to progress ... and a huge mess.)

Does an absence of writing time mean I am no longer a writer? Hell, no. What you accomplish should not correlate to your sense of self. I choose to give myself grace, knowing there’s a light at the end of this dark tunnel. I can see it. I can feel it. I am actively walking toward it.

After all, everything comes in cycles. Everything. So, when your life pushes you off track, remember, it’s only temporary. Accept the challenge of shifting your attention, knowing that when you come back to the page, it will be with more passion, more life experience, and more knowledge to share.

Have faith in life’s process. Breathe in the challenges. Know this is the path you’re meant to be on, bumps and all. Feel it all. Then, when you are able, write about it. Because your head and schedule will eventually clear.

When the time is right, you will write again. You will create something no one can resist, making it impossible for them to say no. Something undeniably amazing that only you could write because you chose to pause and live through the pain of life first.

Here's another secret: I found great difficulty admitting that I have paused my novel. Why? Because I cared too much about what people thought of me, especially my writing. Then I heard someone proclaim, "What other people think of you is none of your business."

Wow. What an unbelievably liberating statement to live by.

Shut out the sounds of doubt. Put it all out there. Crack open those wounds and pour them on the page. Those are the stories that will shove open that locked gate like a tornado.

Writing is hard. Life is harder. But only for a time.

*Feature image by Jorm Sangsorn (Adobe)