An inquiry into God is God’s inquiry into us, his Spirit stirring us with hungers for himself. For he knows our only true and lasting satisfaction is found in him alone. He draws us to himself so that we might, at last, be truly happy. It is his love for us at the root of our inquiry.
The next time you are dazzled by a sunrise or the innocence and beauty of a newborn child, think of this. God is speaking in the wonder.
I write about these things on A Curious Light. Give it a look if you like.
As a writer I often come to a place and I am at a loss as to how to proceed. If you are a writer, you know this moment, too. What is to be done at this juncture? We each have our methods of how to escape this dilemma. And for me? I pray. Here is a poem giving a sense of my feelings at those critical moments in writing.
The writer’s prayer
This earthy clay pot, intended for most common use, comes to you.
Without substance, broken now and worn with age, Wordless in utterance, having no good tongue of his own, comes to you.
Knowing you have the heavenly patois to bring a good of this rough empty vessel, filling full brim extravagant, and overflowing.
I am not sure about anyone else, but I have no choice in it. I must write.
We all have things we are passionate about. For me it is words. The way they take a person on a journey or reveal an unknown or inspire to a better way. They seem almost magical, and I love them. I love to arrange them and play with them, to create moments and images, and convey something meaningful and true. At times in a poem or story, maybe an essay, but words that bring light, words helping the reader along the way, making their passage in the world just a little easier, more understood or pleasant or more beautiful.
We all have things we want to share with others. I have chosen words as my principal vehicle to carry my thoughts. I cannot resist the painter’s brush either. And so, I sometimes paint. Writing and painting are almost as one to me.
I have felt this way from a young age.
As a teenager, I wrote a good deal of poetry and a couple of lousy short stories, but at least I tried my hand. I hung out in the art studio at school because it felt right and the others there were kind and accepting. The passion to create artistically, particularly with words, has never left me. I have written all my life.
And I love the craft of words. It is more than simply writing to me. Though an artistic person may begin in desire and perhaps a natural gift, it must be nurtured as a craft. I wrote about this in an earlier piece. And as a craftsman, I aspire to impart a sense or feeling, to share something intimate and rare with my reader. It is to open eyes. Words are as colors to me, dabs of the light spectrum from a painter’s palette, thoughts poured out of soul onto the page, words becoming poem or novel or what have you, soul-drenched things creating an image, things having essentiality and trueness, furthering a reader’s understanding of the world or themselves, helpful things coming as fresh and honest and good. Yet the skill is never complete. I will always be the craftsman learning his trade. It is my life.
So, I began as a young poet. But what has sustained me through life’s wild crush, what has been my handhold on the rocky jagged face of a life crammed full intense, a life beautiful and overflowing in family and friends and love-filled wonder, and what has sustained me through the relentless stress of professional life? It was writing. Along the way I would pen an occasional poem or essay, sometimes letters to others. But in the main it was journaling.
I have stacks of them.
Journaling has been my keeper, my ground zero in a sometimes parched land of days. When the strain of it all would begin to destroy me, I would simply open my journal and lose myself in words, I would write and give myself to the thoughts of my heart and mind. It has offered critical retreat and a quiet place to reflect and come whole. In fact, it has often been that some short and hurried entry in my journal has spawned a fresh poem or short story, even entire novels. Journaling has been vital in keeping the flame of writing alive within. I can honestly say, it has been a place to keep it together when the times and seasons of life would seek to tear me apart. Journaling has given me voice and kept me focused on the good, those things worth pondering and giving one’s thought and life to. And it has been a place of honing my words for another’s ear.
So, let me share some thoughts on what I journal. This will give a little context to what I am saying.
I occasionally note in my journal what has happened or is happening on a particular day, but that is rare and ancillary. More often, I use my journaling to capture a phrase or expression that has crossed my mind or that someone has said for it has a music or tenor to it, conveying something meaningful in a unique way, the phrase having some quality I know I could work with or that inspires me. Perhaps it will become a poem or a story, for they do. Similarly, as I am reading scripture or perhaps another book, a particular phrase will jump out leading my thoughts in a much-expanded direction. I journal these for future reference for it is the stuff of wonder, opening new landscapes of the mind. My essays are often derived here. Sometimes they become the basis of a novel. Lastly, I use journaling to express my inner world, my deepest thoughts, personal struggles, and challenges. These, again, are fodder for the artist within me. For it is here in these dark ponderings I derive much of my work. I find along these inner passages my voice and the song of my life. These often become the very thoughts of my characters as they work through their own struggles and conflicts. My journals record the inner life of the artist. And I need this for so many good ideas and insights often just float away to be forgotten. Journaling is essential to me.
Think of it this way, the journal is a convenient traveling sketchbook or paintbox.
And we are after all just artists looking for a canvas for our thoughts.
I am a writer. I began as a young poet and as one aspiring to write a good story. Over my life I learned to write business proposals, technical manuals, and analyses of various kinds. There are so many kinds of writing, and I have tasted a few. These days I write stories and essays. And I still write poetry for it is my heart and voice. But I have set myself to focus on writing fiction. It has become a passion. Sometimes a short piece, sometimes a longer narrative like a novel.
In fiction there are various genre – westerns, romance, crime, horror, science fiction – to name a few. But I am not comfortable writing in any of those spaces. They follow a pattern the reader is expecting. I enjoy reading some of these, yet as a writer they feel unnatural to me and far too structured. I need more imaginative latitude and a wild freedom as a storyteller. My fictional writing is described in publishing as literary fiction, which I am told means an area of fiction not easily fitting into an accepted genre. So, there we are, not quite fitting, but I’m ok with that.
So, how do I write literary fiction? Let me share it with you.
I begin with a person or a scene. If a scene, say for example the view from an apartment window or of a forest coming awake with the dawn, then I find the person who is there in that place. I begin to wonder what their experience is just then. My poetic self may whisper some lyrical phrase curiously teasing my thoughts, some unusual twist of words begging me to come along, so I follow it. I let my curiosity birth the creative moment, the unfolding, for it is happening just now and I would not miss it for the world. Once I have the person, I have a character, and I am off and moving in a story. I am in another world, a very real world being created with each successive word I write, a place and people gradually coming into view, coming into being just before me. As the writer, I am also new to the situation and just as unknowing as the next person. And the question I quietly pose to myself, what would this person do now, what are they thinking and feeling?
Other genres follow more defined patterns. But for me it is not a matter of staging situations or developing tension or having a grand scheme or plot as to how the story will develop. For in a very real sense, I do not know what my characters will do. They simply do them, they live out their moments and lives as I quietly follow along, and a story plays out from their actions or thoughts. It just does. It is always a sublime adventure for me as my characters come alive and respond to things happening. I am curious how it will go for them, for they have somehow become very real to me and I have grown to care about them very much. They often do things unexpected and I am as surprised as my readers. But there it is. The creative process bubbling out unknown realities into the world we know. It is an almost imperceptible revealing of the heart and mind of another, and who can know it. It is mystery. We are all beholding a thing new. And yes, my characters do eventually find resolution to their personal struggles and so on. But that is not my focus as I write. I am just a sympathetic observer of my characters, as of one tagging along and taking notes. To focus on the mechanics would miss the unfolding tale. It would seem forced and artificial to me. I let the words and actions of my characters tell me how things will go for them, how all will work out at the last. They always do.
Now a few words on something I said earlier. I said, I need more imaginative latitude and a wild freedom as a storyteller. Let me elaborate on this.
As a writer of literary fiction, I do not feel bound by structure. I am free to lean in close and freely imagine the next thing, anything. There is no crime to solve, no romantic interest to pursue, and no horror to avoid. There are none of those things. What I do have are a few characters those lives I am becoming involved with for they are living right in front of me. I am very much involved and most curious. At times, I only perceive their outer behavior and responses, and these can be telling, suggesting hesitation or excitement or any number of things. At other times, I am given a view of a character’s inner world, their thoughts, imaginations, and memories. And these are more things I can work with. But honestly, at various points I am never quite sure what to do with what I have come to know. I am in the dark. I do not know what will happen next. It is at these points I pause and wait. I give my characters time to provide a sense of what is next for them, of what they want to do or need to do. And it always comes clear, I just need to be patient. Often at such times I get up from my writing and go do something else unrelated to my writing or the story I am working on. I go for a walk or work in the garden or whatever. And would you believe, I suddenly become aware of what must happen next. It is then I return to my writing, pick up the story and continue. This is how it goes with me. I have learned to have faith in the creative process as my imagination and characters help me along. There is always a revealing.
There is another aspect of literary fiction worth touching on. I mentioned a moment ago of having a view of some of my character’s thoughts, imaginations, and memories. These are vital to me. They become touchstones into the psyche of my characters, what makes them who they are, and why they respond the way they do. These markers open rich avenues of discovery often revealing much more of my character’s motivations and deeper desires than any normal activity would ever reveal. And they often become critical to the story. It is from these imaginings I drift and freefall into myriad contemplations. The images often just ordinary memories repeating some thread or strand of thought I have introduced earlier in the story bringing a continuity to the whole piece. Yet at times these images take on a truly fantastical nature, vivid and shocking, sometimes startling and otherworldly, aspects I did not anticipate at all, but I follow it. I am as curious as the next person as to what this means or how it will contribute anything to my larger story. Yet there it is. In these moments, I move with confidence for I know that all will come around full and tell the tale as it must be told. These wild and sometimes bizarre images often bleed into the actual lives of my characters causing them to see beyond the pale of this world into another, a world dreamlike or magical or eternal. They are often self-revealing for my characters. For it is here, where my characters embrace these broad intense realities, that they often find meaning and resolution. I cannot say why or how this is so, I just know this is what happens.
I am deeply honored to have one of my most significant short stories “The Kindness” published in the March 2025 issue of The Write Launch digital literary magazine.
Please take the time to read it. I would love to hear your thoughts about it. Some have suggested it would make a compelling film. What do you think?
It seems to me the writer begins with a love of words just as a painter begins with his colors. The writer must enjoy the sound and near music of these written symbols on a page, playing with them as an improvisational jazz musician might dance among his notes and phrases, tinkering with the tonal quality, the hue, and myriad other things, arranging them and enjoying feel and taste of it. It is here the writer hones his craft, patiently moving among his words until he is full-satisfied they carry the sense and meaning he has intended. And as with the painter who spends a lifetime achieving the occasional masterpiece, the writer needs to remain content with here and there a good written piece coming from his labors, the other pieces but working sketches of a kind. It is real work and hard, and requires the dedicated hand. Daily if possible. And if not daily, frequently anyway, if that is all the time one has. But it is important to always hold before ourselves the simple reality that we are becoming writers, that we are still and always will be learning more of our craft. And this will take a lifetime.
But how to learn the craft? I have read a few books and articles on how to write. They have included strategies for how to produce specific kinds of written work. How to finish your novel, how to prepare a research paper, or how to write a poem or short story. And I suppose these are useful in their place. To be sure, I have picked up a few ideas there. But personally, I prefer the more organic approach.
As a writer of literary novels, short stories, poems, and a few essays, I have found the best resource in developing my own craft is to read good literature. The classics are very helpful, works that have endured time, cultural shifts, changing styles, and a vast and varied audience of readers. Also, modern day masters of the craft whose style I have come to admire in some way. It is not that we ought to copy these writers, but rather it is as to sit at their feet and learn from them by what they have done. How they construct the story or build a character or weave the threads of thought that carries the reader through the narrative, or how the poem completes an experience through image, movement, and color rather than a dull pile of suffocating details. To listen and observe these masters is the best and most satisfying method of learning the craft. It is then in our own writing we apply those things observed, putting them to the test through our own unique voice furthering our style and technique, honing our craft.
But why write at all? I think this is an important question. The answers vary. Some strive to achieve a level of notoriety as an author, the admiration of countless readers, and garner a few royalties along the way. This is fine. But I caution, it is rare. Most writers do not achieve this in any substantial way regardless of how delightful it may appear. And I suppose we all harbor a quiet hope this will happen with our work, that others will see the beauty of our words and so on. But let us be realistic for we are in this for the long haul. It is our life. We are in with the long view if we are actually writers and not simply someone trying to make a name for themselves. As writers we simply must write. It is in our bones and that is all there is to it. We write because it is our life to write.
So, I ask again, Why write? Knowing why helps us weather the inevitable stream of rejection notices or the criticisms of those who may have read a piece but did not have a taste for our style. Not everyone will be taken with our work and that is fine. It is all good. Knowing why we write, though, helps us through any feelings that we have failed at the task, for if we are still in the race, we have not lost but are making our way, steadily moving forward, listening, learning, and always improving our craft. Think of it as a lifestyle. It is who we are.
Personally, I write to touch others, to give them an experience they have never known or have long forgotten, to tease and uplift to new surroundings, to inspire, encourage, and to provide a moment of restoration to the weary or broken, or a moment of surprise and a new world to those gone tired of the world they know. For these reasons I am devoted to the craft. I do not aspire to a great name as an author. I aspire to touch the occasional reader in such a way that they are changed, are given a little something encouraging in their own passage through the world. Perhaps it is the way I paint a certain character or how someone in a story responds to another. Or maybe a poem that gives someone new eyes to see what they have never known before. This is my passion, what I long for as an outcome to my labors. I know this is simple, but I want it that way. I think there is a purity and wholeness in this motivation that keeps my own efforts less about me and more about my reader. In the end, it is simply an invitation into my world.
This is the writing life for me. And if you are a writer, I hope this helps a little.
Sometimes you are not ready to write a piece – a poem, a story, a novel, or perhaps an essay. Maybe you have a line or two, or an interesting thought or image, but that is all. And you write them down. And it is good that you write them down. But the word fragments seem yet too germinal or embryonic at this point, too small to tell a tale or to have reached a maturity of completeness or conveyed-ness of meaning just yet. The toss of words cannot yet support a story or an idea complete. It needs time to maturate within you, to grow and flower and come to fruit in your days, and then it will come full and you will taste its sweetness. It needs time and the seasoning of your days. So, write the words and live expectant of God’s good hand upon your work.
Henry Lewis, Writer 