Because of my husband’s church-related job—he serves as the Director of Traditional Music at a local church near where we live—he gets Fridays and Saturdays off as his weekend, and because of this, I have come to love Thursday afternoons as the lead-in to our weekend. Friday often feels a lot like Saturday to me, and I tend to experience that delightful boost of elation when I realize we still have our Saturday coming. Of course, there is also the thrill of our Friday afternoons without the stresses of the usual expectations (once the appointments and other special events are over and done with).
This evening, as my husband prepares dinner, my two teenagers and I are each sitting with our laptops in close proximity, fingers tapping across keyboards, stories spilling out of hearts and minds and onto the no-longer blank screens. If you’ve ever had to do any kind of writing, whether as a high school student, college student, grad student, or for your career, then you realize how isolating writing can feel. Often, this isn’t a bad thing; many writers like the wide open space of a room to themselves in which ideas can float through the air and around them to capture in mind and keystrokes.
Even so, there are times when writing with other writers brings a sense of community and, well, solidarity, and that isn’t something I dismiss as no big deal. Creative work is rewarding. And yet, writing can feel lonely; it can be both challenging and rewarding, even inspiring beyond just the writing itself. When it’s done in community, in the family, each of us doing the write thing, there is a level of exultation that cannot compare to the other times when we come together—to watch movies, to do read alouds, to play games, to go on drives.
There is something sacred to me, for me, in this act of creating, and that sense of the sacred is elevated when creatives are each pursuing this fleeting, sometimes elusive art of writing together. This art of conveying stories as we see them in our minds. When it’s my teenagers alongside me, that is even more rewarding. When I lived in Boston, I had a small writing group and our meetings always energized me. Those meetings, however, were not us writing, only us coming together to share our written words over meals and wine.
These days, as I consider my girls and their creative efforts, I embrace this small almost-Inkling-like group that exists in our family. For years now I have sought a group like the one C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien shared. The way they spurred one another on and the way they came together to share what they were working on or what they were seeking to accomplish. That’s not exactly where my teenagers are right now. Still, they provide me glimpses of these things for which I yearn. They let me know it is possible to find such a group of like-minded writers and creatives. They remind me I am not alone in my pursuit of creativity or in my storytelling efforts.
And, for now, that is enough.
For now, I am grateful for this organic writing community I share with my teenagers. I am content with the opportunity to watch them in their creative elements, fingers tapping the keys, eyes roaming the blank spaces between us as they watch the action in their minds and seek the next right word. I am thankful for the chance to write alongside them and to listen to them talk about what they’re working on and the things that spark their delight. If I’m honest, this is a gift God is giving me even as I seek my Inklings. It is, in fact, an answer to an ongoing prayer, letting me know that God hears my heart. And it’s a small whisper that says, keep going. Watch these two remarkable young women I have placed in your care, the whisper tells me, and keep going. Keep doing the write things. For now.
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