Stephanie Rische

Blogger and Writer: Capturing Stories of God's Grace

Friday Favorites for April

Hi everyone! Happy Friday. Here are a few of my recent favorites for this month. Enjoy!

For anyone whose spring break was lackluster (or nonexistent) . . .

Maybe you can’t enter the pages of a book, but you can visit these real-life places that inspired some famous novels! I can see why Moseley Bog would have sparked Tolkien’s creativity. And anyone else want to visit Ashdown Forest with me? 9 Real Life Places That Inspired Famous Classic Novels

For anyone in need of an extra dose of happy . . .

How happy can a word be? Someone did a study that assigned happiness quotients to some 10,000 words. See if this list doesn’t make you a little happier, just from reading it! The 200 Happiest Words in Literature

For anyone who geeks out about stats or books (or stats about books) . . .

I found this article about author’s favorite words fascinating. Find out which writers gravitated toward mauve, cinnamon, and civility. What’s your word of choice? What Famous Writers’ Most-Used Words Say about Them

For anyone who would have written their story a little differently than it’s playing out . . .

So often I start my story in the wrong place. And I wish I could edit it, even though I don’t have the whole picture: “This story starts with our perfect God. Immeasurable. Incalculable. Incomprehensible. Every story starts with Him. And He is writing each one with the aim of pointing to his glory. Every single one. Even the ones I probably would have written differently.” Perfect Start, Perfect End

For anyone who wonders how to live extraordinary in the middle of ordinary . . .

How do you live out a radical faith right where you are—going to work, mowing the lawn, doing the laundry, raising kids? This book is an authentic, humorous, and inspiring look at how to practice things like simplicity, hospitality, and social justice in the context of real life. Highly recommended! The Year of Small Things

Like Eating a Praying Mantis

What’s the longest-term goal you’ve accomplished? Something that couldn’t be checked off after a tough afternoon of grinding it out…one that required not only enthusiasm but also marathon endurance and grit? Maybe you finished your degree after long nights of studying and papers and angst. Maybe you crossed the finish line after hours of training, gallons of sweat, and sore muscles. Maybe you paid off a debt after months (or years) of scrimping and saving and saying no to things you wanted.

There’s something about accomplishments like these that feel significant—not just because we have the thing we aspired to—the degree, the medal, the freedom—but because of what happens to us along the way. When we pursue a big, long goal like this, we are changed along the way. We aren’t the same person we were when we started; we are stronger, tougher, more disciplined. Or maybe it’s not so much that we’ve changed; maybe we had this capacity for toughness in us all along and never knew it. This goal simply allowed us to see that truth about ourselves.

Nine years ago, when my sister graduated from college, she got the biggest gift she’d ever received. I mean that literally—it was a seven-foot by seven-foot crossword puzzle. She hung it up in her bedroom after starting grad school, and I kid you not: it took up the entire wall.

Meghan and I worked on the crossword puzzle together whenever we could—both in person, when I was visiting her, and when she emailed me obscure clues to research. She came to live with me for a summer during one of her internships, and she brought along one big square of the puzzle. Every morning over coffee, we worked a few clues together. When she got a job after grad school, we continued crossowording over the phone before work, and when she became a mom and I got married, we made weekly phone dates during her kids’ naptimes and my lunch breaks.

That crossword puzzle has seen us through a lot of life in almost a decade. Between the two of us, we have experienced marriage, motherhood, new jobs, and multiple moves. We’ve lived a broad gamut of loss and love and heartache and happiness.

Not long ago I was visiting Meghan for the weekend, and we worked on the crossword puzzle over coffee, per tradition. It’s harder to do this than it used to be, so we woke up before our husbands and her kids and tried to do as much as we could before everyone else was ready for breakfast. On that Saturday morning, we found ourselves at a startling spot: I was reading her the very last clue in the puzzle (out of 28,000).

This clue represented nine years and six residences and big life changes and who knows how many hours together. And now it was coming to an end. Meghan gave me the answer, and I found myself with pen in hand, paralyzed. We had been trying to accomplish this goal for almost ten years, but now that the end was here, I didn’t want it to be over. She finally convinced me to write the final letter in the box.

After I got home, Meghan sent me this quote she’d found by someone who had reviewed the same puzzle: “I dread its completion, yet yearn to make it happen as soon as humanly possible. This must be how the male praying mantis feels.” That seemed about right.

We hadn’t just completed the mother of all crossword puzzles. We had learned a lot along the way—not necessary about vocabulary (I’m pretty sure I’ve forgotten any new words or factoids I gathered along the way), but about ourselves. We learned that we can accomplish big goals. That we can persevere. That we can take on a seven-foot by seven-foot by nine-year challenge and conquer it. And perhaps most of all, we learned that we aren’t just sisters, but friends. The crossword puzzle united us, even as the rest of our lives diverged.

No one prepares you for the sadness you feel when you accomplish your goal. You graduate, you cross the finish line, you fill in the last crossword square, and you expect the elation. You’re not prepared for the letdown afterward.

So what’s next, once you’ve finished that momentous thing? Here’s my bit of advice, from someone in the throes of finishing: Take time to celebrate. Don’t rush past your accomplishment—savor it. And then, when you feel like you’ve duly marked the occasion, find a new goal. Maybe even a wall-sized one.

Most dazzling human achievements are, in fact, the aggregate of countless individual elements, each of which is, in a sense, ordinary.
Angela Duckworth, Grit

***

What big thing have you accomplished recently? And how did you feel when it as all over?

What’s Your One Word?

We are already 59 days into 2017. New Year’s resolutions have come and gone, diets and gym attendance are now a distant memory, and the new year has dulled like your car under its coat of winter grime.

In other words: I should have written this post several moons ago.

But have you ever had a dream or a goal or a whisper of a hope that was just too tender to put into words? It feels so delicate, and you’re afraid that if you bring it out into the harsh winds of reality, it will get blown over or stepped on unceremoniously. It seems safer to keep it inside the glass case of your own heart.

But here’s the hard truth about keeping dreams enclosed in a glass case: While they may not get trampled that way, eventually the oxygen will get squeezed out, and the dream will shrivel.

As this year approached, I searched for a word to focus on in the year ahead. The truth is, I’m terrible at resolutions, so I figured if I only had to remember one word, maybe I’d be able to hang on to it—or at least remember it come April.

After a great deal of mulling and re-mulling, one word kept haunting me: believe. I balked at first. After all, I’ve believed in God for a long time . . . for as long as I can remember, in fact, though in varying degrees.

But the implication for this year seemed more personal. We weren’t just talking about “Do I believe in God?” It hit closer to the jugular than that.

Do I believe God is who he says he is in my life?
Do I believe his promises are true for me?
Do I believe he still does miracles?
Do I believe that he is for me . . . that he loves me, personally?

And will I keep on believing in him—whether he says yes or not?

Somewhere along the way, when it came to the deepest desires of my heart, I’d started hedging my bets with God. I wasn’t sure if he’d give me the thing I longed for, so I stopped talking to him about it in a real way. When he and I did talk, I’d hit him up with platitudes along the lines of “Thy will be done,” with my emotions safely checked at the door.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that prayer—it was modeled by Jesus, after all. But I’d forgotten the first part of his prayer—the part where he cried out his desire before his Father so earnestly that his sweat came out as drops of blood.

I wasn’t being pious by holding my request in check; instead, I was showing a lack of belief. Whether God decided to grant my desire or not, I needed to be real with him about what I was asking him for, what I was believing for.

And so, as this year has launched, I’ve begun taking some baby steps toward believing. It feels vulnerable and scary, because when you put yourself and your big ask out there, you’re setting yourself up to get hurt. But there’s an important part of this puzzle I’ve been overlooking: belief isn’t really about the strength of my faith; it’s about the object of my faith.

The God I believe in is a good Father; he is infinitely tender with us. So if he doesn’t give us what we’re asking him for, I have to believe it’s because he has something better than our finite minds can conceive. Better to ask and allow him to say no (or yes) than to always wonder what might have happened if we’d had the courage to really ask.

So what does it look like to believe? I’m still young at this, but so far, this is what I’m trying:

1. Writing my big, audacious request in my journal.

I have a journal with this quote from Alice in Wonderland on the front: “I’ve believed six impossible things before breakfast.” That’s a big goal for a girl who tends to hedge her bets, but I’m giving it a shot.

2. Allowing friends to believe on my behalf.

I’ve shared my big request with some people I love and trust, and it is a gift to know they are hoping and praying for me when I don’t have it in me to muster up much belief on my own.

3. Believing on behalf of other people.

I’ve asked other people what I can believe this year for them. Somehow it feels easier to have faith for their big request than for my own, and there’s something beautiful that happens when we share our tender hopes and beliefs with each other.

***

What are believing for this year? If you’re willing to share, let me know, and I’d be honored to believe with you and pray for you. And do you have any tips for holding on to belief in a tangible way?

 

Birthday Party for a Book

My memoir, I Was Blind (Dating), but Now I See, is having its first birthday, and I want to give YOU presents to mark the occasion! See the end of this blog for the free giveaways.

This book is my story, but I hope you will find that it’s your story too. On one level, it’s an account of my misadventures in dating and some of my more embarrassing moments, but on another level, it’s the story of a human being who is longing for something and praying for something when it seems like God is being silent. How do you keep hoping and praying when year after year it seems like God is saying no?

Here’s an excerpt from the book about prayer and a pair of Keds.

***

In many ways my dad was old school when it came to raising us kids. He had high standards, and we were expected to work hard and pull our weight. He could be firm with us, giving us what he called “sensitivity training”—as in making us less sensitive. Most nights at dinner he’d try to toughen us up through spirited banter and debate, playing the role of devil’s advocate so we’d be ready for the real world.

But I knew without a doubt that he loved me. My mind wandered back to a scene with the twelve-year-old me. My family was on a cross-country trip to visit my grandparents, and I was decked out in my favorite outfit: Wardrobe and accessory coordination was not something to be taken lightly in the early ’90s. I was sporting a black-and-white polka-dot shirt, black stirrup pants, polka-dot earrings, and a hair bow to match. Then there was the pièce de résistance of the outfit: my brand-new knockoff Keds in—you guessed it—black and white. I was sure of it: Those kids in Washington State had never seen anyone as cool as me.

But before we arrived at my grandparents’ house, Dad spotted a sign for a state park just off the highway. It would do us good to get out of the car and stretch our legs for a bit, he declared, brushing off our protests that it was raining.

“Oh, you guys are babies. That’s not rain—it’s just mist.”

And so we set out on a hiking trail, despite the ever-thickening “mist.”

I flipped up the hood of my coat, hoping to salvage what was left of my mile-high, amply hair-sprayed bangs, and trudged on. But then we hit the bridge. At least I thought it was a bridge. It was hard to tell because at the moment it looked like one giant mudslide.

There was no way I was going to let my beautiful new shoes touch slop of that caliber.

“Can we head back?” I pleaded. “Or at least go another way?”

But one by one, my family members crossed the bridge ahead of me. I stood rooted to the spot, sure they’d turn back once they saw I was serious. I will not budge, I steamed silently, arms akimbo. But they didn’t throw so much as a backward glance in my direction.

I had melodramatic visions of being found several days later by a forest ranger, having survived on grubs and rainwater, black-and-white shoes still more or less intact. But despite my efforts to be brave in the face of abandonment, I felt my eyes starting to sting, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t the rain. I didn’t want to be separated from my family, but there was no way I could change my mind now. I’d made my stand.

Then, through a curtain of tears and rain, I saw my dad heading back over the bridge. Wait . . . why is he coming this way? I wondered. Would I get a lecture? Would he tell me he was disappointed I was being a wimp?

But as he got closer, I saw the twinkle in his eye. “Hop on my back,” he said, crouching down. I couldn’t believe it. I was way too old to be getting piggyback rides. But the rest of my family was on the other side, waiting, and I knew this was the only way. So my dad carried me across that muddy bridge, knockoff Keds and all.

I supposed if I was looking for a model of how a father responds to persistent prayer, this moment when my dad came to the rescue of a daughter whose outfit was in jeopardy was as good a model as any.

I read that familiar passage from Matthew 7:

You parents—if your children ask for a loaf of bread, do you give them a stone instead? Or if they ask for a fish, do you give them a snake? Of course not! So if you sinful people know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give good gifts to those who ask him.

It struck me that nowhere did it say the father was compelled to give his child precisely what she asked for, that the child could special order what she wanted from a gift catalog. It just said a good father would give good gifts to his children. What if the gift God wanted to give me was different from the one I’d been asking for? What if the thing I thought was good was merely a snake dressed up as Mr. Right?

A good dad will fulfill his daughter’s request—but only if it’s the right gift, at the right time. Sometimes he may give the gracious gift of saying no. But always—always—he cares about his child’s request.

In his classic book on prayer, C. S. Lewis puts it this way: “Someone said, ‘A suitor wants his suit to be heard as well as granted.’ . . . We can bear to be refused but not to be ignored. . . . The apparent stone will be bread to us if we believe that a Father’s hand put it into ours.”2

Perhaps God wasn’t a stern father after all, with a snake in one hand and a stone in the other. Maybe he was more like a good dad—with a twinkle in his eye and his child on his back.

Gift #1: 20 Days of Prayers

Have you ever felt stuck in your prayer life . . . like your prayers keep bouncing off the ceiling or you’ve just run out of words somewhere along the way? I’ve collected some of my favorite prayers over the years—for times when you’re lonely, for times when the future seems uncertain, for times when God seems far away. You can download this free pdf (beautifully designed by my friend Sarah) on the right side of this website.

Gift #2: Blind date with a book

After all the flopped blind dates I’ve been on, I’m still pro blind date (be sure to read the epilogue!). So in honor of blind dates, I’m hosting a “Blind date with a book” raffle this month. Share this post (or any post about my book) in the month of February, and I’ll enter you for the chance to win a free book. I’ll match you up based on a series of reading-preference questions.

Gift #3: Tyndale offer

Tyndale.com is offering 25% off I Was Blind (Dating) but Now I See for the month of February. If you buy a copy for you or a friend, I’d be happy to sign a nameplate and mail it to you.

***

Whether you find yourself with a date or not this Valentine’s Day, please know that you are loved—without limit and without condition.

I have loved you . . . with an everlasting love. With unfailing love I have drawn you to myself.
Jeremiah 31:3

               

Announcing the Virtual Book Club for April: The Road Back to You

Thanks to everyone who participated in our discussion about The Trouble with Goats and Sheep. We talked about whether you’re a goat or a sheep, the awkwardness of preadolescent friendships, and the neighborhood snoop in all of us.

Congratulations to Elizabeth, the lucky commenter who will win a free book! (Elizabeth, I’ll send you a separate message about getting the book to you.)

And now . . . announcing the selection for April! (I like to alternate between fiction and nonfiction, so nonfiction is up this time.) We’ll be reading The Road Back to You by Ian Morgan Cron and Suzanne Stabile. I have been hearing oh. so. much. about the Enneagram lately, and I wanted to find out more. I started the book already, and I am hooked—I think you will be too.

Here is the publisher’s description from the back of the book:

Ignorance is bliss―except in self-awareness. What you don’t know about yourself can hurt you and your relationships―and even keep you in the shallows with God. Do you want help figuring out who you are and why you’re stuck in the same ruts?

The Enneagram is an ancient personality typing system with an uncanny accuracy in describing how human beings are wired, both positively and negatively. In The Road Back to You, Ian Morgan Cron and Suzanne Stabile forge a unique approach―a practical, comprehensive way of accessing Enneagram wisdom and exploring its connections with Christian spirituality for a deeper knowledge of ourselves, compassion for others, and love for God.

Witty and filled with stories, this book allows you to peek inside each of the nine Enneagram types, keeping you turning the pages long after you have read the chapter about your own number. Not only will you learn more about yourself, but you will also start to see the world through other people’s eyes, understanding how and why people think, feel, and act the way they do.

Beginning with changes you can start making today, the wisdom of the Enneagram can help take you further along into who you really are―leading you into places of spiritual discovery you would never have found on your own, and paving the way to the wiser, more compassionate person you want to become.

I hope to hear your thoughts on the book in April! Meanwhile, happy reading!

{Remember: I give away a free book to one lucky commenter, so be sure to join us!}

Friday Favorites for January

Happy Friday! Here are a few of my recent favorites, from how long it takes to write a novel to Facebook satire to fun vocabulary words. Enjoy!

For anyone who is having trouble finishing something . . .

This is a fascinating infographic about how long it took these writers to finish their famous novels. If you’re feeling stumped on your project (whatever it is), take heart that Gone with the Wind took a decade to complete! How Long It Took 30 Writers to Finish Their Novels

For anyone with a love/hate relationship with Facebook . . .

This satire points out just what an odd world Facebook is . . . and how hard it is to escape it. A Night at the Facebook Hotel

For anyone who wants to increase their vocabulary for the new year . . .

My favorite on this list of underutilized words is sesquipedalian, which refreshingly reflects its meaning. 28 Underused English Words You Really Need to Start Using

For anyone who wants a live-longer plan that doesn’t involve diet and exercise . . .

Apparently readers are 17 percent less likely to die than nonreaders. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go eat my cookie while I read my book. Read Books, Live Longer

For anyone who wants a peek behind the curtain of marriage . . .

Sarah Bessey’s words about choosing your spouse, over and over again, are beautiful: “When it came time to choose between the life we thought we wanted, the life we thought we were destined for, the life we were taught to sacrifice everything to ensure: we chose us instead.” Choices

Piecing Together a Book

The quilt has words hidden in it, word search style!

One of the most common questions I get when people hear I wrote a book is “How did you go about the daunting task of writing a whole book?” (Other common questions include “Since you’re an editor, did you have to get edited?” and “What tools does every writer need?” Answer: backup files, Pilot fine-tip pens, and large quantities of prayer and chocolate.)

It’s hard for me to answer the question about what it’s like to write a book, because the process was so much messier and less linear than I ever imagined. I’ve been around books all my life, first as a reader and for the past fourteen years as an editor. In that time, I’ve had a pretty straightforward process for tackling books: more or less starting at the beginning and making my way to the end (I have a strict no-spoilers policy).

So I was surprised when I started writing and discovered that my book couldn’t be wrangled into such a neat step-by-step process. It was stymying at first—I couldn’t quite nail down where I needed to go or what came next.

Here’s the best way I’ve found to describe what the writing felt like: at the beginning I was trying to follow a sewing pattern. I wanted rules and formulas; I wanted structure and organization and measurements. But it didn’t work. I had to throw away the pattern. And when I did, I realized that I was actually making a quilt.

And so I wrote stories, one after the other, like quilt squares, not worrying at the moment about where they would go or how they would fit into the whole. Then I literally spread these stories out on the floor of our spare bedroom. That enabled me to see where the overall direction of the book was headed. It also showed which stories didn’t fit with the colors and pattern of my quilt-book. And it helped me see which story squares worked well beside each other. Only then could I stitch it all together.

For someone who likes to know I’m doing things “right,” this approach felt a little like a literary freefall: terrifying at first, but ultimately exhilarating. And it struck me that it’s a little like life, really. So often I try to make a script for my life and follow a step-by-step pattern. But even if I could find such a set of instructions, it wouldn’t work—life just isn’t that predictable and easily pinned down.

God invites us to follow him into a life of mystery and wonder . . . into a terrifying but exhilarating freefall. We don’t know exactly how our life will turn out or where exactly he is calling us; he simply invites us to tackle one quilt square at a time. It’s not until later that we can see what he was creating in us and through us.

Now I should confess at this point that these sewing metaphors are purely hypothetical for me. My maternal grandmother is a master seamstress. She sewed all three of her daughter’s wedding dresses and the accompanying bridesmaid dresses, and she made afghans for each of her grandchildren when we graduated from high school. But much to her consternation, her eldest granddaughter has dropped the sartorial baton. My sewing skills are limited to reattaching errant buttons, and even at that, the backside would make a sparrow’s nest look tidy.

Recently I received a gift that feels like the visual equivalent of what it felt like to write a book. My friend Lory, a quilter and a writer herself, made me a beautiful writing-themed quilt. It’s been put together piece by piece, stitch by stitch, and I can feel the love threaded into every part.

There’s something gratifying about putting love and planning and work into something, whether it’s a quilt or a book or a song or a meal, and then being able to see it or taste it or hold it in your hands. And then to be able to share it with someone else? Well, that’s almost like a piece of glory in your own living room.

When God made us, I have to believe he experienced that same kind of delight in his creations. He stitched together our DNA, planned out hair color and personality traits, and planted dreams and desires in us. And he no doubt revels in what he’d made. His creations are no assembly-line productions; there are no two the same. You are a one-of-a-kind creation, and he is utterly delighted by you.

We are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.
Ephesians 2:10

***

What masterpiece are you working on as we begin a new year? What would it look like to throw away the pattern and embrace the messy work of creating?

Waiting with Joy

One year ago, exactly, I was waiting for a phone call. I was ready, bursting with anticipation, my phone glued to my hip all day and all through the night. My sister was expecting her second baby, and the plan was for Mom and me to jump in the car as soon as we got the call. We’d make the two-and-a-half hour drive so we could watch big sister Addie while her mom and dad were in the hospital.

It was an Advent like no other, waiting for this baby son to come into the world.

Oh come, Oh come, Emmanuel
And ransom captive Israel
That mourns in lonely exile here
Until the Son of God appear

The call came at 2:00 a.m. in the dark quiet of a snowy morning. I leaped out of bed before the second ring. “It’s time,” my sister said. “We’re headed to the hospital.”

After all the waiting, all the expectation, all the hope, it was time. This long-awaited baby was coming.

Rejoice, Rejoice!
Emmanuel shall come to thee, Oh Israel!

The arrival came with pain, to be sure. But when Baby Grant came into the world, there was indeed much rejoicing.

This Advent I found myself waiting again. But this time, instead of waiting for a birth, I was waiting for a death.

Once again I kept the phone beside me night and day, waking and sleeping. But this time my heart weighed three hundred pounds each time the phone rang.

My grandfather had lived a good life. He was a man of the greatest generation—a hard worker and a man of quiet but deep faith. He never would have abided my saying so, but he was a hero: first as a B-17 pilot over Europe during World War II and then as the faithful father to twelve children. He had been married to my grandma for almost 71 years—a lifetime in itself. His was quite a legacy: a legacy of faithfulness and wit and wisdom and love and dozens upon dozens of people who share his name.

And now he was ready to go home. I kissed his cheek last Sunday, aware that it would likely be the last time on this side of heaven.

I knew it was time—we all did. And yet somehow 94 still seemed too young. God has planted eternity in our hearts, which means that death always comes too soon. We are made for life, not death.

Oh come, Thou Dayspring, come and cheer
Thy people with Thine advent here;
Disperse the gloomy clouds of night
And death’s dark shadows put to flight

The call came one evening after dinner, and somehow I missed it. I must have been in the basement, throwing a load in the wash. My dad’s voice was on the message: “I have good news and bad news,” he said. “It’s bad news for us, because we’ll miss him. But it’s all good news for him.”

At Advent we celebrate the gift of Emmanuel. God with us, to comfort those who mourn in lonely exile. God with us, to disperse the gloomy clouds of night. God with us, to put death’s dark shadows to flight.

As we inhabit this weary world, we grieve and we wait and we ache. But we also rejoice, because death isn’t the end of the story. The pangs of death make way for new life—the kind of life that never ends.

Until then, we wait. And we wait with joy.

God with us. Us with God. Emmanuel.

Rejoice, Rejoice!
Emmanuel shall come to thee, Oh Israel!

Virtual Book Club for January: The Trouble with Goats and Sheep

Thanks to everyone who participated in the book club discussion about Big Magic!I appreciated everyone’s insights about creativity and perfectionism and trying new things and getting braver as we get older. Congratulations to Rachel for winning the free book giveaway! Rachel, I’ll send you a private message about getting the book to you.

And now . . . announcing the book club selection for January! We will be reading The Trouble with Goats and Sheep by Joanna Cannon.

Here is the description from the back of the book:

Part coming-of-age story, part mystery, The Trouble with Goats and Sheep is a quirky and utterly charming debut about a community in need of absolution and two girls learning what it means to belong.

England, 1976. Mrs. Creasy is missing and the Avenue is alive with whispers. The neighbors blame her sudden disappearance on the heat wave, but ten-year-olds Grace and Tilly aren’t convinced. As the summer shimmers endlessly on, the girls decide to take matters into their own hands. Inspired by the local vicar, they go looking for God—they believe that if they find Him they might also find Mrs. Creasy and bring her home.

Spunky, spirited Grace and quiet, thoughtful Tilly go door to door in search of clues. The cul-de-sac starts to give up its secrets, and the amateur detectives uncover much more than ever imagined. As they try to make sense of what they’ve seen and heard, a complicated history of deception begins to emerge. Everyone on the Avenue has something to hide, a reason for not fitting in.

In the suffocating heat of the summer, the ability to guard these differences becomes impossible. Along with the parched lawns and the melting pavement, the lives of all the neighbors begin to unravel. What the girls don’t realize is that the lies told to conceal what happened one fateful day about a decade ago are the same ones Mrs. Creasy was beginning to peel back just before she disappeared.

I hope you will join us for the discussion at the end of January! Remember, there will be a free book giveaway to one lucky commenter. Happy reading, everyone!

Virtual Book Club Discussion: Big Magic

big magicThanks for joining us for this month’s virtual book club on Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert! It’s easy to participate: Just read the book, and then at your own convenience, add your thoughts to the comments section. You can respond to any of these discussion questions—or just share what you thought of the book.

And as a bonus, I’ll give away a free book to one lucky commenter!

***

A friend recommended this book to me recently, after asking what my next creative endeavor would be. She lives a creative life, whether she’s making a meal, writing a clever email, or learning a new skill, so I was eager to heed her recommendation.

I found some of the ideas at the beginning of the book a little wonky (like the idea that the plotlines of books are just floating around in space, waiting to be received by a willing author—really?!). But the principles for living a creative life, regardless of what form that creativity takes, resonated with me.

Discussion #1: The Courage of Creating

For me, writing a book felt a lot like jumping off a high dive—terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. So the idea that creativity takes courage made a lot of sense to me. I liked the author’s perspective that “fear is boring.”

My fear always made predictably boring decisions, like a choose-your-own-ending book that always had the same ending: nothingness.

Why do you think creating something feels so scary? What creative tasks have you tackled in the face of your fears?

Discussion #2: The Curse of Perfectionism

As a recovering perfectionist, I know what it’s like to hear that voice whisper in your ear that if you can’t do it right, you might as well not do it at all. I’m thinking I should hang this advice from the author’s mom on my office wall or above the stove in my kitchen: “Done is better than good.”

A good-enough novel violently written now is better than a perfect novel meticulously written never.

Do you struggle with perfectionism? When is this a good trait, and when does it get in the way?

Discussion #3: The Role of Failure in Creativity

If there’s one fear that thwarts creativity more than anything else, I’d venture to say it’s the fear of failure. But failure is an essential part of the creative process. In the chapter “Do Something Else,” Elizabeth Gilbert poses the question, “How do you keep living a creative life after you’ve failed?”

First of all, forgive yourself. Remember that you’re nothing but a beginner—even if you’ve been working on your craft for fifty years. We are all just beginners here, and we shall all die beginners.

It’s encouraging to me that even a bestselling author considers herself a beginner; that creates space for the rest of us to be beginners too.

What new ventures are you afraid to try because you don’t want to fail? Does it help to know that we’re all beginners when it comes to creativity?

Discussion #4: Not Caring What Other People Think

In the chapter entitled “Nobody’s Thinking about You,” the author quotes her mentor as saying:

We all spend our twenties and thirties trying to be perfect, because we’re so worried about what people will think of us. Then we get into our forties and fifties, and we finally start to be free, because we decide that we don’t give a damn what anyone thinks of us. But you won’t be completely free until you reach your sixties and seventies, when you finally realize this liberating truth—nobody was ever thinking about you, anyhow.

Have you found it to be true that you care less about what other people think of you as you get older? Do we have to wait until we’re in our sixties and seventies to be free from the fear of what other people think?

Rating

I would give this book four stars out of five. I could have done without some of the wonky worldview, but I appreciated Gilbert’s insights and inspirations about living a creative life.

How many stars would you give this book? And what will your next creative endeavor be?