If you’re waiting for writing inspiration in the midst of everything else that’s happening in your life, you may be waiting a long time. It might never show up. Instead of waiting for inspiration to find you, the better choice is to find it.
One way to find inspiration is to highlight an interesting paragraph from a book you’re reading. Then use that idea to rewrite something of your own.
In his book The Nazarene, Sholem Asch describes a man’s observation:
And there came up in the sky a little black cloud no bigger than a man’s hand; and the hand opened and enclosed the heavens and the heavens were laden with clouds which concealed the light of the sun. And shadows passed over the face of the earth and spread darkness around.
Here’s the concept:
A blind man senses an approaching a storm. What would he hear and feel? What would he be thinking? What would he do? Then we begin to write the scene as the blind man experiences it. We know his experience starts with recognition of an approaching storm. We don’t know how it will end.
We dare not let ourselves observe the blind man and tell what happens to him, which would weakly engage readers. As we write, that approach leaves us weakly engaged as well. Instead, we must sacrifice “feeling safe” and push ourselves into the discomfort of the unknown. Only then can we feel his struggle and describe the circumstance, thoughts, and actions that allow readers to share his experience, one small tap and step at a time.
Here’s an example of what we might develop:
The warmth of the sun disappeared with a sudden coolness splashing my face, a mark of changing weather. The breeze rose to a forceful wind, and then came a clap of thunder that shook the ground.
I looked upward, letting the huge droplets splatter my face, wondering if God had stepped a little closer than before. Had not my father said, “The Lord brings the rain”?
As I walked toward home, waving my staff to the left and right in front of me, I made sure that something had not arrived to block my usual path. I raised my free hand to the sky. “Where are you, God?”
No answer.
I wasn’t looking for a voice. Some said the thunder was God speaking his judgment upon those who had sinned, but as I listened, I sensed no anger in the rumbling.
With a little extra force, I lifted my staff and slapped the wall on my right. Obscured by the rain, the sound still expressed my disappointment. I knew where I was, just a short walk from home. Where was God?
Only in my thoughts, I shouted, Why am I blind? I didn’t bother to speak the words, because I knew God was nowhere around.
What might you write about an approaching storm?
