My email is full of drafts. When my type A friends see proof of this, they feel a strong desire to wash their eyeballs.
But these drafts are full of one sentence wonders plucked straight from my brain, quotes from friends and authors, half-written blog posts, podcast notes, obscure ramblings, they are lists of books to be read, movies to be watched, conversations to be had, and random newfound knowledge about Biblical context.
They are written during red lights and while waiting for children at carpool. They are typed hastily in grocery store parking lots, on my phone before bed, on planes, while floating in a pool, as sports play on TV, and during church. Sometimes these drafts are jotted down upon emerging from the shower, where all good thinking occurs.
These drafts are the inside of my brain. My wonder.
I reopen them, ponder them, rework them, sometimes pray over them.
And eventually, the writing all fits into something. An article, a journal, a conversation, or merely a phase in my life.
“I still encourage anyone who feels at all compelled to write to do so. I just try to warn people who hope to get published that publication is not all that it is cracked up to be. But writing is. Writing has so much to give, so much to teach, so many surprises. That thing you had to force yourself to do – the actual act of writing – turns out to be the best part. It’s like discovering that while you thought you needed the tea ceremony for the caffeine, what you really needed was the tea ceremony. The act of writing turns out to be in its own reward.” – Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life
While my method may appear messy, it is how I create order.
I will never tire of the surprising self-evolution writing brings, and am ever grateful for the tea ceremony.