|Photo by Lee Hull Moses. Used without permission, but we will hope that she forgives me since we're such good friends.|
I am presently tucked away in one of my very favorite places, the Collegeville Institute in Minnesota. I'm so grateful to be here. I'm also grateful that I have a lot of writing to do this week. I have a Big Thing in the works, as well as a handful of writing deadlines in the weeks and months ahead. I keep trying to limit how much I take on, but it seems that every time I swear off any more writing gigs, the universe presents another one that I cannot pass up.
The time I spent here in 2009 was pivotal. I met some wonderful people, including two of my dearest friends. I found my misplaced sense of pastoral calling. And I reaffirmed the same thing I've been saying since I was a kid: I want to be a writer.
I am a writer. And, at the risk of sounding arrogant, I'm a good writer. The universe - or, more precisely, editors - would not keep inviting me to contribute posts and essays and chapters if my sentences weren't worth reading. I'm so astonished by and pleased with the way my writing vocation is unfolding.
Being here, I can't help but think about my book. I only wrote a few chapters here, in 2009 and when I returned in 2010, but the book probably wouldn't have happened at all if I hadn't come to Collegeville.
I'm a better writer than I was a few years ago - which is to say that I'm a better writer than I was when I wrote Any Day a Beautiful Change. That makes me a little nervous; so often I look back at things I've done in the past and think they are terribly sophomoric. But I still rather like that book. I want to keep liking it even as it sort of thrills me to realize that the Big Thing (hint, hint: it's a book) could potentially be far better.
Now it's time to get to all that writing. Those sentences don't write themselves, which is sort of a shame as I still much prefer having written to writing.