Hope, Faith and Charity 1

Writing is one of my passions. It tests me. While out on my morning walk, I let my mind wander, looking for some inspiration to share with you. The three words, hope, faith and charity kept popping into my head.

I wondered about their relevance in the life of an author. Schicksal tested my faith. My new book tests it again.


For me to it comes down to faith really. Having the conviction to persevere when the idea is fuzzy, the writing unrefined, and the self-doubt thumping through my veins. This is what I see as faith.

The voice of criticism is sly. like a premenstrual woman it can rage, It can whimper or it can bring procrastination along to the party. It’s hard not to hear it, when it is there inside my head. Shrinking it back to a manageable size, challenging.

Faith reminds us it is okay. There is a purpose to all of this. I have a story to tell. The time for that story is now and the readers who want to hear my words will find my book, online of through a bookstore. Book shops are one of my favourite places.

I love them. Inhaling deeply, the distinctive scent of paper and ink coddles me. Whilst browsing, I play languidly picking up whatever takes my fancy. Then I turn the book over reading the back cover and flick from back to front, stopping at a random page to see if I like the style.

Would I read it? If the answer is no, I carefully put it back and repeat the process. at an unconscious level, I know what I need. Sometimes I walk away empty handed. It’s rare. As I said, I love books.

But as an author; this is a moot point, bookstores are full of books!

Enter the inner critic.

One of the best antidotes to the critic are random acts of coincidence. To me these coincidences are affirmations of my choice, my choice to add my voice to the body of work already in the world.

This morning I met a lady while on my morning walk. We struck up a conversation realized that we shared a common background. I had writing to do but chatted nonetheless.

One of my characters remained unformed. I’d birthed the concept but not the detail.She lived like a skeleton without flesh, breath or persona. Walking home I knew I had met her. Now I just had to commit the crone to paper.

Flexible and open like the bamboo, if I have faith, the words will flow through me.

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