By Joe LaGuardia
A Reading Life is a blog series focused on the literature that has shaped my life and call to ministry. Find the introduction here.
I got more copies of my book A Whispering Call to sell around town. I haven’t been in possession of the final draft in a while, so, upon receipt, I started to read it.
There is something about reading your work months after you wrote it that makes you pause–there is a great deal of self-doubt, and you wonder whether the final copy is any good.
I read the first page of the introduction, and I was stuck. The transition from the first two paragraphs to the third was awkward. I read it again, and I tried to get into where my head was months ago: What was I thinking when I segued from one paragraph to the other?
A long time ago, someone told me it was hard for her to follow my sermons. I lost her, she said, when I was transitioning from one subject to the next. She said that my transitions left people behind or confused. Although I dealt with that issue over time (it was a valid critique), it seems that some of my writing still carries that burden.
But I am also a big believer that a new paragraph begins a new topic. That’s what I learned in grade school, at least. Its not my fault that our digital, short-form world breaks everything into paragraphs after only a few sentences just because readers lose interest if a paragraph is too long. (I learned this the hard way as a syndicated columnist–paragraphs are only two or three sentences long not because of the topic, but because of how it appears on the page; the internet is no different.)
I decided that my writing was just fine, and it hit me: I have to own my writing. I have to take responsibility for my idiosyncrasies and trust in the work.
Ernest Hemingway inspired me in this. I am currently reading A Farewell to Arms, and its been a while since I’ve read Hemingway. His writing is unique–its short, brisk, and choppy. At times he is repetitive. He doesn’t fill in all the gaps, and his dialogue communicates basic information.
On the back of the book’s dustcover, it boasts that Hemingway “did more to change the style of English prose than any other writer in the twentieth century.” He was, of course, a Pultizer winner for The Old Man and the Sea.
I wonder if Hemingway doubted his writing. I wonder if he thought, “I hope people don’t think I write like a fifth-grader.” But fans of his work will quickly note that, as concise as he may be, he communicates an entire vista within just a short economy of words. He is amazing, and I like to think that he was unapologetic for his unique writing style. He owned his writing.
My reflections on writing conjured the works of other off-beat authors. Annie Dillard comes to mind–she is downright difficult to read, but oh! how she makes for majestic reading!
The first time I picked up Frank McCourt, with his long run-on sentences and lack of quotation marks, it was almost the last time I picked it up–not because it wasn’t good, but because I couldn’t put it down!
Preachers also tend to have their own style–the good ones, at least. The late Fred Craddock is probably the most famous idiosyncratic preacher. When he preached you forget that he is preaching, and by the time he finished (and he finishes whenever he wants), you think you’ve had a conversation with a best friend.
Brett Younger, pastor of Plymouth Church in Brooklyn (and one of my old professors), is also unique. He weaves together comedy and tragedy and sacred text in ways that few can emulate.
Then there is Joel Osteen. I don’t care what you think of his theology, but the man is an amazing storyteller. Whenever I listen to him on XM radio, I feel better, like all is well with the world.
So take ownership of your writing. No one is going to express what you need to say for you, and your silence may disenfranchise the world. It may need another point of light in the darkness, so shine brightly for others to see. Don’t mimic voices of others, come up with your own. Take responsibility for your writing. As long as you follow the basics in grammar, you should be fine–and empowered to keep on keeping on.