Synthesis

books, clock, two elves on a shelf | photo: Karen Miedrich-Luo

When I look at all the books on my bookshelves, I am struck that each one, prior to publication, represents years of some author's work. Each page, each sentence, was a labor of emotion, thought, and action, and of all the books on all the shelves in all the libraries, these books made it to my home.

These are not the same titles on your shelf, either. These titles reflect my own interests, pursuits, or required reading. Some were gifts or written by friends, books I was compelled to read. But I only keep the ones I like and currently, Goodreads tells me eight-hundred and forty books are mine. I don't count the books on my children's shelves or those that belong to my husband, nor do I keep account of all the books I've read and returned to the library, re-sold to a second-hand store, or lost.

I am a writer and a reader. I have interests that go beyond what I write. Some books are instructional and used for reference. Some are pictorial and pleasant to look through. Many books were half-read or I read excerpts during my college years studying history, philosophy, religion, biblical languages, literature, and Chinese culture. Would it surprise you to know I've only fully read a third of these books? I seem to buy them faster than I can read them!

I consider myself a niche writer, and to that end, I buy many books that fit within that corner of the market. It is a category so narrow, the bookstores don’t know where to shelve it; I’ve seen it in nature, travel, autobiography, even fiction. My favorite authors might be mixed in anywhere. When I first started reading and writing in this style, there was a lot of conflict about whether to include the genre in M.F.A. programs across the country.

Today, creative/literary nonfiction is filling the shelves and the authors are proliferating. This is a very good thing for a reader. But for a writer, the competition is stiff. My inner critic reminds me of this frequently. I worry about wasting time on something no one will read because someone else has written about that topic or for that audience. How can I compete with something fresh and timely when the population has seen that, done that? In this era of blog overload and redundancy, do I have a voice anyone wants to hear?

I look again at my books and remember the labor of each one brought into existence by even modern authors I wish I could emulate or talk with. I crave the conversations in my head sparked by Annie Dillard, Joan Didion, Diane Ackerman, Kathleen Norris, Jill Kandel, and Nancy Nordenson. I’ve even tried reading Annie Dillard’s recommended reading list, the seminal books which sparked her thoughts. Those authors don’t excite me as much as she does. She took what interested her and created something new that I identify with and love to read.

As a writer, I cannot be Annie Dillard, or any other author I admire. But I do have a wealth of interesting subjects and resources, experiences and passions that only I can germinate into something new, in a soil where no one but me is planted.

What books are on your shelves and why? Which authors excite you and create a private dialogue in your head? Where is that conversation leading you to explore more fully?

This post originally appeared at Write/Create, Inc. on January 28, 2019)

Pruning, Part 1

A cluster of three pecans on the tree | photo by Karen Miedrich-Luo

The Pecan branch cracked and whined as it split and peeled from the very healthy tree in our back yard. The leaves were green and glossy and the large pecans were voluminous. It was overladen with fruit, full to breaking, and it took my husband two hours to cut it so the trash truck would haul it away. The one branch was a good twenty feet long and each branching finger held dozens of thumb-sized pecans. It never occurred to me to prune a healthy tree. Last year we felled a dead Pecan and also pulled a seven-foot seedling growing too close to the fence. The seedling sheltered a large Azalea which was then left to bake in the hot August sun. No matter how much we watered, it baked to a crisp. Our neglect, even when everything seems healthy, has unintended consequences.

I have a tendency to become overripe with the many things I learn along this path. Blessed by God's gifts and the fruits of His labor in my soul, I often forget to prune or water or fertilize the seedlings He plants. I wait for the harvest, but for my own enjoyment.

I need, and was created to need, God, and I communicate with God through prayer and He communicates with me through Scripture, yet, I am most blessed when I release what I learn. The Psalmist declares that the person who delights in God's law is like a tree planted by streams of water which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither (Ps. 1:2-3). But if I don’t properly care for the tree, the healthy growth cracks with overripe fruit; the seeds find their way to the ground, but I am damaged. I imagine that pruning might prevent the breakage, but it certainly seems counter-intuitive. I tend to be a “live and let live” person. If something appears healthy, I let it be, but things are not always what they seem.

The story of Hagar caught my attention while slow-reading in Genesis this year. Hagar was Sarah's maidservant and when Sarah lost hope that God would give her the promised son, she devised a plan to use Hagar as a surrogate mother. The plan worked, Hagar birthed Ishmael between Sarah's knees, and the boy was raised as Abraham's son. But then the promised son came through Sarah and Ishmael taunted the young boy, Isaac. Sarah demanded that both Ishmael and Hagar be banished from the family inheritance. Abraham cast them both into the desert with few provisions even though it was against the moral law of the day to cast out a slave and her children. (F. LaGard Smith, The Narrated Bible in Chronological Order.)  Abraham prayed about it, but God released Abraham to do as Sarah demanded. Why? At first reading this seems so very heartless and even the Godless tribes of the surrounding lands recognized it as such. But it wasn't heartless in God's grand plan.

In the desert, dying of thirst, Hagar cried out to God and God responded. God spoke to Hagar through an angel who comforted her and promised that the boy would father a nation. God spoke to a slave woman. It was Hagar who later found a wife for Ishmael. She was free to do that! God pruned her from Abraham's household and gave her freedom and a promise to pass on to Ishmael.

(This post first appeared at Write/Create and is no longer available.)