Mixed Messages

The problem with always thinking that you hear messages is that you often don’t even know the one who’s sending them. #crossbytes

One of the gifts of the spirit mentioned in the Bible is discernment.  Discernment is difficult to define well — especially for people like me who don’t have that particular gift — but as best as I can put it into words, it means “knowing.” Knowing whether something is true or not, sensing a person’s character as a matter of intuition, knowing what to do in any given situation and not just doing something but knowing the right thing to do.

My wife and anyone else who really knows me (though they’re aren’t many who do even if they think so.) know that I struggle with knowing what to do. I hate having to make decisions. I don’t know when to let something go, when to try a different approach, and when to listen and when to ignore. I lack discernment.

Throughout my life I have struggled with making a career from writing. Many times I have felt like chucking it all away and just finding other ways to spend my time.  Then, something would happen, an idea or a little victory, and I’d go right back to thinking my boat was just about to come in. (I know, writers should not resort to cliches.) In the last couple of years especially, I have struggled.

Lately, I’ve felt like I’ve been getting a lot of messages to keep at it, to keep writing because something new and exciting was just around the corner. Today I received a blow to those hopes via a rejection by one of the publishers who has published many of my plays. Honestly, I thought it would be accepted, but it wasn’t. It just didn’t make the final cut, he said. He told me it was an enjoyable read and that one of the plays he published some years before was still one of his favorites. Yet, despite a very polite rejection, I was still devastated.

Now, I’m wondering if all those messages I thought I was getting were just hallucinations, a product of a bipolar mind that is already somewhat bent by delusions of grandeur. I just know that at the moment I don’t feel like doing any writing at all. I don’t feel like doing much of anything.

I am wondering just what message this rejection is sending to me. Is it saying, time to let it rest? Is it saying, plays are not the thing you should be writing? Is it saying that it’s time to realize you never were meant to be a writer, and you’ve just wasted hours of your lifetime.

Though I’m devastated about the rejection, I wouldn’t say I was despondent. I am just wondering why I’m getting all of these mixed messages and why I didn’t get a better spirit of discernment so that I might know the answers.

I’m finished whining now. I would like to let anyone who reads this know that my kids humor novel Walt Michaels is a Weenie is now priced permanently at 99 cents.  When I recently ran a countdown sale on Amazon, the 99 cent price seemed to be the most attractive one.  If you are looking for a fun read for yourself or a fifth or sixth grader in your life, pick up Walt Michaels is A Weenie.

Walt Michaels: now just 99 cents

 

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