The Annual Post About Writing for Sports Camp

Last year, I was informed that every time I write for Sports Camp, I come away with the same lesson.

This year's skit was no exception. The only difference is, this is the first skit that my main protagonist didn't struggle with an identity crisis that would be resolved within two acts. But true to form, I over-identified with the script. My deuteragonist, Gracie, was paralyzed by fear of failure and disappointing others.

Poor Gracie.

I understand that the nuances of the script will go unnoticed in the shadow of the superhero, Super Summer, and the crazy (dare I say, silly?) antics of his nemesis and his minions. But I still pray that God will use the Sports Camp Drama team and the script to reach to the children participating in Sport Camp.

Every year, I look forward to this week long event. I don't play sports very well and understand little of how to play organized sports. However, it is a blessing to offer the little creativity I have and share it with a group of extremely talented students. I find a certain joyous fulfillment in writing for the Sport Camp Drama Team and working with these talented kids. They amaze me every year with their acting skills and infectious energy. I am not a funny person, and I am definitely not a comedic writer. I'm the dramatic and broody one. However, in the hands of these students (and some very wonderful adults!), the skits are funny, light-hearted, and entertaining.

Working with them throughout the month reminds me of the great days of rehearsals for both drama club and choir. In high school, I lived for choir and drama rehearsals and performances. I don't sing very well and I can't act, but I often found more joy in the backstage work and the process of learning songs than in the actual performances. And throughout the month of July, I get to rekindle that love for the stage with a group of kids.

This year's Sports Camp Drama Team is exceptional. I'm praying for this team; that God will use them in a mighty way. I hope they see this time together as a blessing as much as I have. We have a long week ahead of us, and I know their hard work will pay off. Whatever happens, I hope they will just have fun. And I pray that God will delight in the joy they have in working together.

If I could write for and work with this drama team every day of my life, I would be a happy girl.

The Soccer Ball is a Metaphor for Her Heart

Sports Camp is over.

I love this event. So much hard work is involved, and I love to see my church community come together to play sports, hang out with children, sing songs, dance crazy, and make fools of themselves all so that children can know God.

This year, my job for Sports Camp is a creative one. I am thankful for every opportunity Kristin gives me to write a skit, but the Sports Camp skits hold a special place in my heart.

Especially this one.

My life tends to fall apart when I write a skit. The writing process for this year's skit is no exception. In my last post, I shared that I identified with plot of the skit and pondered the ending. Because I am Abby, I wanted to re-write everything. It was coming down to the wire and all I wanted to do is change the final skit.

Something was missing, and I couldn't figure it out.

It didn't occur to me the missing part until Tuesday morning, two days before the final skit performance. I re-wrote the last page and snuck it into rehearsal.

I was worried on the day of the final skit. Was it going to work? Would people respond? What if I still don't like it? Did the drama team know that they were speaking for me, that they were my voice?

I couldn't be more proud of the drama team. All week they had impressed me with their comedic timing; their commitment to the characters that I had created. Most of the skit was a comedy--not my forte. Typically, my writing is serious by nature and I knew that the only reason why the jokes worked was because of the actors. But the last page was different and I worried if anyone would go along with it.

Surprisingly enough, they did. The Sports Camp kids cheered on their hero as he reclaimed the soccer ball from his nemesis, and celebrated when the main character made the pivotal decision to ask for help and join her team. And as the kids erupted with support for her final line, I knew they were on her side; they truly wanted her to win.

As I mentioned in my last post, it is strange to see your life story unfold on stage. Sure, I may have over-identified with this year's skit. Sure, the writing process may always involve a little breaking of my heart. Sure, I may never be a comedic writer. I don't know if and/or when I will be asked to write again, but if asked, I am sure that I would do it again.

Of all the things I could be sure of, I know this to be true: there are some things I couldn't create or write for myself. After months of isolating discouragement and shattering silence, at this year's Sports Camp, God gave my voice back to me.

And my heart was healed.

Identification

Every once in awhile, I write skits for my church.

I don't think I'm very good at it, but I will take any opportunity to write something. At least I'll be writing, right?

The good person out of the good treasure of his heart produces good, and the evil person out of his evil treasure produces evil, for out of the abundance of the heart his mouth speaks.

--Luke 6:45 (ESV)

The latest offering is for my church's version of Vacation Bible School: Sports Camp. I know nothing about sports, I don't know anything about camp, but I am thankful that my friend Kristin still trusts me to write the skits.

Perhaps I was a little out of practice, but the writing process for this skit took a little longer than I was used to. I was way past deadline and I couldn't write past the second act. Finally, two weeks past deadline, I rushed through scenes three and four. Frustrated and dissatisfied, I ripped up the last two scenes and started over. I didn't make a good read through until I had to turn in the skit at the Sports Camp meeting.

I hadn't realized the storyline I had created until I was talking through the entire play. It isn't unusual for me to identify with one of my character's inner struggle. What was unusual was how blatantly the plot was my story.

Identify, much?

It is a surreal experience to see your story play out on stage. I'd like to think I was not so overly self-indulgent in my writing--especially when I write for church--but apparently, this story that I have ignored in my own life needed to get out on paper just to get my attention.

The skit has a little neat ending. I'm not sure if my reality will play out in the same way.

Losing My Voice

In looking over this blog, I wonder: didn't I use to write better than this? No--scratch that--didn't I used to write more than this?

Somewhere along the way, I found that I had lost my ability to write anything that doesn't sound like one of the hundreds of e-mails that I compose on a weekly basis. I am already unable to speak on the phone in a casual manner: I can't stop myself from slipping into my professional business voice and leaving voicemail messages with my work's tagline.

I don't see myself as a writer any more than I see myself as a musician. However, I must admit that I love writing and I miss having this outlet. Sadly, like with most things as of late, writing is on the long list of things I ran away from because it got too hard.

So the questions remain: will I always run from the things I love? Will I ever have the courage to rise above the criticisms and keep enjoying the things I love to do?

Will I ever take a risk?

Delight in Discipline

I'm a little unfocused. I'm easily distracted. I'm waving the procrastinator's banner.

The funny thing is, I'm not on deadline.

I've been trying to dust off my writing skills and give a good attempt at the story I've been trying to write. And all I have to show for what I have accomplished in the past hour is a blinking cursor and a smattering of nonsensical words.

Here's what I'm learning about a creative life: it requires more discipline than what people expect.

When I was in high school, (the good ol' days when I used to play the piano really well. Oh, Dear Talent, how I miss thee!) I had no problem sitting at the piano, going over difficult passages numerous times just to perfect the music piece. Granted, some of those ultra-disciplined practices had to do with the limited time I had to learn a piece ("Why yes, Giles, I can definitely learn this difficult piano accompaniment for the concert tomorrow...").

I'll admit, practicing piano wasn't always a joy. It was a loathsome chore, especially during the earlier years of piano lessons. I couldn't understand how hours of Hanon exercises could help me play the breathtaking classical piano pieces I loved. But if it weren't for those years of disciplined playing, I would not be able to love the piano the way that I do now.

I used to love writing as much as I used to love playing piano. I am a extremely rusty in writing, and it doesn't come as easily as the piano. I'm not as disciplined in this avenue of expression, and therefore, I am apt to swiftly succumb to distractions.

I suppose discipline is the same with a lot of things in life, creative or otherwise. Anything of true worth requires work. However, in my experience, discipline in the things we delight in rarely ever seem like work.

Gratitude

It has been a few years since I've written anything for Christmas Eve.

The last time I had written a play for Christmas Eve came around the time I started this blog. And as I look back at what I had shared on my blog then, I realize that my heart is full of that same gratitude today:

It is because of them, I had something offer that was of some significance. I have so much to share and these people were the ones who had lent their voices. Without them, I would be left with my voice full of silence, a heart full of love, and a head full of words.

Thank you, Denise, Bard, Kyle, and Skyler for lending your voices. You have no idea how much you have blessed me this Christmas. Thank you, Juli, for the opportunity to write something for my church family.

And to the wonderful Discovery Worship Team, thank you for letting me play piano with you. It is always a pleasure to be part of the team...you even let me get away with playing piano while hiding behind the curtain. :D

Blocked

Dear Writer's Block,

You annoy me.

Let me write something of worth. Help me get my voice back. I've been silent a little too long.

And tell your friend, Insomnia, that I'm annoyed at him, too.

Thanks,

Me.

Goal Setting

Normally, I don't set goals.

The last time I had set a goal was in January. Of 2007.

But in light of the Olympics and the lack of focus in my life, I believe now would be a good time to start setting some goals. I suppose it is fitting since it is September 1st. And as I usually run on a normal public school schedule, so the timing is perfect.

Go God. :-)

So here we go:

1. Finish the first draft of a book (that I actually intend to publish) by January 20, 2009. Yes, its Inaguaral Day! I'm not looking forward to it at all. [insert sacrasm here!]

Sidebar: No, I don't intend to have every goal be centered around a political timetable. It was only a coincidence. Really.

2. Reach healthy body weight by Fall 2009.
3. Save money for trip to England for my next vacation, Summer 2009. Anyone want to come?

All right. Here goes.

The only thing to do is jump over the moon.

Yo-Yo Ma Rocks!

I wish I could play the cello.

Sadly, I think there is a height requirement.

This Labor Day weekend, I'm going to try my hand at writing again. I've been far too distracted, and its beginning to show. So this weekend, I'm going to make up for the eight month long dry spell. Writers tend to be hermits, but I'll try to get some quality people-time, too. But a majority of my time will be me, my laptop (sigh...envy is hitting me again) a blank page with a blinking cursor and the playlist including Death Cab for Cutie, Beethoven, and Yo-Yo Ma.

At least I'll be in good company.

Game on!

Ok. So I've written a book. Now what?

The first comment I get is of the I-didn't-know-you-were-a-writer variety. My usual answer is a blushing reply of I-didn't-know-either. I get a few laughs and the subsequent conversation consists of two questions:

1. When can I read it?
2. What are you going to do with it now?

The first question is answered with a shrug and a sly smile that I usually can get away with, depending on the person. The second one is a little trickier.

Writing, as I may have eluded to before, is like a relationship. It's not just personal. It's very personal. And to put it out there is a risk that I am not always ready to take. Yes, I have thought of it. Questions like what if I'm not a writer? and can I handle the inevitable first rejection? arise, squelching any courage I was able to muster. I'd read other writings and I'd think either Man, they're really good. I can never do this or Yeah, Baby! I can do this. I can TOTALLY do this.

So here I am. I'm going through one of what will be many drafts, and I am thinking to myself...why am I doing this? For my own pleasure, to know that I can write an entire book from start to finish? Or am I going to put this out there for others to see?

I don't know if it will work, but I'm going for it. Research, editing, risking rejection, searching for acceptance.

Game on. Let's go.

Currently reading : Finding Your Voice: How to Put Personality in Your Writing By Les Edgerton

I didn't think it would be so hard to say goodbye...

This actually happened a few months ago. I hadn't told anyone because I dared not to believe it. But here it is.

I finished my book.

Its so weird. I had lived with these characters for over three years and now its done. The day I had finished, I nearly cried because I had nothing new to add to their stories. Of course, I'll edit them, but I will add nothing completely new. My journey with these characters is over, and its hard to say good bye to them.

So, it's sitting in my computer, this great accomplishment of mine...and I'm happy that for the moment, they're my characters. No one owns them yet, and they are pure creations borne from my odd imagination.

And now, I have to say good bye to them. Move on. I don't know what will happen to them next...but I need to move on to new characters, new story line, new ways to express the creativity that is itching to be freed from this crazy brain of mine.

I had worked for so long for this moment and now that its here, I am having a hard time letting it go.

I've got my own voice...so how can I help but to shout and rejoice?

Missing Notes

Somewhere along my whole "jumping over the moon" timeline, I realized that there was a part of my story that I was missing. I had avoided it for so long, but I couldn't bring myself to writing it.

Saying it makes it real.

Obviously, not everything in the story I've been writing is real. But the more time I've dedicated to this book, the more I realize that it has turned from "just this thing I did" into another expression of myself. Typically, in heightened moments of emotion, I play the piano; pounding out all my unexpressed feelings (yes, I have feelings) until it came out in the form of notes and chords and strange melodies. Who knew that 88 black and white keys could offer so much freedom?

I tried looking for a piano, but I found none with which I could let myself be free. I have become too apprehensive during my time without playing, and I end up sitting at the piano bench reminiscing of an easier time when the music came naturally to me. I used to be so good, at least that's what I remember. And now I can barely put together an entire song. It saddens me, to a large extent, and I wonder if I had passed my prime and had been far too long since I had reached my musical peak. The piano, this wooden box, no longer offered a refuge for me.

My life sans piano has been a struggle. Without the music, the only way I express myself is through writing. And I think I've avoided it for far too long. I know what I have to write, and I find myself afraid of the truth it may reveal. What happened doesn't bother me any more. Telling the story does. And I struggle through this exercise in hopes that maybe when I tell my story I wouldn't only be retelling it...

...and not reliving it.

It was easier with the piano.

Currently watching : The X-Files - The Complete Fourth Season (Slim Set)

Apollo 8 and Apollo 10

Le sigh.

That's all the French I have at the moment. And I am nowhere near finishing the book.

So close, and yet so far. Jumping over the moon is harder for these two rounds, but it's all right. I'll set another goal again. It's not over.

Besides, man didn't land on the moon until Apollo 11, almost a decade after JFK declared that America was going to win the space race by landing on the moon before anyone else. in 1968, Apollo 8 was the first successful trip from the earth to the moon and back, and Apollo 10 was only 14 KM away from the moon before it had to return to earth.

It may take a couple trips around the moon, but the trip is half the fun.

Currently watching : The X-Files - The Complete Third Season (Slim Set)

Radio Silence

I love deadlines. Especially the whoosh sound they make as they pass by.

I've got nothing.

I guess I'm experiencing what you might call a dry spell. Writer's block. Radio silence. Creativity has left me and all I'm left with is a blank page, a blinking cursor and a slight crush on Zach Braff.
Apparently, I said I was going to finish this book I'm writing. And I've been all over the place the past couple of weeks that I have no idea who my characters are, why they do the things they do.

Hence, writer's block.

Ok. The process story. I'm not one of those writers who let their characters dictate what they do--they don't "speak" to me. I don't have a plan for the characters; I don't even know where they are going to end up. I stare at these characters, trying to understand why they are doing the things they are doing and I have no idea where they are coming from. And so it goes; these characters feeling everything they're supposed to feel and doing...nothing.
I guess I'm waiting to be inspired again. It often takes me awhile, and often when I am nowhere near my computer or even a pen and paper. So I'll sit and focus on that slowly blinking cursor and wait for that inspiration to come.

It's not like I'm on a deadline or anything.

On peut toujours esperer.

Currently watching : Garden State

It was all for Him

You must know--surely you must know--it was all for you.

This Christmas Eve my church did their second Christmas Eve play. It was the second play I had penned for Christmas, the third I had written for my church. I don't identify myself as a writer--but of the few things that I hope for, being a writer is one of the top three.

I often don't have a voice, and I spend most of my time having my right to speak be revoked and silenced by endless demands. It doesn't bother me, having grown up in with the fulfillment of the adage "children should be seen and not heard." Therefore, I find my voice in writing, even if no one reads it, let alone hears it. But every once in awhile, I would be asked to share something, and given my anonymity, I am willing to oblige.

There is a wonderful thrill that comes from hearing your words bursting forth into the air. I heard it during the first skit I had written for a church retreat, and I heard it during the first Christmas Eve play. I thought that the novelty would be gone, but when the chorus of angels followed the lead angel onto the stage, loudly proclaiming God's glory, the chills came back. Tears came when Bard (the lead angel) spoke the words I had struggled to string together, and a smile painted my face when the brave actors took the stage and recited their lines faithfully.

Let me have a chance to explain. The feeling I am describing is not pride. This confession is not out of false modesty. The fact of the matter is, this is my attempt to convey the gratitude I have for those who helped work on this play and those before it. Without these heroes, I may never have a gift to offer my God on the day his Son was born. It is because of them, I had something offer that was of some significance. I have so much to share and these people were the ones who had lent their voices. Without them, I would be left with my voice full of silence, a heart full of love, and a head full of words.

To Tommy, Kristin & Bard, The Fredricks family, The Russell Family and many others...thank you.

Until next Christmas!

Currently watching : The West Wing - The Complete Third Season