Feeding the Lake

+ a few words on the creative process

I know that this is a big week on the liturgical calendar with Transfiguration Sunday, Fat Tuesday, & Ash Wednesday. Alas, I don’t mention them in this post, but I do a Lenten Examen or reflection every year. I look at the reflection I wrote for the previous year, and then I used my pen and Leuchtturm journal (both of which are linked below) to write a reflection in light of this year. For more on the practice of Examen, you can find more info here.

Photo by Tolga Kilinc on Unsplash

First, thank you all for celebrating my book news with me. It has been wild to watch a whisper become a whirlwind adventure, but I know I’ll be forever grateful to you who have read, resonated with, and believed in my words along the way.

In case you missed it, I posted a Instagram Reel announcement to share on social media:

jenaiauman

A post shared by Jenai Auman | Writer + Artist (@jenaiauman)

The manuscript process itself has been a steady uphill climb. Or, rather, in Eugene Peterson’s words, “a long obedience in the same direction.”¹ I do believe the writing journey is beautiful, and I love having the opportunity to piece together words to one day be printed and held by you. I also want to be honest: Writing is hard.

This last week someone asked whether the writing process has served to lighten my load, helping me find rest in my process toward healing, or if it has been a burden.² My answer: Both.

Being able to put words to my experience and naming the ways in which I have been harmed has given me the opportunity to taste the sweetness of liberation. So many of us do not name what we experience with clarity, whether that is spiritual abuse, marginalization, or othering of any nature, because we’re gripped by the thoughts and opinions of those who hold sway in our communities. Writing, then, has given me a way to name and heal from all the wounds I have experienced.

Finding words that anchor helps fend off the words that attack and abuse.

In this way, yes, my private writing process has lightened the load.

Though, because writing has become a career and because many of you interact with my work, I now acknowledge that my words are woven with responsibility. I won’t speak for other writers and authors, but my primary hope is to care for my reader—to see you and say I lived through this, too. You aren’t alone. If care of my reader is the goal, then I have to be very mindful about not using my audience to make myself feel bigger, better, or more brilliant.

In short, I saw abuse of power in the pulpit. I hope those reading my words never see abuse of power from my pen.

So, yes: Writing both lightens my heart with gladness and keeps me weighted in wisdom.

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Creating to Breathe & Feed the Lake

A good number of you sent a few DMs and responded to my Instagram stories with questions on my creative process. Many specifically asked about my journey to publication. Publication is a part of my journey, but I don’t believe it is required to be creative, so I wanted to share thoughts on publishing separately in a document HERE.

To the process of writing and creating, I’ll say a few words.

There is a liturgy to creation. The Greek word for liturgy is λειτουργία or leitourgia. In Hebrew, it is עֲבֹדָה or avodah. The word “liturgy” is not in your Bible. Translations often interpret liturgy as work, worship, labor, or, in most instances, as service. When I speak of a liturgy in creation, I mean that the creative process isn’t so much a strict how-to process that asks “What do I get to make today?” but rather, “Who do I get to serve today?”; “How will my work speak of my service?;” & “How will my labor breathe new life?”

Creating isn’t so much about hammering something into machine-like precision; although, that’s cool, too. And it’s less about manipulating what ought not to be messed with like Frankenstein. I want to create like a potter, using the gentle pressure of my hands to make mud magnificent. I want to listen and hear what wants to be created. I want to collaborate (or co-labor) with the forces around me to bring goodness to life.

In Madeleine L’Engle’s Walking on Water, she mentions being a servant of the work. She writes:

If the work comes to the artist and says, “Here I am, serve me,” then the job of the artist, great or small, is to serve. The amount of the artist’s talent is not what it is about. Jean Rhys said to an interviewer in the Paris Review, “Listen to me. All of writing is a huge lake. There are great rivers that feed the lake, like Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky. And there are mere trickles, like Jean Rhys. All that matters is feeding the lake. I don’t matter. The lake matters. You must keep feeding the lake.”

To feed the lake is to serve, to be a servant.

When I write for my own personal processing, the words don’t necessarily matter because they are privately kept for myself, filling a growing number of Leuchtturm journals that remind me where I have been, where I’m headed, and who I’m becoming. In this quiet place, I’m able to scream, cuss, and wail, using oxygen in all the ways my body, heart, and mind need—free from judgment. However, when I write to contribute to the great lake that quenches the thirsty and waters the weary, I work from scarred-but-healed wounds so that I remember that I serve the lake to serve many—to help heal others. The lake and the many do not serve me.

Serving the work means I show up. I show up in the way I can show up. To be authentic and present is to be vulnerable, but I show up secure in the truth that I matter, working from a personhood already affirmed. I don’t show up as a writer and an artist with insecurity hoping my readers will affirm me. To do so, I would no longer be feeding the lake—I’d be feeding myself and, like harmful shepherds, I would be using you to do it.

I show up in the creative process as both creature and creator. Just as life has been breathed into me, I now accept the invitation to breathe into something new.

For my fellow creatures and creators, when you create, work to offer oxygen to others.

With you,

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Practical Helps

I wanted to offer some practical helps—things I lean on with regularity in my creative process.

Leuchtturm1917 A5 Dot-Grid Hardcover Journals - I mentioned my growing archive of journals above. I’ll often write in them as a writing diary. Other times, I’ll use an open page spread to doodle or map out an idea I’d like to write on. A Leuchtturm journal is what I used to outline the book idea that eventually became the manuscript I’m wrestling with today. The work of “writing” isn’t always done at my computer and keyboard. Sometimes, it is with paper, pen, and doodles in my journals. And I call it “good,” even if it is never seen by the eyes of another.

The Voxer App - I use Voxer to send voice memos and text messages to so many friends I’ve met on social media. It’s also become a pretty integral part of keeping in touch with other writer friends working on their manuscripts (H/T to Sarah Westfall and Merideth Hite Estevez) or writer friends launching books (H/T to Sara Billups and Tasha Jun.) I also use Voxer to send messages to myself. If I think of an idea when my hands are full, I’ll send a voice memo that I can listen to later. Voice messages help me abide in writing, even as I fold my laundry.

Monk Manual - I use my digital calendar to keep track of appointments and my family’s schedule. The Monk Manual is what I specifically for my writing work. It has a focus on habits and themes you use and reflect on throughout the month. The space to reflect on each day, week, and month has also been pivotal.

My Fountain Pens - This may seem like a silly addition, but I started using fountain pens in 2022. My husband gifted me a LAMY fountain pen, and it made me eager to physically write in both my journal and my Monk Manual. My tired eyes receive a respite from the computer screen when I write with paper and pen, but it also helps me enjoy the time I journal and reflect. (Fountains pens have also become a nerdy hobby I love. The pen in the photo above is a TWSBI ECO in Smoke & Rose Gold with an extra fine nib. The way it scritches across paper is divine.)

You can find most of what I’ve listed above and a few other items (including the leather journal cover I mentioned in my IG stories a while back) in my new Amazon Storefront.

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Manuscript Update

My contracted minimum word count is 55,000, which is 22 times longer than any paper I had to write in college. But I’m chipping away at it. Word by word. Bird by bird.

I’m sitting at 28,000 words now, each I have some amount of confidence it.

This is the first book I’ve written, so I’m letting myself not know all the things. A friend and fellow creator told me, “You may not know how to write a book, but you know the ins and outs of what you are writing on. Only you can weave them in the way you do.”

I’m taking that encouragement and weaving on.

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Have More Questions?

Making space and time for my creative work means I can't answer all my email and messages. However, for those who have questions, I have begun taking on creative coaching clients so I can give you support in whatever creative endeavor you are pursuing. Creative coaching is a sustainable way I can support you and be in your corner. If you're looking for a creative coach, check out my trauma-informed creative coaching information.

I have space for 2 more clients now, but additional space will open up in June 2023.

1. You can find Eugene Peterson’s book, A Long Obedience in the Same Direction, on Amazon.

2. Brian Lee with the Gospel-Centered Enneagram asked me this question as a part of the soon-to-be announced Broken to Beloved Summit. I’ll announce when you can get an All-Access pass to the summit featuring other speakers and caring professionals in this space, including Kayla Felten from the Reclamation Collective and more.

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You can find past posts from Letters for the Wilderness by visiting jenaiauman.substack.com.