This post is my contribution to the conversation about the publishing world in general and the Christian publishing world in particular.
Here, I quickly sketch what I do for a living as a professional freelance writer, editor, and collaborator. I also tell the story of how I became a writer, how I got my first book deal as a non-platformed writer, and why I decided to walk away from the publishing world for over two years while living in Oxford, England, studying for my Ph.D.
My perspective is limited to my personal experience. That said, over the last decade and a half, I’ve cultivated wonderful friendships with agents, editors, and writers. Many share concerns about the publishing industry’s focus on platformed authors and writers' pressures to sell the work.
Like music and television, the publishing world is a business with sales expectations. Your advance from a book deal is the primary indicator of the publisher’s expectation of how many books you want to tell. The higher the advance, the more books you are expected to sell.
Many writers struggle with this, including me. But that is the deal we all sign up for.
However, though publishing is a business, writing is an art form. The writers I know and love as friends are artists who care deeply for the written word, the life of the mind, and the craft of writing.
We live in a postmodern world where the craft of writing is increasingly undervalued. Mass media train the public to expect free and easily consumed content.
Substack has provided an excellent afront to this reality. And quite honestly, it is putting the publishing world on notice. As Lore Wilbert Ferguson points out on her Substack, why go through the stress of writing, marketing, and launching a book that will last for three months in the public eye and fade when you can pour into a wonderful audience on Substack with your writing?
But as much as I love Substack and its potential to fund writers through financial support from readers, I also love books. I love the publishing process. At some level, every writer must count the cost demanded of him or her when pursuing the writing life of publishing books.
Writing is good, hard work. Publishing is gift—it provides a reading audience with a sliver of the writer’s mind and imagination. As Stephen King said, writing is telepathy. You connect with me through the medium of words to my inner thoughts. It’s wonderfully beautiful.
My hope? That a middle path emerges where audiences financially support writers on this platform, and publishers can adjust their approach to the life of the mind in a less mercenary way.
This post is not just for writers and creatives. It’s for readers, which is all of us. Readers need to understand the world of publishing since it touches multiple areas of our lives: television, news, books, articles online, music, etc.
Together, we can forge a better creative world.
The Beautiful Disruption is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
What I Do
I am a writer. I work as a professional ghostwriter or collaborator. And I’m a Christian. Cue the horror film music.
I’ve supported my family for over 16 years in the publishing industry, working independently with authors, churches, non-profit organizations, Fortune 500 companies, pastors, musicians, and professional athletes.
Where most people my age work for a company or organization and receive a salary and benefits, I’ve worked as a contract freelance writer for the entirety of my professional career, except for one. That year, I worked at a Christian nonprofit as an associate editor, and it was the worst experience of my life as a writer and creative person.
Like any profession, working as a professional writer has its valleys. I have been lied to, lied about, and betrayed. I’ve lost big contacts. I’ve had clients not pay. I’ve been manipulated by editors at a Christian nonprofit (see previous paragraph) so that I couldn’t rise from associate editor to editor.
On the flip side, I’ve developed lifelong relationships with many of my clients and have had the opportunity to help wonderful people articulate their stories. I’ve learned the craft of writing from the inside out and have the privilege of shaping cultural thought, and I do not take that lightly.
People sometimes think ghostwriting is scandalous. I believe that is partly because of the abuses associated with it over the years. In 2002, Randy Alcorn wrote an article about Christian ghostwriters, calling ghostwriting a scandal. Others climbed on the bandwagon. Eight years later, Jared Wilson said, “Know that to write a book someone else puts their name on may result in good money, but it’s dishonest gain for both of you.”
Wilson and Alcorn perhaps had a skewed view of what they were discussing. I don’t fault them for that. But maybe we should gain understanding before we spout off.
To say you work as a ghostwriter can mean many things. But I do know that it’s not a scandal, and it’s not dishonest gain. I’m sure there are abuses, as there are in any creative profession.
I worked as a musician in the music world for seven years and collaborated with bandmates and friends to write and record songs. The creative process was/is very fluid and collaborative.
This is how I approach my work as a writing collaborator—which is a better way to say “ghostwriter.” Like many pop/rock songs you hear on the radio were written by a songwriter behind the scenes, many of the books you read (fiction and nonfiction) and shows you watch are written by various writers.
James Patterson writes commercial fiction. That means he sketches out a scene on a legal pad and sends it to a writer or several writers—people like me. That writer frames out the scene, “writing it up,” and returns it to Patterson, who will either refine and edit or rewrite it. This is how the book gets written. And it’s not uncommon. It’s called commercial fiction, and it’s not unlike how episodic television is written. That’s one way that collaboration works in the publishing world. And no, I do not write commercial fiction or episodic television scripts—yet. :) In case you’re curious, Patterson makes about 80 million a year.
In Christian publishing, pastors sometimes take sermon series, hire a writer or several writers and editors, and create a cohesive manuscript from their sermons. Sometimes, a potential client will have a collection of writings they want made into a book. A collaborator will work with her to bring form and symmetry to the work, outlining it, refining the ideas, and helping the author articulate their thoughts. Yes, I do this kind of work.
Other times, clients have inspiring stories they want help telling. They transcribe their story with the help and prompts of a collaborator, who helps them form the narrative and put it in book form. I do this quite often for clients.
Academics also use staff writers and researchers for their book projects. Universities often pay these researchers as postdoctoral students or in some other creative position created by government funding. No, I have not done this type of collaboration, though I am working on an academic book for a press in England as an independent scholar.
Many celebrities, musicians, actors, Christian pastors, and ministry leaders use collaborators. Are there abuses? Of course. Is it all part of a scandalous and unethical kabal? Not usually.
But how did I find this kind of work? It’s all so mysterious, right? My mother still asks me how I make money. I tell her I’m part of the Illuminati, which was responsible for ghostwriting the Declaration of Independence and Seinfeld, and we both have a good laugh.
Here’s a glimpse into my journey as a writer.
How I Became a Writer
Before I met my wife, Christine, I toured in a band and recorded several independent CDs—remember those? It was a fantastic way to spend my 20s. I was in and out of university four times; twice, I was expelled. But that’s another post.
When I met Christine, she was the only woman at Grace Theological Seminary in Indiana. She was the number one Greek student and the number two Hebrew student. Yeah, total rockstar. You should subscribe to her Substack. She was why I returned to school and finished my undergraduate degree fourteen years after graduating from high school.
To finish college, I started a landscape company to have flexible hours for studying. During that time, I freelanced sporadically as a writer. Until then, I’d only ever written in the creative space: songwriting, poetry, short stories, and greeting cards (stop laughing).
Then, one of my best friends called me and asked if I wanted a shot to be the editor of the Catalyst Conference magazine. I jumped on it and had zero experience as an editor.
The experience opened my eyes to the Atlanta world of professional Christianity (again, this will probably be another post). Atlanta was oozing with writing opportunities. My friend challenged Chris and me to leave Lititz, Pennsylvania, and pursue a full-time writing career. The year was 2006.
So, we did.
We sold some junk, packed up a small Uhaul, and moved to Suwanee, Georgia. We lived in my friend’s basement for over a year. Imagine it—newlyweds living in the basement of a family of six and a dog. It was awesome—and awkward—and awesome—and hard—and awesomely unforgettable.
I worked for free for that entire year. Yes, you heard me correctly. Free. I wrote for whomever and wherever I could. I’d made about 15K from the sale of my landscape equipment. That’s what we lived on.
I freelanced as a writer and editor for Catalyst, which was stipendiary work. I also worked for free, doing interview segments for their podcast during the Catalyst event.
I wrote for Chick-fil-A’s nonprofit youth camp, Winshape. Then, I got hired at a nonprofit ministry that published three magazines: one for women, one for men, and one for youth. I wrote for the youth magazine and sometimes for the men’s publication. My salary was entry-level and equal to about $15 ph—or about 32K a year, but don’t take my word for it, I failed algebra two.
As I mentioned above, this experience was illuminating and awful. I had never worked for a Christian nonprofit (ministry). I had never worked in a corporate set-up. I don’t even know what that’s called.
Near the end of my one-year tenure there, I was asked into the editorial meeting room by my editor-in-chief, a nice woman near retirement age. She sat with my direct report editor, a young woman about ten years younger than me. I thought I had a great rapport with both of them. But it only took five minutes into the meeting that I realized I was being steamrolled. The meeting ended abruptly after a heated discussion over a devotional I wrote. As I tried to explain my approach, the editor-in-chief interrupted me, threw my printed devotional at me, and said, “This is crap. That’s all that needs to be said.”
Stunned, shaking, and confused, I closed my computer and sat silent for the remainder of the meeting. When I relayed the story to my wife that evening, she was stunned and appalled.
The next day, I was asked into the editor-in-chief’s office. I was shaking and nervous. I thought I was going to be fired and had no idea why.
Everything hung in the balance of this job. We’d just purchased our first home, and Chris was pregnant with our first child.
The editor proceeded to apologize.
She took full responsibility for her actions and confessed that she believed I was after her job. My editor joined us, and she, too, apologized but admitted that they were protecting themselves from me taking their jobs. When I asked them why they would think such a thing, they didn’t have a real answer. They alluded to my ideas about how I was “out of the box” and how that felt threatening. That was it.
I then apologized if my approach to writing and creating was unusual. I only ever wanted to help them, I said. I was too excited to have a writing job—any writing job!—to even consider taking someone else’s job. Besides, that’s not me, anyway. I don’t think like that. I love working with teams and collaborating.
We made up, and the final two months were “okay.” However, I was laid off in a massive wave of cuts. Half of the organization lost their jobs. I was the last person hired and the first to be let go.
I drove home, took off my corporate garb—my Oxford button-up and khakis—and told Chris I’d lost my job.
We were scared out of our minds.
Then, a friend from the Catalyst world contacted me and asked if I could help him finish a manuscript for a client. The dreaded ghostwriter collaborator!
Of course, I took the job. And I never looked back. I’ve been freelancing ever since—a total gift from God. And not just collaborating with authors. I began working for organizations, prison nonprofits, Fortune 500 companies, and lifestyle brands—scriptwriting, brand messaging, brand books, business myths, social media content creation, brand consulting, and creative consulting. Writing ended up being so much more than writing.
Then, God gave us another gift. When I got laid off, I received just a couple weeks of severance pay but lost all my health insurance and benefits. But the CFO who gave me my exit interview knew we were expecting in two months, so he paid our COBRA insurance for the first year of Lyric’s life. An unexpected but much-needed blessing! That was the last time we received health benefits. As a full-time freelancer, I pay for my own health insurance. Pursuing any dream requires taking risks. Chris and I took risks pursuing our joint dream of being writers, like paying for our own insurance.
It was/is hard, and it felt desperate at times. But sometimes, you have to give up the familiar to find the extraordinary.
How I Got My First Book Deal
In 2010, my co-author and I signed a book contract with Zondervan for Veener: Living Deeply in a Surface Society. You can check the timeline of social media creation, but I believe, at that point in digital history, Facebook was an adolescent, and Twitter and Instagram were infants.
We had zero social media “following,” But we both had developed a reputation for doing good work in the writing and design world. We also had a network of friends in the industry who would endorse our book in some fashion—in written form, having us speak at a conference or a church, etc.
When the book was released, we did many (and I mean many!) AM radio interviews. In those days of yesteryear, AM radio was the present-day podcast. Those interviews helped us, of little reputation, sell a healthy amount of Veneer and land another book contract. We were delighted.
In Veneer, we observed that with the advent of social media, celebrity Christianity had arrived and would evolve into what we live in today: a culture in which influence is sought for the misguided view that influence is leadership and that if we want to lead others in a consumer culture we need to become a kind of commodity ourselves.
I had one prominent pastor consult with me, and he said: “Tim, I want to leverage my influence …” Needless to say, I didn’t work with him. Since when do Christians seek to leverage anything?
Another prominent pastor hired me to develop his proposal and introduced me to his inner ring as “… the one who will help him sell a million books.” We didn’t work together either.
Newsflash: There are mercenary folks in all channels of culture. Many will do whatever it takes for money, status, and power, from politics to sports to the Church. The human nature is desperately wicked; who can know it? Thank you, KJV.
This is now the world we live in. My co-author and I often joke that Veneer was a decade ahead of its time. You know, it’s like the Radiohead of publishing—sort of. Maybe we can convince the publisher to re-release an updated version.
But, as I said earlier, for every person who wants to leverage something, ten more possess good hearts and want to change the world with their stories. I’ve been honored to help those people.
Why I Walked Away from Publishing
I did not walk away from publishing because it’s broken. Whether it is or not, it’s a good conversation we all must have with open minds and hearts.
I walked away because my journey as a writer and artist was congruent with my journey into the world of ideas. I say the world of ideas instead of academia because I don’t believe academia cares too much about ideas.
But some academics who are gatekeepers do, and I was fortunate to find a few.
“But Tim,” you say, “I thought you said you were in and out of several universities and kicked out of a couple. How is it that you got into academia.”
“Ah yes,” I reply, “I have no idea. Let’s ask God when we meet him in heaven.”
As I worked for free, collaborated on the side while keeping a corporate writing gig for a year, and then freelanced full-time, I commuted twice a month from Atlanta to Charlotte to attend seminary.
I got into Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary on academic probation because you now know why—I was not academically minded in my twenties, and that’s putting it mildly. Getting expelled from a prominent Christian university doesn’t look good to a graduate school committee interested in pedigree.
I was writing full time, struggling to find projects, keep my house, be a decent husband, and now a dad to three young girls. People who think the writer's life is some romantic ideal have another thing coming. I worked my butt off to keep it all afloat and get a 4.0 in seminary—the first time I got an A average in my life.
Life turns another color when you’re in your mid-thirties in graduate school. You care. You get passionate. And you pull all-nighters. You drive home in the middle of the night from one state to another because the love of ideas pulls you on. That’s what happened to me.
Seminary was not a cemetery, as many call it. I came alive in seminary. It taught me literary humility—something I pray daily for still. I met scholars who lived in service to other people, countries, and institutions. Gordon-Conwell was a revelation to me. There, this screw-up college kid found himself brought low, in the best of ways, asking God if he was really saying do a Ph.D.
I landed the second book contract and a third for a devotional. I should have stayed and kept it rolling. Right?
But God called me to England, and his voice was clear. It didn’t make publishing sense, but it was what I needed to do.
In Oxford, I learned the life of the mind, more discipline, the need for “working hours” each day, the value of “having a think,” and the value of taking months off to research one topic deeper than I ever had. I learned to listen and not talk—or write.
I learned that craft and thinking met in the writing life and the world of ideas. It’s where we think deeply about the world and find ways to express truths that will make it a better place.
When I returned from England, the Christian writing world mirrored the world of art and aesthetics: it was all about personal expression, even transgression.
Is the Publishing World Broken?
The publishing world reflects the values of the broader culture. It is a world in which influence, money, status, and power are rewarded.
For example, you can pay to play in the nonfiction book world. There are vanity presses that will put your work into a publishing assembly line, complete with writers, editors, designers, and launch experts. If you have between 35K and 200K, your book will be published in all the major distribution outlets online and brick-and-mortar.
That’s the world of vanity presses. Meaning you pay them to get your idea out there.
The traditional nonfiction book world is largely platform-driven. This is a hard reality, but it’s true. When a person has a baked-in audience of hundreds of thousands, even millions, it’s a no-brainer for a publisher to hitch their cart to that horse.
Authors who enter the publishing world thinking the publisher will take their book and make it a bestseller without the author doing much have been given bad advice and have not consulted with industry experts.
Last year, a dear friend sent me a podcast hosted by a young influencer who had landed a six-figure book contract. However, she was disillusioned by the process and ended up not even publishing her book because of how “broken” the process was or appeared to be.
She lamented how she had to put her business on hold to write her book and how that nearly bankrupted her. I don’t know any editor or agent in the publishing world who tells an author they have to pause their life to write their book. The reality is you will have to write your book on your own time, as a part-time job while you hold down the fort of your life—work, family, etc. Writing is hard, and writing a book is no small feat.
I felt so bad for this young lady because it sounded like she was given bad advice.
I’ve heard others in the Christian publishing world take to Instagram to bemoan the traditional publishing process, saying it leaves authors alone to flounder without guidance.
The writing and editing process of being with a traditional publisher can sometimes unravel. My first three books had a massive turnover in the teams that signed the book. My first book, Veneer, the manuscript sat for months unedited because of a major exodus within the executive ranks. That was tough.
My second and third books sold much less than my first because I was living in Oxford and unable to do what was needed to market and promote the books. This was stressful and distracting.
What’s true about traditional publishing? Should we all walk away from it?
I’m getting there. Stay with me.
Recently, I’ve read articles by wonderful women authors about “women in publishing.” One, by Jen Pollock Michel, who writes at A Habit Called Faith had an interesting article on the subject. She writes:
Do I want to quit book publishing because of the demands of the industry? Or do I want to quit book publishing because I feel the lack of support?
I’m turning 50 this year, and my questions about continuing in the industry are quite realistic. Given that I do not currently enjoy any institutional affiliation, given that this lack of affiliation seems to demand the building of personal brand, I can only naturally ask: how much money and effort would I have to exhaust in search of greater platform (and the aesthetics of platform)? And even if I did exhaust the money and effort, how many years would those efforts last?
Jen asks great questions about the industry. It can feel alone and hyper-demanding, especially during book launches. The institutional backing question is interesting and one I relate to.
Though some women writers frame this “backing” situation in “bro” language, let me point out that I am a man, and I have felt it, too. I have zero institutional backing and have never had any. Though I see how this problem can be particular to women, it doesn’t only happen to women. This writer/creative problem has infected the church for a while. I guess I am a dude whom the bros do not accept.
When I studied for my Ph.D., I did it to contribute to the world of ideas. I thought, “Maybe I’ll teach after writing for a while in ten years.” Alister McGrath was my supervisor; the other person studying under him was a woman studying beauty in Tolkien. How wonderful. I was studying beauty in the works of C.S. Lewis, and she was studying beauty in Tolkien. Both of us now are independent scholars—part of the institutional un-backed.
When I returned from Oxford, I tested the waters to see what response I’d get from Christian universities. I mean, don’t all Christian institutions desire a C.S. Lewis scholar? :)
I applied to several university faculties. Their constant refrain was, “Tim, we love your research and your writing, but your academic path is too unorthodox for us. We’re looking for traditional teachers.” That was an email I received from a prominent evangelical university. It’s okay; I laugh at it too. :) And I kind of love it.
I’m now an independent scholar. I am working on edits to a manuscript that Cambridge Press is considering. But nothing is guaranteed, and I go it alone. I am not bothered by the aloneness of it. I am wired this way.
But, to Jen’s point, and she is right, that when you have the backing of an institution or church, the writer is free to pursue their vocation.
My friend Lore Wilbert Ferguson contributed to Jen’s thoughts in this article:
Lore references Karen Swallow Prior and her observations about how, now, the platform is the work in publishing. Karen rightly views her writing as an outpouring of her vocation. She’s a scholar, researcher, and writer—and one of excellence. However, without backing from an institution, writers like Karen are forced to dedicate a healthy portion of their time to platform-build.
Recently, my friend and fellow writer Christy Purifoy became the writer-in-residence at her church. How wonderful this is!
If only all churches provided this for their community writers! I’ve often thought how wonderful this would be. It sounds natural for a church to offer a position like this. Now, Christy can focus on her writing due to the stipend she receives from her church.
Christy’s church is on the right track. And I think institutions should take notice.
I hope you hear the tenor of my thoughts. I am not tone-deaf to institutional cultures that stiff-arm women. It’s vulgar. But when I ponder the state of affairs in publishing and consider my journey, my thoughts run towards making publishing an act of some sacred value again for both men and women.
I love writing, the life of the mind, and the arts and actively participate in them. I coach writers, authors, and entrepreneurs, men and women alike. I’m also mentored by several women my age who have taught me more than I can ever repay them. They love me as a brother and pour into my efforts as a creative thinker and as a man, a brother.
I’m married to a woman who is a wonderful writer and thinker and who also feels the pressures of the publishing world—to build a following to get a hearing from a publisher. I want her to be able to express her gifts.
In her piece, Lore considers Substack a solution to the publishing conundrum. Substack has built something special, where anyone, regardless of gender, ethnicity, or religious affiliation, can express their gifts as a writer and thinker. For the price of a monthly Starbucks Grande Caramel Mocha (do they still make those?) or a Chipotle burrito, you can support your favorite writers. Everyone can be a patron, a lover of the arts, and contribute to the world of ideas.
I agree with Lore. But here’s one thing I want to say to Lore, Jen, Christy, Karen, and all the women considering leaving publishing.
Please don’t. Please don’t.
Write, think, create, and do it in books as well as on Substack. Create Substack communities that thrive—thousands will benefit from your heart, soul, and mind.
But write books that I can hold in my hands. I want to turn your pages. I want to read your thoughts. I want you to experience your gifts in an embodied work on my shelf.
How to Fix Publishing - Some ideas
* Publishers with voices - The major Christian publishers should create imprints that champion aligning voices. For example, instead of publishing a myriad sampling of writers, gather like-minded writers who value similar things. I have always loved how Patagonia had ambassadors for its brand. How interesting would it be for publishers to think of authors this way? It would force publishers to form a more narrow brand message and then build a community around what their imprint stands for.
Make the imprint something authors/ambassadors love to be a part of. Right now, no one looks or cares much about the publishing imprint. Just the fact that it’s a traditional publisher. What if audiences couldn’t wait for books from XYZ Brand Imprint because of the care and detail of their books, the voices they represent, and the gatherings they initiated? You’re welcome, publishers—I’ll send you my invoice for 30%. If you steal this idea, know that I have an attorney. :)
* Writers in residence—Bring it back. This is a no-brainer. And not just one writer but several. You can’t tell me that a church that invests 16 million (this is a real number from a real church I once attended) in a new “youth wing” can’t afford to hire a collective of 12 writers and artists full-time over three years.
This goes back to what I said earlier about how churches historically marginalize creatives, valuing pragmatic evangelistic programs over the arts. One way to change this is to create residencies that matter. Go the extra mile, dream big, and get a program that touches the community with the arts through the residency program. Join with local universities and seminaries to create accredited writer’s programs that filter young women and men into the residency programs.
* Champion the world of ideas rather than the world of celebrity. - This seems impossible, I know. But we need people who understand the world of business and the world of art and writing leading publishers. I’m not naive to the business side of publishing. I get it. However, in the business world, bottom-line thinking is proven to be a kind of thinking that lacks innovation. Innovation does not stand for the status quo. It pushes the boundaries of what is possible in every industry. A quick search on HBR will tell you this.
This is what Substack has done. I would not be surprised if Substack comes out with its imprint by 2026 or sooner. There is a difference between celebrity-ism and a writer who’s cultivated a vivacious reading audience that demands their work. Let’s look at ideas and discuss them as the centerpiece of publishing. It doesn’t have to be “all” publishing, but one would think that the Christian publishing world would see the need to support the world of ideas instead of always upholding the cultural norms of celebrity-ism.
* Value the work. - One of the sad realities of publishing, in general, is that audiences don’t value writing. It’s just the reality of our world, as I mentioned at the beginning of this article. We live in an icon-driven society; photos, videos, and video games rule the mind. As such, the value of the craft of writing is not held in high esteem as it once was. I would love for the Christian publishing world to turn this on its head. Sure, publish the sure-fire bestseller, but also publish the wordsmith and the poet. Let’s bring value to the work of writing.
Again, to Lore’s point, we can begin doing this by supporting writers on Substack. By making Substack a viable option for writers to earn their living, we all become patrons of the arts, enabling the writers and poets to soar.
“Writing is hard work. A clear sentence is no accident. Very few sentences come out right the first time, or even the third time. Remember this in moments of despair. If you find that writing is hard, it’s because it is hard.”
—William Zinsser, On Writing Well
In Conclusion
If you, dear reader, sat here with me around this fire ring, I’d do my best to convince you to be a patron of the arts. I’d pour you a cup of tea and say, “Let’s revive a bit of the old ways. The ways that valued the hard work of individual artisans.”
And you, dear Artisan—writer, artist, musician, dancer, sculptor, designer, and the list goes on—I’d say, “Teaspoon of honey?” Then, I’d say, “Don’t expect your reader or patron to value your work as it should be valued if you don’t value it. Your work is worthy of financial support. So, give it your whole attention.”
Two friends recently told me the same thing. They told me to value my work, writing, and painting—the work of my hands, mind, and heart.
Do the work. Use your tools. And let people know about it.
Publishing will change over time, I believe. And if it doesn’t, I don’t care because publishing is nothing without the writer. If publishing didn’t exist, would you still write?
I write because I can’t help it. I paint because it brings me joy. I get up early to do both. I stay up late to do both. And I will continue to hone my craft even if I have to open up a small landscape company to keep flexible hours so I can do my art.
Do the work, my friend. Keep office hours. Write, paint, sing—and do it all because you can’t escape the call.
I once heard Nigel Bigger lecture in Oxford on vocation—vocatio, your calling. He told the lecture hall that they came to Oxford because they were scholars. And no matter what life threw at them or what job they took on to make money to survive in this world, the world could never take away the fact that they were scholars. It was the clearest explanation of calling I’d ever heard. It was simple and direct.
You will always be a writer. And don’t believe what some people say about your identity not being what you do. Of course, you are what you do. A writer, an artist? No one can take that calling from you.
This is where my writing and painting journey began. I heard a call I couldn’t ignore and found a way to answer it.
Build. Make. Write.
Find a way.
The Beautiful Disruption is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
