For approximately one million years, I have talked about writing a book. I've said this for so long that I bored my college friends with it, and I graduated 32 years ago. In the 90's.
I know.
But I'm doing it now. At present, I'm editing chapter 11 of Death to Sparkleprincess: A Beginners Guide to Midlife, Faith and Meaningful Work.
But a few weeks ago, I found myself a little discouraged. Frankly, editing is not the fun that writing is. I thought something was wrong with me for feeling that way, until I heard author Elizabeth Gilbert say, writing a book is a divine act, but editing a book is a human one.
“Editing is carpentry,” she said.
Welcome to the workshop.
Maybe you're in the middle of a big project too. Are you still showing up and doing the work, even if no one is clapping? Are you still sistering and sanding, because you said you would; looking very much forward to the day it's finally done?
Incredible! Well done you.
It's easy to forget that goal work, soul work or whatever you're doing is 20% inspiration and 80% carpentry, which is why people talk about what they're going to do, more than they actually do it.
The workshop is so unsexy too. The 5-mile run before dawn in the rain. Trying the Quadruple Axle again after falling twice at the Olympics. Sitting back down to write one more shitty sentence instead of watching Emily in Paris.
Honestly, this is why authors cry when they unbox their new books on Instagram. Believe me, Emily in Paris is a lot less demanding.
Our Formation Happens in the Workshop
I took me decades to get to this point as a writer, because that's how long it took to quit wanting applause for it.
Sure I like applause, everybody does, but there's a part of me that loves it like oxygen, and that's what my workshop in New Mexico has starved out.
I've been given the artist's residency of a lifetime here, and my extraverted, avoidant parts kind of hate it. They complain about the lonely flatness, the routine, the work. They prefer buzzy lunches downtown where I can show up in cute shoes and talk about my work, rather than do it. I can enjoy myself as people tell me I'm cool for work that doesn't really exist yet.
But here, in the high desert of New Mexico, there's none of that. Just me and thousands on thousands of words that need love and discipline.
On the brightside, because of all this space and silence, I know the stars by name now. I know what time Neptune sets tonight. I spend so much time alone with my dogs, we've developed a whole new language.
And...I'm a writer.
Not a wannabe. This year, 2026, I will unbox this book on Instagram and cry about it.
Hiddenness is required.
If it's not for achievement, money or fame, why even bother doing something this hard?
It's a fair question and without being precious, here's my answer:
All I want now is to take what I've been given and give it back to God, well-used. If this book is successful, that's great and I'm very glad, but that's not what keeps me at my desk for hours on end.
I want to be a conduit for whatever God has in mind for whoever he puts in my path. Like a pipe that channels warm water from elsewhere to you.
I want to perform for an audience of one, asking only "is this what you had in mind?" I want to know I did what was mine to do with joy and enthusiasm.
Art, writing and music aren't the only ways to do this of course, but if it's soul work you're after, hidden seasons are usually required. Magic is made in the workshop, not just in the sweat and sawdust, but in who we become as we persist in creating.
So what are you working on? Or what do you need to get back to?
Have a great week. xo
BTW - The pictures are from Taos, New Mexico. We're going there April 10-13 for our first Firelight Adventure of 2026. The event has only five spaces left. If you want to make cool friends and go cool places, do it with us. Click here for info.
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