My household is a reading household.
The hubs and I devote many evenings – and, occasionally, entire days – to reading.
Even the doggie boy loves it:
We each have our books – for me, usually a stack – and one book that we are reading out loud together. It started with The Hobbit, on our second official day of dating, and progressed through the Chronicles of Narnia, a few Lord Peter Wimsey books, The Giver, and the entire Harry Potter series, among others.
Recently, we started Watership Down.
As I mentioned in my second ever post, this book was a cornerstone of my childhood. My family read it out loud more than once, and I read it to myself a few times while growing up. It tells the tale of a band of rabbits who must flee their warren, recounting their adventures as they seek a new home in the unfriendly wilderness. The story is rich and profound, not least in its vivid portrayal of “teamwork”.
Every rabbit brings something different to the table. Hazel is the leader, Bigwig is the muscle, Fiver is the prophet, Blackberry is the strategist, and Dandelion is the storyteller. One realizes throughout the book that the group needs each of these strengths in full operation – and cooperation – in order to survive. Without the harmony of these individuals sharing their gifts with the community, they would never have made it out of the original warren to begin with.
I always connected most deeply with Dandelion. His role continues to affirm one of the tenets upon which my life is based: we need Story. At various points over the years, when I have been doubting my love of stories and my desire – my vocation – to tell them, I have remembered Dandelion, and taken heart.
Last week was one of those times.
I have had some discouraging moments of late. Building a business is an uphill battle, and it is lethally easy to compare one’s progress with that of others. In the past month, I have encountered more than one self-published author who is undeniably more successful than I. Let’s be real: meeting a writer half one’s age who is receiving fan mail from strangers on other continents is bound to put a damper on one’s spirits.
After one of these encounters last week, my spirits took an abnormally steep dive. I found myself asking the hitherto unthinkable question:
Am I even supposed to be doing this?
After all, as I shared with my husband, it seems criminally selfish to be devoting this much time – it’s a lot of time, folks – to something that may never impact anyone beyond my immediate circle, especially when one could be using that time to reach out in more direct ways.
Then I remembered Dandelion.
All the rabbits had heard the story before . . . . Dandelion was telling it well, and even Pipkin forgot his weariness and danger and remembered instead the great indestructibility of the rabbits. Each one of them saw himself as El-ahrairah, who could be impudent to Frith and get away with it. (Richard Adams, Watership Down)
“Each one of them” – including, I realized upon this reading, Dandelion himself.
That’s what stories do: they lift us out of the terrifying, uncertain present, remind us of the past – our roots, our identity, our community – and empower us to face the future. Dandelion had to fight down his own fears even to begin the story; but, once begun, his tale gave each of them the courage to face another day.
Dandelion’s tale did help the group, but it also gave Dandelion the courage to face another day.
I had always been so focused on the storyteller’s impact on others that I forgot my own deep need for story. Whether anyone is listening or not, I must tell stories. It is the only weapon I have against the fear running rampant through this world, and if I do not use it – even just to help myself – I will not have courage to reach anyone at all, no matter what I’m doing.
Please note that this post is NOT a thinly-veiled request for encouragement. I have been reminded more than once since that dark day that my stories are having an impact. The community may be small at present, but who can measure the rippling effects of a story sent out into the world? As my husband replied when I confessed the doubt recorded above: You don’t know – you can’t know – what impact anything is having or will have. So . . . do it.”
Do I write because the world needs these stories?
I hope so. I believe so.
Do I write because I need these stories?
I know so.
If you are reading this post, you are part of my community. I count it the deepest honor and the highest privilege to serve you.
Thank you for letting me tell you stories.
Speaking of, I must get back to the new novel. 65,000 + words and counting!
As ever, we walk in obedience, leaving the results to the greatest story-teller of all. We pray daily for wider readership for your work . . . for many reasons, not least of which is that the stories are important. I agree with hubs . . . do it. Love you!!
Agreed. We don’t control the ripples, or even where it lands, we only pick up a stone in obedience and let it fly, the Storyteller causes the rest.
Thank you. This post puts words to my own battle of these past weeks. Keep going – you believe right! The world does need your stories. I know it, because I have been the profoundy blessed profiter of them.
Thank you, dear heart.
I may not always comment on your post, but each one leaves me in deep thought regarding your subject matter. So please keep writing and keep challenging me!! Love you Ruth!!
I think it is only human for us to find moments of comparison and doubt in our minds. What your husband has so clearly stated, is truth — you may never know the effects your writing has on the world, so do it — I think that is the best advice anyone can be given when facing fear. We don’t know what effect we may have but when we are called to do it, we take the adventure Aslan has sent us. I remember a lovely little mouse who once said on a voyage…
“Because,” said the Mouse, “this is a very great adventure, and no danger seems to me so great as that of knowing when I get back to Narnia that I left a mystery behind me through fear.” (ch 13)