emily freeman – Faith & Culture Writers Community

May 12, 2015

It’s about changing lives by sharing our stories.

By Liz von Ehrenkrook

“I love how much energy you have!”

I laughed, “This isn’t typical of me, I’m not usually excited about being social; but being with My People, I can’t really help myself.”

This past weekend I had the opportunity to attend the Faith & Culture Writer’s Conference in Portland.

If you’re a writer, there is nothing more fulfilling than being in a room full of writers. These are the people who get you.

These are the people who know it’s a stretch to be talking for two days straight and don’t expect you to perform.

These are the people you can meet and sit in silence with and feel known.

I met online friends face-to-face, and made new friends who instantly felt like old friends. One friend spent the weekend in our guest bedroom and I gifted her a quiet retreat. She helped me discover how my husband’s and my decision to remain childfree gives us the opportunity to serve My People who have kiddos by offering a library-esque environment to escape to!

My heart is full, and my brain is processing. I was encouraged and challenged and inspired; it was like willingly drinking from a firehose and I. am. drenched.

The same resounding message bled from every kind of writer; those who are just starting blogs and learning how to tweet to those who have multiple books published and could hire someone to tweet for them.

“Your voice is unique. Be yourself. Your story matters.”

It doesn’t matter where you’re at in your writing, we all fall victim to comparison and self-doubt. We are all insecure, questioning our words and worrying nobody will read them.

- Emily Freeman -

I entered the writing contest and didn’t win. The winners were announced in the morning of the second day and I spent the afternoon volleying between feelings of joyful anxiety – I couldn’t wait to just get home and write! – and wondering why I wasn’t chosen.

I met with an editor who said the words, “I’m interested. This is what I’m looking for. I want to read this book.” I texted my writing coach the news, I called my husband. My stomach flip-flopped and I wanted to write! I was so excited I forgot about the contest until a fellow blogger emerged from her agent/editor meetings with practically a book deal.

The why not me cycle began again. I recognized she had been working really hard and came to Portland with a full manuscript in hand while I am only just beginning because of all the scrapping and re-writing and wading in the kind of memories that cause you stop and take big, deep breaths. But she is My People and her story is weaved in my own, so I will advocate without hesitation for everyone I know to read her book when it’s released.

It’s such a frustrating place to live in, being so at home among other writers, feeling loved and known while also experiencing the worst pangs of jealousy because they’re further along in their book journeys. But I know I’m not living there alone; every single one of us talked about entertaining the same emotions. We all want it to happen for each other but we also really want it to happen for ourselves.

- Karen Zacharias - (Karen Zacharias Spear)

My People will be there for me when I get a book deal, but they’ll also wonder when it’ll be their turn. It’s the nature of being a writer who deeply desires their words to be read and remembered, because all of our words matter greatly.

It’s not about money or fame, it’s about changing lives by sharing our stories.

I will tell stories. I will be myself.
I will practice writing words I can’t take back.
– Emily Freeman

I’ll no doubt be recalling things I’ve learned this weekend in future posts. I’ve spent the majority of my time since the conference writing through a fog of sinus-infected medicine head.

And, you guys, the first completed chapter of my book sounds amazing! Of course, I’ll need to re-read it when I’m not in a drug-induced haze and get back to you on the reality of that statement.

You kind of have to be a little bit crazy to call writing your thing, I think.
– Emily Freeman

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Learn more about Liz von Ehrenkrook at her website: Liz von Ehrenkrook

May 4, 2015May 4, 2015

Letting go of fear and saying, “I am a Writer”

By Leanne Sype

There’s something I haven’t told you because I’ve been fearful. I thought I was being humble. But this past weekend I attended the 2015 Faith and Culture Writer’s Conference, which turned into two-day therapy-retreat where I cried a lot and got really depressed before I became inspired. I was hindered to inspiration because I was blocked by truth.

I sat in a guided writing experience with Micah J. Murray, during the new, “Breathing Space: A Mini Retreat” that was added to the conference this year. Micah called us out our snippy inner-gremlins and fought against them by writing a fan letter to ourselves. I wasn’t going to read mine out loud because my gremlins told me that everyone else’s letter was way better, that I would be self-centered if I volunteered, and that everyone would think mine was stupid. I punched my gremlins in the face by volunteering to read mine.

I read my letter and I was okay; people liked it. Micah asked me to read it again. The second time I read it, I wasn’t okay. I began to cry and could barely get through the dang thing without snotting all over it. I got mad(ish) at Micah, “Why did you make me read this again? Look at what you made me do!” He had called me to a place of public vulnerability–then asked if the group could pray for me. He asked the sweet girl next to me, Michelle, to lay a hand on me and pray. And pray she did, so beautifully and tearfully. This was a powerful moment that I didn’t understand in the moment.

In this same class, a gentleman, Sovann Penn (@SovannPenn), read his letter. He said to himself, “You have been mistaking fear for humility far too long… you have friends who are awesome and believe in you.” This stuck with me the rest of the day the same way a rock gets stuck inside your shoe.

That night in the main session, author Emily Freeman said, “I want to write like a hostess. A hostess doesn’t leave her guests to go call all the people who RSVP’ed “no” to find out why the didn’t come and why they don’t like her. That’s crazy. I want to write like a hostess, not a crazy person.” This put another rock in my shoe, and I went home feeling depressed, annoyed, and uncertain if I would be back the next day. I snuggled up to my husband and blubbered all over him with no words to express what was wrong with me.

I woke up the next morning with the very clear voice of the Holy Spirit:

“You’ve been mistaking fear for humility; you’re missing out on the full experience of the gift you’ve been given and the ministry in which you have been invited to participate. You are scared of people rejecting you, mocking you, and being angry with you, yet in all the things I’ve given you to write never once have you experienced what you fear. Not even in your most public confessions of sin. You are a lovely hostess with many guests I’ve brought to you because they can hear you; your translation from the Kingdom to the guests is good! But you leave them so you can wait by the phone for the “no” RSVP’s to call. They aren’t calling… and you’re missing the party! You have faithful friends, family, and even strangers who believe in you, but most importantly I believe in you. I have work for you if you’re willing; the fruit will be good and beautiful if you will trust Me.”

Here’s what I want to tell you:

I’ve spent the last 14 years pouring into and editing the stories of others, defining myself as an editor and merely dabbling in my craft as a “wet-noodle” writer. I confess that while I adore, honor, and value other people’s stories, I’ve been using editing as a way to avoid the true work God has for me–writing. I have been fearful of stepping into the public arena of vulnerability, giving power to voices of the gremlins and cloaking my fear in humility so as to justify my place behind the scenes (which, incidentally, is where an editor works. How convenient.)

Yes, some of my recent writings have been more confessional and vulnerable, evidence of God’s effort in coaxing me out into the arena, but I can tell you they were published in trembling obedience and reluctant submission.

I surrender with humble declaration that I am writer. I write creative non-fiction about real-life, my story, and God’s unwavering persistence to be the anchor for both. I translate through written words what I hear, see, and feel from God so I can better understand the purpose he has for me, how I can live that purpose for His glory, and how I can invite others to discover the same for their lives. My prayer always is that through my experiences, you find yourself encouraged, inspired, and invited into a Kingdom that is safe and welcoming, and promises purposeful life no matter how broken you are. You are loved unconditionally. And so am I.

God gave me my first assignment in January– a children’s book called The Hungry Garden. It’s an alphabet book that explores the ordinary to extraordinary food that gardens grow and why these foods are so exciting. It comes with a 26-recipe “snack book” that parents and children can use in their kitchen to be creative with food. I have completed the first draft of the main manuscript, and I am currently developing and testing the recipes.

I never wanted to write a book, let alone a children’s book . . . let alone a children’s book about food. I didn’t feel qualified. But as I have been following His lead on this project, it’s becoming more clear that as a recovering anorexic patient, I understand the fear of food intimately. I know what it feels like to see food in front of me that looks scary, smells weird, and would certainly be the worst thing ever if I ate it. As a child of God living with an eating disorder, I can relate to children in a way others cannot. Only God can orchestrate such a unique connection.

I look forward to sharing with you the nutty things that have happened since beginning this process, along with the mysteries and surprises I encounter as I journey forward. I promise not to hold back anymore! I am joining the party and will step into the arena as my name is called.

And those grumpy gremlins? Well, they aren’t invited.

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Leanne Sype was a speaker at the 2015 Faith & Culture Writers Conference. She IS a also a writer, whose work can be found at Leanne Sype website

January 26, 2015January 30, 2015

Three Essentials for Writing Words that Matter

By Emily Freeman

I recently watched a four and a half minute video where author and pastor John Ortberg remembers his friend, Dallas Willard. One quick segment shows a clip from a conversation John and Dallas had only a few months before Dallas passed away.
John: “How do we help people – if somebody wants to think about, “How is my spiritual life going or how is my soul doing?” – how do we help people ask and answer that question?”

Dallas: “Well, very slowly. One at a time, we listen to them . . . I think the next thing is a question and not a statement: What’s bothering you? Start there.”

They talk some more and then John makes a joke.
John: “What’s bothering you? could be an interesting liturgical question – to start the church service asking, What’s bothering you? And the people could respond back, And also you.”

I laughed out loud when he said it and so did the audience. Then, as the clip ends, Dallas can be heard saying, “That would be absolutely revolutionary.”

I had to pause the video at that moment, three minutes and fifty-five seconds in, Dallas’ deep voice and thoughtful statement hanging there in the air over my desk. That would be absolutely revolutionary. I knew I agreed with Dallas but it took me a few minutes to figure out why.

I don’t remember being expressly taught not to be bothered, but somewhere along the way I learned it anyway. To ask myself or someone else what is bothersome seems like a self-focused, self-indulgent invitation to rant or complain. But what if we were willing to look deeper in? Instead of manufacturing peace by shooing away my frustration or smoothing out my ruffled feathers, I am learning the importance of getting quiet enough to honestly consider what bothers me – not just on the surface, but deep within my soul. Sometimes what I learn is ugly or uncomfortable. But there are other times I discover right next to my frustration lives a drop of passion I didn’t realize was there and a spark of hope I didn’t realize I needed.

What does this have to do with writing words that matter? When it comes to uncovering my authentic voice as a writer, the first thing I have to know is what is bothering me. Once I’m able to honestly access my frustrations, I can begin to uncover the passion and hope that live close-by. This is how all four of my books were born.

Being frustrated doesn’t make me qualified or ready. But it does wake something up within me, something that compels me to move and want to get ready. The frustration rolls into a compulsion towards change, passion to communicate and to move into the chaos of the questions even if I don’t have all the answers. But being frustrated about an issue and compelled to do something about it won’t sustain the message for the long-term. For me, what really keeps me moving is the hope of something better. It’s important for these three things to work together – frustration, passion, and hope. Otherwise, my voice will be something I don’t intend.
Passion and hope without frustration feels inauthentic.
If I’m not bothered deeply enough, no one else will be either. Frustration is the spark that fuels the passion and the hope. Without it, my writing won’t have enough life to meet a strong enough felt need or to tell a compelling story.
Frustration and hope without passion leads to detachment.
If I’m frustrated and have hope for change but I’m not passionate about the issue, I won’t be able to engage it with enough heart to make a difference. Love is tucked deeply inside passion, and we don’t want your loveless art.
Frustration and passion without hope leads to cynicism.
In my experience, when I am frustrated and passionate without hope, I’m vulnerable to cynicism. If I don’t have hope for change, despair creeps in and my writing feels too dark and filled with angst. Without hope, I write afraid.

Frustration wakes me up. What frustrates you? Passion gets me moving. What compels you? Hope keeps me going. What do you most hope for? I’m thankful for Dallas Willard’s revolutionary question: What’s bothering you? As writers, may we be brave enough to answer it, passionate enough to engage it, and hopeful enough to influence change.

Emily is the author of A Million Little Ways, Grace for the Good Girls, and Graceful. She shares her words and photographs on her own website at www.ChattingAtTheSky.com. We are honored to welcome Emily as one of our featured speakers at the 2015 Faith & Culture Writers Conference.