February 3, 2021

TAT: Mr. Solly, I appreciate your time. I have been called TAT by my father, who was a writer, so that’s the name I’d like to use for our purposes. I have heard you are wise but compassionate, and eager to help people like me accomplish their goals.

SOL: You have heard correctly. You are a doctor, no? But you desire no title before or after your name?

TAT: You know that I do not. My words must speak for themselves, without announcement, without capital letters. The M.D. is a medical degree, and I trust it will be useful for informing my writing. It should give heft to my medically related messages. But I am gasping beneath the waves of modern medicine. In the words of Edna St. Vincent Millay, I am pinned down and moaning for release. What lost sailor, sinking as I am, would not trade his iron anchor for a floating spar?

SOL: You have her poem completely backward. What you are craving is a greater love, not the abandonment of a lesser one. Regardless, your medical skill cannot be sold for peace. Neither should your work with the sick be neglected. Medicine remains your greatest wellspring for compassion.

TAT: I understand. And I intend to sustain a high level of excellence. Anything less would be dishonorable.

SOL: But there’s a rub, isn’t there? You have already become a man of split interests. You enjoy practicing medicine on your better days—people even say you do it well–and it pays your bills. But creative writing has become more fun. Your fictional characters never complain. They sit patiently on their shelves, awaiting your commands. They die in exact accordance with your plans, never without your permission. And after they are gone, at your slightest whim, they may be resurrected from the dead. All this fantasy that consumes your mind day and night has paid none of your bills, and you’ve published nothing of substance.

TAT: Everything you have said is correct.

SOL: So outside observers would find little evidence of the newly divided you. You do not even have an author’s website.

TAT: True. I am planning to change that this month, though I feel like an imposter. I will start a website and attach a poem or two. Maybe I will connect my readers through the website to some rough drafts in the making.

SOL: Rough drafts, eh?

TAT: Do you think only finished works should be attached?

SOL: TAT, you have a problem. You have finished very little. To attach unfinished work to your website is to perpetuate your weakness. Attach completed poems and songs. Force yourself to finish things.

TAT: Mr. Solly, that is exactly the problem. Where is the driving force to make me complete my projects? I am not starving, driven to write to pay my bills. Neither am I in prison, having no other outlet of expression.

SOL: So you are not in prison?

TAT: No stone walls, anyway.

SOL: No iron bars, Althea? You must feel so free.

TAT: I don’t like it when people narrow their eyes at me. My father used to do that.

SOL: I just want to know. Do you feel free?

TAT: I do not. My body has tied me down with aches. I need to do hard aerobic exercise every forty-eight hours to function decently. But at age fifty-two, my joints ache too much. I cannot currently run on my treadmill due to heel pain and toe pain. And running outside is even worse, with harder terrain and brutal cold.

SOL: The body is not your only prison.

TAT: Why do you say that?

SOL: You came to me for insight, did you not?

TAT: I did, though it was you who left me the invitation.

SOL: Do you still want to grow in wisdom? Do you really hope to write? What is your true desire?

TAT: I want to write, Mr. Solly! There’s a fire within me to share my life experiences, to express my heaven-sent creativity, to sing and tell of the Giver’s goodness to me. In this way I will give a good account for my life, turn my sorrow into joy. I hope to fulfill my father’s writing dream, to honor him in that way. Furthermore, I want to set an example for my children of industry and artistry, of leaving a legacy of beauty.

SOL: So. There is some passion. But it only lasts you an hour, not long enough to complete a single novel, much less fill half a shelf with fiction, fantasy, songs, poems, histories, and humor. You are truly a lily of the field.

TAT: It is as you say. Can you help me make this passion last? Can you direct me, so I stop failing to persevere? How many times have I written 200 pages, only to lose the cohesive thread?

SOL: You came to me alone, but now we are walking together. Few have persevered harder than you through suffering—even you believe in your own fortitude–but in writing, you resemble your less successful patients in a down spell. You already know the answers to your own questions. Most people fail to persevere with the calling that is given to them, because they never fix their gaze upon the finish.

TAT: Is writing the calling that is upon me? If I just knew that, it would be so much easier to persevere.

SOL: Many paths lie open before you, TAT, and none of the better ones are easy. Do you think the Giver of Gifts has provided you only one possible calling?

TAT: Perhaps not. Maybe I have an open canvas before me. But the emptiness is wider than the sky.

SOL: Such is the paradox of the blank page. Given so much freedom, you might not focus enough to finish anything, let alone attain excellence.

TAT: Who can fathom the vastness of that first empty page?

SOL: No mortal flesh. But since you came to me for advice, here it is. The steepest road that gives you satisfaction—the trail you may barely climb after applying all your strength—that is the best course for you. Long have I studied you, TAT, though you were never aware. I have learned who you are, and I know who you are becoming. So use your suffering.

TAT: I can do that.

SOL: There is one more wound left to probe. Do you believe you are no longer excellent in medicine? Did one lawsuit undermine your foundation so deeply that you think you would be better off leaving your practice completely? Will you be more successful with your pen tomorrow than with your stethoscope today?

TAT: Mr. Solly, I do not know. You have cut me like a surgeon but skipped the anesthesia. Yes, I’ve lost some confidence. In addition, the COVID pandemic has upended all my routines, and I’m exhausted from all the death.

SOL: Death will continue, whether you keep practicing medicine or not.

TAT: But if I leave medicine, I won’t see it up close every day!

SOL: One moment you tell me you want to help people deal with their suffering. Then you blink and say you don’t want to get close to death anymore.

TAT: Exactly! I want to focus on the happy things.

SOL: No, you don’t.

TAT: Why must you say that? How could you possibly know what I want?

SOL: Speak softer, my friend, if you want to be louder. You have heard of my Gift. I am Solly, and my wisdom is not my own. And you are TAT, and your Gifts are not your own. So believe me when I say you do not desire some exclusive focus on happy things. Happiness is made great by contrast with enormous gloom. You want to write well? Start with everything evil–disease, tragedy, and death. Then you will find happiness worth sharing.

TAT: Okay. This is my plan, then. I will work on my website today. After that, I will review the course on the Scrivener program. I will begin hunting for a melody and a singer for my latest song, Water Grave. Then I will resume outlining my first novel, packing it full of hardship. I will pray for help, considering the difficulty, finish my outline by March 21, 2020, and complete my first draft by January 1, 2022.

SOL: Those are all attainable goals. Perhaps you are getting serious at last, selecting the general design for your open canvas.

TAT: I will not speak with you again, Mr. Solly, not until my website is running. Then I will show you my progress and ask you for further input.

SOL: Be diligent, then. I will be ready and eager to help when you return. Do not disappoint me but show me what you can do with pen and ink. Excellent writing will demand everything you have. Fix your gaze upon the finish, and steady effort will carry you through.