Here is something I love about this moment, right now: after years of writing in the small hours before my daughters woke up, or while they napped, or after they went to sleep for the night, I now get to write for hours during the day while they’re in school. I sit down at the kitchen table at 9:30, with a cup of tea, and set to it like it’s a real job with an office dog and everything.
And after years of wondering how writing, this disembodied thing I do through the internet, with and for people who live all over the world, could ever become an embodied thing I do with friends sitting in the same room with me—friends I see at church on Sunday morning and all throughout the week in other contexts; friends who also write and who desire to use that gift not just for people on the other side of the internet but for the community that surrounds us day after day—I find myself somehow, by a grace of God so startling it’s like magic, right in the heart of a community like that.
Here is what changed: people kept telling me about Tiffany, this woman in my church who was apparently also a writer, and I would think, Another writer? We should probably hang out! It took a while for me to act on that thought, but when I did we spent the better part of a day together—just talking and talking and talking. It was like conversational fireworks: ideas here! And there! And then some more over there! She was thinking and praying about starting a community for Christian artists in the Pacific Northwest, because there were probably a handful of us around? Maybe? And over the next few months, she began sowing those seeds: starting social media accounts, building a website, generating interest.
The interest was immediate. And enthusiastic. By the time she started hosting actual events, people showed up, some of them driving hours to reach the first one. Maybe Tiffany had seen it coming, I don’t know, but the level of commitment and zeal surprised me: one woman said she’s been praying for just such a community since 2018.
Things really crystalized, though, when Tiffany and I and our friend Janel all submitted liturgies to Every Moment Holy, Vol. III. When we learned that all three of ours had been accepted—what were the odds, really?—we thought maybe we should have a party or something to celebrate the book. You know, just a small cozy thing with maybe some readings? In a friend’s bookstore? And then word got back to Douglas Kaine McKelvey and Ned Bustard, author and illustrator of the series, who flew across the country to join us for what had suddenly become an official Every Moment Holy release party and a full day of events.
And just like that, Storyboard became a credible community, capable not only of connecting local artists with each other but also able to connect those local artists to a broader community.
But why am I telling you this? I realize that most of you don’t live in our corner of the country, and that some of you have been longing for just this sort of community yet have felt frustrated, again and again, as you’ve tried to connect with other Christian writers or artists in your area. To you, I want to say: it can happen! To us it’s felt like a long, long season of watching bare branches for buds, just waiting and sometimes hoping but usually wondering if we should just get used to living with the sight of bare branches. And now that the tree is bearing fruit, it feels like a miracle.
Keep watching, friends. Keep praying. It can happen!
And for those in the Pacific Northwest, please: join us! The spring issue of the Storyboard magazine just released, and it’s a great place to get a feel for the kinds of artists working in our area. Tiffany and Janel both wrote pieces for this one; I was submerged in preparation for the Square Halo conference, so this time they kindly reran an older essay of mine titled “How I Learned to Love Love Stories.”1 My daughter and I both have linocut prints in this issue, too, so that’s a fun new thing for us. And there is a feast of poetry, art, essays, and articles by other artists you may or may not know already.
But no matter where you live, you can read a sample of my essay below or, better yet, read the whole magazine (for free!) right here.
How I Learned to Love Love Stories
I’ve never been crazy about love stories. I’m thinking here of the Victorian sort, where Character A falls in love with Character B but, due to a series of mislaid letters and misinterpreted glances, does not declare said affections until three hundred pages have elapsed and I have lost interest. The heroines in these stories always seemed to be losing their bloom and having it restored by fresh sea winds, while the heroes rode all over the countryside on horseback, doing good deeds in secret while outwardly looking gruff and unpleasant. I had little patience for that, or for the fact that so many love stories end with a wedding, when it’s only after the wedding that things get interesting.
That is how I felt about love stories three months ago. Then came a pivotal moment, ushered in by the birth of my third child, when I sat in a sunny back bedroom, nursing her contentedly and reading Treasure Island. Now, I love Treasure Island, but when one is nursing one’s infant daughter in a sunny back bedroom, one longs for something a little softer around the edges, with less swashbuckling and no rum. So I picked up Sense & Sensibility.
That’s when I noticed the change. . . .
An earlier version of this essay was first published on the Deeply Rooted blog in February of 2015.
So, I am not a writer, but I know a few Christian writers in the *Inland* Northwest. Would they be welcome to join in or do you think they’re too far away? Maybe they just need to form their own collective…