I use to write. A lot. And I still fancy myself a writer.
Most of what I write, however, never sees the light of day.
The poet is a liar who always speaks the truth.
I write poetry to process thoughts and emotions. (I’ve tried journaling, but it just wasn’t for me.) Most of my poetry tend to be a bit too personal, too raw, too heretical, etc.
I don’t write poetry as much as I use to. My best poetry – in my own humble opinion – is what I wrote while processing the death of my son. While it is most certainly the darkest stuff I wrote, it was also the most honest, the most real, and the most needed. Then one day I re-read James 4:8:
Draw near to God and he will draw near to you. Cleanse your hands, you sinners, and make your hearts pure, you double-minded.
This is when I realized that all my “woe is me” and “where is God?” stuff was on me. Not him. In my mind’s eye I see him standing behind me waiting for me to draw near to him. But I don’t. But I won’t. (But I can’t?)
One of the last poetical things I wrote about it was this:
So my testimony is this: I trust in a God that I do not always understand and I continue to love a savior that I do not always like. But like the father from Mark, chapter 9, I cry out, “I do believe; help my unbelief.”
To some degree God and I are at a standstill. I am waiting for him to move. He is there, with arms wide open, waiting for me to move.
I am slowing getting back to writing poetry as I try to process this.
I also occasionally write short stories. And yes, most are shorter versions of what will be my “Great American Novel.”
Lately I have been writing essays. Most address my faith and how it interacts or intersects with the world at large.
It’s not that I am embarrassed my faith, but most of what I write can come across as a bit to preachy or religious for my non-religious friends while and too worldly or heretical for my religious friends.
Hey, I take my Saint Depraved name seriously.
Well, not long ago I lost everything that I’ve ever posted here at www.saintdepraved.com. (Mental note, don’t try to do more web design than you are comfortable with…)
That sucked. That really sucked.
I know most wasn’t worth the virtual paper on which it was written, but I did really like a few posts, especially my music stuff and God is Bigger Than Your Sh!t.
Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.
Closing Time, Semisonic
So, with that untimely end comes this new beginning.
I am writing for me. I am writing stuff that I need to process (poetry/essays) and things I want to read (short stories).
Inspired by Ernest Hemingway’s A Movable Feast, I am also writing a romanticized autobiography of growing up in Houston in the 80s and then trying to fit into Bible College in the 90s. It will true. But like A Movable Feast, it may not always be accurate. I’m pretty sure I am way cooler in my memory than I was then. Just saying.
After all, if Paris in the 20s was a movable feast, then Houston in the 80s was a 24-hour non-stop buffet.
Anyway, I plan to share more stuff and share it and more often. I’ll even share some old poetry every now and then until I’m willing to share the new poetry.
Hopefully some of it will be worthy. Maybe some of it will be helpful. Hopefully some of it will entertain.
Simon L Smith, Saint Depraved