The Gift that Keeps on Taking: 2021 Year-End Review

When I started this blog, I intended it to be informational, not personal. I wanted to write about writing, editing, creative processes, and general marketing ideas. However, any creative process requires some vulnerability, and I don’t think anyone can create things worth engaging with unless their creativity is driven by (or at least closely connected to and informed by) honesty about the human experience. 

That said, this post was originally planned to be a simple recap of the books I’ve read this year and some brief spoiler-free reviews… well, it’s morphed into something more comprehensive; it exposes more of me than this blog was ever intended to, but my hope is that you, dear reader, will find it more worthwhile and helpful as a result.

But don’t worry, I will still discuss the few books I’ve read this year. In fact—

What I’ve Read

I’m a little embarrassed to admit this, but I am a slow and methodical reader. Many of my mentors and peers will write year end posts where they discuss the 30-some-odd books they have read, and I, 5 days from the new year, have a palty 10 (not including various short stories and a few dozen children’s books). And technically, I’m still working on that 10th. Here are my thoughts. 

• Black Sun Rising, When True Night Falls, and Crown of Shadows by C.S. Freidman. My understanding is that most of Freidman’s work is pretty solidly in the Sci-Fi genre, but this is my only exposure to her books so far, and I would describe this trilogy as fantasy with a science fiction veneer. I absolutely adored some passages, and found the overall premise to be completely gripping. However, there were some plot threads that I felt deserved much deeper exploration. Occasionally there were moments I was astounded and fascinated by a new development, only to have it mostly dropped a chapter or two later. Friedman’s writing was very enjoyable to me, but there are occasional moments where, had I been her editor, I would have tried to prevent some redundancy in descriptions. Overall, these books explore the human ability to justify our actions, asking the reader to consider what true redemption ought to require of us and if noble enough ends really do justify the use of ignoble means.

• Mistborn, The Well of Ascension, and The Hero of Ages by Brandon Sanderson. Brandon Sanderson is a master of worldbuilding, and his use of a “hard” magic system added depth and complexity to these first three novels set in this world. Occasionally, the descriptions of this magic system grew a little tiresome to me, as the firm structure of the system’s mechanics occasionally led to some awkward explanations that a softer structure could have hand-waved away. The first novel is a heist, and it is the best of the three, in my opinion. All three caught me off-guard in very pleasant ways, but some plot developments from the later books made the events of the first book feel… almost tarnished, in hindsight. These stories masterfully capture the mixed feelings that come from doing your best with limited information, and they explore multiple dualities like order versus chaos, liberty versus security, oppression versus justice, and hypocrisy versus authenticity. 

• The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkein. This book remains among my favorites. Every few years I re-read it (them, I suppose, as I own it as the three volume set) to see if my tastes have changed or I have grown weary of Frodo’s quest, and I never do. At this point, anyone who hasn’t read it has surely experienced the story through Peter Jackson’s movie trilogy or via cultural osmosis. I do think you could put together a sufficiently detailed plot summary using only memes from around the web. Even so, I will leave my review at this: Tolkien is the original master of worldbuilding. Every location has a story to tell, often multiple depending on which people tell it. There is a reason so much of modern fantasy is built on the foundation Tolkein laid; it is a solid foundation. To those who would nit-pick by asking about Aragorn’s royal agenda, I say this: you are missing the point of the story. It is set in a world where good and evil exist in palpable, tangible, real, visible ways. The Lord of the Rings was never meant to be a story filled with political intrigue and nebulous moral quandaries; it is a story about finding the strength to do what is obviously right even when it will cost you everything you have. It’s a story about the ways trauma changes you and how you can persevere without letting it consume you. It’s a story about good overcoming evil in unexpected ways, diverting the plans of the wicked to serve the good of all.

• 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea by Jules Verne. First things first, I was among the many people who once incorrectly assumed the title was a reference to depth beneath the surface. In fact, a large chunk of the novel has the Nautilus at the surface of the waves re-filling with air. My enjoyment of this novel has fluctuated wildly as passages within go from dreary lists of aquatic flora and fauna or specific listings of latitude and longitude coordinates to entrancing descriptions of the wonders of the unknown. Overall, I am happy to be reading this sci-fi classic, though there is part of me that wishes I could read it without ever having watched “Blue Planet,” as I think the exhaustive lists of marine life might feel more impactful if I had never witnessed them in High Definition. This novel explores the thrill of discovery and the value of knowledge and technological progress. It forces the reader to ask if humanity, with our general bend towards violence and oppression, might be better off without any scientific advancements which are so often turned towards destructive purposes. 

What I’ve Done

I spent the first seven months of this year employed, doing daily work of writing and editing content. Those seven months feel like a blur now, as the second half of my year has been marked by a time of unemployment and scrounging for work. 

I got fully vaccinated against COVID-19 (and though I haven’t received a booster yet, I do intend to.) 

I fathered two children this year, the first of whom passed long before reaching term; the second, another son, is growing well and all signs point to good health for him and my wife. His name is Benjamin, and I’m both excited to meet him and eager for him to stay in the womb until his development is complete.

I wrote the lyrics of a song inspired by grief and hope.

I lost my job.

I lost a book deal that was intricately woven together with my job.

I wrote three childrens’ books, re-wrote and revised a fourth, and began one novel. None are anywhere near ready to publish, though if you’d asked me a few months back, I’d have told you the children’s books were pretty good. That assessment was born of inexperience and naive hope.

I queried a few literary agents to pursue publishing more seriously. 

I navigated the health insurance market, which has led me to the conclusion that our current system is fully and completely doinked.  

I have joined a critique group with fellow children’s writers. I have participated in pitch events on Twitter, even winning a free critique of one of my books (which was the event that helped me see the reality of how far my writing must still progress before I start querying again). 

I have submitted dozens of applications for work and participated in multiple interviews. I have become “self-employed” writing and editing as a freelancer and contractor. 

I started this blog.

I spent lots and lots of time with my wife and son. This has been the primary “silver lining” of unemployment and self-employment. I wouldn’t trade those hours for any amount of money or prestige. 

I joined up with a cryptocurrency and NFT producing project to help guide narrative developments in their projects and bring some cohesion to their brand strategy.

I produced and released an Advent guide for families, and shamelessly plugged it on social media. 

I wrestled with doubt and anger and questions about both my faith and mental health.

What I’ve Learned

Faith is a crutch, but I don’t mean that in the edgy, cool-guy, internet-atheist way. 

What does a crutch do? It provides needed support while healing takes place. That’s what faith has been for me this year. To be certain, my faith hasn’t been strong enough to support me for most of this year. But the faith of my family, friends, and church community has held me up, bearing my burdens while my faith recovers enough to hold weight again.

The first big blow came in early May, when, as I mentioned above, my wife and I grieved the loss of a pregnancy. God met me in my anger and confusion and helped me better understand what it cost him to put Jesus on the cross. But soon after this wound stopped throbbing, a second blow struck.  

I have tried to be very diplomatic about my employment status, using euphemisms like “we parted ways” or “I agreed that it was time to move on.” I don’t want to get into the details of what happened, but suffice it to say I loved my job and I didn’t want to go when (or the way that) I did. It wasn’t my choice. It was thrust on me. I bear no grudge against those who made that choice. I understand why they let me go. I wish them the best and pray for them very often. I loved my co-workers and still do. But it hurt a lot, too.

I realized when that role was over that I had wrapped my identity in my job. I feigned humility whenever people asked what I did for a living, but I reveled in the answer that I was an editor for a huge, Christ-centered curriculum line. Pride certainly preceded my fall.

I’ve had quite a few interviews since July, and none have felt as though they went poorly. However, none have gone so well as to lead to a full-time job offer. A few of these positions have felt so right, as though all the pieces were falling into place as God wrote out the satisfying conclusion to my confusing and frustrating year. I felt calm, confident, and ready to take on the world. I saw the light at the end of my tunnel, and it was warm and beautiful.

But then the pieces didn’t quite fit as I expected and there was another chapter I didn’t anticipate (ironically, not entirely unlike the “The Scouring of the Shire,” I’m just now realizing…) The light wasn’t the end of the tunnel, just a flashing swirl of color from another blow to my ego.

Each rejection letter, whether from a potential employer or from a literary agent, felt like an indictment of my value. Each time I was told “you’re not the right fit for us right now,” I heard instead “you’re not a good fit for anyone, ever.” 

The most recent in a string of these piling discouragements was my firstborn son’s sickness over the last few days. His primary symptoms have been a cough and fever, and since he’s too young to be vaccinated for you-know-what, we feared the possibility that he’d contracted it somewhere, somehow. In addition to the complications his sickness created in our holiday plans, we also now carried the sadness and fear that come from not knowing what is wrong with your child and if you can afford the medical bills that could come from it.

We spent a few hours on Christmas Day sitting in an urgent care facility. And there, where I very much did not expect to encounter God, something beautiful happened.

The nurse needed swab samples from my son’s nose and throat to test for Strep, COVID, RSV and another infection I can’t recall. As you can imagine, at 2-and-a-half years old, my son isn’t really a fan of sitting still while cotton tipped sticks probe nearly every orifice of his face. So I had to hold him steady, but toddlers have surprising, wiry-strong, and nimble limbs.

There we sat—me and my wife wrapping his feverish body in our arms (and legs), holding his head firmly in my hands while he, in his green footie Christmas pajamas, strained and screamed and shrieked. 

“It’s OK. You’re OK. I’ve got you. Daddy’s here,” I whispered in his little ears, which had grown red with rage and the effort of struggling against us.

Gabe couldn’t understand why this injustice was being perpetrated against him. He couldn’t understand why I was subjecting him to my oppressive strength while a stranger violated his space. He couldn’t understand that his discomfort was hurting me too, bringing tears to my eyes and a lump to my throat. But I knew it was for his benefit to diagnose his sickness and take steps to purge it from him with the appropriate treatment. That’s why I kept holding him and chanting to him while he cried on my shoulder, even after the test samples were all collected.

“It’s OK. I’ve got you. You’re OK.”

Isn’t that what God has been doing for me? Holding me tightly while Jesus probes parts of me I never wanted exposed? Whispering that I’m OK, that he’s got me, that it’s for my good? 

Jesus is the gift that keeps on taking. He takes my sin and shame. He takes my pride. He takes my selfishness. He takes my mistrust and lack of faith. He takes all the parts of me that aren’t who he has created me to be, all the parts of me that are unworthy of him. He takes and takes and takes until all that’s left is his beauty in me.