When I was younger, it used to really bug me that I couldn’t name my favorite author. I could list off four or five (okay, 20-some) authors I really loved and read regularly. But I couldn’t pinpoint a favorite. No one quite fit into the “untouchable” category. But I really wanted to have a favorite. After all, I was the bookwormiest of all bookworms. I was the kid on the home videos who was always reading. Or if not reading, writing. Of all kids, I should’ve been able to name a favorite author. 

But no, I just sort of drifted from book to book, author to author. Waiting for perfection, longing for a favorite. Until finally, in my early 20’s, I found him: Ted Dekker. 

Now, I have been accused of being over-the-top about some things. My favorite pop (Diet Coke with Lime), favorite band (Coldplay), favorite television hero (Jack Bauer)…I don’t just like these favorites…I like like them. I can’t help it. This is who I am. When I latch onto something, I really latch on. We’re talking super glue of the stickiest strength. 

So, Ted Dekker. I love his stories so much that I have been known to talk people’s ears off for serious lengths of time while they politely (helplessly?) listened to my gushing. (It’s amazing to me, really, how people put up with me). Funny thing is, a good chunk of his body of works aren’t even in a genre I tend to particularly like! I definitely enjoy a good suspense or thriller, but a few of his lean into the horror category – definitely not my thing. Still, though, I read them and I get sucked in and by the last page I’m generally having trouble breathing! Ted Dekker’s stories just floor me – the plot twists, the characters, the depth of the stories. My favorite series of his – The Circle Trilogy – leaves me mesmerized each time I read it. My all-time favorite of all his novels – When Heaven Weeps – has made me cry more than any other book. Skin startled me so much I re-read the last chapter four times in a row. Showdown had me in a trance, breaking my heart and then putting it back together, and Blink kept me up into the wee hours of the morning. Saint felt so real to me that I woke up one night certain its main character was in my room (of course, I had a 103-degree fever at the time, so maybe that one doesn’t count). 

But you get the picture, yeah? (If not, call me…) 

Here’s the thing, though: for years now I’ve been citing Ted Dekker’s amazing stories as a great inspiration to me as I work on my own writing. I want to stun people the way his stories stun me. I want people to get lost in my storyworld as I get lost in his. I want them to feel for my characters the way I feel for Thomas Hunter, Janjic and Helen, Johnny and Darcy and Billy. Yesterday, however, I came to a startling realization: as much as I count Ted Dekker’s stories an inspiration, I discovered that he’s also one of my greatest deterrents! 

And you know why? Because I am seriously incapable of working on my own writing when I’ve got a Dekker novel waiting to be devoured. Yesterday (Sunday) I spent four hours – four hours – reading one of his latest novels when I should’ve been working on my own stuff! 

And this evening! This evening, instead of tearing apart my own story’s “inciting incident” and raising its stakes like I know I need to, I’m sitting here writing about Ted Dekker and thinking about how much I liked the character of Marak in the story I finished yesterday. Aghhh… 

Self-discipline, that’s what I need. 

But I don’t have it. I just don’t. And I can’t stop thinking about how the book I finished yesterday loosely connects to another book of Dekker’s. And I’m feeling this crazy, unshakable urge to go to my bookshelf and scour the book I’m thinking of to find the connections. To make things worse, I just pre-ordered Dekker’s next book which will turn his best trilogy into, well, whatever a four-book series is called. So now I’ve just got to re-read the trilogy… 

Thus, my great inspiration has turned into my great hindrance! 

If there’s any hope at all for me, it’s this: Ted Dekker has co-authored a few books in the last few years, right? Frank Peretti, Erin Healy, Kaci Hill…he’s teamed up with these folks. So I’m thinking, why not, someday, me? (It sounds crazy, sure, but get this: my coworker Erin was on vacation in Texas recently visiting her husband’s family. And her husband’s uncle told the family he had a meeting with John Dekker. And Erin, knowing me, jokingly asked if the guy was related to Ted Dekker. Turns out, he’s his dad! So, by six degrees, I am connected to Ted Dekker: me-Erin-Erin’s husband-Erin’s husband’s uncle-John Dekker-Ted Dekker!) 

But reading the guy’s books alone isn’t going to get my name on a cover below his (likely in much smaller letters!)…I’ve got to write. Write, write, write. Stay away from the Ted Dekker bookshelf…forget Marak…stop thinking about how amazing Green (Dekker’s next novel) is going to be…and yeah, stop gushing in my blog. Write, woman, write! 

I wonder if Ted Dekker ever has this problem. I wonder if he ever gets so sucked in by his favorite author’s books that he finds himself incapable of producing a story…I wonder… 

WRITE!

Be Sociable, Share!

• 
•