Tag: writer

Posted on in Updates

A ton of blessing.

My dream is becoming less and less about writing.

Growing up, it was my everything.

But as the years have worn on, and God has carved my path, I’ve realized how this gift is less about my dream and more about His.

And there’s a fair amount of grief involved in something like that.

BUT there’s also a ton of blessing. I’ve been able to help others bring their stories to life. I’ve been asked to walk others through this writing process. I’ve given away countless books, praying that something in them has changed a person’s mind and heart.

And I’ve been given the great gift of an outlet.

I don’t hold on to fear or bitterness or anger. I have a way to bring it all to Jesus’s feet. I’m grateful for that, and as the years wear on, I pray I can do even more, showing others that the hurt in their heart exists much better as truth on the page.

And all because I’m finally understanding what it means to no longer seek the approval of man, but of God alone.

Life stuff.

I’m learning to crochet. I’ve always wanted to learn to crochet and knit as well as play drums and the electric guitar, but one thing at a time. My church’s worship band will just have to wait to hear me whack incessantly at a solid surface. I can practically feel their anticipation.

I’ve already gone down this road and almost immediately gave up. But I was homeschooling and losing my mind at the time, so I’m trying not to be too hard on myself.

What am I currently crocheting, you ask (or aren’t but let’s pretend)? A “blanket” for my daughter. Right now it looks like a cream-colored disoriented snake, but I’m sure everything will work out in the end. Regardless, she still has to use it because I’m her mother.

And look, I cut my hair. Actually, my husband cut my hair. I KNOW. He’s one of those people that says, “I can figure that out,” and then he goes and does it. And then I get a ton of compliments. The last time I tried to cut my own hair, I just got a few concerned looks and one anonymous call to the local mental hospital.

I’m hoping I actually did my hair this week so I can add a picture of it. If not, just imagine Jennifer Aniston with shorter hair. I look exactly like that.

A favor?

As I continue to be your favorite person who has no clue what she’s doing, would you mind following my diary/podcast/random ramblings on YouTube and/or Spotify? Even if you already followed me on YouTube, can you check and make sure you’re still following me? I hid my channel (didn’t delete it) for a day or two while I sorted out the best move going forward, and in true Ericka fashion, lost all my followers. Which is fine for me but not so much for you if you actually listen to my ramblings and would like to be updated about them in real-time.

If I ever manage to do anything at all with my writing career, it should be real proof for you that God exists.

This week’s posts.

Like Marie Kondo, only meaner.
Exchanging man’s approval for God’s.

“Am I now trying to win the approval of human beings, or of God? Or am I trying to please people? If I were still trying to please people, I would not be a servant of Christ.”
– Galatians 1:10

© 2023 by Ericka Clay

A FEW MORE THINGS…

Get your free books.
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Listen to my podcast.
bit.ly/mywritersdiarypodcast

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Posted on in Diary

Exchanging man’s approval for God’s.

Galatians 1:10 has been hitting home this week. From determining the best way to share these diary entries to deciding the intentional steps I need to take to be a true servant of Christ, I’ve been doing a lot of internal searching and a lot of external praying for God’s guidance.

Click play to hear my heart.

© 2023 by Ericka Clay

This podcast is available at these places.

A FEW MORE THINGS…

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Posted on in Blog

Like Marie Kondo, only meaner.

I thought from time to time I could republish some work lingering in my portfolio. Here’s a piece from that collection. I hope you enjoy.

There’s a very small and beautiful Japanese lady called Marie Kondo who goes into people’s homes, helps them assess what’s needed in their life and what isn’t, and then has them say a deep and heartfelt goodbye to all of the personal items that once had a place in their existence but have long since wreaked havoc on the state of their affairs.

She’s basically me if she came with a set of matches and an affinity for the phrase, “Do you really need that sweater seeing that we’re all gonna die one day anyways?”

Matt and Ava have learned how to hide their things. It really is a glorious art to find that pair of sweatpants with the knee in the hole and the waistband that’s too tight, scrunching itself into a neat little ball in the closet as if I’m some well-mannered Japanese TV host with a penchant for sparing people’s feelings and who doesn’t enjoy the smell of burning fleece.

I just feel that stuff is stuff. To tag a sentimental value to something seems almost foreign to me, save for the few trinkets from close friends and family that actually mean something. But gathering stuff for the sake of stuff gathering is akin to the man storing surplus grain in the larger barn he builds so that he can take a load off, pop open a cold one, and enjoy the feats of his labor (Luke 12:16-21).

Oh but then spoiler alert: he dies.

I have to ask myself daily where my treasure is. I have to light my own match and hold it close to the things I think I own. I own nothing. I am a steward of God’s good graces. I am merely borrowing my home and my car and my dog and my daughter and my husband and all the other things that surround me that reflect an erroneous semblance of safety.

There is nothing safe about this world. Remember that. I’m not saying there is no joy, no hope. Oh gosh no. WE are that joy and that hope to a barren world that thinks it knows better. Which is why it’s so important to burn the mental ties to anything that keeps us from being salt and light.

The more tethered we are to “our” treasure, the less valuable we are to others.

But the more we light the fire to the ties that hold us to worldly thinking, well, we lift up and away, feet dangling, eyes toward heaven.

© 2023 by Ericka Clay

A FEW MORE THINGS…

Get your free books.
bit.ly/mybooksforfree

Listen to my podcast.
bit.ly/mywritersdiarypodcast

Get in touch.
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support@erickaclay.com

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Posted on in Updates

The wisdom in pruning.

I”m starting to realize the wisdom in pruning.

John 15 has a lot to say about it, and one of the things that I find fascinating is that God doesn’t just prune the bad things from our lives, He might even prune good things so that we become even more fruitful.

I’ve adopted this thinking when it comes to my writing ministry.

God has created me to be a “one thing at a time” person, but I keep taking leaps into territory not made for me. It’s so much easier for me to nurture one thing to its fullest potential than to do five million while trying to keep my head from spinning.

BUT, I think I’ve finally gotten the memo (and printed it off and framed it for good measure).

I’m going to continue writing and posting my “podcast” through my website. But I’m no longer calling it a podcast. It truly is a recorded diary that I love sharing with you guys, but I really have no intent on becoming a podcaster. However, I’m still publishing my diary as a video series you’ll still receive in your inbox (it’s also available on YouTube). Just push play to hear my heart.

So I’ll continue to write my heart out and talk to God, offering it all up to the One who hasn’t failed me yet.

A poll.

This week’s posts.

Except pray.
My mental health journey as a Christian writer.

“Though he slay me, yet will I hope in him…”
– Job 13:15

© 2023 by Ericka Clay

A FEW MORE THINGS…

Get your free books.
bit.ly/mybooksforfree

Listen to my podcast.
bit.ly/mywritersdiarypodcast

Get in touch.
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Posted on in Diary

My mental health journey as a Christian writer.

I had a rough weekend. My battle with depression, anxiety, and body dysmorphia reared its ugly head again, and I was caught spiraling. However, God is so good. Through His Word and His people, my heart healed quickly after this last episode, and I wanted to share the importance of being open and honest with our mental health struggles for the sake of the Church.

Also, I talk about how this podcast is no longer a podcast, and how I’ll really need your help to keep sharing these messages with those who need them.

Click play to hear my heart.

© 2023 by Ericka Clay

This podcast is available at these places.

A FEW MORE THINGS…

Get your free books.
bit.ly/mybooksforfree

Get in touch.
erickaclay.com/contact
support@erickaclay.com

Follow me.
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Posted on in Blog

Except pray.

My thumb fans recklessly through all these years until I find her—blank-faced, the tears a silent delight, the stoniness the only thing that can keep the rough barbs of a thirteen-year-old at bay.

There she is. My mother.

And there I am, small and stupid, because what else would you call a reckless mouth and a self-centered heart? I am young and growing beautiful like a rose rooted in poisoned soil.

I don’t know any better, and isn’t that the sweetest gift a person can receive?

But one day, I do know better. I’m in my late thirties like my mother used to be. I hit the gym, and listen to other parents wax on about parenting. I take my dog for a walk and try not to stumble on loose pebbles. I’m reaching the age of “she used to be,” while I’m still firmly footed in the “she is.” What can you say when your biggest adversary sprung from your womb?

I shuffle back there again, my finger holding the page to look at my mother’s face. I’ve hurt her again, but to hear me tell it, I’ve never hurt her at all. I love her, that I know, but I must be going now because sixth, and seventh, and eighth grade, onward and upward, offer all the things a mother can’t. And she knows this too. Maybe that’s why her suffering is basking behind her steely resolve. What hope is there in hoping for everything you’ll never be able to change?

I think of my mother’s prayers, each one braided like flowers in my hair. Each one anchoring me in the ground as the angels watched me drink my life away. I wonder about their eyes, round orbs, watching my next move, waiting on God’s. What will happen to this girl who thought she knew everything, hoarding nothing at all in the back of her mind?

But I didn’t die, and I suppose it was my mother’s reckless heart, breaking through any bit of stoniness, her steeliness, her frank understanding that nothing can be done, so nothing she did.

Except pray.

And now here I stand, heart for God as if I’ve cut it out and offered it in my trembling hand. How powerful those prayers were. I shuffle through the pages, gathering all of them, hoarding them in my empty mind for my own daughter, her face not close enough to touch.

© 2023 by Ericka Clay

A FEW MORE THINGS…

Get your free books.
bit.ly/mybooksforfree

Listen to my podcast.
bit.ly/mywritersdiarypodcast

Get in touch.
erickaclay.com/contact
support@erickaclay.com

Follow me.
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Posted on in Updates

Breaking my own heart.

Yesterday, I deleted everything. I deleted my diary and these writing updates. I felt numb and questioned why I even write.

I considered deleting my blog posts, too but just left them fearfully clinging for their lives on this website.

It wasn’t a great day.

I haven’t had one like that in a long time. Today, I feel differently. After a friend commented that she couldn’t leave a comment on my post (because I had deleted it), I realized these aren’t about me. God is using me to give comfort to others. To show that they’re not alone. To make them see things differently, maybe from a Biblical perspective for the first time.

Who am I to tell the potter that enough is enough?

I’ve talked about self-sabotage before, how I’m the queen of it. I often second-guess myself, mired down in my own incapacities. Motherhood is hard. Motherhood of a teenage daughter? Even harder. And I don’t have a long history with children, how they grow and sometimes turn on you, and how your heart has to be guarded and resolved.

Thank God for…well…God.

There was a voice yesterday, small and still. It said there will never be a point where I’m perfect enough to do this. I just have to do this. And that’s all there is to it.

So here I am, doing this, whatever this is. Writing words, recording words, breaking my own heart, and watching God get to mending it.

I am tired, so exhausted. And wondering where we go from here.

I have a feeling He’ll let me know.

For my paper people.

I thought long and hard about it, and I’m still giving away my books for free. BUT, I know there are those of us who like the smell of paper and ink, so I will be continuing to offer print copies of my books through Amazon. I have lowered the prices so be sure to check those out if you’re interested. I only offer my ebooks through my bookshop which you can access here.

This week’s posts.

The dust of ourselves.
Taking hold of my writing future.

“The LORD is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”
– Psalm 34:18

© 2023 by Ericka Clay

A FEW MORE THINGS…

Get your free books.
bit.ly/mybooksforfree

Listen to my podcast.
bit.ly/mywritersdiarypodcast

Get in touch.
erickaclay.com/contact
support@erickaclay.com

Follow me.
linkedin.com/in/erickaclay

Posted on in Diary

Taking hold of my writing future.

I don’t have everything figured out. But as I study God’s word and remove distractions from my life to hear His voice, I’m met with absolute peace, including when it comes to my writing career.

I share next steps for my books and also talk about the ways God has been moving through my life recently.

Click play to hear my heart.

© 2023 by Ericka Clay

This podcast is available at these places.

Mentioned in this episode…
The Bible Recap
The Message

You might also like…
Writing in the desert.

A FEW MORE THINGS…

Get your free books.
bit.ly/mybooksforfree

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Posted on in Blog

The dust of ourselves.

I thought from time to time I could republish some work lingering in my portfolio. Here’s a piece from that collection. I hope you enjoy.

I’ve been playing at this for so long, I sometimes don’t know the sound of my own voice.

I’ve become the thing I think that I used to hate. The woman sandwiched so perfectly into life that you’d never think to pop her out of it, put her in brand new territory.

Have I gotten stale? Am I nothing more than a useless bag in the wind?

Nah, I’m just thirty-seven.

I had a conversation with a friend about leaving your phone’s flashlight on. I’ve done this several times, but the worst part is scrambling to find how to turn it off. And it’s like my brain just can’t remember that step, so there I am, illuminating my whole world. Or rather, blinding everyone in the eyes.

My daughter giggles at me, gives me an “Oh, Mom.” And I look around like, is she talking to me? When did this happen? When did I become a mother of twelve-going-on-thirteen-year-old? When did this phone become the Rosetta Stone that I’ve still not managed to crack?

The world would make me think it’s all over. I found the first gray hair a few days ago in the Pet Supplies Plus parking lot. It was wiry and at half mast, and I ripped it out of my head. “Don’t do that!” Matt said, and I would have been more suspicious of myself if I hadn’t. Who goes around with a broken TV attena jutting out of their crown and clawing at the sky?

All of these things remind me of the thing I knew I’d never become. Old. No longer easy on the eyes (Ericka had her day, friends). I’m a walking, talking hormonal mess who keeps dialating people’s pupils at the random, and I no longer have any balance. I turned my head the wrong way the other day in our shed and almost ended up sprawled over my daughter’s bike.

I’m the female version of Mr. Magoo, slightly less myopic and with enough sense to worry about these things. But then again, I don’t worry much.

The whole world will pass away. Did you know that? You’re sitting here but one day you won’t. I’m typing these things, but one day I won’t.

I see the beautiful injustice in it all, but if it were purely just, God wouldn’t let us breathe anymore in the first place.

Sinful hearts and all that.

So what do we do with this thing, you and me? What do we do with aching backs and cracking hips and the dust of ourselves wrinkling and wearing like an old coat that just doesn’t fit right anymore?

Well, the world would give a whole lesson on how not to be and look like you. But Jesus, well, He wants every dying second of it.

Because we die, we walk a little closer to Him. And as we live, we’re proof that He exists.

Because who else would want a bumbling thirty-seven-year-old who once was going to marry Prince William and now practically loses a finger each time she slices an orange?

He does. And I’ll never stop being grateful.

© 2023 by Ericka Clay

A FEW MORE THINGS…

Get your free books.
bit.ly/mybooksforfree

Listen to my podcast.
bit.ly/mywritersdiarypodcast

Get in touch.
erickaclay.com/contact
support@erickaclay.com

Follow me.
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Posted on in Updates

Embracing scary…again.

Not too long ago, I recorded a diary entry where I talk about embracing scary as a writer. This “scary” for me was leaving Amazon KDP forever to start my own bookshop on my website. I then backtracked and decided that was a bit too scary and left my books on Amazon.

But I’ve never felt settled there, and I think the main issue is that KDP gives you this nice little screen where you can see your book sales, and I’m just not into that anymore. As I’ve opened up all the doors and windows of my life and have asked God to take over every inch of it, I’m learning more and more about my sinful tendencies. And one of those tendencies is to see results ASAP.

Results aren’t necessarily bad. Assessing where you are in a process isn’t bad either. But what if that process was never meant for you in the first place?

Staying on KDP started to feel like how staying on social media always felt for me. I knew I didn’t belong there either, so every day that I continued to fire up my accounts and anxiously scroll was another day spending my time and energy in a space not meant for me.

KDP is the exact same thing.

So I’ve decided that it’s okay to go where I’m being led even though it seems a little strange. And as much as I’d like to sell my books, God’s been asking me to give them away for free.

I know.

A few months back, I was listening to a book called Angry Conversations With God. It’s a really great memoir about a Methodist woman who has to confront the fact that her image of God isn’t the true God of Scripture. She’s an actress, and there’s a part where she realizes God wants her to act “for fun and for free.” This makes her pretty upset considering she’s quite good at acting and all her friends get to be paid for it, so why not her? But she realized her path isn’t the same as everyone else’s. And that line? “For fun and for free”? It’s been plaguing me all these months.

And I know that was God speaking to me.

So I’m giving away my books in ebook form in the spirit of “for fun and for free.” I’m no longer weighed down by sales and marketing but get to do what I love and share it with some really great readers who have blessed me with their stories and struggles and have given me the opportunity to look outside myself and pray for them.

In exchange for free access to my books, I am asking that you subscribe to my blog. That’s it. Just enter your email below, and you’ll receive an email with a link to my free books. You can also directly download your books here.

Join 3,322 other followers

NOTE: If you’ve already subscribed but haven’t received the link to your free books, please contact me. You can also always purchase print copies of my books on Amazon.

Because story is necessary.

A while back, I started a series of testimonies that in-person and online friends sent me to publish. Life happened, so I didn’t continue the project, but recently, a good friend of mine wanted to share her story and asked me to help her with it. I suggested I lightly edit it for her and post it in this series.

It reminded me how important it is to share our stories when sharing Christ. And now that I have time devoted to my online writing ministry, I’d like to officially start this series back up again. If you have a story you’d like to share, please contact me. I can either chat with you and write your story myself as I did for this testimony, or you can write one and send it to me, and I can edit and publish it.

All I ask is that this a redemptive piece that shows how God has been walking alongside you all along, even in the times you’ve forsaken Him. Because it’s in our weakness that His glory is revealed to the world.

This week’s posts.

Like a flower breaking earth.
How self-assessment can heal your heart.

“Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”
– Isaiah 41:10

© 2023 by Ericka Clay

A FEW MORE THINGS…

Get your free books.
bit.ly/mybooksforfree

Listen to my podcast.
bit.ly/mywritersdiarypodcast

Get in touch.
erickaclay.com/contact
support@erickaclay.com

Follow me.
linkedin.com/in/erickaclay

Posted on in Diary

How self-assessment can heal your heart.

I have problems. You’ve probably realized this by now. But I do think one of the greatest gifts God’s given me is the ability to self-assess my motives.

Self-assessment leads to understanding God’s conviction, then to confession, which leads to repentance. It’s a hard act of uncovering the wrongs in our hearts. But it’s a crucial tool to feel Christ’s peace.

Click play to hear my heart.

© 2023 by Ericka Clay

This podcast is available at these places.

You might also like…
Why the act of submission has made me a better writer.

A FEW MORE THINGS…

Get your free books.
bit.ly/mybooksforfree

Get in touch.
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support@erickaclay.com

Follow me.
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Posted on in Blog

Like a flower breaking earth.

You’re still here in all your flesh

and memory serves to correct me

on the little details caught up

all around me like dead skin in dust.

How often I look at photos memorizing

the ghost lines of a gone face,

paying my condolences to an empty casket

and curled consciousness, yellowed with the wear

of bringing you out and setting you in my sun.

And grief is a cruel mistress, keeping the dead alive,

or maybe the living just dead enough for me to still own you,

take your future captive,

to tell stories to my friends of the used to be,

ignoring that there is a right now going on in a universe

I don’t belong to.

And it’s only when I set my heart on my Portion,

On the lone One who knows the intricate weave of all the cells

I can’t see,

That I can see my right now, too, how it doesn’t have to be

darkened by the once was.

How I can bury you whole and still breathe,

watching you breaking through all my wrongs

like a flower breaking earth.

© 2023 by Ericka Clay

You might also like…
Forge me anew.
The elder’s wife.

A FEW MORE THINGS…

Get your free books.
bit.ly/mybooksforfree

Listen to my podcast.
bit.ly/mywritersdiarypodcast

Get in touch.
erickaclay.com/contact
support@erickaclay.com

Follow me.
linkedin.com/in/erickaclay