
By Eric Myers | Soul of a Writer | April 2, 2026
Let me start with something personal.
When I was pastoring two rural churches, I used to write sermon drafts late at night, sitting in an old parsonage lit by one desk lamp. The cursor blinked at me like it was judging me for thinking too slowly.
And every time I felt the weight of needing to write something profound, the joy vanished.
I’d think about deadlines, audiences, expectations—and I’d lose the thread of what God was trying to say through me.
That same trap catches fiction writers. Somewhere between the blank page and the hustle for recognition, writing stops feeling sacred and starts feeling like labor.
But here’s the truth I’ve come to believe after years as a pastor, editor, and writer working with authors worldwide:
You don’t hate writing—you’ve just forgotten why you started.
The Idol of Speed and Quantity
We live in a culture that rewards output over depth. Every piece of advice seems to boil down to write faster, publish more, grow your audience, monetize your words.
But writing isn’t supposed to be a race—it’s supposed to be a relationship. When I chased metrics instead of meaning, my creativity suffered.
There’s a reason Scripture warns us about where we place our treasure:
“For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” — Matthew 6:21
When your treasure is likes, sales, or word count, your heart drifts away from the story itself.
The Computer vs. The Quiet Journal
I learned this lesson by accident. Years ago, during a season of burnout, I challenged myself to write longhand instead of on a laptop. I bought a cheap notebook and a pen that inked smooth as prayer.
Something changed.
When I wrote by hand, my thoughts slowed to the pace of my heartbeat. I could hear that still, small voice again. Each line felt less like production and more like connection—with God, with myself, and with the story unfolding.
If you’re a fiction writer who dreads facing the screen, maybe the screen isn’t the problem. Maybe it’s what the screen represents—a tool built for speed, not for stillness.
Remember the command in Psalm 46:
“Be still, and know that I am God.”
Sometimes the best thing you can do for your writing practice is to step away from the keyboard and rediscover quiet, physical creation.
Lessons from the Pulpit and the Page
When I served as a pastor, I didn’t measure a sermon’s success by attendance. I measured it by transformation—the moment someone’s eyes lifted with understanding or hope.
Fiction works the same way. The stories that linger in readers’ souls aren’t always fast or flashy; they’re honest, authentic, and written with care.
“Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters.” — Colossians 3:23
If you write as worship—not performance—the work transforms. You stop asking, Will this sell? and start asking, Will this serve?
Why Struggle Is Holy
When I edit novels with clients, I see a pattern: the best stories come from tension, not ease. The writer who struggles through a scene, unsure how to articulate raw truth, usually emerges with something sacred.
Pain is not your enemy. Perfection is.
Perfection chokes creativity; grace revives it.
When you learn to let imperfection breathe on your pages, you’ll find meaning again. Every unclear sentence, awkward word, or failed draft is a step closer to understanding how God works through broken vessels—because He always has.
“My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.” — 2 Corinthians 12:9
That verse should be written above every writer’s desk.
Measuring Success the Right Way
As someone who has coached authors through dozens of published books, I can tell you success never comes first. Joy does.
Writers who chase money burn out. Writers who chase meaning endure.
When I first launched my editing company, Soul of a Writer, the name meant exactly that—writing should nourish the spirit before it ever feeds the market. It’s the same philosophy I teach to every author I work with.
External rewards are fleeting. Internal fulfillment lasts.
Your writing practice should bring you closer to peace, humility, and gratitude. Those are the real markers of a successful artist.
How to Build a Spirit-Filled Writing Practice
Here are the three practices I return to again and again—ones that rebuilt my own joy in writing and deepened it into a spiritual habit:
Begin in prayer.
Ask God to speak through your imagination. You’re not writing for Him; you’re writing with Him.
Slow your process.
Whether you jot ideas in a notebook, walk while outlining, or write letters to your characters, slow down enough to think, feel, and listen.
Celebrate the unseen.
If no one reads your story but you, it still matters. Creation itself is worship. God saw that it was good before anyone else did.
The Truth About “Enjoying” Writing
You might never find writing easy—but you can find it meaningful.
You can rediscover the joy of hearing the pen scratch again, of feeling your pulse in sync with your words.
Writing is not about ease; it’s about engagement.
Not about finishing; it’s about faithfulness.
“Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.” — James 1:4
So stop asking if you’re writing fast enough, and ask instead if you’re writing faithfully enough.
If your writing connects you back to your purpose, your Creator, and your readers—even quietly—then you’ve already succeeded.
A Final Word to My Fellow Writers
I’ve worked with storytellers across every continent, from first-time novelists to seasoned professionals. The ones who endure are never the fastest. They’re the ones who keep writing because they love what God does in them through the process.
You don’t need perfect sentences to please Him. You just need an open heart, a pen, and the courage to keep showing up.
Write slowly.
Write honestly.
Write with grace.
And maybe, just maybe, you’ll discover that writing was never meant to be a task at all—
It was meant to be your prayer.
Eric Myers
Founder of Soul of a Writer—helping fiction authors write with excellence, joy, and divine inspiration.