Emily Howitt

Do you ever feel inadequate? Do you ever feel unworthy to be loved by God? Me too. But that’s when we need to remember the cross. When we need to remember that God sent his Son to die for us. To die. God. The Son. DIE. As one of us. God became like us. He took our place. He took our sins upon himself. He who was sinless became sin for us. God died for us. He knew what it was to be forsaken by God, so we would never have to be. We couldn’t save ourselves, so he did it for us. So, yeah. We are inadequate. We are unworthy. But we are loved. We are loved so deeply we cannot even imagine. We are held so tightly we don’t even know. But sometimes all we see are our faults. We see the ways we fail to measure up. We see the ways we fail God. We see our sin. Our mistakes. Our failures. How can you love me, God? How can you forgive me? But God doesn’t see our failure anymore. He doesn’t lord it over us. He doesn’t rub it in our faces, and ask “why aren’t you bette...

As the year comes to a close, I felt the desire to praise God and share it with you. Here goes: Dear God, I love you. I adore you. I praise you. I thank you for all the blessings you’ve given me this year. For good health news, for myself and others. For having a job. For having a good church community. For being alive. But I also need to praise you for the dark moments, don’t I? For the feelings of worthlessness. For the anxiety. For the worry. For the endless battles with OCD. I know you do not enjoy it when I go through pain. I know you do not like to see me troubled and upset. But it’s necessary, isn’t it? Necessary to my growth and for my relationship with you. So God I praise you for all the broken moments this past year has held, and I pray that you carry me through all the broken moments I know are coming next year. My God, I love you. And you are what I want most for Christmas. Though we both know this isn’t true all the time. There is doubt. There are mo...

Every once in a while I think about planning/scheduling, but rarely do I ever stick with it. Actually, never. Or at least not long term. But I keep coming back to it for some reason. Don’t know why. I think because almost everywhere you look, productivity blogs and such tout it as some super great life hack to get a million and one things done in a week. I get that planning can be very beneficial for some, but maybe it’s just not for me. Or maybe I just need to figure out the method that works for me. Regardless, what planning got me thinking about was how we approach “quiet time” with God. On a side note, I don’t like the term “quiet time”. It just bothers me. I’m not trying to attack people who do like it, or anything. If you like it go ahead and stick with it. I think it might be the whole idea/the approach we have to quiet time that bothers me. I did call quiet time “open and raw moments with God” for a bit though :) I tried planning for a little bit ago, and I would put ...

I feel like my life is in shambles sometimes. Like I am floating through it with no idea where to go. Like I am bouncing back and forth, trying to decide the “right” move. Like I’m stuck in some sort of limbo and wondering if I’ll ever get out. Like everything is cricking, or cracking. Breaking, and shattering. But on the surface is a smooth piece of glass that says: I’m doing fine. You don’t need to worry. I don’t need to worry. I’m doing fine. I’m not doing fine. I’m doing well enough, I suppose. I have plans, I suppose. But still there is that never ending, always there, lingering doubt. It never quite goes away. Then there’s the shame. Shame for not doing better. Shame for not being further along in life. Shame for not having it all together. Shame for failing. I heard once that millennials were all about “now”. Getting what they wanted now , and not waiting. Achieving everything now. But I wonder if th...

So tomorrow is 2018. And I’m just realizing how long it has been since I wrote a blog post. I don’t really know what happened. I had intentions. Good intentions (road to hell is paved with good intentions :) But then I think Christmas and working eight and nine hour shifts, and not getting enough sleep, and lots of things happening happened. But even before that it was kind of off track. I did have some blog posts or blog post type things written, but I never did post them. I might in the New Year, though. But anyway I want to talk about now and 2018. I sort of went through the same thing I did last year. Christmas was good. It’s hard not to like Christmas. It’s magical and filled with hope, and wonder, and forgiveness. And then it’s over and it’s like oh crap, where the hell is my life even going? How did another year go by and I’m still not where I thought I would be. I’m not even really closer like at all to where I wanted to be. What the hell is wrong with me? Okay. Maybe...

Sometimes I feel worthless. Sometimes I feel like a failure. Sometimes I wonder if I should just give up on my dream. Sometimes I wonder if I should numb the pain with alcohol. Just go to work, and hate my life, and numb the pain emotionally. These are horrible things to think as a person, and as a Christian, but they are there, nonetheless. They’re all lies. They’re things that seem true when you’re trapped in self-despair. Escape seems like the only option, even though it is dull and listless. But you think you’re not worth anything, so escape is all you got. Again, lies. And sometimes I push God away, when I’m like this. More often than not, actually. The one person who I need the most, and I push him away. I’ve thought more than once that I don’t deserve his love. And it’s true. I don’t. You don’t. But it’s not about deserving it, and I know this. But sometimes I feel like I’m not worth saving, and I’m not worth his love. I know there is a difference between being...

Once upon a time there was a little girl. A little girl who thought that she was all alone in the world. She had no one who understood her. No friends to confide in. Even her family didn’t really “get” her. They loved her, of course, and she loved them, and they were close, but she didn’t really let them into that dark place inside, at least not all the time.  The little girl would cry week after week because she was alone. She found solace in writing. She found solace in writing out her pain, writing about tearing her body open with knives and letting the blood run free. But none of it really helped. It helped her express herself, and feel like some of that negativity floating around in her was gone. It helped her cope. But it didn’t heal her. This went on for quite some time on and off. Some days were better than other days. Some months were better than other months. Some years were better than other years. But the darkness lingered around her like a dark shroud. ...

This post is for all the other writers out there who are frustrated like crazy. Sorry I probably won’t be able to offer you any solid advice, but maybe my thoughts will offer you some solace, or some nugget of wisdom. I’m having career issues. I’m at a crossroads, and I’ve gone from one road to the other twenty times and back, trying to make sense of what the hell it is I’m supposed to do in this life. I want to write. I know that. I live that. But society tells me I need a real job. No, that’s wrong. Society tells me a need a good job. One that I love. No, that’s wrong too. Society tells me I need a job that makes a lot of money. It doesn’t matter what it is as long as I make lots of the green stuff. Or at least a half decent amount. It doesn’t seem that bad on the surface. Go to uni or college. Get a degree. Get a good job (lots of money). Meet a nice guy or girl. Get married. Have kids. Live happily ever after. It’s not that bad. On the surface. Problem is: ...

So ideally this post should have been put up before Easter, or on Easter, but it wasn't written yet and I'm not waiting until next Easter to post it. My hope is that someone who needs the words will see it and it will speak to them. How do we have hope in the darkest, bleakest times? How do we continue to keep hope alive when all seems lost? When all is dark and gray and falling to ashes around us, when our hopes and dreams disintegrate into dust, when it feels like God himself has left us alone, how do we have hope? How do we press on? How do we keep going when we are weighed down by a weight that we cannot even see? How do we have hope? You just do, some say. Or you just pray hard enough. Like it’s your fault. Cause you’re not praying hard enough. Pray tell, (pun intended), what does “praying hard enough” look like? How is it different from regular prayer? Do people put extra passion into their prayers, so God hears them better? Do you think God cares about extra p...

It took longer than I thought it would, but I recently published a novella called The Neighbour. If you're into suspense or romance, it might just be your cup of tea. Here's the blurb: Life was simple for Alissa. Easy. She had an exit plan from life. Nothing and no one was going to stop her. Her mind was made up. She was done. Except for one problem. The neighbour. The neighbour with the good looks and the bleeding heart. The neighbour who inserted himself into her life like it was nothing. The neighbour who’s determined to save her. But there’s a problem with that. Alissa doesn’t want to be saved. And the neighbour isn’t telling her the whole truth. He has a few secrets of his own. What’s he hiding? Will he be able to save Alissa, or is it him who needs saving? And here's a bit of chapter one to get you hooked ;) Blood was trickling down my arm. Blood was everywhere. Coating me. Bathing me. Turning my blond hair into a gruesome red. A deliciously sweet smile o...

Remember when I said I might write a happier  post in a few days? Well, here it is. You are enough. There are voices in your head that whisper: you are not enough . But you are enough. There are people who say to you, "you are not enough," but you are enough. There are things you think you need to do or be or say to make you enough. To make you have value and worth, but you are enough. Just as you are now, you are enough. You have value and worth now, simply by breathing. You are enough. You may think you’re not enough for life. You just can't do life right. You don't deserve the space you are taking up on this planet and maybe you were one of the people meant to die. But let me tell you, that you are enough. You are not destined to take your life. No one is. People are not made to kill themselves. They are made to live. They are made to love. You have purpose. You are enough. Maybe you don't think you're enough for God. Find a new...

Decided to do the flash fiction challenge from Chuck Wendig's blog. You can check him out at  terribleminds . These are the last words that might ever be written. I warned them that it was coming. I warned the others. But they didn't listen. Why do they never listen? They thought it was a game. They never dreamed the law would past. They thought the club was just for fun. Something to do when they were bored. But they were wrong. So wrong. And now they've "disappeared" and it's just me Ally. It's just the two of us left to fight for the written word. For the truth. I still don't understand how this all came about. I saw it coming, sure, but why? I never saw the "why". Until yesterday. I was walking down the street. Words, written ones, anyway, were nearly eradicated by this point already, but it wasn't illegal. It wasn't a federal offence. People just thought it was archaic. They didn't need to read or write, they j...

Hi. It’s me. I’ve risen from the dead. Again. *sigh* So last year around this time I wrote something about New Year's Resolutions being crap , and about starting a blog challenge  that I only followed through on to day 3.  It’s weird reading it back. It seems like a totally different person. It also seems like I was trying to say resolutions are crap while inadvertently setting resolutions and then not following through on them. In fact, all of 2016 wasn’t too great of a year for blogging. I only posted 18 times, compared to 46 in 2015. I’m also seriously worried about my skills, as I don’t think the posts are that great. But not everything we write is gold, right? And that’s how we get better. We write, and then we keep writing, and then when we think we’re the worst writer on earth, we write some more. And maybe someday it pays off. It’s when we stop writing (or doing other creative things) that we have to worry. I’ve been in a weird space lately. I was feeling ha...

I can’t blog. I’ve been pretending for far too long now. I try to write posts related to my books. Or I try to write a post on a happy, positive topic. But I can’t. I can’t do it. When I try to do it, it comes out forced. I don’t think it’s too horrible. I still think it’s okay. It just doesn’t seem, I hesitate to say great, but it just seems off, you know? Like a part of me is missing. Blogging is hard for me. I never really got a handle on what the hell I’m supposed to blog about. Fiction is easy. Fiction comes straight from my heart and even if I’m not feeling particularly “inspired” I can still get into it pretty easily. But I can’t do that with blogging. That doesn’t work. I think of ideas and then they seem stale when I go to write them, or I can’t think of anything to say. And when the words do flow, when I do get an idea for a post, it’s sad. It’s about depression. It’s unhappy. It’s not related to my books. Nor really. And every post seems to be negative, and I don’t ...

So Halloween is on Monday and it made me think about humans and why we enjoy scaring ourselves so much. Because that’s basically what Halloween is about. It might have started off as scaring away the undead, but now it’s just about scaring the living. Well, and candy. Lots of candy. Like so much candy that we could probably build a wall. But then people would just eat the wall, and we’d probably all get sick. And the exercise would have been pointless…but why am I talking about walls? Back to fear. We like to be scared. Why? Probably because we get a high off of it. That’s why people jump out of perfectly working airplanes. To get a high. Because apparently life isn’t exciting enough for them. Or they couldn’t find any cocaine that day (joking. Drugs are bad, children). In short, it’s fun. It’s fun to dress up in silly costumes and try to scare each other in a safe environment. That’s a safe kind of fear. Like watching a horror movie. You get to live vicariously through the charac...

Cat Grant is honestly my favourite character on Supergirl. She might be a little bit crazy, insane, and not quite possible in the real world, but everything she stands for and represents is so inspiring. Especially to creatives like me and hopefully you, who are trying to find our place in this world and carve out our own little section of it to call our own. If you don’t watch Supergirl, then you probably have no idea what I’m talking about, but the things I’m going to talk about in this post can still apply to you, even if you’re not a creative (which I think we all are at some level, but that’s another post). Warning: there are a few spoilers coming up (but not too many) if you haven’t watched the first episode of season 2 of Supergirl yet. Also, I haven’t watched the second episode, so please refrain from saying anything about it. Thank you. At the end of last season on Supergirl, Kara (a.k.a Supergirl) is given the opportunity to pick a new job by Cat Grant, any job she w...

Writing a novel is hard. Like really hard. Those things are long. And they have so many words. And pages. And the characters keep wanting to go off and do things that aren’t in the outline. Stupid characters. But you have to let them breathe, because, like, otherwise they’ll commit fictional suicide or start murdering all your other characters and then everyone is just dead at the end of your story. Which, I guess, sort of worked for Hamlet. But ideally you want some people left alive at the end. Anyway, tangent over. Let’s get to the post. Ever wonder the different ways of skinning a cat? Er…I mean novel. Where did that expression come from anyway? Why are there people who want to skin a cat? And why do they need multiple ways to exact the skinning of a cat???? Moving on. There are different ways to write a novel. I’m going to talk about them in this blog post. They can also apply to short stories, or novellas, or any other length of writing. They could even work for non-fiction....

This is a flash fiction challenge from Chuck Wendig's blog,  terribleminds . I hope you enjoy. Insomnia. The word sears my brain like a hot iron. Insomnia. Insomnia. Insomnia. So very, very close to insane. Insanity. That is where I feel—where I fear—I am heading. Insomnia to insanity. Insanity to—I don’t know. I’m not making sense, I think, as I write in my journal. I’m not making sense at all. I’m not making sense at all. I’m just writing words that are meaningless that mean nothing and saying the same thing over and over again and again trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with me. What the hell the man in the crisp black suit did to me. I set the journal down beside me and glance over at the bedside clock. Bright red numbers stare back at me. 4:00 A.M. Four in the morning. The last time it was four in the morning I witnessed a murder. I was walking down a dark alley late at night. Or early morning to some people, but for me, it was still night. I was w...