Why Bother Writing Novels?

Before I begin today's topic, a quick note:

If you'd like to aid those affected by last week's tornadoes and floods, let me recommend Help Write Now, an auction put on by several members of the writing community. Some of those writers live in damaged or devastated areas. Proceeds benefit the Red Cross.

I'm donating a manuscript critique, and just may bid on some of the other items—some of which should appeal to writers, and others to readers. Want to help? Go on over and fill out their short-and-sweet donation form, and/or subscribe to the blog for auction news and items for bid.

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Being of the artistic personality and therefore clinically insecure, I spent some of this past week vacillating between the idea that I Suck and this question: Why bother writing novels, when there are so many in the world? The question could apply to keeping a blog, too. Not to mention creating poetry, art, musical composition, quilts, culinary presentation, dance, or anything else done more for beauty or expression or love of the work than for practical, measurable benefit.

Creation of beauty for its own sake is a deeply human and worthwhile process. Unfortunately, my response to that fact is sometimes along the lines of "Yes, but is my work beautiful enough to matter?!" Sometimes we need the silly personal reasons that keep us going when we think we're no good. Here are mine.

I write because:

...There are no brakes on the drive of an inborn writing tendency. I can't stop.

...The hunger for another good story grows with every one I read.

...Writing helps me process ideas and experiences better than almost anything else. And no big idea or experience is ever thoroughly processed until I've written my way through it.

...Words are just so beautiful when properly strung together.

...Other people's writings have built up my sanity and hope, and I want to pay that forward.

...My characters deserve to be known and loved, in my opinion (which is biased by motherly pride, of course).

...The pent-up nervous energy and emotion of the clinically insecure artist can really come in handy around an open Word document. Hey, don't knock it till you've tried it. :)

...and probably more reasons than I can think of now. My brain kept me awake till five AM and is now propped up on nothing but coffee.

Why do you write—or draw, or make music, or plant elaborate flower gardens, or otherwise create impractical beauty?

Headlines

A lot of people lost their sponsored children in the earthquake that happened in Haiti back in January. I got a letter from mine today: her school collapsed, but she is all right and everyone in her village apparently survived uninjured. Thanks be to God. On my to-do list this week: Write that sweet girl and let her know how glad we are that she's okay.

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A long list of reasons prevents me from talking much about current events and politics on this blog, not the least of which is that the mainstream media can irritate me a little beyond rationality. Just because I've yet to see an AP story hold up under a fact-check when it contains an attention-grabbing headline with the words "Vatican" or "Pope" in it, doesn't mean that such things don't exist or that all media personnel are of Rita Skeeter's ilk. I don't read them all, or even all that many. But I do get frustrated by the frequent reliance upon misunderstandings, assumptions, narrow perspective, the use of high-profile words and names to sell a story and the occasional outright lie.

As for the current hoopla, Timothy Radcliffe did a decent job of explaining my feelings, with a little more charity than I might have been tempted to use toward the press. Thank you, sir.

Bill Watterson and Introverts

Hat tip to The Knight Shift for the link to this interview with Bill Watterson, creator of Calvin and Hobbes. I thoroughly enjoyed that this morning.

It amuses me a little that the header for the piece describes Mr. Watterson as "reclusive." As far as I can tell, that word gets applied to a lot of writers, especially those who aren't anxious to have a lot of press or public interaction, as if the desire to get out there and live fame to the fullest were normal and anything lesser were therefore suspect.

Maybe he's just an introvert. A lot of writers are, after all--writing means spending quite a lot of time in your own head. I go crazy without sufficient time in mine.

Which reminds me of this little write-up on introverts--one of my favorite old articles. The author writes as if he knows me.

Praying for Haiti

As you've all probably heard, yesterday's 7.0 earthquake in Port-au-Prince has taken a lot of life and left a lot of people without family, friends, home, work, and supplies.

Along with the general intentions, Lou and I hope and pray for the safety of the child we sponsor through Compassion International, and for that of her family and village. She lives in the mountains, so the quake itself was possibly less of an immediate danger than any mudslides which might result from it. Compassion, like most other charitable services with outposts in the country, was at last word still trying to reach their resident staff. (Disasters tend to take out communication, on top of everything else.)

There are numerous ways for those of us who can give to do so: Compassion, Catholic Relief Services, and many other charitable organizations are active in the relief process. And we can always pray.

Of Nobel Shame

Book Examiner Michelle Kerns says just about everything I need to say.

Though I've read none of Ms. Muller's books, I have no reason to doubt her deserving the literature prize. But as for Mr. Engdahl ... excuse me, sir, but did you just openly admit to ruling out worthy authors based on nationality alone? I thought discrimination was the number-one no-no of our time.

Europe's anti-Americanism has got to cool off. At any rate, when I go there in a few weeks, I will not pretend to be from Canada.

Of course, they gave President Obama the Peace prize, for ... oh, whatever. That's politics.

We Will Never Forget

The Purpose of English Class

The Book Examiner has a sensible take on the Campbell High School (Litchfield, NH) removal of certain books from the English curriculum. An excerpt:

"The only portion of this story that will be bandied about the newspapers (the few remaining ones, that is), the talk shows, and the literary blogs and websites will be whether or not parents should have the right to have literature that does not line up with their personal belief systems banned from high school classes.

However, it seems to me that wasting time arguing this point (which should be fairly obvious -- of course: parents, on either side of the policial spectrum, should have that right. Huzzah to these ones for paying attention: most wouldn't know if their child was reading The Joy of Sex in class. And some wouldn't care) diverts the spotlight away from the real issue -- what is the purpose of high school English classes? And are the works chosen for those classes even remotely accomplishing that "stated" purpose? Or are they actually pursuing some other purpose?"

She goes on to talk about the fact that an English class pushing a social science agenda is failing its purpose, which is to teach kids to read and write correctly. The piece is well worth reading. It's nice to see someone take a reasonable position on a story like this instead of just having a panic attack about book banning.

Bozeman Explosion

My best friend called me yesterday morning to tell me about this:


It appears to have been a gas explosion in one of the restaurants; it destroyed three Main Street buildings and the six businesses within. According to the above story, "witnesses in the area reported seeing the roof of the building fly hundreds of feet into the air." The blast shook Briana's apartment--she can walk from her place to the site--and was apparently felt across town.

Thankfully, it happened before business hours. One person is still missing as of last report; otherwise, there were no casualties and no injuries reported. As Briana pointed out to me, if it had been even an hour later, the story would have been far worse.

We likewise used to live within walking distance of the place, and though I'm pretty sure the Boodles place went in since then, I seem to remember at least the Pickle Barrel being there.

The image is directly from the news story.

Rest in Peace, Father Neuhaus

I only discovered your writing in the past year or so, but had already grown used to swiping my husband's First Things to read the Public Square. You never failed to offer something that reminded me why I believe, that encouraged me to keep fighting.

You are off to glory, off to Jesus. We who are still in the battle will miss you.

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For 'we who are still in the battle', Fr. Neuhaus wrote a beautiful article in reflection on his own first brush with death some years ago. Read it here.

Thanks to Amy Welborn for the link.