Tasty Tuesday... sort of

This being Thanksgiving week, I tried to think of something from the holiday table to post for a Tasty Tuesday recipe. The only problem: My specialty, as it were—the thing I am asked to bring to both my parents' and Lou's every Thanksgiving (and usually every Christmas, too)—is green bean casserole. And you can find the recipe for that on the can of fried onions.

A couple of tips, though: Add a little soy sauce, if the recipe doesn't already call for it. I used French's onions last time, and I don't think their recipe did. Durkee's might. (I have no preference between brand of onions, if you're wondering.) But definitely add it. Maybe 1 or 1 1/2 teaspoons per recipe. I never measure.

Also, I suggest going easy on the milk. I guarantee I don't come near the 2/3 cup recommended. Mushroom soup has a good strong flavor when not over-diluted.

Farmer's City Wife hasn't put up the usual host post yet, and Lou and I are about to brave the snow and get out for the evening, so I'll post this as is. And yes, I know green bean casserole is the easiest thing in the world to make and has starred in some incredibly annoying commercials, but honestly, the family spread would be a little lonely without it. I love that stuff.

On Pushing through Bricks

Mr. Pond wrote an encouraging post last week titled on giving up, or not, in which he discussed the life-or-death line between a story that is hard to write and a story that hurts to write. It's an all-important distinction, and one I've even had to take into account in this November madhouse that is National Novel Writing Month.

This is sort of a response, but not really a debate, so I won't call it blogalectic. I'll just recommend his post, particularly if you're the writing type, or the running type, or just someone who has to persevere at something. Knowing when to go on and when to stop matters.

Right now I'm procrastinating on my novel by writing a blog-post. A Monday blog for which I have made zero preparation isn't more fun to write than a novel; it just seemed easier. Much as I need to stay caught up and get ahead, right now I feel like I'd make more progress trying to push my way through a brick wall than trying to write 1,667 words of this fiction.

Not that I'm complaining, mind you. There's a big difference between the me of last Monday and the me of today. The hard work at last feels like worthwhile hard work. I've got story I can move forward with. I might be pushing brick walls, but at least I'm braced against solid ground.

Writing gets romanticized as wild artistic inspiration, but anyone who writes seriously knows the crazy amount of effort that goes into making a flight of fancy appear smooth and artistic. Ever seen a world-class figure skater pull off a triple axel? Three and one-half revolutions, waltz jump into loop position, left forward outside edge to right backward outside edge, and they land on one foot with their arms gracefully outstretched. Ever tried to pull off even a single axel? I have, and without the added hazards of skates or ice. Suffice it to say that it is nowhere near as easy as it looks.

Writing professionally, writing for publication, attempting to write a book worthy of being read and re-read and loved—this involves the kind of disciplined effort that makes it possible for one human to gracefully perform a feat that the average human could wind up in traction for even trying.

Sometimes I wonder why I claim to love writing, since it is far more work than fun. But then, some people love gardening, and that is also not fun. Some people love running, and that is downright miserable. And I've known a handful of people who loved mountain-climbing, which experienced Alpinist Wojciech Kurtyka has called "the art of suffering."

Anyone who loves something that involves this much struggle and effort just needs to be stubborn. Fortunately, that's one of my stronger traits. (Also one of my greatest weaknesses, but that's a different blog-post. :P) In perseverance we imitate the dandelion, which is possibly the most stubborn living thing in all of nature. Dandelions can get through bricks (or concrete sidewalks, anyway). A little pressure from underneath, in just the right place; the mortar cracks, the brick heaves up a little, and out comes the flower on the other side.

Of course, then the flower is still a dandelion. But hey, all analogies break down somewhere, right? Okay, I think I'm getting loopy. NaNoWriMo will do that to you. Back to work now.

Snitches and Snatchers and other stories

Much as I should be cleaning house at this moment--my mind is all hopped up on Harry Potter right now. I just saw the first Deathly Hallows movie, and the review I just posted at The Hog's Head was only a start of my responses. I didn't talk about Dobby's death, or Bill and Fleur's wedding (which I thought lovely, being the sort of girl who would photoshop images of a griffin, cross and lily together for the front cover of her own wedding program), or the Silver Doe scene, or the Ministry of Magic... already I'm thinking "How did I leave all that out?"

Well, I needed to get it up. And there just wasn't enough time or space. But maybe I'll get to it later, in the comments or over here. I'm strongly tempted to see the movie again.

* * *

My Minerva McGonagall costume is no longer in existence, but I wore my Gryffindor badge, made by my friend Rachael in 2008 for the Deathly Hallows midnight release party, and brought with me a plastic Quidditch Harry Potter. The latter was a gift from my friend Heather, who saw the movie with me today; she got it off a string of Snitch-chasing Harry Potter Christmas lights. Completely. Awesome.

* * *

This week's big news: I rebooted my NaNoWriMo novel. I'm not cutting back my word count, but I typed in a string of asterisks and started over at Chapter One. I already feel better about it. I'm taking it slower, and sometimes I even edit. Haha. Take that, crappy paragraphs.

* * *

Writer's link of the week: Be professional, says James Scott Bell. I try—I really do. Does it kill your chances if you have lousy fashion sense? :P

* * *

Music of the week: Lou and I are learning the Dies irae. We're loving it.



* * *

Funny of the week: Girls, be grateful if you did not have parents like this. The most awful celebration idea ever... It's not funny exactly, but I did laugh till I cried.

Also from cakewrecks.blogspot.com: a Potter post in keeping with the spirit of Deathly Hallows release day. I will link it on The Hog's Head shortly as well. It's brilliant.

* * *

Now I'm going to clean my house. Happy weekend, everybody! And if you're going to the Harry Potter movie, have fun. :D

Thursday Book Questions: Part 10

Five questions a week. Eleven weeks. Post your answers in the comments (or on your own blog if you prefer, just link back in the comments) and I'll do the same thing.

Last week we covered how long we'd gone without reading (not very, with a few exceptions for things like giving birth and having West Nile virus), books we could not/would not finish (everybody had something different, but reasons usually included disgust and/or boredom. And new commenter Masha told me to give Lolita another try), distractions (we all have them), and movie adaptations, for which our responses were so diverse that you'll have to go and read them.

To my amusement, just days after I read Farmer's City Wife's comment about dreadful Jane Eyre adaptations—and oh, are Jane Eyre adaptations ever dreadful—I read on Dr. Amy Sturgis' blog that a new one is being made. I watched the trailer, and supposedly they are playing up the Gothic elements of the story instead of just focusing on the romance. Which means that I am going to have to see it. Maybe I'll hate it, but I go as if compelled to the Harry Potter movies, and might as well do the same for Jane Eyre. Less than 24 hours till I see Deathly Hallows! :D

46. The most money I’ve ever spent in the bookstore at one time?
(answer here)
47. How often do you skim a book before reading it?
(answer here)
48. What would cause you to stop reading a book half-way through?
(answer here)
49. Do you like to keep your books organized?
(answer here)
50. Do you prefer to keep books or give them away once you’ve read them?
(answer here)

Currently Reading: Shift

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" I asked Win when we were out of earshot.

He stopped and turned to me, his face only half illuminated by the light spilling from the garage into the small parking lot. "It's more than a good idea," he began, "it's necessary. As your best friend, it's my job to make sure you take advantage of an opportunity like this. You will never again see the inside of a jail cell, Eagle," he said solemnly. "We both know that it's likely I may once again spend a night in the slammer—rich men's sons are obligated to get at least a DUI or something. My dad would probably be disappointed if I didn't. But I won't allow you to let your moment pass you by."

Author: Jennifer Bradbury

Synopsis: College freshman Chris Collins didn't expect to be greeted in his dorm by an FBI agent wanting information on his best friend, Win. But then, he didn't expect Win to split near the end of their recent cross-country bike ride, either. Agent Ward would like to know where Win went, and Win's father would like to know even more. Chris isn't sure he cares, but when he realizes he might be able to find out, he has important decisions to make—secretly, and in a hurry.

Notes: Wow. A reasonably clean YA tale from a male first-person perspective.

My favorite thing about this book: The characters of Chris and Win, especially by the end. I liked their personalities and their development, and while I felt like I had a pretty good idea of the basic answer to the mystery involved, that didn't matter because the characters and their relationship were much more interesting.

Also interesting to me: Chris's bike trip goes through Concrete, Washington, which I know. Then it takes a side jump up the Chuckanut Drive, which I've driven. It winds up in Anacortes, where I lived for over ten years and briefly met Jennifer Bradbury.

The book was paced like a mystery novel, with jumps back and forth between timelines. The overall feel, however, was more of an easygoing summer adventure story. I liked that, too. There were a few points where my suspension of disbelief was challenged a little bit—some of the FBI agent's conversation, for instance--but everything about the bike trip was interesting and believable.

Between good humor, some intriguing thoughts, and wanting to know for sure what happened to Win, I basically read this in one sitting. Chapters 26 and 27 were my favorites. But I can't say why without spoilers.

I'm pleased to see that the author has a new novel, Wrapped, coming out in May. Hmm...

Recommendation: Read Shift on a quiet afternoon or evening, and dream of summer.

Tasty Tuesday: Zucchini... something

Technically speaking, I probably should have done this during zucchini season. But I made it the other day, having found a sale at the grocery, and it's just good.

My family always called this zucchini glop. Hopefully that doesn't sound too awful—I'm sure any of you can think of a better name for it. They say that a rose by any other name would smell as sweet; zucchini glop by any other name is a tasty use for the proliferating vegetable. You can only make so much zucchini bread. Here's what to do with the extra squash.

If you have any suggestions for a better name, please leave me a comment. :D

Zucchini _______

About 3 medium or 5 small zucchini
1 small/medium onion
Olive oil
2-3 slices bread, cut into crouton-sized pieces
1-2 cups grated Monterey jack cheese

Pre-heat oven to 350 degrees.

Heat olive oil in a skillet and cook zucchini and onion until al dente.

Sprinkle cheese over zucchini and top with bread pieces.

Bake 15-20 minutes or until cheese is bubbly and bread is toasted golden brown.

Serve. It's a great side for chicken dishes.

Halfway

The mark directly between and equidistant from two points on a line.

What you get when you cross the Atlantic with the Titanic.

Where we are in NaNoWriMo.

Current word count: 25,031

I considered making today's post a direct response to Mr. Pond's On Caring Too Deeply, but right now it's getting awfully difficult to stare at a computer screen and type. Besides, his post was very good and I didn't really disagree with it. And it's hard to think of creative new ways to celebrate NaNoWriMo when the program is totally kicking my rear—even if I am staying caught up on word count.

I'm starting to feel as if I care too deeply about finishing without a better reason than "I hate giving up." Last year at this point in the novel, there was action. Captures. Attacks. Fear. Emotional twists. This year, they're cooking. And talking.

I'm even bored.

Perhaps it was a mistake to speed-write a sequel to a novel I've had time to revise. Or perhaps I've just got the halfway blues. In the Halfway video, over at the NaNo site, OLL staffer Lindsey says "If you've been thinking about quitting: Don't do it!"

Dang it, Lindsey, you read my mind.

The will to get through got me something innately revisable last year—something that held enough beauty to be worth salvaging. If I want that again—and I do—it will mean a lot of extra effort. It means I need to not just write, but put some real time into structuring the novel.

I'm the one who signed up for this sport. So be it, then.

Daisies Standing Guard and other stories

Current word count: 20,268

"I'm at twenty thousand words and I'm feeling awesome/man, I should make writing my career
My main characters have chemistry, my setting is believable/think I'm gonna win this year" *

How I wish that were the case.

Last year I never once considered quitting NaNoWriMo. This year, I've written twenty thousand words that are almost entirely wrong—bad prose, wrong emotional progressions, inane scenes. The story in my head, what shards of it exist, is not what keeps coming out on paper.

I've considered stopping, even though I've been ahead on word count for almost the entire time, and the tingling in my right hand and pain running from elbow to palm are pushing me that direction. The only thing keeping me going is that every couple of days I hit on something that I do actually want to use in the final draft.

Well—that and the fact that I hate giving up.

But as I crossed the 20,000-word mark this morning, I found a little joy in it. I started a new chapter yesterday, and the 1700 words it contains are, for the most part, not crap. One more small encouragement to continue.

* * *

Apart from writing novels at top speed, November means a return to winter weather around here. Much to my amazement, I know people who actually wanted this to happen. Since we didn't get summer weather till the second week in July this year, I would have been just fine not having winter weather till January.

...but we did have such a beautiful sunrise this morning. And sometimes I've even been able to see the stars.

* * *

Yes, the stars. The Pleiades are up this time of year, bright and beautiful. Next on the to-find list: Aldebaran, which should be close by, and the shape of Taurus. Aquila and the Swan have moved to the west during my most-common stargazing hours, and Cassiopeia is nearly overhead. I've never been able to really trace Pegasus—it's hard in town if the constellations aren't composed of very bright stars, which problem has also held me back on Aquarius and Perseus. Oh well. I do what I can.

* * *

Music of the week: This one's for all of you Hunger Games fans. I've got to say, mixed as my feelings were about that series—as a lyricist myself, I loved Collins' folk songs. I might not have imagined Rue's lullaby in a minor key, and the recording here isn't the best, but ultimately, this is beautiful.



* * *

Writer's link of the week: John Green's NaNoWriMo pep talk. Favorite quote:

"Here’s my answer to the very real existential crisis that grips me midway through everything I’ve ever tried to do: I think stories help us fight the nihilistic urges that constantly threaten to consume us."

* * *

Funny of the week: The Oatmeal on How to Pet a Kitty. Not quite as funny as the printer one, which I've already linked some months back, but equally true.

* * *

I'm off to clean house. Happy weekend, everybody.

* Lyric from The NaNoWriMo Song by Kristina Horner and Luke Conard.

Thursday Book Questions: Part 9

Five questions a week. Eleven weeks. Post your answers in the comments (or on your own blog if you prefer, just link back in the comments) and I'll do the same thing.

Last week, we talked favorite fictional characters, and very few of us could pick just one. Austen, Tolkien, Lewis and Rowling created the majority of the ones listed, but we had several mentions of Anne of Green Gables and one resounding, unchallenged vote for Jean Valjean. Many of us talked of Snape in the "Favorite villain" category, though we had to debate somewhat over whether he counts as a villain; others noted Fagin, Fyodor Karamazov, and the president from Fr. Elijah. We also talked about our library habits and what sort of books we take on vacation (usually light ones—physically and mentally speaking.)

This week's questions:

41. The longest I’ve gone without reading.
(answer here)
42. Name a book that you could/would not finish.
(answer here)
43. What distracts you easily when you’re reading?
(answer here)
44. Favorite film adaptation of a novel?
(answer here)
45. Most disappointing film adaptation?
(answer here)

Now we get to my favorite part: reading your answers. :)

Currently Reading: ah... oops.

No Currently Reading review post today, owing to the fact that I haven't read anything new since Shadow of the Hegemon. But I did walk today from writers' group over to the library, where I picked up Jennifer Bradbury's 2008 YA novel, Shift.

...yes, for those of you who wonder—that's the Jennifer Bradbury we knew some years back. The one who has also won a game of Jeopardy. A mutual friend told me she'd had a book published. I'm thoroughly excited to read it.

Notes coming next week. I've also reserved some other books and am working on tracking down more new YA fiction (especially fantasy), so hopefully this feature won't have to skip another week for awhile. :)

Tasty Tuesday: Chili

I'm starting to have to think to come up with recipes, a problem that is exacerbated by starting off the day behind on NaNoWriMo. But I'm ahead now, thanks to a burst of something that resembled inspiration and a comparatively free day, and as it was also a cold day, I thought I'd share one of our easy winter recipes.

Everybody does chili a little differently. It does not get more basic than this. People talk of thirty-minute meals; this is one of the very few that I can actually prepare in that short of a time.

Chili

1-2 lbs ground beef
1 red pepper
1 small can tomato paste
1 large or two small cans diced or chopped or crushed tomatoes
2 cans kidney beans
Garlic powder
Chili powder
Optional: a little onion and/or fresh garlic

Brown the ground beef. Dice the red pepper, throw it in with the beef and cook a little longer (also add onion and fresh garlic here, if you're using those.)

Add the tomato paste and stir in. Then add all the other canned goods. Stir.

Give it a good sprinkle of garlic powder, unless you're using real garlic, and then a healthy amount of chili powder. I don't know how much I add--probably around a tablespoon. Season to taste.

Serve with grated cheddar cheese and/or saltines, sour cream, etc.

On Writing Crap

In response to Mr. Pond, Running and Writing

I walk. Running has never been my thing, unless you count the occasional wild, formless romp across open spaces that a combination of feeling unobserved and a good stiff wind inspires. That said, my sister-in-law Marie ran the Bellingham Bay marathon a few weeks ago, and watching her make that victory almost made me consider marathon training. Not quite—the family knee curse quickly overshadowed the idea—but almost.

Maybe I'm just the sort of person who is generally up for a little self-challenge. That personality attribute is the one and only reason I've rappelled off a cliff, intentionally swum a class III rapid, or gone down the speed slide at a water park. It is not the only reason I chose to do NaNoWriMo, but it certainly set me up to find the concept of writing a novel in a single month irresistible.

Mr. Pond takes philosophical issue with NaNoWriMo, though he does not discount that the program works for some of us. He has good reasons. To Mr. Pond, for whom the entire concept of writing revolves around beauty, the thought of writing "a crap draft" is unthinkable. The NaNoWriMo site says "Make no mistake: You will be writing a lot of crap. And that’s a good thing." "Writing a lot of crap is never a good thing," says Mr. Pond.

He and I have pretty strong agreements in the arenas of artistic philosophy. So why did he look at this free-for-all and say "I can't go along with that" when my immediate response was "I absolutely have to do this!"?

An important part of the debate process is defining your terms. The word crap is pretty arbitrary, and I think Mr. Pond and I took it to mean two different things.

What exactly is crap, in the figurative, NaNoWriMo sense? (Yes, I know you all know what it is literally.) Bad sentences? Plot holes? Inclusion of the Traveling Shovel of Death or other dares? Flat characters? Telling instead of showing? A sickly-sweet or garishly tragic ending? Clichés? All of the above?

My first NaNo novel had six of the eight possible problems listed above. And I knew those problems were coming into existence as I wrote. But something else happened around the failures: The outline I had carefully drawn, giving myself one bullet point for every day in November, slowly collapsed under the exploration of the original concept, leaving only the most basic framework on which I structured the concept itself. Characters revealed interesting things about themselves, things that didn't show up on their original dossiers. The unexpected crept in, the worlds proved to be worth exploring, and when I clocked in my final word count on November 29—57,500 words—I knew that I could take the heart of that story and revise it into something worth reading.

I've now written that book three and a half times, not at all to my surprise. It currently clocks in at 72,138 words. There are a few sentences that made it from the original draft all the way through, I believe; not many. There are a few scenes that are almost untouched except for a little polish on the wording. Those things carried over because they weren't crap. Oh, I wrote a lot of crap. But I wrote a lot. It wasn't nearly all bad.

Attempting to write fast freed me from caring too deeply about every sentence to progress. It gave me permission to mess up and just keep going, to not care that Chapter 5 wasn't polished before I went on to Chapter 6, to allow some plot points to remain ambiguous or to fall out of use entirely. More, it gave me a need to finish that was stronger than my need to overthink everything. I can't express how much I needed that. Maybe I really only needed to do it once, to open my mind to the process necessary for creating a complete first draft. I hadn't written one since I was nineteen.

After all, we all have to start somewhere. No one begins by writing beautifully, and first drafts of novels are almost never very readable. There's a lot of bad art made in the process of learning to create the good.

Ultimately, I don't think Mr. Pond and I disagree that much about the value of NaNoWriMo itself; his comments on his own post clarified his position for me. The one line in his piece that I can't confidently agree with is the statement that writing a lot of crap is never a good thing. I guess that depends on what he means by crap.

But as for this:

I write because I’ve thought long and hard about writing, about the pain and life-hating and sweat stains that accompany the determination to actually Be A Real Writer. I write because I value craft and language and clarity and style, for the beauty of words and the love of sound. I write because quality matters, beauty and wonder and joy matter, even in spite of an age that tells us there’s 3,456,789,462 hits on any given query, that success lies in numbers, and a majority can’t be wrong.

That I agree with, wholeheartedly.

Old Glories and Hallelujahs and other stories

First sentence: November 1, 12:00 noon, at my parents'.

* * *

Current word count: 10,827
Today's goal: 8,335

NaNoWriMo started off with a bang and a half. First, I got ahead right away. That beats last year, when it took me an all-nighter on a plane to catch up.

Second, thanks to 170-odd-thousand enthusiastic participants, of which I was one, the site was either painfully slow or down for the first four days solid. Props to OLL for having the cutest over-capacity message ever. And props to the brave NaNo server guy, who has been working long past normal hours to get things running. The site works much better today.

As for word count: It's nice to be ahead of schedule, but it feels a little like cheating. Since I don't have a full-time job, I just have a lot more time to write than most Wrimos. My one handicap this year is creative exhaustion; that last revision really drained me. It doesn't even things out, but it has certainly increased the challenge of getting my daily 1667.

* * *

I had forgotten what dull scenes and incomprehensible sentences I can create during NaNoWriMo. Sometimes the only way to keep going is to remind myself: No one will read this draft. No one, I say. Believe me—you don't want to.

But just like last year, I'm discovering the story in ways I, being a lousy planner, could never do with just an outline. More on that Monday, if I can get my thoughts together in time.

* * *

Last year at this time, I was spending my last hours in Rome. The six of us who went—Lou and I, his parents, Mike and Kay—had a reunion this past Saturday. We went through a bunch of our pictures, ate pizza and pasta and gelato and drank cappucini and Italian wine.

I started typing up some of the memories, but it got too long too fast. Mercy. I feel like there's still at least three or four blog-posts on that trip, waiting to get loose from my head.

* * *

In other news, Maia jumped in the shower this morning. Strange cat.

* * *

Writer's link of the week: The future belongs to the best editors. I consider myself a pretty decent editor, and I'd still take the class he describes. Thanks for the link, @michaelhyatt.

* * *

Music of the week: This made me cry. The idea of a random act of culture is pretty cool in its own right, but this piece is so much more than culture—this is sacred and transcendental.



If I could have gotten past tears enough to hit all those Fs and Gs, I would have wanted to join in on the last few lines. That's all I know my part for... but one of my secret little dreams is to sing the whole song with a choir someday.

H/T CMR
 
* * *

Funny of the week: Farmer's City Wife on How Not to Flirt. I laughed and laughed. It sounded so familiar.

* * *


To my fellow Wrimos reading this: Good luck! (And I missed you at write-in this week.)

To all of you: Happy weekend!

Thursday Book Questions: Part 8

Five questions a week. Eleven weeks. Post your answers in the comments (or on your own blog if you prefer, just link back in the comments) and I'll do the same thing.

Last week's questions were more directed at personal taste than some weeks' have been. Favorite poet? There weren't a lot of duplicates. I'm a bit shocked that I forgot to say Shakespeare or King David, though I don't regret mentioning MacDonald.

We also had a variety of thoughts on the ways and means of giving negative reviews. Latin got the most votes for language we'd like to be able to read in, and George and I had a brief discussion on the merits of Sindarin versus Quenya. Lastly, the world holds so many books that are intimidating for so many different reasons (as Eric noted) that it was a lot of fun to read everyone's answers on those questions.

This week's questions:

36. How many books do you usually have checked out of the library at any given time?
(answer here)
37. How often have you returned a book to the library unread?
(answer here)
38. Favorite fictional character?
(answer here)
39. Favorite fictional villain?
(answer here)
40. What books are you most likely to bring on vacation?
(answer here)

Come one, come all with answers! I do love reading them.

Currently Reading: Shadow of the Hegemon

"Oh, spare me your delusions," said Peter. "You're a little boy in hiding."

"I'm a general who's between armies," said Bean. "If I weren't, you wouldn't be talking to me."

"And you want an army so you can go rescue Petra," said Peter.

"So she's alive?"

"How would I know?"

"I don't know how you'd know. But you know more than you're telling me, and if you don't give me what you have, you arrogant oomay, I'm done with you, I'll leave you here playing your little net games, and go find somebody who's not afraid to come out of Mama's house and take some risks."

Author: Orson Scott Card

Synopsis: The members of Ender's jeesh--his core army, the group that helped him defeat the Formics--have been kidnapped; all except Bean, who narrowly escaped a bombshell. Suspecting that his old psychopathic enemy, Achilles, is behind the kidnappings and attempted murder, Bean goes into hiding. While on the run, he deduces that Achilles is building a dangerous political career by means of genius and charisma. Achilles has also taken brilliant jeesh member Petra Arkanian, Bean's friend, as a slave strategist. For Bean to have even a chance at rescuing Petra, he must team up with Ender's brother Peter, get into global politics, and prepare to put his own life on the line.

Notes: One of my favorite things about Orson Scott Card's work is his linguistic depth. Everything about that fascinates me, from the Battle School slang (jeesh, oomay) to the smatterings of Hindi and Portuguese, to Petra's recognition of the fake Turk soldiers by their accent on the Russian loan words. Card's characters come from all over the world, and the primary ones are all academic prodigies, so the language support helps a lot with my buy-in.

Card's characters are also very lifelike. I had a pretty impressive nightmare about serial killers after reading several chapters before bed; Achilles absolutely terrified me. On the other hand, it was fun to get to know Petra better, interesting to meet an older and perhaps barely less sadistic Peter, and Bean's development is such that I keep winding up hopeful for him.

This particular novel was less emotionally moving for me than Speaker or Ender's Shadow, more action-oriented and somewhat more painful. It also did not have the heartrendingly beautiful, satisfying ending of either of those. Of course, after both of those I was afraid to go further with the series; long stretches of happiness don't make for compelling reading, and it seemed to me that Ender and Bean had both been through enough. But now I have to keep going.

Which, obviously, I would have done anyway. So many stories nowadays are obviously designed to appeal to the lowest common denominator; it's incredibly refreshing to read something intelligent, something thick with meaning. I've never found a novel that beats the Ender books for that.

Recommendation: It's hard to imagine myself not recommending something written by Orson Scott Card. This is a good book. My only qualification: Read it in broad daylight if you're susceptible to psychological creepiness.

Your NaNoWriMo Care Package

[Day 1, and the NaNoWriMo site is so slammed with participants and excitement that it crashed! Here are some off-site things to help you procrastinate.]

If we lived in a perfect world, this post would hand you a bag of chocolate and your favorite brand of coffee. But since I can't transmit that via the internet, here is my best attempt at getting you (and me) a collection of necessities and comforts for the NaNoWriMo experience, all in one place. Enjoy, and best of luck with your 50K words!

1. The NaNoWriMo Song

If this doesn't get you jazzed to write, I don't know what will. Take it away, Kristina and Luke...



2. An answer to the question Why?

The reason given by the Office of Letters and Light staff is the standard "Because you can't revise a blank page." True. In addition to their perfectly good reason, I submit that you can revise the heck out of the first 25 pages of a planned novel, but that still doesn't really count as writing a book. And that is more my problem.

NaNoWriMo is like having Linus Larrabee staring me in the face, after shooting up a television with a pistol, saying "You're a grown man, David. Finish something."

(P.S. No, my name's not David, and I'm not a man. The above simile is brought to you by the movie Sabrina, and contains a direct quote.)

3. A reference for where your word count should be, approximately, on any given day of the month

Courtesy of my husband:

November 1: 1667
November 2: 3334
November 3: 5001
November 4: 6668
November 5: 8335
November 6: 10002
November 7: 11669
November 8: 13336
November 9: 15003
November 10: 16670
November 11: 18337
November 12: 20004
November 13: 21671
November 14: 23338
November 15: 25005
November 16: 26672
November 17: 28339
November 18: 30006
November 19: 31673
November 20: 33340
November 21: 35007
November 22: 36674
November 23: 38341
November 24: 40008
November 25: 41675
November 26: 43342
November 27: 45009
November 28: 46676
November 29: 48343
November 30: 50000

4. Exercises and tips for avoiding carpal tunnel syndrome

Courtesy of TheHealthPages.com: Carpal Tunnel wrist exercises and tips for the workplace

5. Something to show that person who loves you when they complain that they never see you in November

A Grammar's list of the difficulties involved in dating a writer. Number 16 is my favorite... but be forewarned, there's strong language. :)

6. A writing buddy

I like buddies, so if you need or want one, feel free to add me. :) I'll do my best to add you back (leave me a comment if I don't; I probably just missed the notification.)

7. A little bit of NaNoWriMo boot camp. It's not too late...

Courtesy of Nathan Bransford, Literary Agent:

Choosing the Right Idea

Goals and Obstacles (i.e., giving them to your protagonist)

Editing as You Go

8. An excuse to give the doubters (including the little voice in your head)

There's a real value in the simple act of challenging yourself. That is worthwhile even if you don't come up with something that makes it to the bestseller list (even after proper revision). It is worthwhile even if being a writer isn't your lifelong goal. It is worthwhile even if you don't make 50,000—and let's face it, not all of us can every November. Sometimes life gets in the way. But pushing yourself to do things that seem difficult or impossible can build your strength to do better things in life.

9. Best wishes

You have mine! Now go write your book. :)

Counting Seconds and other stories

As per the timer on the front page at NaNoWriMo.org:

I plan on putting up a massive NaNoWriMo survival post on Monday, so today's post will be short. Especially since I still have one and a half chapters to revise... in a little over two and a half days.

* * *

The story of this week: Revise novel, work on laundry, try to keep Maia distracted with socks while I fold the rest of the clothes, revise novel, think about blogging, forget something I was supposed to do, revise novel, get distracted by YouTube and Twitter, revise novel, chase Maia off the kitchen counter, revise novel, catch Maia and take away the teabag that she got from the kitchen sink, revise novel, play in the NaNo forums, revise novel... Not necessarily interesting. I'll spare you further details.

* * *

Music of the week:  This might be the single most beautiful piece of music ever written. It's one of the things I miss most about the schola I sang with last year. (And I recommend watching the video on full screen, just because the pictures—while not super high-quality—are beautiful.)



We sang it at St. Andrew's Cathedral in Victoria last May, along with some Gregorian chant and several other polyphony pieces. Being part of that music, in a place like that... I'll never forget that night.

* * *

Writer's link of the week, because it's true: It's okay to write slow, says Natalie Whipple. That might be the wrong message to give myself going into NaNoWriMo. But if I know one thing about NaNoWriMo, it's that the fast and glorious first draft is something I don't even dare show my family. It just gives me something to put hours and days and months and possibly years into revising. And I do... oh, I do. I write so slow it's painful. I just like it to be right.

* * *

Funny of the week: xkcd's Map of Online Communities. Brilliant.

* * *

I've got a NaNoWriMo survival post to write up, 1 2/3 chapters to revise, and I'd really like to take Sunday off and just read something (so I can start Currently Readings again) before trying to write 1667 words per day for a month. 'Bye. Happy weekend!

NaNoWriMo countdown: 2:14:35:10

Thursday Book Questions: Part 7

Five questions a week. Eleven weeks. Post your answers in the comments (or on your own blog if you prefer, just link back in the comments) and I'll do the same thing.

Last week, we all solidly agreed that we pay much more attention to Amazon reviews than those by professional critics. I think we can all agree, of course, that we pay attention primarily to the Amazon reviews that appear to have been written by literate, thinking people. Still, it's interesting that the internet has made us more likely to listen to the common man than the expert. Or can the internet be blamed? If experts didn't have a vested interest in being grumpy about most of the books we like, maybe that would change. Haha.

Also from last week's answers, my best friend (that's MissPhotographerB) introduced me to a new concept. Pretzel M&Ms? I never heard of such a thing. Now I'm curious.

This week's questions:

31. How do you feel about giving bad/negative reviews?
(answer here)
32. If you could read in a foreign language, which language would you choose?
(answer here)
33. Most intimidating book you’ve ever read?
(answer here)
34. Most intimidating book you’re too nervous to begin?
(answer here)
35. Favorite Poet?
(answer here)

Can't wait to hear from you!

Update: I have corrected the typo. Golly, you just can't trust these online surveys... ;)

Tasty Tuesday: Chocolate Hazelnut Gelato

One year ago today, I was on a plane to Rome. A whole year...

Everybody fusses about the food in Italy, but mostly, we ate a lot of pizza. Italian fast food for American tourists, you know. I like pizza just fine, but it's not what I went to Italy for.* But the nation has one food item that is both awesome and hard to come by in America. (Well. You can get it, but it's not guaranteed to taste the same.)

Gelato.

I don't have an ice cream maker, but if I did, I would make that recipe. I would buy the Nutella for it and everything. One of these days I'll have to borrow my sister's or something.

Out of fear of cease and desist orders from whoever owns the Food Network, I'm only posting a link, not the recipe itself. My apologies.

*I didn't go to Italy for the gelato, either, but I did enjoy that aspect of it. And they admittedly do have some great pizza.

Blahg

I wanted to write a nice blog about writing today. I really did. Unfortunately, I have an cold, for which the primary symptom thus far is a thorough sapping of energy. Instead of getting things done, then, I've mostly been doing the modern equivalent of laying around watching numerous episodes of The Wedding Story followed by Brady Bunch re-runs: killing time on the internet.

Among other things, I read this entire blog. Not kidding. Yes, it's aimed at men, but can you girls help being curious at what this potential traitor might be saying about us? As it turns out, what she has to say made me laugh. Also, it's all in lowercase. I have no idea what to do with that.

If you want to read about writing, Rachelle Gardner had a great post last week about the rules of writing, which I meant to link anyway because it tied in so well with other things I've written here. Enjoy.

Horses Who Loved to Run and other stories

When I was a little girl, I read horse books. Billy and Blaze, The Saddle Club, The Red Pony (on account of which I swore off Steinbeck long before I got into serious literature), Black Beauty, Pippi Longstocking (hey, she had a horse—she was just strong enough to carry him around), all the Misty books, and biographies of great horses like The Godolphin Arabian, Seabiscuit, and Secretariat.

So when my visiting sister-in-law, Christina, wanted to go see the new movie made about Secretariat, I said Yes please. She and her mother and Mom St. Hilaire and I had a girls' afternoon yesterday and went to watch it.

A note to my parents here: You have to see this movie.

It's not brilliant acting. It's not brilliant screenwriting. It's not even great shooting—it would have been nice to have some scenes of the horse running around his paddock or something. But goodness, I was on the edge of my seat, and I already knew how it would end. Although I'd forgotten... well, I won't give out spoilers. I'll just say that I left the theater delighted.

* * *

Another reason for me to love Secretariat: He was distantly related to my own horse. As the story goes, when I was fifteen, my parents gave my sisters and I the biggest and best Christmas present we ever had. Her name was Lovely.

Appropriate, no? If you can tell from the snapshot of a dusty snapshot. (That's her in the foreground; Missy, in the background, was pretty too.) Sixteen hands and one inch of Anglo-Arab fire and beauty, out of a dam descended from a well-known Arabian stallion named Bask, by a sire descended from none other than Bold Ruler. No, I'm not making that up. She was my pet for a couple of years in Montana—until we moved out here, at which point we sold her to a former USET member who couldn't find a good dressage horse in Texas.

We got her when she was just a yearling and I never got to break her to ride, but I loved her. After watching the movie, I missed her again. I missed the way she ran: a long Thoroughbred stride with the dancing grace of an Arabian, her tail all plumed out in the Arab way. I missed her playfulness, too. She'd do things like steal her grooming cloths to chew on, or come flying across the corral to stop right up against me.

She was a great horse, and a real gift to us. I'm sure her new owner loved her very much.

* * *

Abrupt change of subject: Ah, writing. This revision seems harder than the last one, or maybe I'm just more tired. Either way, I'll know Halloween night whether I'll finish by the start of NaNoWriMo. And possibly not before.

...but I still love it. And my heart is still in the story.

* * *

My brain is so full of that story that it's kicking other things out to make room. The most egregious slip came a few days ago, when at 10 AM I sent instant messages to writers' group members reminding them that meeting had moved to 12:30, and by 11:30 had completely forgotten it myself. I got a wondering call at 12:45. Oops.

* * *

Lovely sacred thought of the week: "[M]y conviction now is that if it’s God’s will for me to play a redemptive role in all of this, I want to start trying out for the most beautiful part available to me."—Jason Gray, from The Rabbit Room

* * *

Well-placed dig of the week: "St. Aelred, in his dialogue Spiritual Friendship, said that friends were called to sacrifice for one another even unto crucifixion. To a culture in which "friend" is a verb meaning, "annoy with Farmville," this is almost incomprehensible."—Eve Tushnet at The Washington Post

I've long since blocked all Farmville posts on Facebook. But don't worry: If you play Farmville, I still consider you a friend and I still get everything else you post—well, except for Bejeweled Blitz stuff and that zoo app and the restaurant thing and and and...

* * *

Funny of the week: Okay, this is not clean. There is a lot of language. But I cried laughing over this on Thursday, and one line keeps popping into my head and making me snicker at random inappropriate moments. Thanks to George for posting the link on Facebook: Cracked.com's 6 Books Everyone (Including Your English Teacher) Got Wrong.

* * *

Weekend. I'm ready for it. NOW. And I'm not even a nine-to-fiver.

Have a good one, everybody.

Thursday Book Questions: Part 6

Five questions a week. Eleven weeks. Post your answers in the comments (or on your own blog if you prefer, just link back in the comments) and I'll do the same thing.

Last week, we discovered that we'll recommend books that are memorable, thought-provoking, uplifting, beautiful, or otherwise clearly worthwhile. A bunch of us of fantasy buffs (with a variety of subgenres, e.g. YA, dystopian, fairy tale), several of whom don't read enough science fiction. A surprising number of us confessed to not reading a lot of biography, but not all, and most but not all of us have read some self-help. As Farmer's City Wife put it, "they're helpful." At least some of the time.

This week's questions:

26. Favorite cookbook?
(answer here)
27. Most inspirational book you’ve read this year (fiction or non-fiction)?
(answer here)
28. Favorite reading snack?
(answer here)
29. Name a case in which hype ruined your reading experience.
(answer here)
30. How often do you agree with critics about a book?
(answer here)

Wait... favorite cookbook? What has that got to do with reading? Ah well. As a proud participant in Tasty Tuesdays, I hope you'll answer. :)

Variety Post: Art and the Church

My friend and fellow writer Jana sent me, via Twitter, a link to artist Makoto Fujimura's recent letter to North American churches. And honestly, as weary as I am of seeing Christianity chastised (even, as in this case, from the inside) there's some important truth in this piece.

In Rome and Assisi and Siena I saw the way art and the Church are made to work together. The subject matters a lot to me...

Here are a couple of tastes of what Fujimura has to say. To the Church:

"Instead of having quality artists at the core of your worship, we were forced to operate as extras; as in "if-we-can-afford-it-good-but-otherwise-please-volunteer", Extras.  Meanwhile, in the institutions called museums, concert halls and academia, we are asked to be gods.... Artists still have an instinct for worship, but they must do so now in sterile, minimalist boxes called galleries to the "unknown gods" of our time."

To Christian artists:

"There will be more "Ground Zeros" created by destructive minds, twisting creative impulses into diabolical powers.  Undo what they have done.  Stand upon those ashes all around us, and open your hearts: look up, to Create in Love."

And to "the artists of the far country (Luke 15:13)":

"[Y]ou are starving though you have much.  The corrupt world has given you celebrity, and the ephemeral treasures of the earth.  Return to your first love. Come home. Creativity is a gift; art is a gift. Do not make it to be other than that, or you will be crushed by your own gifts..."

Read the whole thing here: Makoto Fujimura, A Letter to North American Churches

Pacem

After weeks of fascinating debate, Mr. Pond has called Pax in an extraordinarily kind post. It turns out that he and I agree thoroughly on the philosophy of art. The blogalectic is closed for now, though hopefully it will not be the last; it made me think a lot about this craft of storytelling, and it was really rather fun.

So I salute Mr. Pond, who is more than my equal as a wordsmith and jouster. (I was going to say fencer, since he referred to foils, but fencer sounds like someone who digs post holes and strings barbed wire.) And now I have to come up with something else to write about.

That is complicated by the fact that I have five long chapters to revise and twelve days in which to revise them. "I think you can do it," Mom said to me today. She's probably right—but the best way to guarantee that would be to closet myself away from the world and burn that proverbial candle at both ends. Which I'd probably do if we didn't have family in town. The next best thing I can do is limit the amount of time I spend on Blogger and Tweetdeck, so: Apologies in advance for odd silences, missing features, and the like. Barring disaster, we'll at least have Thursday Book Questions.

I'll be back soon.

Pokémon Love Songs and other stories

Sixteen days to NaNoWriMo! (Fellow writers' groupers: Have you signed up yet? hint, hint...) With sixteen days to finish revising my novel and about six chapters to revise, I'm feeling a bit crunched. Last spring I revised ninety pages in ten days, but it's hard to polish prose at that rate.

Finish or not, I do plan on writing another novel next month. But I would like to be able to send this to gamma readers November first. I think I can. I think I can. I think I can...

All this revising leaves me next to no time for plotting this year's NaNo novel. November might get interesting.

* * *

New ALL CAPS videos always make me happy. Every time I watch this one, I love it more—even though I was discouraged from getting into Pokémon when it was popular and have therefore neither seen the movie nor played the games. (For that matter, I've played very few video games, not because they're not fascinating, but because—as with television—it just doesn't often occur to me and I would have to actually make the time. Out of all the clips shown in this video, I only recognized Mario.)

But one bit of scenery makes me incredibly curious. Right at about 1:56, Luke is standing in front of what looks almost exactly like the current header to my blog. Whaaat??? I can claim with perfect confidence that he did not get it from my blog. I'm just using Ray Creations' free Dark Forest Theme template, so... did Ray Creations get the image from a video game? If so, which one? I have no idea, and Google searches don't tell me. But now I feel cool by association.



* * *

Lou and I watched the Mike Judge film Idiocracy the day after I'd finished reading Ender's Shadow. I cannot begin to express how opposite those two stories are.

* * *

"Maia, stop batting the basil around."

"Stay out of the palm tree, kitty."

"Little monster! You just ripped two leaves off my African violet."

I have catnip and cat grass seeds. I just need to plant them.

* * *

Writers' link of the week: Dan Simmons' Writing Well, Installment One. I haven't read the rest of the installments, out of fear that they'll all be as long as the first one, but I plan to. I liked what he had to say.

* * *

Funny of the week: On changes in English. Hear, hear!

* * *

I have a book to revise. Happy weekend, everybody.

Thursday Book Questions: Part 5

Five questions a week. Eleven weeks. Post your answers in the comments (or on your own blog if you prefer, just link back in the comments) and I'll do the same thing.

Last week we had strong opinions on marginalia and dog-earing, a general comfort with English (though most of us non-multilinguals wished we could read in other languages), and a variety of answers to the question of what made us love a book. That, I thought, was a great question with great answers, which covered everything from the weight and feel and smell of a book to humor and lovable characters to having ourselves affected, even changed, by the content.

This week's questions:

21. What will inspire you to recommend a book?
(answer here)
22. Favorite genre?
(answer here)
23. Genre you rarely read (but wish you did?)
(answer here)
24. Favorite biography?
(answer here)
25. Have you ever read a self-help book?
(answer here)

I can't wait to read the answers.

Currently Reading: Ender's Shadow

I would carry some of it if I could, Bean said silently. Like I did today, you can turn it over to me and I'll do it, if I can. You don't have to do this alone.

Only even as he thought this, Bean knew it wasn't true. If it could be done, Ender was the one who would have to do it. All those months when Bean refused to see Ender, hid from him, it was because he couldn't bear to face the fact that Ender was what Bean only wished to be—the kind of person on whom you could put all your hopes, who could carry all your fears, and he would not let you down, would not betray you.

I want to be the kind of boy you are, thought Bean. But I don't want to go through what you've been through to get there.

Author: Orson Scott Card

Synopsis: Set during the same time period as Ender's Game, Ender's Shadow tracks the perspective of the smallest, smartest child in Battle School. Known only as Bean, he goes from starving on the streets of Rotterdam to fighting alongside the greatest legend and hero of his time.

Notes: If anyone outdoes Orson Scott Card in nuanced fictional portraits of human nature, relationships, and character development, I've never read them. I would rank him with Jane Austen on this, and she's the best I could think of off the top of my head.

Foremost among his creations is Andrew "Ender" Wiggin, protagonist of Ender's Game and Speaker for the Dead. Ender may be the single most sympathetic character I've ever come across in fiction. From the first pages of the first book, he evokes a combined desire to step forward and protect him and to stand back and watch him succeed. From there on out, readers learn to love him as his soldiers do.

Looking at him through Bean's eyes was, therefore, part of the power of the book. Much of the rest of that power, for me at least, was in the character development of Bean himself. Bean spends a fair portion of the book putting The Hunger Games protagonist Katniss Everdeen to shame in the cold-and-calculating-survivor department, and—well, it's very hard to explain without giving out spoilers, but watching him grow in humanity is a beautiful thing indeed.

And without going into those spoilers, I'm struggling to express why I loved this book so much, why it brought me to tears several times. I can praise it for being exceptionally intelligent, for hooking me in immediately and making me want to tell everyone and everything to scram until I'd finished, for keeping me fascinated even though I normally couldn't care less about technological marvels and war strategy. But the book mattered to me for different reasons. The lengths and widths and depths and heights of love that Bean discovers. The way Scripture is used, and the situations behind those references. What it's like to self-effacingly serve someone you love with all your heart.

There aren't words.

Recommendation: This book gets an unreserved yes from me.

Tasty Tuesday: Crock-Pot Corned Beef and Cabbage

I am in the middle of rewriting a novel, and am trying to put as much time as I can into it. On account of which, I needed both an easy recipe to make today and an easy one to post about. As it turns out, both of those are the same recipe.

Crock-pot Corned Beef and Cabbage

It's simple, really:

Turn the crock-pot on low.

Peel and chunk several carrots and throw them in.

Put the corned beef brisket in, spices and all.

Chunk an onion and put it in.

Add a cup or so of water.

Let it cook for several hours. When there are about two hours to go, chop a head of cabbage. Push the pieces down into the liquid.

Turn the crock-pot to high and let cook till dinner-time.

It would probably be good with Irish soda bread, but I never seem to have buttermilk around, and bread of any sort just isn't that quick or easy. Maybe someday. At least we had beer with it...

What's in Your Heart

In response to Mr. Pond, Healing the World

I took art lessons from my mom when I was younger. And by 'when I was younger' I mean that I pretty much did that, sporadically, all throughout growing up, and almost certainly still could. It would be as simple as taking a sketchbook with me one of these days and explaining that I've lost some of my knack of drawing horses and it would be helpful to have that back next time I want to sketch a unicorn.

Mom, a master artist and veteran teacher, once let me and some of my fellow homeschool students (friends whose parents traded off with mine to teach us different subjects) trace out our names in fancy fonts from a book. We could pick any font we wanted. I think mine involved tree roots and birds. A young man in the group picked a ghoulish font with spiders, and Mom suggested he pick something more cheerful. That's the first time I recall her saying the very catchy catch-phrase that even now, nearly twenty years later, still gets fished up by my mind when necessary.

"What's in your heart will come out in your art."

It rhymes, yes. It's the sort of thing a teacher might say to a pre-teen student, yes. It's also true.

Mr. Pond's latest installment in the blogalectic makes a further defense of the solitude necessary for writing:

"The question is not token philanthropy, but genuine, radical commitment to healing the world—to which we each have something unique and irreplaceable to give. The ethic of exclusion does not, however, rule this out. In fact, I would argue that for exclusion to be ethical, it must be a conscious part an individual’s role in healing the world.

Because I believe my role to be—at least in part—that of a Teller of Tales, then I must seek solitude and exclusion to fulfil that role well. Solitude strengthens the heart and feeds the imagination, so that when a writer comes down from the mountaintop, they can give hugs as well as receive them. And they can write, giving utterance to the heavenly vision seen in solitude through a break in the clouds."

I need this defense to be true. I need it because today, much as I wanted to drive out to see Mom and my sister and my niece, I stayed home to put several hours of dedicated time into novel, to finish a short story, to post a blog, and to start catching up on email. I need all that work to mean something, because otherwise I gave up precious time with some of the people I love most on earth.

So what does it mean—all this pouring of time into the creation of worlds from words? What exactly do I have to offer this world by writing a novel against ridiculous odds, keeping up a tiny aspiring-writer blog, making amateur music, and all this other writers' art?

We all have one thing to offer: what's in our hearts.

Which, perhaps, translates into some of the same needs that drive us both to enjoy art and to create it: order from chaos, hope from despair, light amid darkness, healing from destruction. Something to believe in when the world is incomprehensible.

That's my philosophy of art, right there. I got it first from my mom, from her words and her own work, and all the great art I've loved—Michelangelo's Pietà, Raphael's Holy Family, everything about the duomo in Siena, the Chronicles of Narnia, Chesterton's Orthodoxy, Dante's Paradise, the Butchart gardens, the psalms—reinforces it.

I don't have a way to make sense of all human suffering, but I know the power of beauty, created beauty, to offer healing. To heal the world, we must heal human beings. That Hideous Strength helped me work through some of my struggles. Harry Potter brought order out of chaos for me. The view out my window when I first moved to Bellingham brought me hope from despair.

I'm not sure what I'd have to offer the world anymore if not for these things. It's only right that I give something back.

The Taste of Evil and other stories

The funeral for the little girl who died last Thursday is today, and Dwight Clark's body has been found. It has been quite the couple of weeks for my town and my church. I am ready to not think about death for awhile. But I liked this honest look at death, accidents, sovereignty, humility, and certainty, over at The Rabbit Room.

* * *

Speaking of The Rabbit Room (why have I never subscribed to that site? It needs to be on my blogroll and my Google Reader), here's the best post on book banning that I've ever read. It completely lacks the hysteria that usually dominates the book banning conversation. I am against book banning, but haven't much patience with the paranoid accusations that tend to pass for arguments in either direction, so a well-reasoned piece with decent testimonials was a relief.

* * *

I am starting to get hours when full writing mode hits. The mode where I don't want to go out—don't want to read—don't want to cook or eat—definitely don't want to go to bed. I just want to write my book.

It's about time.

* * *

Maia has learned to play fetch this week. Yes, like a dog. Her favorite toy is the little basket that sits at the bottom of the drain in the bathroom sink to keep hair from going down. When that gets lost under the couch or the bookcases, she will fetch socks.

* * *

Happy thought of the week: Good news stories about the Pope. After months and months of libelous slander against the (earthly) head of our church, who—if everything I can find out about him is accurate—is a truly good and Godly man, it thrilled me to read this piece about the press' response to Benedict XVI's UK visit.

* * *

Writers' link of the week: From Guide to Literary Agents for the second week in a row: Matt Myklusch's 7 Things I've Learned So Far. I'm linking it in part just so I can go back sometimes and read his reminder to stay off the internet when I'm supposed to be writing.

* * *

Funny of the week: Remember Phoebe Buffay's response to Mockolate? "This must be what evil tastes like!" Joe Carter over at the First Thoughts Blog has a similar suggestion.

* * *

I'm off for a weekend with some of my girlfriends on the east side of the mountains. I've really missed Donna M., and every time she invites me I'm glad to say yes. This'll be fun. A lot of fun.

Of course, it only seems to get harder to be away from Lou for whole days at a time. Last time he was gone for a weekend, I went and stayed with my parents, because the time before that I'd stayed awake all night with the light on and things creaking and going bump all over the house. I keep telling myself that I'm a big girl. But that's never really worked; I guess I just know better.

Anyway, apart from missing my husband, the weekend holds every promise of being awesome. I am bringing Ender's Shadow to read in the quiet moments and my computer for the sake of having access to my novel manuscript. I might very well have some time to write. But girl time comes first.

Happy weekend, everybody.

Thursday Book Questions: Part 4

Five questions a week. Eleven weeks. Post your answers in the comments (or on your own blog if you prefer, just link back in the comments) and I'll do the same thing.

Last week we had mixed feelings on comfort zones with reading, a general sense that book lending easily becomes book losing (but Donna had ways around this), a common attraction to reading at home in the most comfy place available (usually bed), and strong preferences for uplifting tales.

Also, it turns out that some of us can read on a bus and some of us can't. All right, I admit it was not the most interesting question, but these surveys always have a few like that.

This week's questions:

16. Do you ever dog-ear books?
(answer here)
17. Do you ever write in the margins of your books?
(answer here)
18.  Not even with text books? [Hey, wait a minute... that seems to presume a negative answer to the previous question! Stand fast against such nonsense and answer #17 any way you want.]
(answer here)
19. What is your favorite language to read in?
(answer here)
20. What makes you love a book?
(answer here)

Currently Reading: Psmith in the City

Mr Rossiter refused to pass on.

'What are you doing here? What have you come for?'

'Work,' said Psmith, with simple dignity. 'I am now a member of the staff of this bank. Its interests are my interests. Psmith, the individual, ceases to exist, and there springs into being Psmith, the cog in the wheel of the New Asiatic Bank; Psmith, the link in the bank's chain; Psmith, the Worker. I shall not spare myself,' he proceeded earnestly. 'I shall toil with all the accumulated energy of one who, up till now, has only known what work is like from hearsay. Whose is that form sitting on the steps of the bank in the morning, waiting eagerly for the place to open? It is the form of Psmith, the Worker. Whose is that haggard, drawn face which bends over a ledger long after the other toilers have sped blithely westwards to dine at Lyons' Popular Cafe? It is the face of Psmith, the Worker.'

Author: P.G. Wodehouse

Synopsis: When Mike Jackson's father runs into financial difficulty, Mike is taken from his school and his cricket games and sent to London to work in the New Asiatic Bank. Fortunately, his school friend Psmith, newly employed in the same bank, has decided to look out for him.

Notes: I remember my family joking at some point, in some unremembered context, about the possibility of putting a silent Q before the name Sam. Qsam, pronounced just as Sam always is. Apparently we were not the first to think of such a thing, because Wodehouse's Psmith has been around for a hundred years.

My brain always tries to pronounce the P. And for that matter, I have a hard time remembering that Wodehouse should sound like Woodhouse instead of rhyming with roadhouse. That being the case, it's probably good that my first encounter with both Psmith and his creator came in audiobook form. Granted, Psmith was a little annoying at first and I couldn't speed up the iPod to skim past his determined foppery, but by the end of the story I was completely hooked.

At the moment I can't believe it took me 32 years to get around to reading something by Wodehouse. This was a hilarious piece of good old-fashioned clean British comedy: exaggerated characters, over-the-top dialogue, and goofball adventures wrapped in very proper mannerly packaging. It's the same sort of humor (I feel guilty not including a second u there, but I live in America) that I love in Dickens and Austen and Rowling.

I don't expect this book to be the last I ever read of his work.

Recommendation: Of course! Perhaps with some tea and muffin, or brandy and a cigar, depending on your tastes.

Tasty Tuesday: Erwtensoep

Apparently this soup is also known as snert. Which I thought about using in the title, just because snert is such a funny-sounding word, but it sounds too much like snot for me. So I stuck with the original, which I am not Dutch enough to be able to pronounce.

I am actually not Dutch at all. Back when I worked the nine-to-five, I'd listen to podcasts during my less mentally demanding tasks, and Dutch podcasting priest Father Roderick—whose happy-go-lucky Daily Breakfast (now called The Break, I think) always made my day—once described this. At which point I decided I was definitely making it.

After summer busyness, Lou and I always seem to need a weekend of shutting out the world and staying home and quiet. A weekend at home plus cool October weather says erwtensoep to me, which means that I made it this past weekend.

This recipe comes from user Pets 'R' Us on Food.com [with my interjections in brackets]. It makes loads. I cut it in half and we still eat it for a couple of days.

Erwtensoep (Dutch Pea Soup)

3 1/2 cups dried split green peas
3 liters water
1 lb spareribs
1/2 lb bacon, one thick slice, cubed [Good luck finding that. I just get the regular stuff.]
2 leeks, washed and chopped, also use the green part
1 medium celeriac, diced (celery root or bulb) or 3 cups of chopped celery (but the flavor will be weaker) [Not knowing the first thing about celeriac, I've always just used the celery]
1 smoked dutch sausage or 3-4 thick frankfurters, left whole or cut up in slices [I usually just get a kielbasa... yeah, I know, wrong country, but it's easier to find where I live]
salt and pepper
bouillon cube (optional)
chopped celery
fresh parsley leaves

Wash the peas and soak them overnight in the amount of water given. Next day bring them to the boil together with the spareribs and the bacon; simmer on very low heat for approx 1 1/2 hours, stirring occasionally. Add the leeks and the celeriac; cook for another hour or until the soup becomes thick. Lift out the spareribs, remove the meat from the bones, and return the meat to the pan.

Add the sausage, let it warm through and season the soup to taste and maybe add bouillion cube(s) , add the chopped celery leaves and parsley just before serving.

[I consider it amazing. Enjoy.]

Artist's Guilt

In response to Mr. Pond, The Ethic of Exclusion

"The ethic of exclusion is the primacy of solitude in the life of an artist," Mr. Pond says. "Because we are continually defined through others and shaped through conversation, we need the harrowing of solitude to allow us to create."

The question of the ethical rightness of creative solitude is something I struggle with on a regular basis. This is a big world with a lot of problems, a lot of needs. A lot of needs, more than any one person can ever fulfill. So what on earth am I doing at my computer, spending hours and days agonizing over commas?

[Note: I am not questioning a balance of time between different activities. I'm questioning the worth of doing this at all.]

I don't have a good answer for this. Oh, I have answers. Mostly in the forms of limits—I know from experience that too much time spent volunteering, being outside of the house, being social, and so on and so forth, will set me up for a run-in with the biggest, meanest monster I've ever fought. But limits sometimes feel too arbitrary to make good answers.

Mr. Pond offers this defense of exclusion:

"The subtle truth of solitude is that it unites us with everyone else. The reality of creativity is that when we are most alone, we are most together."

 That's an interesting thought. I'm not sure I'd accept it as always true (we can be alone for purely selfish reasons, using creativity as an excuse—though selfish motive can also drive us to be with people) but I think it can be true.

Perhaps guilt over time spent polishing a blog post or novel is overly pragmatic, too much in the spirit of the times. We have the resources and the excuses nowadays to be just philanthropic enough to assuage our consciences and make ourselves look good, and to then spend the rest of our energy fulfilling ourselves. But however imperfectly I may live it, my faith demands of me something very different from self-fulfilling philanthropy. And the Church, which does more feeding and clothing than any other organization worldwide, yet has value for solitude.

"Whatever you do," says Scripture, "work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord..."

The balance of any one person's time is beyond my judgment. The balance of my own is something to keep searching for. But writing, that deeply solitary pursuit, is work that I would probably be doing in some form even if I were constantly busy, even without access to laptops or desktops or notebooks or pens. I've got some experience with some of that. And I'm a lot less crazy if I actually take some time to sit down, be quiet, and write.

It feels weird to talk about working for God for two reasons: one, that makes it sound like I write Christian fiction, and in the common understanding of that term I do not; and two, it might sound like I'm claiming inspiration, and far too many things are blamed on God already. But in the sense of believing in God, loving him, and wanting to please him, then yes—I try to write for God as I try to live for him.

When it comes to writing, it's not often hard to do it with all my heart.

The Shadow of Death and other stories

In the tender compassion of our God,
the dawn from on high shall break upon us
to shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death
and to guide our feet into the way of peace. —Luke 1:78-79

I have never gotten tired of those verses. They are part of Lauds (morning prayer), and every day they offer peace to me.

* * *

Downtown Bellingham has a slightly creepy feel. I felt it this morning, wandering around in the early hours, looking (apparently I can't follow directions) for the café where I'd promised to meet Jana and Annie for a write-in. Two older men approached me, separately, both strangers. One wanted cash for bus fare. The other just wanted to talk, and started in on yesterday's news. I could hear the accusation in his voice. "Terrible thing to do, hitting and killing a little kid—"

"It was an accident," I said, and walked away.

* * *

Not that I was a firsthand observer; all I know is that a seventeen-year-old Bellingham High student is living my worst nightmare. She didn't see the car stopping ahead of her, letting the family cross, and her car knocked the other into the mother and child. The police, having first arrested her, released her by the end of the day. Getting distracted while driving is bad, but what driver hasn't done it? She's not a monster. She's human, and sometimes human mistakes and failures and wrongs cost far too much. The thought haunts me like almost nothing else in life.

And the young woman driving the other car—she did nothing wrong, but I'm sure her thoughts consist of an if only mantra. If only I hadn't stopped. If only I had stopped a little further back. If only I had been anywhere else.

My dad, for many years a volunteer fire fighter and EMT, has had the experience of going on calls where children have died. I know what the emergency responders and police are dealing with.

Our pastor came back from out of town to be here for the toddler's family; they're part of our church. I don't know the family, but I know who they are, and theirs is a nightmare I can't even imagine. There can be healing after such a loss, but no getting over it. Lord, have mercy.

If you pray, will you offer one up for those living in the shadow of death?

* * *

My town is having a lousy week. WWU freshman Dwight Clark disappeared last Sunday, last seen at a party on Indian Street. He's a straight-A honors student from Auburn with no history of either depression or disappearing, as I understand it. Just—gone. Another family in the shadow of death.

* * *

All this makes the few privations of my week seem awfully small. I'm forgetful and overtired due to much busyness, but that's perfectly bearable. Apart from that, I've actually had a great week: Maia is better, and Lou and I spent a hilarious and happy last weekend with his parents, his sisters Jen and Marie, and Andy and Lindsey and John. We had dinner together every night and twice played a game that had us laughing till it hurt.

* * *

Congratulations are in order for Marie, who ran the Bellingham Bay marathon—her first—in just under 5 1/2 hours! We all got to meet her at the finish line, waving signs and cheering. We had a blast, and running 26.2 miles is an amazing achievement. Way to go, sister! :)

* * *

Jana, Annie, Jessi and I—my writers' group—have decided to get together for regular early mornings of writing. (Don't worry, Mom. I know where the café is now, and shouldn't need to wander downtown again.) It felt great to spend an hour with them today: a cappucino, a little ambience, beautiful music playing in the background, three good friends with me. I got several pages of revision done in just over an hour.

We've also basically promised each other to take part in NaNoWriMo this year, so I'll be updating my account when the site resets today or tomorrow. Are you taking part? Come be my writing buddy. :)

* * *

Helpful link of the week: Jennifer Fulwiler with a post about organization, time management, guilt, and finding energy. I found it completely applicable even though I don't have children.

* * *

Writer's link of the week: Jacqueline West in the "Seven Things I've Learned So Far" feature of Guide to Literary Agents. Number 4 really got to me. I already know that feeling of having a lot of imaginary (or potentially real) people hanging over my shoulder as I write. The idea that no one will ever read the book if I don't want them to is awfully freeing.

...but don't worry—I want people to read it. Eventually. :)

* * *

Funny of the week: I don't remember how I came across The Nerd in the Corner, but every now and then I have to visit her blog. She doesn't post very often, but nearly everything she writes makes me laugh. This piece... well, guilty as I feel linking to someone's embarrassing moment story, she's the one who put it online. :P As with The Princess Bride, I won't say how funny I found it... aw, heck, maybe I will. I'm pretty sure it had me in tears of laughter. It sounds like something I could have done, if I had ever watched the Dukes.

* * *

Deep waters cannot quench love,
nor floods sweep it away.
Were one to offer all he owns to purchase love,
he would be roundly mocked. —Song of Songs 8:7

Happy feast day, Little Flower! Pray for us.

* * *

Lou and I are going to try and have a quiet weekend (of course, I've got Monday's post to write, an overview of Deathly Hallows chapter 34 (for The Hog's Head's read-through) to work up, a novel to revise... I won't be bored.) In other points of interest, I made dinner for three former monastic novices tonight; also, the inevitable has happened: Maia has learned that she can jump up on the kitchen counter and climb bookshelves.

Happy weekend, everybody.