1.17.2012

Top Ten Tuesday: Science Fiction and Fantasy for Those Who Prefer the Familiar

The topic for today: Top Ten Books I'd Recommend To Someone Who Doesn't Read X, where x equals a genre of the blogger's choice. Fantasy is my first love, but I'm including science fiction, mostly for my own convenience and the indulgence of a little hero-worship.

Top Ten Tuesday is hosted by The Broke and the Bookish! Do come join the fun...

Here are my top recommendations for people who have a hard time getting into magic, myth, futurism and life among the stars. Most of these are for young readers, but I've seen them all go over fantastically with adults:

1. The Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling, if you haven't already read it. It's mystery, schoolboy adventure, humor and heroism packed into a splendid tale with just a hint of romance. Magic is merely the backdrop, and it's mostly comic.

2. The Chronicles of Narnia series by C.S. Lewis. Every English-speaking reader should at least get through The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe at some point in his or her life. Adventure, beautiful prose, fun and a little poignancy, and besides, it's short.

3. Ender's Game and Speaker for the Dead by Orson Scott Card. They're psychological, intellectual, and powerful, as Card takes an intense and deeply empathetic look at humanity through the eyes of a child genius. Not to be missed.

4. The Alchemist by Paolo Coelho. A short and beautifully told adventure, magical but ecumenical. My book club doesn't do much fantasy, but everyone in our group loved it.

5. The Goose Girl or Princess Academy by Shannon Hale. Girls, you want a little pure-hearted young romance? No one does it better than Shannon, who also pulls off humor, artistic prose, self-discovery and magic so clearly described that it feels real. Also, you'll never have to sit through long expositions on ancient weaponry.

6. Beauty by Robin McKinley. It's a short and exquisitely written read, a lovely introduction to the world of fairy tale retellings.

7. That Hideous Strength by C.S. Lewis. The entire Space Trilogy is good, but this third installment stands well enough alone and features two basically normal protagonists. Science fiction and fantasy elements blend in a character-driven, relational drama. More character-driven and relational than Out of the Silent Planet or Perelandra, by the way, which is the short explanation of why I've always loved it more.

8. The Host by Stephenie Meyer. Didn't like Twilight? It doesn't matter. Don't like science fiction? That probably won't matter either. What you have in this story is two women with strong, differing feelings sharing the same body, dealing with both adventure and romance in that awkward state. The fact that Wanda is an alien doesn't particularly detract from her relatability. Highly recommended.

9. Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë. Classic Gothic romance all the way, but that entire story balances right on the verge of the supernatural—and at one point, it steps all the way in. If you bought all that, you're ready for a true foray into faerie.

10. The Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. Everyone believes in otherworldly things a little bit around Christmas, right? This tale is so moving and expressive that it would take a reader quite hardened against the supernatural to get entirely hung up on the ghosts.

What books would you recommend to friends who don't usually go for science fiction or fantasy?

1.16.2012

Once Upon a Midnight Dreary: Darkness in Fantasy Fiction

In blogalectic with Masha and Mr. Pond.

When you go to bed, don't leave bread or milk
on the table: it attracts the dead."
   ~Rainer Maria Rilke

"I've heard again and again on the radio, in conversations over coffee after Liturgy, and at parties [that] the problem with myth and magic in fiction is the darkness, the spirits, and the sense of evil lurking that they feel in the background.... We've touched a bit on darkness before, is there a line that shouldn't be crossed? When does myth and magic become occult? When do fairies become demons?" ~Masha

Near the end of the Inferno, Dante and Virgil reach the tenth circle of hell at last, after witnessing the doom of Greek and Roman mythical characters, Florentine politicians, and popes who put self before God and avarice before the duties of the Church. There at the bottom of the pit, trapped in ice created by the constant fanning of his wings, Satan chews up Judas, Cassius and Brutus—betrayers locked in torment with the greatest betrayer of all. Virgil leads Dante on a careful climb around the fallen Lucifer, and they come out of the pit to the land before Purgatory, where at last they can see the stars.

Darkness and relics of old paganisms have long held their place in Christian supernatural literature; medievals like Dante had no fear of either. Today, we shudder at the pictures of the damned; Dante painted them vivid and garish. Today, we challenge pagan references surrounding Christmas and Easter; Dante drew images of classical myths on the terraces of Mount Purgatory.

Today, we argue over both what constitutes darkness and whether it belongs in our fiction. The conflict often centers upon fantasy, though not always—a Wall Street Journal piece about the darker side of teenage life in young adult novels started an enormous flame war in the blogosphere last year. Frankly, I find dementors and vampires far less troubling or frightening to read about than self-harming and suicidal and bullying teens; there's one step of removal between me and a dementor, and that is fictitiousness. But the question before us now primarily regards the fantasy.

Says Masha, in defense of the presence of darkness:
I don't know that I've ever found a story so dark that I didn't see the flickering light, a well-written book will always give a glimpse of redemption, because it is the nature of man to reach for the light. Even the ugly and terrifying will give way into beauty, given a chance by writer and reader. 
Says Mr. Pond, in defense of compassion for the darkened ones:
The answer, as everyone knows what read a proper story, is that fairies become devilish when they’re angry, or threatened, or lonely, or afraid. Anyone can live comfortably with the Good Neighbours nearby, if you mind your own business and don’t go digging where you’re not invited. Or if invited, take nothing away with you unless bidden, bring nothing with you that isn’t asked, do not tell what you saw unless you are told to speak. In other words, be polite.
For those of us who would understand life or literature, we must look honestly and justly upon dark things. Dracula, for instance, scuttling down the outer walls of his castle like a lizard in a black coat. The beldam's disembodied hand chasing Coraline back through the trap door. Janner Wingfeather's coffin in the Fork! Factory! Gollum whispering to the magic ring in the caves, forever destroying the word precioussss. The gentleman with the thistle-down hair slick-talking Stephen into endless nighttime ballroom dancing.

Who will say where myth becomes occult, magic evil or fairies demonic? Was it evil when Bacchus and the Maenads turned up in Narnia, or when Ransom accepted the aid of Merlin? When Aragorn called forth an army of the dead? When Egwene put on her ouroboros ring? When Puck cast his love-spells on Demetrius and Lysander? When Hagrid broke down the door of the hut, gave Dudley a pig's tail, and said "Harry, yer a wizard"?

Was it evil when I swiped a minor Greek myth and a lot of astrological symbolism to tell a story that never mentions Christ or any God, but which—if I did my job right, and if you know what you're looking for—should give you not a justification for basing decisions on the newspaper's horoscope section, but various glimpses of the central truths and themes of Christianity?

I suggest that myth and magic and faerie become occult or anti-Christian when authors use them as occult propaganda, or for anti-religious or anti-God agendas. Which they are free of course to do—but this is not the default position of Western fantasists, and most Western fantasists would have to work a lot harder than they do to escape utilizing basic Christian concepts in a story that pits evil against good, darkness against light. Good fantasy is hard enough to write without attempting to subvert its very nature.

By that nature, darkness in English mythic fiction symbolizes a host of less-than-tangible realities. It reminds us that our struggle is not against flesh and blood but against mental and spiritual evils, including the darkness of our own natures.

The heroes and heroines of fantasy counter darkness with courage: so Harry battles Voldemort in the graveyard, wands locked in fierce contest, the shades of Voldemort's most recent murders climbing from the point of the yew wand to comfort and strengthen Harry.

They counter darkness with love: so vampire Edward clings to his conscience, to every remaining scrap of his humanity, refusing either to kill or to use the girl whose body and blood tempt him more than any other.

They counter darkness with humor: so Sophie Hatter bosses around the fire-demon, Calcifer, making something more human of both him and Wizard Howl.

I have never liked darkness, nor been comfortable with it. Yet I value it, in its place and fairly done. As a Christian or as a lover of light or both, I cannot write some things as good nor praise them if portrayed so in the work of others, but such temptations are extremely rare. Each author and each reader must decide what they can accept, what their consciences and their beliefs allow them to write of or to appreciate.

But we artists must be allowed to paint dark, else we cannot fully show the light.

“Let everything happen to you 
Beauty and terror 
Just keep going 
No feeling is final” 
  ~Rainer Maria Rilke

* Rilke quotes are courtesy of Masha's post. Masha, sorry I didn't get them all in. :)

1.13.2012

The Cleverness of Other People and other stories

After two weeks, it seems that alarm-setting does help me get more accomplished. Unfortunately, it has not yet consistently helped me to get off my computer by eleven or go to sleep before midnight. Ah, the force of bad habits. I suspect it's about to start me on a coffee dependency, too, despite the fact that caffeine in any quantity puts me through a weird cycle of energy—productivity—jitters—ache till I think I'm dying—go brain dead.

But I'm not giving up yet. Especially not while I'm two and a half chapters from the long-awaited end of my 2010 NaNoWriMo novel draft.

* * *

I love epigraphs. They connect the book you're about to read with its literary heritage, through shared theme or mood or idea. More than that, they often highlight some ultimate truth that comes forward in the story told, something recognized and cleverly expressed by someone else. Should I prove capable of convincing editors, I'd like to have one in every book I ever publish.

Which meant I thoroughly enjoyed Flavorwire's list of the 25 greatest epigraphs in literature (via George posting at The Hog's Head). Favorites included Gaiman's quote of Chesterton, Dostoevsky's and Tolstoy's of Scripture, and Lee's of Lamb. They weren't mentioned, but I also love Meyer's use of Genesis in Twilight and Robert Frost in Eclipse.

Hmm. Novel and novella have happily-matched quotes assigned, but I haven't picked anything for this nearly-drafted sequel. This could be fun. And distracting...

* * *

Writers' link of the week: Juliette Wade on managing the time-suck and distraction of the Internet. And yes, I recognize the irony of posting this on a personal blog wherein I ramble about alarm clocks and epigraphs.

* * *

Music of the week: This link sent me a long while back by Mr. Pond includes several videos by Brother and Bones, a UK band with dynamic membership. I loved this simple song most of the ones I saw.



* * *

Random amusement of the week: In case anyone wants to look pessimistically—and humorously—back over last year, there's always Dave Barry's Year in Review. I love these every year. Advisory: they're always a little dirty, and 2011 contained the Congressman Weiner story, which the straightest-faced journalist on the planet couldn't keep from sounding like a bad joke. But it's not all dirty, and the year isn't short on laughs.

* * *

And now my sister's coming to visit, which means I need to post this and begin straightening up. Happy weekend!

1.11.2012

Currently Reading: Bella at Midnight

Bella at MidnightBut I ought not to judge my betters. They are highborn folk and educated, so if they think it wise to send their little ones away and leave them in the care of strangers, then I suppose it must be the right thing to do. And indeed, now that I think upon it, if those two precious babes had been kept at home, then Prince Julian and Isabel would never have met, and all the great and miraculous things that happened thereafter would not have taken place.

Author: Diane Stanley

Synopsis: When her mother dies upon giving birth, Isabel—now hated by her father—is sent to be nursed by the woman who was also nurse to one of the king’s younger sons, Prince Julian. Bella and the prince grow up as friends, until Julian is sent to live in a formerly enemy country and Bella’s father reclaims her to spite his new wife and daughters. Through a gossiping stepsister, Bella learns of a planned war that could cost Julian’s life among many others, and by her early knowledge, only Bella stands a chance of preventing it.

Notes: It took me a little ways into this book to realize that I was reading a Cinderella retelling. It’s hardly a typical one. It contains neither white bird and tree, nor singing mice; the godmother isn’t magical, and only one of the stepsisters is wicked.

Few stories have been more often retold in modern English-speaking countries than Cinderella, however, and this variant was downright intriguing. Diane Stanley builds her story around the myth of a long-awaited hero known as the Worthy Knight. As the prince's father and elder brothers war with a neighboring kingdom, the prince and the cinder-girl share a childhood love, hoping together for the Knight's coming and the end of the wars.

Cheers to Stanley for writing the characters as religious (Catholic, as it’s set in medieval times) without either making the story message-driven or treating the religion and its practitioners as inherently wicked. The Worthy Knight is thought of as a miraculous figure, and both that myth and the tale itself focus toward peace. The two lead characters are both heroic and lovable; likewise, the younger stepsister, who is silent due to tragedy but warm of heart.

The narrative mode inspired my one bit of grumpy-stepsisterly dislike. The author chose to use first person voice with a change of perspective at every chapter, which gained her the ability to show the emotions of important characters like stepsister Alice, but cost her in character development and reader investment. Perspective shifts easily become wearing or maddening, especially in first person, where it gives the impression that twelve people are trying to tell the story at once. None of the narrators could garner enough time to become very memorable, though Bella, Julian, Alice and the godmother came off strongest.

While the ending had a moment or two of sounding a shade too obviously like an attempt at subverting gender-role paradigms, Stanley managed the final twist beautifully overall, giving the young lady fair glory without demeaning the young man for the sake of girl power. I appreciated that.

The ending itself is shamelessly happy, a pleasant resolution to a good, clean, lighthearted fairy tale for the young.

Recommendation: Read it for cheer, relaxation and ease of mind.

1.10.2012

Top Ten Tuesday: Authors I'd Like Another Book From

This topic shames me a little, because when it comes to even my favorite authors—Lewis, Chesterton, Card, Hale, Montgomery—I haven't necessarily read all of their works. Heck, I haven't read Rowling's Quidditch book or her bestiary, and you know how I feel about Harry Potter.

Top Ten Tuesday is hosted by The Broke and the Bookish! Do come join the fun...

I have, however, read all the published work of one particular author, including a lesser-known novella and a fragment she never finished. And since the rules of this list allow us to include deceased authors, I'll begin with:

1. Jane Austen. Lady Susan is an interesting book, by the way, if it doesn't hold a dripping wax taper to Northanger Abbey, let alone the great Pride and Prejudice/Emma/Persuasion/Sense and Sensibility/Mansfield Park quintet.

2. C.S. Lewis. I've read all of his fiction, so I'll feel no shame in asking for more of that.

3. J.K. Rowling. More stories, preferably outside the Potterverse. I'm curious.

4. Shannon Hale. I haven't read her graphic novel, but I have read everything else of hers, I think. And am looking forward to the sequel to Princess Academy and to Midnight in Austenland.

5. Brandon Sanderson. I want a very specific book from him: the Wheel of Time finale. :)

Off the top of my head, I haven't any right to beg more from anyone else. I have too many of their existing works left to read.

Which authors would you like another book from?

1.09.2012

Sleepy Post

Masha's taking over kickoff posts for a while, blogalectically speaking, which means I have today off. I intended to come up with something to post anyway, but spent the whole day down at my family's catching up with them and talking over potential novella revisions and the direction of the current novel and things like that, and now it's nine o'clock and I have a book to write and I'm so sleepy that said book will be lucky to get any real attention.

Sleepy, yes. Does anyone besides me wake regularly half an hour before their alarm, then lie there tense, dozing fitfully, braced against the discomfort of being shocked awake by loud awful beeps? The only way I ever get properly back to sleep is by muffling the clock under the covers, so it doesn't give me such a jolt when it goes off.

Maybe I'll start keeping it under a pillow. Anyway, good night.

1.06.2012

The Use of Pictures and other stories

Ah, New Year's Resolutions. For the first time in my life, I've actually looked back at my goals folder over this week, worked on things, and added more. Successes include: dragging myself out of bed in the dark every morning half an hour before Lou's alarm, adding 5500 words to the draft I'd like to finish by the end of January, and using the curling iron on my hair every day.

I think it helps that in making my lists, I included pictures:

Not that I've worked on the garden yet. It's just one of my favorite pages.
And no, those aren't pictures of my actual garden.

Now I just need to go add pictures to the page that talks about getting on the rowing machine.

* * *

Lou and I discovered, after having to work very hard to get Christmas books onto shelves—his new commentary got stuck sideways on top of a packed row—that, once again, we were out of bookshelf space. So we built more:

Room to grow!

Just one more step toward my goal of living in a library.

* * *

Maia: Ooh, I like the little rocks in this dirt. My favorite!

Me: Maia, DON’T DIG UP THE PLANTS.

Maia: I LIKE THE LITTLE ROCKS IN THIS DIRT. MY FAVORITE.

Me: $%^*#^*&

Which of us is winning? You decide:

The cat who can't dig, or the crazy woman with masking tape on her flowerpot?

* * *

Writers' link of the week: quirks, with room to comment, over at Rachelle Gardner's. I enjoyed both video and comments, and wish I could claim coffee and Oreos—or more likely, chocolate chip cookies—as part of my must-have writing process so I could justify having them every day.

* * *

Music of the week: after Monday's post, all I can do is put up some good modern Christian music, right? Here's some Messiaen, whom I can never decide if I like or not. I've never understood purely atonal, cacophonous music—which is yet another glass of Haterade—but at least he wasn't just throwing paint at canvas. Sometimes I almost feel as if he's making sense, as below.


* * *

Random amusement of the week: while we're still barely inside the Christmas season, Do-It-Yourself Star Wars Snowflakes.

For something less random and more amusing in the sense of getting the mind involved, check out Masha's blog for 50 Days of Self-Reflection. If the next 47 questions are anything like the first three, we'll all learn a lot of unique and fascinating stuff about ourselves and each other.

* * *

And now, having dumped the cat off my lap to fetch the camera and thereby guaranteed myself some ankle attacks later in the day, I'm off to clean house and write more story.

Happy weekend!

1.04.2012

Currently Reading: Emily Climbs and Emily's Quest

Of course Teddy was in love with Ilse. He had gone to see her first—had been with her while Emily waited for him in the garden. Well, it made no real difference. Why should it? She would be just as friendly as ever. And was. Friendly with a vengeance. But when Teddy and Ilse had gone—together—laughing and teasing each other through the old To-morrow Road Emily went up to her room and locked the door. Nobody saw her again until the next morning.

Author: L.M. Montgomery

Emily Climbs (Emily, #2)Emily Climbs
Synopsis: Emily Byrd Starr goes to high school, where she experiences the odd mix of acceptance and rejection and mistakes that belong to a writer’s career. While pursuing her old dream, she turns down at least two suitors—even getting caught alone with one at night, albeit innocently; all the while yearning for her old friend Teddy Kent, who sometimes seems to love her.

Notes: I thought I’d read this book before; now, I’m less sure. If I ever did read it, I’d forgotten most of it.

Emily Climbs is darker than Emily of New Moon, but not unbearably. The Murray pride catches up with our post-adolescent heroine; the Starr independence makes her dislike the bonds of convention. In this tenuous and somewhat unsympathetic state, she endures having to board with strict, merciless Aunt Ruth. Worse even then her aunt are the sharp tongues and ill wills of a jealous classmate and Shrewsbury gossips in general.

As a writer, watching Emily progress in her career is interesting. It all seems somewhat different than the way things reportedly work now, but not entirely, and her emotional responses to acceptance and rejection are accurately drawn.

As both writer and romantic, I thought the scene in the old John house was perhaps the most beautiful in the series. Short, but sweet, and oh-so-lovely. Montgomery's portrayal of the passion between Emily and Teddy, expressed almost entirely in looks rather than words, is so hushed and splendid that I can't wholly forgive her for the torment she puts them through—and us with them—in this book and the next.

The book had a few humorous moments as well; Emily’s flippant comments regarding the suitors she did not love generally made me laugh. All in all, I enjoyed the book, and the moment I put it down I picked up its sequel.

Emily's Quest (Emily, #3)Emily’s Quest 
Synopsis: Teddy goes off to art school and Ilse into acting, leaving Emily lonely at New Moon. Misunderstanding develops over the distance between Emily and Teddy, and old friend Dean Priest proves his own love by caring for her during a dangerous illness, leaving her with a series of difficult choices. Meanwhile, her writing career takes off, and at last there is hope for the Disappointed House—only not like she imagined it.

Notes: This book actually evoked an angry response.

First, the previously likable Ilse lost both depth and friendliness. Her numerous insensitivities toward Emily were generally unintentional, but cruel nonetheless. Likewise, after years of being in love with Perry Miller, she could not find it in herself to soften to him, to leave off hounding him for a moment, until—well, for the sake of being unspoilerish, I won’t say what happens; I’ll just recommend, for enjoyment's sake, the scene where she finally goes to Perry. Even though her deed is positively awful.

The second cause of annoyance was the series of misunderstandings between Emily and Teddy, resulting in years upon years of agonized separation and depression. The only truly serious issue was Mrs. Kent’s interference; the young pair had no other good reason for being apart for what appeared to be something like a decade. It upset this reader so much that I was almost ready to root for Dean Priest, whom I liked despite his obvious unsuitability and his jealousy.

Emily’s trouble was pride; Teddy’s, an inability to man up and speak, and the two had me in a state of mad half-despair for over two hundred pages. And then the finale was so brief, so inexplicable, that it left me furious even though it was, in theory, a satisfactory resolution.

From Laura, commenting on my review of Emily of New Moon:
“The last book is a steaming heap of misery and self-doubt, topped off by a dubious maraschino cherry of last-minute romance.”
I can't improve on that summary. I can think of ways Montgomery might have saved her story without much effort. But, again following Laura’s lead, I make some excuses to myself for the book. Emily is a particularly fascinating heroine, owing in part to her skill with words, in part to the Murray-Starr conflict within her, and in part to her supernatural gift. The scene where she connects with Teddy across an ocean was breathtakingly believable despite its unlikelihood; it was also another sublime Teddy-and-Emily scene. The comparison between Emily and the Disappointed House comes as near as anything else to making something decent of the tale, and—well, Emily becomes a successful novelist. Which makes her, in some sense, a hero of mine.

Joint Recommendation: Not nearly as pleasant as the Anne books or Emily of New Moon, but containing some gems nonetheless.

1.03.2012

Top Ten Tuesday: Books I'm Excited to Read in 2012

If 2012 matches 2011 for great reading, I'll be happy.

Top Ten Tuesday is hosted by The Broke and the Bookish! Do come join the fun...

Between Christmas gifts, Kindle specials, interlibrary loan and series to finish, I've already got a good stack to start with:

1) Xenocide and 2) Children of the Mind by Orson Scott Card. Thanks, Lou. It's long past time I finish Ender's story. And then I need to look into the last two Shadow books.

3) The Giver by Lois Lowry, thanks to a Kindle deal which I learned about thanks to George. No, I've never read it. Yes, I plan to remedy that as soon as possible.

4) The Scorpio Races by Maggie Stiefvater, thanks to the library.

5) The Last Olympians by Rick Riordan. Just one book in left the Percy Jackson series! I might be sad when I've finished them, though perhaps I'll continue on to the Heroes of Olympus series.

6) A Creed for the Third Millenium by Colleen McCullough, thanks to Agnes and Elizabeth. Also thanks to those ladies: 7) Echoes and 8) Scarlet Feather by Maeve Binchy.

9) Crossed by Ally Condie, which I'm still in line for at the library and probably will be for a while.

10) A Memory of Light by Robert Jordan and Brandon Sanderson—the final book of The Wheel of Time, supposed to be released sometime this year.

Perhaps The Silmarillion counts too, since I haven't finished it yet.

What are you most excited to read this year?

1.01.2012

Mediocrity, Haters, and Christian Music

It's blogalectic day, and Masha and Mr. Pond and I have not yet had time to regroup after the holidays. So I'm going to throw a wrench in the works: Rod Dreher's piece on haters, aesthetics and mediocrity.
And yet, thank goodness for aesthetic snobs. The alternative is mediocrity, is ugliness. You want Palestrina, or you want Marty Haugen?
Pause right there, sir. That's one point made in full.

No offense to Mr. Haugen, whose Mass of Creation isn't all that bad (it's "Gather Us In" that I find unbearable.) But in my opinion, nobody since Palestrina has created music more innovative and beautiful all at once. Certainly nobody in the last hundred years, and abso-freaking-definitely nobody in recent Christian music history.

I sparked this blogalectic by complaining about the artistic elitism that fails to recognize literary value in a book like Little Women. When it comes to literature, I tend to see the glory in the simple and innocent as well as in the complex and masterful, and I defend those works correspondingly.

But make the switch to music, particularly church music, and out comes a different perspective.

Now, I half-promised Laura a post about this subject, so forgive me if I wax tangential. I'll make it back around to the main point, I promise.

I have three very big problems with the bulk of modern church music: #1 is the "sheen" that Michael Gungor mentioned. Which seems due in part to an undefined and mistaken notion that being a Christian makes your life easier. Also, it owes to problem #2, likewise noted by Mr. Gungor: the failure of many Christian recording artists to realize that music itself actually means something, not just the lyrics. Most rock music means sex, anger or rebellious exodus, none of which translate well to attempts at worship.

My third problem with the generality of works written under almost any definition of Christian music in the past century is this: at its best it shows the immanence and love and nearness of God very well, but it fails with reverence. It shows the Great Love of God, and that's as close as it dares get. This owes as much to intimate, soulful vocals and instrumentation as to lyrics, if not more, which takes us back to problem #2. I don't think I've ever heard a song from the Christian record labels that expressed the fear of God convincingly.

No, I'm not talking about an "oh, God'll send me to hell 'cause I thought something mean about my sister last week" fear of God; I'm thinking more along the lines of "'Course He isn't safe. But He's good."

I've felt that good fear, that joyful solemnity, in my bones listening to Gregorian chant—or Palestrina (particularly, since we're talking art, in the acoustic spaces such works were designed for). And lest anyone think I'm praising the Catholics at the expense of the Protestants (a touchy subject for a Catholic who used to be an evangelical), the current Catholic state is worse than the Protestant one by far. Lucky Catholics with popular sensibilities get Protestant praise anthems. Anyone with traditional tastes goes begging for hymns by Luther and Wesley; chant is unloved and polyphony forgotten. Instead, our hymnals contain some of the worst schlock I've ever caught posing as music: lyrics that would make a cheap Hallmark card blush, syncopation that no one but Vince Guaraldi could pull off, and sentimental attempts at poetic expression that basically mean nothing or are bad theology.

There—look at me hating. I try not to do that. Most of the time.

So I'll give Masha and Mr. Pond this much: there is, in fact, a place in my heart that despises mediocrity. Most of it happens to be aimed at myself and my own work (at least, when I'm not taking potshots at Christian music). I'm not usually much of what Dreher calls a hater, and I hope I never will be. But despite my defense of the literary status of a handful of books written in unimposing prose, my ultimate convictions are in favor of refined art. When it comes to my own writing, however often I fail, I can't imagine striving for anything less.



EDIT: Thanks to a mild oh-really from Mr. Pond, I've corrected my haphazard claim that no one has since made "music as innovative and beautiful" as Palestrina's to say "music more innovative and beautiful." This sort of mistake always happens when I write sleepy. But perhaps I may be forgiven for being hyperbolic about Palestrina when I say that the song in the above video may be my favorite single work of art in existence.

12.31.2011

Too Excited Not to Post...

After pulling off three of my best writing days ever—a total of 11,027 words—I've finished the draft of my fairy tale retelling! And I couldn't resist sharing. [EDIT: I'm an idiot. The link won't take you to my story, as my wording suggests. It's just an image. It'll be an indie- or self-published book eventually, if I can pull it off, which I expect to be able to do.]

42933 / 35000 (complete!)

Happy rest of 2011, and happy New Year!

12.30.2011

Happy 2012! And a few other stories...

The new year is coming, I'm rather enjoying this week of vacation with my husband, and after writing 3700 words yesterday, part of me hopes I can finish this novella in 2011. So you get a short post today.

* * *

If you've got a Kindle or Kindle app, you can get The Giver for $0.99 over at Amazon, December 30 only. I just bought it, meaning I will most likely get around to reading it one of these days, at long last. Thanks to George for the link.

* * *

For something like a decade, I swore off New Year's resolutions, but somehow this year I've wound up with a OneNote (ever heard of that MS Office program? I'd forgotten it existed) notebook full of them. Books to write and revise. Information on how to clothes-shop smart, rather than just grabbing the first thing off the rack that fits and is somewhere in the blue-green range that I know I can wear. An order to myself to warm up my voice gently and daily, so I can get over the vocal problems I've had. Stuff like that.

Down with the idea that all such goals are doomed halfway through January! I can do this.

* * *

Here's something for writers. Here's something for Harry Potter fans. Here's some Christmas music (yes, it's still officially Christmas. And yes, I linked LindseyStomp just a few weeks ago; she rocks.) And here's something funny (advisory: it's on Cracked. You've been warned.)

* * *

And now, I'm off. Thanks to all of you for spending time around me and my blog this year, and for your friendship and encouragement. I thank God for you all; I really do. Happy weekend, and may you have a very happy year!

12.28.2011

Currently Reading: Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell

Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell...Mr. Canning complained that the nightmares Mr. Norrell had sent the Emperor (which chiefly concerned a captain of Dragoons hiding in Buonaparte’s wardrobe) would scarcely frighten his children’s governess let alone the conqueror of half of Europe. For a while he had tried to persuade the other Ministers that they should commission Mr Beckford, Mr Lewis and Mrs Radcliffe to create dreams of vivid horror that Mr Norrell could then pop into Buonaparte’s head. But the other Ministers considered that to employ a magician was one thing, novelists were quite another and they would not stoop to it.

Author: Susanna Clarke

Synopsis: Mr. Norrell is the first practical magician in England in centuries, and he’s ready to kick the theoretical magicians out on their ears. Jonathan Strange is the second practical magician, trained by Mr. Norrell, but he wants all England to understand all about magic. Mr. Norrell has little use for talk of the Raven King, a magician regent of an earlier age who is thought to still exist somewhere. Jonathan Strange believes the Raven King ought to be studied and perhaps convinced to return to England. With such opposite natures and goals, the two men cannot agree, but they have no one else who can truly share their great passion: magic.

Also, there’s a murderous fairy.

Notes: First, hilarity.

Working over the course of ten years, Clarke wrote this novel—which is over eight hundred pages long and contains a couple hundred footnotes—entirely in a sort of Edwardian drawing-room English, slightly more gentlemanly in flavor than Austen perhaps, but with a similarly satirical style. The jokes, which include sly jibes against novels, don’t leap off the page and attempt to flag your attention; they lie down in the text and disappear, and you catch them only if you’re paying attention. I suspect that a second read through would turn up far more wit than even the first did.

The difficulty, speaking right up front, is in achieving that second read through. It might seem entirely ridiculous for someone who read and loved something like nine or ten thousand pages of Wheel of Time to complain that an 800-page novel is too long, but if I hadn’t caught the flu and needed something reasonably non-demanding to do with two days, I might never have finished it.

Here’s the deal: the first couple of chapters fascinated me. Mr. Norrell, in the character of mystery, was actually interesting. Once we followed him to London and watched him shuffle through various political affairs with the dull and loathsome Drawlight and Lascelles planning his every move, he lost—for me—all interest and much sympathy as a character. I don’t read stories for the sake of conflict and resolution; I read them because the characters matter to me, and for the whole first part of the book—it’s in three parts—the only character I strongly pulled for was John Segundus.

But as I say, I was sick and bored. So I pushed through. As soon as Jonathan Strange came onstage, the story got my attention.

Then the “gentleman with the thistle-down hair” began to involve himself, and the story got creepy. The enchantments he put over people and his eerie lack of sanity kept me fighting chills down my spine for several hundred pages. I should mention that Clarke’s portrayal of humans as weak in magic but strong in reason, and fairies as the exact opposite, makes for an interesting study.

Clarke’s portrayal of magic, while we’re talking such things, was anything but that of Harry Potter. Rowling sets up the wielding of magic as morally neutral, and she shows its use as being subject to the moral law. Never in the Potter series is any kind of spiritual invocation used. Clarke, by contrast, includes the following in a footnote: “Magicians are chiefly interested in the usefulness of… supernatural beings; they wish to know under what circumstances and by what means angels, demons and fairies can be brought to lend their aid in magical practices. For their purposes it is almost irrelevant that the first class of beings is divinely good, the second infernally wicked and the third morally suspect.” This she compares to priests, who she says “are scarcely interested in anything else.” (Page 521)

This is not morally neutral, and you can make of it what you will in the context of the book. I will say it made me watchful, especially considering the grotesque aspect of certain spells. Neither demons nor angels were invoked by Strange or Norrell, but the fairy was, and the fairy was evil. And crazy. Did I mention that he was creepy?

Beyond all that, the mythology is intensely and beautifully developed, the voice never misses a note, and the themes of the Raven King and the nameless slave and the restoration of magic to England are all very thought-provoking. It’s a dark, shadowy sort of a story, full of unexpected turns, old-fashioned British humor, and a very long progression toward an unlikely but excellent friendship—and that last, more than anything, is the point of the tale.

Recommendation: Read it on a rainy day; it’s especially handy if you’re sick. But if you dream about frightening things in books, as I do, don’t read it before bed.

12.27.2011

Top Ten Tuesday: Favorite Books of 2011

For weeks I've looked forward to this list, for the delight of reminiscing about what felt like a year of honestly fantastic reading.

Top Ten Tuesday is hosted by The Broke and the Bookish! Do come join the fun...

For the sake of sanity, series count as one entry; otherwise, The Wheel of Time might have made an unfair share of appearances. Also, I've not counted re-reads unless I hadn't read the book since childhood. Re-reading a book as an adult is a new experience even if you remember the story.

Not necessarily in perfect order:

1. The Host by Stephenie Meyer. A tale of two souls in one body, the physical force of love, and what it means to be human. By far Meyer's best work, in my opinion. Review.

2. The Goose Girl by Shannon Hale. Beautiful on the first read and even better on the second. I loved this story with my whole heart. Honorable mention to Forest Born, the fourth Book of Bayern, as well. Review.

3. Because of Winn-Dixie by Kate DiCamillo. Artful prose, deeply empathetic character portrayals, and a warm, loving, thoughtful little heroine. Review.

4. Enchantress from the Stars by Sylvia Louise Engdahl. Sci-fi meets fantasy in a beautifully-written interplanetary tale. Review.

5. The Wheel of Time series by Robert Jordan. These books finished what began with stories like The Chronicles of Narnia and No Flying in the House: they sold me wholly on speculative fiction. It's my favorite genre now. Review of book 1.

6. The Percy Jackson series by Rick Riordan. I liked the first one, but loved the second and third. It's brain candy, hilarious and suspenseful, but it sneaks a little bit of classical education into you when you're not looking. I've got the fourth out from the library right now. Review of book 1.

7. The Emily books by L.M. Montgomery. I greatly preferred the first to the second and third, but adored the heroine and truly did love her early days (and, admittedly, a few of her later days as well). Review of book 1.

8. Anna Karenina by Lev Nikolayevich Tolstoy. Two moral and spiritual journeys: one toward despair and madness, one toward happiness and peace. I didn't expect to care much for it, and was very pleasantly surprised. Review coming.

9. Beauty by Robin McKinley. My first experience with McKinley's work, and as a fan of fairy tale retellings, I adored it. Lovely in every way. Review.

10. That Summer by Sarah Dessen. I loved this story for its splendid sense of place and character, and for how much I could sympathize with protagonist Haven McPhail. Review.

The Silmarillion may knock something off the list if I finish it in time (can I get through the last 2/3 in four days? We'll see...) It's beautiful so far.

What were your favorite reads of this year?

12.26.2011

Two Turtledoves

Happy second day of Christmas!

Lou has this entire week off work, so I'm declaring a holiday on the blogalectic. Masha and Mr. Pond can either post whatever they feel like on the themes of art and beauty and sacred time, or enjoy a break. I, in the meantime, am going to take my sister's family their gifts and use my new pruning shears to cut back the peonies for the winter. :D

Blogging should resume as usual tomorrow, mainly because I've been looking forward to this week's Top Ten Tuesday list too much to not participate.

Hope you're all enjoying your holidays!

12.23.2011

It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas... and other stories

First Christmas decorating session in the new house!


Of course, Maia had to be involved in everything.




Except, of course, for the group photo. At least we got her in one shot:


* * *

Of course, the Christmas ornaments have been gradually migrating to one quadrant of the tree, high and away from tables the cat can climb upon. She and I keep having this conversation:

Me: "Maia, the Christmas ornaments are not toys... honestly..."

Maia: "If it rolls, it is a toy. If it swings, it is a toy. If I can liberate it from your absurd hiding places, it is a toy. Oh, and so are your Christmas cactus blossoms."

Me: "You... you are getting a lump of coal in your stocking this year."

Maia: "Cool beans. Aren't those just about the right size for batting around the floor? I bet they leave an interesting black trail, too."

Also, this week I found an avocado behind a chair in the living room. I guess I won't be leaving such things on the counter anymore, no matter how well I think I've got them tucked out of her reach.

* * *

Writers' link of the week: P.W. Creighton on the Holiday narrative.

* * *

Music of the week: Vivaldi's Gloria, with special thanks to Maria both for reminding me of the piece and for recommending this good recording.



* * *

Random amusements of the week: Merry Kitschmas parts one, two, and three, compiled and suitably punned by Eric Pazdziora.

* * *

I love Christmas.


A very merry one to you and yours!

12.21.2011

Currently Reading: Auralia’s Colors

Auralia's Colors: The Red Strand (The Auralia Thread #1)Auralia lay still as death, like a discarded doll, in a burgundy tangle of rushes and spineweed on the bank of a bend in the River Throanscall, where she was discovered by an old man who did not know her name.

She bore no scars, no broken bones, just the stain of inkblack soil. Contentedly, she cooed, whispered, and babbled, learning the river’s language, and focused her gaze on the stormy dance of evening sky—roiling purple clouds edged with blood red. The old man surmised she was waiting and listening for whoever, or whatever, had forsaken her there.

Author: Jeffrey Overstreet

Synopsis: In the wilds outside House Abascar, a pair of Gatherers—criminals cast from the House—discover and adopt the abandoned Auralia despite suspicions that she is one of the feared Northchildren. Independent and comfortable with the wild, Auralia proves to have a talent more dangerous than the Gatherers could have imagined: an ability to create and work in supernatural colors, when no one outside Abascar’s palace is allowed to wear anything but drab. Amid the House’s internal turmoil and the external threat of approaching beastmen, Auralia’s unruly gifts enchant everyone from Gatherer to prince, and threaten those with the power to destroy both her and her people.

Notes: This, impressively enough, is original fantasy.

Granted, the beastmen basically resemble Jordan’s Trollocs, and I doubt Jordan originated the concept (they’re not that unlike Tolkien’s Orcs, after all.) And I seem to recall a moment or two when Narnia came to mind, though those instances were perhaps nothing more than a slight resemblance of names. But overall, the story didn’t seem much like anything else I’ve read.

Fantasy fiction comes in a lot of voices, many of which—at first glance, at least—are rather dry to the touch. Which is perhaps my biggest problem with the genre. I’m not attracted by letter-scramble names, medieval weaponry and blazing action; I want a tangible, emotive sense of place and character. If anything, I’d say Overstreet’s poetic prose did this too well. A sentence like “The child became twigs and burnt autumn leaves, thin and fisty fingers clutching acorns and seeds as though they were stolen jewels” contains lovely imagery, but the metaphorical structure annoys me. That’s just me. O ye of great love for poetry, you’ll probably adore it.

Despite my distaste for metaphoric sentences, however, I did appreciate the colorful, sensory use of language. I felt and knew the world; I knew and loved Auralia, Cal-raven, Scharr ben Fray, and the ale-boy.

The story never took an expected turn that I can remember, which was another surprise. There was a fair bit of head-hopping, and I didn’t necessarily know who would turn out good and who, not so much. Even the one plot point I was very confident in wasn't bothered with until the epilogue.

Like most first installments in fantasy series, the ending was anything but. I spent half an hour or better Googling, reading reviews of the next few books, trying to figure out if a certain very important character returned in the sequels. Weirdly enough, the answer proved hard to find. Eventually someone answered it in the affirmative, which is good, because I had no intention of reading any further if not.

Recommendation: Read it in evenings, with hot spiced tea or cider and warm colors around you.

12.20.2011

Top Ten Tuesday: Books for Santa to Bring

Actually, this one is surprisingly tough. Not because I don't want books—I always want books—but because my wish lists are always so carefully prioritized, and not necessarily identical two weeks running.

Top Ten Tuesday is hosted by The Broke and the Bookish! Do come join the fun...

Books I intend to get my hands on one way or another:

1. Everything by Shannon Hale that I don't already own. I have Princess Academy, The Goose Girl, and The Actor and the Housewife. The other Bayern books are first priority.

2. More of Orson Scott Card's work. I have Ender's Game and Speaker for the Dead. I'd like to get the rest of the Ender and Bean books, and the novel Pathfinder looks intriguing.

3. The Wheel of Time books I don't already own. I have #s 8, 10, and 11, which is what happens when you series-shop the paperback sections of your local used bookstore.

Books I'd like to get eventually:

4. The Emily books by L.M. Montgomery. I'm still miffed at book 3, but Emily was kindred spirit enough that I liked her story anyway.

5. The Percy Jackson books by Rick Riordan. I'm just enjoying them too much not to consider adding them to my shelves.

6. The first three Time books by Madeleine L'Engle. The only reason these aren't on my immediate list is that my sister has them, therefore I can read them any time I want.

7. Alec Forbes of Howglen. I've got it in free Kindle version, but I'd like it in hard copy.

And now we start getting into a broader list, in which I include every new thing I want to read. This list changes so frequently that the three included here are specific to December 20, 2011, 12:56 PM PST:

8. Matched and Crossed by Ally Condie. Loved the first one, dislike dystopian so much that I'm not wholly confident of loving the sequel. But I will read it.

9. The Scorpio Races by Maggie Stiefvater. It looks fascinating.

10. Something by Brandon Sanderson. To feed my love of good, thorough high fantasy.

What books are on your Christmas list?

12.19.2011

Sacred Time and the Spice of Life

A blogalectic with Masha and Mr. Pond.

Last week, Masha talked about her spaces-set-apart, and as it turns out, we share a love for making home sacred. As for Mr. Pond, he was apparently too busy publishing a tale called Bradie Law and the Grumpenmire to post; since I got a fair bit of amusement out of Bradie Law, I'll let that slide. On with the blogalectic, and the next concept involved in sacred time: rite.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: if spontaneity is the spice of life, routine and ritual are the meat and potatoes. Some people like more spice than others, of course, and whether we're talking about spontaneity or food, I tend to have the tastes of a nervous old Englishwoman. I prefer things a bit bland, thanks very much.

Reading other writers' rituals always interests me, though my own may not prove interesting. Inspiration can certainly hit anytime (and has a penchant for choosing the most inopportune times), but for the daily grind, I treat writing like work. That is, I get up with my hardworking husband, breakfast with him, pray Lauds, shower, dress, and get makeup and hair done. Then I check my email and Facebook to get rid of the immediate possible distractions, open up Blogger or Scrivener or Word, and set to.

Granted, this doesn't always turn into great productivity. But I generally work better when I feel neat and organized and together and—well, pretty.

It doesn't feel properly authorial, though. Surely I ought to be incapable of creative thought without a cigar handy, or some very specific type of tea. Or some elaborate process involving taking twelve steps toward the west, turning a cartwheel, drinking half a bottle of merlot and possibly tying my feet to the desk. None of it does much for me. I need quiet, a neat house, comfortable but not sloppy clothes, my hair out of my face, and plenty of eye shadow. And my little Dell.

It makes for a simple routine, if a time-consuming one—good eye shadow is itself a work of art—but it orders my days.

And if it's un-authorial to jump up at twelve o'clock sharp and say the Angelus, mid-sentence if necessary, well—I'll just say that such rituals are part of making time sacred.

12.16.2011

Killing Off Lovebirds and other stories

'Tis the season to... not talk about what I've been up to all week, because too many people I've been putting together presents for read this blog. :)

Suffice it to say that I've thought about almost nothing but Christmas prep this week, and now face this blog-post with an oddly disoriented feeling. Friday, is it? I didn't get around to posting on Tuesday, did I? What else have I not gotten done? Hmm.

* * *

Reading can be done even with sapped mental powers, so I'm now halfway through Anna Karenina. And I'm nervous. Somehow or other I do know how this ends for Anna, but hers isn't the only plot thread and it scares me silly when two people get really, really happily married halfway through a Russian novel. I'm not sure I trust Tolstoy not to kill one of them off.

* * *

Writers' link of the week: Shannon Hale on biting off more than you can chew. Despite not having four children and the attendant chaos, I know exactly what she means about "attempting to write a book that's too hard for me." I appreciate her spirit in tackling that task.

* * *

Music of the week: this glass harp duo has been around for a while, but I still find them impressive. And it's hard not to appreciate a little Tchaikovsky, even if it is overplayed this time of year.



* * *

Random amusement of the week, because it's getting harder to guarantee funny... though this is funny: the blog It Just Gets Stranger. I particularly recommend Snuggie Texts and Technology.

* * *

The cat just cuddled down on my lap, and I was about to get up for lunch. Dilemma.

Happy weekend, everybody!

12.14.2011

Currently Reading: The Titan’s Curse (Percy Jackson, book 3)

The Titan's Curse (Percy Jackson and the Olympians, #3)“Wow,” Thalia muttered. “Apollo is hot.”

“He’s the sun god,” I said.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Little sister!” Apollo called. If his teeth were any whiter he could’ve blinded us without the sun car. “What’s up? You never call. You never write. I was getting worried!”

Artemis sighed. “I’m fine, Apollo. And I am not your
little sister.”

“Hey, I was born first.”

“We’re twins! How many millenia do we have to argue—”

“So what’s up?” he interrupted. “Got the girls with you, I see. You all need some tips on archery?”


Author: Rick Riordan

Synopsis: When a fight with a manticore ends in the disappearance of Annabeth, Percy will do anything to find her—even travel with quarrelsome Thalia and the more quarrelsome Hunters of Artemis. Even elude a dozen unkillable skeletons, endure Aphrodite’s soap-opera fawning and giggling, take a turn bearing an unbelievable burden, and stand trial before the gods.

Even if Annabeth still seems to hold out hope of saving Luke.

Notes: LOL.

I laughed more through this book than I can remember doing since the early pages of Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. The chapter titles had me snickering almost every time. Granted, Riordan played the dam joke so long that by the end only a junior high boy could appreciate it, but since that was his audience, and I’d gotten such hilarity out of the first part of it, I grinned and put up with the replay.

Part of me wishes I’d known my Greek mythology really, really well before reading the books; I’m curious how much I’d have been able to predict the storylines if I had. Perhaps not much, though. I actually am familiar with the villain of this piece, but I didn’t see the details coming. Of course, with this series it almost matters more who the various deities are related to than what they did.

As with the first book, I found some of Riordan’s characterizations over the top—the goofy Pegasus’ street lingo, notably—but mostly, they just amused me. As with the second book, I couldn’t put this one down. I believe I read it in a single Sunday afternoon.

Thalia and the Hunters made for interesting new characters, and I lost some sympathy for Luke in this one. I hope the son of Hermes straightens out, for his dad’s sake at least. But if he'd retained any right to Annabeth's heart thus far, I'd say he's lost it now.

The usual advisory applies: Riordan’s basically clean schoolboy voice neither glamourizes nor condemns the gods’ creation of numerous illegitimate children by mortals and other beings. A watchful parent can certainly aid a child’s moral discernment, should there be concern. And as always, there’s no one like Percy—or Rick Riordan—for making the characters memorable.

Recommendation: Hilarious, relaxing Sunday afternoon reading, and good for the Greek holes in your classical education.

12.12.2011

Sacred Time and Making Space

A blogalectic with Masha and Mr. Pond.

This past week, we covered the quest for silence. Masha spoke of going to the wilderness, and Mr. Pond of saying yes.

The making of sacred time involves other steps beside silence, of course, and one of those is creating a place—somewhere set apart, a space where things like silence and ritual can flourish, however idealized that may sound.

I admit I haven't put a lot of time and thought into creating my own space as sacred—not as set apart from the rest of my life, anyway. If anything, our home itself is that place. Lou and I live very quietly, and nearly everywhere you turn in our house, you can spot a crucifix, an icon, a statue, a piece of art. Here in the living room, Mary looks out from the shelf, St. Michael from the wall, Christ from the coffee table beside the Bible and breviary and, at the moment, the Advent wreath. It would all drive some people crazy, I suppose, but for me, it's easier to hold onto faith when I can touch some physical evidence of its enduring nature.

As for a place for art, I am surrounded by the evidence that others have believed and lived as I do, in the sense of being writers: many books. Shelves full. It's an inspiration like no other, if sometimes also a distraction. The Kindle has its strengths and weaknesses and on the whole I'm very glad it exists, but it will never replace that.

To my personality, both clutter and clean-freakery are obstacles to art. I'm comfortable in neither; neat and cozy and lived-in, however, set me at ease. But perhaps I'm just making excuses for the fact that while I truly can't bear chaos for long, I do tend to forget to dust.

There's at least one more crucial ingredient to home decor that serves as a place set apart for both devotion and writing, and that is lighting. Which is hard to come by in the Pacific Northwest, especially in winter—some gray days, when the clouds hang thick and low, it never gets beyond twilight. Sheer golden curtains, generous windows, old-fashioned light fixtures that diffuse the glow of incandescent bulbs, and lamps all get marshaled against the dark and the dingy. Candles, too. When it comes time for prayer, nothing will do but candles; a lamp simply couldn't substitute, not fully. Maybe it's the elemental nature of fire—a dangerous, almost a living thing.

Writing all this makes me want to pull out my notebook and write longhand, by candlelight. That would be an interesting experiment (I wonder if I'd come up with better first drafts, or whether I'd ever come up with first drafts at all). So says the blogger, typing by lamplight directly into the Internet, with the glow of a backlit screen reflecting off face and fingers. I can't deny that modern convenience has its place, not when I love and use it so much.

As with silence, the manner of making sacred space may differ from one person to the next. This is something of mine.

12.09.2011

Many Moons and other stories

To the delight of stargazers everywhere, there's a total lunar eclipse in the morning!

I stayed up late last night finishing the Emily books, so I'm tired. And yet I might just get up and try to see this. It won't happen again till 2014, and who knows whether we'll have a clear night then?

And on the stargazing note: my favorite event of this past week was Lou setting up our telescope down at my parents', so we could all look at moon-craters and Jupiter with two of its moons. Mom and Dad and sister and brother-in-law and niece turned out for it. My two-year-old niece was enthralled at the sight of the moon through the lenses.

* * *

I have never liked living with suspense. Which means that I read in bed a lot, pushing past the midnight hour to find out what happens. This has its challenges; there's no comfortable way to read lying down for very long. At least, not lying on your side with your head on the pillow. You can prop up the book and read one page, but then you have to prop yourself up to read the facing page. It gets annoying.

My favorite thing about the Kindle: it fixes that problem. Though I probably shouldn't stay up tonight blasting through Anna Karenina.

* * *

Early last year, my little city made Forbes' top five potential real estate trouble spots. Now it's in the news for having the lowest average sunshine amount in the nation (only because nearby Forks and Alger weren't counted, I'm sure.) And we won't even talk about the general tone of the bumper stickers around here.

Crazily enough, I love this little town anyway. It's immensely beautiful. Today, it's even sunny.

* * *

Writers' link of the week: Jon Morrow's 'Five Crippling Beliefs that Keep Writers Penniless and Mired in Mediocrity.' Important, thoughtful, interesting—but potentially dispiriting, so here's also a glorious little Sir Arthur Conan Doyle quote about books themselves, for inspiration.

* * *

Music of the week: I am so grateful to Michael Gungor for posting his thoughts on 'Zombies, Wine and Christian Music', I could just sing. He said much of what I've wanted to say for years: 
"There are emotions and attitudes of different genres of music that are the soul of the music. You can’t remove the anger from screamo and have it still be screamo. It’s the soul of that music, whether that soul is good or evil is not the point, simply that it is the soul. So when you remove the soul from music and transplant the body parts (chord changes, instrumentation, dress, lights, and everything but the soul…) and parade it around with some more “positive” lyrics posing as Christian music, then what you have is a musical zombie."
I loved this article. I'd like to take it and write a very long post in response, enlarging on his thoughts and moving on to some of my own. And possibly migrating from music to fiction. Unfortunately, I haven't the time at this moment.

Anyway, that's not music, and what I promised you was music... so here's some Gungor.


* * *

And that's all from me... I know there's funny stuff on the Internet, but I'm out of ideas. Although you could always Google Dwight Schrute quotes.

Happy weekend!

12.07.2011

Currently Reading: Emily of New Moon

Emily of New Moon (Emily, #1)“Poor Ilse!” said Aunt Laura, sighing.

“Yes, her father doesn’t like her. Isn’t it dreadful?” said Emily. “Why doesn’t he?”

“He does—really. He only thinks he doesn’t.”

“But why does he think it?”

“You are too young to understand, Emily.”

Emily hated to be told she was too young to understand.. She felt that she could understand perfectly well if only people would take the trouble to explain things to her and not be so mysterious.

“I wish I could pray for her. It wouldn’t be fair, though, when I know how she feels about it. But I’ve always asked God to bless all my friends so she’ll be in that and maybe some good will come of it. Is ‘golly’ a proper word to say, Aunt Laura?”

“No—no!”

“I’m sorry for that,” said Emily, seriously, “because it’s very striking.”

Author: L.M. Montgomery

Synopsis: When little Emily Starr’s beloved father dies, her aunts and uncles cast lots for who will take her, and she goes home with spinster aunts Elizabeth and Laura of New Moon. Scolded by Elizabeth and coddled by Laura, she finds allies in ‘crazy’ Cousin Jimmy, atheist wildling Ilse Burnley, and a secret talent for the literary arts.

Notes: The impressive thing about Montgomery’s writing is that, though I only recall reading this once before, and that probably close to two decades ago, I remembered an impressive percentage of the story as I re-read it. Her descriptions are more effusive than is usually tolerated today, more poetic-prosy; her interactions get away with dialogue tags and adverbs more frequently, not to mention the passive voice; but things play out memorably, and with warmth and interest.

Emily had interested me when I first read her, perhaps in my early teens. This trip through, she won my heart. I found something of the kindred spirit in her, what with her penchant for scribbling and her rather lonerish way of looking at the world.

I enjoyed rediscovering a lot of other characters as well: Ilse, whom I'd always loved; Mr. Carpenter, whose unorthodox classroom rule made me smile; Father Cassidy, whose brief appearance was so packed with kindness and a love for all things faerie that I picked him out as a favorite on the spot. Jimmy, the gentle poet. Elizabeth and Laura, the grim aunt and the kind, yet both wholly human—Elizabeth proven to have a heart, and Laura to have weakness—and both ultimately lovable.

The book was darker than the Anne of Green Gables series, as introspective, passionate Emily is darker than laughing, sparkling, fiery Anne. I like a little darkness in story, provided it exists to set off light rather than to moralize or just be dark for dark's sake, and Emily passed the test in this her first book. I intend to get hold of the sequels immediately. Emily Climbs I’ve once read, but Emily’s Quest I have not.

Recommendation: A fantastic, wintery sort of book, especially good for introspective, writerly types.

12.05.2011

Top Ten Tuesday: Books that were Childhood Favorites

The only question is: when did childhood end? I'm nearly thirty-four, and I still like kids' books.

Top Ten Tuesday is hosted by The Broke and the Bookish! Do come join the fun...

For the sake of the question, though, I'll stick with the ones I loved as a child, starting no later than junior high. It's very hard to limit this to ten.

1. Little Women by Louisa May Alcott. I still pretty well have half of it memorized.

2. Heidi by Johanna Spyri. One of the most sympathetic young characters I've ever known.

3. The Little House books by Laura Ingalls Wilder. My sister Beth and I read one set of these entirely to pieces, and worked hard on a second.

4. The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis. Someone got me a set of these when I was seven, before we moved from one end of the country to the other. I read nearly the entire series on the six-day drive.

5. The Anne books by L.M. Montgomery. Anne Shirley is probably partially responsible for how much I daydream.

6. The Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett. Sara Crewe was my hero. Of course, I loved The Secret Garden, too.

7. The Time books by Madeleine L'Engle. The first three, anyway; I've still not read Many Waters.

8. Patricia M. St. John's books. Particularly Star of Light, The Secret at Pheasant Cottage, Treasures in the Snow, Three Go Searching... I may be forgetting some titles, too.

9. 101 Dalmatians by Dodie Smith. Warm and vivid and well-developed. I loved this book.

10. The Pippi Longstocking books by Astrid Lindgren. She had a horse, which might have made the story for me even if she hadn't been utterly hilarious and lovable.

Beverly Cleary's Ramona books, Wilson Rawls' Where the Red Fern Grows and Summer of the Monkeys, George MacDonald's Wee Sir Gibbie and Alec Forbes, the Bobbsey Twins, the Saddle Club, Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm... see, I knew I'd never be able to keep it to ten.

What were your favorite books when you were a kid?

12.04.2011

Sacred Time and the Quotidian Roar

A blogalectic with Masha and Mr. Pond.

From Masha:
These dark morning times of silence give the hours that follow a sacred taste.  Surrounding myself with true silence in the early hours, I am better able to carry with me an interior cloister in the busyness of the day - a reminder that all these mundane tasks - repeated again and again - weave around me the sacredness of time given in love.
From Mr. Pond:
For Jenna, and Masha, and myself, these days of preparation and silence attract us to the place where our art is born. We create out of silence; the silence, not the sound and fury of the world around, gives us stories, and “the courage to stand up and die in order to utter a word or a poem.”
There is a time to delight in sound, but noise rules the modern world. It's not all auditory, either.

The roars and strident horns of traffic. The neighborhood garage band. The omnipresence of stereo and surround sound. Television's barrage of story, advertisements, story, advertisements with jingles, news, weather forecast, advertisements. Information on steady flow from the Internet. The vicious mania of political debate, where according to one bumper sticker, "If you're not outraged, you're not paying attention." The Mack truck of noise and shocking imagery and sexual brazenness that hit me last time I went to listen to Top 40 radio. Protests and counter-protests, and people who swerve or shout or throw things from car windows at protesters. Cursing. Vitriol. War. Newscasts that are a list of horrors. Online witch hunts, self-righteous and cruel, destroying the reputations of decent people who happened to say something that wasn't politically correct.

I don't listen to music much, just because it's so hard to find quiet in this world. But I look forward every week to King FM's Sunday night broadcast of Compline (night prayer) from St. Mark's Anglican Cathedral in Seattle. The prayers are sung, a mix of hymn and chant. The way chant is designed, at the end of each line the music reverberates off the great stone walls and then pauses for breath—an instant of silence.

No other music soothes me better than Gregorian chant. Everything about it proves that despite the thunder of our daily lives, somewhere there is silence and stillness and rest.

It's not enough for me to know that these things exist somewhere. It never has been. I have to find them, to befriend them, to know and live in them as much as I can.

Silence requires lifting a hand to stop the motion and speaking a simple word: no. No, I cannot have a television and still read a book a week. No, I cannot participate actively in Twitter and still put full artistry into my novels. No, I don't need to know why the two are mutually exclusive—I just need to know that for me, for now, they are. No, I will not attend the outrage party, nor will I join in its great mockery of charity; outrage grows from a culture that despises silence and reverence.

These are roads I have taken to silence. Your journey may cover different terrain. Be that as it may, the goal is well worth seeking.

From silence focused upward come stability, goodwill, and peace. Likewise, the quiet, solid conviction that allows for creation, for beauty and art. These things flourish with the step back, the bowed head, the echo of truth, the pause for breath.

12.02.2011

Secondhand Wonders and other stories

Momentous piece of news this week: thanks to George, who offered me a deal I couldn't resist, I now own a Kindle.

Thanks to the flu, I'm not very photogenic. The Kindle looks great, though.
George's old second-generation Kindle, in fact, which has traveled out West to introduce my bookshelf-loving self to the wonders of the handheld library. I've already downloaded both War and Peace and Anna Karenina, so I am looking forward to many happy hours with the device. But my first impressions are that it's awesome.

Maia, of course, took immediate possession of the packaging.

She sends her thanks to George for the thoughtful gift.

* * *

With the end of November, my goal was to have at least 26,000 words written on the novella. I came out over 27K, so—success! Of course, I'd also hoped that by this time I'd have caught the thrill of the approaching ending. I know how it should end, and in my opinion it will be lovely, but for now I'm stuck in the long slow slog of the middle. Ah, well. For the sake of the ending, I'm slogging onward.

* * *

Thanksgiving went off delightfully. I made five green bean casseroles. We had the best waffles I've ever had anywhere, enjoyed excellent dinners at both houses, gave a tour of our new house and yard, and spent lots of time with lots of family. Also, a glass pan exploded, which was rather exciting in a whoa-did-we-seriously-just-get-showered-in-glass-shards way. Fortunately, no one got cut and the turkey was still safely in the oven.

* * *

Writers' link of the week: Nathan Bransford's exploration of a few common writerly diseases. It's brilliant, I say. Brilliant.

* * *

Music of the week: Oh. My. Sweet. Ocarina. This is nerd heaven. And I've never even played Zelda, I've only watched others play it.



* * *

Funny of the week: Actually, Mr. Pond sent me this comic (from Over the Hedge) weeks ago. But sometimes, funny stuff is hard to find, so I pasted it into the file for such a time as this. I will say that the strip demonstrates exactly how I feel about the news.

* * *

November has ended, the trees have lost all their leaves at last, and I haven't gotten well started on preparations for Christmas yet. I may not get quite as much writing done this month.

Happy weekend, everybody!