Untangling Tales

Euthanasia has been defined as “mercy killing.”

What I was reminded of this week is that, for honest Christians at least, there can be no such thing.

Bible-believing Christians know that judgment comes after death, and how can hastening God’s judgment on an individual be mercy? We do not know their hearts, only what they’ve shown us. How can we know but God’s reason for allowing the suffering (and therefore, continued life) holds more mercy then throwing someone unready on the unavoidable Judgment?

This is an interesting video by an interesting guy who seems to make things interesting simply by talking fast and on-point.

(I realized recently don’t follow any vlogs largely because this is one of two people I’ve seen able to do both.)

It is entitled, Adorable Puppy Explains Health Care Bill, and in it John makes the impending bill-to-be-reconciled sound quite reasonable. Even the bit about insurance becoming required.

He compares it to car insurance, “Because,” he states, with beautiful and irreducible logic, “your stupid decisions affect people I care about– like me.”

And this, beloved public, is the whole (fully justifiable) point of “legislating morality.”

The same woman who cries, “Keep your laws off my body!” might as well be prepared to hear, “Keep your hand out of my wallet,” because issues of morality (i.e., sin) really do cost us money as a society.

And that was even before activists were looking for public funding of abortion.

The letter I sent to my (AK) senators through American Family Association‘s political-action page.

For the record, I know I don’t go politico very often at Untangling Tales, but there are some things I feel I have to use what (even small forum) I have to distribute information.  And maybe model a little action beyond hand-wringing.

Doubtless you’ve received much communication about the Heath Care Bill, but I have to add my (forgive me, near-panicked) voice against it.

There are many reasons I oppose the Health Care Bill but stopping the taxpayer funding of abortion is the element that sparked my urgency.

The Hyde Amendment prevents Medicaid funds – and Medicaid funds only – from being used for abortions, but that restriction wouldn’t apply to the government takeover of health care, so protestations Abortions wouldn’t be funded are, well, misinformation is the nice word.

Under the Capps Amendment in the House bill, the public option would be *required* to offer abortion services, and every American would have to have access to at least one health care plan that included abortion.

It is immoral to fund the destruction of innocent human life, and I resent– even fear– being required to participate. I am fundamentally opposed to the Health Care Bill and any attempt at government take-over of the health care industry. I urge you to protect the life of the unborn (and the Right to Choice of all Americans– not just those “choosing” abortion) by opposing the Health Care Bill.

Sincerely, (etc.)

Until today I have been at the hand-wringing stage, and no matter which way this issue goes, I want to know I did what I could– however little.

From David Crockett, Exploits and Adventures in Texas (1836).

The more things change…

If your ambition or circumstances compel you to serve your country and earn three dollars a day, by becoming a member of the legislature, you must first publicly avow that the constitution of the state is a shackle upon free and liberal legislation, and is, therefore, of as little use in the present enlightened age as an old almanac of the year in which the instrument was framed.

There is policy in this measure, for by making the constitution a mere dead letter, your headlong proceedings will be attributed to a bold and unshackled mind; whereas, it might otherwise be thought they arose from sheer mulish ignorance.

‘The Government’ has set the example in his [Jackson's] attack upon the Constitution of the United States, and who should fear to follow where ‘the Government’ leads?”

As in, it’s new to me (like this one).

It’s kind of gross, but that probably reflects my attitude toward it.

Affirmation Bulimic

I’m sure you’ve met these people, because I have; I’ve occasionally fought not to become one myself.

These are those individuals, starving for affirmation– for words of encouragement and approval– who go around with their beggar’s cup outstretched then throw back everything they’re offered.

I surmise the psychology behind these emotional bulimics is parallel to that of physical bulimics.  I’ve heard the reasons may range from self-loathing or a feeling of unworthiness to a simple matter of habit or muscle memory.

Whatever the reason, I think it’s nearly as unhealthy as the more familiar form of bulimia.  This alienates people and cuts the “sufferers” off from their increasingly narrow source of all they are seeking…

Anyway, I’m sure there are more parallels that those closer to the affliction could draw, but this is enough for my purposes– a self-warning (that I hope others will take as well) that “simply swallowing,” accepting kind words as they are,  is the healthiest response to a complement– fished for or not.

Here is yet another example of “fairy tales” being misunderstood.

From a local non-profit’s brochure:

If life were a fairy tale, no child would be abused.  The cold reality is that many children in Alaska are abused.

…

The team…helps provide the support and intervention the child victim and their family need in order… to have a chance to live happily ever after.

No offense intended to this well-meaning agency, but I don’t think anybody who knows traditional tales could claim that a fairy tale world is a safe place.  I’m always frustrated when I see this misconception perpetuated.

I don’t feel personally hurt so much as I feel these agencies (for example) and disillusioned individuals are closing the door on something that could be useful for the wounded children they are seeking to aid, or even themselves.

If humans are convinced they have to work without the power of Christ, I think they shouldn’t rule out any man-made help.  For all that the words of men will never substitute for the work of Christ, I think we can all agree there are words with greater and lesser usefulness. (If only because we have all encountered the less-effective stuff.)

To constantly mock and degrade the concept of fairy tale neutralizes its potential effectiveness.

Where is the harm in letting a beaten or neglected child see herself in the story of Cinderella?  Yes, there is the out-of-vogue reference to being rescued by a male consort, but viewed in the larger circle of folklore one could learn it is relationship, along with faithfulness and perseverance working as the means of freedom– not just finding the “right” guy or being the sweet milksop.

Aren’t those noble elements what we wish for our wounded self or wounded others?  Aren’t those the healthy elements we delight to see the wounded learn?

Eventually I will finish Bettelheim’s The Uses of Enchantment and learn if he’s got an actually useful suggestion for using traditional tales in therapy (it will take someone less-controversial than him, but more dedicated than me to create something systematically usable and coherent).

Tomorrow I’ll share an example of a fairy tale giving me just what I needed.

So the silence is not deceptive I will say it: I have not been writing or reading.

I have been tending to real life: Primarily, learning a new way of cooking and eating, secondarily managing my household and planning for school come fall.

I have started a few books, but not continued them because that instinct to stay only with what will delight me (also known as what I wish to be like) has made it easy to let them go uncompleted.  I do have a queue now, waiting for my attention, for various reasons (though any of these could be thrown aside for reasons as fickle the most recent).

In The Ill-Formed Mute I encountered what I’ve only heard of to this point: a fantasy assuming an adult audience, and stretching that audience for all their brains and patience are worth.

The story was all about setting (which, for my just-get-to-the-story self required discipline to stick with as long as I did), and set-up.  I could see the purpose of all of it, but it was far too distracting to actually get lost in the story.  I’d start to lose myself, then the author would use a $25 word that reminded me I was reading.

She did have deliciously original similes though, and some original ideas that the flap-copy somewhat ruined the suspense of (such is life for us long-story tellers).

Anyway, tomorrow Jay’s giving me the day to write again– splitting the kids’ day with a family friend. I’ve done one scene since last time when I got through a quarter of the novel in the *Whole. Day.*

(more…)

Because this thing had me panting with laughter.

Another brain-dump thanks to Jenn’s lovely idea at Conversion Diary.

Enough on my mind I did two this week (another one at Family News)

~ ~ 1 ~ ~

The novel.  I am closer and closer.  It’s constantly on my mind– almost like nesting.  Which I hate, in theory.

~ ~ 2 ~ ~

Someday I want to write down what I’ve been describing as the “math” of the story.  This is composed of several elements, but math just seems like the best word so far:

• The way each event after the inciting event needs to be precipitated by something that came before (nothing is random in a well-done story)
• The weaving of view points, physical (story) location, and story lines to maintain or increase tension
• The awareness of time and space as part of the storylogic.

~ ~ 3 ~ ~

Love it and can’t use it–So onto the blog it goes.

This moment takes place before the scene (in the final version) actually starts– so it won’t appear in the novel.

Kennett felt the blood stop flowing to his hand as they saw a silhouette rise between them and the fire. Torbjorn had clasped his arm, for the figure approaching was obviously female. And unaccompanied.

It’s the moment the brothers have been hunkered down and waiting for– thinking they’ll collect more information about the kidnapped wife, and now it appears she herself is being sent toward their hiding place.

It doesn’t really work as a scene any more, because it was written in the traditional light/darkness cycle farther from the arctic circle, and I’m telling you no one is walking about in the dark of June.  Especially since the closest you find is going to be between 1 and 3 a.m.

~ ~ 4 ~ ~

I have a bunch of cassettes I’ve been picking up from thrift stores and I’m working at “digitizing” them now– recording them onto the computer so that I can snip them into individual songs and have (legal) digital copies to mix and make playlists on my iPod.

Cassettes are 50-cents, so buying one for a single song is much better than a $4 CD (For that I’ll buy by the song alone) and *fabulous* when I like multiple songs.

(I’ve mentioned before I create playlists that capture a character’s personality throughout its evolution.  Usually on YouTube, because it’s free, but lately– especially as the songs most important to me have become unavailable– I’ve begun buying them.)

~ ~ 5 ~ ~

Picked up the 10th Anniversary “special edition” Pride and Predudice BBC production + how-we-did-it book for $5.50 Tuesday.  Watched my favorite scenes from the 2005 version to compare styles.

There’s a point when Darcy comes to visit Elizabeth and makes a comment about some women liking to be farther away from home/their mothers once they’re married.

“You for example, wouldn’t mind being so far from [home].”

And I couldn’t tell if it were a question or an observation, but I whooped, calling Jay over to listen to the line.

Before we were engaged (sometime in April, I believe) Jay asked me if I thought I could be happy anywhere but Fairbanks.  I went to my mom that same night and told her (in high anxiety) I expected a proposal soon. (“Are you sure you’re not just borrowing trouble?” she asked, and I told her his question.)

~

The funny part is that Jay was trying to feel me out for a proposal, but thought he was being so subtle and clever, trying to go under my radar.

Anyway, because of that event there was no subtle or casual way for me to read that observation of Darcy’s.

~ ~ 6 ~ ~

Trying to determine the level of PDA for my novel has been an interesting exercise.

Back when I was firmly resisting any idea of “seriousness” in my relationship with Jay, I always wondered if my parents cuddled more right before my visits with him in order to make me more wistful and willing to be snugly myself.

Because if that was their goal it worked.

~ ~ 7 ~ ~

Came across a new way of writing a teaser, and based on that (“First 25-pages”) model, this is what mine looks like (Sorry Becky for sending it to you already– I forgot I had 7QTF to set this out for.)

For my almost-finished (again) work, The Sarsé’s Lindorm:

When Linnea faces the grey-skinned man unearthing her father’s coffin, she has no idea it is about a knife. When Tykone uses that knife to attack a dragon-like snake, the lindorm, he has no idea he’s wounding a missing prince. And the perfect Prince Torbjorn, who believes he is to inherit the throne, has no idea when he dutifully goes off to wed his arranged bride that she might have to train Linnea to be queen in her place. The grey-skinned stranger guesses, only he has come North to leave behind the world of magic in the hot lands.

But evil magic has followed him—and under the unsetting sun of summer it will seek new entertainment. And revenge.

Naturally the reason I give it is for suggestions/feedback, so feel free to share your wisdom (or opinions, if that’s all you have to offer ).

I really hate the word “revenge”.  I know it is a real and frequent motivator, but any time a read a description like the one I just gave you, I roll my eyes (feel free to tell me you didn’t).

Blessings on your day!

For more 7 Quick Takes visit Jen’s Conversion Diary

Other 7 Quick Takes on Untangling Tales

Purple Moose mentioned a finger-cutting incident that reminded me of a story I haven’t told here before.

The summer that Natasha was 2, I was shaving the fat off some cuts of meat (toward my hand.  Duh.  Everyone knows you don’t do that, but everybody also knows you’ve got better control that way) when the blade slipped and sliced my index finger across the first knuckle and into the cuticle.

My knives tend to very sharp, so it wasn’t painful, per se; a very clean cut.  But I was angry.  I stomped the floor *hard* (this is my “emotional” response to pain or frustration.  I don’t really scream or swear– in the traditional sense).

On some level I was concerned for my girl– vaguely aware that this could be one of those really formative moments in her young life– and I was determined *not* to have a little girl that was afraid of blood (no offense).  I rinsed my cut finger under the faucet while I ripped off a paper towel to wrap it in.

Now, before all this began I’d been explaining safe food-handing practices to my 2-year-old.

(Yes, it’s okay to laugh.  I thought it was funny.  Especially the quiet, serious look she maintained while I talked about washing and germs and not cross-contaminating used surfaces).

When I cut myself, precipitating the rapid string of actions that followed, Natasha kept piping, (younger than Elisha is now, though I can still hear it in his voice), “Sick? Sick?”

Still I stomped, wondering the best response to her concerned inquiry.  To myself, head spinning just slightly, I was hissing, “I never cut myself by accident.  I never cut myself by accident.”

Which is true.  I knew better than to cut toward my own hand, so this wasn’t a true accident.

And all of a sudden the image of an oblivious adolescent was in my mind’s eye, and she was saying, “I don’t know *how* I got pregnant!”

I laughed, and my head cleared.

Turning to Natasha I showed her my clean and blotted finger.  Bending the knuckle caused the cut to begin leaking again and she studied the color.

“This is blood,” I said in the same voice I’d used to talk about why we cut off fat, and why we wash our hands.  “If you ever see this you’re allowed to scream, and you get a band-aid.”

Can’t be all bad, right?