We’re all Reacting to Life

Posted on October 23, 2011 by Amy Jane

Recently I began to think about the (fiction-writing) imperative that a main character must make things happen.

One of the most consistent criticisms of Linnea, the central character of my Lindorm novel, is that she’s too passive. “Everything happens to her,” someone said, “and she’s always having to close the gap and react.“

Linnea is my first (grown up) heroine.

When I created her I was telling a story. I wasn’t thinking of forms or expectations (hey, I was just trying to make word count half the time). She grew out of my image of this wounded girl with too much strength to simply roll over and take it. She continued to think and walk, and even fight when she could find (or create) the weapons.

I really admired her, because she did what I wanted to be able to do: choose the right way to respond. I wasn’t thinking about how she was “always reacting” because that’s the way (probably unconsciously) I saw myself and people in general.

And I still do.

Lots of people have repeated the line about how our character is not shaped/displayed so much by what happens to us as by how we respond to what happens to us.

The fantasy of a proactive, powerful protagonist is part of our collective hunger to have more control than we have.

I believe most our life what we do with what we’ve been given: given to us either by powers outside of us, outside our control; or what we’ve given ourselves, in the form of decisions we’ve already made, and are now living out.

For example, being married and having children dramatically restricts the number of choices I have. Because I’ve made the choice to live honorably. This is a proactive choice I made. No one coerced me into it. But it now restricts my “options”.

Every Yes we declare is a hundred silent Nos. The more we live, the more choices we make, the more we are hemmed in by our own freedoms.

I would argue this is why the Young Adult category is one of the most exciting places to write; not only because your characters have more genuine, clean, and life-shaping choices to make over the course of the tale, but also because those choices are felt by those who read them.

Young people are trying on decisions through their reading, experimenting with how they fit.

Readers who are older, who’ve already experienced the profound familiarity breaking away, of falling in love, of screwing up massively and wondering if there’s redemption, relive the fear and excitement. This is what good stories are for, and as long as they bring us along for the ride (and we like the ride) I’m less concerned about who started the story.

I care most about how the characters end it.

Boundries

Posted on October 17, 2011 by Amy Jane

Apparently they aren’t just about saying *no*.

I pretty much have that down (despite it making me feel like a jerk sometimes), so I’ve not paid close attention to the topic when it comes up.

The study of boundaries (or rather, the person teaching about them) also suggests that I, like everyone, am continually teaching people how to treat me.

Last week I went off on an unorganized verbal riff with a total stranger (that is, we’d just introduced ourselves to each other as we worked in the same garage). Toward the end I felt embarrassed at her patience and made a joke about how “I’m just thinking with my mouth open, feel free to walk away any time.”

But for real, that’s the worst thing she could have done. That’s the sort of thing that completely burns me, and I only said it because I was trying to absolve my felt-foolishness.

Later that evening, in a different (and more organized) exchange, she did just what I had “taught” her and decided it was time for her to leave (albeit, more graciously than just walking away). I had “taught” her that I didn’t care if she listened (or participated) or not, and that was untrue.

But this also means I need to consider how I want to be treated, and subsequently how to convey that.

For me it means being not-flippant, and treating as serious the things that are serious to me. I often criticize (or redirect) Natasha for using “baby talk” when something is disproportionately important to her, or she’s not sure how I will respond. But I think I do the same thing: trying to hold lightly to something when I’m not sure my listener will equally share the weight of it. I make a joke out of something important to me, then feel wounded to watch it tumble.

This is something I want to work on.

Another angle on boundaries that isn’t just saying no, it’s also not saying anything I’m not comfortable saying, or just don’t want to say. The idea that I am allowed to not-share certain thoughts with anybody. (This in contrast within both Christian and the modern culture’s emphasis on being “real” or “genuine” at any/all costs.)

A commenter on this short and thought-provoking post called authenticity and transparency “the most important thing about social media.” Yikes.

But it’s my tendency to agree, and not just about social media. I’ve always acted as though it was my purpose (or at least my job) to be transparent as possible.

A healthy sense of boundaries teaches that nothing about me is public property, or available for mistreatment.

An interesting aspect of The Perilous Gard is how the main character, Kate, refuses to push another character for the inner workings of his (obviously troubled) mind. She feels there ought to be one person in his world who lets him choose how much he’s willing to share. But it’s not like she enjoys it.

“Though she honored his privacy, she resented it very much, always to be shut out…”

This story was the first time I’d ever thought of feelings or inner battles as private property.

And I wonder a bit if any of that came from my time working with foster kids. “Use your words” was the cure-all/preventative for most behavior issues, so openness with everything was strongly reinforced.

But these two new ideas have made me curious to pull out my old book (that I’ve started ~ five times and never finished) to see what else I’ve missed.

Eccentric

Posted on October 14, 2011 by Amy Jane

“Wow,” my mom said when I told her. “I though you had to be way older. That’s really cool.”

Last week someone was describing first-impressions and one of the words he used for me was eccentric.

I mentioned this after church, and one of the women seemed to grow offended or anxious for my sake.

“Did he really know you?” she asked. How could he say that? was all over her tone.

“That wasn’t the point,” I tried to explain, not sure how to say that no matter how he meant it (and I was convinced he meant it in a neutral way), I felt honored by the word.

You see, though I didn’t have the label for it yet (that came about two days later), I was sure eccentric meant strong. It takes a distinct measure of strength to continue to be notably different from the world around you.

I’ve expressed how thankful I am that I was homeschooled, because it meant that I wasn’t pummeled into some standardized mold by my peers. I don’t think I would have been this strong then. And I rather like who I’ve grown into.

When I meet (usually in a story) an individual that is both weird and attractive, I just assume they’re good at something. The Bunny-Ears-Lawyer can get away with anything because they are. that. good. so no one forces them to change.

But I have a few people in my world that are just weird. Not the eccentric + attractive combination that is necessary to assume skill. So I was sort of putting myself down, putting myself in that (“merely weird”) category, when, two days after I found the label, another recent acquaintance spontaneously addressed this.

I’ve gotten the distinct impression, on reviewing this last week, that God has been telling me over and over again, You have value. A message I needed to hear.

“I remember seeing you at the last potluck,” the new woman said. It was the first time we’d spoken much. “I saw you talking with all this energy and information– you had so much information– and there were people around you, and they were listening to you. And I thought, I want to sit near *her*.”

Many many times I’ve been afraid of burning people, vaguely aware that my intensity is higher than, well, what people expect.

Whatever that means.

And I forget that God has placed people in my world who actually enjoy the way I am. Including my eccentricity.

And that I’m allowed to enjoy me too. :)

I’m Back!

Posted on October 9, 2011 by Amy Jane

UT is live again (I have access and now can post) so Lord-willing I’ll get back onto a regular posting schedule.

I’ve got loads of stuff on my mind, and it’s always nice to have a nook like this to unload things to, so this place could be home to the esoteric and eccentric for a while.

For a life update check over at the family blog (The latest one is password protected, because it’s a lot of detail from the farm, but if I know you, I’ll give you the word, just email me).

And to indicate where my brain’s been, here’s a progression of quotes.

I love the man that can smile in trouble, that can gather strength from distress, and grow brave by reflection. ‘Tis the business of little minds to shrink, but he whose heart is firm, and whose conscience approves his conduct, will pursue his principles unto death.–Thomas Paine

In times like these it helps to recall that there have always been times like these. –Paul Harvey

If you can’t solve it, it’s not a problem–it’s reality. –Barbara Colorose

Do not pray for easy lives. Pray to be stronger men! Do not pray for tasks equal to your powers. Pray for power equal to your tasks. –Phillips Brooks

Strengthen me by sympathizing with my strength, not my weakness. –Amos Bronson Alcott

I’m not going to lie down and let trouble walk over me. –Ellen Glasgow

Be kind. Everyone is fighting their own secret battle.

Girl Stories

Posted on June 30, 2011 by Amy Jane

I am a female novelizing fairy tales, with the goal of publication.

I have two daughters, ages 7 and 8, who love stories and princesses and “glamor” and dressing up. They talk about the man they’ll eventually marry (though they acknowledge they might not know him yet), and the sort of choices they’ll make when they’re mommies (some like mine, some different).

So discussions about “gender inequity” in stories and challenges like the Bechdel test intrigue me, as a woman, a mother of girls, and a storyteller.

But I sometimes wonder how much I actually care, since some of this is choosing where to look, and some of this is having enough hope to look in the first (or second, or third) place.

Now, to start with, I’ll be the last person to argue that there aren’t more male-centered stories. That’s not my point. What I think when I look at the list of movies that “don’t pass the test,” (that is, they don’t have two or more named female characters talking with one another about something other than a male), I don’t think, The slimeball writers left out the women!

I ask, Was it a good movie/story anyway?

Maybe I’m a storylover first and a woman second.

Maybe more than seeing surrogates for myself or my daughters in interesting/tragic/life-threatening situations I want to have an emotional journey.

I want to experience things I’ve never felt before, find words or images for something previously ineffable, or relive something that is over but an exciting memory.

So I watch Lord of the Rings, Stranger than Fiction, or a romantic comedy for an echo of that unexpected spark that surprised me when I first realized I loved the man I ended up marrying.

As an adult, I’m not particularly looking for “role models” or ideas for relationships or interaction. Ms. Bechdel’s test is an interesting piece of trivia, but not relevant to my storylife.

As for my girls I’ve never had the illusion that they will find adequate role models from movies. When poor choices are in front of our eyes we pick them apart, discussing motivations, connecting cause and effect.

Yeah, being the children of a storyteller can be hard sometimes. For the record we actually don’t pick stories apart that much, but when anything seems settle really deep we try to make sure it settles in a healthy context.

So I suppose that has never been a pressure in my mind.

I don’t feel bothered by their attraction to beauty or babies or the ideal of marriage. It is the life I hope for them: one where they are happily married and raising a family.

Statistically that’s what’s going to happen anyway, so why not prepare and make it something to look forward to?

We are surrounded by hard-working, kind-hearted women who know how to listen and how to speak. These are the role models I want all three of my children to key off of.

But what about the stories?!

Yeah, I have a collection of those, too. Mostly picture books, because that’s what I’ve spent to most time with in recent years,

They tend to be traditional so they conform to some *tsk*tsk*able norms (daughters suffering for a father’s “sin”?) but I roll with because every story needs an inciting event. And girls will always be surrounded by people and circumstances stronger than themselves. I feel it’s more important what they do next.

And, yes, in a significant number of these stories the girl has help.

I’m glad for that: I never want any of my children to assume they have to do enormous tasks in isolation. I pray they will always be surrounded by healthy, loving people who with share their burdens.

Most of those next time.

My list begins (and some commentary):

Self-Doubt

Posted on June 20, 2011 by Amy Jane

On one level I think it is a very good thing.

How many tragic (powerful, often, but tragic) stories unfold primarily from the foolishness of hubris? The idea that everything needed is already within. Including wisdom.

How much grief could be avoided by following good advice?

One of my favorite lines is the one that goes, Sure “experience is the best teacher,” but if you can learn second-hand the tuition is cheaper.

I’ve practically made it my life’s work to learn everything second-hand. At least at first.

That said there are people with the opposite problem. Those who don’t trust themselves at all.

While at first this might seem the solution to the problem of hubris, it can’t be, because of the simple reality that no one can be as invested in you as you.

G.K. Chesterton in his book Orthodoxy posits that humility used to mean doubting one’s self, which at least has the potential to motivate working harder (i.e. to prove or validate one’s self). More recently, he says, humility has come to be doubting one’s purpose, resulting in not working at all (i.e., freezing up).

He calls it the difference between a spur and a nail in the shoe.

I have wrestled with the latter question a lot. And felt ineffective; not because I’ve particularly been thwarted, but because I’ve not fully invested and worked. I hold back, still looking around for the right pool to jump in before I hold my nose.

~ ~ ~

When I have the (sometimes) conflicting spheres of ability, interest and responsibility; all ranged out before me, all under a ticking clock, I end up with something like anxiety.

From my conception of God, I know I am not responsible to make up my own reality, and in my view of his sovereignty, I expect he has equipped and prepared me to do something unique.

C.S. Lewis provides one of my favorite quotes on this:

God makes each soul unique. If He had no use for all these differences I do not see why He should have created more souls than one. Be sure the ins and outs of your individuality are no mystery to Him; and one day they will no longer be a mystery to you.

And it seems that I must regularly remind myself of this.

Because what is important to me hasn’t changed.

What is changing is the distractions and responsibilities that deflect me from what I still believe is important.

Have I said what that is?

That thing that’s been around since before children, I can apply with them and expect to still be important when they’re raising their own families?

Story.

It matters because I don’t know of any other (let alone better) way to train the imagination.

And whether you ultimately make decisions from your mind, emotions, or convictions, all of those capacities are informed and trained by imagination.

I have no doubt that to neglect this foundation is dangerous.

Oh yeah, I do that, too.

Posted on May 31, 2011 by Amy Jane

Went with the kids to VBS this morning and met a young photographer. So fun. Great conversation that reminded me so many reasons why I love photography.

Makes me want to dive back in…

Think I’ll test the waters by bringing my camera tomorrow.

And last night I finished prepping part 5 of Lindorm for test readers (started part 6 and confirmed I have 12 parts total)
Confirmed (with a sort of digital handshake) that I’ll be buying the Californian rabbits (foundation stock) from the breeder moving out of state
finished that mondo canning project I started last Tuesday (got to remember to start smaller next time)
Went camping overnight with just Jennifer. (Slept 8 hours in a row for the first time since I can remember)
Ordered (!) a travel-size carbon-fiber guitar (from Ireland, and it’s back-ordered, so it’s going to be a while). So excited about that.
- Jay’s asked if that means I’m getting rid of my wooden travel-guitar, but I figure I’ve got enough kids to keep both guitars busy, so I’ll hand onto it for now.
And I’m almost keeping my house clean– which is way-cool.

If I start knowing more picture-people in real life I’ll have to seriously figure out putting more stuff on-line. I think my favorite stuff is portraits. Definitely the detail stuff.

7 Quick Takes (Vol. 12)

Posted on May 20, 2011 by Amy Jane

Pockets of things to say, and hey it’s Friday. Thanks Jen!

~1~

My last 7QT on Untangling Tales was over a year ago. And yeah, a lot’s changed. But that’s not what today is about.

~2~

The snow has officially melted here at our new house, and we’re finding all sorts of new work along with the expected stuff.

Expected stuff:
- Maintaining house
- Teaching children
- preparing food for daily living
- unpacking shed so we can make it into a garage for this winter
Discovered stuff
- Painting cabin interior
- building shelves for cabin
- digging a run-off channel to divert seasonal flooding*
- Cleaning out the junk yard behind the shed
- building some sort of fox-proof duck run outdoors

* designates DS actually completed

Score One for the Closet Introvert

Posted on May 14, 2011 by Amy Jane

I’ve self-identified as an introvert for a few years now, but I can’t remember ever using that knowledge to reshape my behavior. Until recently.

Just this week I went to a graduation celebration, and I took my knitting. Instead of trying to fight my way into the talk I just sat in the vicinity of conversations that were interesting to listen to and made progress on the little cardigan I’m working on.

Years ago I knew a woman who described her outrage and surprise at being the only individual to defend a core tenet of her faith in a group of fellow Mormons. She told me she was contemplating a month- to year-long experiment.

“I’m just going to quit speaking up,” she said. “And I’m going to keep a journal of people’s responses.”

“Well,” I said, trying to be gentle, but wondering how this could provoke notice from other non-responders, “I think that might be giving others too much credit for even noticing the difference.”

I was feeling this way.

Wondering how much it mattered to me that people wouldn’t notice I was different. Not being sure how much explanation I did or didn’t want to offer.

YES I feel very different than I did 5 years ago. Or 11 years ago, when I still lived at home (and family had more opportunity to figure me out).

No, I don’t think I’ve actually changed that much, just quit fighting who it’s easy to be. Started thinking that maybe this is actually who I’ve been created to be…

Who is still allowed to keep changing, so if I’m too confusing now, just love me and wait. You’ll see something new in another six months if you keep paying attention.

Part way through the evening someone noticed

He accused me of being bored with the company, since I wasn’t participating. I bit back my hurt response at being unfairly sniped and retorted, “When I have something to say I will.”

My sister heard. And remembered it, too; longer than I did.

Today she told me how much she liked the line, and how she’s trying to remember and apply the idea in her own communication.

So am I.

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