Category Archives: Reading

Revising = Reimagining

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Maybe every writer should work on poetry once a year– to remind themselves that cutting, even a significant percentage of words and meaningful images that don’t quite fit, will result in a stronger work.

I know for me the exercise was a challenge, but it was an excellent parable.

Once I was free to remove elements that didn’t fit (the original assignment forced me to insert a metaphor that didn’t fit the rest of the images) the whole piece became stronger.

~

With my WIP (work-in-progress) I am currently trying to identify similar segments. Those that exist because (when I wrote them) I thought I needed them and now, especially compared to the strongest pieces, don’t quite fit.

Watching the poem improve was an effective parable, and very motivating, but it’s made me unsure about my current vision/expectation for my novel.

Right now it’s like herding sheep.

That is to say, with the right training I should be able to do it with patience and the expectation that everything will eventually end up where it should go. But not actually having that training (getting it on-the-job) I am feeling an increasing urge to reduce the size of my “flock.”

I don’t think I need to eliminate characters, necessarily, but I’m trying to decide if I need to have less of them doing interesting and significant things.

Fantasy lends itself to sprawling, panoramic, masses-affecting action. Maybe that’s why so many are insanely fat or grow into series.

My immediate desire for simplicity seems less natural/easy to achieve.

So now, instead of writing more from my latest outline, I’m going through what I’ve written (much of it at NaNo speed) and trying to decide what the purpose of each segment is; whether it advances the plot, whether the novel’s better with this action on- or off-stage, etc.

It’s more tedious work, but I trust it will both tighten the end-product and reduce the amount of un-used writing I end up with.

My Poems

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Jen F.’s post about the “Secret Handshake” of art (I love that phrase) has inspired me to be brave and throw out a couple of my poems to the world.

Honestly, it didn’t make me think of either of these, but the third poem I wrote in this class (the one I did think of) needs revising before I will bring it into the light– though now that I’m thinking of it again, it probably will.

I was forced to write four poems (of different styles/content) as a part of a creative-writing class I took while pregnant with Melody. I will not protest to anyone that I am a poet, but the images of these (and the third if I can revise it) worked in this format like they never would have in my normal language of story or essay.

One of them apparently did come out as an essay, despite my best intentions to meet the teacher’s expectation of a “Prose poem” (go figure), but these were more acceptable to him and I’ll preface them with my teacher’s comments.

No great reason for this other than it seems to legitimize them somehow.

~

From his response to my 47-page portfolio of the semester’s stronger work (he himself is a poet, so I hope it doesn’t minimize the prose too much that he liked the poems best):

Two of my favorite pieces in the collection happen to be the poems.

They stand up awfully well, I think, with “My First Love” quite nicely capturing spiritual joy— which typically leads to poems that are terribly corny.

Yours isn’t, and the genuine delight apparent in the language and imagery take us, whatever we believe, to a fine place.

“Thoughts While Cleaning…” is considerably more somber, of course, but the arrangement of details is quite smart, and the nature of those details brings us close to the horrors of what happened— even as the way those details are viewed is meant to find distance from those same horrors.

~

 

My First Love

I always thought of the quiet breeze
as God playing with my hair,
and the soft raindrops were his kisses.

I’d turn my face into the wind
and feel
my hair curl behind me.

The warm breath
fit my face
perfectly,
like a strapless dress
that magically stays on.

Then,
as the rain began to fall,
I’d turn my face up to taste it.
Gentle touches over my throat
and lips.

I would begin to dance–
in my young way–
spinning about and lifting
my arms to welcome the divine
caress.

 

~ ~ ~

 

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Loveliness Fair: Staying Connected Edition

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My article defending “movie dates” is a part of the Loveliness Fair: staying connected edition. The fair is being hosted by Sarah at Just Another Day of Catholic Pondering.

Sarah has woven a thoughtful collection of quotes and scriptures with individuals’ submissions that describe ways those individuals stay connected in their marriages.

I am not Catholic, and not at all likely to convert (sorry, Catholic friends), but I regularly read a number of Catholic blogs because I am encouraged by the organic inclusion of faith and family that colors so much they choose to write about.

If there is one thing that buries my heart, tempts me toward discontent, and puts mud in the cogs of my life, it’s absorbing the worldly idea that husbands, children and home are some sort of “satellite” to my real life (internal or otherwise), rather than part of its core.

I appreciate tracking with people who put family in the proper place.

It’s sort of like hanging out with folks who cook “healthy” without having to think about it.

I figure do reasonably well for my family (especially considering we live in Alaska), but then I go visit people in my own town who are so much better at it than me, and I see what more can be done.

I don’t always want to hear it, and sometimes it is too overwhelming to try and think about one. more. thing. But to get to know “real” people who are doing it is consistently encouraging.

Blogs I read that (I know) are written by Catholics (along with Sarah’s, that I linked above) include:

Movie Quotes (Quiz and Answers)

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Finally getting around to this.

Most of my readers know memes are a very. low. priority for me, but I enjoy quotes so this was a natural fit and I knew I’d eventually do it.

Picked this up from Thoughts of a Wannabe whom I met through the Ultimate Blog Party.

The rules:
1. Pick 10 of your favorite movies.
2. Go to IMDb and find a quote from each movie.
3. Post them here for everyone to guess.
4. I’ll re-post this with all the answers in a week or so.
5. No Googling or IMDb-ing. That’s cheating, and that’s no fun!

*Answers are now listed at the bottom of the post if you need help.*

Mouse-over the space between quotes and highlight the line to see the answer.

These aren’t all from my top-10 movies, but the lines are all those that still cause a reaction, even when I’ve seen or thought of them a number of times.

  1. [to the baby in his arms] I was forced to recite that poem when I was a lad. I have no idea what it means, but why should I be the only one to suffer?

    2. Amazing Grace

  2. A: Then you kidnapped me!
    B: Why would I kidnap…?
    A: I have no idea. You’re the criminal mastermind, not me.
    B: What?!
    A: You’re right. That’s giving you way too much credit.

    3. The Emperor’s New Groove

  3. [Narration] The trial of Jerome Gribben was the social event of the season. The judge in the case was the venerable Judge Zadic. Judge Zadic was totally incompetent, but being a Judge nobody had noticed.

    4. Hallmark’s Arabian Nights (Not Kid-friendly. Think pushing the boundaries of PG-13)

  4. A: You think you’re smarter than we are.
    B: Oh, not much.

    5. Undercover Blues

  5. Over my dead body. (Life-or-death situation.)

    6. Enchanted (The line is so familiar I was surprised I couldn’t place it from any other movie.)

  6. Some feel that to court a woman in one’s employ is nothing more than a serpentine effort to transform a lady into a whore.

    7. Kate and Leopold

  7. The only way to find out what story you’re in is to determine what stories you’re not in. Odd as it may seem, I’ve just ruled out half of Greek literature, seven fairy tales, ten Chinese fables, and determined conclusively that you are not King Hamlet, Scout Finch, Miss Marple, Frankenstein’s Monster, or a golem. Hmm? Aren’t you relieved to know you’re not a golem?

    8. Stranger Than Fiction

  8. Man: And uh… hey, while I think about it, how bout, uh, marryin’ me?
    Woman: Gracious! What’d I want to marry you for?
    Man: Uh, well, I dunno, couldn’t you maybe think up some reason why you might?

    9. Oklahoma! (The London version is the one worth watching.)

  9. American: I’m sorry, I don’t speak English.
    African gunman: You are speaking English right now.
    American: No, I only know how to say, “I don’t speak English” in English.

    10. Sahara (The most-recognized answer– based on both on- and off-line guesses)

  10. Just a little bit louder, because this song is intended for humans, okay?

    11. Music and Lyrics

Titles Represented:

  • The Emperor’s New Groove
  • Stranger Than Fiction
  • Undercover Blues
  • Hallmark’s Arabian Nights
  • Enchanted
  • Amazing Grace
  • Oklahoma!
  • Music and Lyrics
  • Sahara
  • Kate and Leopold

Fire-Hunter– a book review

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I love this book because I love watching the way people think and learn.

It’s not the sort of book you read as a writer, to get ideas about form and word-choice, but I’ve enjoyed it every time.

The story is about two young people: Hawk (the spear-maker for his tribe) and Willow (the leader’s daughter whom Hawk is attracted to, but knows taboos about marrying within one’s own tribe prevent their pairing).

For different reasons they are both abandoned by their tribe.

To be left without the protection of numbers has always been a death sentence, but being unwilling to die just yet, they struggle on, finding new ways of providing for their basic needs.

Due largely to Hawk’s curiosity, keen to apply his observations to their survival, their lot improves surprisingly quickly. Kjelgaard, however, manages to make this sudden proliferation seem plausible.

Willow, also, makes a number of significant “discoveries” and (literally) keeps the home fire burning while Hawk is out making his own discoveries. I appreciate that this isn’t a story that implies one person could make it without help.

I don’t think that is very often true.

Modern reviewers (if this story were published today) would complain that the woman’s part is too small and domestic, but I would counter the story isn’t about her. And it seemed clear to me that those “small and domestic” contributions of hers were quite as important (if less dramatic) than Hawk’s weapons-progression.

She thinks both of creating a sort of chimney so they can hide safely in a cave, and she is also the one who thinks of how to provision it with water for an expected siege.

Considering the characters’ commitment to ritual and taboo, it unnatural that they have no powerful being (i.e. god) to either give or enforce these laws.

Jim Kjelgaard is an amazingly humanistic writer.

That is to say, God (or any supreme being, or “larger” plan, or expectation of outside help, or encouragement) is utterly absent from his writing. Man, specifically the main character, is “the center and measure of all things.”

This is true of all his writings. The nice thing, from a mother’s perspective, is that he is, at least, a moralistic humanist. One to whom there is a fairly clear sense of “natural law” and right or wrong.

Something I doubt the 40/50 years since his books has managed to produce or maintain.

Other favorite books by Jim Kjelgaard:

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Home By Choice— a book review

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I read this last Friday through Monday while most of my family was sick and my husband was running the home.

Written by Dr. Brenda Hunter who completed her Ph.D. after her daughters were in high school, the book accomplishes what it sets out to do.

It makes a very complete argument for the importance of Mother staying away from full-time work in order to focus on nurturing her family.

The regular difficulty of this discussion arise: Those not fulfilling the needs Dr. Hunter describes (or having missed an early, critical window) will probably feel guilty.

It disappoints me, but I assume it’s unavoidable:

  • Either you point out the importance of the work at home (thereby building up stay-at-home moms and telling double-time working moms they’ve got it wrong),
  • Or you normalize out-of-home care, saying it’s just as good (thereby reassuring double-working moms but telling the at-home crowd that what they do doesn’t matter— a minimum-wage somebody could do just as much for your child).

That acknowledgment out of the way, those women who are “home by choice” will very likely be encouraged by this book.

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Two Useful Books for Children– Children’s Book Monday

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As a storyteller I am always looking for the perfect story to introduce the seeds of an idea or an attitude I want to be able to discuss with my children.

Especially considering last week’s post regarding teaching children about evil, I remembered I already had a good book on their level:

Doctor DeSoto, about the mouse dentist who treated a fox, has been around for many years.

It tells the story of a mouse-couple who agree out of compassion to help a fox with “a rotten bicuspid and unusually bad breath.”

They must formulate a plan to protect themselves for when he returns without pain on the second day.

This story nicely illustrates once response to the snake situation.

Also on the topic of potentially- touchy issues, I was happy to find Daisy Comes Home. I don’t know if this is what the author had in mind, but I find it is a useful story to introduce the topic of standing up to bullying.

Written and illustrated by Jan Brett, it is the first story I have seen that deals with the topic.

Daisy, the smallest of the hens is always jostled off the perch at night, and finally sleeps outside to get away from the abuse. This precipitates an adventure when the rising river carries her sleeping-basket downstream.

Daisy learns that flapping and pecking makes the series of frightening (to a chicken) animals she meets back off and leave her alone.

This education prepares her to keep her spot in the hen house when she comes home, and the other hens learn to respect her.

I recognize not every parent wants to teach this method to their children (why I feel the need to state the obvious, I don’t know), but I appreciated finding this book because I’ve been wanting to discuss the topic.

And the pictures are great.

More Children’s-book Monday here at A Path Made Straight.

Love and Imagination

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Love

Love bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,
~ Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
~ From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
~ If I lack’d anything.

‘A guest,’ I answer’d, worthy to be here’:
~ Love said, ‘You shall be he.’
‘I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,
~ I cannot look on Thee.’
Love took my hand and smiling did reply,
~ ‘Who made the eyes but I?’

‘Truth, Lord: but I have marr’d them: let my shame
~ Go where it doth deserve.’
‘And know you not,’ says Love, ‘Who bore the blame?’
~ ‘My dear, then I will serve.’
‘You must sit down,’ says Love, ‘and taste my meat.’
~ So I did sit and eat.

George Herbert
(April 3, 1593 – March 3, 1633)

Imagination

There is a dish to hold the sea,
~ A brazier to contain the sun,
A compass for the galaxy,
~ A voice to wake the dead and done!

That minister of ministers,
~ Imagination, gathers up
The undiscovered Universe,
~ Like jewels in a jasper cup.

Its flame can mingle north and south;
~ Its accent with the thunder strive;
The ruddy sentence of its mouth
~ Can make the ancient dead alive.

The mart of power, the fount of will,
~ The form and mold of every star,
The source and bound of good and ill,
~ The key of all the things that are,

Imagination, new and strange
~ In every age, can turn the year;
Can shift the poles and lightly change
~ The mood of men, the world’s career.

John Davidson
(April 11, 1857 – March 23, 1909)

To See the Resurection

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I picked up a Shakespeare’s Sonnets last week, and began trying to read them from the beginning. (I’ve never read them before.)

As I waded through the first dozen, I was struck by the recurring plea to the listener to beget. To parent children so that in their image the memory and beauty of the original might be preserved.

One of the maybe five Shakespeare plays I am familiar with (12th Night) has a whole scene built around this theme— Cesario trying to talk the beautiful Lady Olivia into marrying the Duke.

After a while the repetition got old and I gave up, but not before I was struck by this image:

When every private widow well may keep
By children’s eyes her husband’s shape in mind.

And I thought, maybe for the first time, how children were, for many eras and cultures, the only way to honor or remember anyone who had been loved and valued by you.

~ ~ ~

Last night I took my oldest daughter with me to a meeting, and while there I introduced myself to someone as my grandmother’s granddaughter, because she looked as though she vaguely remembered me, and I knew the woman had admired her.

She held the hand I offered as she studied my face, then turned to my daughter.

“And who does she look like?” the woman asked, smiling warmly but staring enough to make my 5-year old uncomfortable (which, admittedly, isn’t much). “Who’s eyes does she have? Are they yours?”

Not really sure how to answer, I said some familiar line about her being a remarkably even mix, not favoring anyone, and we went together into the meeting.

There were other women there who knew my parents or grandparents before me, and a round of recognition of my mannerisms were attributed while I smiled and nodded. This hasn’t happened in a long time, but I don’t mind it.

There was an absolute eruption when *just* after this exchange an new woman walked in and said, “You’re Rev. Dave and Sister Florie’s daughter, aren’t you?”

~

After the meeting I talked with another woman about my Grandmother’s last morning with me, and the first woman, the one I’d introduced myself to, watched us and finally spoke.

“It’s just amazing to watch the children and grandchildren of those you’ve known for years. It’s like your friend is resurrected. Brought back from the dead to stand in front of you.”

And I finally understood the look on her face and felt a tightness in my heart as I wondered if I would wear it one day, too.

So long as you don’t mind a little dying…

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The Kingfisher
Mary Oliver

The kingfisher rises out of the black wave
Like a blue flower, in his beak
he carries a single silver leaf. I think this is
The prettiest world— so long as you don’t mind
a little dying, how could there be a day in your whole life
that doesn’t have its splash of happiness?
There are more fish than there are leaves
on a thousand trees, and anyway the kingfisher
wasn’t born to think about it, or anything else.
When the wave snaps shut over his blue head, the water
remains water— hunger is the only story
he has ever heard in his life that he could believe.
I don’t say that he’s right. Neither
do I say he’s wrong. Religiously he swallows the silver leaf
with its broken red river, and with a rough and easy cry
I couldn’t rouse out of my thoughtful body
if my life depended on it, he swings back
over the bright sea to do the same thing, to do it
(as I long to do something, anything) perfectly.

~

This poem I read last night fit (for me) so well with Jen’s post today.

Thank you, Jen, for that story. I laughed so hard I cried! And I’m sorry that series of moments was such a challenge, but I bet you earned the top-anything brag from it. :)

This is the line from that poem describes things perfectly for me just now:

I think this is
The prettiest world— so long as you don’t mind
a little dying, how could there be a day in your whole life
that doesn’t have its splash of happiness?

Blessings on your day! I hope your splash of happiness is flood today. ;)