What is a *Reader*?

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This started as a comment to Bluestocking’s answer to a question, and got, well, long, so I moved it here and it got longer.  I don’t do the meme she’s responding to, but it got me thinking and writing…. so there you go.

I must have a… gentler definition of “reader,” most likely because I wish to include myself in the categorization.

I think anyone who loves to read, can get lost in a story, can draw connections between stories, and between stories and life, can be described as a Reader (with a capital R, since I understand this isn’t a discussion of mere ability).

Now, I’ve never tried reading “chick lit” or “romance” much, but I believe there are smart people who write both, and they write well and what they know will sell (part of being smart and making a living.)

Should one argue, from experience or stereotype, that those genres are “shallow,” that would be irrelevant even if it were true.  If it provides an alternate world, an escape, and builds a vascular system (i.e. those connections I tried to allude to above), it has served its purpose: both to entertain and cause the reader(s) to think.

I’ve just started reading a textbook (for pleasure.  Yes, I was the kid who curled up with encyclopedias): A Critical Handbook of Children’s Literature, by Rebecca J. Lukens, and I love how she talks about “classics.”

The sacred terms “classic” and “award-winner” frequently get us into trouble.  Perhaps it is wise to remember how as children we were sometimes bored by the classics of our parents’ generation.

I’ve mentioned a couple times how some of my favorite books would have no chance of getting published if they were submitted this century, and that I have never been able to work up the interest in some of the most basic “cannon” of femininity (namely, Austen, Alcott and the Little House series).

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The Career Queue

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So here’s the list I’ve mentally refered to for a while, lined out for my own clarity and the entertainment of others.

  1. Motherhood
  2. Writer
  3. Storyteller
  4. Photographer (this was my B.A., after all.  Ought to do something with it…)
  5. Wedding coordinator (not “planner,” coordinator. Helping the couple make choices, maybe, but mostly keeping everything running smoothly the main days of the event.)  My mom said she’d do this one with me.  We’d be *awesome.*
  6. Clothes designer (this one comes to mind when I’m looking for shirts of a certain length, or thinking how to dress my girls as children).

These are roughly in the order I’m interested in them, except for 4 and 5.  Those are about the same level, I don’t know which I’d choose first.  Probably depends on what oppertunity was availible at the time.

My favorite “wedding tip” for the bride and groom (note I said wedding tip, not marriage tip): The groom should carry a little bottle of hand-sanitizer (like Purell) in his pocket, and share with his bride after the receiving line or wherever else it seems appropriate.

Especially if she is wiping her eyes without a tissue after shaking all those hands and hugging a mass of people, she is at a major risk for catching some cold or virus from somebody there.

Easily avoidable.  Think of it as safeguarding your honeymoon.

~ ~ ~

Sallie has a very interesting quote from Oswald Chambers at the bottom of a thoughtful post.

Beware of harking back to what you were once when God wants you to be something you have never been.

I sometimes wonder if I would really do any of these (besides the momming and the writing) even if I had the oppertunity.  And on that level I am actually thankful I haven’t been called upon to make that choice now.

As I grow older and get to know myself and my Father’s voice better, I expect I will more accurately be able to discern where exactly he wants me, and then I will have the sweet confidence I have now, that I am in the center of God’s will for the season I am in.

And I relish the peace that comes with that.

Two New Words

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I haven’t post a “word” post in eons.  So here are two that I’ve recently fallen in love with.

Plenary

Not as the dictionary defines it, necessarily, but as it was used in our “Cannon” class at church.

In that context it was used at the word that describes the inerrancy in scripture, not only in its content, but in the precise choice of words used in the original language to convey that content.

Jay leaned over to me after the Pastor read his definition and said, “That is your word.”

And he’s right.  I love the definition I heard because it encapsulates what I’ve tried to convey by saying there are better and worse ways to phrase things, even when the end result basically means the same thing.

Shama

The Hebrew word from the Old Testament, defined (by my teacher.  Again, I fell in love with her version before I looked it up myself): to hear intelligently with attention; attentive and careful listening and regard with the implication of obedience.

Naturally I could help but think of this in terms of storytelling.  And I started mentally playing with the idea that if I ever started an actual “business” to try and make money telling stories, it would be cool to me to try and use that word (for the first part of its definition) as part of the business name.

It added an interesting element to the idea when I googled the word and found (among other things) it is

A singing bird of India, noted for the sweetness and power of its song. In confinement it imitates the notes of other birds and various animals with accuracy.

Anyway, bringing up storytelling-as-a-business means I really ought to just make a post about the series of careers I’ve got “lined up.”

Not that I expect them all to happen, just (as I think I mentioned before) I am interested in more things than I can do at one time, so I number things out.  For… some purpose, it feels like.

But for now, there are two new (to me) words that I’ve enjoyed.

Does anyone else collect words?  There must be some…

Blessings on your day!

Be careful how you label…YDKUYK

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I will blush to admit it, but I have been very quick to judge.  Specifically kids’ behavior in public, and a parent’s tone of voice.

Do not judge, and you will not be judged, do not condemn, and you will not be condemned, forgive, and you will be forgiven.     (Luke 6:27)

I am willing to believe I am now in the position I am in because at one time I was so “quick to judge” a child (any child behaving a certain way) as spoiled.

What I know now:

  • Those signs I used to gauge “spoiledness” are normal developmental stages for most children.
  • It is when they hang on, or succeed in manipulating the behavior of the parents that they become true signs of “spoiling.”
  • Five minutes (or 20 minutes) of observation is not enough for me to determine what level the signs are at.

I would believe somebody thought one or two of my kids were spoiled, and I’d equally understand their lack of belief in my objectivity if I told them the kids were “normal.”

But I think they are.

How like a mom.  But I’m not trying to change their minds because I’ve settled in my mind that there just some things you don’t know until you know. (YDKUYK)

~

My first child I let “cry it out” (CIO) when she didn’t want to go to sleep at night.  I wasn’t going to be this mom who was manipulated by my baby’s tears.  I felt confirmed in this when she always zonked in 5-10 minutes after I left her alone.

I didn’t believe anyone who said CIO was cruel or “didn’t work.”

Until I had Baby #2.  And CIO simply didn’t work.

Seriously.  I’d had one where it worked, so I knew what to do.

But I didn’t jump on the CIO-is-BAD bandwagon, because I’d had one that it was perfect for.

And I began to understand the *why* of people’s misunderstanding.  Their view of the world does not yet include the reality of what is being described.  Your experience really is the largest determiner of your behavior and beliefs.  I think it would be hard for things to be otherwise.  It takes practice, anyway.

So today when I saw a light-hared young mom snapping at her two slim, blond girls, with their toe-headed little brother looking dazedly back at them, I wasn’t mentally clicking my tongue at her tone, I was thinking, That could be me in three years.  And, yeah, my girls do need (or at least deserve) to be snapped at sometimes.  I get it.

When I see things now, I pray for the other person, and myself, becasue it’s not easy to perform before the world in such a personal event, and I thank God I’m not having immeadiately to make those choices myself.

How hard is too hard?

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When I asked Jay whether I should quit something because it was hard, I expected a resounding No.

His answer:

That depends on whether it is required or rewarding.  If it is neither there’s no reason to keep doing it.

This is the rocket scientist I married.

And, no, that wasn’t sarcastic.  It was something I needed very much to hear, making me revisit motivation and find new encouragement there.

I don’t know about any of you, readers, but I have this image of quitting as bad in and of itself.  I suppose it’s a cousin to the feeling bad about saying No.

Learn to say no. It will be of more use to you than to be able to read Latin.

–Charles Spurgeon

Sometimes I think I say no too easially, and it makes me look/feel like the “difficult” person, but other than that (though sometimes that is no small thing) I’ve never regretted saying no.

Back to Basics: Rumpelstiltskin– a Tuesday Tale

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Based on the excellent picture book illustrated by Paul O. Zelinsky

One upon a time a miller found himself face-to-face with the king and was so star-struck he said without thinking, “My beautiful daughter is able to spin straw into gold.”

Well, the king loved gold, and meeting a beautiful girl in the mix was no bad thing, so he ordered the miller to send his daughter to the palace.

Over the next three nights the king proceeded to show her into larger and larger rooms, each more full of straw than the last, with only a spinning wheel to displace a bit of the straw.

Each night, after the girl was shut in, the threat of death hanging over her, a strange little man would dance into the locked room, and ask what the girl was willing to give in exchange for him doing the impossible for her.

The first night the little man accepted her necklace, the second night, her ring, but the third night, with not only death waiting for her if she failed, and life as queen if she succeeded, she had nothing left to offer him.

“Promise me your first-born child as queen,” he said, “and I will spin all this straw for you into gold.”

Feeling she had no choice, and telling herself the king might not marry her after all, the miller’s daughter agreed.

It all fell out as best as could be expected.  The straw was spun into gold and the king kept his word, marrying the girl and making her queen.

In one year’s time she gave birth to a little boy.  But before that child was three days old a locked door again flew open and the strange little man appeared, demanding his payment.

The queen begged him to have pity, promising to give him anything at all in the kingdom he might desire, but the man asserted there was nothing he wanted so much as the child.

But he seemed to be moved by the young mother’s tears, and relented a little, offering her three days to guess his name and nullify the year-old pact.

The first day she recited all the names she knew.  The second day she read off all the names her servants had been able to invent or collect.  The little man seemed to take delight in singing out

That is not my name!

After each increasingly desperate suggestion.

It was not until the end of the third day that the fear in the young queen’s heart lifted, for her most faithful servant returned from her searching with a story of seeing a strange little man riding a wooden spoon around a fire, all the while singing about winning a queen’s son because she did not know his name was… Rumpelstiltskin.

When the now-confident queen told him his right name that third night, he flew out the window on his wooden spoon and was never seen again.

Question about a name.

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Okay, can everyone please answer this one:

What do you think of people adopting an alternate, “performance,” name?

Would you want to know the “real” name at the same time, and/or does that make things cluttered?

I think I mentioned I’m telling stories at a local Renaissance Faire at the end of this month, and I’m making costumes for my kids and me.

I’ve never been to one before.  I know some folks are uncomfortable with the idea– because of the potential for weirdness, I guess– but I’m jumping at the chance to do a dress-up day with my family.

It’s a trial-run sort of a faire, the first in town, I understand, and whether it goes anywhere will depend on the reaction to this one.  I hope by making stories available I can contribute to its success.

Since “Amy” is such a modern name I was considering taking an alternate name for the faire, and then (as my mind invariably does) I tracked that question into a bigger one: whether to build a storyteller-persona of sorts.

That is, for the many traditional or medieval tales I love I could play at being a teller of the day.  It’s a fun thought.

Okay, okay  I’ll say the name (it’s probably a bad sign if I can’t even get started.)

Though I have this idea that if I were once convinced in myself this was the way to go, I could “own” it with little difficulty.

Lady Jane.

I wanted to do Byrd Janet.

Janet from my middle name (Jane) and Byrd from the old way of addressing a lady.  It would be the same as saying Lady Jane, but somehow my ear likes the other better.  This would be due to my familiarity with the rhythm of the name in the story of Tam Lin.  (I am currently Miss Amy to children, so it’s not that much of a stretch, in theory.)

But Jay insists I use one of my real names, so Lady Jane is all I could come up with, really.  Any other suggestions?

I’m not sure “lady” is even the right thing to call a storyteller, but I could really think of another title.   Storyteller Jane?

What do you think of the alternate-name idea?

Could you call me (or hear me refer to myself as) Lady Jane with a straight face?

Would it add to the package or be distracting?

Back to Basics: Cinderella– a Tuesday Tale

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Once there was a delightful little girl whose mother had died.

When her father remarried it was to a woman with two daughters of her own, near his child’s age.

Before long the father, too, died, and the sweet child was left an orphan.

As she grew older and more beautiful her stepmother grew more and more harsh, giving her the hardest chores and making her sleep alone, away from the family.

The girl never complained, even when she had to sleep in the ashes by the kitchen fire to keep warm during the winter.  She would awake covered in cinders, without a chance to wash or even a looking glass to know.

Her two step-sisters took their cue from their mother and looked for every opportunity to belittle their unfortunate comrade.  It was they who came up with the taunt, “Cinderella,” as a way to address her, not even allowing her to keep the dignity of a true name.

~

Eventually the time came when the prince of the land was seeking a bride, and so held a series of balls.  Each night Cinderella’s family refused to take her, but each night she had magical help and was transformed to appear in the eyes of anyone as beautiful as her good spirit.

Her beauty captivated the prince, who would dance with no one else, but always she slipped away before midnight.  By the third night the prince recognized the pattern and was too close behind for her to stop when she lost one of her tiny dancing slippers.

The next day the kingdom received word that the Prince would marry whoever fit the little shoe.

The stepmother, seeking vicariously to advance her own position, cut off a piece of her oldest daughter’s heel, so that her foot would fit the little shoe.

Riding away to the palace with the false bride the prince heard,

Turn back, good prince, turn back.
There is blood in the little shoe.

He looked and seeing the mutilation he returned the girl to her mother.

The mother, however, wasted no time but cut off the toe of her other daughter, allowing the slipper to fit.  The prince placed this girl on his horse and began to ride away, but again he heard,

Turn back, good prince, turn back.
There is blood in the little shoe.

Having seen the proof with his own eyes the prince returned her as well.

Now Cinderella was able to get at the soe and prove it fit.

As they rode on to the palace the now familiar voice sang out,

Ride on, good prince, Ride on.
The slipper has found its home.

The prince was happy to do so, and took her back to the palace where he married her at once and lived in great contentment.