An Unlooked for Blessing in the Guise of a Semi-Random Book

At first I didn't think I wanted to read the book. At first I thought Elisabeth Elliot's writing would be all fusty and pious, and I'm so not into that. I read the first brief essay and then put the book aside. That is until I picked it up again on Sunday morning.

Keep A Quiet Heart by Elisabeth Elliot has been hitting all the right notes with me. A short, short essay I read Thursday morning was called "Ever Been Bitter?" Who, me? Bitter? Naw. I'm much too sensible for that. But when I thought back to some of the things I said to the woman sitting next to me at the church's business meeting last night, I had to reconsider my personal assessment. A less discerning listener than she may have suspected a note of bitterness in my speech. For instance, I complained that for several years before my husband lost his job we didn't get a raise. The last two years we didn't get any sort of Christmas bonus, and the year before we took a cut in pay. For a year we've been self-employed and living off our savings, and choosing to trust God all the way, we're still unable to detect an end in sight.

Elliot writes:

Sometimes I've said, "O Lord, you wouldn't do this to me, would you? How could you, Lord?" I can recall such times later on and realize my perspective was skewed. One Scripture passage which helps me rectify it is Isaiah 45:9-11 (NEB): "Will the pot contend with the potter, or the earthenware with the had that shapes it? Will the clay ask the potter what he is making?... Thus says the Lord, would you dare question me concerning my children, or instruct me in my handiwork? I alone, I made the earth and created man upon it." ...I don't understand Him, but then I'm not asked to understand, only to trust....(44)

She goes on to say that it's okay to ask God why, taking Job as an example of one who asked monumental questions. The excerpt I've included here frankly doesn't do the essay justice.

I quoted from her earlier on facebook, from another essay in the same book. I had spent the week before regretting a lack of opportunities in my past, then yesterday I read this in Elisabeth Elliot: "All of the past, I believe, is a part of God's story of each child of His--a mystery of love and sovereignty, written before the foundation of the world, never a hindrance to the task He has designated for us, but rather the very preparation suited to our particular personality's need (24)."

If you get a chance to read this book, I suggest you do so. With that I shall leave you in suspense over the weekend as to which other books were in yesterday's box. Today I found that I had something else on my heart instead. My break from reading literary theory on a Thursday night is now officially over.

Some Books I Ordered

One morning a couple of weeks ago I sat down at the kitchen table and started listing everything I knew or could think of concerning the novel. There were hypotheses, and doubts, and suppositions that I thought I might examine that would give me some direction concerning the writing of this paper. Earlier this week I started to look at them, not for the sake of the paper, but with the intention of formatting them in some such manner that they could be published to you here.

I look at these notes, these bulleted lists, for a moment, a mere flashing of my eye across the page, and I panic wondering how I'm going to synthesize these random seeming remarks into a form that is interesting to you, the reader. When I look at them again over the weekend, or later this afternoon, I expect they will appear differently to me. This has often been the case. Sometimes you just have to wait for the right moment when everything becomes clear. You have to wonder how coherent manuscripts are ever formed by anyone, yet somehow, in a strange amalgamation of magic and skill, they are.

Anyhow, today is not the day for bulleted lists about the nature of the novel.

Yesterday's post seemed a little dry to me. Since I got a box of books in the mail from Amazon yesterday afternoon, I'll tell you what was in the box instead, beginning with three by Annie Dillard.

Living By Fiction by Annie Dillard

I ordered it thinking it might shed some light on my paper, since fictionality seems to be one of the few agreed upon characteristics of any novel. Even that idea is contested in some quarters. Dillard's book seems to be generally about the novel, even though it wasn't described in those exact terms. I borrowed this book from my public library once upon a time, but at that time I didn't find the opening pages to be accessible. The mommy-brain may have had something to do with this. I wondered then what sort of fiction Dillard claimed to live by. The book has since been discarded from the library's stacks and I wonder why.

Dillard's primary interest here, it seems, is in something she calls contemporary modernism in literature. For her, modernism has something to do with surfaces, and I haven't managed yet to figure out what that means. In what I've read so far she discusses modernism's tendency to fragment and shatter time and space, just as more visual modernist artists do. Often literature and art attempts to get away with meaninglessness, but Dillard doesn't let them get away with it. I'm excited about reading the book. So much so that I started reading it last night, despite my ever growing list of books in progress.

The Maytrees by Annie Dillard

I wanted very badly to purchase a copy of this book when it first came out. One day as I was wandering the shelves at Books-a-Million, years and years ago, I spotted it. It was love at first sight. One thing you may as well know about me is that I am drawn by author's names and the cover design of books. I soon borrowed it from the library, but found it difficult. I have a clear memory of lying on the sofa in my living room trying to it.

The cover is so pretty and so minimally designed. Minimally? Minimalist. These aren't quite the same thing are they, even though the descriptive "minimal" forms the root. The books cover is minimalist in it's design. It is textured, and beautiful, in cream and almost imperceptible tan, with those faux penknife-cut edges that can be so appealing. The paperback copy I received in the mail is different from it's borrowed counter-part, in blue and cream, but it appeals to me as well. The book is about a couple by the name of Maytree, not a shrubbery known as a Maytree as I first suspected. It is narrated. Very, very narrated. If you browse through a dozen pages or more you'll see exactly what I mean. Extensive narration seems to be one of Dillard's peculiarities as a novelist. Every detail is presented through the mediation of an omniscient narrator. I'm learning from Ann Banfield that narrated interiority was a late development in literature.

The Living is the last book in the set of books I ordered written by Dillard.

In general it is about a family and the descendants of a family who settle on some land off Bellingham Bay in Washington. It may follow the fortunes of the town of Whatcom. The land may be important as a character. I haven't figured these things out yet. Again, the story is highly narrated, and I am making my way through it slowly, which will be aided now by my having my own copy. I can't tell you what the title of the book means, though I have some ideas, because I haven't figured it out myself just yet. It's possible the title encompasses several shades of meaning. I plan to let you in on some of my thoughts on this at a later writing.

As this post has grown long already, and because I am tired (written Wednesday night to published in the morning), I'll tell you about the other books that were in the box on Friday. Now there's something for you to look forward to.

An Act of Documentation

I started out by telling you the story yesterday. Now the set up for the work, a picture of my state of mind as I begin:

The book I am using is Theory of the Novel: A Historical Approach, edited by Michael McKeon. I sent Fred Whiting the following message a couple of weeks ago. I include it here to give an idea about what I was thinking going into this project.

Thanks, Fred,

Whether it matters or not, I want to go ahead and write that paper. Now that's been decided, what do you need from me? How many pages should I be aiming for? What sort of proposal shall I make, etc.?

I plan to do some reading before I start to write, partly because my brain was mush while I was taking your class, and partly because it has been so long since I read much about Novel Theory. I still have the text, which was Theory of the Novel: A Historical Approach, edited by Michael McKeon. I have two areas of interest at the moment and I realize I need to zero in on one of them.

1.  It makes sense because the book I'm working from operates from this historical approach, but I am interested in sociocultural changes, such as changes in the conventions of representation, that produced the novel form. I suspect that it happened at the same time that fine art was allowed to invade the domestic sphere. I was thinking about starting by reading the material from Ian Watt's The Rise of the Novel: Studies in Defoe, Richardson, and Fielding and the selection from Nancy Armstrong's Desire and Domestic Fiction: A Political History of the Novel. That might be a little broad

2. My other interest is in novel rhetoric, i.e. modes of expression that are peculiar to the novel form. There seems to be a good bit of that in the anthology, and I find that I am particularly drawn to matters of rhetoric and hermeneutics in my regular reading.

Actually, I'll start by reading McKeon's introduction to the anthology.

Am I on the right track?

Thanks again,

Kelly

Fred responded with the requirements, saying that either of my stated areas of interest would be fine. He also warned me not to monumentalize this paper, to remember that it's only a seminar paper. I'll try to keep that in mind. I think that whether I ultimately use one of the ideas already mentioned won't matter, so long as they get me moving. Seems like, for me, movement is what's key right now. As I've told Michael, I think I will enjoy the process once I get in there and get started doing it, but there is a certain resistance within me as I contemplate what must be done. That is part of my problem, of course. I think too much. I waste far too much time worrying about the work instead of doing it.

The Story of Why

Once upon a time I was accepted into graduate school at the University of Alabama. I received a Graduate Counsel Fellowship for a paper I wrote about those originators of hip-hop, The Last Poets. I wish I could remember or locate a copy of the paper I had written. I clearly remember working on it in the fellowhip hall of a church down in Mississippi, where Michael had been hired to play flute and clarinet in a large-scale holiday presentation. That was many years ago. Graduate school was many years ago in fact. I've told you this before.

Pregnant in my second semester, I may as well have been in an intellectual coma, unable to produce, sometimes unable even to think straight. I lived on McDonald's french fries, ginger ale, and lemon heads. I turned in a dreadfully horrible paper in one class, and failed to complete another.

That uncompleted class hung over my head for years. I've described myself intermittently as a graduate school drop-out. All I could do was cancel my registration. I didn't complete a process or anything. For a long time I thought was going to finish that paper, then for a long time I thought I never would.

About a month ago I cried into my husband's pillow at an early hour of the morning, upset because my emotions were working against me, the money thing was bothering me, but more than that I was wondering what I was supposed to do. I was reading and studying on my own, trying to write regularly and not getting any comments, but there was never enough time, and I had no place to work. "You know me better than anyone does," I said to him. "What am I supposed to do? What are my giftings? What was a made for?"

"School," he said to me. "I think you should think about going back to school."

It was a significant statement coming from him, my husband who doesn't have much use for academia, and is unimpressed by the value-system of the majority of those who consider themselves to be intellectual. He told me I could go somewhere, leaving him there with the children the entire day, but he wanted me to make a move toward seeing what could be done about school. I laughed with Michael about a blog post I had read recently in which James K.A. Smith shared his advice for those wanting go attend graduate school, which was don't, but I also gratefully and tearfully agreed.

I emailed my professor, who said that he would certainly be willing to help me change the grade, but that I needed to contact the departmental secretary to find out what departmental policy would allow.

I waited many days before the secretary responded to my query. The result? My credits have expired. Eighteen hours of coursework are no more, and no longer contribute to my Master's degree should I pursue one. Which is fine. I was prepared for this response, and was therefore un-phased by it.

I am choosing to correct the incomplete for two reasons: I need a project to keep me focused, with a concrete goal to reach. The blogging wasn't doing it for me. I was getting embroiled in my insecurities, but this? Writing a paper about Theory of the Novel, and doing the reading it requires, gives me a sense of purpose that improves the discipline required to actually do it. The other reason? Someday I may choose to do something officially academic, and when that day comes it will be good to have one less thing to worry about on my transcript.

Tomorrow: the getting started business.

I'm hiding out in the back of my house tonight while the guys playtest the combat-strategy game my husband is developing, trying to figure out what I'm going to read, and what I am going to post. I had a plan on Friday, as far as the posting goes. The reading is vulnerable to fluctuation.

Three more books have been moved to my desk since this morning. One is Keep a Quiet Heart by Elisabeth Elliot. A friend loaned it to me many months ago, but this morning I was suddenly interested in reading it. The book is a collection of short essays Elisabeth Elliot wrote for a newsletter she used to produce. They tend to be devotional in nature, and at first I was slightly repelled by the niceness of them. I tend to have that response to contemporary devotional literature, whether deserved or not. This morning was different because I had spent the previous week studying the miracle her first essay refers to. I'll provide more information on that later, as I resolved this morning that the best thing I could do with Elliot's book was to actively engage, consider, and respond to it in writing. Notice a recurring theme, every time I mention another book?

I also retrieved Reflections on the Psalms by C.S. Lewis, because this morning (I am writing this on Sunday night), our pastor announced his intention of teaching about the Psalms for an unspecified period of time. I was excited by the prospect because for the first time, this summer I spent some time enjoying the Psalms. It helps too that we are working on learning how to study the Bible in Sunday School. I don't remember a lot of what Lewis says. What I do remember is that he talks about the trouble we have understanding some of the more vindictive-seeming Psalms such as the one our pastor preached about this morning. I look forward to reviewing his comments. I plan to be more mindful as I do so.

Fred, that's our pastor, preached on Psalm 127, which I thought was an unusual choice to inaugurate our study of the Psalms. It was also an exciting choice for me as I have a song that goes beautifully with the Psalm. The song is called "Please Don't Make Us Sing This Song," was written and recorded by one of my favorite singer-songwriters, Lori Chaffer, and is the title track off of a collection of Psalms, created as part of a "Song From The Voice" project. The only way I could figure out to share the song with you was to embed this video that I found online. I would have preferred a purely audio track, but this was the best I could do.

I question the propriety of posting something like this considering what happened in our own town only a handful of months ago. The video shows images of the damage that followed Hurricane Katrina.



The other book I brought with me to my desk tonight was When Religion Becomes Lethal: The Explosive Mix of Politics and Religion in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam by Charles Kimball. It is the current selection of the Circles of Peace Book Club, and the second book we have read together as a group. You can read more about what this group is doing here. I'll admit to you that I've been hesitant in my participation in this group because I'm not sure that I agree with all the things that Fellowship of Reconciliation (FOR) stands for. You'll see on the website that Circles of Peace is affiliated with FOR. But the Book Club is about expanding our knowledge and opening a dialogue with people bearing vastly different belief systems, and that is something I can get behind. On the other hand, I hate reading books about politics (not to mention comparative religion), and that aversion has been keeping me from pursuing this book with a will. It's still up in the air whether I will read the book or not, though the pages I have read sound very interesting. I'm still shying away from the possibility of serious conflict, a fear that I simply have to get over if I am to have certain conversations that are worth having. Consider this a confession of inadequacy, Circles of Peace friends.

What shall I read tonight, I started out by asking. So many books, so little time. It's a cliche, but it is one I field almost daily. How sad it is to think so often in cliches.

I said that I would start posting on my paper for Theory of the Novel this morning. If you visited expecting that (it's possible, it could happen), I'm sorry. Try back again tomorrow. For now I'm going to enjoy the beer my brother brought me (a Pabst Blue Ribbon), and read a chapter from a book I haven't even mentioned yet.

Happy Monday!

This is how it's gonna be; This is how it's always been.

I've been doing a lot of different things lately, so the blog has been getting away from me. Yesterday morning I realized that I've been getting confused about what a blog, or more particularly my blog, is for. I get on here and think I have to produce something finished that is likely to interest you, and it causes me to block.

The more I write, the more I realize that what I'm really interested in is process. I'm interested in knowing how people work, and how they generate ideas. I'm interested in observing how I work. It's something I've been engaged in for a long time.

Process work is valuable, even if it isn't popular. One of the things I'd like to do with my own process work is provide an example of a process that others can follow, that is if it works for them. This isn't to say that my way is the only way, or that it is the best way for you. I'm too-too aware that my process will be different from yours. My ways of thinking are mine. But if I give you picture of a way of working you can use, then use it. Don't think that you have to work the same way I do.

I am a studier, so a lot of the process you will see here is a process of studying and a generating of ideas. I expect you'll see a lot if incidental or miscellaneous writing, because another purpose I have for this blog is simply to get me writing more. For some reason I find that I am unlikely to write at all if I don't have some purpose for writing, even if that purpose is merely to get something posted to the blog. I'll do some writing from time to time about my children, about household matters, about spiritual stuff. Sometimes I'll try a bit of creative writing. Sometimes you'll get a list or simply a recounting of how my day went. I'll write about television, about music, about books--a lot about books--whatever. I have to face the fact that this is a personal blog, and I have to recognize and embrace what that means. I want your interaction, and I hope I will write about things that interest you, but if this blog is to do what I need it to I won't be able to get caught up in generating readership, or even income.

I think what you'll get now is more of me. I expect I'll start writing with more authority, right or wrong. You know that it is okay to be wrong about things, don't you? When we spend so much time worrying about being right, we miss out on so many opportunities to learn, and I don't want to miss those opportunities.

If things go as I expect them to, I'll probably start generating too much content for anyone to actually read. If I do, there is always the chance that I will lose you as a reader. That isn't what I want. I welcome readers. On the other hand, there's always a chance that I'll start writing what I am meant to, and you may find that you enjoy the content more, even if there is too much of it.

It's an experiment. It's all an experiment and it is always an experiment. I wouldn't claim that God is experimenting on us. He doesn't have to guess; He knows. But there also is a sense in which our entire experience on this planet is an experiment.

So let it begin.

Here's something you can expect. Next week I'll start posting my notes, usually written in narrative form, on this writing/study project I am doing for the sake of my academic transcript. Since it will be narrative, I expect it to be accessible. If it bores you to tears, I'm sorry. But I don't expect it will.

I've also been doing this Sunday School class lately on how to study the Bible, with the purpose of preparing to teach. This week I've been studying Mark 4: 35-5:42 at my brother-in-law's behest, so I plan to start publishing some of that process work as well.

And yes, I do eventually plan to start publishing some writing about my favorite time-lord, Doctor Who, so you can look forward to that too.

It's true I have some anxiety about putting so much of myself out there. It's a risk I'll have to take. I'll use discretion of course. I don't plan to publish anything that isn't suitable for public consumption. I am fully aware that anyone can read this. There is always a risk in putting your thoughts, your words, your ideas, out there. Check back on Monday, and we'll see what happens.

You'll Notice Changes to the Blog. Explanation coming soon. But for now, a link.

I haven't had time to blog anything the last couple of days, but as of this morning, I have made some changes to my site, including a slight altering of the name. In the meantime, I thought I'd go ahead and share a link to a blog post a friend of mine shared with me this morning. I haven't gotten to spend very much time wandering around the site, but so far I like what I see. Hold your breath, or don't hold your breath. The link is to a post about Doctor Who. I myself am dying to write something about Doctor Who, but after three days of intention...ain't nothin' happened yet.  I'll get to it. Maybe tomorrow?

A List

We're getting ready to celebrate Parker's birthday.

I'm transferring data off the back of all our Cds, and we have lots of them, so I can dispose of the cases. I'm going all netflix or redbox on my DVDs, keeping only the discs and relying on the Internet Movie Database for the rest of the information. www.imdb.com was already my favorite website, so that's okay then.

I'm supposed to be working on a paper, but it's hard to get the reading in.

Michael and I are re-watching all of Doctor Who beginning with the ninth doctor in 2005, and I'm trying to write out my impressions.

I never did get started doing those vocal exercises Michael and I talked about.

I haven't yet managed to cut back much on our television viewing. Mine has been restrained. The children are still watching, or playing video games, more than they ought to. It's no wonder it's a struggle to get anything done.

I have books to look at for activity ideas, but I haven't had much opportunity to look at them.

Michael is teaching me to play Yu-gi-oh! with the hope that someday I'll be ready to play his game, Dog Fight: Starship Edition with him.

I'm doing laundry and trying to figure out supper at 7:50 this morning.

The day has begun. It's pretty much an ordinary day, except there is some purpose in it. Which is a very good thing.

Parker's new best friend. Hint: It isn't our dog.

Parker had some money left over from the twenty dollars someone gave him for his birthday almost a year ago. Parker turns five in on Wednesday. We cashed the twenty dollars in singles so that Parker could count the money himself to make his purchases. A couple of weeks ago he still had twelve dollars left, mostly because we could never remember to take the money with us anywhere.

I took the boys to Barnes & Noble to play with the trains, and the first product that caught Parker's eye that day was a plush Mario toy on display in the middle of the store, Mario of the Super Mario Brothers. He wanted it, but "You already have a lot of stuffed animals," I told him. That's when he noticed the collectible figurines. They cost more than the stuffed Mario, and unsurprisingly he was drawn to the tiny pink figure of Peach.  It's unsurprising because ever since he started playing MarioKart on the old Nintendo Game Cube my oldest brother gave us a couple of years ago, Peach and Daisy have been Parker's sisters and best friends. Sometimes he tells me he has many sisters, and our dog, Allie, gets named as one of them. There was a time when he called me Peach for several days, wanting me to play Mario Brothers with him in the front yard of our house. We would run around the yard, finding castles into which we would jump, while Parker made the sounds from the Super Mario Bros. Super Show, which aired when we were kids.

It was his money, so I felt he should be allowed to buy with it what he wanted. He got to put two dollars in the offering plate at the time we cashed the check, but that was so long ago I doubt he remembers it. He spent fifty cents of it at the Library Book Store one morning, to buy a paperback book he thought his daddy would like. Michael read it especially because his son bought it for him. He wanted to spend his money and I had it with me, so I let him.

Parker carried Peach home with him, still in the bag, with the sweetest most delighted smile on his face. We opened her box carefully and lovingly when we got home, and she has been his constant companion ever since. Some nights he sleeps with her in his bed with him. Some nights she stays safe on the chest-of-drawers where he can see her in the morning.

Only problem with all this is that Isaac want's to claim Peach for his own as well. There has been many an argument, because when Isaac says, "My Peach," Parker assumes that he means it. Actually, Isaac may think that saying it does make her his. He's only two. It's been a couple of weeks now, and things have calmed down to some extent, but for the first day or two I wondered what on earth I had done.

Parker says he will have to get Mario and Luigi next. Since his stash of money has diminished to a great and glorious amount of two dollars, it may be something of a wait.

Long Day, Tired, and Just Noticed Another Thing That Didn't Get Done

Written last night while Michael was at praise team rehearsal:

I'm tired; it's been a long day and I still have to put the mattress pad and sheets back on the bed now that everything is washed.

I was alone with the kids for a while this afternoon. Isaac was supposed to be sleeping, but instead he was whining and fussing and the next thing I knew he was really crying. I generally try to leave the kids alone when they're supposed to be napping, quiet play-time being their only available alternative, but I knew I was going to have to go in there and check on him.

I walk into my bedroom and what do I see?

Isaac is crying, because his diaper is off, and he is lying in a puddle on my bed. I was alarmed for a moment when I heard him cry out that he had a dirty diaper, but that seems to have become his name for any problem with his diaper whatsoever.

So now I've washed the sheets and pillows. I'll be folding up my comforter to take to the dry cleaners, a task I'd cheerfully avoid for another five years if I weren't now being forced into it. I've sprayed down our mattress with Febreze.

Half an hour ago, when he was supposed to be getting into bed, I discovered he wanted to help me by spraying the mattress again. It's my fault for leaving the anti-odor spray where he could reach it. But now I have to wait again for the mattress to dry.

At least now maybe the dry-cleaners can get the chalky pastels out of my comforter as well.

Though I am not a student, I am working on a paper for a graduate level seminar. I won't get any sort of credit for writing the paper. What I will get is a grade of incomplete removed from my transcript, because not everybody reading this may know that I was once in graduate school, but dropped out. The letter "I" for "incomplete" has been in my transcript for almost five years. I've whined and complained about it for years, but I finally decided that I want it out.

What happened is this. Early in my second semester of graduate school, I admitted to my classmate, who was driving me to my car that night, that I had suffered from depression in the past, and wondered if I might be entering a downward turn again. I told her that I hoped should the need for medication arise I would recognize that fact this time, and get medical help more quickly than once I had so done before. Turns out I was wrong. I wasn't depressed; I was pregnant. Happy day.  First child. Never done it before.

I quickly discovered, to my chagrin, that I am one of those women who has difficulty writing when she is pregnant. It doesn't happen to every woman. I know one who finished a major project within days after giving birth, but I find I can't read or write when I'm with child. Makes it awfully hard to write a paper for a grade. I had three to do by the end of my first trimester. I finished two of them, but I'm not exaggerating when I say they were of little use to anybody.

Now, because I wish to pursue further study, I want to write a seminar paper for my former professor that's as good as it can be. That means a lot of reading, and a lot of writing.

In typing up some notes this afternoon, I wished that I could post them all to the blog. Maybe even get some feedback on them, because I think they're readable, I think I'm brilliant, and I think that I should share every little thing I do in writing. Some of you might even find them interesting. I missed my chance when I was in Fred's class, the class I am trying to make up. He required us to make a journal entry for every class. But as I said before, at the time I couldn't understand what I was reading and I couldn't write.

There is a host of reasons why I won't post my notes to the blog. Don't you worry yourself about that. In the meantime I will get back to work, and later I'll decide what writing a seminar paper will have to mean in terms of this blog.

A Quest for Authenticity

I am reading the introductory pages tonight of a book by Sheila Bender. It's called A Year in the Life: Journaling for Self-Discovery. I am reading these pages because I do not have time to read the book itself. I discoverd with some surprise this afternoon that this and the other writing book I had been reading were written by the same author, both published in association with Writer's Digest. I am reading them because she writes a chapter in the book about making a contract with yourself to write, a sort of hiring yourself as your own writer, and because the book goes back to the library tomorrow with the others.

I am alarmed somewhat by the emphasis of both of Bender's books on self-discovery, alarmed because I fear that I am already too self-absorbed, that we are a self-absorbed culture, and that "discovering yourself", your voice, etc., could only serve to increase that self-absorption. But then I realize that to have an authentic experience of the world, one that can be described, is to see the world as it really is, and to see yourself in the same way. But here I verge on some dangerous territory as the warning sounds inside my brain, the warning which purpose is to keep me from being or doing much of anything.

I want to become less self-absorbed, not more so. If understanding myself better allows me to have an authentic interaction with the cashier at the grocery store or the stranger at my door, instead of reverting to automatic answers, and thoughtless aversions, I shall be well satisfied.

I think of those Jehovah's Witnesses at my door last year, and how difficult it was to make any sort of statement to them about any of the things I really think or believe, how easy it was to let them run all over me, and to feel utterly defeated upon their leaving, defeated because I had been unable to say one true thing to them.

My lifelong quest is a quest for authenticity.

I wouldn't claim that Sheila Bender's theories about journaling are the answer to that quest, but she certainly has some things to say that interest me.

A Hodgepodge of Words About Editing

I've been reading this book by Susan Bell called The Artful Edit: On the Practice of Editing Yourself, and I am loving it. It's as though Bell knew exactly what I needed to have addressed here and now, today. It's hardly revolutionary material, but she presents her ideas in this wonderfully accessible way. After all, too often it is the things you think you know that need to be repeated.

I'll give you an example of what is moving me in this book. It seems so obvious, and of course I've heard it before, another day and in another setting, but I feel like I've been missing it lately. Bell writes,

Commit to your ideas; be certain enough to write them without wordy precautions, announcements or apologies. "I would argue that" is meaningless rhetoric, since you inherently argue your ideas by writing them down. The reader, by virtue of reading, wants those ideas and not peripheral verbiage (101).

It's a basic tenet of writing instruction. It's what they told you in school way back when you learned the five paragraph form. I heard it in high school. Some kids don't get it until college, if then. But I've been forgetting. And every time I apologize I know that I am doing something wrong.

In fact it is an important thought for me. My ideas have been trapped in a state of uncertainty, and I have mistakenly believed uncertainty/apology was a part of my charm, and meaningless words added rhythm. I must own my ideas even if they are wrong and not make a show of my own circumspection. I have been claiming in my writing that I'm too smart to make a statement directly.

I have a lot to learn about editing. I'm getting the idea I need to do a lot more writing and a lot less publishing.

Disclaimer: I have made no attempt to edit this post before publishing.

What I've Been Thinking About But Haven't Had Time To Explore

I've been thinking about...

Putting together a household notebook. I've mentioned before and I'll mention again that I want my household to run well. You know, I guess that's really kind of obvious, but any comparison I can make between what I want my home to be and any other more quantifiable endeavor would be faulty: efficient, like a business, but it isn't a business; calm and centered, like an oasis, but there's all kinds of work that has to be done; nurturing and relaxing, like a vacation, except vacations aren't always relaxing and the truth is we really do have to live here 365 days a year with an additional day included in leap year.

Learning how to study. I've read Adler (How to Read a Book), I've seen videos (Where There's a Will There's an A), but I still don't know how to study well. When I read a book I read it and that's fine, but if there's some word or phrase or explanation that really sticks in my mind such that I want to refer back to it later, too often that element is irretrievable. Or as when I read that biography recently about Chesterton, I am able to ascertain that there are problems with the text that I am reading. but I am powerless to give concrete examples of where those problems lie which makes any criticism I provide less than instructive.

The weather, and how weather like this makes me feel like doing things, working in the yard, sweeping the floor, moving around the furniture, etc. On days like this I feel like housework could become manageable, like making dinner is less of a chore, like focus is easier to obtain, etc. Something about this kind of weather makes everything seem new. Unfortunately the feeling usually doesn't last me very long past the beginning of October. Therefore I had better relish it while I can. The beginning of Fall seems to be an excellent time for organizing.

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Examine my grammar or don't. I detect some inconsistencies in parts of speech above, and doubtless there are other problems with what I've written. Right now it seems that getting something posted is more important to me than making sure what I've written is as good as it possibly could be. I'm not entirely satisfied with my attitude about blogging. I have misgivings about it in fact, but at this time and in this place, I'm accepting it as-is.

A What's Been Going On Around Here Update

Sorry, guys. I just haven't had time. What with sleeping most of the afternoon. And playing with the kids, and trying to figure out ways to make my life work a little better.

Isaac got into a bed of ants this morning, poor baby. Thankfully we were at the church, and some people there had an idea of what we should do to treat his bites so that they look a lot better this evening. At some point today I realized I hadn't paid the bills on September 1 like I normally do. I made out the budget; I transferred the money into the count so I could make the payments on the bills; but I forgot to actually pay them. Thankfully most of them are on automatic and the ones that aren't weren't due yet. I haven't gotten us into any kind of trouble by forgetting.

Also, I lost a few of my receipts in the great purging of my house that took place last evening. Fortunately these were expenses that a) weren't tax deductible, so I don't have to prove them to anyone, and b) had been paid with by credit card so that I can reconstruct the lost activity by referring to my credit card statements. This wouldn't really matter to anybody else, but I try to track absolutely every penny we spend, partly for tax reasons, but primarily for budgeting reasons. Even if we weren't in financial straights, I would prefer to keep my records with that level of detail.

Now it's time to watch Little Einsteins with Isaac and maybe find a few more things to throw away.  I apologize again for the delay in posting anything. These are times when it's good not to have a large following, and good that those who do read my blog are mostly friends.

No time for Writing on a Wednesday

I don't really have time for blogging today. My children alternately woke me up last night, until in the end my two-year old wound up in the bed with my husband, and I slept on the couch. I couldn't stay in the same room with them because the alarm on my phone was set to go off at 5:00 a.m., and I didn't dare wake the child. Thankfully everyone but me slept until 8:00.

I wonder if it would be more strategic for me to make sure my children get out of bed at the same time every morning, so they would then be more likely to go to sleep at a reasonable time at night? We put them in their room at the same time most nights, but we don't have any control over when they actually fall asleep. But I always hate to wake them when they sleep late, because it gives me a little extra time in which to read and write and study. What would be better for them?

As I was discussing some business with my church's secretary over the phone, Isaac decided he would like to play with sand, so he dumped out the remainder of a box of laundry detergent on the floor, which I had left there the previous day. Instead of using the soap to wash out my kitchen garbage can, or using it to wash clothes anyway, I threw it in the trash with many misgivings.

The day has filled. My brother is here, and some friends are coming to help me clean my house tonight. It would be easier for them to be able to see what I need if the items that already have a home in my home could already be found there when they arrive. Much to do. Like I said, no time for writing.

On Writing Reviews

 

I am reading a book that I enjoy, but that I don't believe is very well done. While reading it I feel that I am reading a student's attempt at a dissertation, a work researched long and hard, but written without the expert touch that comes with experience as a writer. I say that knowing that I would probably do no better were the project mine. I say that wondering why the author didn't get a better editor.

And I wonder how the professional critics and reviewers do it. How do they, under such strict constraints of time, and only allowing themselves a single reading, make the kind of notes that make for responsible criticism? If it comes by experience, how do they obtain such experience?

I have asked a similar question before. Maybe it was even the same question. I seem to remember writing these very phrases before. When you criticize, you do nothing if you cannot engage ideas and problems that actually occur within a text. I imagine that I must give a first reading to get a sense of the text as a whole, and then go back very carefully to note those areas that I have found difficult. But there isn't often enough time for that, and so we criticize without weighing. We know that something is wrong, but we don't know quite what. Or in the reverse, we know that something magnificent has occurred, but what?

There is much folly in the writing of reviews. There are also many dangers.

A Fumbling Grappling with Ideas Resulting in Loquaciousness

 I sat down on a Friday afternoon and wrote the following. I present it to you now with little editing:

An imaginary letter to Robert Scholes ( I would never dream of actually taking up his time and attention with such a thing. Why? Because I am painfully aware of it's shortcomings. While it may be of some use to you and me, I don't expect it would be of any use to anyone so completely unconnected to me as he is at present. The indirect quotation of Pride and Prejudice just now was intentional):

Sir, I am a fan of your work. I'm not saying I understand all of it. Or that I've read all of it, or that I can summarize any of your works I have read in 250 sentences or less. But I have developed an affection for you that started way back in 2004, or was it in 2005, when I read an excerpt or yours published as A Fortunate Fall? in the book Falling into Theory by David H. Richter. I liked that selection so much that I read it aloud to my husband on a car trip one Saturday afternoon. Years later I used the book that the selection was from, The Rise and Fall of English: Reconstructing English as a Discipline, as a source in a graduate school essay on the role of literature in teaching composition. I don't remember the title that was given to the essay as it was largely unremarkable.

Even later, I read The Rise and Fall of English in it's entirety and attempted to praise it to a rhet-comp. professor who is my friend, but I realized in so doing that I had not engaged your text thoroughly. I was inarticulate and unable to defend your specific ideas as they had been so thoroughly filtered through my unpracticed and disappointingly inattentive consciousness. A couple of months ago I finished reading your book Protocols of Reading. I find again, to my chagrin, that while I heavily underlined the text, I am powerless to write down much of anything about it.

It didn't help that the first essay included the history of two authors with whom I was unfamiliar, and that the third was largely taken up by a critique of Derrida that somehow exposed the inconsistencies in the possibility of a feminist deconstructionist reading.

The point of this letter is to lament the fact that I am a very poor student indeed, that while my heart is willing, my intellect is terribly weak, but that I want to do better. That is a lamentable revision to scripture, but the grammatical balance was appropriate and not to be resisted. I want to learn, to grow, to begin to understand these things that lie just beyond my grasp (an ugly statement, though it describes what is in my heart this afternoon), and I have committed myself to do a certain amount of work in order to get there. I have to put a limit on that “certain amount of work” because I confess that I do not exactly know what I am getting into, and I haven't yet figured out who my teachers will be. There is a certain amount of cost-counting that is yet to be done. I see hope for some measure of future understanding as I read what other people have to say about reading, and understanding, and the art of argument. I see hope as I remember that one very valuable result of engagement is the expansion of understanding, that as Adler and Van Doren claim in How to Read a Book, the only way to expand understanding is to read books that are a step beyond your reach. I begin to wonder if I am yet conversant in anything as I realize that every thought must be examined, as I realize that I could not possibly, on my own, do a fraction of the work that has yet to be done.

It is a beginning. I doubt there can ever be an end.

In skimming through The Rise and Fall of English I realize that the time has come for me to read it once again. There is so much there in the way of those things that interest me, such richness. Only moments ago I read something lovely on the role of quotes in composition. If we are unable to work them, they have no place in our critical endeavors. Quotations should be used, not showcased. One of the things I like about your writing is the way in which you humanize it for your readers. Often it is confessional in tone by which you communicate that writers share many of the same sets of problems, no matter their experience in the task of writing.

I wish that I could get a list of recommendations from you, books to read, modes of careful reading, ways of entering sympathetically into the text before criticism begins. Then I realize that I could have some of those things if only I read your texts. In many ways the desire for communication that is actual and direct, unmediated by print that was edited and published years ago, is a symptom of a certain lack of imagination on my part.

I Declare It Buddy and Julie Miller Day Today

I've started a couple of times to post something this afternoon, but so far it isn't happening. Check back next week. Right now all I want to do is make another pot of coffee, and share this song with you.



and when you are done with that one, try this one too.



I hadn't heard that second one in years. I used to assume that was her husband singing backup, but now I don't know. Could be. I love Buddy and Julie performing together.

Weaning Ourselves Off of Our Video Addiction

Blogger has made some changes to their interface, and I'm examining them. No time to write today.

Last night in Shepherding Group I mentioned that I had been feeling terribly disorganized, that I needed to impose some structure in my life, cut back on the amount of time my children spend watching videos, etc. I have a question. How do I implement the changes that will get my children to spend less time in front of a video screen?

This morning I succeeded in not having a video put on first thing. I took the children outside to play for a time and Isaac and I went on a little walk together. Next thing I know the boys are asking for the fifth or sixth time if they can watch Little Einsteins, and instead of putting them off again, I give in. They proceeded to watch two Charlie Brown episodes, and one or more Little Einsteins, which represented great restraint in comparison to what they are accustomed to seeing. After lunch we went to a park as a family. So far so good, but we can't go to a park every day. What is a sensible and reasonable procedure for weaning them off videos and computer games? And if I'm not letting them watch television, when exactly to I get to write? These are questions that must have answers.  What do you recommend?