Quote of the Week: On Writing and NaNoWriMo

Well, November is right around the corner, looming at me this weekend. If you were around here last November, you realize the significance of November.

Yes, it's National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). The idea: write a 50,000-word novel in a single month. You "win" simply by attaining that magical 50,000 word count. I managed to reach that magical number last November with my first novel -- and first fictional work since college creative writing class. The Pilgrim Pathway was a lot of work but it was somehow enjoyable, inspiring work. I allowed left-brained, linear-thinking me freewrite the first half of a novel -- with no planning, no outlining, little forethought, and no research. Since I am the Research Queen, writing 50,000 words with no research and only one page of character notes is a minor miracle. And a major challenge.

So I am planning to write again next month ... next week, in fact. During the 2009 NaNoWriMo, I am hoping to complete The Pilgrim Pathway. I desperately need to make time to reread it though -- since I haven't read much beyond the first ten pages since last November 28 when I reached 50,000 words. I have deadlines galore for Class Day and Brave Writer this week, so I may find myself reading what I wrote last year on Sunday, the first day of the challenge. But I hope to "win" this year as well, even if what I write is complete and utter crapola. I'm clinging to Anne Lamott's wisdom in her wonderful writing book Bird by Bird in which she devotes an entire chapter to writing crappy (she uses a stronger word) first drafts. I'm just gonna push myself to write those 2000 words per day and not worry about quality; I'll edit later. It's a hard thing to force myself to do asI am quite the perfectionista, but I think the process is good for me as a writer, even if I never do anything with The Pilgrim Pathway.

So in the spirit of the 2009 NaNoWriMo challenge, I chose this quotation for the Quote of the Week:

"And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt."
-- Sylvia Plath

So I go forward, trying not to doubt my "outgoing guts" and "imagination to improvise," preparing myself mentally to start writing on November 1. Best of luck to all the rest of you NaNo-ites. (You know who you are.)

Balance....

I'm almost over being sick... I think. It's been a weird illness, hanging on and exhausting me, even today. My appetite still isn't fully back (thanks be to God on the weight loss front!), and I'm still struggling with weakness and dizziness.

So I'm posting a link to another excellent post by Jennifer at Conversion Diary. While the kids and I were sick last week, I regaled them with Jennifer's hilarious scorpion and Yaya stories, and they literally rolled on the floor, laughing uproariously. But Jennifer's serious side is wonderfully inspirational, and this post is among the best I've read at her site in the 18 months I've been following her.

She writes about Balance in Life ... something I desperately need and pray for, and something she finds (and I am finding) takes the "S" word: sacrifice. It's a hard word to take, and an even more diffcult one to put into practice, but I pray I can do so.

I let it go while being sick these past ten days, but I have my cell phone alarm programmed with church bells ringing at 12:30 for Midday Prayer and at 6:00 PM for Vespers. I do okay with Morning Prayer when I get up and Compline when I go to bed, but stopping in my tracks twice a day and hauling myself upstairs to pray hasn't been easy. But it's been good. Very good.

Being Sick

(Image from dsimple.wordpress.com)

Okay, it's been a week now, and I'm still sick. Some of it is exhaustion, I'm sure, as I've been pushing my rather non-pushable body far past what it can handle. And some of it is just plain illness: dizziness, nausea, lack of appetite, runny nose, sore throat, cough, and just general unwellness. The three older kids have had it, too -- everyone but our youngest and Keith. So this week has been spent indoors, doing some home schooling, watching a lot of daytime television ... and far too many Jon & Kate Plus Eight reruns. And Say Yes to the Dress. And Criminal Minds. We've watched a few movies, too. Or more like rewatched a lot of movies. Twilight (which I also read this week in preparation for our Logos meeting on Sunday). Singing in the Rain. Mamma Mia!. I'm kind of in the mood for Dead Again, my favorite film-noir-wanna-be.

I also met a bunch of deadlines for my Brave Writer MLA course, including spending almost 18 hours reading and commenting on the students' rough drafts; their final drafts are due on Monday although today was technically the last day of the six-week class. This is my first six-week Brave Writer class since 2003, and it has thoroughly exhausted me, especially since I was writing the class posts as we went. The next time I teach this class it will be MUCH easier as the class posts will be already written for me, and I will only have to respond to the students' work. For running through this class for the first time, there were very few snags -- a lot fewer than I had anticipated. The only major change I'll definitely do is post the assignments on Fridays so that students can work over the weekends if they would like to, something I couldn't do this time because I was composing the posts on Saturdays and finishing them on Sundays over the entire six weeks.

This weekend I don't have to do anything with the MLA class except answer questions, but I do need to write up The Arrow and The Boomerang monthly subscriptions for Julie. Each subscription takes hours to write, and the first is more complicated than the latter. For ages 8-12, The Arrow this month will feature the book Pippi Longstocking while this month's The Boomerang for 7th through 9th grades will revolve around The Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card. I need to get these both to Julie by next Saturday at the latest -- together they will involve 10-12 hours of work.

Due to our illness, we missed Class Day, our twice-monthly co-op classes, something I have not done in years. The co-teacher, Mindy, covered the 4th-6th grade Poetry Class which I regretted as this week my favorite poet, e.e. cummings, was scheduled. An in-class prompt was given to my high school class, and they will turn in their papers this Thursday as we have three meetings this month to make up for having only one each in November and December.

I also had to miss our usual Friday Morning Prayer and Holy Communion with Father Acker at Victoria Chapel, plus J's weekly guitar lessons that usually follow the services. And I didn't drive down the hill to my weekly chiropractic appointment either; I only drove Elizabeth to work at the camp and picked her up. I even missed tonight's MECAC presentation of artist Moki Martin at the Community Clubhouse. Two of the boys walked over to the clubhouse to help set up chairs and such, but I'm still lightheaded enough that sitting up for dinner is difficult enough, much less showering, dressing, and sitting through an hour's presentation, no matter how wonderful.

So anyway, I hope to finish mending over the weekend and be back to normal ... or as close to "normal" as I get, very soon as we have quite a bit of school to make up next week.

New Moon micro widget

I'm sick now and have been since Friday, so enjoy the trailer from New Moon and I'll be back when I'm semi-functional....

Revised "Again"

One of the wonderful things about having a writing group is getting feedback. I've rarely written poetry for classes, so they've never been "graded," and until the last couple of years, I've been my own lone critic --- which explains why my writing hasn't grown as much as I would like it to. Our Mountain Empire Creative Arts Council's monthly Writing Workshop has been a godsend in providing me with real feedback from some pretty good writers and even better critiquers.

The first few times I handed poems to a poet-friend from church, I was a crying-jag mess. My oh-so-sensitive soul was devastated -- I was sure that everything I had asked my friend to review and thus everything I had written in my entire lifetime was utter crapola -- no exceptions. My friend, an accomplished poet who just completed her thesis for her MFA in Writing in Poetry, is an oh-so-senstive soul too, and she empathized and sympathized and gave me over-the-phone hugs 'n' love that slowly made me see that beneath all the crapola might be a glimmer of the salvageable. (She gave me much more than that, but I only saw glimmers myself.) She encouraged and challenged, pushed and prodded when each was needed -- with just the right mix of self-deprecating humor that made me smile through my tears. Reviewing her thesis this week was a joy -- she is truly a brilliant star.

So on Tuesday night when I read my poem "Again" to our monthly gathering of writers, Judith (a well-published poet, well-known far outside our local confines) asked me if I wanted "real" criticism, and I honestly did. I was able to take her ideas as well as the suggestions of others without a tear ... and even with a smile.

I've slowly learned to allow my little poem-children to creep out into the world, come back a little battered 'n' bruised with torn clothing and missing socks, and then after I patch them up, they venture out again with more confidence.

The original "Again" may be seen by clicking on the hyperlinked title in the next sentence. So here is my revised version of "Again."

Again.

Slowly
she shook her head,
negating the swirling images --
the insistent questions:
Who now?
When now?
Where now?
Now.
Again.
Still shaking her sickening head --
Not again.
He had promised.

She dared not imagine
who this one was --
what she looked like --
where they had met --
how often?
for how long?

Her face raised to his,
betrayal, accusation
in her eyes,
apology in his --
Again.

Copyright 2009 Susanne Barrett

So what do you think? Judith said I should cut it down by 1/4 to 1/3, and my cut is over 40%. Perhaps I took out too much, condensed it too far and lost some emotional impact. Or perhaps that emotional "blow to the gut" is a bit stronger.

I'd love input, especially from my poetry-writing and poetry-loving followers. Again....

Saint Teresa of Avila and the Gift of Suffering

Saint Teresa: Mystic. Contemplative. Imitator of Christ. Writer. Reformer. Woman. Doctor of the Church.

She was all of these things and more: she suffered from ill health and bodily pain through most of her life, a condition I relate to in my own physical challenges stemming from rheumatoid arthritis, fibromyalgia, chronic fatigue syndrome, and the other diagnoses I have received.

I could write so much about Saint Teresa of Avila, but this daily e-mail Saint of the Day from AmericanCatholic.org is simply and beautifully written:

Saint Teresa of Avila
Teresa lived in an age of exploration as well as political, social and religious upheaval. It was the 16th century, a time of turmoil and reform. Her life began with the culmination of the Protestant Reformation, and ended shortly after the Council of Trent.

The gift of God to Teresa in and through which she became holy and left
her mark on the Church and the world is threefold: She was a woman; she was a
contemplative; she was an active reformer.

As a woman, Teresa stood on her own two feet, even in the man's world of her time. She was "her own woman," entering the Carmelites despite strong opposition from her father. She is a person wrapped not so much in silence as in mystery. Beautiful, talented, outgoing, adaptable, affectionate, courageous, enthusiastic, she was totally human. Like Jesus, she was a mystery of paradoxes: wise, yet practical; intelligent, yet much in tune with her experience; a mystic, yet an energetic reformer. A holy woman, a womanly woman.

Teresa was a woman "for God," a woman of prayer, discipline and compassion. Her heart belonged to God. Her own conversion was no overnight affair; it was an arduous lifelong struggle, involving ongoing purification and suffering. She was misunderstood, misjudged, opposed in her efforts at reform. Yet she struggled on, courageous and faithful; she struggled with her own mediocrity, her illness, her opposition. And in the midst of all this she clung to God in life and in prayer. Her writings on prayer and contemplation are drawn from her experience: powerful, practical and graceful. A woman of prayer; a woman for God.

Teresa was a woman "for others." Though a contemplative, she spent much of her time and energy seeking to reform herself and the Carmelites, to lead them back to the full observance of the primitive Rule. She founded over a half-dozen new monasteries. She traveled, wrote, fought—always to renew, to reform. In her self, in her prayer,in her life, in her efforts to reform, in all the people she touched, she was a woman for others, a woman who inspired and gave life.

In 1970 the Church gave her the title she had long held in the popular mind: Doctor of the Church. She and St. Catherine of Siena were the first women so honored.

Comment:
Today we live in a time of turmoil, a time of reform and a time of liberation. Modern women have in Teresa a challenging example. Promoters of renewal, promoters of prayer, all have in Teresa a woman to reckon with, one whom they can admire and imitate.

Quote:
Teresa knew well the continued presence and value of suffering (physical illness, opposition to reform, difficulties in prayer), but she grew to be able to embrace suffering, even desire it: "Lord, either to suffer or to die." Toward the end of her life she exclaimed: "Oh, my Lord! How true it is that whoever works for you is paid in troubles! And what a precious price to those who love you if we understand its value."

May we all understand the value of suffering, as much as our souls cringe away from pain of any sort. I have always felt an affinity toward Saint Teresa in that she also received the gift of illness, of bodily weakness, of physical pain, and I look to women life her who have suffered as I do for comfort, for inspiration. In the bodily pain I suffer daily, I am slowly accepting the gift for what it is and am starting the process of offering it back to Christ, one ache, one shoot, one twinge, at a time.

Icons: Windows to Heaven

"Icons are a window to heaven," teaches Frederica Mathewes-Green, one of my favorite Christian writers. A former Anglican priest turned Eastern Orthodox, Frederica writes about her conversion and experience in the Orthodox Church. I first met her years ago at Point Loma Nazarene University's Writers Symposium by the Sea when she gave a wonderful talk about worship through icons, my first real introduction to these sometimes odd-looking pictures that somehow hold me spellbound. Their painted eyes speak to me, beckoning me into their world of otherliness and mystery.

I now own two: The Tree of Life (including the twelve disciples) and Resurrection of Christ. They hang on the wall above my bed table which serves as my prayer corner. They bring me into worship, these windows to heaven. I kneel before them, in no way worshiping wood and paint and human talent, but bowing before Jesus Christ. These icons help me to recall His gentle and not-so gentle) teaching of The Twelve and the power of His glorious Resurrection. I fall to my knees in awe of Him who is Creator, King, Savior -- and pray to Him who gave Himself for me, for us.

But many Christians, evangelicals especially, look somewhat (or very much) askance at the use of icons in worship. I did, too, at first, but learning about icons from Frederica and reading her subsequent book on icons shifted my thinking.

As a child, I remember the Russian icon room at the Timken Gallery, next to the San Diego Museum of Art in Balboa Park. As an adult, I still return to that room in awe, marveling at the ancient Byzantine art that reaches out to me, inviting me to worship even in a crowded art museum. First in strollers, then held tightly by the hand, my kids have often walked the room with me under the careful, ramrod-straight, watchful eyes of the elderly guards -- as if they expected my children to run off at any moment to touch the artwork -- sacrilege! But these childhood memories remain in the back of my mind and the center of my heart, tugging on me.

I found a great source on icons from "Icons and Their History" from Saint Ignatius of Antioch Orthodox Christian Church:

Holy Icons -- Theology in Color
One of the first things that strikes a non-Orthodox visitor to an Orthodox church is the prominent place assigned to Holy Icons. The Iconostasis is covered with them, while others are placed in prominent places throughout the church building. The walls and ceiling are covered with iconic murals. The Orthodox faithful prostrate themselves before Icons, kiss them, and burn candles before them. The are censed by the clergy and carried in processions. Considering the obvious importance of the Holy Icons, then, questions may certainly be raised concerning them: What do these gestures and actions mean? What is the significance of Icons? Are they not idols or the like, prohibited by the Old Testament?

Icons have been used for prayer from the first centuries of Christianity. Sacred Tradition tells us, for example, of the existence of an Icon of the Savior during His lifetime (the "Icon-Made-Without-Hands") and of Icons of the Most Holy Theotokos immediately after Him. Sacred Tradition witnesses that the Orthodox Church had a clear understanding of the importance of Icons right from the beginning; and this understanding never changed, for it is derived from the teachings concerning the Incarnation of the Second Person of the Holy Trinity -- Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. The use of Icons is grounded in the very essence of Christianity, since Christianity is the revelation by God-Man not only of the Word of God, but also of the Image of God; for, as St. John the Evangelist tells us, "the Word became flesh and dwelt among us" (John 1:14).

"No one has ever seen God; only the Son, Who is in the bosom of the Father, He has made Him known" (John 1:18), the Evangelist proclaims. That is, He has revealed the Image or Icon of God. For being the brightness of [God's] glory, and the express image of [God's] person (Hebrews 1:3), the Word of God in the Incarnation revealed to the world, in His own Divinity, the Image of the Father. When St. Philip asks Jesus, Lord, show us the Father, He answered him: Have I been with you so long, and yet you do not know Me, Philip? He who has seen Me has seen the Father (John 14:8-9).

Thus as the Son is in the bosom of the Father, likewise after the Incarnation He is constubstantial with the Father, according to His divinity being the Father's Image, equal in honor to Him. The truth expressed above, which is revealed in Christianity, thus forms the foundations of Christian pictorial art. The Image (or Icon) not only does not contradict the essence of Christianity, but is unfailingly connected with it; and this is the foundation of the tradition that from the very beginning the Good News was brought to the world by the Church both in word and image.

St. John of Damascus, an eighth century Father of the Church, who wrote at the height of the iconoclastic (anti-icon) controversies in the Church, explains, that because the Word of God became flesh (John 1:14), we are no longer in our infancy; we have grown up, we have been given by God the power of discrimination and we know what can be depicted and what is indescribable. Since the Second Person of the Holy Trinity appeared to us in the flesh, we can portray Him and reproduce for contemplation Him Who has condescended to be seen. We can confidently represent God the Invisible -- not as an invisible being, but as one Who has made Himself visible for our sake by sharing in our flesh and blood.

Holy Icons developed side by side with the Divine Services and, like the Services, expressed the teaching of the Church in conformity with the word of Holy Scripture. Following the teaching of the 7th Ecumenical Council, the Icon is seen not as simple art, but that there is a complete correspondence of the Icon to Holy Scripture, "for if the Icon is shown by Holy Scripture, Holy Scripture is made incontestably clear by the Icon" (Acts of the 7th Ecumenical Council, 6).

As the word of Holy Scripture is an image, so the image is also a word, for, according to St. Basil the Great (379 AD):

By depicting the divine, we are not making ourselves similar to idolaters; for it is not the material symbol that we are worshipping, but the Creator, Who became corporeal for our sake and assumed our body in order that through it He might save mankind. We also venerate the material objects through which our salvation is effected -- the blessed wood of the Cross, the Holy Gospel, Holy Relics of Saints, and, above all, the Most-Pure Body and Blood of Christ, which have grace-bestowing properties and Divine Power. Orthodox Christians do not venerate an Icon of Christ because of the nature of the wood or the paint, but rather we venerate the inanimate image of Christ with the intention of worshipping Christ Himself as God Incarnate through it.

Carry On Tuesday Prompt # 22

It's time for another Carry on Tuesday writing prompt. Prompt #22 was definitely a challenge:

"Life is a flower of which love is the honey." -- Victor Hugo.

I toyed with this idea for a while, but the quotation just seemed TOO sweet. Then I allowed my "too sweet" response to loop back to the idea of love. Can love be "too sweet"? Who would feel that way?

I pondered a little more and thought that perhaps the man might feel trapped in a "too sweet" relationship. I wrote a second stanza with the idea of being tied in knots, and about how trying to untie the knotted relationship only made the bonds tighter, choking him. After working with the second stanza for quite a while, I decided to drop it and "stick" (pun intended) with the honey/glue image only.

Dealing with prompts like this is the main value I see in writing from prompts: sometimes what I come up with is complete and utter crap, but prompts make me think in new ways, considering different viewpoints and topics. I have struggled more with this prompt than I have with previous ones, and I'm still not happy with the results, but I'll put it out here anyway. Let me know what you think.

second skin

honey-flavored,
her love cloying,
too sweet to be savored,
leaving a tainted aftertaste
more than unpleasant,
less than toxic.

once flower-delicate,
now glue-ish --
white stickiness
clinging to him --
in time drying clear,
a second skin --

taking a layer with it
when he peels it away,
no matter how carefully.

Copyright 2009 Susanne Barrett

Quotation of the Week: Selflessness

I read Elizabeth Gaskell's last and unfinished novel Wives and Daughters several years ago, not realizing that the nearly 800-page book was left incomplete at the time of Gaskell's death. The work, though, is truly masterful, but the unfinished status was frustrating beyond expression as the very best part, Molly's long-suffering love about to be requited, was on the cusp of occurring when the book came to a screeching halt. Coming across an Editor's Note explaining Gaskell's untimely death when one is so very excited to see the two honorable and lovable characters about to discover their common love for one another was deflating, to say the least. Still, despite being incomplete, Wives and Daughters remains Mrs. Gaskell's masterwork, and should be high on the list of the best 19th century British literature.

Oh yes, I've read other books by Mrs. Gaskell: North and South and Mary Barton, to be precise, and Cranford is high on my list of books I have wanted to read, even though it is extremely difficult to procure it unless I purchase it. No library in San Diego County, public or university, seems to possess it. But its mention in Little Women, along with the Masterpiece Theatre production starring Judi Dench, whetted my appetite. I did get my hands on a copy through The Circuit (interlinked California libraries) a year ago or so, but it arrived at a very busy time for me, and I only had time to read the first few chapters before having to return it. But what I did read I liked very much indeed.

In addition to short stories, Mrs. Gaskell penned thirteen novels in her 55 years (1810-1865), plus a biography of her friend, Charlotte Bronte, author of Jane Eyre, The Professor, etc. You may read more about Mrs. Gaskell and her works at this link: Elizabeth Gaskell.

My quotation for this week is taken from page 134 of Wives and Daughters and is describing the main character, the sweet, selfless, intelligent, and long-suffering Molly:

"Thinking more of others' happiness than her own was very fine; but did it not mean giving up her own individuality, quenching all the warm love, the true desires, that made her herself? Yet in this deadness lay her only comfort; or so it seemed."

Selflessness is a quality I have always admired, probably because I am such a selfish person myself. Can we truly take comfort in living for others rather than for self? Can we live a fulfilling life doing so? It seems to take a very special kind of saint to attain selflessness, and then only as a result of one's faith -- of God working in and through His willing child.

Molly is one of my favorite heroines in literature, equal in my opinion to Elizabeth Bennet, though not as fire-tongued, and Jane Eyre, though not as passionate. Molly lives a quiet life, a selfless life, complicated by the self-absorbed people who surround her, even in her own home, namely her father's new wife and her daughter, Cynthia. The wife is ridiculous in her self-absorption, Cynthia merely thoughtless, but they engage the thoughtful and shy Molly in situations that try her patience and even her reputation. It's an intriguing book, and Molly is the model "daughter" -- too shy and retiring to be perfect, too human to be a "real" heroine. Her literary sisters in more well-known English novels are Anne in Persuasion or Fanny in Mansfield Park.

If you don't mind reading an unfinished book and Victorian novels are a genre you enjoy, then I can't more highly recommend Gaskell's Wives and Daughters -- or at least the excellent Masterpiece Theater mini-series.

Sunday Worship

Worship this morning featured the singing of several hymns. Even if accompanied by electric guitars and very loud drums, hymns are a beautiful thing. I love the beauty of the music, the depth of the theology, and, most of all, the focus on worshiping God rather than navel-gazing on how we feel about Him (like the vast majority of praise songs we usually sing). We sang a couple of hymns today which was lovely -- I feel as though I can truly worship God far more easily through the singing of hymns.

So here is one of my favorite hymns. Irish and from the 8th century, this hymn is one of the oldest surviving hymns we sing regularly at Lake Murray. I love just praying the words, and singing them is even better. It's so beautiful, so worshipful:

Be Thou my Vision, O Lord of my heart;
Naught be all else to me, save that Thou art.
Thou my best Thought, by day or by night,
Waking or sleeping, Thy presence my light.

Be Thou my Wisdom, and Thou my true Word;
I ever with Thee and Thou with me, Lord;
Thou my great Father, I Thy true son;
Thou in me dwelling, and I with Thee one.

Be Thou my battle Shield, Sword for the fight;
Be Thou my Dignity, Thou my Delight;
Thou my soul’s Shelter, Thou my high Tower:
Raise Thou me heavenward, O Power of my power.

Riches I heed not, nor man’s empty praise,
Thou mine Inheritance, now and always:
Thou and Thou only, first in my heart,
High King of Heaven, my Treasure Thou art.

High King of Heaven, my victory won,
May I reach Heaven’s joys, O bright Heaven’s Sun!
Heart of my own heart, whatever befall,
Still be my Vision, O Ruler of all.

The third verse above is one I don't know, but the other four I am quite familiar with. My favorite version of this hymn is performed by the group 4Him on their Hymns album, which I had just about worn out before adding it to my iTunes. The Irish flute and bagpipes add so much to the crescendo of the last verse. That's worship!!!