I recently read a book called Feelings Buried Alive Never Die. Its thesis is that the root of a lot of unhappiness and most, if not all, unhealthiness in our lives is negative feelings that we have refused to acknowledge and deal with.
I don’t believe it completely, but I’m convinced there is at least some truth to it. I am humbled enough, and tired enough, to really explore what role anxiety and other mysterious and buried emotions might have played in the illness I have suffered with for a few years now. I have been pondering a lot, praying a lot, studying the scriptures a lot, and I am seeing more clearly now that I really have had some bad habits in my life of being too judgmental of myself and others, and having too great a need to be in control. (Yes, I remember my rant about the woman in my ward who was convinced I’m sick because of perfectionism. You don’t have to remind me.)
I can’t say that my illness was caused by anxiety, but I can say that anxiety has played a role in my life and very possibly exacerbated things if it didn’t bring them on. I see that this illness came on at a time when things were just starting to look up for me, really. My kids had moved to a stage of being much more enjoyable to me, needing me less but interesting me more. I found myself with more leisure to pursue things I’d always wanted to. I had some success with my writing and in other areas of my life. All of these things were reasons I used as to why anxiety and other emotional issues could not possibly be affecting my health. Things were better than ever . . . why be sick now? But I see now, especially after the whole novel thing (and then the huge decision to abandon it) that I had been putting a lot of pressure on myself, JUST BECAUSE MY LIFE WAS SO EASY, to prove myself, to find something to succeed at, to have something to show for the fact that life was good and I was so blessed.
I was trying to pay for my blessings, either by becoming God’s gift to the world as a poet or novelist . . .
. . . or by becoming sick.
Screwy, I know.
Anyway, since realizing this, I have begun a quest for serenity in my life, the serenity that comes from accepting myself as I am (imperfect) and refusing to judge anymore, both myself and others. I’m trying abandon my quest for control in my life. And it feels very, very good, and very right. I am learning trust (“cursed is he that putteth his trust in man, or maketh flesh his arm”) in God instead of in myself to solve everything, achieve everything.
It’s amazing to me to discover the connection between charity and peace. “And above all things, clothe yourselves with the bond of charity, as with a mantle, which is the bond of perfectness and peace (D&C 88:125).” If I have true charity for myself and others, I accept them, and all the world, as it is, and feel no need to change it, no need to be anxious for it, no need to take over control of things. Charity is the key to feeling that all is well, both in your mind and body. As it says in my favorite section (D&C 121), “Let thy bowels also be full of charity towards all men . . . then shall thy confidence wax strong in the presence of God.”
So I am praying for charity, grace to forgive everyone and refrain from judging. And it feels so good! I’ll pray for it for you, too.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
It's all about the hair
I really like President Uchtdorf. But I did not like him at first. I wasn’t sure why—it was something to do with his appearance. Maybe he looked too “big business-ish,” too suave, too “upper management” for my taste. (And no, I’m not saying that if he HAD had a big business background he couldn’t be a wonderful GA. I’m not saying that at all. Just that it’s harder for me to sense humility through that kind of background.) Anyway, after I heard about his upbringing and heard his talks, I realized that I had sadly, sadly misjudged him, and I started to look for what it was that led to my wrong impressions of him. After all, he didn’t dress any differently from any of the other General Authorities, and I hadn’t been turned off of them by their business suits. What was it?
Finally I realized what it was: it was the back-comb.
I’ve never liked a back-comb. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been suspicious of them. Which explains some of my early dislike of Mitt Romney, back in the Olympics days. Granted, he IS a big businessman. But I’d like him a lot more with a different haircut!
It took a lot of personal psychoanalysis and deep foraging in my past to find out where I picked up my aversion for back-combs. But I found it. And here it is: Blowdry Brad. Blowdry Brad was my first experience with having my peers hold leadership callings. Brad was a fellow freshman living in Deseret Towers, and he was the Gospel Doctrine teacher, partner of my roommate Jennifer. I don’t remember anything about the lessons they taught together (but I’m sure your parts were great, Jen) except that Brad was my first exposure to the very earnest, very emotionally-manipulative, very seemingly-phony-righteous kind of preaching that has always left a bad taste in my mouth (like saccharine).
(ALERT: I KNOW I am not being charitable here. Who was I to judge how honest and humble this guy was? He was 18, for crying out loud! He was probably a really nice, earnest, intelligent guy. I am just showing you what my own immature 18-year-old mind was doing.)
But the thing I couldn’t forgive him for was his hair. It looked like he spent more time on that blow-dried back-comb than I ever spent on mine. And somehow that hairdo became associated in my mind with people whose lives have been easy, wealthy, and full of absolute surety that they have all the answers.
But President Uchtdorf has taught me I was wrong in my judgment, and now I need to repent. So forgive me, Brad, Mitt, and President Uchtdorf. Though I don’t like your hair, I no longer believe it necessarily describes the kind of person you are. And, heaven forbid anyone ever judge me by my hair, which in NO WAY EVER looks the way I wish it would, let alone providing an accurate reflection of who I am (I really, really hope).
(I guess this means I should quit judging women, especially General Relief Society leadership, by their hair, too.)
Finally I realized what it was: it was the back-comb.
I’ve never liked a back-comb. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been suspicious of them. Which explains some of my early dislike of Mitt Romney, back in the Olympics days. Granted, he IS a big businessman. But I’d like him a lot more with a different haircut!
It took a lot of personal psychoanalysis and deep foraging in my past to find out where I picked up my aversion for back-combs. But I found it. And here it is: Blowdry Brad. Blowdry Brad was my first experience with having my peers hold leadership callings. Brad was a fellow freshman living in Deseret Towers, and he was the Gospel Doctrine teacher, partner of my roommate Jennifer. I don’t remember anything about the lessons they taught together (but I’m sure your parts were great, Jen) except that Brad was my first exposure to the very earnest, very emotionally-manipulative, very seemingly-phony-righteous kind of preaching that has always left a bad taste in my mouth (like saccharine).
(ALERT: I KNOW I am not being charitable here. Who was I to judge how honest and humble this guy was? He was 18, for crying out loud! He was probably a really nice, earnest, intelligent guy. I am just showing you what my own immature 18-year-old mind was doing.)
But the thing I couldn’t forgive him for was his hair. It looked like he spent more time on that blow-dried back-comb than I ever spent on mine. And somehow that hairdo became associated in my mind with people whose lives have been easy, wealthy, and full of absolute surety that they have all the answers.
But President Uchtdorf has taught me I was wrong in my judgment, and now I need to repent. So forgive me, Brad, Mitt, and President Uchtdorf. Though I don’t like your hair, I no longer believe it necessarily describes the kind of person you are. And, heaven forbid anyone ever judge me by my hair, which in NO WAY EVER looks the way I wish it would, let alone providing an accurate reflection of who I am (I really, really hope).
(I guess this means I should quit judging women, especially General Relief Society leadership, by their hair, too.)
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Book Report
Last year I read The Know-it-all by A. J. Jacobs, about a guy’s quest to read the entire Encyclopaedia Brittanica in a year. It was surprisingly entertaining, and so I gladly picked up Jacobs’s second offering, The Year of Living Biblically, which documents the year he spent supposedly trying to live by the bible.
What a disappointment.
I guess a big part of it was that this time the subject was much closer to my heart. (Who cares what anyone thinks about the Encyclopaedia Brittanica?)
It seems as if Jacobs really meant to try, sort of. But the thing is, I don’t believe you can just try out a worldview. You either adopt it or you don’t. (“There is no try,” as Yoda says.) I don’t believe that Jacobs has made an authentic attempt to understand the Christian mindset at all. What he might call living a Christian life turns out to be nothing but following a few hand-picked, quirky behavioral codes (chosen more for their colorfulness than out of any sense of hierarchy or importance).
Jacobs makes a (very long) list of all of the “rules” and “suggestions” from the bible (Old and New Testament) and then tries to live a lot of them, including bizarre ones like not wearing clothing with mixed fibers and getting a chicken sacrificially killed for him. Reading the book is slow, slow going at first because the first two-thirds of the book are focused only on the Old Testament, which to me is such a very little part of the gospel. (But then, Jacobs is a [non-practicing] Jew.) But I waded through the first part out of eagerness to see what he would make of the last (and most important) part. The coming of Christ can, after all, fulfill, enrich, explain, and/or magnify what came before. Would Jacobs see this? Would he feel it? Would he honestly explore Christianity, actually ask the big questions, open up his heart to the possibility of conversion?
Of course not. Sigh.
Here’s his explanation for not even trying: “I could adopt the cognitive-dissonance strategy: If I act like Jesus is God, eventually maybe I will start to believe that Jesus is God. That’s been my tactic with the God of the Hebrew Bible, and it’s actually started to work. But there’s a difference. When I do it with the Hebrew God, I feel like I’m trying on my forefathers’ robes and sandals. There’s a family connection. Doing it with Jesus would feel uncomfortable. I’ve come to value my heritage enough that it’d feel disloyal to convert.” [Ack. Far be it for him to actually go so far as to make himself uncomfortable during this year. Perish the thought that he actually open his mind to something.] “Which naturally leads to this quandary: If I don’t accept Christ, can I get anything out of the New Testament at all? What if I follow the moral teachings of Jesus but don’t worship him as God? Or is that just a fool’s errand? Again, depends whom you ask” (p. 256). And then, of course, he goes on to highlight various philosophies on how literally one out to interpret the bible, which is all this book really is anyhow: one friendly, all-American non-practicing Jewish guy with a sense of humor appearing to give religion the old American go because that’s the kind of guy he is, but really copping out by highlighting the most extreme and oddball interpretations, holding all the contradictions up against each other, and coming out at the end a little more thankful, a little more moral, a little more appreciative of his religious buddies.
Later he says, “It comes back to the idea of surrendering. I still haven’t been able to fully surrender my spirit or emotions, but I have at least surrendered some of my bank account.” Which really sums up the book, to me. “Hey, I donated a little time, a little study, a little money to trying out this religion thing. Didn’t do anything for me. Yeah, yeah, so I didn’t invest my heart in it or anything—but you gotta admit it was a trip, right? Can’t we be friends and call it good?”
Bleh, what a let-down. And this time it wasn’t even funny.
What a disappointment.
I guess a big part of it was that this time the subject was much closer to my heart. (Who cares what anyone thinks about the Encyclopaedia Brittanica?)
It seems as if Jacobs really meant to try, sort of. But the thing is, I don’t believe you can just try out a worldview. You either adopt it or you don’t. (“There is no try,” as Yoda says.) I don’t believe that Jacobs has made an authentic attempt to understand the Christian mindset at all. What he might call living a Christian life turns out to be nothing but following a few hand-picked, quirky behavioral codes (chosen more for their colorfulness than out of any sense of hierarchy or importance).
Jacobs makes a (very long) list of all of the “rules” and “suggestions” from the bible (Old and New Testament) and then tries to live a lot of them, including bizarre ones like not wearing clothing with mixed fibers and getting a chicken sacrificially killed for him. Reading the book is slow, slow going at first because the first two-thirds of the book are focused only on the Old Testament, which to me is such a very little part of the gospel. (But then, Jacobs is a [non-practicing] Jew.) But I waded through the first part out of eagerness to see what he would make of the last (and most important) part. The coming of Christ can, after all, fulfill, enrich, explain, and/or magnify what came before. Would Jacobs see this? Would he feel it? Would he honestly explore Christianity, actually ask the big questions, open up his heart to the possibility of conversion?
Of course not. Sigh.
Here’s his explanation for not even trying: “I could adopt the cognitive-dissonance strategy: If I act like Jesus is God, eventually maybe I will start to believe that Jesus is God. That’s been my tactic with the God of the Hebrew Bible, and it’s actually started to work. But there’s a difference. When I do it with the Hebrew God, I feel like I’m trying on my forefathers’ robes and sandals. There’s a family connection. Doing it with Jesus would feel uncomfortable. I’ve come to value my heritage enough that it’d feel disloyal to convert.” [Ack. Far be it for him to actually go so far as to make himself uncomfortable during this year. Perish the thought that he actually open his mind to something.] “Which naturally leads to this quandary: If I don’t accept Christ, can I get anything out of the New Testament at all? What if I follow the moral teachings of Jesus but don’t worship him as God? Or is that just a fool’s errand? Again, depends whom you ask” (p. 256). And then, of course, he goes on to highlight various philosophies on how literally one out to interpret the bible, which is all this book really is anyhow: one friendly, all-American non-practicing Jewish guy with a sense of humor appearing to give religion the old American go because that’s the kind of guy he is, but really copping out by highlighting the most extreme and oddball interpretations, holding all the contradictions up against each other, and coming out at the end a little more thankful, a little more moral, a little more appreciative of his religious buddies.
Later he says, “It comes back to the idea of surrendering. I still haven’t been able to fully surrender my spirit or emotions, but I have at least surrendered some of my bank account.” Which really sums up the book, to me. “Hey, I donated a little time, a little study, a little money to trying out this religion thing. Didn’t do anything for me. Yeah, yeah, so I didn’t invest my heart in it or anything—but you gotta admit it was a trip, right? Can’t we be friends and call it good?”
Bleh, what a let-down. And this time it wasn’t even funny.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Kathy's Cake
Sometimes you make a friend and you say, "We should get together with our husbands," or "We should get our kids together." And then you try it and things just don't work out. The kids don't hit it off. The husbands don't hit it off. The kids hit it off too well and they are so hyper you don't want to do it again.
It's pretty rare that hubby and I find families that we both like that click well with our kids. I don't know why that is--are we especially difficult people to get along with? Maybe. It makes it harder because lots of the friends I make are writer people and R, although extremely supportive of my writing and of my socializing with them, and very cheerful about hanging with them, doesn't always see them as the most enjoyable social partners for him. So he'll go along willingly, but I know he's being a trooper, and I long for a different scene in which he is as eager as I and enjoying himself as much.
So--lucky us, we hit paydirt last night. Turns out my writer-friend Melinda happens to be married to a guy who went to Roger's same mission! Ka-ching! Also, they have the sweetest, out-reaching kids that my kids really, really liked. All this, and they have a family bluegrass band (I love bluegrass!) and they performed for us last night. (What a cool thing for my boys to see--kids having fun playing instruments!) Anyway, here's hoping that Melinda's family liked us at least a little bit . . .
The star of the evening, though, was Kathy's Cinnamon Bundt Cake recipe. I got this from Kathy C., a childhood friend of mine who also happens to be married to a guy my husband really likes and enjoys. So I guess it was appropriate refreshments for our evening last night. Here's the recipe:
1 yellow cake mix
1 small pkg vanilla pudding mix
3/4 c. veg. oil
3/4 c. water
4 eggs
2 t. vanilla
Cinnamon/sugar mixture for filling (sugar mixed with cinnamon to taste)
Mix cake and pudding mixes dry. Add oil and water, mix well. Add eggs one at a time, mixing after each. Add vanilla. Beat high 6-8 minutes (I never last that long--which explains why my rolls never turn out, eh, Melinda?).
Grease bundt pan. Then, instead of flouring it, coat with cinnamon/sugar mixture. Pour in 1/3 batter, then sprinkle liberally with cinn/sugar. Repeat twice.
Bake 40 minutes at 350. (I like it a tiny bit on the raw side.) Cool 8 minutes and remove from pan.
It's pretty rare that hubby and I find families that we both like that click well with our kids. I don't know why that is--are we especially difficult people to get along with? Maybe. It makes it harder because lots of the friends I make are writer people and R, although extremely supportive of my writing and of my socializing with them, and very cheerful about hanging with them, doesn't always see them as the most enjoyable social partners for him. So he'll go along willingly, but I know he's being a trooper, and I long for a different scene in which he is as eager as I and enjoying himself as much.
So--lucky us, we hit paydirt last night. Turns out my writer-friend Melinda happens to be married to a guy who went to Roger's same mission! Ka-ching! Also, they have the sweetest, out-reaching kids that my kids really, really liked. All this, and they have a family bluegrass band (I love bluegrass!) and they performed for us last night. (What a cool thing for my boys to see--kids having fun playing instruments!) Anyway, here's hoping that Melinda's family liked us at least a little bit . . .
The star of the evening, though, was Kathy's Cinnamon Bundt Cake recipe. I got this from Kathy C., a childhood friend of mine who also happens to be married to a guy my husband really likes and enjoys. So I guess it was appropriate refreshments for our evening last night. Here's the recipe:
1 yellow cake mix
1 small pkg vanilla pudding mix
3/4 c. veg. oil
3/4 c. water
4 eggs
2 t. vanilla
Cinnamon/sugar mixture for filling (sugar mixed with cinnamon to taste)
Mix cake and pudding mixes dry. Add oil and water, mix well. Add eggs one at a time, mixing after each. Add vanilla. Beat high 6-8 minutes (I never last that long--which explains why my rolls never turn out, eh, Melinda?).
Grease bundt pan. Then, instead of flouring it, coat with cinnamon/sugar mixture. Pour in 1/3 batter, then sprinkle liberally with cinn/sugar. Repeat twice.
Bake 40 minutes at 350. (I like it a tiny bit on the raw side.) Cool 8 minutes and remove from pan.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Blast for Nie Nie
Well, I had a fantastic time yesterday at our book-release/fundraiser for Nie Nie. Knowing her (well, knowing her sister, anyway), I'm sure she would be happy that we had so dang much fun. I don't have pictures yet, but here's a link to the KSL news story about us and here's one to the Deseret News article.
I need to say thanks to so many people! Thanks to Barbara, who gave me the idea (and the template) for a press release to get the news people there. Thanks to Kristi and Melinda, my writing compadres who came a long way to support me! Thanks to Stephen, who is really trying to make a bridge in the LDS writing community. (And here's hoping we'll hear from Noelle soon . . . ) Thanks to my mother-in-law, who commissioned me to buy a book for her. Thanks to the hundreds of other people who came! And thanks to my Segullah sisters who are so very much fun to hang out with and who gave me my first chance to be in HARDBACK!!!!!
I need to say thanks to so many people! Thanks to Barbara, who gave me the idea (and the template) for a press release to get the news people there. Thanks to Kristi and Melinda, my writing compadres who came a long way to support me! Thanks to Stephen, who is really trying to make a bridge in the LDS writing community. (And here's hoping we'll hear from Noelle soon . . . ) Thanks to my mother-in-law, who commissioned me to buy a book for her. Thanks to the hundreds of other people who came! And thanks to my Segullah sisters who are so very much fun to hang out with and who gave me my first chance to be in HARDBACK!!!!!
Thursday, October 16, 2008
This just in . . .
"Cultural leaders have come together to announce a massive poetry buyout: leveraged and unsecured poems, poetry derivatives, delinquent poems, and subprime poems will be removed from circulation in the biggest poetry bailout since the Victorian era."
. . . from "Poetry Bailout Will Restore Confidence of Readers"
By Charles Bernstein of Harper's Magazine. Check it out!
. . . from "Poetry Bailout Will Restore Confidence of Readers"
By Charles Bernstein of Harper's Magazine. Check it out!
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
My Twin
I have Google set up to let me know when my name appears on the internet. In the last week, I’ve been getting daily reports about my namesake who has been on trial this week for murder in Canada. Apparently, she killed her husband who she says has been very abusive to her.
I don’t really know what to think about this. I feel for her. I worry for myself (is she a criminal? Will I ever get mixed up with her somehow? Is she the one who has been hogging the darleneyoung.com domain?). I think about how different our lives have been.
There’s no doubt about it that I am a golden child. Happy childhood, relatively wealthy and highly satisfying adult life. Does it do any good if I feel guilty about this? No, no, says the Spirit. Not guilt—just gratitude. And, from that gratitude, good will for others.
So here come my prayers in your behalf, Darlene Young. I hope that you can find some hope and some comfort in all of this.
I don’t really know what to think about this. I feel for her. I worry for myself (is she a criminal? Will I ever get mixed up with her somehow? Is she the one who has been hogging the darleneyoung.com domain?). I think about how different our lives have been.
There’s no doubt about it that I am a golden child. Happy childhood, relatively wealthy and highly satisfying adult life. Does it do any good if I feel guilty about this? No, no, says the Spirit. Not guilt—just gratitude. And, from that gratitude, good will for others.
So here come my prayers in your behalf, Darlene Young. I hope that you can find some hope and some comfort in all of this.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Oooooh, I am so clever.
I moved some of our family board games from the dusty shelves in the deepest dungeon of the basement up to the open shelves in the sitting room off of the kitchen. Suddenly my children have discovered games! They are actually sitting on the floor for a couple of hours at a time, playing with each other! Without plugs!!!!!!!
Tuesday, October 07, 2008
GENCON
Sometimes I even get homesick for it. I love it. I always love it, and I wouldn’t give it up for anything.
I'm speaking, of course, about General Conference.
This year I almost missed part of it. Well, I wouldn’t have missed it because I would have listened to it in the car, but it’s not the same. But when I was sitting there, surrounded by my kids and the legos and the snacks and the cuddles and the calming, familiar voices of leaders who want only to help me I was so glad that I wasn’t anywhere else.
I always enjoy Saturday morning the most, probably because that’s when I’m fresh. By Sunday afternoon I feel as if I’ve been drinking out of a firehose, and I wonder if the talks from that session would affect me more had I heard them earlier on. I still love the feeling, though, and look forward to hearing all the talks again later when I download them to my MP3 player.
So I don’t have anything specific to say about any of the talks, but I just wanted to say how sweet it is to have such a warm, safe place in my life as General Conference. I feel centered now and ready to take a deep breath and try again.
(A friend once said to me, “If guilt does anything more to you than make you stop sinning, it’s not from God.” I agree completely. But there’s a different kind of guilt that is not negative but is really a sweet nudging that is always accompanied by a bright splash of hope that I really can do better and, what’s more, I really want to—an excited feeling of anticipation, really. That’s the RIGHT kind of correction from the Holy Ghost, and that’s the kind I get when I listen to conference with the Spirit. Ahhhh.)
I'm speaking, of course, about General Conference.
This year I almost missed part of it. Well, I wouldn’t have missed it because I would have listened to it in the car, but it’s not the same. But when I was sitting there, surrounded by my kids and the legos and the snacks and the cuddles and the calming, familiar voices of leaders who want only to help me I was so glad that I wasn’t anywhere else.
I always enjoy Saturday morning the most, probably because that’s when I’m fresh. By Sunday afternoon I feel as if I’ve been drinking out of a firehose, and I wonder if the talks from that session would affect me more had I heard them earlier on. I still love the feeling, though, and look forward to hearing all the talks again later when I download them to my MP3 player.
So I don’t have anything specific to say about any of the talks, but I just wanted to say how sweet it is to have such a warm, safe place in my life as General Conference. I feel centered now and ready to take a deep breath and try again.
(A friend once said to me, “If guilt does anything more to you than make you stop sinning, it’s not from God.” I agree completely. But there’s a different kind of guilt that is not negative but is really a sweet nudging that is always accompanied by a bright splash of hope that I really can do better and, what’s more, I really want to—an excited feeling of anticipation, really. That’s the RIGHT kind of correction from the Holy Ghost, and that’s the kind I get when I listen to conference with the Spirit. Ahhhh.)
Sunday, October 05, 2008
Anne Patchett
Last night I went to listen to Anne Patchett. It was a sort of victory for me because I hate crowds, hate parking downtown, and hate being a “fan.” In spite of all that I drove myself downtown, parked, and attended a very interesting lecture by the author of Bel Canto and Truth and Beauty, among others. I’m very glad I did.
It’s always encouraging to hear from a writer who was determined to write and eventually succeeded. So just that was worthwhile. But she said some interesting things, which I’ll quote here just for you.
How odd is it that people pat you on the hand when you are a writer and say, “I hope you keep on writing, dear.” Can you imagine anyone patting their doctor on the way out of the exam room and saying, “I hope you keep on with what you’re doing”?
From a book she loves called Buddhism Without Beliefs: The creative process (for anything—writing, cooking, running, playing the cello) consists of three steps. 1) Commitment, 2) Technical Accomplishment, and 3) Imagination. In that order. With writing, people sometimes get those steps backwards, or think that #3 is all.
Imagination is a muscle. Do you use it?
Imagination is what makes us empathetic creatures.
“I am a professional imaginer.” I bring my emotional life to the book, not facts from my life (emotional truth, not true events).
Fiction can be true in the way that non-fiction cannot. You are God, you tell the truth of that action. Be true to the action, the narrative. You have to let the train get to where it’s going.
When asked, “Where do your images come from?” Commitment and practice. “It’s the way you train your brain to see the world.”
It’s always encouraging to hear from a writer who was determined to write and eventually succeeded. So just that was worthwhile. But she said some interesting things, which I’ll quote here just for you.
How odd is it that people pat you on the hand when you are a writer and say, “I hope you keep on writing, dear.” Can you imagine anyone patting their doctor on the way out of the exam room and saying, “I hope you keep on with what you’re doing”?
From a book she loves called Buddhism Without Beliefs: The creative process (for anything—writing, cooking, running, playing the cello) consists of three steps. 1) Commitment, 2) Technical Accomplishment, and 3) Imagination. In that order. With writing, people sometimes get those steps backwards, or think that #3 is all.
Imagination is a muscle. Do you use it?
Imagination is what makes us empathetic creatures.
“I am a professional imaginer.” I bring my emotional life to the book, not facts from my life (emotional truth, not true events).
Fiction can be true in the way that non-fiction cannot. You are God, you tell the truth of that action. Be true to the action, the narrative. You have to let the train get to where it’s going.
When asked, “Where do your images come from?” Commitment and practice. “It’s the way you train your brain to see the world.”
She talked a little bit about how her life seems to be imitating her life. At least twice after she has published a book, real people whose lives are surprisingly similar to characters she’s created have shown up in her life. For example, an opera singer just like the one she created in Bel Canto contacted her because she had read the book after all of her acquaintances had told her to read it “because that’s you!” Turns out that yes, the character and the real opera singer were surprisingly similar. And now Anne and the real singer are best friends. It happened again with another character from another book.
So here’s the weird thing. I just read Patchett’s memoir, Truth and Beauty, this year. It had been on my list for a year or two because my friend Kathy had recommended it. Shortly after I met Kathy, when I was first starting to get sick and no one knew what was wrong and I was convinced it was cancer (because of the family history), Kathy was reading this book, and she said, “Isn’t this weird? I am a memoirist and you are a poet. And I am reading this memoir about the friendship between a memoirist and a poet. And in this book, the poet is sick.” (She, kindly, didn’t tell me that the poet eventually dies of a drug OD.) But the point was that it was odd that the book mirrored our own friendship.
Anne Patchett said, “I guess I just imagine the kinds of people I want to know, write a book about them, and then they fall into my life.”
I didn’t get a chance to ask a question, but if I had, I would have asked, “Are you one of those writers who is haunted by characters, full-fledged, or do you construct characters?” It seems to me that it is odd how writers are one or the other type. (There are so many books on constructing character!) My problem is that I am neither. I am not haunted by some interesting characters who want me to tell their stories. But I hate the thought of sitting down and just sort of building a character like out of Legos. Which, I suppose, is why I am pretty much the author of nothing worth mentioning. Sigh.
.
Friday, October 03, 2008
More on, well, me.
I love it when AMV interviews me because for a little while I can imagine that there are people out there who are actually following my "career"! A girl can dream!
Thursday, October 02, 2008
Meme: 13 irrational fears
1. Biggest fear by far: that while we are happily driving along, the car will spontaneously combust. And this one intensifies greatly when I am pregnant or post-partum.
2. That I have some very obscure but easily-cured disease that requires a very certain medication. I don’t mind so much (well, actually I do) having a disease that’s NOT curable, as long as we all know for sure that’s what it is. The big fear is that I could have been feeling well all this time with a simple pill or maybe a really easy surgery, if only we had found the right test to confirm it.
3. Wasted time.
4. Staying up past my natural prime bedtime so that I miss the wave.
5. Crowds. Hate ‘em, hate ‘em, hate ‘em.
6. Parking downtown.
7. Making phonecalls, especially visiting teaching calls but also just plain old chatty calls. Also, discovering somehow that I am considered the “problem child” in the ward that no one wants for a visiting teaching companion.
8. Running into an ex-boyfriend on a bad hair day. Or, even worse, someone I knew peripherally in high school.
9. Dogs not on leashes. (OK, this is more of extreme annoyance than fear.)
10. Having a check bounce.
11. Discovering (who knows how?) that I could have written an amazing book if I had just tried.
12. Finding out someone is angry at me. Much worse: being confronted by that person. Agggggh! Angry confrontation!!!!!!
13. Finding out I have deeply hurt someone’s feelings.
2. That I have some very obscure but easily-cured disease that requires a very certain medication. I don’t mind so much (well, actually I do) having a disease that’s NOT curable, as long as we all know for sure that’s what it is. The big fear is that I could have been feeling well all this time with a simple pill or maybe a really easy surgery, if only we had found the right test to confirm it.
3. Wasted time.
4. Staying up past my natural prime bedtime so that I miss the wave.
5. Crowds. Hate ‘em, hate ‘em, hate ‘em.
6. Parking downtown.
7. Making phonecalls, especially visiting teaching calls but also just plain old chatty calls. Also, discovering somehow that I am considered the “problem child” in the ward that no one wants for a visiting teaching companion.
8. Running into an ex-boyfriend on a bad hair day. Or, even worse, someone I knew peripherally in high school.
9. Dogs not on leashes. (OK, this is more of extreme annoyance than fear.)
10. Having a check bounce.
11. Discovering (who knows how?) that I could have written an amazing book if I had just tried.
12. Finding out someone is angry at me. Much worse: being confronted by that person. Agggggh! Angry confrontation!!!!!!
13. Finding out I have deeply hurt someone’s feelings.
Wednesday, October 01, 2008
20th High School Reunion
(Yes, that's me in 1988.)
So I went to the reunion.
I really was pitifully excited about it. I’ve always been a hanger-on, trying to keep people in my life long after they should probably be let go. I don’t know why. Even worse, I try to collect people after the fact—writing notes or letters to people I hardly knew saying that I regret not knowing them better (and I really MEAN it when I say it!). So after last month when hubby dragged me around his wealthy, eastside reunion of his wealthy eastside high school, I had visions of my own reunion and looked forward to it anxiously.
Well, we’re not wealthy or east side. I guess it shows. (You’d think we’d at least have a sweet spirit.)
The first question was whether there would even BE a reunion. I couldn’t remember who my senior class officers were, but whoever they were, they certainly weren’t sending stuff around, asking for addresses, telling us to save dates or anything.
Then one day, on a total fluke, I stumbled across something on the internet about a reunion for my high school. I guess one of the officers decided to push up her sleeves and pull something off all by herself! Good for her! But there’s only so much one person can do, you know?
First, it was very, very poorly attended (probably because it was poorly publicized. I don’t even know whether anyone made any attempt to contact anyone other than by asking people to spread the word. No effort at physical address-contacting, for example).
When I go to a reunion, I go for three reasons: 1) to see my old friends again, 2) to see the people that were friendly acquaintances that I wish now that I had made better friends with, and 3) to see how the rest of the school turned out.
Well, I got some of each of those things, so I guess I shouldn’t gripe too much. But my biggest disappointment was with group #2. THEY’RE the ones I went to see, and they’re the ones I saw least of. Sigh.
I know other schools must be like this but it seems like my school was unnaturally divided into two groups: the boozers and the non. The boozers had a really good turnout at the reunion. We heard that the party went on very late into the night after all of us at the seminary table went home to our kids. So I guess the reunion turned out to be everything that SOMEONE hoped. Just not me. Blah.
I really was pitifully excited about it. I’ve always been a hanger-on, trying to keep people in my life long after they should probably be let go. I don’t know why. Even worse, I try to collect people after the fact—writing notes or letters to people I hardly knew saying that I regret not knowing them better (and I really MEAN it when I say it!). So after last month when hubby dragged me around his wealthy, eastside reunion of his wealthy eastside high school, I had visions of my own reunion and looked forward to it anxiously.
Well, we’re not wealthy or east side. I guess it shows. (You’d think we’d at least have a sweet spirit.)
The first question was whether there would even BE a reunion. I couldn’t remember who my senior class officers were, but whoever they were, they certainly weren’t sending stuff around, asking for addresses, telling us to save dates or anything.
Then one day, on a total fluke, I stumbled across something on the internet about a reunion for my high school. I guess one of the officers decided to push up her sleeves and pull something off all by herself! Good for her! But there’s only so much one person can do, you know?
First, it was very, very poorly attended (probably because it was poorly publicized. I don’t even know whether anyone made any attempt to contact anyone other than by asking people to spread the word. No effort at physical address-contacting, for example).
When I go to a reunion, I go for three reasons: 1) to see my old friends again, 2) to see the people that were friendly acquaintances that I wish now that I had made better friends with, and 3) to see how the rest of the school turned out.
Well, I got some of each of those things, so I guess I shouldn’t gripe too much. But my biggest disappointment was with group #2. THEY’RE the ones I went to see, and they’re the ones I saw least of. Sigh.
I know other schools must be like this but it seems like my school was unnaturally divided into two groups: the boozers and the non. The boozers had a really good turnout at the reunion. We heard that the party went on very late into the night after all of us at the seminary table went home to our kids. So I guess the reunion turned out to be everything that SOMEONE hoped. Just not me. Blah.
Yeah, I admit that it WAS nice to see my friends again (although I keep in touch with most of them anyway) and to remember WHY they were my friends (hey, it was either them or the boozers).
Anyway, I had a pretty good time my senior year in 1988. But I wouldn't go back. For anything. My life is lightyears better now. Here's one of the reasons:
(Taken the night of my 20th high school reunion. Hey, at least I got to go home with the best-looking one there, and he was even sober.)
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