Writing. Again. Yeah, I know, it's the tune of my summer. But my summer is almost over, and I feel like I need a post of cap it all off--not that the process ever ends.
Mostly, I want to talk about the phone calls, skype dates, and house visits with Lisa (and Heidi).
I've written a fair amount about the way a writer speaks to another writer. There's more though. So much more.
As I've worked throughout the summer on this huge project, I've realized that up until this point I've just kind of been wingin' it and hoping it would come out alright. Yes, I had some people read parts of it, but none of them really helped me develop ideas, nor did they give me much feedback. This was fine at the time, because I wasn't ready to hear much about improvement. (If you have read any of "Morning Star" you should feel privileged because I have hold this story near and dear for a long time.)
When I was on the phone with Lisa earlier this week she started out by telling me how she cried while she read a certain scene--and it wasn't the death scene, like I expected, it was the proposal scene I mentioned in an earlier post. Something that had been thrown in kind of last minute before emailing it to her. Good tears. Tears because it moved her--the giving up of part of ones identity that goes along with giving one's life to another. In everything, there is a give and take--I pray there is more giving than taking.
Then, as we worked through the other parts of the chapters I sent her, we came to the conclusion that "There are a lot of characters in this story." It's true, there are. They're not all crucial--though some are becoming more important than I originally thought they would be. Sometimes a book with a lot of characters can be daunting--and at times it is--but there are many characters in my personal story, and in yours. So why should it be that my main character only has one friend? She has many friends, and they have families, and that is okay. I just need to work on giving them faces, so to speak.
I am looking through a kaleidoscope, and through it I view this mythology as it comes to life. As I turn and twist it I see new colors, learn new names, discover new hurts.
My mother is painting out front door red today. There is significance here that is going unnoticed--it is a significance in my own heart. She is painting over something that has been in want of paint for eight years now. I have been finessing a story that has been in want of completion for nearly eight years now. She paints with red, I paint with words. But the end result is the same--notice me. Know that I am what I am. "I am a door." and "I am a book." "I am a way into a home." and "I am a way into a story."
I told Mom I would paint the door green. And if I thought I could get away with it, it would be round. Because my journey as a writer began with a green door and a brass nob right in the middle. All I need is a wizard to knock on our red door, and I'll be set. But maybe I am the wizard of this story? Maybe I am knocking on the heart of the reader and I am saying, "Follow me, I have a story to tell you."
"It had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green, with a shiny yell brass knob in the exact middle." [The Hobbit]
Showing posts with label comfortable. Show all posts
Showing posts with label comfortable. Show all posts
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Saturday, July 30, 2011
And all will turn to silver glass...
I took Hansi outside today so he could do his doggy duty. It was warm, but not unpleasantly hot. So, while he snooted out a spot, I took a seat on the back step. And for the first time, in a long time, I just watched the land and listened to the whistles and buzzes in the air.
Four acres of land that is ours. Four acres that I really don't take the time to examine very often. When I do spend time with the flora and fauna I'm mowing, and I have my iPod in and I don't listen to anything but the loud hum of the riding mower and the blaring ear buds.
But the earth has a music of its own.
I started thinking about what this land means to my Dad, as part of his inheritance. And I wonder what will happen to it someday. My Aunt's husband always talks about windmills, which my dad has responded to with, "Over my dead body." He doesn't want anything to happen to this place that will "mar the landscape." He cherishes this good green earth. Why don't I think about it the same way?
I haven't worked these fields like he has--I spent my time in another farmer's corn, pulling tassels. Even when I was working I was singing, trying to make myself forget the heat and the thirst that followed me.
Sometimes I wish I could know what my dad thinks when he sees the fields that his father once worked so hard to maintain. I like to think that the fields are part of Grandpa Rob that were left behind and that when Dad walks around them (while another farmer works them now) he talks to his dad about the things he didn't get to say when he was alive. About how his daughter has the same gait as he did (apparently). About the joys of being married--and the hardships. About his son that would make his grandpa so proud. About the four grandchildren he never met. About how he works with computers now, but he did cling to his art for a long time.
You see, they were both artists, just of a different nature. Grandpa was an artist of the land: year after year he would work to mold the fields and livestock into a living painting, one that changed with the seasons. Dad, well, he would paint the landscape, but he was also a sculptor, he too moved the clay into a piece of art.
I think my Oma works her gardens and the yard to so much because she wants to feel close to him, too. She protects the farm, she's wrapped her entire being around its upkeep. When she is outside in this Nebraska sun, I think she imagines my Grandpa coming home from the fields and giving her a dusty hug. I wish I could witness this love.
So tonight, I sat on the back step and breathed deep the air that my Grandpa must have loved so dearly. I wondered what it will be like someday when I bring kids back to visit my parents. And I thought of where I will be in a little over a year. Will I still be breathing in the Nebraska air, or will I be in Iowa City surrounded by suburbs?
I pray that I will never forget the whistling, buzzing, and humming of this place. That I would not forget the beauty of the grass that fights against the weeds every year. The perfect rows of the cornfields. How could this land still suffer Adam's curse? If this is the curse, this land of plenty, then I cannot imagine what it was like in the Garden.
"In a dry and thirsty land, Lord you are the rain." [Casting Crowns]
Four acres of land that is ours. Four acres that I really don't take the time to examine very often. When I do spend time with the flora and fauna I'm mowing, and I have my iPod in and I don't listen to anything but the loud hum of the riding mower and the blaring ear buds.
But the earth has a music of its own.
I started thinking about what this land means to my Dad, as part of his inheritance. And I wonder what will happen to it someday. My Aunt's husband always talks about windmills, which my dad has responded to with, "Over my dead body." He doesn't want anything to happen to this place that will "mar the landscape." He cherishes this good green earth. Why don't I think about it the same way?
I haven't worked these fields like he has--I spent my time in another farmer's corn, pulling tassels. Even when I was working I was singing, trying to make myself forget the heat and the thirst that followed me.
Sometimes I wish I could know what my dad thinks when he sees the fields that his father once worked so hard to maintain. I like to think that the fields are part of Grandpa Rob that were left behind and that when Dad walks around them (while another farmer works them now) he talks to his dad about the things he didn't get to say when he was alive. About how his daughter has the same gait as he did (apparently). About the joys of being married--and the hardships. About his son that would make his grandpa so proud. About the four grandchildren he never met. About how he works with computers now, but he did cling to his art for a long time.
You see, they were both artists, just of a different nature. Grandpa was an artist of the land: year after year he would work to mold the fields and livestock into a living painting, one that changed with the seasons. Dad, well, he would paint the landscape, but he was also a sculptor, he too moved the clay into a piece of art.
I think my Oma works her gardens and the yard to so much because she wants to feel close to him, too. She protects the farm, she's wrapped her entire being around its upkeep. When she is outside in this Nebraska sun, I think she imagines my Grandpa coming home from the fields and giving her a dusty hug. I wish I could witness this love.
So tonight, I sat on the back step and breathed deep the air that my Grandpa must have loved so dearly. I wondered what it will be like someday when I bring kids back to visit my parents. And I thought of where I will be in a little over a year. Will I still be breathing in the Nebraska air, or will I be in Iowa City surrounded by suburbs?
I pray that I will never forget the whistling, buzzing, and humming of this place. That I would not forget the beauty of the grass that fights against the weeds every year. The perfect rows of the cornfields. How could this land still suffer Adam's curse? If this is the curse, this land of plenty, then I cannot imagine what it was like in the Garden.
"In a dry and thirsty land, Lord you are the rain." [Casting Crowns]
Saturday, April 30, 2011
I got my memories always inside of me...
Well, it's almost the end of the semester. Crazy. So. A list of things I am going to miss in each class is needed.
1. Poetry Writing. I'm going to miss Lisa, and the awkward pauses right after I would finish reading a poem. While they were uncomfortable, but I'm glad she let the rest and settle in before speaking, they allowed for growth in me--silence is more than okay. I'm going to miss sitting in the "dungeon" listening to poetry for hours...and seeing how everyone's style is different, but it's still poetry. And I'm going to miss Daniel Brown--because he is an old soul in a young body and tried to write to the style of Tolkien, and that just made me happy. I'll never forget him telling me, "The chinese don't capitalize 'I' either...they use characters, they don't capitalize any words," and then hearing him laugh. That was a good day. And I'm never going to forget Lisa telling me on the last day while I hugged her, "You have strong arms." For a minute I thought maybe I had squeezed her too hard, but really I think she meant that they can hold a lot--she was speaking metaphorically, really I'm a whimp. Poetry was the class that soothed me back into a sense of calm (most days, when I was arguing poetic devices with one of my classmates). I'm even going to miss that bickering...mostly because I "won" nearly everytime, and the times I didn't it just wasn't concluded and neither of us "won."
2. British Literature III. I'm going to miss Dr. Ashby. She's a tough professor, but I appreciate the way she pushed us to learn more and see more than just the surface of the material. And I will miss walking over to Jesse with her after class occasionally. I will never forget the day she told me she didn't like James Joyce either...and that the modernists were all arrogant. She was one of the most helpful professors when I was preparing to present at that theology conference. "Remember to breathe." A simple instruction, but crucial. And I feel like I owe her something, but I'm not sure what it is. I really should sit down and just talk to her sometime.
3. Ling and Lang. Dr. Gernant. I could probably leave it at that, because how does one describe her? Not easily, that's for sure. I'm going to miss how much she pushed us as a class, and myself as an individual. I learned so much that sometimes it made my head hurt--and in a good way. There are so many wonderful people in that class, it's going to be weird not seeing them so much, especially those that are graduating. Mostly, I'm going to miss talking about language being nerdy about linguistics in a safe environment.
4. Global Issues. Well... I'm going to miss doing homework for other classes in that class. Ha. Oh, and I'll miss talking to Austin and my other table-mates. They're all pretty much awesome.
5. Reading Interests of the Adolescents. I'm going to miss my table-mates in that class too... it's been so great to be able to talk with all of them. I'm going to miss Dylan's singing terribly, it always made me smile. There were so many silly things said in that room... I'll miss those quirks.
6. Independent Study on "The Lord of the Rings." Wow. Mostly, I'm going to miss having meetings with Dr. Thurber. Sitting in his office, talking about one of my favorite series of all time, was simply put: epic. He and I connect when trying to communicate, and that makes me happy. I'll miss reading Tolkien for homework. I'll miss being totally submerged in super-nerdom.
I had some great classes this semester. And I've had some wonderful times with friends. I'm going to miss Monday nights with Andrew, Tuesday afternoons with Heather and Heidi, Tuesday evenings with Claire, Wednesday evenings with Claire, Thursday evenings with the Office-watching crew, and Friday nights with my roommate. And all my other friends too.
Yes, I will even miss my dorm room.
"But I can't go back to how it was. I believe now I've come too far, now I can't go back, back to how it was. Created for a place I've never known--this is home." [Switchfoot]
1. Poetry Writing. I'm going to miss Lisa, and the awkward pauses right after I would finish reading a poem. While they were uncomfortable, but I'm glad she let the rest and settle in before speaking, they allowed for growth in me--silence is more than okay. I'm going to miss sitting in the "dungeon" listening to poetry for hours...and seeing how everyone's style is different, but it's still poetry. And I'm going to miss Daniel Brown--because he is an old soul in a young body and tried to write to the style of Tolkien, and that just made me happy. I'll never forget him telling me, "The chinese don't capitalize 'I' either...they use characters, they don't capitalize any words," and then hearing him laugh. That was a good day. And I'm never going to forget Lisa telling me on the last day while I hugged her, "You have strong arms." For a minute I thought maybe I had squeezed her too hard, but really I think she meant that they can hold a lot--she was speaking metaphorically, really I'm a whimp. Poetry was the class that soothed me back into a sense of calm (most days, when I was arguing poetic devices with one of my classmates). I'm even going to miss that bickering...mostly because I "won" nearly everytime, and the times I didn't it just wasn't concluded and neither of us "won."
2. British Literature III. I'm going to miss Dr. Ashby. She's a tough professor, but I appreciate the way she pushed us to learn more and see more than just the surface of the material. And I will miss walking over to Jesse with her after class occasionally. I will never forget the day she told me she didn't like James Joyce either...and that the modernists were all arrogant. She was one of the most helpful professors when I was preparing to present at that theology conference. "Remember to breathe." A simple instruction, but crucial. And I feel like I owe her something, but I'm not sure what it is. I really should sit down and just talk to her sometime.
3. Ling and Lang. Dr. Gernant. I could probably leave it at that, because how does one describe her? Not easily, that's for sure. I'm going to miss how much she pushed us as a class, and myself as an individual. I learned so much that sometimes it made my head hurt--and in a good way. There are so many wonderful people in that class, it's going to be weird not seeing them so much, especially those that are graduating. Mostly, I'm going to miss talking about language being nerdy about linguistics in a safe environment.
4. Global Issues. Well... I'm going to miss doing homework for other classes in that class. Ha. Oh, and I'll miss talking to Austin and my other table-mates. They're all pretty much awesome.
5. Reading Interests of the Adolescents. I'm going to miss my table-mates in that class too... it's been so great to be able to talk with all of them. I'm going to miss Dylan's singing terribly, it always made me smile. There were so many silly things said in that room... I'll miss those quirks.
6. Independent Study on "The Lord of the Rings." Wow. Mostly, I'm going to miss having meetings with Dr. Thurber. Sitting in his office, talking about one of my favorite series of all time, was simply put: epic. He and I connect when trying to communicate, and that makes me happy. I'll miss reading Tolkien for homework. I'll miss being totally submerged in super-nerdom.
I had some great classes this semester. And I've had some wonderful times with friends. I'm going to miss Monday nights with Andrew, Tuesday afternoons with Heather and Heidi, Tuesday evenings with Claire, Wednesday evenings with Claire, Thursday evenings with the Office-watching crew, and Friday nights with my roommate. And all my other friends too.
Yes, I will even miss my dorm room.
"But I can't go back to how it was. I believe now I've come too far, now I can't go back, back to how it was. Created for a place I've never known--this is home." [Switchfoot]
Saturday, February 5, 2011
What's that smell?
Sometimes, there are things I wish I could snap pictures of. A moment in time that just seems perfect, right, comfortable. Sometimes, I wish I could capture a smell and keep it with me forever. Have you ever been somewhere and come across a smell you weren't expecting? And suddenly you're elsewhere.
Well, I'm visiting a friend's home this weekend. Her family is lovely, and they are very accommodating. (And I love her mom's style of decorating.) Beauty.
We made red velvet cupcakes (without the red) with cream cheese frosting. It was so much fun, and they turned out great. We took turns decorating the tops with the frosting and sprinkles. Her dad did the last one. Perfection.
I washed my hands in their bathroom and used their soap pump. Wild Honeysuckle. I was suddenly home with my mom, giving her a hug. It was wonderful. And I couldn't stop smelling my hands. I may just go wash my hands for the smell now. Comforting.
And I'll be meeting a friend at Borders for coffee and book perusing. The smell of coffee and books shared by good company. Simplicity.
"I spent all my childhood pretending I was off somewhere else...off with you on one of your adventures! My own adventured turned out to be quite different." [Frodo Baggins, movie]
Well, I'm visiting a friend's home this weekend. Her family is lovely, and they are very accommodating. (And I love her mom's style of decorating.) Beauty.
We made red velvet cupcakes (without the red) with cream cheese frosting. It was so much fun, and they turned out great. We took turns decorating the tops with the frosting and sprinkles. Her dad did the last one. Perfection.
I washed my hands in their bathroom and used their soap pump. Wild Honeysuckle. I was suddenly home with my mom, giving her a hug. It was wonderful. And I couldn't stop smelling my hands. I may just go wash my hands for the smell now. Comforting.
And I'll be meeting a friend at Borders for coffee and book perusing. The smell of coffee and books shared by good company. Simplicity.
"I spent all my childhood pretending I was off somewhere else...off with you on one of your adventures! My own adventured turned out to be quite different." [Frodo Baggins, movie]
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