Walking is also an ambulation of mind.
-- Gretel Ehrlich
In every walk with nature one receives far more than he seeks.
- John Muir
All truly great thoughts are conceived by walking.
- Friedrich Nietzsche
He who limps is still walking.
- Stanislaw J. Lec
I am in the middle of rewriting some action scenes from the WWII novel. One thing working on this book as taught me: I cannot write action scenes sitting still. I have to feel the adrenaline with the characters. Since I don't have access to a Douglas DC-3 to crash land for this, that means a run. Walking works for emotional scenes, but for action, it's running and the faster the better. With the soundtrack from a horse movie in the MP3 player.
The biggest thing I've noticed in writing books I've read, at least the ones by actual novelists and not just nonfiction writers, is the love of some kind of physical exercise of the rhythmic type, either walking or running. No cycling, no machines, no aerobics class. Not even treadmills, it's outdoors, even in the rain. Walkers include, CS Lewis, Tolkien, Madeleine L'Engle, Annie Dillard, Natalie Goldberg, Terry Brooks, David Morrell, Anne Lamott. I ought to take a poll, to see if my favorite novelists do as well. Or at least my favorite novelists this week, since that seems to be a changeable thing.
I'm sure Austen, and the Bronte's walked, it's what they did back then. I'm betting on Dostoevsky too, at least for travel, if not exercise. I'm thinking Margaret Atwood as well, mostly because her characters spend so much time in physical motion, that I would imagine she does as well. Besides, she's Canadian, which is so much like British, except without the Queen and the accent, so she must walk.
Walking helps writing, it informs is. Talking on the other hand kind of messes things up. Hemingway used to warn people that if you used up all the words talking about a project, you wouldn't have any left to write it. I am so guilty of that. I get all excited about something then talk about it once too often and poof, I sit down to write and I don't "see the scene" anymore. I'm trying hard not to do that with this new book. Which is easy, since I'm still in the research and stewing/dreaming stage. It will be a walking novel, not a running novel. And I think my dog is quite happy about that.
Friday, March 31, 2006
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Book Recommendation
I have to recommend any book that says you have to spend time dreaming most days. Terry Brooks' Sometimes the Magic Works is like Novel Writing 101 about the mindset it takes to write a novel. Or maybe I just admire him because he writes huge honking novels AND they get published. He freely admits that had he started writing recently, his earlier stuff wouldn't cut the mustard. But he is in his sixties and still learns and used his imagination. How many sixty year olds still do that? It doesn't take much imagination to pull the slot machine handle, which is the family legacy I have.
But so much of my writing time this week has been re-visioning some of my key scenes. I'm hoping to get this all done by the end of April and I really think I'm on track. Then on to bigger and better things. Right?
But so much of my writing time this week has been re-visioning some of my key scenes. I'm hoping to get this all done by the end of April and I really think I'm on track. Then on to bigger and better things. Right?
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
The Joy and Necessity of Coffee
There is one thing worse than waking up and facing the day ahead from the starting point of 4:30 am. And that is facing the day from 4:30 am without coffee and breakfast. Sure, I know there are people in the world who face days and weeks without breakfast and not necessarily on purpose. I am not one of those people. I am blessed enough to have the prerequisites of a good, oatmeal and raisins breakfast every morning, courtesy of my husband's employment and my microwave.
But today, we will have none of it. Insurance physical, scheduled at 8:30 am. So I'll be there four hours hungry, and I'm so sure, pleasant to be around. At least I have a starbucks gift certificate sitting in my walled, ready to spring into action as needed to rescue me from the low blood sugar condition. Fasting pretty much since dinner last night, at 6pm. So, we're going on twelve hours of no calories in. Water is the only thing I'm allowed.
I hate drinking water. There, I said it. Here I am, a certified, personal trainer, pseudo athlete and I am admitting I hate drinking water. I will never be one of those who travels with the little water bottle, like a baby bottle, always in hand. My fluids need to contain if nothing else, caffiene. Flavor is another plus, but not those silly fruit flavored waters. Water was created as a base, not as an end in itself, that's my personal belief. It was made so that we wouldn't have to crunch coffee beans in the morning, something way too loud for the wee hours of dawn. It was made to keep us moving, not move through us. I now, I am out of like with every fitness professional and dietician who has ever walked the earth, but there you have it. I think some of you agree with me. You know you do.
Three hours until breakfast. Better hope you don't run into me...
But today, we will have none of it. Insurance physical, scheduled at 8:30 am. So I'll be there four hours hungry, and I'm so sure, pleasant to be around. At least I have a starbucks gift certificate sitting in my walled, ready to spring into action as needed to rescue me from the low blood sugar condition. Fasting pretty much since dinner last night, at 6pm. So, we're going on twelve hours of no calories in. Water is the only thing I'm allowed.
I hate drinking water. There, I said it. Here I am, a certified, personal trainer, pseudo athlete and I am admitting I hate drinking water. I will never be one of those who travels with the little water bottle, like a baby bottle, always in hand. My fluids need to contain if nothing else, caffiene. Flavor is another plus, but not those silly fruit flavored waters. Water was created as a base, not as an end in itself, that's my personal belief. It was made so that we wouldn't have to crunch coffee beans in the morning, something way too loud for the wee hours of dawn. It was made to keep us moving, not move through us. I now, I am out of like with every fitness professional and dietician who has ever walked the earth, but there you have it. I think some of you agree with me. You know you do.
Three hours until breakfast. Better hope you don't run into me...
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
The Essayist Glut
I discovered that rejections are not altogether a bad thing. They teach a writer to rely on his own judgment and to say in his heart of hearts, "To hell with you." ~ Saul Bellow
In tenth grade, I read a lot of Erma Bombeck and Art Buchwald. I wanted to be a humorist essayist as long as I could remember. Unfortunately, I didn't have a family willing to do funny things for me to write about. Nowadays, every blogger is an essayist. So competition is up. And it's the ol' supply and demand. Loads of supply. Demand is okay, but if you call it non-fiction, it had better be provable facts, right? So, there are two major things lacking in my career as a humorous essayist. Humor, being the big one. And someone willing to write me checks for writing them. I did find one market...but that's another story.
I'm reading a book right now by Barbara Ehrenreich. Her job title, essayist. She is witty, funny and lives in Key West Florida. There are lots of essayists out there, most don't claim it as a job title. Most just post on their little blogs and go on with real lives. Since I don't have a "real life" ie paid employment on a regular basis, I have to get the essay production up.
I've got three of her books sitting in my library pile, and so far, the first is a quick read. Nickel and Dimed is about some time she spent trying to see if one could really "live" on the living wage. No surprises to people that actually do, or rather try to. Not really, not without roommates, family, a community. Which contrasts with the American Ideal of pull yourself up by the bootstrap. What she proves, so far, in the 122 pages I read, is that hard work doesn't make you rich, just tired. Rich people, the kind that make their own wealth, may work hard, but there is another thing, a talent, an idea, something besides plain old hard work. I've been there, done the menial labor thing. Or should I say, service industry.
Some accuse the growing service industry for the lack of state money for schools. Seems Merry Maids, and places like that don't have large things like plants and factories for fat property taxes. The maids sure don't make enough to own property to tax. I guess the problem with trickle down is it is indeed a trickle. And the service class is growing, and the user class is holding steady, and the in betweeners are diminishing. As is understanding.
In tenth grade, I read a lot of Erma Bombeck and Art Buchwald. I wanted to be a humorist essayist as long as I could remember. Unfortunately, I didn't have a family willing to do funny things for me to write about. Nowadays, every blogger is an essayist. So competition is up. And it's the ol' supply and demand. Loads of supply. Demand is okay, but if you call it non-fiction, it had better be provable facts, right? So, there are two major things lacking in my career as a humorous essayist. Humor, being the big one. And someone willing to write me checks for writing them. I did find one market...but that's another story.
I'm reading a book right now by Barbara Ehrenreich. Her job title, essayist. She is witty, funny and lives in Key West Florida. There are lots of essayists out there, most don't claim it as a job title. Most just post on their little blogs and go on with real lives. Since I don't have a "real life" ie paid employment on a regular basis, I have to get the essay production up.
I've got three of her books sitting in my library pile, and so far, the first is a quick read. Nickel and Dimed is about some time she spent trying to see if one could really "live" on the living wage. No surprises to people that actually do, or rather try to. Not really, not without roommates, family, a community. Which contrasts with the American Ideal of pull yourself up by the bootstrap. What she proves, so far, in the 122 pages I read, is that hard work doesn't make you rich, just tired. Rich people, the kind that make their own wealth, may work hard, but there is another thing, a talent, an idea, something besides plain old hard work. I've been there, done the menial labor thing. Or should I say, service industry.
Some accuse the growing service industry for the lack of state money for schools. Seems Merry Maids, and places like that don't have large things like plants and factories for fat property taxes. The maids sure don't make enough to own property to tax. I guess the problem with trickle down is it is indeed a trickle. And the service class is growing, and the user class is holding steady, and the in betweeners are diminishing. As is understanding.
Monday, March 27, 2006
Green with envy....
I Googled Dan Brown and Da Vinci code. Over seven and a half million sites are listed. And I bet some of the websites are by people who have actually read the book. There are book sales, the famous movie sale and big movie stars, and then an entire cottage industry of anti-Da Vince code books. That's what fascinates me the most, how all these books debunking a novel are selling like the devil.
But the idea of writing a book, a novel, and having it be such a huge cultural thing, something that gets so many up in arms. Is it the subject or the story? I don't think it's just the subject, although it's important. But lots of books are written about really controversial subjects. They don't tend to sell millions and millions of copies. That's the rub. How do you write a book that does that? Thing is, if what Mr. Brown says on his website is true, it's not like he sat down to write a cultural battle ground. It was a story, one that kept gnawing at him and he got to the point where he had to write it. Since he already had a couple of b-list thrillers out there, he could get someone to publish it.
But I'm reading the book with my pen and highlighter. There's a lesson in there somewhere for commercial fiction writers. No one has accused Brown of being a literary high brow. But there hasn't been much Grisham-like critism either. (I think Grisham is a good storyteller, but he head hops so much, I get the concussions. Needless to say, I don't read his stuff unless necessary.) There has to be something in the book. Or an email address for an application to sell your soul.
But the idea of writing a book, a novel, and having it be such a huge cultural thing, something that gets so many up in arms. Is it the subject or the story? I don't think it's just the subject, although it's important. But lots of books are written about really controversial subjects. They don't tend to sell millions and millions of copies. That's the rub. How do you write a book that does that? Thing is, if what Mr. Brown says on his website is true, it's not like he sat down to write a cultural battle ground. It was a story, one that kept gnawing at him and he got to the point where he had to write it. Since he already had a couple of b-list thrillers out there, he could get someone to publish it.
But I'm reading the book with my pen and highlighter. There's a lesson in there somewhere for commercial fiction writers. No one has accused Brown of being a literary high brow. But there hasn't been much Grisham-like critism either. (I think Grisham is a good storyteller, but he head hops so much, I get the concussions. Needless to say, I don't read his stuff unless necessary.) There has to be something in the book. Or an email address for an application to sell your soul.
Friday, March 24, 2006
Like I needed something else to do...
I am rapidly re-writing a large chunk of Practical Flying, now that I know how it really ends and hopfully will be done with that by the end of the month, or at the latest mid April. I'm not sure I'm ready to start editing the Purse Driven Life yet, although, I might zip through that while I'm researching the next project.
For the next project, the first phase is to re-read the Brothers Karamzov as much as I can. Yeah, hold your excitement. I know, gee, lets reread an eight hundred page book over and over. But with PF looking at coming in at a 200K word count, at least I can say I come by it honestly.
But while over at Crafty Peaches, I was musing on the political climate of the day and decided it was time modernize the BK. I think I would enjoy the project, and it would definitely be a challenge. But I could be fictional and political at the same time, plus write about the church. See, the idea has merit. So as part of Phase one, I will be tromping out to the Book Store to get a copy of BK that I could call my own, mark up, write in, etc. I wonder if it comes in a large print edition. Could you imagine hauling that booger around? It would have to come with a retractable handle and wheels, like a suitcase. Maybe a retractable stand as well, so you could just raise it up and start reading, since it would be difficult to hoist it up onto your stomach while lying on the sofa. Hmm, any publishers listening?...
For the next project, the first phase is to re-read the Brothers Karamzov as much as I can. Yeah, hold your excitement. I know, gee, lets reread an eight hundred page book over and over. But with PF looking at coming in at a 200K word count, at least I can say I come by it honestly.
But while over at Crafty Peaches, I was musing on the political climate of the day and decided it was time modernize the BK. I think I would enjoy the project, and it would definitely be a challenge. But I could be fictional and political at the same time, plus write about the church. See, the idea has merit. So as part of Phase one, I will be tromping out to the Book Store to get a copy of BK that I could call my own, mark up, write in, etc. I wonder if it comes in a large print edition. Could you imagine hauling that booger around? It would have to come with a retractable handle and wheels, like a suitcase. Maybe a retractable stand as well, so you could just raise it up and start reading, since it would be difficult to hoist it up onto your stomach while lying on the sofa. Hmm, any publishers listening?...
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Those with ears, let them hear, those with blogs, let them prop...
Our scientific power has outrun our spiritual power. We have guided
missiles and misguided men.
-- Martin Luther King Jr., Strength to Love, 1963
Mr. King wrote this in 1963. What would he say now? Today we can communicate faster and farther and cheaper than anytime past, but what do we have to say? We have concentrated more on methods than message. Anyone can have a blog, but how many blogs, mine included, are more about individual gripes and whines than really having something worth listening to. What would Martin Luther King Jr. say on a blog?
It's an age old question. Style over substance, method over message, etc. Then again, when you concentrate on the message, you get accused of preaching, that what you're communicating is only a sermon thinly disgused.
I'm reading Natalie Goldberg's Thunder and Lightening. Re-reading, because it's one of the few books that was on top of a box. But she talks in it about how the need the write comes from the desire to be heard. It takes seed in childhoods where children are seen and not heard. It's the urge to talk to Mom, Dad, teachers, etc and be heard. Rarely, she said, do people say they write because they need to be heard by grandparents. Somehow, they always have time to listen. But I can see where a lifetime of being shushed could lead to a desire to write. And I think the proliferation of blogs, especially by the younger, twenty-somethings and teens, is an outgrowth of the business of the adults in their lives. No one is around to listen to their stories, so they post them on line, and others might or might not read about the boy in physical science and the horrible wilted salad they served for lunch in the cafeteria, or how worried they are about the new zit on the end of the nose. Comments, props, etc, become so important, they are signs that someone out there is listening. And even if the reader doesn't agree, there is at least the illusion of being heard.
That's all it is, the illusion of being heard. You know someone visited the site, but you don't know if the reader really read, or was watching the latest movie trailer at the same time. In the desire to be heard, I think most of us are too busy with self, etc, to hear like we want to be heard. So we are compounding the problem. And the blogosphere grows...
There was another quote that came with Mr. King's. Seemed like a good final thought.
Stress is an ignorant state. It believes that everything is an
emergency. Nothing is that important.
-- Natalie Goldberg, O Magazine, October 2002
missiles and misguided men.
-- Martin Luther King Jr., Strength to Love, 1963
Mr. King wrote this in 1963. What would he say now? Today we can communicate faster and farther and cheaper than anytime past, but what do we have to say? We have concentrated more on methods than message. Anyone can have a blog, but how many blogs, mine included, are more about individual gripes and whines than really having something worth listening to. What would Martin Luther King Jr. say on a blog?
It's an age old question. Style over substance, method over message, etc. Then again, when you concentrate on the message, you get accused of preaching, that what you're communicating is only a sermon thinly disgused.
I'm reading Natalie Goldberg's Thunder and Lightening. Re-reading, because it's one of the few books that was on top of a box. But she talks in it about how the need the write comes from the desire to be heard. It takes seed in childhoods where children are seen and not heard. It's the urge to talk to Mom, Dad, teachers, etc and be heard. Rarely, she said, do people say they write because they need to be heard by grandparents. Somehow, they always have time to listen. But I can see where a lifetime of being shushed could lead to a desire to write. And I think the proliferation of blogs, especially by the younger, twenty-somethings and teens, is an outgrowth of the business of the adults in their lives. No one is around to listen to their stories, so they post them on line, and others might or might not read about the boy in physical science and the horrible wilted salad they served for lunch in the cafeteria, or how worried they are about the new zit on the end of the nose. Comments, props, etc, become so important, they are signs that someone out there is listening. And even if the reader doesn't agree, there is at least the illusion of being heard.
That's all it is, the illusion of being heard. You know someone visited the site, but you don't know if the reader really read, or was watching the latest movie trailer at the same time. In the desire to be heard, I think most of us are too busy with self, etc, to hear like we want to be heard. So we are compounding the problem. And the blogosphere grows...
There was another quote that came with Mr. King's. Seemed like a good final thought.
Stress is an ignorant state. It believes that everything is an
emergency. Nothing is that important.
-- Natalie Goldberg, O Magazine, October 2002
Monday, March 20, 2006
Lies and the Lying Liars that tell them....
I'm still waiting for James Earl Jones to call me. He should be calling any day now,to let me know that our dsl service at home is ready to go. He hasn't called yet, and I'm bummed. But not as bummed as my dog, who is stuck in the house because we don't have a fence yet.
Thing is, when I called, the friendly customer service person assured my that my internet connect would be ready the same day my telephone service was. Lies. Then, when I tried to call and find out what the deal was, and why the little dsl lights on my router weren't blinking the way they're supposed to, the happy lights, the computer generated voice referred me to a website! ARGH! I would be happy to visit your website....fix my dsl and I'll be there!
On the plus side, without internet access, things at the story factory are moving right along. Nothing else to do at four thirty, so I really have to work!
But just some friendly advice to the Friends of Mr. Jones: Talk to each other, eh? I'd be lessed stressed if I knew before hand it would be an extra week.
And Mr. Jones? I'm sitting by the phone, waiting for your call....
Thing is, when I called, the friendly customer service person assured my that my internet connect would be ready the same day my telephone service was. Lies. Then, when I tried to call and find out what the deal was, and why the little dsl lights on my router weren't blinking the way they're supposed to, the happy lights, the computer generated voice referred me to a website! ARGH! I would be happy to visit your website....fix my dsl and I'll be there!
On the plus side, without internet access, things at the story factory are moving right along. Nothing else to do at four thirty, so I really have to work!
But just some friendly advice to the Friends of Mr. Jones: Talk to each other, eh? I'd be lessed stressed if I knew before hand it would be an extra week.
And Mr. Jones? I'm sitting by the phone, waiting for your call....
Saturday, March 11, 2006
Moving on up....across the west side..
The best way to realize the pleasure of feeling rich is to live in a
smaller house than your means would entitle you to have.
-- Edward Clarke
In an effort to prove correct this theory, we are downsizing our house this weekend. Our children's friends don't believe it.
Actual conversation.
"You're moving to a bigger house, aren't you?"
"No, smaller. 800 square feet smaller. Like cutting off this whole section."
"Smaller?"
"Yep."
Long, pregnant pause. "That doesn't make sense. Why?"
I could see the gears turning in my inquisitioner's head. It made no sense to go smaller. Although, we did have plenty of room in the old house. Too much room. Except for holidays, who needs two kitchens? and I would much rather spend the extra cleaning time writing. Lord knows, I have my own little blog universe to keep up with. I would have more time to regale my six regular reader (thank you, thank you) with more comments to disagree with.
I am sad about giving up the fifteen by sixteen room I get to use as an office. But I'll get over it. More excuse to go out to my favorite coffee shop with free wireless internet, Tuscany's.
But that is 800 square feet less to dust, vacuum, mop and other related tasks. At least an extra hour a week to squander on the latest VH1 best of show.
Today is Saturday, and the Story Factory is closed until next Thursday due the coming relocation. Have a great week.
smaller house than your means would entitle you to have.
-- Edward Clarke
In an effort to prove correct this theory, we are downsizing our house this weekend. Our children's friends don't believe it.
Actual conversation.
"You're moving to a bigger house, aren't you?"
"No, smaller. 800 square feet smaller. Like cutting off this whole section."
"Smaller?"
"Yep."
Long, pregnant pause. "That doesn't make sense. Why?"
I could see the gears turning in my inquisitioner's head. It made no sense to go smaller. Although, we did have plenty of room in the old house. Too much room. Except for holidays, who needs two kitchens? and I would much rather spend the extra cleaning time writing. Lord knows, I have my own little blog universe to keep up with. I would have more time to regale my six regular reader (thank you, thank you) with more comments to disagree with.
I am sad about giving up the fifteen by sixteen room I get to use as an office. But I'll get over it. More excuse to go out to my favorite coffee shop with free wireless internet, Tuscany's.
But that is 800 square feet less to dust, vacuum, mop and other related tasks. At least an extra hour a week to squander on the latest VH1 best of show.
Today is Saturday, and the Story Factory is closed until next Thursday due the coming relocation. Have a great week.
Friday, March 10, 2006
More on vacuums.... Random Friday thoughts...
The spread of evil is the symptom of a vacuum. whenever evil wins, it
is only by default: by the moral failure of those who evade the fact
that there can be no compromise on basic principles.
-- Ayn Rand, Capitalism: The Unknown Ideal, 1966
I should first clarify today's entry by saying I didn't actually read the book. This is one of my emailed daily quotes. Don't want to appear smarter or more well read than I actually am!
And I am not in any way implying that the morally neutral Roomba is evil and that the presence of a Roomba is the invitation for evil to spread. Really. Unless you believe that pet hair acts as a shield against evil. And that is a topic for another day, as I personally believe cat hair is evil and a Roomba would therefore be an active defense against evil and not one of Ayn Rand's vacuums. Which begs the question, When is a Roomba not a vacuum?
My all time favorite vacuum advice comes from another mother with two sons, Larry Crabb's wife, Rachel. She says you should store your vacuum in the living room, plugged in, so when people come over, they can see that you were just getting ready to vacuum when they interrupted, so they'll excuse the yucky rugs. I may need that excuse more in the new house, since the yucky carpeting there doesn't hide dirt nearly as nicely as berber.
Nature abhors a vacuum and the universe is expanding toward chaos. Vacuum here meaning nothingness and empty space. Jesus says that evil moves into empty houses in greater quantity. Which Rand is saying above, that if there is lack of action for good, action for evil will necessarily take over. The antidote, being, do good. Maybe why a large part of the New Testament isn't necessarily "Don't do bad" but "Do Good." If you are doing good, you're too busy to do bad, and you are less likely to want to screw up the good you are doing. Less likely, but not unlikely.
So if you want to not compromise on Basic Principles (BP), it helps to know what Basic Principles you aren't compromising. And this, I believe is the basis for most arguments and wars. Not apathy, although it helps, but the disagreement of which principles are the ones that cannot be compromised. If one sides key BP is that you should save money for private sector at all costs, and the other side's is that no one should go to bed hungry and illiterate, there is a conflict. If one side thinks that their version of God is true and another thinks theirs is, you have Armageddon.(This can be as simple as denomination vs denomination or as big as Islam vs Christian). I'm not saying there isn't one true Truth. I believe there is. But if part of the one true Truth is that ALL people are fallen image bearers of the Creator, one must tread lightly and treat them as such.
"The battle is not against flesh and blood, but powers and principalities..." Those flesh and blood fallen image bearers? We're supposed to be all on the same side.
is only by default: by the moral failure of those who evade the fact
that there can be no compromise on basic principles.
-- Ayn Rand, Capitalism: The Unknown Ideal, 1966
I should first clarify today's entry by saying I didn't actually read the book. This is one of my emailed daily quotes. Don't want to appear smarter or more well read than I actually am!
And I am not in any way implying that the morally neutral Roomba is evil and that the presence of a Roomba is the invitation for evil to spread. Really. Unless you believe that pet hair acts as a shield against evil. And that is a topic for another day, as I personally believe cat hair is evil and a Roomba would therefore be an active defense against evil and not one of Ayn Rand's vacuums. Which begs the question, When is a Roomba not a vacuum?
My all time favorite vacuum advice comes from another mother with two sons, Larry Crabb's wife, Rachel. She says you should store your vacuum in the living room, plugged in, so when people come over, they can see that you were just getting ready to vacuum when they interrupted, so they'll excuse the yucky rugs. I may need that excuse more in the new house, since the yucky carpeting there doesn't hide dirt nearly as nicely as berber.
Nature abhors a vacuum and the universe is expanding toward chaos. Vacuum here meaning nothingness and empty space. Jesus says that evil moves into empty houses in greater quantity. Which Rand is saying above, that if there is lack of action for good, action for evil will necessarily take over. The antidote, being, do good. Maybe why a large part of the New Testament isn't necessarily "Don't do bad" but "Do Good." If you are doing good, you're too busy to do bad, and you are less likely to want to screw up the good you are doing. Less likely, but not unlikely.
So if you want to not compromise on Basic Principles (BP), it helps to know what Basic Principles you aren't compromising. And this, I believe is the basis for most arguments and wars. Not apathy, although it helps, but the disagreement of which principles are the ones that cannot be compromised. If one sides key BP is that you should save money for private sector at all costs, and the other side's is that no one should go to bed hungry and illiterate, there is a conflict. If one side thinks that their version of God is true and another thinks theirs is, you have Armageddon.(This can be as simple as denomination vs denomination or as big as Islam vs Christian). I'm not saying there isn't one true Truth. I believe there is. But if part of the one true Truth is that ALL people are fallen image bearers of the Creator, one must tread lightly and treat them as such.
"The battle is not against flesh and blood, but powers and principalities..." Those flesh and blood fallen image bearers? We're supposed to be all on the same side.
Thursday, March 09, 2006
And that's why God made dogs....
http://nielsenhayden.com/makinglight/archives/007292.html
One of my favorite blogs had an comment about people who costume their iRobot Roombas. That alone, is ,um, interesting. But then, sixty eight (at last count) blogging faithful had commented on the costumed Roombas. Many offered their own favorite Roomba stories. Many involved the Roomba harassing feline pets or alternately, the cats hunting down the Roomba. More time than not, the Roomba won, as in one story where the cat ended up "treed on the microwave, which was on top of the refrigerator." To make the picture funnier, the cat was crouching behind an avacado. Now, not one person asked why the avacado was on top of the microwave on top of the fridge. To me, if the thing rolled off, there would be a Letterman-esque mess on the ground. But that's what Roombas are for.
Most of the Roomba owners said they had bought the little vacuum device to help with the war on cat hair. One careful reader asked why none of the Roomba stories involved dogs, just cats. It was suggested that most people who blog about Roombas were cat owners. Someone else mentioned that the Roomba was about the size of a dog biscuit for her Great Dane.
But I think the real reason that dog owners tend not to have Roombas is that picking up and eating messes on the floor is what dogs do! Have a dog? Roomba not required. My dog will eat ANYTHING on the floor, except microwave popcorn. He will eat leftover movie theater popcorn off the floor, however. I'm starting to be very scared of microwaved popcorn. But socks, game pieces, things way too big for the Roomba to scarf up? The dog will take care of it!
And dogs will let you dress them up a lot easier than cats. Not quite as easy as Roombas, but you make your choices in life. Dogs will perform the same functions on the lawn. Try that with a Roomba.
One of my favorite blogs had an comment about people who costume their iRobot Roombas. That alone, is ,um, interesting. But then, sixty eight (at last count) blogging faithful had commented on the costumed Roombas. Many offered their own favorite Roomba stories. Many involved the Roomba harassing feline pets or alternately, the cats hunting down the Roomba. More time than not, the Roomba won, as in one story where the cat ended up "treed on the microwave, which was on top of the refrigerator." To make the picture funnier, the cat was crouching behind an avacado. Now, not one person asked why the avacado was on top of the microwave on top of the fridge. To me, if the thing rolled off, there would be a Letterman-esque mess on the ground. But that's what Roombas are for.
Most of the Roomba owners said they had bought the little vacuum device to help with the war on cat hair. One careful reader asked why none of the Roomba stories involved dogs, just cats. It was suggested that most people who blog about Roombas were cat owners. Someone else mentioned that the Roomba was about the size of a dog biscuit for her Great Dane.
But I think the real reason that dog owners tend not to have Roombas is that picking up and eating messes on the floor is what dogs do! Have a dog? Roomba not required. My dog will eat ANYTHING on the floor, except microwave popcorn. He will eat leftover movie theater popcorn off the floor, however. I'm starting to be very scared of microwaved popcorn. But socks, game pieces, things way too big for the Roomba to scarf up? The dog will take care of it!
And dogs will let you dress them up a lot easier than cats. Not quite as easy as Roombas, but you make your choices in life. Dogs will perform the same functions on the lawn. Try that with a Roomba.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Longing for the days of random staff parking...
Main Entry: random
Function: adjective
1 a : lacking a definite plan, purpose, or pattern b : made, done, or chosen at random
2 a : relating to, having, or being elements or events with definite probability of occurrence b : being or relating to a set or to an element of a set each of whose elements has equal probability of occurrence characterized by procedures designed to obtain such sets or elements
Random suggests working or acting without deliberation, intention, or purpose. I toss the word random about without much thought, so today, since the political writers are still off counting votes, I would muse on my favorite word.
Back in 1986, when I began working for The University, I was assigned a brown parking sticker. Yep. Before the hand hangtags, we had lovely, permanently affixed stickers. You could tell how long someone worked for The University by how many stickers were on the back windshielf. Of course, professors only had one or two. They could afford new cars, at least the engineering profs. The Fine Arts folks, I think they didn't have to worry about parking, their offices were in the steam tunnels.
But all over campus, there were streets marked for Random Staff parking. So if you wanted to park a couple of miles from your work location, you could do it. If you wanted to park next to your work location, well, you had to get up early. I worked in a dining hall, so if I wanted to park on the road behind the dining hall, I would have to get there before the morning crew, who started at 5:30 am. I wasn't scheduled until 11:30. Thankfully, the security guard liked me and saved me a spot near the dock every day.
Or my still-in-school roommates would drive my car and take me to work, then park near their classes, since there was plenty of random staff places near classroom buildings.
I think the decline of random staff parking was a big hint in the direction of the university. It was the consolidation of power by the newly minted Department of Parking and Transportaion. They weren't writing enough tickets with random staff parking so convenient and available. Changes came swiftly.
PTT was not associated with the KK, the Kampus Kops, (University Police) While removing the traffic and Parking duties improved the attitude and professionalism of the KK dramatically, they were also the victims of the PTT parking vultures. They (the KK) became one of "us".
So, to improve control over our destinies, parking lots were now assigned. At higher prices. And parking permits were no longer guarantees that you could actually find a spot, it was only a "hunting license." PTT became a "player" in the University world. They had the money and the power. And the ability to make one's life a nightmare, if you were someone who was calendarly-challenged.
Random : lacking a definite plan, purpose, or pattern. I could no longer be random staff. I had a degree in Math and was working in a dining hall supervising the counting of lime green jello. Until PTT, my career was random as well. But by forcing me to park with purpose, I had to actually get employed with purpose at some point.
But not anytime soon...
Function: adjective
1 a : lacking a definite plan, purpose, or pattern b : made, done, or chosen at random
2 a : relating to, having, or being elements or events with definite probability of occurrence b : being or relating to a set or to an element of a set each of whose elements has equal probability of occurrence characterized by procedures designed to obtain such sets or elements
Random suggests working or acting without deliberation, intention, or purpose. I toss the word random about without much thought, so today, since the political writers are still off counting votes, I would muse on my favorite word.
Back in 1986, when I began working for The University, I was assigned a brown parking sticker. Yep. Before the hand hangtags, we had lovely, permanently affixed stickers. You could tell how long someone worked for The University by how many stickers were on the back windshielf. Of course, professors only had one or two. They could afford new cars, at least the engineering profs. The Fine Arts folks, I think they didn't have to worry about parking, their offices were in the steam tunnels.
But all over campus, there were streets marked for Random Staff parking. So if you wanted to park a couple of miles from your work location, you could do it. If you wanted to park next to your work location, well, you had to get up early. I worked in a dining hall, so if I wanted to park on the road behind the dining hall, I would have to get there before the morning crew, who started at 5:30 am. I wasn't scheduled until 11:30. Thankfully, the security guard liked me and saved me a spot near the dock every day.
Or my still-in-school roommates would drive my car and take me to work, then park near their classes, since there was plenty of random staff places near classroom buildings.
I think the decline of random staff parking was a big hint in the direction of the university. It was the consolidation of power by the newly minted Department of Parking and Transportaion. They weren't writing enough tickets with random staff parking so convenient and available. Changes came swiftly.
PTT was not associated with the KK, the Kampus Kops, (University Police) While removing the traffic and Parking duties improved the attitude and professionalism of the KK dramatically, they were also the victims of the PTT parking vultures. They (the KK) became one of "us".
So, to improve control over our destinies, parking lots were now assigned. At higher prices. And parking permits were no longer guarantees that you could actually find a spot, it was only a "hunting license." PTT became a "player" in the University world. They had the money and the power. And the ability to make one's life a nightmare, if you were someone who was calendarly-challenged.
Random : lacking a definite plan, purpose, or pattern. I could no longer be random staff. I had a degree in Math and was working in a dining hall supervising the counting of lime green jello. Until PTT, my career was random as well. But by forcing me to park with purpose, I had to actually get employed with purpose at some point.
But not anytime soon...
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Patience, virtue, and the power of a well placed expletive...
When the habitually even-tempered suddenly fly into a passion, that
explosion is apt to be more impressive than the outburst of the most
violent amongst us.
-- Margery Allingham, Death of a Ghost, 1934
The first thing I thought of when this quote came across the desk this morning was my dad. I inherited a lot of things from my dad. His height, his tendancy for acne, his dry wit and appreciation for a good cup of coffee, especially on cold mornings here at the Story Factory.
The one thing I did not inherit was his even tempered-ness. The man had "Patience is a virtue" written under his high school year book photograph. And no one seemed to disagree. Not something anyone would accuse me of in high school.
I only heard my father curse once in my entire life. And the event was so impressive, I can still remember it clearly. I must have been a sophomore or junior in high school, because the incident happened in our Texas garage. One of the neighbors, Jeff H. (Who, incidently, grew up to become a policeman, scary) was pounding the head of another eighth grade neighbor (can't remember his name, he didn't grow up to a career in law enforcement) into the cement garage floor. Repeatedly.
I remember the adreneline that flowed as my brother (Yep, I remember his name, and he too is in law enforcement...a pattern?) called my father because of the fight. My father didn't run, didn't panic, just calmly walked out of the kitchen, holding his coffee cup, and bellowed. "Get your f***ing asses out of my garage. Now."
The two boys froze in action. Jeff stood up and walked across the street to his house, the other boy went in the other direction to his house. Neither spoke a word. No one did. There were three other boys in the garage, and they just stood staring, mouths agape. Dad took a sip of coffee and went back in the house. The neighborhood, once they started talking about it, talked about it for the next fifteen years. We never heard those words come out of my father's mouth again.
I've thought about Dad quite a bit as we've been packing up to move out of the house that he helped design and pay for, but never got to live in. Lung Cancer moved faster than the building contractors. But mom fixed things so that the house became more than we could afford even before she passed on. And when I walk through the house, I can still hear her voice complaining about how this or that wasn't done right and she would have made sure it was, if only her husband wasn't dying at the time. But her daughter, alas, was incompetent and didn't take care of her mother very well. Leaving the house is like leaving a bad memory behind in that respect and I feel like a huge whiny parrot is getting surgically removed from my shoulder at closing next week.
I write down everything I want to remember. That way, instead of
spending a lot of time trying to remember what it is I wrote down, I spend
the time looking for the paper I wrote it down on.
-- Beryl Pfizer
I have one huge legal pad of things to do. I've only lost the pad seven times yesterday. I may get through the next seven days yet....
explosion is apt to be more impressive than the outburst of the most
violent amongst us.
-- Margery Allingham, Death of a Ghost, 1934
The first thing I thought of when this quote came across the desk this morning was my dad. I inherited a lot of things from my dad. His height, his tendancy for acne, his dry wit and appreciation for a good cup of coffee, especially on cold mornings here at the Story Factory.
The one thing I did not inherit was his even tempered-ness. The man had "Patience is a virtue" written under his high school year book photograph. And no one seemed to disagree. Not something anyone would accuse me of in high school.
I only heard my father curse once in my entire life. And the event was so impressive, I can still remember it clearly. I must have been a sophomore or junior in high school, because the incident happened in our Texas garage. One of the neighbors, Jeff H. (Who, incidently, grew up to become a policeman, scary) was pounding the head of another eighth grade neighbor (can't remember his name, he didn't grow up to a career in law enforcement) into the cement garage floor. Repeatedly.
I remember the adreneline that flowed as my brother (Yep, I remember his name, and he too is in law enforcement...a pattern?) called my father because of the fight. My father didn't run, didn't panic, just calmly walked out of the kitchen, holding his coffee cup, and bellowed. "Get your f***ing asses out of my garage. Now."
The two boys froze in action. Jeff stood up and walked across the street to his house, the other boy went in the other direction to his house. Neither spoke a word. No one did. There were three other boys in the garage, and they just stood staring, mouths agape. Dad took a sip of coffee and went back in the house. The neighborhood, once they started talking about it, talked about it for the next fifteen years. We never heard those words come out of my father's mouth again.
I've thought about Dad quite a bit as we've been packing up to move out of the house that he helped design and pay for, but never got to live in. Lung Cancer moved faster than the building contractors. But mom fixed things so that the house became more than we could afford even before she passed on. And when I walk through the house, I can still hear her voice complaining about how this or that wasn't done right and she would have made sure it was, if only her husband wasn't dying at the time. But her daughter, alas, was incompetent and didn't take care of her mother very well. Leaving the house is like leaving a bad memory behind in that respect and I feel like a huge whiny parrot is getting surgically removed from my shoulder at closing next week.
I write down everything I want to remember. That way, instead of
spending a lot of time trying to remember what it is I wrote down, I spend
the time looking for the paper I wrote it down on.
-- Beryl Pfizer
I have one huge legal pad of things to do. I've only lost the pad seven times yesterday. I may get through the next seven days yet....
Monday, March 06, 2006
My second post for today
This is my second post for the day. My first one involved some little blog ring quizzes, which were fun. But alas, an html tag was missing, which made blogger go "Yuck, take it back..." and my browser didn't like the yuck message, so the whole thing tanked. I'll take it as a sign, that the world didn't need to know the results of my pop quizzes. I just don't think I want to do them again, it's way too late this morning, and I have work to do.
We're moving to a new house next Monday. What makes it really interesting is that we didn't know exactly where we were moving to until last night. Before that, we only knew we were moving From. But the new house is nice. I won't have as long a commute to my office. Instead of walking through the house all the way to the attached apartment on the other end of the house, I'll only have to get out of bed and walk across the room. Cuts the commute distance significantly. I'll be able to spent that much more time crafting mediocre fiction!
That's one of the two major displacements of the move. I'll have to move the story factory into the bedroom, and the dog won't have his own room and kitchen any more. I'm sure he's really worried about it. Not many dogs have their own room let alone their own 800 sq ft apartment, with kitchen and laundry room. He will have some serious adjustment to do.
The move itself is going to be about a mile and a half down the road. Ok, almost two whole miles. That's closer than our last move of three miles. The street name, White Stone has some fantasy plot potential. "The Secret of the White Stone Fellowship" or something like that.
So, back to the grind. Packing, well yes, that too. But my primary job this week is to remind the family, "Hey, that's the last time you'll ever ______ in this house."
Priorities, you know?
We're moving to a new house next Monday. What makes it really interesting is that we didn't know exactly where we were moving to until last night. Before that, we only knew we were moving From. But the new house is nice. I won't have as long a commute to my office. Instead of walking through the house all the way to the attached apartment on the other end of the house, I'll only have to get out of bed and walk across the room. Cuts the commute distance significantly. I'll be able to spent that much more time crafting mediocre fiction!
That's one of the two major displacements of the move. I'll have to move the story factory into the bedroom, and the dog won't have his own room and kitchen any more. I'm sure he's really worried about it. Not many dogs have their own room let alone their own 800 sq ft apartment, with kitchen and laundry room. He will have some serious adjustment to do.
The move itself is going to be about a mile and a half down the road. Ok, almost two whole miles. That's closer than our last move of three miles. The street name, White Stone has some fantasy plot potential. "The Secret of the White Stone Fellowship" or something like that.
So, back to the grind. Packing, well yes, that too. But my primary job this week is to remind the family, "Hey, that's the last time you'll ever ______ in this house."
Priorities, you know?
What kind of ...are you?
The most wonderful thing about the internet lately, is that if you can't find something to write about, you can find a wonderful blog quiz to fill up space.
I believe this means I can write, but can't plot. Funny, I always thought myself quite logical. But it was this silly question about tickets and jail, I'm sure. I read too much into things, like poor Jane can go to jail for other things we don't know about.
| Your IQ Is 120 |
 Your Logical Intelligence is Below Average Your Verbal Intelligence is Genius Your Mathematical Intelligence is Exceptional Your General Knowledge is Above Average |
I believe this means I can write, but can't plot. Funny, I always thought myself quite logical. But it was this silly question about tickets and jail, I'm sure. I read too much into things, like poor Jane can go to jail for other things we don't know about.
| Your Scholastic Strength Is Deep Thinking |
 You aren't afraid to delve head first into a difficult subject, with mastery as your goal. You are talented at adapting, motivating others, managing resources, and analyzing risk. You should major in: Philosophy Music Theology Art History Foreign language And now I know what I should write about...see according to the wisdom of Blogthings, I'm doing exactly as I'm designed to do, writing sweeping historical sagas. Friday, March 03, 2006I'm listening, but...
"The experts are always telling us to 'Listen to your body!' But if I listened to my body, I'd live on toffee pops and port wine. Don't tell me to listen to my body-it's trying to turn me into a blob."
-Roger Robinson, New Zealand masters runner and author Spring Break is drawing near in our little college burb, and that means one thing: All of my favorite running routes are clogged with college boys and girls trying to get in the best shape possible before Spring Break. I'm not sure what bothers me more, the fact that they started about three days ago or the fact that they will most likely be successful. Because twenty year old bodies can drop pounds faster than David Letterman can drop watermelons off of New York buildings. Quick and dirty. The forty year old body, however, says, "No, wait, I remember that pound. Let's not throw it away, we could need it." The forty year old body is a pack rat. But after Spring Break, the wannabee's will be back doing whatever it is they do and the roads will be clear and there will no longer be the thump thump of feet as some hulky college boy zips past me on his way to the post run beer. Of course, it will also be one hundred degrees from then on, all the way to October. Writers tend to walk and run a lot, believe it or not. It's time to think things through. And sitting in front of a computer is more conducive to growing hips than growing novels. So they move. C.S.Lewis, Madeleine L'Engle, they are among the walkers. Annie Dillard, runs. Anne Lamott, walks. Fiction that moves requires movement, I guess. Thursday, March 02, 2006Writein Lessons from Isak Dinesen
"When you have a great and difficult task, something perhaps almost impossible, if you only work a little at a time, every day a little, suddenly the work will finish itself."– Isak Dinesen
I love Isak Dinesen. In her short story, "The Young Man with the Carnation," here is a conversation between the Lord and the writer: "Come," said the Lord again, "I will make a convenant between me and you. I, I will not measure you out any more distress than you need to write your books."..."But you are to write the books," said the Lord. "For it is I who want them written. Not the public, not by any means the critics, but ME!" "Can I be certain of that?" Charlie asked. "Not always," said the Lord. "You will have to hold on to that." And that is why writers write. An internal compulsion, rather than a financial scheme. I don't know if anyone starts writing to be rich. I mean, it's a nice dream, but it doesn't work that way. Even the overnight successes, when you dig a bit deeper in the story, like Stephen King, Terry Brooks, John What's His Face the Lawyer, all of them had day jobs for a long time. (Grisham, that's the guy. I knew the name would come.) Anyway, I think I'm learning more about everything writing this book, even if it never gets published. (Although there is a part of me that screams, 'all this work? what do you mean it may never be published???) But the act of writing it, editing it, revising it, that's where the learning comes. And the next book will be stronger, better, more publishable. Not necessarily published. But life supplies material and the material needs some processing. Fiction is for me the best way to process things. Which is why writing the first draft of Purse Driven Life was so theraputic, dealing with the Mom thing. And Solomon's Mind is helping with the pastor thing, indirectly. But it's all a gift, like fresh picked cotton waiting to be spun and woven. Or whatever it is you do to cotton. I just buy it done. Books are just buying it done. Writing is the doing. Wednesday, March 01, 2006Top Ten Reasons to get up at 4:30 in the morning...
10. No annoying phone calls from irate Republicans who want me to vote for their candidates in the primary Saturday. I can't vote in the primary anyway, I want to be able to sign the petition for my favorite independent candidate for governor.
9.The children are sleeping all snug in their beds. 8. Email is sparse. 7. When you answer someone's email at 5 am, they think you are supervirtuous. 6. Guilt free naps at one in the afternoon! 5. Dog has no expectations of being let out every time a car drives by. 4. Work uniform for morning writers: fleece robe and fuzzy slippers. 3. Husband wakes you up anyway, no point in sleeping for another hour and a hslf and feeling worse. 2. New coffee maker. 1. I'm getting about six pages edited each morning, as well as finishing moring pages and two blog entries. Productivity rocks!
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