Transparencies, Second Part

I've discovered that, often, I can't take the same jokes I dish out.
That is something I'd like to change, and acceptance is the first step to recovery, right?

For example, Chris has been teasing me since he recently discovered I find Robert Downey, Jr. attractive.

 Here he is.












I poked fun back at Chris today. He benignly pointed out that if he were to rib me about an actress he found attractive, it would make me annoyed, pouty, or (depending on how the day had gone) mad.

Objectively, that's amusing, in a self-aware kind of way. However, I know that the small things that bother me diagnose underlying fears.

Jokes go a long way in unearthing insecurities and communicating messages for people to misinterpret as whatever they most dread to hear.

I'm not a proponent of "just getting over it." Proverbs 12:18 accurately states that "reckless words pierce like a sword." However, there must be some balance between utter apathy and deep hurt. As I've said before, black-and-white people like me don't take kindly to middle ground!

If you figure out what the balance is, dear reader, do let me  know. Once again, I encourage telepathic responses.

P.S. Chris, I love you...and you're hot.

Comment on the Book and its Cover

It's so easy to hide pain behind one's eyes, isn't it?

Things are always brewing in my head as I stroll down the South Oval.

The day's frustrations descend on me like "laughing fates" (Timothy Zahn phrase), adding to the weight of the unnecessary what-ifs and I-wish-thats already there.
In my head, I'm going on a tirade, and it's not cathartic. I "say" things I wouldn't say out loud when I'm ranting inside my brain. That just exacerbates the hurt.

I don't know why some things hurt me the way they do--I'm so aware that people are imperfect, and nothing distinguishes me morally from them except the grace of God.

I'm just thinking out loud, I suppose, letting my voice out of the confines of my brain. The point of this post was going to be that you can never know what people are feeling by looking at them. Even the most cool and collected person on campus has some wound that only God can heal. This is important--not easy!--to be aware of at all times, because we will inevitably face someone who hurts, annoys or even hates us. And, if we are obedient, we'll still love them.

Love is difficult, sometimes!

P.S. I hate enrollment.

The Flannery Factor

“Ever since there have been such things as novels, the world has been flooded with bad fiction for which the religious impulse has been responsible. The sorry religious novel comes about when the writer supposes that because of his belief, he is somehow dispensed from the obligation to penetrate concrete reality. He will think that the eyes of the Church or of the Bible or of his particular theology have already done the seeing for him, and that his business is to rearrange this essential vision into satisfying patterns, getting himself as little dirty in the process as possible. His feeling about this may have been made more definite by one of those Manichean-type theologies which sees the natural world as unworthy of penetration. But the real novelist, the one with an instinct for what he is about, knows that he cannot approach the infinite directly, that he must penetrate the natural human world as it is.”

-Flannery O’Connor, Mystery and Manners

I don't pretend to be a top-notch novelist who's got it all down--not even close. However, I whole heartedly agree with Ms. O'Connor. In the few short stories I've written, I've found that it is impossible to accurately portray real life without "getting your hands dirty."

I have standards about how far I will cross the line. It's inappropriate to spell some things out in detail for the reader, and not to detriment of the novel. Gratuitous anything is not how I roll (Some call this pusillanimity. Man, you really can't make everyone happy, huh?).

The moment I embraced this as my writing philosophy: I was plugging away at a short story about a young married couple torn between a life-and-death decision. Their views conflict. Both are convinced their side is right.

Since the story deals with two very difficult topics--abortion and cancer--I didn't want to water down the couple's emotions. As I composed the dialogue of their definitive, all-out fight, I came across a line in which my character would inevitably curse. I mean, really. It was big-time stuff, and my characters aren't southern baptist. Puzzled, I looked up at Chris and said, "Uh, my character needs to cuss, but I'm not sure if I should put it in there. I don't want to make anyone mad." Chris said something simple, along the lines of, "Well, that's real life, isn't it?"

It dawned on me, why, yes, it is. When people sugarcoat life and tell someone everything's going to be hunky-dory, and the truth is that it probably won't be, they become disillusioned, disappointed and bitter.

This real-life approach does not preclude purposeful and hopeful endings, no matter what Thomas Hobbes says. ;) I strive to close all my stories with hope, because I believe that hope always exists in reality.

So, there you have it: my potentially controversial writing philosophy. I'm not a fan of offending people, so I hope no one is offended. However, you can tell I've lived with Chris for eight months because I will not rescind even if someone is.

Anyhoo, dear reader, let me know what you think. If you don't want to leave a comment here, you may send it to me telepathically.

In fact, that might be a lot more fun...

My song to anyone once shafted by love.

I pulled out my 6th grade journal yesterday--a detailed chronicle of my life from 2001 to 2005. It laughed hysterically at my melodramatic accounts of the rambunctious boys who called me "cutie" and put crickets in my locker to the girls I code-named because they were my tacit enemies or who drew comic strips with me and loved me like a faithful sister.

I'm an emotional person, so the stories resurrected vivid memories. It won't surprise you to know that the memories about disappointed love were most clear.

I revel in the love of my husband now. It's a more beautiful love than I had a concept of at age 12, that's for sure! Finding him wasn't the ending of a fairy tale like I thought it would be. Instead, it was the opening of an adventure more grand and awesome than any story my writer's mind ever contrived.

I have a background of heartbreak, but look where God has taken me.
This song is an example of where I used to be.
Hopefully, it will encourage anyone who is disillusioned and ready to give up on a God-sent love story.

This was penned in my journal after the final sentence of the entry: "Perhaps, one goodbye isn't good enough..."

What Went Wrong
written June 16, 2004

I thought that for sure all the wounds had healed up/and nothing would disturb me anymore
But I opened up my journal yesterday/finding that your name was written on the cover
I turn the page, and a picture that I drew/traces lines of adoration in your smile
I turn the radio on and music floods my mind/and it just happens to be our song!

Oh, quit haunting me, baby!/What have I ever done to you?
I'm dying to retrace our steps and find out
where we went wrong!
Oh, quit haunting me, baby!/Your eyes are more than I can bear
I'm dying to retrace our steps and find out
if you miss me!/Oh, where did we go wrong?
Where did we go wrong?

Viewing running commentaries everywhere that I alight/of lovers who are on the path we took
A passage strangely familiar to me as I read at night/is turning up in every single book
I close my eyes, maybe sleep will kill the pain/but I only get a vision of our stars
And when I open them, I daydream for an hour/of running into warm and open arms!

Oh, quit haunting me, baby!/What have I ever done to you?
I'm dying to retrace our steps and find out
where we went wrong!
Oh, quit haunting me, baby!/Your eyes are more than I can bear
I'm dying to retrace our steps and find out
if you miss me!/Oh, where did we go wrong?
Where did we go wrong?