Rachel's Blog

A Writing Group Proposla (I.e., "Beer & Beowulf")

2010-02-05T14:31:00.001-05:00

Ever since I took a class on C.S. Lewis when I was a wee slip of a girl, I've been intrigued with The Inklings. That was the name of the informal writers' club started by Lewis, but included Tolkien, poets, and critics alike. What brought them together was a shared love of literature and a dedication to improve their craft. Such literary clubs are not uncommon. What is uncommon is that they were drawn together to create something that did not exist at the time---literature that was not simply "art for art's sake." They wanted to write the sort of thing that they loved to read.

I can't imagine writing without keeping some Other in mind.

That said, there is something attractive about sharing work-in-progress to those of like (and different) minds. To have one's work critically engaged and seriously debated as you are writing is such a help. Not only does it let you sharpen your own critical/creative approach, but you start to get a sense of what others may see when they read your words. Such a humbling process requires a certain amount of loving-kindness on the part of everyone involved to make such criticism work and allow the truth of a piece to be fully explored.

What I am proposing is a local writer's group (i.e., within traveling distance of Dayton, OH) meet, beginning on a monthly basis. For those who cannot be present, I can set up a faceboook group that will allows people to network, post to discussions, and receive critiques of their work.

If you are interested in meeting, or being a part of the writing group, just email me. You can also post below. Feel free to forward this message to those who might be interested, but might not indulge in facebook :)

-Looking forward to hearing from all my creative friends,

Rachel

Harlan County USA

2009-12-14T13:38:00.005-05:00

Every time I go down to Harlan, KY, I'm always struck not just with my own folk's history, which is always present in my own imagination, but I always feel a great amount of pride mixed with sorrow. They are a tough, courageous people, who have had to endure more hardship than most Americans can ever imagine just to st...ay alive.

I'm going to re-watch the Barbara Kopple's documentary "Harlan County USA," which won an Academy award in 1977. I suggest it as required viewing if you want to know about the coal miners struggle to unionize.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e3IrnNAweM0

Theopoetics?

2009-08-26T14:17:00.002-04:00

"What is 'theopoetics'?" is a question I hear all the time.

My answer: "Why are you asking me?"

Now, instead of being sarcastic, I will direct people to this website. It's chock full of informative goodness.

Adios!

Theopoetics.net
http://theopoetics.net/

"Be Willing to Squint"

How did Brilliance Get Wed to Instability?

2009-08-20T12:49:00.009-04:00

I have gotten so caught up with Sylvia (and Emily) lately that I find myself seeing things through their 'cheekiness.' The good thing about that is its cathartic value. These poems allow me to express and acknowledge feelings that I might otherwise take out in my own writing. Once I have read their wry descriptions of reality and society, the poison in me bleeds out. I could go on and on about their great talents, but such writing is a lesson, first and foremost, of how to filter the good blood from the bad.

I suppose that makes me the leech :)

Also, I always wondered how 'brilliant' people became characterized as unstable, in one form or another. To pursue that question is to follow my burgeoning fascination with the lives of writers. I used to think that a work existed, more or less, in a vacuum. I read a poem or a novel for its own sake---the singular meaning that would divulge itself to my reading.

Now, I want to know who wrote it? And how? And why?

If you wonder too, follow your feelers...

The link below is one place to start.

Elizabeth Gilbert on nurturing creativity
http://www.ted.com/index.php/talks/elizabeth_gilbert_on_genius.html

Follow this link for an lively, intimate corresponsdence between two writers.

Theirs Truly: The Lowell-Bishop Letters
http://www.theatlantic.com/doc/200904/lowell-bishop-letters

Pandora's Box

2009-08-19T12:23:00.004-04:00

This link shows a video of a roundtable discussion with Harold Blum, Joan Branham, Lois Braverman, Kathryn Harrison, and Victoria Pedrick on the subject of

Pandora's Box: From Ancient Sacrifice to Family Secrets.

(Courtesy of The Philoctetes Center for the interdisciplinary study of imagination.)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aMc7GpaDHRA

Following Her Own 'Plath'

2009-08-14T19:57:00.002-04:00

In “Above the Oxbow,” Sylvia writes a rather beautiful description of a very real place. She was never incapable of writing more conventionally---she chose the road less taken.

Watch her use of language; I find this passage oddly reminiscent of GM Hopkins.

Above the Oxbow

Here in this valley of discrete academies
We have not mountains, but mounts, truncated hillocks
To the Adirondacks, to northern Monadnock,
Themselves mere rocky hillocks to an Everest.
Still, they're out best mustering of height: by
Comparison with the sunnken silver-grizzled
Back of the Connecticut, the river-level
Flats of Hadley farms, they're lofty enough
Elevations to be called something more than hills.
Green, wholly green, they stand their knobby spine
Against our sky: they are what we look southward to
Up Pleasant Street at Main. Poising their shapes
Between the snuff and red tar-paper apartments,
They mound a summer coolness in our view.

To people who live in the bottom of valleys
A rise in the landscape, hummock or hogback, looks
To be meant for climbing. A peculiar logic
In going up for the coming down if the post
We start at's the same post we finish by,
But it's the clear conversion at the top can hold
Us to the oblique road, in spite of a fitful
Wish for even ground, and it's the last cliff
Ledge will dislodge out cramped concept of space, unwall
Horizons beyond vision, spill vision
After the horizons, stretching the narrowed eye
To full capacity. We climb to hopes
Of such seeing up the leaf-shuttered escarpments,
Blindered by green, under a green-grained sky

Into the blue. Tops define themselves as places
Where nothing higher's to be looked to. Downward looks
Follow the black arrow-backs of swifts on their track
Of the air eddies' loop and arc though air's at rest
To us, since we see no leaf edge stir high
Here on a mount overlaid with leaves. The paint-peeled
Hundred-year-old hotel sustains its ramshackle
Four-way veranda, view-keeping above
The fallen timbers of its once remarkable
Funicular railway, witness to gone
Time, and to graces gone with the time. A state view-
Keeper collects half-dollars for the slopes
Of state scenery, sells soda, shows off viewpoints.
A ruffy skylight oaints the gray oxbow

And paints the river's pale circumfluent stillness.
As roses broach their carmine in a mirror. Flux
Of the desultory currents --- all that unique
Stripple of shifting wave-tips is ironed out, lost
In the simplified orderings of sky-
Lorded perspectives. Maplike, the far fields are ruled
By correct green lines and no seedy free-for-all
Of asparagus heads. Cars run their suave
Colored beads on the strung roads, and the people stroll
Straightforwardly across the springing green.
All's peace and discipline down there. Till lately we
Lived under the shadow of hot rooftops
And never saw how coolly we might move. For once
A high hush quietens the crickets' cry.

Though Sylvia preferred the inner imagery for her subject matter, she was just as capable as writing more on more 'conventional' themes as her surreal ones. She was, like other lady poets, writing against a language, a heritage, a tradition that held her at arm's length, if not in contempt. Stylistically, you can't ague against the craft and depth of her work. Her anti-Romantic originality is obvious. However, what I can critique is that difficulty of translating the language of her interior world into something truthful in everyone's experience. She makes the mistake of Anne Sexton, even of Dickinson---in being so true to the interior voice that we, as readers, are left on the outside. I want to be let in. Maybe the lack I feel is because each of these ladies, in their own way, had psychological issues that, they were ultimately the victims of.

So, as a reader of poetry, and as a lady poet, what can I learn?

Avoid similar tendencies? That sounds a little trite. These are the habits of brilliant women. I can only dream of making the same mistakes. However, I have noticed that my poetry can be 'Gothic'---maybe---but definitely a hard read. While I would love to be brilliant, I would prefer to be soulful. Maybe that's compromising my art (whatever that is), but hell, compromise, is what you do in any relationship. And that's what I see poetry as being: a dialogue, a conversation, a promise. If it end with me, then it doesn't really begin.

Female Author

All day she plays at chess with the bones of the world:
Favored (while suddenly the rains begin
Beyond the window) she lies on cushions curled
And nibbles an occasional bonbon of sin.

Prim, pink-breasted, feminine, she nurses
Chocolate fancies in rose-papered rooms
Where polished higboys whisper creaking curses
And hothouse roses shed immortal blooms.

The garnets on her fingers twinkle quick
And blood reflects across the manuscript;
She muses on the odor, sweet and sick,
Of festering gardenias in a crypt,

And lost in subtle metaphor, retreats
From gray child faces crying in the streets.

Viva La Difference

2009-03-25T15:52:00.002-04:00

I just started teaching Ethics and Critical Thinking instead of my normal writing classes, and it seems like the stuff of situational comedies or French farce. For one thing, I am no philosopher. I had to pinch my knee to stay awake in Symbolic Logic. Hell, I don't even remember the Ethics course I took in college. While I liked some of the questions, I thought the answers were pretty vague: reason, thought, will...blah, blah, blah. Lots of guys arguing about who's paradigm was bigger. I preferred the Eastern modes of being: crazy wisdom, Zen koans, Japanese death poems---oh my.

Unanswerable questions. The religious.

A week to plan, and no instructor's manual. And I had to teach another course I had never taught before. That's what happens when you nod your head and say, "I enjoy a challenge," when you should be running to the nearest Starbuck's and saying "Screw this. I am an artist. That's why I pay three bucks for a nonfat café au lait. It's what angsty artists do. I'll even type a sonnet, hunch over the bluish white screen, and mouth a rhyme for 'avocado.' And didn't you notice I was pale? I've got 'deep' all over me, it's in my pores like the bottle of rum that I'll toss off once I'm back to my desperate hovel of inspiration."

But I cannot say that to thirty-odd students who are all looking at me in mild amusement, practiced contempt as I look over my handwritten notes and realizethat I can't even read my own scratches. I again look at my script with the intensity reserved for translations of hieroglyphs or cuneiform.

My stomach rumbles. I can already feel an ulcer coming on, but I can't put my hand on my stomach; invoking Napoleon is generally not the best way to inspire respect. Fear, yes, but only as a last resort. A Waterloo.

It's only four hours. Surely I can avoid the hooves until 10?

A student raises a hand.

I nod "Yes."

"What should we call you?"

I really want to say "Mon Capitan," but suppress my wry grin.

"Ms. Peterson should work."

Another student speaks, "Miss Peterson? Do we really have to read everything?"

"Yes. You must read the chapters before coming to class, or there would be no point in class discussion."

Yet another student grumbles, "Miss, do we have to write and talk?"

"There are questions that need a more thorough answer than a multiple choice or true and false questions are able to supply. Like your opinion."

Moans.

"I didn't take this class to think."

I meet eyes with the one who thinks thought is unnecessary, "I hate to tell you, but thinking is an automatic response, like gagging. Your mind is already making sense out of things---with or without your permission. In this class, I'm just asking you to focus a little of your concentration on this subject and these questions. You have to know that you think before you can have control over how you think. "

"Mrs. Paterson, I think this class is a waste of time."

I rub my gut and scowl.

Books for the Weighty Imagination

2009-02-24T15:16:00.002-05:00

I don't like the whole 'genre' obsession. The books I like or find inspiring come from a variety of places. Some are there because they leave me in a state of bliss or ruffle my feathers to the point that I might have to change my wicked ways. These books listed below happen to be the ones that I own and still flip through when I need some manna from heaven or hell or anywhere else in between.

If anyone wants to borrow any of these, just ask.

In no order:

The Bible (Old and New Testaments, preferably in the original languages)

The Republic, Plato

The Odyssey, Homer

Theogony, Work & Days, Hesiod

Sappho

Beowulf, any translation

The Complete Works of William Shakespeare

The Divine Comedy, Dante

The Grimm Fairytales

Straw for the Fire, Theodore Roethke (poetry)

The Essential Rumi, translated by Coleman Barks (poetry)

Til We Have Faces, C.S. Lewis (his best)

The Screwtape Letters, C.S. Lewis

The Innkeeper's Song, The Last Unicorn, Peter S. Beagle

The Blind Assassin, Margaret Atwood

Possession, A.S. Byatt

The Sparrow, Mary Doria Russell

Life of Pi, Yann Martel

Watchmen, Dave Gibbons & Alan Moore

Brave New World, Aldous Huxley

A Canticle for Leibowitz, Walter W. Miller

Collected Poems, Sylvia Plath (poetry)

Leaves of Grass, Walt Whitman (poetry)

The Complete Poetry and Plays, T.S. Eliot, (poetry)

Poetry and Prose, Gerard Manley Hopkins, (poetry)

The Collected Poems, Czeslaw Milosz (poetry)

The Lion in Winter, James Goldman (play)

J.B., Archibald MacLeish (play)

Waiting for Godot, Samuel Beckett (play)

St. Joan, George Bernard Shaw (play)

The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson (poetry)

The Complete Works of Edgar Allen Poe

Wuthering Heights, Emily Bronte

view with a grain of sand, Wislawa Szymborska (poetry)

Song of the Sky, translated by Brian Swann

The Sound and The Fury, William Faulkner

Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen

The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, Children of Hurin, JRR Tolkien

Gerald's Game, Eyes of the Dragon, Stephen King

The Woman Warrior, Maxine Hong Kingston

Siddhartha, Hermann Hesse

Marius the Epicurean, Walter Pater

Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov

Angry Candy, Harlan Ellison

Grendel, John Gardner

The English Patient, Michael Ondaatje

Moby Dick, Herman Melville

David Copperfield, Charles Dickens

Wicked, John Mcguire

The Blue Sword, The Hero & the Crown, Robin McKinley (YA)

Birth of the Firebringer, Meredith Ann Pierce (YA)

The Golden Compass, Phillip Pullman (YA)

The Dark Is Rising, Susan Cooper (YA)

Assassin's Apprentice, Robin Hobb

The Seventh Son, Orson Scott Card

She, H. Rider Haggard

Grimus, Salman Rushdie

The Mists of Avalon, Marion Zimmer Bradley

The Book of the Dunn Cow, Walter Wangerin, Jr.

The Dragon Path: Collected Stories of Kenneth Morris

Modern Classics of Fantasy, Edited by Gardner Dozois

Zen And the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, Robert M Pirsig

Paradise Lost, John Milton

The World Without Us, Alan Weisman (nonfiction)

13 Things That Don't Make Sense, Michael Brooks (nonfiction)

Me Talk Pretty One Day, David Sedaris (nonfiction)

Night, Elie Wiesel

Cosmos, Carl Sagan

The Hero With A Thousand Faces, Joseph Campbell (nonfiction)

25 Random Bits

2009-02-03T22:08:00.000-05:00

2. I don't like to drive, but I like going places and looking out the window. Taking in scenery can be a pretty awesome (as in leaves me in awe) experience.

2. When I think no one can hear, I sing Disney songs or really generic musical numbers. Yes, I am a tool.

3. I am a sucker for music. I once vowed that if a certain song was ever sung to me---in earnest---then I had to marry the poor schlep.

4. I had GI Joe underwear, and I would make my Joes attack the Barbies and cut off their hair.

5. I am a softy at heart, and I want to believe what people say to me.

6. There's not a day that goes by that I'm not surprised.

7. I don't think I've ever initiated a first kiss: received, yes, but initiated, no.

8. I once just wanted to be a 'good' person, but now just want to be me. I'll always wonder how I might do things better.

9. Mt first story was about a cowgirl. I was inspired by listening to The Outlaws.

10. I wanted t be a dancer when I was a kid. I made my parents but a tutu and slippers, but then I broke the table trying to pirouette and that was that.

11. I will never stop traveling. I think I'm at my best an a new with new people, new places, and new cultures. Maybe it's wanderlust.

12. The Kentucky Wildcats are the only sports team I will pretend to like.

13. I don't think anybody really gets me. I don't think I get me either.

14. I secretly want to slap anyone who makes a 'briar' joke when he/she leans that I was born in Kentucky. There's only so many ways you can imply inbreeding, and trust me--I've heard every possible variation.

15. I'm rarely one to end a conversation. Seriously, when I'm enjoying a chat, I want it to go on for hours---all night, all day. That is ideal, though probably impractical.

16. I love words. I love reading them, speaking them, hearing them, singing them..."Luv them and squeeze them and call them 'George.'"

17. I come from a long line of BSers, and I'm always a little afraid that I'll fall under their influence, or become one.

18. I'm attracted to very few people, but I love quite a few.

19. I like people who don't try to be anything other than what they are.

20. I like sudden, erratic tenderness.

21. I want to hear a story.

22. There are some things I wish could forget, but then I wouldn't be the same.

23. When riding in airplanes, I bed for the widow seat. Flying is...delightful. I get giddy---and it not just from the lack of oxygen.

24. I want to ride a Harley out West.

25. If I live to 80, I want to be one of those tough old biddies that smoke incessantly, show off their tattoos, cook enough to feed two armies, and still bend down to talk to kids eye-to-eye.

Miner 49er

2009-01-14T11:07:00.003-05:00

The world is full of intentions. Everyone is trying to figure out how to live, whether through an occupation or a supposition. More things clamor for our attention that we have the capacity to experience, and so we sift like 49ers tapping metal pans with the heels of their palms, searching for the gleam of something precious amid the dull piles of rock and mud. Tap tap. The noise, rhythmic as a heartbeat, is swept up in the gurgling of shallow waters. Tap tap. Faintly now, but the wet hands of the miners keep pounding, squirting arcs of spray, mule's spit. On clear days, the sun seems to jump into the water, they squint their eyes until the pans are outlined in phosphorescent shadows. The younger miners are more apt to stop, reach into the pan with puckering mouths that soon tighten into lipless lines when their hands are filled with pennies or nails. Tap tap. The gentle along with the violent. Tap tap. Until all hands are wrinkled, useless, and cease.

I'm not certain what that image is supposed to mean, if anything.

But it may be about death.

In my family, see, we tell a lot of stories----mostly family-related. It is a ritual to tell certain stories, some of them about relatives I have never even met. Yet I know their lives more intimately than some of my living relations. Telling stories is always a simplification, a way to make sense out of someone's life. We tell stories so that they are not forgotten---that the past is made a part of the present. To leave a story untold or to forget is worse than telling lies. I find the greatest tragedies are not so much those who suffered the worst catastrophes because 'everybody hurts', as the song says ( I derive all my seeming-wisdom from song lyrics:). The worse thing that can happen is to have no stories told about you when you are no longer able to tell them yourself.

My mother's father is a good example. He died before my mom could get to know him, and since the circumstances of his death were, well, horrific, her family did everything to forget the whole messy incident. It's quite understandable, but I think Lee was more than the tragedy he became. He was a paratrooper in WW2---the man fell out of the sky on D-Day. We only know this because my dad looked up his service information on the Internet. It's not everything about the man, but it is something to remember. When I went to France, I wondered what he had seen and done to survive in that foreign place, so that he could survive, and I could walk down those same landscapes with the descendants of the German soldiers that he fought. Two generations had changed the world so much, and yet...I have no idea what he would say. I can't sit down with him and compare our impressions over coffee or sweet tea, or cafe au lait.

Circumstances can cause people to be forgotten, but sometimes people are forgotten because they were too afraid, too private to share the nitty-gritty. No one wants to be a whiner, or to draw too much attention (we just have different points of saturation). I understand the motivation to say what seems appropriate, every life is worth hearing about. It saddens me when people cannot seem to form one word that reveals some truth about who they really are and come from. Every story is worth knowing---especially to those we love, or who would learn to love us. Love is in the details, not in the generalities so many of us try to hide behind. I want every sordid little speck, as well as the glittering nuggets, from those I love. Anything else is fool's gold.

dreadful sorry, Clementine

What Makes Literature 'Liturature'?

2009-01-09T10:26:00.004-05:00

I don't know many people who voluntarily read James Joyce. I only attempted Ulysses after I had loved “The Portrait of the Artist As A Young Man.” “Portrait” is much more like his short stories, but “Ulysses” is nearly indecipherable without some sort of class or extensive commentary to help you read it. While I like his characterizations, his playfulness with mythology and language, that book has had little to no impact on the general public. Yet every class on modern British Literature treats Joyce as if he were the Second Coming. Give me Aldous Huxley, Virginia Woolf , G.B. Shaw, Oscar Wilde, J.R.R. Tolkien. I prefer the introspective/ironic/witty/mythopoeic writers poking at themselves and 'literature' with a wry thumb.

The best arguments involve dinosaurs.

You see, Modernism (Mo) has a 'canon'--- essential texts that are supposed to compose the essence of English literature. Postmodernism (PoMo) says that that canon is there for a reason, but that it is fluid. I'd like to make an analogy, for those of you who who'd like to see the difference between PoMo and Mo:

Imagine that you want to go out to eat. In the Modern age, you would go to a restaurant that specializes in certain cuisine or signature dishes. You would sit down and order from a menu of what is available. Your main concern, as you sit at your table, is what is 'the best' from the limited selection. If you consider yourself a gourmet, you might order based upon your 'sophisticated' palate. If you are more health-conscious, you might tabulate the calories of a given dish to meet your specific needs. Novelty, expertise, and/or convenience are your essential motivators. Food feeds the engine of the body to make it work.

The PoMo dining experience would be a little different. If you decide to eat out, you'll end up at a buffet---a potluck, if your nose pulls you in that direction. You can choose a little sampling of all sorts of foods, from the exotic to the mundane. You are only limited by the sensitivity/capacity of your stomach. While some revel the variety of offerings, there are some who are overwhelmed. It's better to sample than to deny. Most choose based upon what appeals to the senses---gut-reaction becomes the guiding force, but you still use your brain. Your main concern is the quality of your experience as well as your company. Food is an essential part of fellowship and can take on the aspects of the sacramental.

Everybody has to eat, so the difference between PoMo and Mo is a difference of what is deemed food. They both operate on 'ultimate' assumptions. In the PoMo worldview, there is freedom to be Mo, but the reverse is not necessarily true. PoMo, in the extreme, denies absolutisms----a view that is rightly critiqued. Anyone can see that human beings operate because at some point, there are assumptions made, and these assumptions are created solely by an individual. Our views are formed by a variety of things that are completely out if our control. We're always looking for truth, even if we know it is contextual. Modernism allows for absolutes to be asserted without shame or the fear that you will offend someone else. In the PoMo view, difference is expected, whereas in Mo, there is a sense that one way or another, it the Truest view will rise to the top, will naturally convince others by its sheer...'genius.' No one believes in halves---we're all searching for a whole Truth---something that we find undeniable. Just because we have this need (as basic a food), for truth (no capitalized T), that doesn't mean that all other truths are consequentially crossed out. One person makes truth claims that effects how he or she experiences life and reacts to others, but someone making similar truth claims might live in a very different manner. Another person may make different claims entirely, but the effects could be very similar to someone with even contrary assumptions. No one agrees completely with the other---nor should we. So rather than spent time and energy getting folk to believe in a certain formula, perhaps it might be more fruitful to find out what makes that person unique, and what helps he / she to not just survive, but live well---especially with other people.

Ultimately, it is a little silly to try and define an age that we're still living in. Whether PoMo is just really politically-correct Modernism or some relatively new incarnation of the Zeitgeist, we cannot say for certain. The defining characteristic of the next epoch will be decided by future historians and such. Besides, the arguments of Mo versus PoMo are old arguments---any given society is always balanced somewhere between extremes. The terminology may differ, but not the essential idea that there are ideas/worldviews that are in competition with one another, but why must that be the case? Why must one view 'dominate'? All these terms of competition come from metaphors that may have been well-intended when they were uttered, but don't necessarily work in the world that we are living in. Cooperative metaphors and ideologies are what seem most useful in this pluralistic time---whatever terminology will be chosen to define it for future generations.

Laughing at Lolita

2008-11-11T17:03:00.003-05:00

Who knew pedophiles could be funny? I had heard in very, very general terms what Lolita was about, but I avoided reading it because a book about a man who got turned on by little girls just didn't appeal to me. I always have stacks of books whimpering for attention, and did not want to read yet another book that wasted my time and glorified a bad guy for the sake of voyeuristic tantalization. But Lolita is so well-written, so immersive, so beautiful (in a tainted sort of way) that you just can't put it down. The only way the author gets away with the subject matter is by assuming the persona of the pedophile who is ridiculously witty, and laughter is really the only way you are able to read the most disturbing scenes where grins transform into grimaces. The story is much deeper than just a profile of a self-proclaimed monster; it's about obsession, art, love, maturity, the new world as seen through the eyes of the old, and the consequences of living out your fantasies. There are no perfect souls---just people, and so it is challenging because it challenges our own sense of normalcy and/or moral superiority.

I didn't mean for this post to become a book review (perhaps havlie been grading one too many papers), but really: How often do you find yourself contemplating something that you've read? Often? Only for credit :)? I'm curious. Do you like to be disturbed? Or do you prefer that everything 'fit': the 'bad guys' get punished and the 'mistreated' are rewarded? Does life conform to such order? Even if everything is chance, should fiction try to make some sense out of this chaos?

Halloweenie

2008-11-11T17:01:00.004-05:00

I've been naughty. But hey---it's Halloween---the one time of the year that I can let my horns down. Oh my, did I say 'horns'? I meant 'hair.' I don't have much of it to let down, but you get the idea....

Now is time of year to be looking at grad schools, if I plan on applying. I am considering it. If I get a full time position at the end of my first two tears of teaching, then I will be quite ecstatic. However, if I can't find a full-time position after two years experience, then I must consider other possibilities. I know want to teach, which helps, and I need a PhD to teach at most colleges. That means I need to look at grad programs---creative writing programs. I'm not worried about getting into a program, it's just deciding which subject to write: poetry or prose? I much more torn than I thought I would be. My poetry's probably more...polished; I've just studied it more. However, I'd like to learn more about writing fiction, but I'm not certain a PhD program is appropriate. Most of the knowledge I need there is just practical stuff that you can only lean by doing. By attempting a novel, I'm learning quite a bit, but a part of me would really like getting 'credit' for doing something that I already am doing. The doctorate, if I decide to go for it next fall, would be so I can teach, which I really, really like doing.

Hopefully, I'll get a full time teaching position in the fall, but if not, I may have to suck it up and go back to school---a scary notion, and an appropriate one for Halloween.

I just might dress up as the person I should be: a good little Brethren girl in modest garb, asking for directions to the nearest potluck, where I may meet my future spouse, a similarly-simple-minded pastor or deacon with whom I shall create Brethren spawn of mostly-German exaction...

...I'm sure I can find that costume at K-Mart.

X-mas...In October?

2008-11-11T16:59:00.004-05:00

'There is nothing new under the sun.' We've all heard that quote. Whenever I hear it, it is usually used to support something unoriginal. A prime example would be if one of my students wrote a paper on how much she loved her grandma, but it turned out that the student wasn't even writing about her own grandmother. Let's assume the student doesn't have a grandma, so she just wrote down what other people said in class about their own grandmothers. The assignment was just supposed to be about an influential person in the student's life, so why she would write about a fake grandma is quite beyond me...There are probably better examples, but while there is certainly many common experiences (like having grandmothers), none are completely the same. To take a real world example, you and I may both have grandmas, but I'm certain that mine are rather different than yours---unless you're my sister. Even if you are my sister, Amy, you'll have something different to say about our grandmothers than I will. Oh yes. (And if you are my sister, you'll also say, "Get to the point, Rah-rah...and stop being a dumb ass." Thanks, sis.)

People have been living on earth for quite some time, and will (well, hopefully) continue to do so. There's nothing new about life. It begins with birth and ends in death---with a few complications along the way. Some call for simplicity, for less-complicated lives. This can manifest as a 'stripping down' of a busy life into something less burdened, but more substantial in ways that are outside the 'normal' need for constant content, stimulation, or excess. Others seem caught in what they think are 'mediocre' lives---lives that to often feel like you're living out the expectations of others. Do this enough, and your own life can seem more and more like someone else's. Or you may feel that your life is much too ordinary because it is too yours, which is---too often---disappointing.

No matter who you are, there is always 'that person' you just might be. The problem is that once you become aware of this possibility, it's rather hard to ignore. It tends to make you look over your shoulder---discontent, anxious, even fearful---even when you may have a perfectly logical explanation and/or solution.

We live in a world of diminished possibilities. What might I mean by 'diminished'? Well, because of your unique birth, your choices are narrowed from the beginning. You don't ask to be born, or to choose your family or culture. In other words, the conditions are already set. You can only re-act. Since these conditions are beyond your control, the possibilities for what you might be become limited. Completely free will does not exist because you can never sit in a vacuum and freely decide from every possibility. Just as the story gives the setting and the situation and lets the characters discover their own unique existences, these limitations give shape to the form of your real-life transformations.

Like Ebeneezer Scrooge, we are confronted with the shades of: What Is, What Could Be and What Might Have Been. We too must weave the threads of our lives into some cohesive story that pushes us to the point where some sort of decision must be made or some action must be undertaken. The only place to choose or act is now. Will we discover that what was a dreary day like any other dreary day is actually Christmas morning? Perhaps. Or maybe the day that we have been dreading becomes one that we end up celebrating? These things may happen.

If they can happen for a guy like Scrooge, there may be hope for the rest of us.

Power Outages Do Not Halt Inspiration

2008-11-11T16:56:00.003-05:00

Writing about Native American-inspired civilizations is a tricky process. Though I claim a drop or two of native blood, I really don't have the right to mess with native cultures. I am, ultimately, an outsider, who can only sneak a glimpse of some half-seen truth when she decides to show herself. I say 'she' because wisdom and truth have usually been personified by the Hebrews and Greeks as female---not because I' think men are incapable of personifying those virtues.

Ladies and Gentlemen, we live in a world where God is called “Father” and his (notice the masculine pronoun) embodiment is called “Son.” Even if you're not dealing with Christians, God is still a dude to most of the world. Whatever rationalization is used to try and assuage and/or empower women, it does not change the fact that God is “He” in the language of these traditions, which has an impact, even if you come up with convoluted theologies to make sense of God's blatant masculinity. I'm not blaming anybody---just saying that you can't call god a guy without having consequences. For me, it means that every time I hear that language, I can't help but feel a little left out. It causes me to ask questions that I'd rather not ask, questions that plant seeds of doubt that only a sense of irony can assuage, but never completely. For if I have to try and explain away every instance of gender bias so that the message might be relevant to me, then what stops me from re-interpreting everything that I disagree with? Everyone has to figure these things out for him- or her-self...And no one gets it “right.” At least we have some comfort in knowing that this questioning, this discovery of relevancy is as perennial as the grass: it has continued long before we were born and will continue long after the galaxy itself finds another embodiment.

As I am re-inventing religions in my story, I'm trying to make it consistent with what I know of Native American practices and beliefs, but like any system, it has it's flaws; to depict these systems otherwise would be wrong, since there is no perfect religion. There are also 'competing' systems from different peoples and even different tribes. If you fear that I'm going to make every bow to the One Goddess, rest easy. I have no desire to replace one sort of sexism with another. Each culture does have a different notion of gender roles, which I do find quite fun to play with. Admittedly, I have an interest in seeing the effect a lady 'Odysseus' would have on the culture in which she appears. Homer wrote about a man---that's made clear in his first line. While we are very, very fortunate to have Homer and this long line of creative minds stretching back to the murky origin of Western culture, history only recalls the thoughts and creations of men. They are the ones who are named. We could argue as to why that might be the case, but it doesn't change what we have to work with, and what we must (continually) work out.

That said, enjoy the finer comforts of our cultural inheritance (i.e., electricity).

Seeing Face to Face

2008-11-11T16:55:00.002-05:00

Everyone wants to be known---recognized. Instead of writing about writing, I just want to acknowledge that there are many people facing trying times, or at least some self-reflection. Let me say this: you have my utmost attention. Ultimately, I really don't know what to say. No one can tell someone else how to feel. Nor can I assume that the things that have worked for me (or not worked for me) would also apply to you. I can listen, but I can only speak from my reflections based on my own experience...And it seems like I only learn by trial and lots and lots of error.

My biggest mistakes have been 1.) to try and do everything on my own. When I was very young, I made the conscious decision to be completely self-sufficient. I didn't want to burden other people with my problems, true, but I was also terrified that other people might think that I needed them. Another grave mistake I have made is 2.) not giving myself the same grace that I try to show to other people. As you can probably imagine, these two kinks have led to a whole host of problems I am still trying to work out. And I must be honest and say that I will probably always struggle with these issues to a greater or lesser degree. I hate my weaknesses, but dwelling on that isn't changing anything, except to place despair over hope. Despair, however, is not illogical. People despair because they have a pretty good grasp on the harshness of reality---its' angles. Healthy people need to put on rosy glasses to smooth out our own wrinkles, as well as those in others. Hope isn't deceptive, but it is certainly a stubborn refusal of the pain and loneliness and inevitability that seem like 'common sense.'

I think recognizing your flaws, whatever they may be, is the first step towards finding any kind of peace. It's much easier to muster up understanding and compassion for others if you have first offered it to yourself. Again, it probably sounds trite, but I wouldn't say it unless it was something that I have paid much in order to say it so...simply.

I hope you find your face, and your reflection.

Get You Some Beagle!

2008-11-11T16:52:00.004-05:00

Some of you may know of Peter S. Beagle's book "The Last Unicorn"...Though I can be...candid... in my critiques, I can say, without quantification, that this book was the first book that made me realize what I could write. Up until that point, I had only been reading, reading, reading---my few attempts at imitation were only that: poor and derivative. Though every writer is a thief, I didn't quite know what to filch until Beagle dangled a gold coin in front of my nose. He showed me that I could be myself, and still write. So if you get the chance, read Beagle. It would be very easy to go on a tangent on how interesting his life has been, but I'll let you discover that in your own time and inclination.

As far as my book is concerned, I have had to reformulate the ending. The characters are demanding something more meaningful than just a pat on the head, an easy ending. There is going to be heartache, as much as I want to make everyone happy. Too often, written relationships seem contrived; conditions are set forth by an author, and the characters move in a certain arc towards some 'understanding.' In other words, there are misunderstandings, which lead to conflicts that require resolution. Relationships begin with misunderstandings because you don't understand someone you don't know. You can have an intuition, a sense of destiny, a high, or even a repulsion, but you do not have the person. Relationships work when the actual meets up with the expectation---never when one exceeds the other. In that sense, relationships are a compromise between extremes of fascination and self-preservation. And this negotiation is continuous, though stories and movies may make us think otherwise. Intimacy, words, marriage, children: while these experiences might provide moments of clarification, like most revelations or epiphanies, these insights are fleeting. To be in relationship is to be engaged with some “Other,” who is always distinct, who is always looking at you with the same sense of...befuddlement. Our egos may be decentered, but that doesn't mean they disappear. Instead, they wander like restless ghosts between our conscious and subconscious levels, trying to piecemeal some identity from all our conflicting impulses. We thrust this motley garment, this self, into the world, calling it “mine,” and are inevitably disappointed. This disappointment arises when we see others who may not be as keen with needles as we fancy ourselves to be..., or or when we put our fingers through the holes in what we thought was one seamless habiliment and cringe at what's beneath. Dissatisfaction, rather than always being the fault of others, has its origins within us. We want to be seen, but we never really know what makes us feel so damn naked. Some of us spend our whole lives trying to cover up, piling layer upon layer until the self is immobile, while others strip off everything, freeing the self from the merest thread of constraint.

Which is 'better'? That's irrelevant. As a writer, I want to depict this tension, rather than resolve it. Playing with the 'narrative voice' is one way to do that: the “Poisonwood Bible” is a great example, where the narrative voice (first person) shifts from chapter to chapter. But it is an old technique---Faulkner is one older example that comes to mind. Also, since there is another character who is actually writing the book, there is also a whole other layer of interpretation to sift through. This author has his own agenda and connects the story to events in his own time. Is the story meant to inspire, or incite? Is it purely literary, or is it sacred? Is this person writing for the ages, or for those in a certain cabal? Right now, I am assuming the story, as is, was patched together from several sources: 1.) oral tales, 2.) manuscripts that depict the main character's visions, and 3.) the author/compiler/editor's experience and imagination.

It is hard to talk about what isn't written, so I'll stop blogging to do just that :)

And you: go read some Beagle!

I Will Not Bash Other Authors Until I Finish My Own Crap

2008-11-11T16:49:00.004-05:00

Actually, I won’t make promises I intend on breaking. There are just some things I know I have no control over: my hatred of telephones, Barbies, clowns (shutter)…and books like mosquitoes that suck away my precious fluids and leave behind only the hazy delirium of malaria---vile, viral texts…(Anyone else feeling the rush of catharsis?)
… A strong reaction to such a tiny thing: paper and glue and ink all pressed into a shape that sits in your hands, maybe your knees. There are so many options, the temptation to indulge in as many as possible and throw them (with equal gusto) away is too compelling. We are such animals of consumption that there is often no breath between eating and expelling---no satiation. I want a book that makes me want to breathe something wild and singular and sweet, like honeysuckle. I want the world to stop.

Wow. Waxing poetic about books---BOOKS….I just reread this passage and wonder: am I just talking about books, or something else? Passion of one sort often leads to another. I hope that is indeed the case. Or it might prove too easy to become one of those writers that spend their prime years hunched over a keyboard, preferring what’s in their swollen heads to what is real. But what I imagine is real---otherwise, I wouldn’t write it. It would be a big, fat, sloppy lie. And who wants to read a lie? If a book isn’t believable on some level, you stop reading it. I think humans have always striven to make sense out of chaos. We see patterns, we tell stories so that we do fill our pockets with stones…

How dare we call such blessings “fictions”?

Oy!

Just try living without narratives---let me know how far you get.

Who Doesn't Like Bitter Mages?

2008-11-11T16:38:00.005-05:00

Fantasy novels are supposed to be magical...right? Sorry folks: there will be no floppy-haired magic-wielders named Gandalf or Raistlin or Zedd. "Magic," in my story, is not distinguished from everyday life---neither is 'the sacred.' It is a Western notion to sift the world into observable categories from which one may ascertain Truth. At least, that is what western philosophy is rooted in: 'love of wisdom,' the Platonic search for ultimate truth via questions intended to break down the walls of ignorance. In the west, we believe it is possible to find the truth if you cut up an atom into small enough pieces, or measure the the movements of the stars to the 10th degree of accuracy. We make claims, and then attempt to verify them on good, solid facts. Claims must be validated until another claim comes along that seems to be more valid, more accurate. We change paradigms in the West as easily as slipping off a pair of slippers. Why? Because science will improve the quality of our lives as long as we observe and verify and find some practical (i.e., technological) use of the current scientific paradigm. Here in America, 'the march of progress,' is adhered to with a religious zeal...

...But imagine what would happen if there was some disaster that robbed us of the technology that drives our society. There are lots of possible culprits of our fall: disease, famine, war, global warming, revolution. Take your pick. Whatever brings us to the brink, it will---in all likelihood---happen someday because every civilization falls. It is as inevitable as gravity. Such musings make me wonder: Would we remain? If our technology went kaputsky, would "America" survive? We would have to adapt, obviously, or perish. It is possible to live on this continent without Western technology; native people were doing that before our ancestors carved a 'New Jerusalem' from a soil that was not theirs to christen. I often find myself wondering what will last after our civilization has long passed. I think it will the things that have already stood the test of time...

What does this have to do with magic? We, citizens of the states, already know magic. The placebo effect is a documented (scientific) phenomena where one's belief can alter a person's physiology. We can change physical realities with our minds alone---we just have to be really, really convinced. That is what I think of when I think of magic: the power of convincing words and personalities to change mere possibilities into realities. Words are powerful, whether you're dealing with realm of the sacred or the mundane or the profane. Words can bring us from one of these states into another, or even blur the distinctions between these realities.

While fantasy concerns itself with magic and sci-fi concerns itself with technology, I have them both in the book. There is technology that the shaman uses to heal a sick person, just as there is a ritual (with a story behind it). The healing occurs on a physical and 'spiritual' level, and these parts cannot be separated. Obviously, there is mystery---those things that transcend any language, and religion, any experience. My story is supposed to feel like a myth as much as it is meant to relate to human experience. I leave as much as I can up to the reader to interpret.

If you want to call it magic, then go ahead...geek.

2008-08-03T13:16:00.007-04:00

See Blond Rachel Get Burned to Crispy Goodness

For those who like the idea of romping around Pompey-like ruins (without all the mess that a real excursion would inevitably entail), check out "The Isle of Ash." It's a Neverwinter Nights 2 adventure, and I must say that the graphics are rather wicked. You can find more information at this website:

http://nwn2ioa.blogspot.com/

I've included some screen shots, if you require further temptation...

2008-08-02T10:43:00.003-04:00

A Reason To Hate Harry Potter

Alright. I lied. This post has nothing to do with Harry Potter. In fact, I give you permission to love and/or hate whatever books froth your passions into the foamy goodness that is the latte of your imagination.

In that spirit, I have a question:

What makes a memorable book 'memorable,' or a bad book a 'waste of time'?

Leave you comments below. I'll try to be neutral, but this is books, we're talking about: B.O.O.K.S. (and that spells 'moon').

Need I say more? Only if I fail to control the voices...

2008-07-18T11:12:00.008-04:00

Embrace The Toilet

...Because that is what separates a BSer from, well, the one who just sits on the throne, so to speak.

I am serious about having a writing blog, which you are reading, dear heart. I'll still write juicy bits for facebook and myspace, but here is where I'll paste writing stuff: http://rachelslittleblog.blogspot.com. If you haven't guessed by now, this will be the first of many posts. If you don't like hearing about writing---or me---then I recommend downloading some violent videogame where you may eviscerate your enemies with a fiery pitchfork and seduce scantily-clad, always-willing lasses that can't seem to walk around in bikinis without getting into trouble of one kind or another. But I will not divert my energies too far into a random condemnation of the entertainment industry---at least, not in this post :)

So. Writing. Right.

It's not as glamorous as you might think. First of all, a writer has to be a little obsessive to just keep track of all the things that make one book, let alone several. So why even make the attempt? Well, For as long as I can remember, I've always had an idea in my head about “the perfect story.” You know: while there are enough books and films to drown out any individual creative impulse, no story, no matter how well-crafted, is ever perfect. I'm not just talking about technical merit, but anything you read is, ultimately, told to you. All you have to do is receive the story that someone else created/typed/stole. However convincing or real the story may be, it's from an imagination not your own. The writer is just translating what in his/her head (very hard-) and trying to get it into your noggin (even harder). The writer writes with absolutely no guarantee that it will be anything other than a roadmap of the writer's internal narrative, written in the secret language of his/her mythic landscape...with the attendant hells and heavens, gods and monsters that are a part of everyone. I can't speak for other writers, but for me, the most compelling story was always inside of me. I just had to find the right art to tell it. So I wrote first poetry, then shorter works, which turned into pages upon pages of hand-written and typed words...I've probably thrown away more material than I will ever publish. If I could, I'd do what Tolkien did, and just spend my life working on a story and only publish it when I'm in my sixties. While I would like to have enough hope and patience to keep me alive and writing in my sixties, I can't keep Marvel from whispering into my ear about Time's chariot, which would run me over without so much as a flinch in the reins. Further coyness concerning my writing would indeed be a crime, one meriting death...

You may be wondering what the heck is she writing (besides silly online posts)? I am writing the story I always wanted to write. Beginnings are the hardest thing for me to write, so I re-write them more than another part, or they would really, really suck. The ending is easy---its usually the first thing I type. Once I know where everything is leading to, it is very simple to make pieces fit the ending. For this story, I knew the end, but I wrote a brief narrative highlighting the important points of the story, much like an oral story-teller would. Then I just went back and expanded each scene. I was happy until I realized that I had a problem with the story itself. With a grimace, I went back and started snipping what was essentially the infected appendix of my story. It's recovered but is still a little thin. At this point, I know that once I get the story's outline fixed, the writing will come much more easily, and bulk up this pale little thing...

In the meantime, use your potty well.

2008-06-10T12:51:00.000-04:00

Calling All Dainty Ducks

OK---time to put creative energies into my writing.

Say it with me now:

"I will write today.

I will write tomorrow.

I will write...until I receive some sort of compensation." :)

Greed---what a consistent motivator. But how else will I pay for my Tuscan villa? While its too bad that I don't know know Italian, I don't think I can manage the intellectual effort. I have enough problems just trying to string together coherent words and phrases in my own language.

Speaking of, I have some questions---yes my dainty dear----for you:

Is anyone interested in the progress of my story? If so, I can offer random updates here, or even create another site. Updates can include character depictions, blurbs, samples, and comments.

I'd just like to offer those I know a chance to be a part of this process---not only because I need other eyes (which I do), but because I think it would be fun.

If no one shows interest, well, then I can continue my reign as dictator.

2008-06-08T14:10:00.006-04:00

It's me...at least, it's the voice that's mine. This is "Teri," a character that I just finished doing the voice work for.

Just imagine: you may be able to have a rachel of your very own...

Ye gods!

http://forums.pocketplane.net/index.php/board,89.0.html

2008-06-06T10:48:00.009-04:00

How I met Sam from the LOTR trilogy

Who would have thought the son of Patty Duke and Gomez Adams would ever show up in the "buckle on the Bible belt"---namely, Springfield, Ohio? Well, boys and girls, listen well and I will tell...When The Return of the King had won Best Picture, when I was still but a girl-child in college, when the shouts for war were still drowning out softer voices for something else, when fear was so close it became as natural as any other limb, this is when something happened.

Seriously: Who hadn't seen the Lord of the Rings trilogy? I, along with a devout throng, had waited with an equal measure of patience and skepticism for the screen adaptation of our most beloved text. My first "real" book was The Hobbit, which my parents got for my sister and me after we fell in love with the cartoon version of LOTR. At the ages of 5 and 6, who could resist an orc singing "Where there's a whip," (crack) "there's a way. Where there's a whip," (crack) "there's a way"?

But the book is what made Middle Earth come alive. There was magic not just in the world Tolkien created, but in the words themselves---in the very idea that he could build a world with nothing but words. I was in thrall; I was filled with a sense of wonder as profound as any revelation. And I've never recovered. I wasn't disappointed. The movie revived those dim synapses of my pre-Christian imagination. And when I read in the paper that Sean Astin, "Samwise the Brave," was visiting a local college to promote literacy, I bought a ticket to hear him speak.

It was too strange, too auspicious...too cool to ignore.

So I went. My seat was in the center of the auditorium, about six rows from the stage. The house was stacked neatly into rows and columns of people of various ages and kinds. The President of the college read a short, prepared introduction in a nasal tenor, but no one really paid much attention to him. He wasn't what we had come to see.

When "Sam" entered from stage left, in the flesh, everyone was one his or her feet, flinging hands together like enthusiastic seals. There were more than a few shouts and whistles springing from the throats of the students (and me). The object of our attentions took his time getting to the podium. He seemed used to such outbursts and applause, waving casually, locking eyes when possible, and flashing a slightly roguish, bright smile at all of us. His stature and hair were short (he did play a hobbit, after all). He even had his hobbit weight, but a beard had sprouted (that no hobbit could grow). Maybe it was the character he had assumed in our in our heads, or his his status as hereditary, Hollywood royalty, but as he stood before the podium, his look said to those gathered, "I'm here. I care. I'm like you. I'm mischievous. Get to know me. Trust me."

And we did. The hush, the collective pause that descended when he raised his palms in supplication was far louder than the cheering that preceded it.

Then came the familiar/strange voice. It was the same one that had said in a cockney accent, "There's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo, and it's worth fighting for." Only now, the voice was the shaped by its natural American rhythms, as it was in Rudy—--or even The Goonies.

Our Americanized Sam spoke of many things. He spoke of his children. Of his parents effort to make his life as normal as possible. Of the importance of community colleges, which he had himself attended. But there were two thing that struck me, and are the reason why there is any story to tell.

The first had to do with his father, who taught English at Johns Hopkins. The younger Astin mentioned that the "Cider Toast" that had been taking place every year at the grave of Edgar Allen Poe in Baltimore ever since the poet's death. The elder Astin was asked to recite "The Raven" and other excerpts at this event, where he also dressed up as the poet. Sean Astin mentioned this fact about his father because he had just seen him perform at the Toast. Well, my chin slipped out of my palm—I had been at the Toast the previous year while I was in volunteer service in Maryland. Not only was I surprised that he was talking about an event we both attended, but also because it was a good, strong memory we both shared, across the usual breaches between the possible and the impossible.

That would have been enough to make the evening worthwhile, but it was not the end. Towards the end of his speech, Sean/Sam asked if those who considered themselves writers would raise their hands. I put mine up, along with about 20 other people. He looked at all of us and smiled. "OK, you can put your hands down, but you're not off the hook yet." There was a little laughter from the audience at this, which he allowed to die before continuing. "The Lord of the Rings is a great piece of literature. Now, I'm not a writer—my talents lie elsewhere, but I was proud to be a part of the world he created. There are great books just waiting to be read. But there are also good books waiting to be written. Read Tolkien, but don't stop there. There could be someone in this very auditorium who will write something better than the Lord of the Rings."

(Ok, his words might be a little cheesy, but I took a nibble. You can put back alot of cheese for the people you like.)

His speech was over. He bowed. There was a standing ovation. As we clapped, Astin came down off the stage and walked towards the front row, shaking hands. People began to push forward in one wave, wanting to press up against the divinity in their midst. Not wanting to be caught in the tug, I looked for the nearest exit, which was down the aisle and to the right of the stage, but that was where Astin was heading. I moved on the balls of my feet towards freedom, trying to be quick and dodge the throng. But I hit an obstacle: Sean Astin.

We were face to face before I could stop my momentum; I put out my hand and he quickly put out his, so that we shook hands rather than fell. If he hadn't seen me coming we would have certainly crashed into each other. But it made for a very close, very tight handshake. The blood went to my cheeks. I didn't want to seem like a fawning little fan. He saw my look and seemed to understand.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Rachel. Rachel Peterson." I said.

"You're a writer?" he asked.

"When I give myself permission," I replied, surprised he had remembered I had raised my hand. "I was at the Cider Toast in Baltimore, too. Your Dad did a great job."

"Thanks. I'll tell him."

"And thanks for coming here to Springfield. I'm sure there are other lots of other places you could be."

"Yeah, but I like doing this. Thank you for listening. Would you like an autograph?"

"I'm really very happy to be standing here and meeting you, but would it insult you to say, 'No' to an autograph?"

He leaned forward and lowered his voice a little, "It'd actually be a relief." The crowd was thickening.

He straightened himself, as if preparing to climb another mountain of doom. "Well," he said, "I look forward to acting in the adaptation of your novel someday."

I laughed and shook my head, "Don't hold your breath, but thank you anyway. I'll keep my fingers crossed so that you win an Oscar."

He laughed, and let go of my hand so that he could wave a good-bye. "Then 'Good luck' to both of us. Take care, Rachel."

"You too. And have a safe trip home."

We both smiled and waved, and then he was engulfed by several weepy teenagers.

I suppose there is good in this world--that is, there are good stories. And good cheese.

2008-06-05T11:59:00.003-04:00

The Zen of Phoenix Returns....

"I would do one of those huge movies because I want to experience it. I think it's probably a lot easier for me to do a scene in which I'm having an intimate conversation with someone on a quiet little set than it is to scream at a blue screen because I think a giant dragon's penis is trying to swallow me. That, to me, is going to be a challenge."

2008-06-05T11:42:00.005-04:00

It's been a while since I've posted. I just got caught up in myspace and facebook...something I promised never, ever to do, but hell---I like 'um. Here are the addresses, if you want to see what I have been doing for the past two years:

Myspace
http://www.myspace.com/harlanrachel

Facebook
http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1022436624

I'll import over some stuff, but I plan on using this blog for more...creative writing bits. Let's hope it's as entertaining as it is inside of my head!

2006-11-07T22:36:00.001-05:00

I always think its odd that someone goes out there in front of all these people and tells really stupid stories that no one cares about. I know I'm uncomfortable and really awkward out there. But the people who seem too comfortable — man, they are weird! I mean, what kind of person are you that you feel really comfortable with people watching and applauding you? I fear enjoying that. Is that weird?

-Joaquin Phoenix

2006-11-02T05:12:00.001-05:00

After eating, do amphibians have to wait an hour before getting out of the water?
Are there seeing eye humans for blind dogs?
Aren't all generalizations false?
Can you be a closet claustrophobic?
Can you grow birds by planting birdseed?
Do you need a silencer if you are going to shoot a mime?
How can there be self-help groups?
How do they get a deer to cross at that yellow road sign?
How do you know when you're out of invisible ink?
If a book about failures doesn't sell, is it a success?
If a chronic liar tells you he is a chronic liar do you believe him?
If a mute child swears, does his mother make him wash his hands with soap?
If a parsley farmer is sued, can they garnish his wages?
If a stealth bomber crashes in a forest, will it make a sound?
If a synchronized swimmer drowns, does her partner also have to drown?
If a tree falls in the woods, and lands on a mime, does anyone care?
If a turtle doesn't have a shell, is he homeless or naked?
If a woman can be a meter maid, can a man be a meter butler?I
f an orange is orange, why isn't a lime called a green or a lemon called a yellow?
If God sneezes...what should you say?
If knees were backwards, what would chairs look like?
If love is blind, why is lingerie so popular?
If olive oil comes from olives, where does baby oil come from?
If people from Poland are called Poles, why aren't people from Holland called Holes?
If soap is used to make you clean, why does it leave a scum?
If someone has a mid-life crisis while playing hide and seek, does he automatically lose because he can't find himself?
If the cops arrest a mime, do they have to tell him he has the right to remain silent?
If the folks at the psychic hotlines were really psychic, wouldn't they call you first?
If the funeral procession is at night, do folks drive with their lights off?
If vegetarians eat vegetables, what do humanitarians eat?
If women wear a pair of pants, a pair of glasses, and a pair of earrings, why don't they wear a pair of bras?
If you ate pasta and anti-pasta, would you still be hungry?
If you bear a child, why do you have a cow?
If you keep trying to prove Murphy's Law, will something keep going wrong?
If you put freeze-dried coffee in the microwave, will you go back in time?
If you spend your day doing nothing, how do you know when you're done?
If you steal a clean slate, does it go on your record?
If you take a shower, where do you put it?
If you throw a cat out a car window does it become kitty litter?
Is it possible to be totally partial?
Is it true that cannibals don't eat clowns because they taste funny?
Just before someone gets nervous, do they experience cocoons in their stomach?
Should vegetarians eat animal crackers?
Shouldn't it be some things in moderation?
Shouldn't there be a shorter word for monosyllabic?
There are 24 hours in a day, and 24 beers in a case. Coincidence?
What color is a chameleon on a mirror?
What did we do before the Law of Gravity was passed?
What do sheep count when they can't sleep?
What do you do when you see an endangered animal that eats only endangered plants?
What happened to the first 6 ups?
What is a free gift? Aren't all gifts free?
What is another word for thesaurus?
What is the speed of dark?
What part of the monkey do you use a monkey wrench on?
What was the best thing before sliced bread?
When people lose weight, where does it go?
When you choke a smurf, what color does it turn?
When you open a new bag of cotton balls, are you supposed to throw the top one away?
When your pet bird sees you reading the newspaper, does he wonder why you're just sitting there, staring at carpeting?
Where do forest rangers go to get away from it all?
Who tows the tow trucks when they break down?
Why are builders afraid to have a 13th floor but book publishers aren't afraid to have a Chapter 11?
Why are cigarettes sold in gas stations when smoking is prohibited there?
Why are the cabs from the Yellow Cab Company painted orange?
Why didn't Luke Skywalker tell Darth Vader to turn to the light side of the Force?
Why do airlines call flights nonstop? Won't they all stop eventually?
Why do bars advertise live bands?What does a dead band sound like?
Why do fat chance and slim chance mean the same thing?
Why do people who only eat natural foods drink decaffeinated coffee?
Why do they sell a pound cake that only weighs 12 ounces?
Why do we drive on parkways but park on driveways?
Why do we play in recitals and recite in plays?
Why do you need a driver's license to buy liquor when you can't drink and drive?
Why does bottled water have an expiration date?
Why does your nose run, and your feet smell?
Why doesn't glue stick to the inside of the bottle?
Why don't sheep shrink in the rain?
Why is a person who plays the piano called a pianist, but a person who drives a race car not called a racist?
Why is it called a TV set when you only get one?
Why is it that when you transport something by car, it's called a shipment, but when you transport something by ship, it's called cargo?
Why isn't phonetic spelled the way it sounds?
Why isn't there mouse-flavored cat food?
Would a fly without wings be called a walk?
Can atheists get insurance for acts of God?
Could someone ever get addicted to counseling? If so, how could you treat them?
Do fish get cramps after eating?
Do infants enjoy infancy as much as adults enjoy adultery?
How can the weather be hot as hell one day and cold as hell another?
How come Superman could stop bullets with his chest, but always ducked when someone threw a gun at him?
How is it possible to have a civil war?
How many people thought of the Post-It note before it was invented but just didn't have anything to jot it down on?
How much deeper would the ocean be if sponges didn't grow in it?
If all the world is a stage, where is the audience sitting?
If Fed Ex and UPS were to merge, would they call it Fed UP?
If it's zero degrees outside today and it's supposed to be twice as cold tomorrow, how cold is it going to be?
If Jimmy cracks corn and no one cares, why does he keep doing it?
If quitters never win, and winners never quit, who came up with, "Quit while you're ahead"?
If the #2 pencil is the most popular, why's it still #2?
If the Energizer Bunny attacks someone, is it charged with battery?
If you have an open mind why don't your brains fall out?
What do little birdies see when they get knocked unconscious?
What does it mean if you break a mirror with a rabbits foot?
What hair color do they put on the driver's licenses of bald men?
Whose cruel idea was it for the word "lisp" to have an "s" in it?
Why aren't there bullet-proof pants?Why is it when a door is open it's ajar, but when a jar is open it's not adoor?

-fromthe Paul Harris show

2006-11-02T04:54:00.001-05:00

Much to the dismay of wacky masochist everywhere, the human brain is wired against self-tickling. Because the brain controls movement, it knows what your hand is going to do before you do it. Thus it anticipates the exact force, location, and speed of the tickle and uses that information to desensitize you to your own roving hands.

So why do we have a tickle response anyway? Turns out, it’s a defense reaction meant to alert our cave-dwelling ancestors to creepy crawlies that didn’t know their place, and the uncontrollable laughing fit that goes along with it is actually a panic response. Even if you know someone else is about to go for your rib cage, it’s hard to turn the response off because a) your brain can’t anticipate exactly how and where they’ll tickle you and b) knowing someone is about to tickle you is usually enough to keep those panic receptors open and ready to go.

-from mentalfloss.com

See also: Tickle Salon and Tickle Robot Andre Stubbe and Markus Lerner’s ticklish robot for something completely different: trout tickling [wiki], and who can forget: Tickle Me Elmo [wiki]

2006-10-22T11:30:00.001-04:00

You can check out the article by clicking on the title above, or by going here: http://health.yahoo.com/news/144862

The article talks about how embryonic cells can be used to give patients neural transplants, which could extend the quality and length of life of those with Huntington's Disease.

Don't get me wrong---I am all about a cure. This is a horrible illness that do not want anyone to have to suffer through. There's not a day that passes that I don't hope for a cure. The treatment above is not a cure---it's a delay. HD patients are in sore need of delayed moments as well as miracles.

That said, we might want to consider the cost of stolen moments. I don't know when a fetus becomes a "real" person---the scientists themselves are torn over that question. Since there's no certainty, then wouldn't it be better to err on the side of caution? For its human beings that are the question, not elephants or viruses...or mollusks. (Not that these things are without their own dignity, but we seem to be more apt to dissect them than people.) If we do something that could take away from human life, shouldn't we at least consider the question? In this case, if we are seeking to cure a fatal disease, to offer up a chance at life, then how do we justify the possibility that we may be ending as many lives as might be saved?

I am not against scientific advancement---quite the contrary. I love the theory of relativity, string theory, the imagination necessary to approach any understanding of the natural world. I appreciate many of the gifts of technology: books, CDs, movies...The Internet :) It is the sweat of scientists that offers a possibility for a cure, and I applaud their efforts. It baffles my mind whenever I think of all the men and women in white coats, hunched over microscopes in countless laboratories trying to understand a clump of degenerate cells. These people and I are linked so intimately because they carry my future with every slow turning of knobs. They are clever enough to come up with a cure without having to rely on questionable practices.

2006-10-15T20:35:00.001-04:00

Good Information about Huntington's Disease can be found at the following places:

HD Lighthouse http://hdlighthouse.org/

NINDS Huntinton's Page http://www.ninds.nih.gov/disorders/huntington/huntington.htm

HD Society of America http://www.hdsa.org/site/PageServer

2006-10-15T19:52:00.001-04:00

"My significant other right now is myself, which is what happens when you suffer from multiple personality disorder and self-obsession."

-Joaquin Phoenix

2006-10-14T14:02:00.001-04:00

In a conversation with my sister ,Amy, we began to wonder: What's the loveliest dress we've ever seen?

I answered immediately, "That Italian dress Diane Lane wore in Under The Tuscan Sun...I'd wear that barefoot at my wedding"

Amy laughed, "Maybe we should be concerned when you start mentioning what you'll wear at your wedding." She sat behind me on the couch as I looked online for a picture of the dress.

I remarked, "I don't need a groom to get married---in my head."

"That might be the only place that ever happens," she barbed. "Unless you get a call from Extreme Makover."

"Well, don't worry, sis." I assured her. "You know once they saw you they would lose all interest in me. Then you could get the breast augmentation you've been dreaming of." I smiled sweetly.

"Get off there, Rachel, before you turn into an online geek!"

2006-10-04T15:59:00.001-04:00

My friend has a very nice blog at
http://polingpoet.blogspot.com/

2006-09-28T20:10:00.001-04:00

"I enjoy humour more than anything, I don't really sit around banging my head and crying all the time."

-Joaquin Phoenix

2006-08-27T19:13:00.001-04:00

From Cosmopolitan:
"I look great there."
[He is gently told that the photograph is, in fact, of actor-director Ed Burns (right)]
"Oh, that's not me? I was going to say... I'm good-looking."

-Joaquin Phoenix

2006-08-10T11:18:00.001-04:00

Ash Wednesday
T.S. Eliot

I.

Because I do not hope to turn again
Because I do not hope
Because I do not hope to turn
Desiring this man's gift and that man's scope
I no longer strive to strive towards such things
(Why should the agèd eagle stretch its wings?)
Why should I mourn
The vanished power of the usual reign?

Because I do not hope to know
The infirm glory of the positive hour
Because I do not think
Because I know I shall not know
The one veritable transitory power
Because I cannot drink
There, where trees flower, and springs flow, for there is nothing again

Because I know that time is always time
And place is always and only place
And what is actual is actual only for one time
And only for one place
I rejoice that things are as they are and
I renounce the blessèd face
And renounce the voice
Because I cannot hope to turn again
Consequently I rejoice, having to construct something
Upon which to rejoice

And pray to God to have mercy upon us
And pray that I may forget
These matters that with myself I too much discuss
Too much explain
Because I do not hope to turn again
Let these words answer
For what is done, not to be done again
May the judgement not be too heavy upon us

Because these wings are no longer wings to fly
But merely vans to beat the air
The air which is now thoroughly small and dry
Smaller and dryer than the will
Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still.

Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death
Pray for us now and at the hour of our death.

2006-08-03T21:34:00.001-04:00

From Cosmopolitan:
"When you become satisfied, you stop fighting, and I like fighting. It means that I'm constantly progressing and evolving. I'm never satisfied, and hopefully, I never will be."

-Joaquin Phoenix

2006-08-03T20:52:00.001-04:00

Who's hand is that?
Is it a celebrity?

2006-07-28T15:08:00.001-04:00

I hate to be the bearer of ill tidings, but the truth must be told. Yes---Bill Shakespeare has passed on to the big theatre in the sky. I'll miss you, Billy-boy!

A fine treatment of his life was written by some fellow called Twain. Click here to read a portion or all of that piece.

2006-07-14T17:26:00.001-04:00

I'll be heading shortly to the Stratford Festival, and it brought to mind my favorite sonnet. I hope you enjoy it.

Sonnet LXXIII

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west;
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed, whereon it must expire,
Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by.

This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well, which thou must leave ere long.

2006-07-13T16:22:00.001-04:00

Sometimes its easy to view the world of relationships as a buffet---and I don't mean Jimmy Buffett. Just imagine Golden Corral. You walk in, and are almost overwhelmed with variety: chicken and dumplin's, meatloaf, mashed potatoes, onion rings, fresh greens, mac'n cheese, banana pudding, pecan pie...you know what I'm talking about. You want to sample as much as possible, saying, "Hey, with the law of averages, I'm bound to find something that I like the more food that I try." And so you try everything that looks appealing. Sometimes it's good, but sometimes you end up with liver and onions instead of cubed steak. You become so set on sampling that you don't really have room for more than one bite from any dish, even if you find something you really like. You end up stuffed, but not necessarily satiated.

What happened?

Maybe, before grabbing your first plate, you should have stopped, closed your eyes, and asked yourself: What am I hungry for? The answer is there if we listen for it. Estes calls this our soul-hunger. And maybe what we hunger for is being served; in that case---we can go right to it, slather it on our plate, and fill up on the thing that causes us to be truly filled. There is also the possibility that what we really want is something not on display, like...falafel. In that case, you're probably going to have to search for it. Maybe it'll be found in a little Turkish kebob on the corner, or maybe you'll have to fly to Turkey, but you're going to have to work for it. The reward is satiation in the truest sense.

Of course, it's easier to settle for the pork chop that can be reached in one quick swipe of your hand. The pork chop is not going to taste the same, nor is it the same nutritionally speaking. But it's something to naw, and its tempting to naw something---anything--- rather than face the pangs of real hunger. And let's not forget---while you're helping yourself to that pork, you're blocking the way of other people who might love pork chops. That's not too fair, since you aren't really hungry for pork at all, but crisp, fresh falafel. You might even hoard the last tidbit while those who came specifically for the pork chops go unsatifisfied. Or perhaps the pork chops slide off your plate in protest, offending with your lack of appetite.

The moral? Stay away from pork chops.
Eat only what you hunger for.
I'm hankering for some falafel.

An addition from Joaquin:
"I am a vegetarian you know, and I thought it would be difficult [in Germany]. But falafel, yes, mmm."

2006-07-12T15:21:00.001-04:00

"Forget the Oscar nomination [for Gladiator]. The real pinnacle is that I'm playing an animated character in a Disney film. Isn't that the greatest? I play a native American transformed into a bear. Don't call me a leading man. I don't care about that. I'm a leading bear. I am content!"

-Joaquin Phoenix

2006-07-08T15:34:00.001-04:00

If you were an animated character, who would you be? I have chosen a few possibilites below that seem to fit, making my own kind of "animated" trinity.

2006-07-05T15:29:00.001-04:00

They said to me, That's love, yes, yes, not a doubt, now you see how--- How easy it is. They said to me, That's friendship, yes, yes, no question, you've found it. Theysaid to me, Here's the place, stop, raise your head and look at all that beauty. That order! They said to me, Come now, you're not a brute beast, think upon these things and you'll see how all becomes clear. And simple! They said to me, What skilled attention they get, all these dying of their wounds.I say to myself--- sometimes, Clov, you must learn to suffer better than that if you want them to weary of punishing you--- one day. I say to myself--- sometimes, Clov, you must be there better than that if you want them to let you go--- one day. But I feel too old, and too far, to form new habits. Good, it'll never end, I'll never go.
(Pause.)
Then one day, suddenly, it ends, it changes, I don't understand, it dies, or it's me, I don't understand that either. I ask the words that remain--- sleeping, waking, morning, evening. They have nothing to say.
(Pause.)
I open the door of the cell and go. I am so bowed I only see my feet, if I open my eyes, and between my legs a little trail of black dust. I say to myself that the earth is extinguished, though I never saw it lit.
(Pause.)
It's easy going.
(Pause.)
When I fall I'll weep for happiness.

Samuel Beckett
Endgame

2006-07-05T12:55:00.002-04:00

I just had a conversation with a good friend, and you know how, between the joking and the informational exchange, meaning tends to assert itself with or without your expectations. So thanks to all those who have shared something of their souls, and who have helped me to uncover my own.

What a question: How can science and religion be reconciled?

Before you can even attempt an answer, I'd like to look at certain things that are presumed in the question itself. First of all, the question, framed in this way, assumes a separation between what we consider to be the areas of "science" and "religion." This is a Western distinction proposed at the very advent of Greek philosophy, and so it is a question of Western culture. The term "science" brings to mind associations with rationality, objectivity, scientific method, and a general sense of progressiveness (i.e., the pursuit of science leads to be progression of the human condition). While "religion"---which usually means Christianity--- is associated irrationality, subjectivity, dogma, and a general sense of something that is no longer relevant to the contemporary human, who as a product of the Enlightenment, is less susceptible to its influence.

And how did the distinction between rationality and irrationality come about in Greece? In Homeric epics, there was a different notion of "virtue" that that which Socrates advocated. The depiction of Hector in the Iliad is an example of a virtuous, pre-Socratic man. He is shown as a loving father and husband as well as a keen warrior and leader. In fact, he seems to do well in just about every aspect of his life, and the reader tends to sympathize with his character more than with most of the other figures of the Trojan War. These qualities are of particular note since Hector is not Greek. Homer seems to make Hector as good as man as possible (to the Greek understanding of what constitutes a "good" man) in order to make him more sympathetic to a Greek audience. That also makes his death and the fall of Troy all the more tragic. The Greeks believed in a concept of arete, which has been defined as "excellence," "virtue," or "righteousness." A man was supposed to embody this excellence in every aspect of his life. It was not, however, a formulated system of belief. Arete is something that does not quite fit into the categories of rationality and irrationality, but seemed to encompass both. Looking at Homer's works is a way to get a sense of how the concept was important to Greek culture before Socrates formalized the concept into his Theory of Forms. A more comprehensive take on this is presented in Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, but---in short---this point in history is key to the dichotomy of rationality vs. irrationality that has been the hallmark of Western thought ever since. While this distinction is one way of viewing the workings of the world that has worked to some benefit in the world, it does have its shortcomings. The distinction does not necessitate a lack of interaction or appreciation between the two. If they are separate but equal entities, then one cannot be privileged over the other unless one is shown to be superior. The trap that we often fall into by making this distinction is that we end up privileging one over the other according to the fashion of the times and the convincing articulation of the few.

Science and religion are not mutually exclusive. In fact, very early in its history Christianity tried to justify itself according to principles of philosophic rationality. Even the Protestant Reformation was based in certain notions borrowed from the Enlightenment. Here arose the idea of the "literal" distinction between fact and metaphor. However, such a presumption assumes favoritism towards rationality, a concept that was not distinctly separate in Christianity until theologians began using philosophers to justify Christian faith through the application of reason. In other words, literalness only becomes a problem when it is necessary for something to be factual in order to be true. Even those who take a non-literal view of the Bible tend to undermine their own attempt at meaning because they too don't see truth as possible without rationality to support it, and so end up disparaging any Truth rather than offer a solution not based in rationality. Today, the distinction between science and religion is not as clear as it appears to be, since today both use the language of rationality to justify their claims. Yet science, seen as a direct descendent of philosophic inquiry, is not free from subjectivity. Even the greatest scientists, like Einstein, use metaphors to explain their theories. Objectivity itself has been brought into question, since scientific method is based on observation, which even in the most well intentioned individuals is far from free of bias.

Maybe what we want is not reconciliation between science and religion, but an end to the violence between them. I would love an arrational world, where there was no need to set the world against itself by dividing our very nature, but that would require a sea change in our view of ourselves and the wider world. Even if I had the wisdom, I coundn't hope to make that change in one blog posting :) Therefore, let those who are moved by faith move the world, and let those who use science use it to better our existence here. And let those who are promoted by God to study the workings of the atom do that without fear of contradiction. Science does not entail belief or disbelief in God, just the application of a certain method for dealing with the natural phenomena of the earth. And love of God does not mean that we stop being curious about the workings of the created world.

2006-07-04T06:22:00.001-04:00

"I hate talking about my movies. Why does anyone think I know what they're about?"

-Joaquin Phoenix

2006-07-02T14:06:00.001-04:00

This thesis arose from certain questions I have been struggling to answer for some time: How are myths defined, where do myths originate, how can we understand them in the era “after modernity,” and can myths play any role in terms of Christian faith? Such questions cannot be explored without engaging the present scholarly approaches to the subject of myth. Due to the wide variety of disciplines offering explorations of myths, any thoughtful investigation of the subject involves a wide scope of often conflicting interpretations of the significance of myth. While I want to acknowledge the work already done on myth through offering a general survey on the different definitions of myth, my own approach will draw attention to the connection between myth and religion. Myth is a problematic subject to study from a theological perspective due to the “de-mythologizing” movement in Christianity, which caused many theologians to view the subject as irrelevant or even harmful to the faith. However, through a renewed understanding of myth’s connection to the sacred, myths can serve as vehicles for transformative encounters with God and the imperatives of faith—particularly in the contemporary postmodern context.

Preliminary Bibliography

Aristotle. Poetics. New York: Groiler, 1968.

Avis, Paul. God and the Creative Imagination. London: Routledge, 1999.

Baeten, Elizabeth M. The Magic Mirror: Myth’s Abiding Power. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1996.

Birenbaum, Harvey. Myth and Mind. Lanham: University Press of America, 1988.

Bultmann, Rudolf. New Testament and Mythology. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1984.

Cassirer, Ernst. Language and Myth. New York: Harper & Brothers, 1946.

Campbell, Joseph. Thou Art That. San Anselmo: Joseph Campbell Foundation, 2001.

Detweiler, Robert. The Daemonic Imagination. Atlanta: Scholar's Press, 1990.

Doniger, Wendy. The Implied Spider: Politics & Theology in Myth. New York: Columbia University Press, 1998.

Doty, William G. Mythography: The Study of Myth and Rituals. Alabama: The University of Alabama Press, 1986.

Dupré, Louis. Symbols of the Sacred. Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 2000.

Eliade, Mircea. Myths, Dreams and Mysteries. New York: Harper & Row, 1967.

Geertz, Clifford. The Interpretation of Cultures. New York: Basic Books Inc., 1973.

Johnson, Robert A. The Origins of Demythologizing: Philosophy and Historiography in the Theology of Rudolf Bultmann. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1974.

Jones, James W. Terror and Transformation: The Ambiguity of Religion in Psychoanalytic Perspective. New York: Taylor & Francis, Inc., 2002.

McFague, Sallie. Metaphorical Theology: Models of God in Religious Language. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1982.

Northup, Leslie. “Myth-Placed Priorities: Religion and the Study of Myth.” Religious Studies Review 32 no.1 (January 2006): 5-10.

Pirsig, Robert. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance: An Inquiry into Values. New York: Bantam, 1975.

Plato. Republic. New York: Groiler, 1968.

Sebeok, Thomas A., Ed. Myth: A Symposium. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1958.

Segal, Robert A. Theorizing About Myth. Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1999.

Schilbrack, Kevin. Thinking Through Myths: Philosophical Perspectives. New York: Routledge, 2002.

Ricouer, Paul. The Symbolism of Evil. New York: Harper & Row, 1967.

Slochower, Harry. Mythopoesis. Detroit: Wayne State University Press,
1970.

Strenski, Ivan. Four Theories of Myth in Twentieth-Century History. Iowa City: University of Iowa Press, 1987.

Tracy, David. The Analogical Imagination: Christian Theology and the Culture of Pluralism. New York: Crossroad, 1981.

Zaidman, Louise Bruit & Pauline Schmitt Pantel. Religion in the Ancient Greek City. Trans. Paul Cartledge. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992.

2006-06-26T11:51:00.001-04:00

From The Face:
"This is my problem with interviews and with quotes! I don't think there is a person on this ****ing planet that you can define with one sentence. Not with one ****ing interview! Not with a hundred ****ing interviews! 'Cause we don't know what we are! Sometimes I don't even know who I am, what's my nature!"

Above is a quote from the actor Joaquin Phoenix. I came upon an interview of his when checking out movie sites. It was then I realized that he's not just a handsome man and a brilliant actor, oh no. This is a man of insight and quality...as well as humor. I feel the need to share his insights into life for a wider audience. Enjoy!

2006-05-01T17:39:00.001-04:00

Isn't he cuddly? I think I'll name this snow leopard something exotic...like "George." Remember? From Looney Toons? It's the one where the abominable snowman says, "I will hug him and sqeeze him and call him, 'George,'" while he is squeezing Bugs so hard the bunny can't breathe. Not that I would do that, of course. Snow Leopards are already endangered.

2006-01-13T13:48:00.001-05:00

We make out of the quarrel with others, rhetoric,
but of the quarrel with ourselves, poetry.

W. B. Yeats



To venture causes anxiety, but not to venture is to lose one’s self.
And to venture in the highest sense is precisely to be conscious
of one’s self.

Kierkegaard



We don't stop playing because we grow old;
we grow old because we stop playing.

George Bernard Shaw

2006-01-11T14:57:00.001-05:00

Maggie Bailey, known as "The Queen of the Mountain Bootleggers," died of complications from pneumonia Saturday at Harlan Appalachian Regional Hospital. The Kentucky legend, who began selling moonshine when she was 17 and was still selling alcohol from her modest home at Clovertown in Harlan County when she was 95, was 101.

Over and over again, often despite a preponderance of evidence against her, Mrs. Bailey beat charges of illegally selling alcoholic beverages. Juries just would not convict her.

"Everybody knew her and she had helped everybody. Why do you bite the hand that feeds you, as the old saying goes," said Helen Halcomb, who is married to Mrs. Bailey's nephew.

Mrs. Bailey was well-liked and well-respected, and she often helped poor Harlan Countians, buying coal to heat their homes in the winter and giving them grocery money so they would not go hungry, friends said. Mrs. Bailey put several children through college.

Anybody who wanted to get elected went to see Maggie Bailey, Halcomb said.

"She was very influential. She had power," she said.

Former Gov. Albert B. "Happy" Chandler was among the many politicians who paid Mrs. Bailey a visit while campaigning.

During one of his campaigns for governor he told her, "'Mag, if you can help me get elected, I'm going to buy you some shoes,'" Halcomb said. "Sure enough, when he got elected he sent his lieutenant governor in here with some new shoes."

'A delightful lady'

While she spent money on other people, Mrs. Bailey lived like a pauper, Halcomb said.

For years, Mrs. Bailey, perhaps appropriately, wore a uniform with the name "National Distillery" over a breast pocket when she greeted her customers. One of Mrs. Bailey's sisters worked at the distillery in Louisville and handed down her old uniforms to Mrs. Bailey, Halcomb said.

"I represented her for a number of years. I always thought she was a delightful lady," said U.S. District Judge Karl Forester.

"She was an expert on the Fourth Amendment. She knew the laws of search and seizure as well as any person I've known," he said.

Forester recalled once representing Mrs. Bailey on bootlegging charges at six trials on the same day.

"We had six acquittals at three different courts in the same day," he said.

On another occasion Mrs. Bailey lost in a circuit court trial, but the conviction was overturned on appeal, Forester said.

"I know that she must have been hauled into court at least 100 times. ... I do not remember a single time that she was convicted," said Harlan lawyer Eugene Goss, who represented Mrs. Bailey many times.

"I don't care what the evidence was, the juries would not convict her."

He said that even state police troopers loved her, and law enforcement officers "finally quit trying" to catch her at illegal activities.

"She was very adroit. She had a million different places to hide it," Goss said of the moonshine. "She had a labyrinth of buildings all around her dwelling." Often, search warrants for her property were thrown out because they weren't written to include certain buildings, he said.

"That happened about every time there was a case," he said.

Starting young

Mrs. Bailey once told Halcomb that she started bootlegging to support her family. She helped raise five younger siblings. Later, Mrs. Bailey helped raise two nephews after their father was killed at the Battle of the Bulge in World War II.

"Maggie, she didn't have a lot of school education but Maggie educated herself," Halcomb said. Mrs. Bailey read every newspaper she could get her hands on and was always watching news on television, she said.

"She could converse with you in anything you wanted to talk about. She was very intelligent," she said.

Mrs. Bailey was imprisoned at a federal reformatory for women in Alderson, W.Va., from May 1941 to May 1943 for selling moonshine. The federal indictment said she had 150 half-gallons of moonshine on hand at the time she was charged.

In the 1960s, Mrs. Bailey found herself dealing with federal authorities again, this time after police claimed to have found hundreds of thousands of dollars in a foot locker at her home.

The incident was written about by the late Lexington lawyer Bill Bagby in a book called Queen Maggie Outfoxes the IRS Evil.

The Los Angeles Times and the Wall Street Journal carried articles about the case.

"She was a great lady. In fact, she was one of the finest people I ever met. In all the years I represented her, she never lied to me," said Harlan lawyer Otis Doan.

"She was a very well-spoken person. I never heard her curse. She sold whiskey, but she wouldn't sell it to anyone who had a whiskey problem," Goss said.

Any time Mrs. Bailey heard about someone doing something reprehensible she would say: "'I'm glad I'm just a good old-fashioned bootlegger,'" Goss said.

maggie bailey 1904-2005

2006-01-11T14:46:00.001-05:00

"You don't tell a story only to yourself. There's always someone else...You can mean more than one. You can mean thousands."

Margaret Atwood
The Handmaid's Tale

Gelassenheit

2006-01-11T14:10:00.000-05:00

Rachel Peterson

Gelassenheit is defined as “relaxation, serenity and nonchalance, a condition of acceptance that is neither nihilistic nor fatalistic but the ability---and it may be a gift---to move gracefully through life’s fortunes and accidents, or to wait out its calamities” (Detweiler 35). Though it implies a loss of control, Gelassenheit is more than just passivity in the face of life’s pain and struggles---it is the choice to yield to previous understandings of who and what we are in order to be empowered through openness to transformation. Beyond the notions of self and our own, highly objective notions about reality is a “grace” ready to alter our selfish existence into something approaching authentic relationships within us and among other people. For it is through the “death” of the individual identity that communitas has the greatest chance to flower into being. This does not mean that Gelassenheit ignores the natural differentiation between individuals; recognition of the “otherness” of The Other is a necessary part of any intimacy...

Rachel Peterson

The concept of Gelasenheit leads naturally to the establishment of communitas. Ony when we abandon our notions of self or what reality is can we be open to transformation. One can call the trnasforming force grace or God, or maintain that the it is beyond the limits of language to express, but it can be seen in the relationships we build with each other as a result. While yielding may appear as passivity, even laziness, it is a neccesary step in stepping beyond the limits of individuality. If this yielding is authentic, then it is very likely to show in actions often different from or beyong what the individual would have been able to do before. That is the empowerment inherant when people allow themselves to be swept beyond the boundaries of their beliefs, personalities, and tastes. There is always an inherant danger in this relaxation. It will cause discomfort, pain, and an allegorical---perhaps even a literal---death. Looking at Christian myth, Jesus had to die in order to be resurrected, and Christians are urged “to die” to themselves in order "to live" fully. If we believe that the Christian life is communal, a communitas that Christians should try to emmulate, then it requires the recognation of our imperct selves. Only through this recognition can we make ourselves vulnerable to The Divine and to each other.

---from a paper on films, novels, and theology

2005-02-01T19:26:00.001-05:00

The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.

---J.R.R. Tolkien

2004-12-11T19:50:00.001-05:00

Here's the opening paragraph and sources for a paper a wrote recently with the
title above. It's quite saucy for most of the other students in my class:

Nudity, with its connections to shame and physical intimacy, offers an insightful metaphor into the human link with God, and is often found in the language of seers and prophets. The ancient Israelites seemed to understand a direct connection between nudity and sexuality; the term gillui arayot (literally “the uncovering of nakedness”) was the term used to define “carnal” knowledge (Encyclopedia Judaica, 1207). This carnal knowledge is not limited to human behavior; God is also connected to the concept of nakedness throughout the Hebrew Bible. From Genesis to the prophets, nakedness became emblematic of the human/Divine relationship; the closer one comes spiritually to God, the more one begins the breech the wall between the human and holy brought about by humanity’s first separation.

Works Cited
Anchor Bible Dictionary. Vol. 5. Doubleday; New York, 1992.
Encyclopaedica Judaica. Vol. 11. Coronet Books Inc; 1994.
Kirsch, Jonathan. The Harlot by the Side of the Road. Random House, Inc.; New York, 1998, pgs.145-179.
Newsome, James D., The Hebrew Prophets. John Nox Press; Atlanta, 1984.
Trible, Phyllis. God and the Rhetoric of Sexuality. Fortress Press; Philadelphia, 1978.

Weems, Renita J. Battered Love: Marriage, Sex, and Violence in the Hebrew Prophets. Fortress Press; Minneapolis, 1995.

2004-12-11T19:37:00.001-05:00

Check out the book When God Was A Woman by Merlin Stone.

It's the story of the worship of the goddess in the Middle East, which archeologists claim lasted thousands of years, and was dominant far longer than any current religious system. This female-based religion had an effect on the social circumstances of women living in the culture.

2004-08-13T08:24:00.001-05:00

Of course people don't want war. But, after all, it's the leaders of the country who determine the policy, and it's always a simple matter to drag the people along whether it's a democracy, a fascist dictatorship, or a parliament, or a communist dictatorship. Voice or no voice, the people can always be brought to the bidding of the leaders. That is easy. All you have to do is tell them they are being attacked, and denounce the pacifists for lack of patriotism, and exposing the country to greater danger. It works the same way in any country.

-Hermann Goering, Nuremberg trials

2004-07-15T20:43:00.001-05:00

Women actually wrote things in the 18th century. And they wrote some darn good things, at that.

Dr. Martin Maner, of Wright State University, has compiled a wonderful bibliographical resource on this subject:
Women and Eighteenth-Century English Literature

2004-07-15T20:09:00.001-05:00

If you are interested in feminine divinity and poetry, (as we all are) I have found some interesting books you might take a gander at:

The Song of the Goddess
The Devi Gita: Spiritual counsel of the Great Goddess
Translated by C. Mackenzie Brown

Goddess: myths of the female divine
by David Leeming and Jake Page

Feminist poetics of the sacred: creative suspicions
by Frances Devlin-Glass and Lyn McCredden

2004-07-15T19:59:00.001-05:00

Tolkien was not keen on anyone calling his work "allegorical," and there are obviously no direct references to Christianity or any other religion in his LOTR series. Yet faith was a significant part of his life; he is the one who converted C.S. Lewis to Christianity. Compasirons between Tolkien and Christian belief can be made, though they not be as direct as we found in the writings of Lewis. I will attempt a short list of similar themes in both Christian belief and Tolkien's work:

1.) Resurrestion (Gandalf arises from Moria; Christ arises from tomb)
2.) Evil figure fallen from grace (Sauron; Satan)
3.) Monotheism (Eru, the father-God; God the Father)
4.) Fall of Humanity (Downfall of Númenor; Original Sin of Adam and Eve)
5.) End of the world (Dagor Dagorath; Armageddon)
6.) Creation of human kind (in the far eastern land of Hildórien; in the Garden of Eden)
7.) Earthly paradise that humans can no longer go to (Eman; Eden)
8.) Special divine attribute given to humans (Gift of Men; Knowledge of Good and Evil)

2004-07-15T19:55:00.001-05:00

In an article by LeGuin, she states again and again that fantasy exists in order to please. While I agree that there is something nice about enjoying something for its aesthetic quality, fantasy literature, at it best, provides more than mere pleasure. Fantasy allow us to view our world and our relationship to that world in a different way. The seemingly strange worlds and characters often represent our own world in all it's glories, as well as its tragedies. Fantasy can provide a wonderful venue for social/political/religious critique (think of "Gulliver's Travels"). More often than not, when we close the cover on a fantasy, something in us has been awakened to a truth of our own condition. When Frodo asks Sam why they are going on with the quest when it seems so hopeless, Sam replies, "Because there's something good in this world. And it's worth fighting for." Fantasy can help awaken what is good in ourselves, and prompt us to action, remaking this world into the "good earth" we know exists---if only in our imagination.

2004-06-20T16:31:00.001-05:00

ONE’S-SELF I sing—a simple, separate Person;
Yet utter the word Democratic, the word En-masse.

Of Physiology from top to toe I sing;
Not physiognomy alone, nor brain alone, is worthy for the muse—I say the Form complete is worthier far;
The Female equally with the male I sing.

Of Life immense in passion, pulse, and power,
Cheerful—for freest action form’d, under the laws divine,
The Modern Man I sing.

Walt Whitman (1819–1892)
Leaves of Grass
1900

2004-06-20T16:14:00.001-05:00

Heiligkeit und Genie entziehen sich der Definition.
Holiness and genius defy any definition.

- Heinrich Böll, German author (1917-1985)

2004-06-19T17:26:00.001-05:00

Overcome your uncertainties and free yourself from dwelling on sorrow. If you delight in existence, you will become a guide to those who need you, revealing the path to many.
-Sutta Nipata

2004-06-19T17:00:00.001-05:00

Here are some links for all you political activists.

The Onion
MediaChannel
Register to Vote
Check out Mike