| My Review of "Revenants: A Dream of New England" |
[Mar. 29th, 2011|02:08 pm] |
 Revenants: A Dream of New England by Daniel Mills
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
Would your tenth grade English class have been more enjoyable if The Scarlet Letter was a better-written book? Probably. One can only hope that someday Dan Mills's "Revenants: A Dream of New England" will replace The Scarlet Letter, and show young minds what literature can really do.
The Scarlet Letter was innovative and inventive, to be sure, but by any discerning standard it is poorly written. Characterizations are flat, action and insight are told and barely shown, and most of the events that are important to the narrative occur outside the confines of the pages. When he describes what happens, Hawthorne is a powerful wordsmith, but... Not. Much. Happens.
In Revenants, Dan Mills creates a fully-realized world, far richer and more captivating than Hawthorne's empty Boston. Most importantly, Mills fills that world with real people. These are people with histories, nuances, deep desires, and ancient guilts. They are a people of early America, and they are also you and your neighbor.
Most importantly, once this vivid world and characters are in place... things HAPPEN. Disappearances, strange sightings, adventures, heroic and desperate acts with consequences.
A third of the way into the book, a series of events forces the men of the village to enter the woods. Hawthorne's woods are only a barely realized symbol... and Mills's woods are also a place where our own passions and evils follow us and gain voice and misty reality... but these are woods so clearly and powerful drawn that you will scarce believe that your chair is still under you. You will wade through a frigid October bog, you will scramble between the sodden fir trees... and when the characters encounter terrors, be they imagined or real, you will know them yourself.
Revenants is a challenging book. It is at times slow, ponderous, and endlessly descriptive. The horrors are more like a deep burn than a sharp cut. But if you invest yourself in this book's world, you will learn something of fatherhood, something of passion, and you will know more fully how our actions must shape us, not our lifelong guilts or fears. You will gain and then lose sympathy for characters, you will admire the fallen, and you might encounter your own revenant.
View all my reviews |
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| Globs |
[Mar. 21st, 2011|05:21 pm] |
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Mmmmmm. Globs. |
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| Book Recommendation: Revenants |
[Feb. 14th, 2011|10:21 am] |
My good friend Dan Mills just published his first novel. I have been reading and critiquing Dan's work for a couple years now, and I urge all of you to go and buy his book TODAY.
If you know me, and you trust my recommendations at all, click this link and buy the book. It will be a dense and thoughtful read, and your mind will expand.
Revenants
"The year is 1689. Situated on the northern boundary of the Massachusetts Bay colony, the town of Cold Marsh is a place of secrets, a village characterized by terror and guilt. Two young women have vanished under mysterious circumstances, and the country seethes with rumors of witchcraft and devilry. Even their God has abandoned them. When a third young woman disappears, the men of Cold Marsh determine to leave the safety of the village and enter the other world of the woods in search of her. Revenants is a lyrical evocation of the colonial landscape, a poetic meditation on the hills and wilds of that vanished country. It also brings back to life, with breathing intimacy, the inner landscape of somber repression known to the settlers of New England." |
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| My Review of "Feed" by M. T. Anderson |
[Jan. 28th, 2011|08:45 am] |
Hi,
I just finished reading Feed, by M. T. Anderson , and this is my review, told in the shape of a narrative about something that happened to me this morning.
Everything in this story is true.
This morning I was on my way to work in my Toyota Scion Xa and thinking about how awesome it is and wondering when I would get a new one, because the Xa is no longer being made but they have the Xc and the Xz now, or something, so that's cool, and the Xa is like, meg reliable, so I can't wait for it to break down so I can get another one.
And I was like, Unit! You are so hungry! And I was, and I was kind of down because of an argument with my wife the night before so I was like, Pull into Shaw's now!
So I pulled into Shaw's and you would not believe it because all three of my favorite name-brand cereals were on sale. And not just on sale, like a little bit, but like almost a dollar off of all the name-brand cereals that I love. I was going to get a box of all of my favorite cereals and cheer myself up and show my hunger who the boss was! And then I saw this sign on the price thingy that was like, Unit, why not get two boxes of each? And I was like, Yeah, why not? And I got two boxes of all my favorite cereals. And then I was like, I could get some for both home and work! Because I eat breakfast in both places, and seriously, this cereal was like almost a dollar off for each box.
So I got nine boxes of cereal. Which, you know, is pretty ridiculous, but that means I saved like, almost NINE DOLLARS. Which is as good as someone giving me nine dollars, or else as good as shopping at Hannafords instead of Shaws, where everything is cheaper because the Shaws is right next to Costco and all the rich people shop there so the prices are a bit higher but it is right on my way to work, so like, of course I shop there and not at Hannafords where the poorer people probably shop.
The lady at the cash register was kind of tired and morning-like, and I was all Here are my nine boxes of cereal! And it was a total riot. They were stacked in my arms up high because I hadn't grabbed a cart. Carts are so lame because they are so big that they make you buy more than you need.
And I swiped my card and bought the cereal and the lady said, You must have a baby, as she handed me the receipt. And I looked at my cereal and was like, This isn't baby cereal, this is manly grownup cereal, why would she think that?
And then I looked down at the receipt she had handed me and it had a coupon for baby cereal, because, like, the feed recognized my card and Shaw's knows that I buy baby stuff and clearly knows that I like cereal so it was giving me a coupon for baby cereal based on my buying habits.
I was, like, meg freaked out for a few seconds, because I had just read a book called Feed, a really clever science fiction novel that was all about that kind of thing and how insidious it was. And also, like, isn't baby cereal just regular cereal in a more expensive package? I'm pretty sure my baby eats any kind of cereal and doesn't need the more expensive kind in the soft, cute baby packaging. But then I was like, Unit! Why would they have baby cereal if it wasn't specially made and different for babies! If you are a good dad, you will buy your son special 'Graduates' baby cereal! So I was psyched to get the coupon and I wished it could have just been tucked into my brain somewhere so I didn't have to carry around the coupon.
I'm sure they're probably working on that... |
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| You |
[Jan. 10th, 2011|10:52 am] |
You are the first thing in the morning that I think about.
Fortunately, you are not usually the same person.
Sometimes you are my wife.
Sometimes my son.
Sometimes, you are another man or woman that I have fallen in love with, because the day before you showed me part of yourself that rang against my bell, sounding a tone that still hums, vibrating my fingers as I sleep.
Sometimes you are the one who angers, confuses, or saddens me.
Sometimes you are God, either listening or not. Even with all I have learned, I can still hope you listen, even if you are nothing more than the earth and the sky.
Sometimes you are my father, who certainly exists, though probably not as I know him.
Every once in a while,
when my eyes first open and thoughts of you spring forth,
you are me.
Incomplete, but growing. Silent and still, for a moment, but tummy growling,
I think about you first.
What is he, what was he, what would he be?
Mornings are the most fun when you is me. |
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| On Memory |
[Jan. 5th, 2011|05:07 pm] |
My son became a U.S. citizen today, and our adoption was finalized in a courtroom. I naturally took pictures and some video.
Life's moments can not be captured, recorded, or encoded so that we may truly relive them later. Photographs and movies are wonderful, but moments are too distinct, too personally engrossing to be recorded by a photograph. In fact, what really occurs is that the photograph triggers new emotions and experiences; looking at a picture is a new experience, unto itself, and not the reliving of an old one.
(Photographs are still especially wonderful for those who did not attend an event.)
Perhaps we will one day be able to record every sensory impulse that enters our mind during a particular moment, and then play all the senses back again, later. That rich, invigorating conversation you had with your lover will be completely re-livable, down to the smell of the coffee and the feeling of her fingers enclosed in yours. Even then, however, the moment will not be truly recorded and then re-experienced... for you, yourself, have changed. Your emotional response, and the meanings that the experience had for you, will be new and different.
There is nothing to be sad about, here. No, you will never read the same book again, or be able to kiss your beloved the same way you did that one time, in the car. But we need not feel regret or remorse. Our condition is instead a profound confirmation that we should savor our moments all the more fully. Today I knelt by my son's highchair and talked with him directly, softly, for a few precious moments before rushing back to work. His smile and laugh were unimaginably wonderful, and utterly un-recordable. My heart will not melt the same way it did, just then. It will melt in entirely different ways.
We should look in one another's eyes and take great joy in each breath. We will never taste this same taste again. You will never be the same you, nor would you want to be. It is perhaps the most glorious aspect of life that we are ever changing, ever moving.
I can hardly wait to see what I am tomorrow.
-D |
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| Yep, That's The Crux of It |
[Jan. 2nd, 2011|10:20 pm] |
"Publishers have always thought that when you buy a hardback, what you're paying more for is the chance to own it on the day of publication. Paperbacks are cheaper because they come out a year later. The reading public, on the other hand, always thought what they were paying more for was the extra physical mass and quality. So obviously publishers think an e-book, out on the day of publication, should cost the same as a hardback. And obviously the reading public think it should cost less than a paperback. From this difference in perception stem all subsequent horrors."
-Paul Cornell
(http://www.paulcornell.com/2010/12/twelve-blogs-of-christmas-ten.html) |
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| On Working at Starbucks |
[Dec. 7th, 2010|10:17 am] |
All we really need to live is a potato and a tent. That means that everything else is luxury. Healthcare, sandwiches, investment accounts, and orange juice. They are all luxuries.
Working at Starbucks, and all the other so-called "last resort, temporary" jobs, are service positions where we deliver those luxuries. Note that some of these luxuries (though perhaps not Starbucks) are the stuff that makes life worth living. Delivering that stuff and making people's lives better for ten minutes has a value, in real world denominations. I tend to frequent locally-owned coffee shops, but it is valuable to me that I can take my laptop and go write in Starbucks and they are always nice to me and the tables are always clean.
I'm beginning to think that matter what job you get, it will never be very much different from working at Starbucks. The "value" will be the same. You, as a person are not "worth more" than the barrista or the guy at the bank or your mechanic. We are all human beings, of equal value, and we are doing work that has value. (Using our specific skills in a satisfying way is a different topic, of course.)
At first, this is a depressing thought... we all want to be worth more or more fulfilled than the guy who serves us coffee. But then, how do I know he isn't fulfilled?
Somewhere along the line, when you're arm-deep in soapy water washing someone else's dishes, the thought becomes tremendously freeing. Your value is actually guaranteed, if you claim it. And when you finish scrubbing, you will have a beautiful, shiny clean dish and your rent will be paid. Once we seize this idea, we can be a little less stressed about what we are doing, and focus instead on what our attitude is while we do it. We can also start looking for the treasures hidden inside our co-workers, whoever they are, for there are treasures inside every human being, often dormant and unplumbed for years.
And then, we can go back to school, or go create the job that we really want. Because, I mean, who wants to smell like coffee forever?
(Other than me.) |
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| Smile or Die? |
[Oct. 30th, 2010|02:45 pm] |
Seemingly in contrast to some of my recent thoughts, I also really like the ideas here:
The conclusion is the same. What matters is assessing reality and exerting your own power, that power that you do have.
Positivity or negativity, faith and doubt, are all just aspects, features, and techniques.
What you do is the answer. |
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| Have to Work On This |
[Oct. 29th, 2010|03:53 pm] |
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“In writing your journal give primary attention to detail, for it is detail which is organized and preserves experiences for your future self or some other reader. General statements like “We had a wonderful time” or “It was a dismal morning” make a mockery of the whole procedure, for they evaluate experience without recreating it. I kept long journals from the ages ten to twenty-two, chronicling events and describing emotional states, but again and again missing the physical immediacy of experience, the tiny hooks by with experience could have been caught and held. I failed to record how we looked, what we saw, the minor eccentricities of circumstance which gave special character to a day. I ignored these elements not only through lack of training but through misplaced priorities: I mistakenly assumed that one could discuss the heart of things without discussing the immediate details of life.” ~ Robert Grudin |
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| Reading and "The Big Bad" |
[Oct. 25th, 2010|12:22 pm] |
In genre fiction, the "Big Bad" often really is a big bad. You've got a villain, or a horde of zombies, or a cosmic event, or an alien species, or a murderer. They may be a metaphor, but they are real.
In literary fiction, the "Big Bad" is always ourselves. Sure, there may be a bad guy or an antagonist. There may be a war, or cancer, or a journey, and those events may shape the plot. But overcoming the big bad, in a Pulitzer-prize winning novel, is always about growing past them, growing up within ourselves.
I would love to hear anyone's exceptions to this rule... it is only my pet-theory-of-the-moment.
I've read a number of popular genre fiction works with aspirations of literary fiction. One of the neatest books I've read in the past few years is Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell: A Novel . If you haven't read it, you should, immediately. It's genre fiction, and there are a few prominent antagonists, but you still feel throughout that the real journey is that of a few key individuals, and the "Big Bad" is somewhere within themselves. Or within human nature. Or the actions of all the individuals somehow mirrors that which happens within each human soul. Or something like that. Best just to read the darn book and let the implications sink into you and not think too much about it, honestly.
I just finished The Magicians: A Novel , another piece of genre fiction that has literary intentions. Again, there a few villains, and some characters who struggle to decide if they are villains or not, but in the end the story is really about personal growth.
Here's the thing: If you tried to sell me on a book about personal growth, I'd throw up a little in my mouth. Sure, it's inherent to every adventure... inherent to daily life. But what a lousy pitch. "Read this book. It's about dragons and it's set during the Napoleonic wars, from the point of view of a proper British Navy captain, but forget all that because it's really about personal growth in the area of interpersonal relationships." (I'm referring, by the way, to His Majesty's Dragon ) I mean, seriously, who would read that?
By the way, the above are my favorite three fantasy novels of the past few years. Everyone should read all of them. They are all fantastic journeys.
I am on the prowl for really well-written genre fiction. I want books filled with really wonderful sentences, tight scenes, majestic style, and attention to detail. Please send me your suggestions. |
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| Ranting about Writing |
[Oct. 22nd, 2010|03:20 pm] |
Short stories should begin at the last possible moment that still allows them to be a story with a beginning, a middle, and an end. They should begin with an inciting incident. Break this rule if you want, but do it cleverly, or you're done.
With novels, you can actually screw around for a page or two before the inciting incident, but that's only because in a novel the people you are with are sometimes more important than the inciting incident. Maybe seeing a character clearly as they do something mundane in a quite non-mundane way is worth some pages. Even a frickin' chapter. Obviously, the non-mundane mundanity should lead us to the inciting incident, so we've got time. To be safe, though, the novel should kick us right away too, in the first line, again in the first paragraph, and again in the first page, giving us something interesting and entertaining and intriguing and continuing to kick us all the way through the whole damn book.
Don't get me wrong: You can be slow and pastoral, that's fine, you just have to be slow and pastoral in a way that kicks us and keeps on kicking us.
( CONTINUED: Not that it's ever okay to be boring... ) |
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| Enthusiasm is Not Cool |
[Oct. 6th, 2010|09:14 am] |
I have some bad news for you: Enthusiasm is not cool.
You can dress it up. You can be slow, still, and understated. You can simply raise an eyebrow. But it won't change the danger, the implicit risk in being enthusiastic for an idea, especially if it is your own. You will no longer be cool. Someone will point. Someone will think your idea is a gimmick, a mockery, a failure. Your idea can be tremendously successful in your own head--and maybe that's all you ever ask of the universe--but if you let it out, if you cheer for something, you really aren't "cool" anymore. Even if you are right.
When I was seven years old, I was in love with a college student named Tim Carderbury. I idolized him. Everything about him was cool. On a camping trip, he brought a guitar. He was always bursting with ideas. I remember the enthusiasm he had for making BLTs the next day, for example, and how eagerly he pressed this idea upon the other campers. He'd do strange things for attention. He'd sing at random intervals. He was enthusiastic, and I loved that.
In hindsight, it occurs to me that lots of people probably found Tim annoying. Pushy, sophomoric. He was popular, but he probably had as many detractors as he had fans. Stop talking about BLTs, Tim. Seriously. Because enthusiasm, when it leaks out of our mouth, really isn't cool.
(I enjoy the way our brains can do this: I can look back at that time at the campsite and I can clearly remember thinking that everything Tim said was amazing, and I can clearly see now, in retrospect, that some of the other campers probably found his enthusiasm annoying. Our memories construct tiny self-evaluating universes, and for some purposes it doesn't matter how far we stray from the historical record. This distance from the self is powerful stuff, and I've been appreciating it a lot lately. I hope it will make me a better writer.)
Anyway, sometimes we clearly need to be enthusiastic. Sometimes we need to give up being cool, and when our child dances around in a funny hat or you figure out the perfect way to organize your closet, please let yourself cheer. Roll around on the floor and wiggle your arms in the air.
Be as ecstatic as your heart will let you be, for all your victories, both small and large. In the right mood, you can channel that energy, like magic dancing on your fingers.
And BLTs would be damn good for lunch.
I'm just saying.
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| Adoption is Natural Parenting |
[Sep. 27th, 2010|11:25 am] |
How do you know that adoption will be okay? Isn't it scary?
Becoming a parent at all, through birth or other means, is unsettling. Challenging. Scary. Wonderful. Adoption has certain challenges, and childbirth has others. In either case, you will wonder if your child will be handicapped, or hate you, or hate themself. You want your child to be healthy, smart, happy. You worry if your child will like you. These sort of concerns are equal for adoption or having a child through birth.
You can say, "Ah, but with a child by birth, I can do all those healthy yuppie things that will help me guarantee that my baby is perfect, right? And when you adopt, you don't know what you're getting! So adoption is scarier!"
Nope, sorry. You can eat all-natural foods and put womb phones on your belly and play Mozart for nine months... your child can still be autistic, or be born blind, or have low birth weight, or become a Republican, Yankees fan, etc.
The Weird Part: The extra control you think you have with the baby growing inside you is balanced by how you categorize yourself when you go to adopt. We told the agency what health challenges we were able to consider for our first child. We were able to say, "We don't think we are able to care for a child with handicap X or Y right now, but are willing to consider Z." That's something that you don't get to do with natural birth. It can all seem a bit mercenary, or like shopping, but the system is set up to create happy families, to "match" children with parents. We had six months of medical history delivered to us with our adoption referral. If you were unsure about having a child by birth, wouldn't you love to have six months of the resulting baby's medical history before going off the pill?
Look, you want to be a parent, deep down inside--those feelings trump all of this nonsense. But of course there is a narrative of worry going on in the background... I'm just saying that the narrative of worry balances out. When you adopt, you worry about those first several months of reattachment. When you give birth, you fear the pain and challenges of birth and postpartum. In either case, the joy and love far overshadows the fear.
So, let's get down to it... the really uncomfortable question: you can still introspect about whether or not you can become a parent to a child who doesn't share your blood. Do you have the ability to fall in love with a child who doesn't have your eyes, your hair, and your genes? How much will that child be yours?
Some people want to ask me about this. I can see it in their eyes, sometimes, when they meet Jaemin. It is an embarrassing question that people don't want to ask aloud or talk about: "Jaemin is amazing," they think, "and it is so good of Jana and Douglas to do this... but could I do it? Can a mom and dad really love a child born to some other woman as much as their own? Can I?"
The answer is yes. Adoption is a natural part of being human. If you look inside yourself, the capability is there. And there's nothing morally good about what Jana and I have done, by the way. We wanted to love, we wanted to be parents; we are getting what we want, not making some kind of sacrifice. Honestly, our biggest feeling is gratefulness. There's no moral superiority; Jana and I often look at each other and say things like, "How awesome is it that we get to do this?!" We feel experientially privileged, not morally courageous.
So, "Can you?" is simple. You can. But you might not want to. Adopting might not be part of who you are. To explain, I want to offer another kind of proof... the reason that I sat down to write all this in the first place.
Jana and I do not share many traits. She doesn't have my eyes or my hair. She's taller than any woman in my family tree. Her teeth are different. Her hips are different. She experiences people in a different way than I do. She doesn't like spicy food. I didn't get to spend a lifetime growing and influencing Jana with my culture, my traits, or my interests. We are both Caucasian homo sapien, but other than that our jeans and our genes are different.
But I fell in love with her. And she fell in love with me. And we adopted each other.
If you believe that you can fall in love with someone, if you believe that you can form a lasting romantic relationship, be married, or have the adventure of a lifetime with a relative genetic stranger... well, then you are capable of adopting a child and loving them just as much as a child that springs from your loins. Maybe even more, depending on your personality. Adoption is different from having a biological child. Maybe, for you, the bond would be even greater and more intense with a child you adopt.
Maybe finding a spouse to spend your life with and then making it work is much harder than adoption. Think about it.
Some people never get along with their parents. Some people never fall in love and have a significant other. Some people would be amazing parents to a birth child but would founder and be confused by an adopted child. And some kids grow up with distant, disconnected parents who look exactly like them.
I love my mom, dad, brother and sister very much. But my connection to Jana, who doesn't share my genes, is just as strong. Heck, the connection better be stronger, as I plan on living in the same house as Jana for the rest of my life, and I left Michigan at 18.
If you ever find yourself wondering about adoption, don't use Jana and I as some kind of paragon of a healthy process. We've experienced ups and downs, and we will have plenty of bumps in the road ahead. Instead, examine yourself. Look at the people you have "adopted," romantically or otherwise. What was that process like for you?
If deep love required a direct bloodline connection, then we'd all be in a heap of trouble. And we'd be terribly lonely. |
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| Names |
[Sep. 25th, 2010|02:39 pm] |
I am bad with names.
My son has learned, somewhere along the line, that everything has a name. He knows the difference between a bear and a ball, a book and doll. It is a ton of fun, finding out what he knows.
It makes me wonder when his skill will surpass my own. Because I am really, really bad with names.
This is a normal enough foible, and hardly crippling. I will remember you, after all, and I will remember how I feel about you. I will see you and have a sense of familiarity and comfort. I know we are connected. I know how well we connected. But I do not remember your name.
This is sometimes quite tenacious. If you find me in a dreamy, reflective state, or in the midst of a crowd of people, I might not remember my own name, for a moment. I will try to introduce myself and need to pause while I recall what I am called.
I don't think I'm losing my mind or anything. I am a new dad who doesn't always get six hours of sleep at night, that's probably got something to do with it. But I've never been particularly good at this.
When our brains are taxed, we reduce the load. "It might be nice to remember that person's name, but right now let's just try and focus on walking while carrying my child and taking my keys out of my pocket and trying not to let the diaper bag slip off my shoulder and clutching the mail in my other hand," for example.
Maybe it isn't so important that I know your name. I can love you without that. I can sympathize with you whether you have a name or not. The people walking on the sidewalk don't have names, and I certainly have sympathy with them. Waiters and waitresses don't have names, and I think they're generally a pretty great bunch of people. And those nameless people at that party I went to at so-in-so's house--they were all really neat!
Wait, those people do have names? Crap. |
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| Writing About Marriage |
[Aug. 20th, 2010|12:32 pm] |
If you want to imagine me speaking at a podium or in front of a long white table while giving a toast, that's pretty much where I started in my head: Papa Douglas giving a speech at a wedding reception. Then it got messy...
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A River, Not a Pond
The secret to a happy marriage is to keep going. You and your beloved can not stay the same people, with the same interests and the same skills, for the rest of your life. That's common knowledge. But what is less well known is that you can not continue to love in the same way. You must grow, and as you grow, you must bring your new growth back to your partner and share it.
Tomorrow's kisses will not feel like today's.
This can be a painful process, sometimes. Your beloved discovers long conversations, or performance, or volunteerism, or (heaven forbid) bowling. And those may all be well and good, but they are not the person you married. The good news is that neither are you. Happy people become more and more themselves, and they are not afraid of the ways in which their spouse might change them, or challenge them, or grow with them. They choose someone with whom that adventure will be all the more exciting, someone with whom they are willing to add their own colors.
There is a temptation to think of marriage as a finishing line. It is not. It is more as if you have planted two seeds together on the ridge-line, and the trees that grow out of them are going to have to get along and share resources and space as they face the wind howling out of the valley. The result, however, is a whole shared ecosystem, squirrels, grubs, beetles, and a forest of shrubbery that will pop up around you in your shade. We can not possibly imagine the shape our branches will take, but it will be glorious, as all trees are glorious. Marriage is not a finishing line because life was never a race. No one is in a hurry to get to the end.
There is a fear that marriage is a sacrifice of individuality. This is false. You don't trade individuality for interdependency, you ADD. You continue to be all the things you were before, with all the individual power you had before, and then you ADD to that. You become more, not less. You are no longer just an individual, you are a family, too. But on Thursday night, you can be lonely again, if that's your thing.
There is another fear, that marriage is the loss of free will, giving up choice. This is also a great fallacy. You don't give up your free will and choice, you EXERCISE IT. A marriage, like loving anyone, is an active choice, a tremendous use of your free will, and a use that continues every day. Free will does not exist if you do not use it, and those who avoid commitment in the name of freedom have forgotten what freedom is for. Love is a choice.
The secret to a happy marriage is that happiness is a river, not a stagnant pond. It requires activity, and activity invites danger. Growth is risky, and that risk is essential. I have been watching as my son learns to walk (I would not be so bold as to say I am teaching him), and every moment is risky. That risk and danger are essential, and the best I can do is try to convey, by my reaction, that falling is a perfect part of the process.
Being married is learning to walk, every day. Being married is risky. You open up all kinds of avenues, and you close off others. You are taking action, declaring intention, and deciding which path to take up the mountain. There are other paths, but you are deciding to take THIS one, and now you're going to stick it out, whatever the steep rocks or winding twists.
Fortunately, the path can be reshaped underneath you, even as you walk, if you and your lover are brave enough. Fortunately, married life has far more opportunities for growth and change than most of the world realizes. In fact, there are more opportunities within marriage than without, because in marrying you resolve some of the difficult equations of maturity and growing up that are ever-present in the back of a single person's heart. Marriage is peculiar and particular to our culture, but it's what we've got. Once married, you can be set free from some of those concerns, free to grow in new and unexplored ways. You also have someone who has promised to support you and stand by you as you tackle those parts of yourself you have never quite understood.
Getting married is "starting something". Or, perhaps, it is deciding on one set of things, and starting a new neighborhood of others. You no longer wonder if the person you are with loves you and wishes to hold you, for they have taken a long time to think about it, and decided to state publicly and for life that YES, they DO wish to care for you for the rest of your life.
They're going to fail in that endeavor. And so are you. Relationships have bad days, but in marrying you claim a certain modicum of security that you and your lover are doing your best, because that's why you both got married in the first place. Getting married is one great way to promise your lover that you are going to do your best, to tell them what you have to offer.
It doesn't always work, I know. It isn't a panacea, and our ancient muscle memory, all the things that our parents did or didn't do, all the things we've seen married people do, all the ridiculous models we've been fed by romantic comedies... these things have a power over us, and can disrupt our growth. The best thing to do is embrace humility, listen to your lover (whatever they become) and try to love them in their language.
Oh, and when growth and challenge arises, when the weather is not fair, smile. Because that's what you wanted. You didn't want to sit in the pond, or in your mother's basement playing World of Warcraft. You wanted more. And you found more. And then you claimed it, put a ring on it, exercised your free will in a tremendous act. And that's not going to stop. It's going to hurt so good.
Your spouse will not meet all of your needs, and you can not meet all of hers. You are partners. You are only servants to one another during certain hours of the day, when you exchange support and reconnect. At other times, you must go off and read a new book, learn a new language, make new friends. At other times, you must grow and let them grow, and then return and compare.
I am still growing and changing. Jana and I will not be the same lovers tomorrow as we are today. There are layers upon layers of familiarity, of course: We are one another's warm jacket. But sometimes we stand on the cliff in the rain without our jackets, and sing to each other across the stormy air.
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My journaling tool tells me I wrote the post above in 23 minutes, typing at an average of 65wpm, that it is mostly "Affectionate, Happy", deals with "Relationships, Family, Success", that I was "Introverted, Positive, Certain, Feeling," while writing, that I mostly wrote in the second person, in the present tense, and that it is rated PG-13. (I use the word "lover" a lot, I guess.) If you would like to use a private journaling tool that could do all that to your writing, visit http://750words.com. |
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| A Sequel to Words |
[Aug. 12th, 2010|03:29 pm] |
One thing that technology hasn't come up with is a good sequel to words.
Sure, we've got those new-fangled moving pictures, now, and we can record various auditory (and even olfactory) sensations and play them back in order to communicate a story, concept, or experience... but none of that jive and jibber-jabber holds a candle to words.
Words are TINY, and yet they trigger a massive series of images in our heads. Of course, they aren't images, really. When I say, "Big red balloon!", it isn't an image of a red balloon that appears in your head, it's a sort of mental construct, layered with all kinds of experiences and understanding, like what a red balloon feels like, your emotions when one pops, or that cool book/movie by that one French dude that you vaguely remember from your childhood.
Television will never replace books because books contain a unique and often superior experience. Books are a communion and collaboration between the writer and the reader. The writer sends a few words out, and the reader uses their incredibly complex brains to interpret and create an entire sub-universe, a home of our own, a shared reality between the author and the reader. It's a really, really wonderful activity and it works astonishingly well.
It says a lot about the power of words that people could watch a movie like "Lord of the Rings" and say, "They got that exactly right. They got that exactly wrong." Other than tweaking age and doing other Hollywood-isms, how would you know, really? By what authority do you speak? Peter Jackson read the same book as you. He read the same words.
Here's my point: Something, someday, could replace books... and new technology could take us there. We're a pretty darn creative species, we're going to find new ways of communicating between the brain of an author and the brain of a reader. And it won't be a replacement for books, exactly. It will be a replacement for WORDS. A sequel to words.
Movies and video games are not a sequel to words. Nope. They are juicy and wonderful, of course, and certainly an artistic medium, but they don't appeal very deeply to the reader's own stored imagery and emotion the way words must in order to even speak. If they do, it is only in a simplistic way: The movie reminded me of my grandmother's struggle without me even realizing it and I started to cry. That's great. But I didn't create Elijah Wood's features, and I got to create Frodo Baggins's features, over and over, shaping his downcast expression in my mind, in the book. And all I was given was a few black marks on paper. What if I could read a story, however, and actually cause my grandmother to appear? What if the author could put together a data stream that evoked deep creation from me, even deeper than the way words do?
This is hard. If I could imagine what the sequel to words would be, it would already have happened. That's the wonderful mystery of major paradigm shifts. Can you describe an agrarian community to a nomadic tribe that's never known one? Not quite. They can understand every detail you describe but still be utterly mystified as to how such a life could continue. Similarly, to try and imagine a sequel to words is actually an act of inventing one.
I sawed away at a cyberpunk short story last week, and I sort of started to figure out what I wanted. The "Snow Crash, Matrix, Holodeck" universe is not enough... their entire focus is on consumption, how we will be given input that utilizes our five senses better and better. More immersive sensory stimulation. That's actually the wrong direction... words and books (in essence) don't utilize ANY of our sense, or don't intrinsically need to, anyway. (Books don't need visual, they can be on tape! Words don't need audio, they can be books!) And yet without any senses at all, books still manage that "world we create together" magic better than any new technology has managed.
What if we could receive input in a stream, directly into our brains, and what if that input constantly interacted with our own subconscious minds, drawing in and out of what we are and what we know? The recent movie, "Inception" spends some time with this idea, though they retreat to Matrix-esque territory pretty quick so they don't confuse the audience too much.
Books are amazing, but what if an author's intentions and our own creative powers could perform an even more complicated dance than they do with books? I'm not talking about choose-your-own adventures, like video games, I'm talking about the way that words tell us there is a dog and our mind created the dog. What if the author of the future could tell us a bunch of other things about the dog, dog paradigms, the Tao of dog, and then play a kind of tug-of-war with our brains, on a shared canvas, in order to create the dog more clearly?
What if there could be a new artistic medium that did what words do, but did it better? |
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| Whatever Happened...? |
[Jul. 8th, 2010|09:58 am] |
Whatever happened to Douglas and his blog?
Well, first there came an excellent writer's group (The Burlington Writers Group), which became my outlet for creative writing, revision, and peer review. An amazing, amazing group of thoughtful, supportive, creative people who write together and play together.
Then, there was 750words.com. That became my outlet for self-discovery writing... and I've found that by writing privately, I get a lot more said and done.
Then, I was told that my referral was confirmed and that my kid was going to be ready for me soon... and then two weeks ago, we flew to Korea and brought home Jaemin Chan Beagley. I'm a dad now.
So, not so much with the Livejournal Blogging.
Those of you who know me IRL have other ways of connecting to me... but if you want to see photos and keep in touch, it is best to go hunt me down on Facebook. I may have less free time than I have ever had at any time in my life before, but writing a 30 word Facebook status update is still doable.
I am very grateful for you, whoever you are or however you stumbled upon my blog.
Love to you all,
Douglas |
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| Down Frown Clown |
[May. 28th, 2010|03:04 pm] |
Have you ever noticed that if you write the word "down" really fast, sometimes the "d" looks like "cl"?
So if you were writing, "I'm feeling kind of down!" it might look like, "I'm feeling kind of clown!" And then, as you looked back at what you wrote, all depressed and emo-like, maybe you'd be like, "YAY! CLOWN!" Unless you were terrified of clowns, I guess, cause then it'd be like, "AHH! CLOWN!" And then you'd feel reeally down. Or clown.
Aaaaah! Clown!
Happy Friday!
Yaaay! |
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| How to Be Attractive |
[Apr. 30th, 2010|01:24 pm] |
I realized the other day that many of the beautiful people I know don't actually have clear skin. They don't have profound or amazing body types, either. Their hair does not toss or glisten the way the lady-in-the-shampoo-commercial's hair does. But I have some friends who are really, really attractive! What could the secret to all this attractiveness be?
With that in mind, and prompted by a subject heading that flew past my eyes today, I present:
4 Steps to Make Yourself More Attractive, Guaranteed!
First, remove some of the mirrors in your house. People who spend a lot of time looking at mirrors, especially with the wrong attitude, end up frowning a lot more. They look more worried. They put on way too much makeup. And mirrors are also addictive, and addictive, negative behaviors are very unattractive. Keep a few mirrors for introspection, but try to cut down.
Next, remember that you are all that you need. You are good enough, just as you are, without any additions. Adding more people, more weight, or an urgency to please other people might be useful and fun in small doses, but when people do that too much, it makes them very unattractive. They scowl a lot. It's great to try and be more, to achieve more, and to inspire more--but stressing out about it just makes you scowl.
After that, spend some time focusing on and appreciating things and people. The act of appreciating anything, be it art, music, or another person, makes us all more attractive. Something about the way the face opens up, or the way the soul rises from the bottom of the pool and brightens the surface. I don't really know the science behind it, but it works.
In this picture, I am appreciating nature. As clearly illustrated, the act of appreciating makes me 14.6% more attractive. IT'S SCIENCE, PEOPLE! (or maybe it's the hat)
Finally, love someone. Love is an action, not an emotional state. I mean, being "in love" will definitely make you more attractive, but that's a hard state to get to, starting from zero. So start by loving someone, with action and intention. Find a real and honest reason to compliment a person in your life. Or maybe try holding yourself in the mental state of empathy with another person's concerns. Listen, or talk, according to your beloved's needs. It's really, really sexy. Takes years off.
The above steps tend to cascade into other steps. The steps will make you smile more, which always makes a person more beautiful. They will cause you to walk more erect, with your eyes up and around. They lead to greater energy, which is always extremely attractive. They improve overall health, too, and healthy people are more attractive than unhealthy people (it's Darwinian or something). You will be more confident, and confidence is beautiful. Oh, and those steps can also lead to more laughter. I've looked, and I'm pretty sure you're pretty when you laugh.
Love you,
Douglas
p.s.
I don't really blog much any more. Sorry about that. Hope you are all doing well.
p.p.s.
The reason I'm not blogging much any more is probably that I'm trying to do more things like this. |
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| Easter |
[Apr. 5th, 2010|10:41 am] |
Easter Jana in the grass. Much better than candy.
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| Douglas's Greatest Writing Ever |
[Apr. 5th, 2010|10:39 am] |
Ladies and Gentlemen... the finest piece of writing I have ever produced. Also, my artwork was clearly way ahead of my time. I expect to be on the NYT bestseller list by the end of the day.
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| Gadget Fun |
[Apr. 3rd, 2010|12:55 pm] |
Well, so far it makes a pretty good mirror.
UPDATE: My review notes are in the COMMENTS of this post.
I don't think I'll write much more about it.
The Internet is filled with reviews. |
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| Indulgence |
[Mar. 23rd, 2010|02:19 pm] |
Why yes, yes that is a Tagalong topped with a Samoan topped with a
Thin Mint, that I am now consuming with a cup of dark roast Dark Magic
Green Mountain coffee. I don't know who these girl scouts are, but I'm
sure glad they found me.
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| Exhortation |
[Mar. 17th, 2010|10:10 am] |
(an exhortation)
In the moment that you hug someone, don't do anything else.
Do not convince them, or analyze yourself, do not grow or shrink, fight or strive. When you hug someone, do not flirt with them or chastise them. Let there be no question about tomorrow in your hug, and no struggle with the past. Let there be only that hug, then, there, all that you need and all they need. Hug and be hugged.
Growth comes before, during, and after, and never ends, and there is no alternative to growth. You can not freeze yourselves where you are now, you can not have the love you have now forever and ever. Tomorrow you will have tomorrow's love, tomorrow's questions, tomorrow's growth.
Enjoy today's love today, eat it slowly and thoughtfully, taste every turn of flavor, hear every wandering melody, touch the gentle curve of her chin. Let the frantic, flying hair of today's love tickle your cheek. She will be new tomorrow, and new again the day after, and she has invited you to be part of the becoming. A thousand new moments await you, but when you are hugging, that moment is the one that matters.
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| Teddy Bear Loves |
[Mar. 15th, 2010|11:14 am] |
I drank black coffee out of an I Love You teddy bear ceramic mug. The mug has a blood red line around the rim and base, drawn in crayon, and the teddy bear appears similarly scrawled. Would that I could draw so well. Does the mug imply that the bear loves me? That the artist who created the bear loves me? Perhaps it suggests that my beverage of choice, Dark Magic Green Mountain Coffee, loves me. Loves me for drinking it? Or does the company that makes the coffee love me for purchasing and drinking their beverage? Does my workplace love me, therefore purchasing the coffee and giving it to me free of charge, or do they only love the work I have done, the small contributions I have made to their product's exposure, acceptance, digestion?
Who is loving me, I want to ask this mug, why are you telling me this?
Most likely, the mug was a gift, from one lover to another, or a daughter to a sister, or a gift that was never given, but remaindered and purchased for the sole purpose of collecting and holding coffee in company break rooms. The love was imagined by the creator of the mug, but never occurred, trapped forever in the small squiggle of the teddy-bear's smile, the round nose, the eyes that sit balefully upon the upper curve of the two-dimensional snout. No one is loved. The bear loves. The red line on the rim will be gripped gently by my lower lip, the hot liquid will come into my mouth, just cool enough to prevent my gasp of pleasure, the muddy liquid scars my tastebuds.
I love, and will be loved, and will accept this mug as my own. I will not look upon it sarcastically any further. There was intention there, and I will seize the intention and make it my own. Let there be appreciation, let there be caffeinated comprehension, an aromatic embrace, java joy, the slick black wandering peace, the yellow glaze interior, the ceramic semantics of happiness. Let there be love.
No cream, no sugar, just me and my crayon bear, happily tip-typing away, happily exploring the edges of understanding. So many words, so many thoughts, and I can not seem to type fast enough.
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beagley's journal
