the internet might have to go

Fundamental truth: Time I spend on the Internet--blogging, Facebooking, reading Yahoo comics, reading articles on writing or on the mating habits of the South American aardvark--all is time I could be writing.

Should be writing.

Want to be writing.

I try to explain to people that I get a kick out of sitting at my computer for 4-7 hours a day, putting words to screen (or, as I've been doing recently, editing and revising two huge ringbinders full of double-spaced, double-sided manuscript). Many of said people are encouraging. Many of said people look at me as though I have a multi-warted fungus sprouting between my eyebrows. The point, however, is that I *love* to write, and I don't necessarily need anyone else to validate that.

(Though I will freely admit that said validation is balm to a writer's soul; and I am blessed to have a husband who supports me fully in my creative endeavors. Thanks, Schatzi!)

Anyway. So, I get a kick out of writing. I also get a kick out of my online activities. What with all the kicking--and in opposite directions, most of the time--I'm starting to feel a little bruised.

The Internet is a black hole that sucks me in and, when it does spit me back out again, does not necessarily deposit me in the known universe, much less in the universe I would like to occupy: the novelling one. I just read a great quote here from Jeff Vandermeer, who says,

"The writer me is monosyllabic, doesn’t care if his beard grows down to his ankles, scribbles notes on little bits of paper, takes long walks in the woods mumbling to himself, maps out character positions in rooms and notes where the light is coming from, doesn’t answer the phone, and isn’t fond of talking to people.

"The other me is, in general, chatty, sociable, likes talking to people and putting people in contact with one another, and uses the Internet to make friends, advance projects, and communicate a love of books."

That pretty much describes me, except for the beard part.

On that same webpage, Carolyn Kellogg asks,

"What if typewriters had also been telephones? What if you could press the top of your legal pad and have today's newspaper pop out? What if your fountain pen broadcast your favorite talk radio station? Today, when the tool of novel-writing is also the primary tool for all kinds of communication, it seems like a miracle that anybody ever gets anything (longer than a blog post) written."

I'm not announcing my renunciation of all Internet activities.

I am, however, reminding myself on one hand of my priorities and of the insidious nature of distractions.

On the other hand, I do know that all work and no play makes Courtney a *very* grumpy, *very* emotionally strung-out writer. Note to self: That's not okay.

The gripping hand (and major bonus points to those who get *that* reference) is that without the Internet, I wouldn't be writing this handy little reminder/informational in the first place.

*sigh*

why being a TCK/expatriate is so weird

I've been reading "The Art of Coming Home" by Craig Storti. What follows are resulting ruminations.

Being a TCK means being a paradox that walks around on two legs and talks (sometimes sensibly, and sometimes not so sensibly). Here are a few illustrations:

I can travel around all of Europe, sleeping on trains, carrying nothing but a backpack, and enjoy it.
I can stand up to irate cleaning ladies in train station bathrooms and sling back as good as they're dishing out to me.
I can converse in three languages and order from menus in six.
I started traveling across the world by myself via airplane when I was 15. (And I've crossed the Atlantic more than fifty times.)
I have more than passing acquaintance with the cultures of four different countries.

BUT:

I don't know how to use an ATM.
I don't know how to open a bank account.
Highway systems mystify me.
I wouldn't have a clue how to operate a gas oven.
I don't know how to buy a car.
I don't know how to buy a house.
I have a lot of trouble boiling eggs.
Until a few days ago, I'd never had a library card or checked out a library book on my own.
I don't know who the mayor of my city of residence is.
And a plethora of other things.

As a TCK, I have a storehouse of experiences and skills that enable me to function on a global scale. But when it comes down to some of the practical details of everyday life, I am often operating solely on guesswork.

I'm not bemoaning this; it is who I am. I don't feel any sort of desperation to "fix" the things on that second list. I am definitely interested in self-improvement, but most of those things, I figure, I'll learn in the course of life. I just thought I'd offer these two lists as an example of the TCK paradox--because unlike Tigger, I am not the only one. ;o)

a first something! yay!

So on Saturday, Ed and I were driving south on Penn, when we passed the Village Library. I don't remember what I asked him about it or what he replied, but the end result of the conversation was that we turned around, drove back to the library, parked the car, got out, walked in, spoke to the receptionist...

...and I got my first library card. *Ever*.

Gasp and egad, right? How in the name of all that's Good and True and Writable in this world have I, writer extraordinaire and ultimate bookworm, managed to go thirty-one years without having a library card? It's not as though I've never before patronized a library--it's just that my patronization took place on the Army base, and Daddy was the one with the card. Plus, until recently, I always insisted on owning whatever books struck my fancy instead of simply borrowing them. Ed and I laughed about the fact that of the two of us, *I* am the avid reader, but he's the one who's had a library card in every city he has ever inhabited.

Holy moments of irony, Batman.

So on Saturday, to celebrate my new status as library-card-holder, I checked out John Scalzi's "Old Man's War," which I've been wanting to read because Wil Wheaton made me curious, and Roger Zelazny's "Princes in Amber" series, which I read in high school and have been wanting to re-read for about ten years.

Me happy. Like clam. End proverb.

Currently, I'm reading "The War of the Flowers" by Tad Williams, a copy of which I picked up at Barnes & Noble, where I went on Friday to console myself after Hobby Lobby didn't have the button-making-kit I was looking for.

It doesn't take a lot to make me happy. Really, it doesn't.

Yay, I can haz library bookz! Splendiforous!

writing about writing

I can't promise that the following ruminations (I originally typed "rumniations," which I find rather amusing) will in any way segue (can I use that as a verb? Rule #152. Verbify anything.) into each other in a coherent fashion, but I'm not writing for publication here, so frankly, my dear, I don't give an unmentionable.

I've been wanting to write about my writing for quite some time, but, as other literati have said before me, when one is engaged in active storywriting, one finds oneself reluctant to channel much of that creative energy into blogging. I dunno know why, I just know that's how it works.

Whatever. I do know why. It's because the act of storywriting is such an intense process, there's simply no energy left for other writables (or, sometimes, anything else at all). Weekly, if not daily, I am stocking my creative pond (the pool where we all go down to drink, a la Stephen King, an image I wholly embrace) with creativity for my story, and I am intensely jealous of that creative energy. I want to channel it into the story, not into blopgosts that are, frankly again, not as valuable to me as the story itself.

Which is not to say that I don't care about my blog. Because I do. I'm only setting priorities here. Work with me, people! Gah.

;o)

That said, I give you the following: an excerpt from my journal, in which I expound upon my current noveling status. Please forgive the abbreviations and ellipses--I want to give you the journal excerpt without giving away parts of the story. So, without much ado about anything, an excerpt for your reading pleasure (or not, whichever the case might be):

September 4, 2008

While I ran this morning, I let my mind go over some possibilities for "Triad." Part of me is tempted to scrap the first half and re-write it, simply because the style of writing and the pace of the story are so different from what and how I wrote the second half. [Note: I know this sentence is grammatically horrid, but in my journal, I free-associate without editing, so there ya go.] This is what happens when one spend four years on the first half and four months on the second. ;o)

However, I'm putting the scrap-temptation on hold for now. First, I want to see what I can do with that first half in my second-draft edit, which I'm working on now. I've gone through eleven chapters--all in the second half. I'm reserving final judgment on the first half until I've worked through it again.

But back to the possibilities I was permutating on my run. Liz "Engstrom" Cratty, my Writer's Digest Novel Writing Workshop mentor [three? years ago], suggested I start the story with R.'s and Ch.'s capture... I don't believe that's the best starting point, as so much of the backstory would get lost, and explaining everything later would bog down the rest of it.

However, I wonder if the *argument* between R. and Ch. *would* be a good starting point...

I think I'm coming to the conclusion that my current Chapter One, in which D. and the guys break into the belltower and R. thwarts them, does not a good Chapter One make. *Prologue*, maybe. But for a first chapter, it doesn't get things moving quickly enough. I need a start with more tension...

...and the argument between R. and Ch. might just be it.

Of course, then I'll have to decide whether to make the break-in scene a prologue (in which case, it'll have to be *way* shorter) or toss it. I like the shorter prologue idea. If I toss it [current Chapter One], then Ill have the backstory bogdown again.

So, let's say the break-in is a prologue, and Chapter One begins with the argument. '"_______________!" ___________________________' might be a good opening line. [Hee hee.] Then what? I'd send R. directly to the T.s' (after the argument, of course), which would bypass N.H. entirely; if I didn't bypass her, I'd get into a bog again, interrupting R.'s storming out of the tower. (And what if R. failed to secure the lift before leaving? This could add some tension, because she'd worry about Ch. all the way to the T.s'...)

I've wondered for a long time whether or not I. needs a greater role, and if so, how to give it to her? Well, what if I combined I. and N.H. into one character? Perhaps I.'s mother was from the H. family....Hmmm.....

I'm getting ahead of myself, because these are all things to consider *after* I go through the text and finish my second draft. But it's good to get these ideas on paper. They've been in my subconscious for awhile, so this has helped me gain some clarity. My concentration on the second half will be better now...

< /journal entry >

Since I wrote that, I have gone through several more chapters and have finished a total of seventeen! That means eighteen more to go. When I say "finished," I mean that I have gone through the hard copy pages, marking with colored ink anything that needs changing/improving. When I'm through with this manuscript, every single page will be bleeding pink, purple, blue, or green, depending on which gel pen I used.

Have I mentioned I'm having a blast with this? Please to be noting my quote from a few days ago: "One of the best things about being a writer is that I get to go to work in nothing but my underwear, if I want to." I wrote that. You can quote me on it.

After I've gone through the hard copy pages, I will enter all the changes into the computer document and print it all out--that will be my second draft. Then, I'll begin re-structuring the parts of the story that don't work. *That* will be the hard part....because, as Mr. King teaches (in "On Writing"--a writer's bible, I swear), in order to create a working story, you must "kill your darlings." Meaning: I gotta cut out parts of the story I love but that don't fit.

That's where the other quote from a few days ago comes into play: "Psychologically speaking, writing a book is like getting into a knife fight with yourself in a phone booth" (The Waiter). When I "kill my darlings," I'm going to be fighting myself, and it's not going to be pretty.

You've been warned.

That's all for now. I hope you've enjoyed this look into One Writer's Mind. Metaphors be with you.

prelim thoughts about writing

Two things regarding writing, upon which I wish to ruminate in the near future:

1. A great quote I ran across this evening:
"Psychologically speaking, writing a book is like getting into a knife fight with yourself in a phone booth."
--The Waiter

2. A great thought that percolated through the coffee filter of my brain a few days ago:
One of the best things about being a writer is that I get to go to work in nothing but my underwear, if I want to.

That's all for now. More later.

*sigh*

What's funny is when you make coffee, and the whole pot of water has run through, and it's only then that you realize you didn't actually put any coffee in.

La la la....

pamcake puns--not for the faint of heart

Conversation during last weekend's Infamous Saturday Pamcake Breakfast at Sullivans', The Oklahoma Files:

Courtney: The older I get, the sicker I get anytime I go on amusement park rides. I used to love them, but now I can't handle them anymore.
Jennifer: That's because your vestibular system changes as you get older.
Courtney: My what?
Jennifer: Your vestibular system.
Courtney: I have a vestibular system?
Joel: Do you feel self-conscious now?
Courtney: Yeah, I do...I don't know if I want people looking at my vestibule.
Jennifer: Not vestibule, vestibular.
Pam: Is that Ferris's brother?

;oD

book comments 7

What a blogging roll I’ve been on lately. Ha ha. ;o) Here are some more book comments for your perusal. I love it that reading fiction is part of my job now…and I am also really enjoying writing comments on all these books, even though I keep letting them pile up until there’s a huge stack to comment on all at once.

*singing* “Darling, I don’t know why I go to extremes…” (Thank you, Billy Joel. ;o)

Onward! for I have many books to review, and I suspect that only my hardiest readers will be sticking with me on this one. I’ve been reading a lot the last few months. ;o)

"Gretchen, I Am" by Reverend Carroll E. Jay
--ooh, a story about possession!
--allegedly a true story of how a 1970s Ohio housewife is possessed by the spirit of a 19th-century German girl
--has potential, right?
--wrong!
--written by the housewife’s husband, whose tone is pedantic when it isn’t put-upon and condescending
--literally, one of the worst books I’ve ever read
--This is what sometimes happens when you buy 90¢ used books at Goodwill.
--don’t recommend (the book, not Goodwill—sorry for the double negative)

"Sword-Dancer Saga" (novels of Tiger and Del) by Jennifer Roberson
--sword-and-sorcery in a setting that pits desert against icy mountains and male against (or with, as the case may be) female
--the adventures of male-chauvinist Tiger and fiercely independent Delilah
--wit, wisdom, action, magic, conflict, love, pretty much everything--what more could I want?
--I don’t know how may times I’ve read this series (6 books), but I re-read them again for fun this spring and thoroughly enjoyed them all over again.
--highly recommend

"The War of Souls, Volume One: Dragons of a Fallen Sun" (a Dragonlance novel) by Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman
--first time in eleven years that I’ve read a Dragonlance novel
--fun, interesting, action, adventure, sorcery
--I got a little lost with all the recounting of history, since it’s been so long since I’ve visited the Dragonlance universe.
--Also, this seems to be set in something of an alternate universe, because a lot seems to have happened that I don’t remember having happened in the novels I read so long ago.
--I *loved* reading Tasslehoff Burrfoot again--didn’t realize I’d missed the little guy. ;o)
Addendum: And I *very* much missed Raistlin. *le sigh*
--recommend, but only to die-hard fantasy fans

"The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul" by Douglas Adams
--typical Adams in that it’s totally hilarious
--fun characters, even though the attitudes of some of the Norse gods irritated me a bit
--loved how very British it all is--I miss that dry sense of humor!
--I especially enjoyed the thread of the refrigerator throughout.
--recommend to anyone who enjoys a good satire and a good fantasy

"The Brontë Project" by Jennifer Vandever
--subtitled “a novel of passion, desire, and good pr”
--the most recent disappointment in my reading adventures
--story of the rivalry between a doctoral candidate with a Charlotte Brontë thesis and a French faculty member with a Diana Spencer obsession
--I was excited about this one, because I was intrigued by the Brontë connection and interested to see how the Diana mythology would fit in.
--story turned out to be an annoying, angsty (and most of you know how much I dislike that word, so you get a hint of how much this book irritated me) digression about one young woman’s inability to set any sort of boundary either internally or externally
--translation: The main character whined and refused to get a backbone through most of the story. I had a hard time sympathizing with her at all.
--What I really did enjoy, though, were the quotations from Charlotte Brontë at the beginning of each chapter.
--don’t recommend

"The Remains of the Day" by Kazuo Ishiguro
--the story of an English butler, post-WWII, looking back over his life and questioning whether or not he was justified in “just doing his job” by serving the people he has served; or if he should have taken more of a stand against certain decisions those people made; and whether or not he always acted correctly in various relationships
--fascinating look inside the mind of a gentle, quiet, subtle man whose life was one of noble servitude and, at the same time, unassailable pride in what he has accomplished
--poignant, heartbreaking; Ishiguro makes you fall in love with the main character
--As I was reading, I remembered that this story was made into a movie starring Anthony Hopkins. I’ve never seen the film; but as I read, I decided I must see it, because I could hear Hopkins’s voice in my head as I read. I suspect he was perfectly cast in the role.
--highly recommend

"Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West" by Gregory Maguire
--story of what happened in Oz before Dorothy and her little dog Dodo—I mean, Toto—arrived via twister
--basis for the musical “Wicked” (a musical which I still highly, highly, highly recommend!!!)
--SO much potential in this book!
--SO much about this one that I thoroughly disliked, I’m sad to have to say
--Unfortunately, this novel takes the innocence of “The Wizard of Oz” (film version) and tosses it into the gutter. There were so many sexual perversions in this novel, I really should’ve stopped reading. I didn’t. I kept thinking it would get better. It didn’t.
--very dark
--don’t recommend

BUT: I’ll say again that I DO recommend the musical “Wicked”—it takes the good parts of the storyline and brings back the fun and innocence of Oz that so many of us grew up with.

"The Soul Hunter" (Book 2 in the Day of Evil series) by Melanie Wells
--story of a woman named Dylan Foster who is struggling with her faith and is unwillingly drawn into the world of the supernatural by the evil plotting of a demon named Peter Terry
--fast-paced, full of dry wit and great dialogue…for all of which I am a total sucker ;o)
--creepy, because Wells does a great job of making the reader believe that this could happen to you
--I thoroughly enjoyed this one and intend to acquire Books 1 and 3.
--highly recommend

"The Misadventures of Benjamin Bartholomew Piff:You Wish" by Jason Lethcoe
--orphaned Ben makes a birthday wish and inadvertently jeopardizes the future of the entire world
--didn’t know wishes had so much power, didja? ;o)
--basically a children’s book endearing enough for an adult to enjoy
--totally sympathetic main character and fascinating magical universe
--This is what’s going on in our own backyard, and we don’t even know it.
--highly recommend to anyone who enjoys kids’ literature

"Little Altars Everywhere" and "The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood" by Rebecca Wells
--the stories of Siddalee Walker and her mother, Viviane Abbott Walker, and the long-lost tribe of Amazon women known as the Ya-Yas in Louisiana of the 1900s
--I first read “Divine Secrets” when I was in college, but had never read “Altars” till recently.
--I’m reminded that “Divine Secrets” is one of my favorites, and I was so sorely disappointed in the movie when it came out.
--These books epitomize, to me, the power and sorrow and joy and incredible strength of female friendships.
--I think I dedicate my recent first reading (“Altars”) and my recent re-reading (“Divine Secrets”) to my fellow Ya-Yas out there. I love you, girls!
--highly recommend

This makes 30.5 books I’ve read so far this year! I say .5 because I never did finish Wolfe’s “Man in Full.” I just can’t do it.

Coming soon: a review of the “Twilight” series by Stephenie Meyer!

fyi

cultural transitions do funny things...

...for instance: Recently, I have discovered in myself a penchant for listening to loud, fast, hard music. Not at home, where I would bother the neighbors, but pretty much anytime I'm in the car by myself. Thanks to my dear friend who prefers I don't broadcast her generosity, I have a car--did I tell people that?--for which I had to pay only $1.00, and this car not only has more horsepower than I've ever driven regularly before, but it's also equipped with a lovely stereo system.

On top of that, I've found myself becoming more open to creative influences--including influences in music--lately, partially due to culture shock reactivity, and partially due to some of the insights I gained by working through Julia Cameron's "The Artist's Way."

All of which is how I found myself driving south at 70mph on I-35 yesterday, rocking out to Metallica (Stefan, you'll be interested to know it was that "Sandman" song ;o) and AC/DC and REO Speedwagon.

Understatement: It was fun.

Understatement: I miss the Autobahn. ;o)

book comments 6 ("golden compass," finally!)

I am hereby making good on my promise that my next review would concern the controversial "Golden Compass" trilogy by Philip Pullman. Since it's been about 4 months since I made that promise (and to whom I made it, I haven't a clue, since I don't know who actually reads these book comments when I write them), I figure it's high time I gave my review and pointed my compass in a different literary direction. Pun fully intended, I assure you.

Anyone who wants a good synopsis of the books can type the titles into a search engine and find out everything knowable about the storyline without having actually read the books. What I will do is share what thoughts I have and, as always, encourage my readers to investigate for themselves and come to their own conclusions. As Levar Burton always said on Reading Rainbow, "You don't have to take my word for it." ;o)

ONE. The so-called "Golden Compass" trilogy consists of the following novels:

"His Dark Materials--Book 1: The Golden Compass"
"His Dark Materials--Book 2: The Subtle Knife"
"His Dark Materials--Book 3: The Amber Spyglass"

"His dark materials" is a quote from John Milton's "Paradise Lost," Book II, which Pullman quotes at the beginning of "Golden Compass." Some people probably jump on the ominous sound of "dark materials" and try to make it something insidious and sinister. All I can say to that is that perhaps a thorough and careful reading of Milton's masterpiece is in order.

TWO. When the controversy over the "Golden Compass" film was raging, I remember receiving various hysterical emails, warning against the atheistic nature of the storyline. Well, remembering back to what I read, I can recall only one definitely atheistic character: one Mary Malone, a former Catholic nun who lost her faith because (a) she thought that being a Christian meant she could never enjoy any kind of sensual pleasure, and (b) she decided that since her desire for pleasure was so strong, that must mean that God doesn't exist.

Of course, my summary is very subjective and--as is the nature of most summaries--brief. But that's the basic message that came across to me concerning the motivations behind this fictional nun's departure from faith. This former nun is also the source of the quote, "The Christian religion is a very powerful and convincing mistake, that's all" ("The Amber Spyglass," p. 393). Of course, this character would say that--this character is an atheist. Duh.

Former Sister Mary also says that she misses God "terribly. ...And what I miss most is the sense of being connected to the whole of the universe. I used to feel I was connected to God like that, and because he was there, I was connected to the whole of his creation" ("The Amber Spyglass," p. 399).

THREE. Some of you might also be interested in the idea that during the course of the story, two children (Lyra and Will) kill God. At least, that's what all the hysterical emails of last year claimed happens during the course of the story. Here's what really happens:

In the universe of Pullman's trilogy, an angel called "the Authority" has set himself up as "God, the Creator, the Lord, Yahweh, El, Adonai, the King, the Father, the Almighty--those were all names he gave himself" ("The Amber Spyglass," p. 28). The Authority has a Regent named Metatron.

By the time we join our heroes (Lyra and Will) on their quest, Metatron has begun a systematic takeover of the so-called "Kingdom of Heaven," and the Authority is basically a shell of his former self. When various angels and various peoples of various dimensions begin fighting back against Metatron, Metatron tries to sneak the weakened and debilitated Authority out of the back door.

Lyra and Will find the Authority, who is locked up in a crystal litter. The Authority is terrified and crying, and the two children decide to help him. But as soon as they open the crystal cage, because of his weakened state, he dissolves in a breath of wind.

So basically, the two children accidentally help a formerly devious, misguided, ex-powerful angel "die."

Does that sound to you like two children kill God in the story?

I didn't think so.

FOUR. It's interesting to me that the controversy over these books has been stirred up over only the last year or so, really, when the first of them was published in 1995 and the third one in 2000. Where was the upheaval thirteen years ago?

I guess that's a comment on how much more important movies are than books in today's Western society, considering that it was the impending release of the film (certainly not to be confused with proverbial impending doom) that caused so many people to get bees in their bonnets.

FIVE. It seems to me that in his trilogy, Pullman is attacking what he views as "the church."

This does not mean he is attacking God, even if he thinks he is attacking God.

This does not mean he is attacking Christianity, even if he thinks he is attacking Christianity.

Even if he is attacking organized, institutional religion in general, this does not mean that he is successfully attacking the heart of truth.

Pullman has bought into the idea--I'm going to call it the lie--that so many people believe: that a certain world-spanning, institutionalized, well-known religious organization is the be-all and end-all of Christianity.

He has bought into the lie that organized religion is the be-all and end-all of Christianity.

A quote from "The Subtle Knife" might illustrate best what seems to be Pullman's view of "the church": "...every church is the same: control, destroy, obliterate every good feeling" (p. 45). I say that if Pullman's writings manage to obliterate that kind of church, then I'm totally with him on that one.

If Pullman's writings somehow manage to topple a hierarchical, institutional organization that purports to be the church Jesus established but actually isn't, an organization which bears no resemblance to the God-willed community of the called-out (ekklesia)...if Pullman's writings manage to bring down that lie, then more power to him, I say.

SIX. I remember reading that Pullman allegedly said that he considers the "Dark Materials" trilogy to be the atheistic answer to C.S. Lewis's "Chronicles of Narnia." (I'd like to note, however, that nowhere online did I find an article or interview in which Pullman made such a statement. If you can point me to a link showing his direct quote--and not an instance of hearsay, such as I am offering here--then please do so.)

My thoughts on this: If Pullman truly considers this trilogy to be his atheistic answer to Lewis's Narnia, then his answer is--from a literary and allegorical standpoint--wholly inadequate. Sounds harsh, I know...but in measuring himself against Lewis, Pullman invites readers to make the comparison. And in this reader's opinion, Pullman is not as skilled a writer as Lewis, and his writings show less depth of thought than those of Lewis. If Pullman wants to set himself up as a believeable Lewis-antithesis, he's going to have to do better than this.

SEVEN. That said, and in spite of my other criticisms, I thoroughly enjoyed reading the "Dark Materials" trilogy. Pullman is an excellent writer and, as it were, he "spins a good yarn." The plot is great; the devices are fresh and interesting; the characters are believable, endearing when they are supposed to endear, and revolting when they are supposed to...be...revolting. Um, yeah. ;o) (Lyra still annoys me a bit, but book-Lyra isn't as irritating as film-Lyra; besides, she shows quite a bit of development as a character over the course of the three books.)

EIGHT. To sum it up (hallelujah, right? ;o) --> These books are fiction. They are fantasy. They are not real. If you have an aversion to fantasy and imagination, you're not going to like these books. But then, if you have an aversion to imagination, you probably don't like a great many books, so it's a moot point, and I'm not talking to you. I'm talking to those who are concerned about the influence these books could have on their kids; to those who are considering reading these books for themselves.

If parents are teaching children the truth about God, then these books aren't dangerous in the least. (However, I personally wouldn't let my children read these books, simply because of some of the themes explored in them: divorce, extra-marital sex and homosexuality. I'm thinking that before age 13 would be too young.)

LAST. My recommendation: Read 'em. Put yourself in the mindset "fairytale," and read them. Enjoy the story. Then put the books back on your shelf and think about your faith. What do you believe? And why? And how can you use these books--and every other resource that life offers you--to introduce to God the people whom he misses most?

And that's all I have to say about that. ;o)

everyone who reads this needs to click on the link below and watch it

Link: Let's all be weird together.

The International Friendship Song...

...courtesy of The Animaniacs and Professor Otto von Schnitzelpusskrankengescheitmeier

It's a wundervoll day in ze neighborhood, ja?
Now, let's do ze International Friendship Song, ja?

Ja!

Ist das nicht ein piece of chalk?
Ja das ist ein piece of chalk.
Ist das nicht ein key and lock?
Ja das ist ein key and lock.
Piece of chalk, key and lock
Oh, du schöne
Oh, du schöne
Oh, du schöne
Schnitzelbank!

Are we having fun yet?

Ist das nicht ein cuckoo clock?
Ja das ist ein cuckoo clock.
Does it nicht go tick tick tock?
Ja it does go tick tick tock.
Cuckoo clock, tick tick tock
Piece of chalk, key and lock
Oh, du schöne
Oh, du schöne
Oh, du schöne
Schnitzelbank!

You see, it's a very easy song. Would you like to try?
Oh, gee, professor, that'd be great! What should I sing about?
Anything that you want. The secret is to just have fun, okay?
Okay!

Ist das nicht ein piece of bread?
Ja das ist ein piece of bread.
Does it fit in Wakko's head?
Ja it fits in Wakko's head.
Piece of bread, Wakko's head
Oh, du schöne
Oh, du schöne
Oh, du schöne
Schnitzelbank!

Here, let me try!

Is he not a cute man this?
Ja he is a cute man this.
Is this not a great big kiss? Mmmwah!
Ja das ist ein great big kiss.
Cute man this, great big kiss
Piece of bread, Wakko's head
Oh, du schöne
Oh, du schöne
Oh, du schöne
Schnitzelbank!

Here, I've got one!

Ist das nicht Otto von Schnitzelpusskrankengescheitmeier?
Ja das ist Otto von Schnitzelpusskrankengescheitmeier.
Ist das nicht ein incredibly long name to have to try and say?
Ja das ist ein incredibly long name to have to try and say.
Cute man this, Great big kiss
Piece of bread, Wakko's head
Oh, du schöne
Oh, du schöne
Oh, du schöne
Schnitzelbank!

Hey, you kids is pretty good!

We're just gettin' warmed up!

Ist das nicht ein Otto's gut?
Ja dis ist ein Otto's gut.
Ist das nicht ein Otto's butt?
Ja das ist ein Otto's butt.
Otto's gut, Otto's butt
Oh, du schöne
Oh, du schöne
Oh, du schöne
Schnitzelbank!

Okay, I think you got the idea....

Ist das nicht ein pair of pants?
Ja das ist ein pair of pants.
Ist das underwear from France?
Ja dat's underwear from France.
Pair of pants, shorts from France
Otto's gut, Otto's butt
Oh, du schöne
Oh, du schöne
Oh, du schöne
Schnitzelbank!

Ist das nicht ein hairy chest?
Ja das ist ein hairy chest.
Ist this man no longer dressed?
Ja this man's no longer dressed.
Hairy chest, he's not dressed
Pair of pants, shorts from France
Otto's gut, Otto's butt
Oh, du schöne
Oh, du schöne
Oh, du schöne
Schnitzelbank!

transitional ruminations

I feel as though I'm overdue in penning some words about the cultural transition that Ed and I have been going through. To begin, I'd like to grace you with a top ten list that illustrates one of the frustrations that goes along with transitioning, namely, the fact that people often don't know what to say to us. (Please note that I am not angry over these utterances, but frustrated.)

Top Ten Things NOT To Say To Cultural Transitioners And Why
(in random order, though I have a particular dislike for #s 5 and 7)

1. How was your trip?
It wasn't a trip. It wasn't a vacation. It was my life. Please to be noticing the difference, thank you. ;o)

2. We've been praying for you to come back.
I think I know what you mean when you say that, and you might think that's a lovely sentiment. But when you say that, what I hear is that you've been praying for me to be separated from people and places I love. That's neither helpful nor encouraging.

3. You've got a lot of time on your hands now! You could (fill in blank with an activity or a job for which I have expressed no interest).
I didn't come back here with no plan of what I want to do with my life. This was not a spontaneous, frivolous decision. Much thought and prayer and planning went into it. Please don't assume I'm sitting around, bored, with nothing to do, just waiting for you to come rescue me with ideas that would make *you* happy.

4. Oh, you were in XLand? I was in XLand back in the '70s....XLanders are so (fill in the blank with a prejudice you developed while you were over there for two years 30 years ago).
Please don't assume your experiences were my experiences. Also, please refrain from telling me, based on your few months' experience, what the people of my homeland are like. Not to be snotty, but I do believe I know them better than you do.

5. Adjusting? Oh, give it a couple of months, you'll be fine.
I see. And the last time you went through cross-cultural reentry was...? Oh, you've never left your home state? Ah.

6. It's so good to have you back. I don't know why anyone would want to leave here in the first place.
(Okay, so nobody has said these words to me directly....but the implication is all over the place.) Well, probably because God created a whole, huge, interesting planet that I want to know about, not just a single continent.

7. I bet you're proud to be back.
I'm sorry, but I don't even know what that statement means.

8. It's good to have you back.
Why? You've never had more than two or three conversations with me. You don't know me. How could my presence possibly signify in your life one way or the other?
(Note: This truly applies only to those who haven't made an effort to get to know the returnee. If you do know me, and if you have made the effort, it is definitely heart-warming to hear you say that you're thankful for my being here!)

9. Aren't you glad to be back?
Yes. No. Maybe. Sometimes, the answer changes from one hour to the next. If you're not prepared to listen to an answer you don't really want to hear, please don't ask.

10. We're so glad to have you home.
This isn't my home. For one thing, I didn't grow up here. From that perspective, I haven't lived in my "home" for 12 years. For another, I spent the last 6 years building relationships and planting roots somewhere far removed from here. This isn't my home. This is your home. On this earth, I don't have a home. And actually, I'd like it to stay that way.

11. Unspecified.
Open to anyone who wants to share some of their own experiences of being on the receiving end of remarks of this sort, as well as dealing graciously with them. I don't always. Especially when it's stuff like #s 5 and 7. ;o)


Looking over the last 8 months (we have been here over 8 months--that is so weird), I can see a lot of lows, a lot of highs, a few plateaus, and some banged-up knees and elbows as we've tripped and fallen and sprawled flat on our faces and gotten back up again. I say "we" because Ed and I both have dealt with our share of spiritual and emotional scrapes and bruises...but really, I'm talking about my own transition here. Cross-cultural reentry is an intensely personal experience (which is what makes it so difficult to describe to anyone who has never experienced it), so each person's is different.

My lowest point so far was Earlyapril through mid-May. The bathtub incidents kind of set off the depression--but if it hadn't been the bathtub, it would've been something else. But I've had help. Help from a wonderful, loving God, who has sent wonderful, loving people into my life and placed me in loving, wonderful communion with them. I've had help through open, honest, in-depth conversation. I've had help through "The Artist's Way" (by Julia Cameron--THANK YOU, GAIL!!!), which is opening my eyes more and more to what it truly is that God created me to be. I've had help through a loving, wonderful, commiserating husband, who has actively grown with me even as he deals with his own transition issues.

I feel very blessed. I not only feel it, I *am* it, and I live it. I hesitate to say that I am learning to be content, since that is such a huge concept....but I think I am beginning to learn it. I am beginning to know why I am here, I am beginning to know what the next step could look like, and it's an unknown shape, but I'm excited about it instead of terrified. I feel as though I am unpacking my mind here, instead of merely unpacking cardboard boxes. I am beginning to travel light again, instead of schlepping around the misery of not knowing who I am. I am beginning to feel/see/hear reference points, reorient my inner compass, tune my inner self to the resonance of God's universe.

No matter what happens, I always know that eventually, I'll be at peace. Moving over here, finding myself in a low spot of sadness and depression, I knew that eventually I'd be at peace.

It's nice that at-peace is starting to happen again.

anybody like to help me out?

Okay, without going into a long spiel to try talking all and sundry into my plan, here's the deal:

I am in need of an extra $100.00 this month.

Would anyone like to brighten my corner by buying one of my oil paintings or commissioning one for that amount?

If you'd like to buy one, I have about 35 or 40 to choose from.

If you'd like to commission one, I'll need an advance. ;o)

Whoever's interested, let me know here, or email me!

brain gearing up for weirdness, apparently

So last night, in two separate dreams, I dreamed that...

1. there were worm-hatching larvae in my hair, and...

2. I was searching through my high school, Georg-Büchner-Schule (GBS), trying to find my Religion class because I was absent on the day they handed out schedules. While I was searching, I ran into my ex-boyfriend and his wife, neither of whom have, to my knowledge, ever set foot in Germany. And in the dream, he was happy to see me, which, considering the actual past, I very much doubt would be an accurate reflection of reality.

I go through phases of bizarre dreams. Many of these bizarre dreams involve GBS and being unable to find something or do something correctly. Since that was pretty much the theme of my real high school years, this theme in my dreams isn't really surprising. But the really bizarre ones--such as larvae in the hair, or tentacles growing out of the face, or vampires being driven back by circles on the ground and chants in pseudo-Latin--the really bizarre ones generally crop up only when I'm stressed, or there's a lot going on in my life that needs processing.

Therefore, it's rather peculiar that I should dream something so weird (not to mention gross) at this point in time, because I haven't been feeling stressed. Yeah, I've had a lot to process of late, but it hasn't been *bad*...and the larvae dream was gross enough to wake me up and make me go into the bathroom to check my scalp.

I don't know what the GBS/ex-boyfriend dream was all about. Maybe there's no real interpretation to these dreams, and they really are the result of a hyper imagination.

I could well believe that, actually. ;o)

eleanor roosevelt

I just watched part of a documentary on Eleanor Roosevelt. I wish I'd seen the whole thing instead of just the last 20 minutes. I had no idea she was such an influential woman--so influential that she was known as "First Lady of the world." Not because of who her husband was, but because of who she was: an activist for human rights and equal rights all over the world. I didn't know that she was the driving force behind the United Nations' Universal Declaration of Human Rights in 1948.

Apparently, she was also so vocal about equal rights in the USA, she received all sorts of death threats from the Ku Klux Klan. But she single-handedly stood up to the Klan--with nothing but an elderly friend and an pistol for backup--no police, no FBI, nothing--and, amid protests, went to a tiny little town and taught a workshop on how to break the laws against equal rights in existence at the time. She said that not standing up to them would be "cowardly."

She was definitely one classy lady. I wish there were someone of such high, ethical standards and moral values in US politics today. She would've made a terrific president.

human war and spiritual warfare: let's be honest about this

I read an article online today to which I prefer not providing a link. My reason for such recalcitrant (there's that word again!) secrecy is that I'm not sure I agree with many of the sentiments expressed in the article--or, rather, if I agree with the sentiments, I am quite sure I don't agree with the tone in which they are delivered. Either way, I don't think I want to have a link to the article on my blog, as I don't want anyone to associate me or my worldview with the attitude that comes through in the article.

However, I will let you know that the article was posted at lewrockwell.com, was written by one Lawrence Vance, and was dated June 12, 2008. Search for it if you so desire.

All of that said, I want to quote one particular statement from the article, a statement I find most true and telling:

"We hear more from the pulpit today justifying military intervention in the Middle East than we do about the need for missionaries to go there."

Does that hurt?

Does it hurt all of us who desire to follow Jesus?

Does it hurt any of us?

Does it prick our conscience at all?

It should. Because it's the truth.

fyi

...all comments answered, to my knowledge. FINALLY! ;o) You'll find the answers beneath the comments that inspired them.

TTFN,
C.

p.s. a novel update

WARNING: SPOILERS!!!!!

I mentioned this on my Facebook status yesterday (as though Facebook had so Terribly Important A Significance in the Grand Scheme of Things), but thought I should record it here as well:

Yesterday (having been Wednesday), I finished Chapter 31.

The following, however, has not yet graced a Facebook status line:

Today (having been, and still being, Thursday), I wrote the climax to my novel.

As in, the big bang that happens when all the threads and action finally come together and some people die and some people live and a bunch of bad guys get killed off and the heroine has a this-is-seriously-going-to-mess-up-or-totally-fix-my-life kind of moment. As in, pretty much everything that has happened previously has been Leading Up To This Moment, which makes it a fairly significant moment in the Grand Scheme of Novelizing Things.

Not to give away any of the good parts, but there was also the incident of someone's face getting melted off. Don't worry, it was one of the bad guys. I kind of enjoyed writing that part, especially because I didn't know it was going to happen before it happened.

Ooh, ooh, and there was a major time paradox, too! Kind of like the one Doc warns Marty about. Things exploded. A good time was had by all.

Well, not by some of the characters. The ones involved in the explosion.

I liked it.

Ooh, and when I wrote the part with the heroine and her sister, I made myself cry. That doesn't happen very often. It was emotionally very draining. But cathartic, in a weird sort of way, especially because I don't have a sister.

As you might be able to tell, all this has me as excited as a five-year-old on purple crack.

Writing swings my verge. It really does.

the one where i make another creative discovery

...said discovery being the realization that the laundry room of our apartment complex is an excellent place for working on my novel. Especially because I'm usually the only person there.

Procedure is as follows:

1. Take laundry to laundry room.
2. Stick laundry in washers.
3. Set up laptop.
4. Begin writing with no distractions, namely:

a. Internet
b. books
c. chores
d. Internet
e. paperwork
d. other that I can't think of right now
f. have I mentioned Internet?

5. Keep writing.
6. Take laundry out of washers.
7. Put laundry in dryers.
8. Write some more.
9. Keep writing.
10. Have a very productive writing day.

This completes Courtney's Ten-Step Laundry Program For Creative Writing.

elitism tastes good sometimes

"I don't have scientific data to back me up, but I've anecdotally witnessed a direct relationship between someone's willingness to read and their level of education, success, expectations for themselves, and general, uh, interestingness they bring to the table. I guess that makes me one of those 'elitists' we keep hearing about, but with that in mind, you may understand why it's been pretty...important to me that I instill a love of reading in my kids."

--Wil Wheaton
in his blog


If this were a Commonplace Book, and my profs were leaving me Post-It Note comments in it (which they did in my real Commonplace Book back in the Dark Ages of 1997), they would tell me that my posts are "heavy on Wil Wheaton" (in 1997, it was "heavy on Elton John). Guilty as charged (on all counts, past and hypothetical present).

That admitted, I really do enjoy Wil's thoughts. I won't say that I agree with him 100% on this particular quote: It doesn't apply to everyone; personally, I know plenty of highly interesting people who aren't big readers; but I do believe that the willingness to read affects education level and expectations for self.

In some ways, it can even determine education level and expectations for self.

Reading swings my verge!

hamster huey and the gooey kablooey

(Name that reference!)

I have a zit under the chicken pox scar on my chin.

I find this to be mildly ridiculous.

for my artist friends...

...and anyone else with whom this resonates.

An Artist's Prayer

O Great Creator,
We are gathered together in your name
that we may be of greater service to you
and to our fellows.
We offer ourselves to you as instruments.
We open ourselves to your creativity in our lives.
We surrender to you our old ideas.
We welcome your new and more expansive ideas.
We trust that you will lead us.
We trust that it is safe to follow you.
We know that you created us
and that creativity is your nature
and our own.
We ask you to unfold our lives
according to your plan, not our low self-worth.
Help us to believe that it is not too late
and that we are not too small or too flawed
to be healed--by you and through each other--
and made whole.
Help us to love one another,
to nurture each other's unfolding,
to encourage each other's growth,
and understand each other's fears.
Help us to know that we are not alone,
that we are loved and lovable.
Help us to create as an act of worship to you.

--Julia Cameron
in "The Artist's Way"

I cried when I read this.

in which i vent my spleen

So, ever since Ed and I got our Oklahoman cell phones (Handys, to my dear German readers), I have gotten heaps of unsolicited phone calls. Ed doesn't seem to get any at all, so I figure he's been blessed with a phone number that has never before been used in this dimension.

My number, however, seems to have had a previous owner who was either up to the nose in debt and on the lam (not lamb, hee hee ;o) from creditors and/or the Mafia, or simply enjoyed giving out the number to all and sundry so that all and sundry could use the number for the purposes of pointless harassment of The Innocent and Unsuspecting.

Namely, me.

I submitted my number to the National Do Not Call Registry (NDNCR), which is probably a misnomer. National We'd Like To Help You But We're Basically Powerless Would You Like a Teddy Bear? Registry would be more apt. The NDNCR is apparently maintained by the Federal Trade Commission, whose website even states that they cannot resolve individual customer complaints. Whoopee. The number of telemarketer calls has dropped since I registered, I'll give them that... But this does not resolve my problem of receiving about 6 calls a day, for five days in a row, approximately every two weeks, from the company HSBC Mortgage Services.

HSBC Mortgage Services is kinda clueless. Were they clueful, they would realize that I have never owned a house and, therefore, have never had a mortgage. Still, they persist on calling me x times per week (see previously noted statistics) VIA COMPUTER. That's right. Not only are they calling me, but they're using a poor, innocent computer to do their dirty work. The computer is voice activated, so it doesn't start talking until it hears a voice on the line.

Namely, mine.

I no longer answer the phone when I see that the display reads 800-395-3489. Sometimes, the computer stays on the line enough to be kicked over to voicemail, in which case I get a message that begins in the middle of a sentence, informs me ominously that "this is an attempt to collect a debt," and asks me to return the call to the aforementioned 800 number. (I never do, of course.)

HSBC called five times yesterday. Six times today. The day is young, yet.

Occasionally, I also receive calls from NCO Financial Systems at 800-477-1827.

As well as multiple calls from "Unknown," which I believe is HSBC cleverly disguising themselves so as to blend in with the wireless foliage of the modern telemarketing jungle.

Bunch of scaly, evil chameleons.

Personally, I think this should be illegal.

Stupid-kenupid telemarketercreditormortagerulemakers.

Blech.

"what is your glitch?" --"my glitch?"

Sometimes, I think my main problem is simply that I want to understand everything yesterday.

in honor of and reference to memory

Why is it so difficult to say what we really mean?

Why, when we try to communicate something important to us, do we so often send a message we didn't want to send, and end up hurting the other person without wanting to?

What must we do in order to learn to ask the right questions?

What must we do in order to learn how to listen for the answers?

Honestly: Is it so difficult to stop talking, open the heart, and let the soul truly comprehend what the other person is saying?

Why is what we want to say usually so much more important to us than that which the other person needs to say?

Why do we block others from unburdening their souls?

Why do we espouse total honesty, yet we cannot accept it when others are totally honest with us?

Are our relationships truly that fragile?

Are our relationships truly that shallow?

How can we have been so misled?

Why didn't anyone tell us?

Why can't we admit that the fault is our own for not having sought and delved more deeply?

Why do we lack courage?

Where is the safe haven?

Why do we paint love a color only we can see?

in which i ponder art and purpose

I am thinking about the act of writing.
I am thinking about music.
I am thinking about visual art, art on paper, art on canvas.
I am thinking about the multitude of ways in which we humans express ourselves in what is commonly known as a 'creative' way.

Genesis 1:1 reads, "In the beginning, God created..."
Genesis 2:26 reads, "God said, 'Let us make man in our image...'"

I have always thought that "in our image" refers to the fact that God created each of us with a soul.
I still believe that.

But I also believe this:

The first thing we learn about God from scripture is that he is a creative being. Since he made us 'in his image,' I believe this means that he made us to be creative beings.

Being a writer and an artist is, for me, paying homage to this fact. As a child imitates a father, so through my art, my creativity, I am imitating my Father by bringing forth something that, by human perception, wasn't there before. It is all by his design and through his workings in my spirit and in my life.

Every human, by Divine definition, carries a creative impulse within the soul. Every human. Without exception. Discovering that impulse is simply a matter of discovering how best to express it so as to bring glory to God.

cultural transitions bite...

...and I despise bathtub drains that leak into the neighbor's apartment *AGAIN*, thereby depriving me of a well-earned bubble bath.

Blech.

i've been blogging this in my head since 7am

Dear Traffic Hazards,

While watching you today, aiming snarky comments at you in my head--or aloud, when I was alone in the car--I decided that the time has come, as the walrus said, to let the you-relevant snarkiness leak from my mind, ooze down through my nervous system, trickle out of my fingertips, gush into my keyboard, and spawn its way onto my blog, where you may gnash your gnashing teeth over it in impotence. That said, here are the points I've wished all day that you might see fit to ponder:

1. The manufacturer of your car, law-abiding and foresightful individual that s/he is, wisely equipped your car with headlights. Yeah, if you could turn those on when it's dark outside....ummmmm.....that'd be grrreaaaat.

2. The aforementioned mountain-top-guru-esque manufacturer also built into your car a couple of nifty gadgets called turn signals.
     a. Some of you are using turn signals as a method for asking permission to change lanes, instead of using them to announce your intention to change lanes. Asking permission is not only a misuse of the turn signal (a misuse which should, I might add, be a federal offense, like tearing the tag off of a pillow--yeah, they know who you are, you delinquent pillow-tag-tear-offers!), it is also dumb.
     b. Some of you aren't using the turn signals at all. This is not only dumb, it is also stupid, because you are begging me to run into you because I don't know where you're going.

3. Entrance ramps are not parking lots. Please to be noticing the difference. Thank you.

4. Random Breaking Syndrome* is a disease. Seek help before it's too late**.

5. When I am abiding by the speed limit of 25mph and you, in your culturally-induced haste to get from Point A to Point Z so fast it threatens to tear the skin off your face, run up behind me and begin trying to push me to break the speed limit, the law of cause and effect comes into play.
     a. The effect might be that I simply ignore you, because I am in a good mood and not susceptible to your wily speed demon ways; stay thee behind me! Pwned!
     b. The effect might be that I actually slow down because I am annoyed (and you are not a droid, which is unfortunate, because it would make you more interesting). You are SO not swinging my verge, here.
          --> The cause of these effects is you, so do not gnash your teeth at me, or the effect will be that I purchase and apply to my car a bumper sticker that reads "I might be slow, but I'm ahead of you."

Cause-and-effect-really swings my verge.

6. I'm sure there's another point of severe snarkiness, but ruminating about you has kept me up long enough past my bedtime, so I think I'm going to go to sleep now.

Yours Truly,
The Chick in the Ancient Red Nissan

*Random Breaking Syndrome (RBS): the illness which causes vehicle drivers to slam on their brakes without warning and for no discernible reason, seeing as how there are no cars in front of them, much less cars that are braking. The braking of a car in front of you, by the way, is indicated by the glow of two brake lights at the back of the aforementioned car. Or one brake light, if you are in Oklahoma. Or no brake light at all, in which case we move on to the condition of the breaking of the car in front of you, which occurs when you run into said car because it is rapidly decelerating and not bothering to inform you of the fact.

**In this case, "late" would be a condition occurring, for example, when you begin using the entrance ramp for a parking lot.

froogality

FYI, I updated my Froogle Wish List, should you discover, deep within your soul, the burning desire to brighten my corner by spending money on li'l ol' me.

*grin*

i wish this story were fictional

At the bottom of this post are the tags "being the church" and "brighten the corner where you are."

This post is about what being the church and brightening your corner isn't.

After the funeral, he spots someone he hasn't seen in years. He greets her, she greets him. He asks several interested questions about her life. So far so good. As she launches into her exposition, two children approach.

They are two children of the deceased. Rightfully so, he interrupts the woman in order to address them. The woman turns with him, and together they express their condolences.

But he doesn't leave it at that. Can't leave it at that. Stepping close to one of the children--a youth in black with pierced ears and a girl on one arm--he puts his hand on the boy's shoulder and tells the grieving one, "Just remember that if you do what the Bible says, this isn't the end. And you'll see him again, if you do what's right."

(The youth nods, and politeness tugs at the corners of his mouth. But in his eyes is the confused rage of a heart that is wholly misunderstood, grieving, yearning for intimacy...but learning once again that to be vulnerable is to find not healing, but rejection. Judgment based on appearances. And so he turns away from the well-wisher's concept of soul-care, thinking that among these self-proclaimed followers of God, there is no safe haven for the likes of him.)

Having executed his Christian duty, the well-wisher then makes for the parking lot and drives away. After embracing the children a final time, the woman turns to look for him. But he is gone. She guesses that the conversation must be over.

in which i don't know whether or not locusts and cicadas are the same thing

I intended to write about this weeks ago but forgot.

A few weeks ago, on a warm spring evening (as opposed to the hot spring evening we are currently experiencing--25 degrees Celsius at 22:00!), Ed and I were sitting in the office with the windows open, doing the kind of nothing that people do in their offices at home on warm spring evenings.

(An aside: I just now sneezed and hit my head on the edge of my laptop. Ow.)

As we sat there, doing nothing, I gradually became aware of a noise. I'd been hearing it for quite some time but hadn't consciously taken note of it. When I finally did begin paying attention to it, I knew immediately what it was: a locust!

Some people find them creepy. Some find them annoying. I find locusts completely fascinating, both in appearance and in lifestyle. ("Lifestyles of the Green and Bug-Eyed!")
As I told Ed on that do-nothing evening of a few weeks ago, the sound of locusts takes me back to childhood summers in Oklahoma, lying awake at night, sweltering in the heat, listening to the locusts as they sang me to sleep.

I've been a lot of places and heard a lot of things, but so far, for me, the sound of locust song is unique to Oklahoma. There's just no other sound like it. And because I associate it with the wonderful, boisterous, adventurous summers of my childhood, it's a sound that is very dear to me. I love walking out into a warm, humid summer evening in Oklahoma and hearing the locusts as they "sing" so loudly, they're almost deafening. Every time I hear them, there's a split second when I'm a kid again.

"Reeeeeeeeeeeeee!" said Ed, imitating the locust. "How would you like it," he asked me, "if your whole purpose in life were to crawl out of the ground in the spring, stretch, look around, and then start making that noise?!"

I laughed.

Oh, and speaking of humid, tonight is definitely the night for that! Earlier, I walked outside, and I could smell the heat and moisture rolling through the air. Like the locust song, this smell is unique to this place. No other place I've been smells quite like this. Germany has its share of humid summers, but they smell different: woodsier somehow, scented with tree mold and green, deep and dark and growing.

Oklahoma humidity smells like earth and rain and wind. It's a wild smell, scented with power barely restrained, occasionally threatening with a hint of ozone. This, too, takes me back to childhood, when storms meant running out into the rain for the sheer joy of getting drenched and seeing the lighting; when climbing water towers didn't seem foolish; when simply everything was possible.

great quote

"I was certain that God had a greater purpose for me, and I prayed every day for Him to reveal it to me. At first I was expecting Him to show me my entire future all at once--maybe with a flash of lightning and a clap of thunder thrown in for good measure. But I came to learn that God never shows us something we aren't ready to understand. Instead, he lets us see what we need to see, when we need to see it. He'll wait until our eyes and hearts are open to Him, and then when we're ready, He will plant our feet on the path that's best for us...but it's up to us to do the walking."

--Immaculée Ilibagiza
"Left to Tell: Discovering God Amidst the Rwandan Holocaust"

book comments 5 (in which i briefly wax political)

Most of my latest reading adventures. I think I'm forgetting a few, but I'm sure those few of you who actually read my book reviews will forgive me. ;o)

"Velocity" by Dean Koontz
--fast-paced, entertaining, good read, kept me on the edge of my seat
--Billy Wiles is the tormented main character, and I just wanted to cuddle him.
--SPOILER: The love of Billy's life is in a coma, and she doesn't wake up before the end of the book, if I recall correctly. This is a little too close to the situation of one of Koontz's other leading men, Odd Thomas, the love of whose life is dead. I'm starting to get a little tired of Koontz Leading Men who don't get to move on emotionally because their girls are either incapacitated or deceased. I'm a girl. I like a little requited romance here and there.
--That said, I still recommend the book. ;o)


"The Crucible" by Arthur Miller
--I will betray my ignorance of classic American literature by admitting that before I picked it up, I thought this was a novel, not a play.
--So it was a faster read than I'd been anticipating. ;o)
--thoroughly enjoyed it, thought it was a great comment on society, both past and present
--saw the movie a few years ago, so had trouble not seeing Daniel Day-Lewis and Winona Ryder in my head while reading
--no complaints about Day-Lewis visual; "Last of the Mohicans" is still a favorite
--but I digress
--"Crucible": highly recommend, especially in light of society's continuing penchant for inciting hysteria among the masses; nowadays, this takes place a great deal over email forwards :oP


"Cat O'Nine Tales" by Jeffrey Archer
--picked it up because the author is a British politician telling stories he heard while he was in prison (true!)
--collection of extremely clever short stories with often hilarious criminal punch lines
--fascinating, fun, excellent read
--Archer writes in a style I call "veddy British," and I love it.
--highly recommend


"Left to Tell: Discovering God Amidst the Rwandan Holocaust" by Immaculée Ilibagiza
--Um. Wow. Scary. Heartbreaking. Infuriating. Horrifying.
--I thought after watching "Hotel Rwanda," I had found out as much as I wanted to about the 1994 genocide against the Tutsis in Rwanda. Well, I was wrong, and I'm ashamed of my prior lack of interest. I think everyone needs to read this book. Especially everyone who has a strong opinion about the war in Iraq.

You think political errors have been made in regard to Iraq?

The political errors regarding Rwanda--specifically, the barely-there and very late-in-coming involvement of the world's democratic governments--stand out much more starkly. And are a whole lot more embarrassing. Those people needed the Western world's help *a lot sooner* than any of us gave it. I am embarrassed that we didn't give it.

But Rwanda doesn't have oil.

'Nuff said.


"By the Sword" by Mercedes Lackey
--classic sword-and-sorcery fantasy
--reminded me pleasantly of Andre Norton
--for the most part, fast-paced and action-packed
--got me interested in checking out Lackey's other novels set in this particular universe ("Heralds of Valdemar")
--I had some trouble relating to the heroine, simply because I'm much more of a girl than she is. ;o)
--I did get bored with and skimmed over a lot of the battle tactic and war strategy stuff, especially toward the end of the book. Those parts made me think, "Get on with the story!" The large gaps of time (one spanning ten years!) between chapters and parts were a little distracting
--recommend to anyone who likes "old school" fantasy ;o)


Coming Soon to a Courtney's Blog near you:

(drumroll, please)

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"The Golden Compass" trilogy, more correctly known as "His Dark Materials"!!!

Lighting will strike! Run for your life!!!!!!

;oD

the worst food in america

Check out this article about how bad restaurant (not fast food!) is for us. It's scary. And scary. And did I mention that it's scary?

According to the writers' research, this is the Worst-For-You Food in America:

Outback Steakhouse Aussie Cheese Fries with Ranch Dressing
2,900 calories
182 g fat
240 g carbs

"It's the caloric equivalent of eating 14 Krispy Kreme doughnuts, before your dinner arrives. Even if you split this "starter" with 3 friends, you'll have downed a meal's worth of calories."

This isn't food for thought. This is food for your fat cells. This is food to add on to your fat cells.

Blech.

more nickelback randomness

So it happened again. I heard a song I liked, Googled it, and found out it was Nickelback again. This is seriously starting to weird me out.

Anyway, this time, it was "Rockstar." The picture the lyrics paint of the celebrity life is painfully vivid and accurate. In spite of the two vulgarities, I still appreciate the song for its truth.

And the sarcasm just really swings my verge.

my transition meltdown. let me show you it.

I ought to be getting in bed right now. I've actually not been doing half bad about keeping to a regular sleep schedule lately. I'd hate to mess it up just because of a little case of RRRCS. Reverse Reverse Reverse Culture Shock. But as I was about to shut down the taplop, I realized I simply didn't want to go to sleep without blogging about this first.

Don't let the sun go down on your culture shock. Isn't that how the scripture goes?

Anyway...

I've been feeling edgy the last few days. Partially because of hormones--I'll spare you those details. But even if it is hormone-related, that doesn't make the emotions any less valid.

So. Edginess. Still, okay. Then came a couple of phone calls yesterday. Well-meant, and ordinarily not something I'd react to adversely. But I came away from them feeling inadequate, untrustworthy, weak, and foolish (notably, not by the callers' doing). I don't need to say that this did nothing to take the edge off the edge. So I won't say it.

Today, I got an email from our dear friend Elsa, reporting on the latest ETM class that took place last week. And there was a photo, too. Not only that, but there was a meeting over the past weekend for *all* the ETM participants *ever*.

I took one look at that photo, read the first line of Elsa's email, and promptly started bawling.

I should have been there, was what I was thinking. I wanted to be there. Desperately. But I couldn't be there. And I suddenly felt like I was wholly and irrevocably in the wrong place.

Shortly thereafter, I called my parents to talk about something totally unrelated, ended up misunderstanding something Daddy said and getting upset all over again, and then bawling to both him and Mama. Later, Jennifer came for coffee, and I bawled to her. Then Isaac arrived, and I bawled to him, too.

By the time Ed got home, I was all cried out. Besides, just seeing him made me feel better. Later, Jennifer and I went for a walk and a talk, and that helped a lot, too.

I don't *really* think I'm in the wrong place. I'm not *truly* dissatisfied with where I am in life and why and whatnot. That might be how I feel right now, but I know it's not so. The feelings are valid, but they aren't a reflection of reality. They're simply part of the transition process.

So eventually, I'll be okay. Today was just a rough day. I've known for awhile it was coming. But, like the day I cried in Buy-for-Less, I didn't expect it on a particular day. It's impossible to predict what will trigger it.

Tomorrow evening, I'm supposed to substitute teach a Ladies' Class. On personal evangelism. You know, that thing I did fulltime in Chemnitz. That thing I believe is part of the definition of "Christian." I hope I can get through the class. With God's help, I know I can. But only if I let him take care of the transition-emotions. And I'm not sure I'm ready to let go of them and let him, yet.

Blech.

I don't like this.

I think I might do some painting this week.

That's all. I feel better now. :o)

i finished chapter 25 today!

...and it's ten pages longer than I expected it to be. Not sure what happened there.

But still, there is much rejoicing!

ima hogg

Today's featured article on Wikipedia is about a woman named Ima Hogg. I find this highly amusing, because I've heard anecdotes about her for, like, ever, but I never believed she really existed.

So now, having perused the article, I sit amusedly corrected.

Enjoy!

another very TCK rant, if you can stand it

...and if you can't, stop reading. ;o)

Okay, so a few days ago, I wrote about how I get really irritated when people give me 20 seconds of their attention, then turn me off right as I'm in the middle of answering THEIR question.

This isn't going to be a rant about that again.

But this *is* going to be a rant about something else to which I react with anger.

I'll be brief.


To Whom It May Concern--And You Know Who You Are:

Do not tell me I'm not a "good American" because I get upset when you bash Europe. To my face.

Do not tell me that I sound more German than American in my opinions. If I *am* more German, then it is none of your business.

And do not tell me that I need to decide which country I want to be a citizen of in my heart.
Do not have the audacity, the utter gall to say such a thing to me.

______

I'm done.
______

This isn't a cross-cultural re-entry issue for me. This relates to the ever-difficult, ever-present, life-long struggle of feeling torn between cultures. Even after I complete the current cultural transition phase, this isn't going to go away. I accept that, so please don't anyone worry that I'm having a meltdown. I'm not. I just read something this evening that reminded me of the incident described above, and I realized I'd feel better about it if I aired the dirty laundry in public.

you may quote me on this

Occasional incoherence builds character!

While you're at it, don't get stuck in the metaphysical toe cheese.

That really swings my verge.


(And on a side note, here's what the online translator does with those sentences...

...in German:
Die zufällige Zusammenhangslosigkeit baut den Charakter! Während Sie - darin, sie sich in metaphysischem Käse der Zehe nicht verstopfen. Das schwingt meinen Rand wirklich.

...in English:
The accidental unconnectedness builds the character! While you do not block yourselves in metaphysical cheese of the toe - in it, they. This swings my edge really.

*Love* it.)

something to chew on

I found this quote that I'd scribbled down somewhere. I have no idea who said it, but it's an excellent thought.

The worst thing that could happen to you is that you go to your grave a respectable fraud who spent your entire life worrying that someone would find out, but you ignored the only one who saw it all.

i finished chapter 23 today!

...which really swings my verge. ;o)

a few more interesting scriptures from the FHV

...FHV = Freed-Hardeman Version, which I mentioned sometime last week, or maybe week-before-last, but I'm in a hurry right now, so I'm not gonna look it up. Anyway, here are the verses of current interest:

Matthew 5:31-32
It was said, "Whoever divorces his wife is to give her a bill of divorce." But, I assure you, any man who divorces his wife except for fornication leaves her debased, and whoever marries a divorced woman commits adultery.
(Emphasis added because that makes so much more sense than any other translation I've ever read or divorce-related doctrine I've ever heard!)

John 21:15-17
After breakfast, Jesus asked Simon Peter, "Simon, son of Jonah, do you love me more than these?"
He replied, "Yes, Lord, you know I like you."
Jesus said, "Feed my lambs." A second time, Jesus asked, "Simon, son of Jonah, do you love me?"
Peter answered, "Yes, Lord, you know that I like you."
Jesus said, "Shepherd my sheep." The third time, Jesus asked, "Simon, son of Jonah, do you like me?"
Peter was grieved because Jesus had asked for the third time, "Do you like me?", and he replied, "Lord, you know all things: you know I like you."
Jesus answered, "Feed my sheep."
(emphasis added)

some culture shock thoughts

Before I begin, here's another caveat emptor (I've been using that phrase so often lately, I really should make it a tag): I am not bitter; I am not trying to criticize; I am not complaining; I am meaning no offense. I am venting, and I am feeling frustrated, and I am making observations. So there are your grains of salt with which to take the following:

One. If you ever really want to annoy me: ask me a question, give me twenty seconds of your attention, and then, as I am answering YOUR question, either walk away from me or turn away and start talking to someone else.

This has happened numerous times since we arrived here in November. And the culprits are not inattentive children or flighty teenagers. The culprits are allegedly friendly, allegedly sensitive, and allegedly well-adjusted adults who ought to know better.

Forgive me my intolerance and closed-mindedness, but that is rude no matter what culture you're in. Please spare me your alleged interest in who I really am.

I know this sounds bitter, but I'm really not bitter. Frustrated. Annoyed.

Two. A lot of people here profess to be very proud to be American, proud to be part of this country. And yet I observe the same people, littering and wasting natural resources (leaving water running, leaving lights on, leaving cars running while the drivers duck into the store for 15 minutes...). Germans are, for the most part, lukewarm when it comes to patriotism. And yet they will drive you nuts with everything they insist on doing to protect the environment, to take care of their land (like separating trash into four different types for disposal and recycling; I am so brainwashed, I *still* feel guilty about putting everything into one trash can!).

So of the two cultures, which is really more patriotic?

Annoyed. Not bitter. Frustrated. And ***confused***.

an 'i am' poem

message to a friend who was


i am penitent and hopeful

i wonder if i will ever be able to ask your forgiveness
i hear a voice whispering discouragement into my heart
i see myself speaking to you of my sin
i want to assure you that i desire nothing of you
i am penitent and hopeful.

i pretend no more
i feel myself growing beyond the confines of who i was
i touch the places in my past that hurt
i worry that you resent me
i weep not, though: for
i am penitent and hopeful.

i understand that i cannot fix this
i say these things to you because i must
i dreamt i was not prideful, but i have awakened to what’s real

i remember our laughter

i hope i will one day have the honor of asking your forgiveness

meanwhile
i am penitent

and hopeful.


The above text © 2007 by Courtney Weger Cantrell.

dream #145

Drowning People of All Nations, Unite!

Last night, I dreamed that I was in Communist East Germany, and the Stasi were chasing me. I tried to hide in a skyscraper that was an apartment building. But as luck would have it, the Stasi had chosen that particular building in which to kill all of the occupants by drowning. I was caught up in the chaos of fleeing people and Stasi officers’ giving orders.

Somehow, I ended up pushing myself through a crowd on the stairs and getting into the basement. I thought I could find some loose boards among the panels that covered all the windows. But somehow the Stasi had managed to make the whole building watertight. They began pumping water in, and the basement started to fill up. Together with a few others who had kept their heads, I found a section of boarding that was loose. By holding our breaths and diving down to the floor of the basement, we managed to pry the boards away, let some of the water out, and help a few people escape before swimming to safety ourselves.

When I emerged from the basement, I found the streets full of people and Communist troops. A full-scale revolt had erupted, and the citizens were taking up arms and fighting back. I joined a crowd that was standing on some crumbling concrete steps, listening to a man give a revolutionary speech. A lot of the people had weapons that looked like shotguns. Then the dream ended.

keeping the joy alive

And, speaking of geekdom, here's a little something I just have to re-post every few years. I share it because this guy, whose name I believe is Gary, just makes me really happy. Every time I see this, I smile...

...and I sing and dance along. Huzzah!

"Gary" sings "Dragostea Din Tei".

i couldn't agree more, and i am a geek

As regularly as I read any blog (which has not, of late, been regularly at all), I peruse the blog of Wil Wheaton. On March 6, 2008, he posted the following:"

"Some books contain the machinery required to create and sustain universes."
-Tycho, at Penny Arcade

Yeah, let that roll around in your head for a little bit. It's really as simple and beautiful as that, isn't it?

I see a bookshelf, filled with different books from different authors, all acting as portals to different worlds and different times. The author may give them birth, but it's the readers who keep them alive.

--yellow text penned by Wil Wheaton
_________________________________________

That's exactly how I feel about books and about reading them. I've mentioned the worlds and universes aspect before. Here.

As for why I'm a geek....well, Wil Wheaton's a geek, and I love his blog. I don't always like his word choices, but I ignore them because I like how he writes and the fact that he revels in his geekdom. Besides, he played Wesley Crusher on Star Trek: TNG, and I loved him heart and soul when I was 13.

I revel in my own geekdom (see here and here,) but I suspect my secret recalcitrant side often prevents me from engaging in revelry in public. I admire Wil for his blatant and unhesitant revelry. I find, though, that I become more and more open about my geekiness as I get older, so perhaps I am learning something.

And, in the spirit of such...

Happy Belated π Day!
and
Happy Belated Ides of March!

they might be germans

Today, I've had "Particle Man" stuck in my head for some reason, and as I was unloading the dishwasher, I randomly started singing it to myself in German. So here's a snippet of translation for your enjoyment:

Partikelmann, Partikelmann,
er tut was ein Partikel kann.
Ob er lebt ist unwichtig,
Partikelmann.

Isser 'n Punkt?
Oder isser 'n Fleck?
Wird er unter dem Wasser nass?
Oder durchnässt er das Wasser selbst?
Keiner weiss,
Partikelmann.

Ta-dah.

P.S. For my German friends: "Particle Man" is a song by a group called They Might Be Giants. And all this has led to singing the politically rather incorrect "Drie Chieniesien miet diem Kientriebiess" in my head. I don't know why.

most recent novel-related facebook status updates

March 10, 2008
Courtney is now far enough along in the story to know there will probably be 35 chapters.

March 11, 2008
Courtney finished Chapter 27 today!

March 13, 2008
Courtney has figured out that she MIGHT have the first draft finished IN 10 WEEKS!


And today, I am working on Chapter 23. Note: I am not writing chapters in numerical order. Chapters 1-22 and 27 are completed, but I also have bits and pieces written for 24, 26, 28, 30, 31, and 35. Filling in the blanks is fun! ;o)

Ten weeks till first draft completion is probably an overly optimistic assessment. More realistic would probably be 12 or 13. But we shall see. I have still done more work on the story in the last few months than I have done during the previous two years! YAY!

thoughts on a bible translation

So once again, I'm trying to make daily Bible study part of my lifestyle. Over the last 2 years, I had made daily study a priority. Yeah, I had "backslides" or "relapses" or whatchacallits, times when I forgot or put it off or just didn't do it because I was feeling recalcitrant. (There's that word again!) But still, I was generally moving in the right direction, knew myself a spiritually stronger person, and knew myself as becoming ever more vulnerable to and intimate with God.

Since Ed and I moved back to Oklahoma, my daily Bible study has been nil.

There have been lots of reasons for this, but I don't want to get into all of that now. It's cultural-transition-related, so perhaps I'll write about that some other time. The point of this blopgost is to say that I am once more reading daily ( --> spending time with God daily), and I would like to share some thoughts about the Bible translation I have been using.

I'm not sure what the official name of this translation is. The cover reads as follows:

The Everlasting Gospel
New Testament with Psalms, Proverbs, and more
Hugo McCord, Th.D.
FHU Press

What I have is the 4th edition. Its foreword refers to the translation as the Freed-Hardeman Version (FHV). For simplicity's sake, that's how I will refer to it, as well.

I'm no Greek scholar, but I'm working on it. ;o) I've been studying N.T. Greek (Koine) for over a year and am pleased to be able to say that I now have a rudimentary understanding of the language which can certainly get me into a lot of trouble. ;o) That said (and I hope, by the tongue-in-cheek, you realize that I am considering myself anything but learnéd), in what little FHV reading I've done, I've identified a few problems in the New Testament translation. (I can say nothing of the Old Testament translation, as I've not yet dared to tackle Hebrew.)

So far, these seem to be little things. Most recently, I noticed that the FHV calls the Jewish 7th hour "7 o'clock" (John 4:52), which is incorrect. The Jewish 7th hour was equivalent to our 1:00pm. A minor detail...but it begs the question what other things have been overlooked. There's more to be said on this subject, I'm sure, but let me digress into what I actually wanted to write about when I set about writing this blopgost...

...which is this: The FHV translates several passages in such a manner as to clear up some major theological issues of our day. I won't name the issues, and I won't point out the particulars of why I'm quoting the verses I quote below. Suffice it to say that the translation of certain words and phrases in the N.T. scriptures concurs with what I've been taught, so far, by three different Greek scholars. Not that this makes me an authority or in any way reliable--I am simply giving my opinion. Given another 40 years of Greek study, I might change that opinion. But for now, the scriptures:

John 3:16
God so loved the world that he gave his unique Son, so that no one who believes in him will perish, but he will have eternal life.

Acts 2:38
...Change your hearts and be immersed, each one of you, in the name of Jesus Christ into the forgiveness of your sins, and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit.

Titus 3:5
...he saved us, not by works of righteousness which we had done, but according to his mercy, through the bath of the new birth and the renewal of the Holy Spirit...

Matthew 3:8
Bring forth fruit as evidence of a change of heart.

Matthew 5:48
You therefore shall be mature, as your heavenly Father is mature.

1. Corinthians 10:13
...God is trustworthy, and he will not allow you to be tried beyond your ability. With the trial he will provide an escape, so that you can bear up under it.

Acts 2:4
All [the apostles] were filled with the Holy Spirit, and began speaking in other languages as the Spirit empowered them.

Acts 10:46
They were hearing the Gentiles speak in languages and praising God.

1. Corinthians 14:5
...He who prophecies is greater than he who speaks in languages, unless he interprets, that the assembly might be edified.


And so forth.

A note on the foreword: McCord definitely had a sense of humor. (I say "had" because I heard that he's dead.) He writes, "...the KJV uses words such as 'grisled,' 'holpen,' 'sith,' 'unicorns,' 'strawed,' 'bewrayeth,' 'wist,' 'wit,' 'wot,' and 'trow'...while advising readers to use 'sound speech that cannot be condemned' (Titus 2:8)." ;o)

And a general note on various translations: I'm a strong advocate of perusing multiple translations at once. When I'm studying or preparing a lesson, I usually use at least 5 or 6. It keeps my mind open and helps me to see nuances. So no one should take this post as my recommendation of the FHV above all other translations. It is one of many I use; but it just happens to be one I'm currently very interested in, and one that translates a few things in a way I haven't seen in other translations.

courtney's cure for writer's block

Shannon voiced a writer's block difficulty, so I thought I'd share here what I wrote to him on Facebook:

Courtney's Cure for Writer's Block, Gleaned From Various Writing Sources

1. Grab Inner Editor by scruff of neck.

2. Drag him down to the darkest depths of the deepest mental dungeon.

3. Lock him behind the most solid steel door available.

4. Break the key off in the lock.

5. Skip light-heartedly back up the mental stairs.

6. Write, write, write...

7. ...and write anything, even if it's just stream-of-consciousness stuff that has nothing to do with your current project, without thinking about it, without changing anything, without correcting anything, without stopping, for at least 20 minutes.

8. Take a break and go do something completely unrelated to writing.

9. Wash, rinse, repeat.


That all sounds very tongue-in-cheek, but it really does work. The principle is just to give yourself the freedom to write anything and everything, without stopping to think if it's "good enough" or not. It's all about getting past the intimidating, blank white space--paper or word processor screen--you're trying to fill! :o)

*much eye-rolling*

On the radio the other day, I heard a "Jenny Craig" commercial. One particular line of their spiel caught my attention:

"You can lose weight for $49.95 a month!"

Well, hidey-ho and guess what, neighborinos....*I* can lose weight FOR FREE! HA!

What an utterly ridiculous commercial.

a conversation from today

Courtney: Does your stomach still hurt?

Ed: It comes and goes.

Courtney: Your stomach?

Ed: Yeah.

Courtney: I bet that feels kinda funny.

linguistic amusement

Someone might notice that I updated my links list today. (See far right column.) Among those links is now a link (how word-well-wielding is that?) to Thesaurus.com, which I reference multiple times an hour as I write.

I know that while penning my first draft, I should ignore my Inner Editor and worry about finding synonyms later, but I can't help myself. I think I'm addicted. And the Inner Editor is more than happy to supply me with synonymical drugs.

Anyway....I was just indulging my habit a few minutes ago by looking up another word for "relentless." Thesaurus.com gave me "ruthless." Which led me to the following musings:

Why isn't relentful the opposite of relentless?

Relentless is related to the verb relent.
If relentless and ruthless are basically interchangeable, why can one not make a verb out of ruthless?

As in:

1. I no longer felt relentless, so I relented.
2. I am begging you to relent!

1A. I no longer felt ruthless, so I ruthed.
2A. I am begging you to ruth!

I'm so glad to have gotten this off my chest. I'm going to go back to my story now.

another good quote

“Truth often carries with it the inherent necessity for change. The most common expression when real change enforces itself is the plaintive cry: ‘Why didn’t anyone warn us?’ Truly, they do not hear-—or hearing, do not choose to remember.”

~Brian Herbert and Kevin J. Anderson,
“Dune: House Corrino”

a thought

"Every majestic oak tree was once a nut who stood his ground."

--Author Unknown


I'm a nut. What are you?
;o)