Reading along in Walking on Water the other day, I was struck anew by this paragraph:
"The artist, if he is not to forget how to listen, must retain the vision which includes angels and dragons and unicorns, and all the lovely creatures which our world would put in a box marked Children Only."
What else goes into that box on a regular basis, I wonder? It seems like we're okay with writing beautiful stories and stories of wonder for children, but for adults we think it all has to be pragmatic and "realistic." I put that last in quotes because I think what Madeleine is reminding of us here is that we need to broaden our vision of what's real to include things that are unseen or only usually talked about in the realm of imagination.
And there's the connection between listening and vision again...which we talked about in the earlier post.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Words...
It comes as no surprise to me that such an accomplished writer as L'Engle should have strong opinions when it comes to the variety of words available to authors. "We cannot Name or be Named without language," she says. Even more emphatically: "I might even go to the extreme of declaring that the deliberate diminution of vocabulary by a dictator, or an advertising copywriter, is anti-Christian." (37)
I find it interesting that she expresses such a strong preference for picking up vocabulary from context rather than stopping to look words up - rather the way she mentions that she never tries to jot down her dreams in the middle of the night. It jerks her away from the immediacy. I generally find that I don't stop to look words up either - unless I'm reading something online and find I just have to dash off to dictionary.com to find out what that word means. More often, though, I just absorb words and find myself using them.
Reading this section got me thinking about vocabulary, and I started jotting down some of the more colorful words sprinkled throughout the book. Just writing them is reinforcement, looking them up moreso. Here are a few...
divertissement, interstices, pellucid, salutary, piosity, temerity, vagaries, vicissitudes, castigating, salvific, indigents, licensiousness, ousia...
And the one that really made me sit up and take notice: pusillanimous (contemptibly fearful). Now there's a mouthful!
I find it interesting that she expresses such a strong preference for picking up vocabulary from context rather than stopping to look words up - rather the way she mentions that she never tries to jot down her dreams in the middle of the night. It jerks her away from the immediacy. I generally find that I don't stop to look words up either - unless I'm reading something online and find I just have to dash off to dictionary.com to find out what that word means. More often, though, I just absorb words and find myself using them.
Reading this section got me thinking about vocabulary, and I started jotting down some of the more colorful words sprinkled throughout the book. Just writing them is reinforcement, looking them up moreso. Here are a few...
divertissement, interstices, pellucid, salutary, piosity, temerity, vagaries, vicissitudes, castigating, salvific, indigents, licensiousness, ousia...
And the one that really made me sit up and take notice: pusillanimous (contemptibly fearful). Now there's a mouthful!
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Doing Nothing
I really like this:
"I've long since stopped feeling guilty about taking being time; it's something we all need for our spiritual health, and often we don't take enough of it." (2)
It reminds me of Christopher Robin's conversation with Winnie the Pooh at the end of House at Pooh Corner:
"What I like doing best is Nothing."
"How do you do Nothing?" asked Pooh, after he had wondered for a long time.
"Well, it's when people call out at you just as you're going off to do it 'What are you going to do, Christopher Robin?' and you say 'Oh, nothing,' and then you go and do it."
"Oh, I see," said Pooh.
"This is a nothing sort of thing that we're doing now."
"Oh, I see," said Pooh again.
"It means just going along, listening to all the things you can't hear, and not bothering."
Just as Christopher Robin later bemoans the fact that he won't be able to do Nothing nearly so much anymore because of the grown-up expectations about to be placed upon him, L'Engle mourns the frequent loss of a sense of childlike joy and wonder. Pooh is a master of doing Nothing, yet he is also the most artistic of the inhabitants of the Hundred-Acre Wood. His "poohetry" stems from his willingness to quietly go along, enjoying the world around him. He doesn't stress out about being productive; it's an organic process.
I sometimes find it hard to take the time to "do Nothing"; I always seem to feel the pressure of time even when I don't have any particular deadlines - one bother that plush Pooh is immune to! But doing Nothing is a very worthwhile exercise, especially if it's of the outdoor variety on a beautiful day like today. Of course, it never hurts to have a pencil and notepad in hand just in case Nothing yields Something...
"I've long since stopped feeling guilty about taking being time; it's something we all need for our spiritual health, and often we don't take enough of it." (2)
It reminds me of Christopher Robin's conversation with Winnie the Pooh at the end of House at Pooh Corner:
"What I like doing best is Nothing."
"How do you do Nothing?" asked Pooh, after he had wondered for a long time.
"Well, it's when people call out at you just as you're going off to do it 'What are you going to do, Christopher Robin?' and you say 'Oh, nothing,' and then you go and do it."
"Oh, I see," said Pooh.
"This is a nothing sort of thing that we're doing now."
"Oh, I see," said Pooh again.
"It means just going along, listening to all the things you can't hear, and not bothering."
Just as Christopher Robin later bemoans the fact that he won't be able to do Nothing nearly so much anymore because of the grown-up expectations about to be placed upon him, L'Engle mourns the frequent loss of a sense of childlike joy and wonder. Pooh is a master of doing Nothing, yet he is also the most artistic of the inhabitants of the Hundred-Acre Wood. His "poohetry" stems from his willingness to quietly go along, enjoying the world around him. He doesn't stress out about being productive; it's an organic process.
I sometimes find it hard to take the time to "do Nothing"; I always seem to feel the pressure of time even when I don't have any particular deadlines - one bother that plush Pooh is immune to! But doing Nothing is a very worthwhile exercise, especially if it's of the outdoor variety on a beautiful day like today. Of course, it never hurts to have a pencil and notepad in hand just in case Nothing yields Something...
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Writing on a Deadline
I can relate so well to the frustration Christian singer-songwriter Nichole Nordeman describes in the Foreward; not sure if it's in your edition or not, but she talks about being forced to write at a time when she was incredibly uninspired and this book making the difference in getting her real creative juices flowing again.
Deadlines have always stressed me out. Then again, they've also kept me going. I always seem to manage when it's an essay for school or a certain number of reviews or a newspaper article, though I do a fair bit of fretting. But writing stories, poems and that kind of thing gives me a lot more trouble, and if it's a self-imposed deadline, chances are I just let it slide, since I can't seem to stick with it, especially if it's one long project, such as a novel, rather than a collection of several short projects, like my self-imposed parody challenge. I finished that, but I've got a book I started wriitng about five years ago that's nowhere near completion. It's got a few chapters but no sense of direction, and I've been totally stalled on it for a year or two.
What do you do to defeat writer's block? At what point do you decide that a particular project just isn't going anywhere? And do you find you write more effectively when a deadline is imposed upon you by others or when you set your own? I'm really ready to tackle some poetry and fiction again. Hopefully Walking on Water will help me to get my juices flowing too!
Deadlines have always stressed me out. Then again, they've also kept me going. I always seem to manage when it's an essay for school or a certain number of reviews or a newspaper article, though I do a fair bit of fretting. But writing stories, poems and that kind of thing gives me a lot more trouble, and if it's a self-imposed deadline, chances are I just let it slide, since I can't seem to stick with it, especially if it's one long project, such as a novel, rather than a collection of several short projects, like my self-imposed parody challenge. I finished that, but I've got a book I started wriitng about five years ago that's nowhere near completion. It's got a few chapters but no sense of direction, and I've been totally stalled on it for a year or two.
What do you do to defeat writer's block? At what point do you decide that a particular project just isn't going anywhere? And do you find you write more effectively when a deadline is imposed upon you by others or when you set your own? I'm really ready to tackle some poetry and fiction again. Hopefully Walking on Water will help me to get my juices flowing too!
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Walking on Water: First Thoughts
Well, we've not gotten very far with this blog so far. :-) I still can't believe summer is over and gone...and September seems to be galloping by at an alarming rate too!
I'm glad we've decided to read Walking on Water next. It's long been one of my very favorite of Madeleine's books, and one of my favorite books on faith and creativity period.
I just started re-reading the other day. I'm only a few pages in, but I keep pausing and smiling because I have so very many favorite quotes. Not just quotes by Madeleine herself either. I was realizing how many other quotes and poems she introduced me to. I read this book for the first time in 1987 and I'm pretty sure it was my introduction to Coleridge's "willing suspension of belief," for instance. I know it was also the first place I'd ever read e.e. cumming's wonderful poem beginning "i who have died am alive again today..."
But some of the things Madeleine herself said were very important to me the first time I ever read them, and have remained so. They've sort of embedded themselves in my heart and mind and become touchstones for me as I try to continue to live out a writing life, one that is connected (I hope deeply) to my living out of my faith.
One of those important quotes comes on p. 18 (of my 1980 edition published by Shaw) when Madeleine writes:
"Obedience is an unpopular word nowadays, but the artist must be obedient to the work, whether it be a symphony, a painting, or a story for a small child. I believe that each work of art, whether it is a work of great genius, or something very small, comes to the artist and says 'Here I am. Enflesh me. Give birth to me.' And the artist either says, 'My soul doth magnify the Lord,' and willingly becomes the bearer of the work, or refuses; but the obedient response is not necessarily a conscious one, and not everyone has the humble, courageous obedience of Mary."
To "willingly become the bearer of the work." That has been a ribbon I've carried from this book for a long time. To obediently respond to God's call on our lives...any call, but specifically here, the creative call. To write a story or craft a poem not just for fun (though it can be delightful) and not primarily to serve myself or my own purposes, but because the work presents itself as something that needs to be written. It feels grandiose to say that God calls us to create/write whatever that work is, and to do it lovingly and well, but I think at the deepest level, that's what Madeleine is saying here. It feels very freeing to me that she sees this as a fundamental truth underlying ALL creative work, not just inspired works of clear genius.
I've absorbed this thought for such a long time that I think it effects the way I look at certain works of art. If they're made well and lovingly, crafted carefully, then I think the author has borne the work well....
I seem to be rambling, but it's late and I'm tired. And I've already been interrupted once by a power outage...we're getting some high winds out there tonight! So I'll just leave this with one more thought/question: if artists/writers are birth-givers, can we stretch the metaphor to say those that teach, mentor and encourage other artists/writers are midwives?
I'm glad we've decided to read Walking on Water next. It's long been one of my very favorite of Madeleine's books, and one of my favorite books on faith and creativity period.
I just started re-reading the other day. I'm only a few pages in, but I keep pausing and smiling because I have so very many favorite quotes. Not just quotes by Madeleine herself either. I was realizing how many other quotes and poems she introduced me to. I read this book for the first time in 1987 and I'm pretty sure it was my introduction to Coleridge's "willing suspension of belief," for instance. I know it was also the first place I'd ever read e.e. cumming's wonderful poem beginning "i who have died am alive again today..."
But some of the things Madeleine herself said were very important to me the first time I ever read them, and have remained so. They've sort of embedded themselves in my heart and mind and become touchstones for me as I try to continue to live out a writing life, one that is connected (I hope deeply) to my living out of my faith.
One of those important quotes comes on p. 18 (of my 1980 edition published by Shaw) when Madeleine writes:
"Obedience is an unpopular word nowadays, but the artist must be obedient to the work, whether it be a symphony, a painting, or a story for a small child. I believe that each work of art, whether it is a work of great genius, or something very small, comes to the artist and says 'Here I am. Enflesh me. Give birth to me.' And the artist either says, 'My soul doth magnify the Lord,' and willingly becomes the bearer of the work, or refuses; but the obedient response is not necessarily a conscious one, and not everyone has the humble, courageous obedience of Mary."
To "willingly become the bearer of the work." That has been a ribbon I've carried from this book for a long time. To obediently respond to God's call on our lives...any call, but specifically here, the creative call. To write a story or craft a poem not just for fun (though it can be delightful) and not primarily to serve myself or my own purposes, but because the work presents itself as something that needs to be written. It feels grandiose to say that God calls us to create/write whatever that work is, and to do it lovingly and well, but I think at the deepest level, that's what Madeleine is saying here. It feels very freeing to me that she sees this as a fundamental truth underlying ALL creative work, not just inspired works of clear genius.
I've absorbed this thought for such a long time that I think it effects the way I look at certain works of art. If they're made well and lovingly, crafted carefully, then I think the author has borne the work well....
I seem to be rambling, but it's late and I'm tired. And I've already been interrupted once by a power outage...we're getting some high winds out there tonight! So I'll just leave this with one more thought/question: if artists/writers are birth-givers, can we stretch the metaphor to say those that teach, mentor and encourage other artists/writers are midwives?
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
The Importance of Naming
One of my favorite themes in A Wind in the Door is a theme that Madeleine brings up repeatedly in many of her books, both fiction and non-fiction. That's the importance of naming, of knowing and calling someone by their true name. Madeleine believes (and partly because I heard her say it so many times and in so many ways, I've come to believe it deeply too) that our names truly matter, and that naming someone is a true gift.
I think she means that in ways both big and small: using someone's name when you speak or write to them can make them feel heard of listened to; offering someone your name when you first meet is a gift (and receiving their name a reciprocal gift); but "naming" also takes on deeper connotations for her. The ability to name someone, as Meg named Mr. Jenkins in the story, is to let them know that you know who they are on a deep heart level, that you've recognized their uniqueness, or something about what makes them truly themselves, flaws, gifts and all. Naming in Wind also has a lot to do, I think, with calling forth the gifts of someone, helping them to realize their own strengths and calling even when they don't necessarily feel they are strong or capable of a certain task. So "naming" and "loving" (with all the corollaries of strengthening and encouraging) become synonymous for Madeleine.
I remember many years ago when the Bonastra group (a L'Engle listserve I joined about eleven years ago) was more active. We had a huge and very fruitful discussion about the importance of naming, both in Madeleine's books and in our own lives. I wish I could recall more of the discussion or had saved it somewhere (I wonder if it might be available in the site's archives?). I do remember one of the things we talked about was whether or not we felt strongly about our given birth names or other important names from our lives (nicknames, terms of endearment)...if we felt those names really represented who we are.
So how do you feel about your name(s?)
I think she means that in ways both big and small: using someone's name when you speak or write to them can make them feel heard of listened to; offering someone your name when you first meet is a gift (and receiving their name a reciprocal gift); but "naming" also takes on deeper connotations for her. The ability to name someone, as Meg named Mr. Jenkins in the story, is to let them know that you know who they are on a deep heart level, that you've recognized their uniqueness, or something about what makes them truly themselves, flaws, gifts and all. Naming in Wind also has a lot to do, I think, with calling forth the gifts of someone, helping them to realize their own strengths and calling even when they don't necessarily feel they are strong or capable of a certain task. So "naming" and "loving" (with all the corollaries of strengthening and encouraging) become synonymous for Madeleine.
I remember many years ago when the Bonastra group (a L'Engle listserve I joined about eleven years ago) was more active. We had a huge and very fruitful discussion about the importance of naming, both in Madeleine's books and in our own lives. I wish I could recall more of the discussion or had saved it somewhere (I wonder if it might be available in the site's archives?). I do remember one of the things we talked about was whether or not we felt strongly about our given birth names or other important names from our lives (nicknames, terms of endearment)...if we felt those names really represented who we are.
So how do you feel about your name(s?)
Angels and Snakes
I just remembered this little post that I started a long time ago... One thing that's interesting about A Wind in the Door is the way L'Engle incorporates both angels and snakes. Proginoskes doesn't look anything remotely like most poeple would imagine an angel looking. Art really has a way of cementing certain images in people's minds. The image of the cherubim with many eyes and flames, dragon-like as Charles Wallace observed, has a Biblical precedent but everybody always thinks of the paintings of winged humans...
I like the fact that the snake is a force for good rather than evil. Snakes have had a pretty bad reputation all through history, so it's nice to see something postive about them once in a while. Both seem to relate to not judging things based on their appearance, but looking deeper to discover that just because something looks scary, it doesn't mean it's necessarily bad.
I like the fact that the snake is a force for good rather than evil. Snakes have had a pretty bad reputation all through history, so it's nice to see something postive about them once in a while. Both seem to relate to not judging things based on their appearance, but looking deeper to discover that just because something looks scary, it doesn't mean it's necessarily bad.
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