On Rabbits and Religion

Religion is like a book.

(A writer is comparing something to a book!  Call the Simile Police! Dial 418! Hurry!)

Maybe we should have been talking about politics and religion all these years.  What if we could have avoided some of the problems we are currently having IF we had been a little more open to the exchange of ideas.  Or, maybe, I just like having a soapbox to stand on.  Please, just bear with me.

Religion is like a book.  You could read just one.  But, why?  You could follow just one.  But, why?

Consider rabbits.

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Two books with rabbits as central characters influenced me as a child.  What if one of them had been the holy writ of my heritage?  Would my Gods have blue coats with brass buttons, as told by of Beatrix Potter?  Or, would my Gods have existential dread, along with fierce loyalty, by way of Richard Adams?

Is the world working to destroy me, or just making it hard to get enough to eat?  Am I being controlled by parental favors, or nature and survival of the fittest?   Am I guided in how to live in simple parables, or complicated and counter-intuitive laws?  Are the rules for being clothed strictly enforced, or non-existent?  Would my punishment for transgressions be blood and violence in the dark, or chamomile tea before being sent to bed early?

Which rabbit gods are the Righteous Rabbit Gods?  Or should we completely stay away from stories of rabbits, altogether?

When it comes down to it, I believe these stories tell us far less about rabbits and much more about humans.  I feel the same about religion.  You can really understand a person when you see how they practice their religion, or lack of one.  Do your gods wield hammers and lightning, or shame and guilt?  Is the religion of your lineage the Right Way, or just the most comfortable and familiar?  Did you read a different book at some point in your life, and decide to follow other gods?  Or did you decide such things were only for children?

Books shape us, both the religious and the secular.  Even the books we don’t read shape us, because they shape other people, and those people shape the world we live in.  This is why I read books about many kinds of rabbits, and many kinds of religions. To learn about rabbits and religions, of course, but mostly to learn about humans.

Humans see everything as a reflection of ourselves, and then we write stories about what we see.  A continuous loop, of learning and life. Like a reader becoming a writer, and a writer who reads even more.

I may have to amend my first statement.  Life is like a book.   Or, perhaps writers are like a book.  SOMETHING is like a book.

BOOKS ARE LIKE A BOOK!

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From the Depths of Insanity!!!!!

Scan_20171004 (3)What the heck was I thinking?  Committing to Inktober2017 was horribly naïve.  I am so far out of my depth that the deep-sea fishes–the kind with running lights and glow lures–think I am stupid for risking this crush-depth.  I mean, it’s fun, creative, and nerve-racking, and I’m getting to do things I haven’t done for DECADES, and I’m learning lots about myself…

Well, I guess I answered my own question.  And I wouldn’t be the first artistic/creative person who switched mediums, or just found some days were better for different mediums.  The stories are still there, on a low simmer, but so much creative effort is going into each piece of art that I don’t have any to spare.  I am getting some editing done in the early am, so I still have a hand in.  Struggling to get the beta reading done, and the helpful posts haven’t happened.  Sorry.

So, I hope all of you have productive and creative weeks.  I’ll get a handle on my schedule, one way or another. I hope the spin I gave the Franz Kafka quote (above) gives you a chuckle.  My apologies to Terry Pratchett for his use of the “Five Exclamations of Madness,” and for stealing the newspaper idea.

Head-in-the-Clouds Musings

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I had a startling thought the other day.  One of the Facebook writing groups had a post asking for confessions of clichéd tropes we secretly liked.  It didn’t take long for me to figure out mine.  For all the modern whining about “the Chosen One” and “Mary Sue” and other criticisms of the Hero’s Journey, I actually love the moment when a character realizes and accepts that they have a destiny, or finds that they have a real gift to save others.  That sense of hope of finding your place in the world.

I guess it’s something I wish I had.  Reading and writing are the closest I ever come to that feeling.  I have to remind myself that you can get away with anything if the readers like it.

In other news, a Facebook meme prompted me to make a declaration I may live to regret.

The joke was that a writer had used up all the good words while writing a sex scene and couldn’t write another, the implication being you shouldn’t use the same words over again, to avoid annoying the reader.  A friend commented that the good words must have been “thrust,” “thighs,” and “BBQ sauce.”  (Hahahahaha!)  My declaration was that I would use those same good words in my next fight scene, along with “moist,” “throbbing,” and “lave.”  (I adore “moist” as much as I loathe “lave.”  “Throbbing” is likely to spark giggles, even at forty-nine.)  More friends have added “ream” and “lather” to the list.  Challenge Accepted!

Accepted–mostly–because I said I would write them into a fight scene, not that they would survive the revision/editing process, or get published, but I am hopeful.  Honestly, I try to write fight scenes and erotic scenes in much the same way; as visceral as possible.  I have ranted on a similar topic before, in my old post “Do’s and Don’ts of Writing Spell Casting Scenes.”  (It’s rough and snarky, but I was new to blogging.)

The fight scene is shaping up nicely; it’s a new character, so her personality is still malleable.  I’m enjoying letting her tell me about this one time she had to fight bad guys while in this oddly erotic mental state.  I’ll keep you posted.

Also, I’m up to a hundred followers.  Yay!

Unless someone backs out…  Hey!  Where ya going?

Happy writing!

Daydreaming “In Calabria”

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAPeter S. Beagle published “The Last Unicorn” in 1968.  He was twenty-nine.  I was born the same year, so that book was not immediately on my reading list.

In fact, I did not discover the story until the 1982 animated film.  It would not be an exaggeration to say it helped shape my life.  It was one of many films and books that molded my view of the world, including my fascination and love for animation, movies, storytelling, myths, and fairy tales.  I never grew out of those first loves, and over time I learned that was a fine thing.  I still dream of the Red Bull, waves of unicorns coming in on the tide, human folly, and a unicorn’s regret.

I was in my twenties before I got a hold of a copy of the book he had written.  It was sublime.  I found more of Mr. Beagle’s books in my thirties and forties, but not all, to my current embarrassment.  The books I read were all very fine things.  He’s not a rock-star author, nor a household name, but I adore his command of language.  His prose weaves a subtle spell created from ethereal mists and hard labor.

I was shocked to find his latest work, “In Calabria,” in my local library’s new arrivals, but in a pleasant way.  I honestly didn’t realize he was still writing at 78.  This is a new goal for me, to be still publishable at that age, even if it’s too late to match being published in my twenties.

So, I’m currently in book-dream-land.  It’s a timely vacation, since I am at a point in my life where I need help believing in the intangible magics, like love, justice, and hope.  Writer whining, unhelpful suggestions, and ridiculous posturing will be lacking this week, and maybe, that is a fine thing, too.

Happy writing, and please support your local library!

Are We All Mad?

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAWriters.  Are we all mad?

Is that why we all trying to write down our dreams and nightmares?

Today I feel like a blindfolded person trying to put together a puzzle the size of an elephant, and it’s a picture of an elephant, without ever having seen an elephant.  But I only have one piece.  Or is it too many pieces to hold all at once?

I find more pieces when I read other writer’s stories.  Is that why we write?  To show our pieces to others?  Is each story a piece, or each writer?

There are so many of us, now that there are so many places and ways to publish.  Why do the stories need so many writers?  Is it all one big story?  A meta story?  A story that wants to be told?  Are WE the tools, and not our pens and computers?

All I have today are questions.  Are we all mad?

Or, is it just me?

 

Writer’s Crack!

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAWriter’s crack is real!  No, this isn’t about the pants-sliding-down-while-you-type crack, like the plumber’s crack of comedy gold.  We’re talking about things that put you into a frenzy to write a newly inspired story.  Every writer has triggers, and if you’re lucky you can find them and use them to get out of a slump.

A couple of years ago, while browsing through a used book store, I found a book about English fairy tales and–of course–purchased it.  (That’s it, up on the need-to-read shelf.  The Fairy Faith in Celtic Countries by W. Y. Evens-Wentz.)  The subject has always fascinated me; it was not my first, and certainly not my last such book.  Some weeks later, on a lazy Saturday afternoon, I had a moment to crack it open.  The introduction (Yes, I read introductions, prologues, glossaries, appendices, and maps.) was both pleasantly surprising and completely cringe-worthy, in the way of dusty, old, and almost forgotten books.  Apparently, I had in my hand a recent reissue of a book that JRR Tolkien had referenced for his world building.  Even more pleased with my lucky find, and hopefully under the influence of a little mystical foresight, I happily delved into the first chapter…

AND FIRMLY SHUT IT, bookmarked on chapter two.  The after images in my head, while my body lay snugly anchored on my couch with the book clasped in unmoving hands, spun like leaves heralding the start of a stormy spring.  The stories!  Characters!  Battles!  Lighting, tempests, swords, grief, love, fear, and loss that is an ache that pierces to the soul’s depth.

I held completely still.  The overfull brain must not be disturbed.  A new/old world sloshed against the sides of it.  For a dry and dated tome, first published in 1911, it held a surprising lushness.

I was aware of movement deep in my psyche.  There was something lurking in my mind.  Lurking like an elder god and getting called to the surface.  The Leviathan rises, or worse…

Unfortunately, I already had three multi-book story arcs that had been clawing at the insides of my skull, rudely pushing each other out of line and snarling to be first.  I closed that wonderful book HARD–like the doors of Tartarus–just to preserve my soul from the punishments I likely deserved.  It contained the breath of Titans snoring, and (as anyone who has lived with a chronic snorer learns) I heard the sound of something nearing an awakening.

It sits on my shelf, unobtrusively, but whispering to me I quiet moments.  I know that like Pandora, I am doomed to open it…

Eventually.  For now, it sits.  It’s writer’s crack, or something like.

Hopefully, a story is really in there, but I think I may need to be a more experienced writer to do it justice.  It’s not the only story I have saved for later in my career.  For now, I have my other stories that I am currently passionate about, and willing to learn on.

This past weekend I added three more of The Lost Library book series to my shelf, risking collusion among them.  Myths are my weakness, and my wellspring.  I–apparently–like to live dangerously.

And that, folks, is about as close as I get to a written book review.  Not an Amazon review (I’ll do those anytime for books I like, especially for independent authors), but an actual blog review.  It’s not my thing, and lots of other people do a really good job of them.  And despite the heavy-handed use of metaphor in this post, it really doesn’t begin to describe what was happening to my brain.

But, I am curious if this has ever happened to any of you?