Most nineteenth century authors wrote with the motto “to teach and to entertain.” They knew the power of a story to draw their reader in and instruct better than any lecture could. They were social reformers as well as authors, but their novels are also entertaining and touching. Although the social conditions have changed (in part because of their writing), the works of these authors still engage readers today.
Many modern books I’ve read lack this deeper context. They are written just to entertain, and once you have read them and been entertained, you forget them. There is no lasting value, nothing to think about once the book is finished. One book I just read reminds me of the motto of the nineteenth century writers. The Memory Keeper’s Daughter by Kim Edwards shows the consequences of one choice that the main character makes.
On a stormy night, Dr. David Henry’s wife goes into labour with their first child. He gets her to the clinic where he works and, with his nurse Caroline, delivers a healthy baby son. But his wife’s labour continues and she also gives birth to a baby girl – with Down’s syndrome. In a split second decision, based on his memories of watching his sister die young of heart disease and wanting to spare his wife that pain, he passes the baby to Caroline to take to an institution. Then he tells his wife that their daughter died at birth.
Caroline does not leave baby Phoebe at the institution. She starts a new life in a new city as the foster mother of this handicapped child. For the rest of Phoebe’s life, Caroline fights so that Phoebe can have as normal a life as possible. We see Phoebe as a happy, healthy child who knows that her mother loves her. Caroline marries, makes friends, and raises her daughter.
Meanwhile, David’s terrible secret creates a wall between himself and his wife. His longing for his daughter causes him to demand perfection from his son. He throws himself into his clinic and his photography. His wife finds ways to cover up her loneliness after the loss of her daughter and her husband’s growing distance. She redecorates the house, becomes a travel agent, has various affairs. Their son grows up angry and neglected, as his parents are so full of their attempts to hide their pain that they cannot give him the time he needs.
The contrast between the two families that the twins are raised in is sharp in the book. David wanted to spare his family the pain of dealing with an imperfect daughter who could die young. Throughout the book, we see his deep love for his sister and his pain at her loss. Yet we are left wondering – would he have rather not had a sister than deal with that pain? At her birth, he saw only his daughter’s defects, and turned her away, and then spent the rest of his life regretting that.
Our society demands perfection. Most of us are uncomfortable around those who are not “normal” – myself included. We think that everyone should talk like us, act like us, be able to do what we can. Those who cannot are excluded. Like David, we turn them away because they are not perfect. We miss what Caroline had – the gift of getting to know this person, of fighting for them, of seeing them as a unique individual.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Monday, February 26, 2007
Books
I grew up reading voraciously. There were never enough books in the house to keep me busy. I got an adult library card at about age twelve because the children’s library card would only let me borrow four books at a time, and I’d read all of those long before our next weekly trip to the library. I thought long books were great; I’ve heard people complain about James A. Michener, but I liked his books, because they took longer than two days to read.
I remember reading Fahrenheit 491 by Ray Bradbury when my mom suggested it to me (it didn’t interest me, but I would read anything at the time). I didn’t like it (perhaps it is one of those books that I should read again) but I remember it. In Ray’s fictional world, books are banned. No one is allowed to read or possess any books, because they are bad. The society is almost one of zombies, people who have stopped thinking and are just going through life. The main character eventually joins a group of rebels who, though unable to possess books, have memorized parts of books or entire books. They band together to keep these books alive in their memories.
Books are so common today that it is easy to take them for granted and to forget why they are valuable. Thousands of books are produced by publishing houses every day. Bookstores hold hundreds of books and more are available online. Everyone has a stash of books in their house. Don’t take me into a bookstore, as I won’t leave without buying at least one book. Or two or three. Even if they won’t fit on the bookshelf when I get them home, because I already have so many.
Books represent history, the ages of learning and thought that have gone before us. It is possible to go without them, as Ray shows in his book, and as happened before books existed; stories can be memorized and retold orally. Yet one book can reach thousands – more people than one person could reach. Stories can be preserved, passed on, long after the tellers have died and forgotten the stories. This is the power of the written word – to transcend borders and time.
As a reader, I have a long list of books that I want to read and a long list of books that I have read and loved. I want to learn from the books that I read, to see new worlds and new ideas. As a writer, I want to see my own books on shelves, well-read and loved. I want to see people touched by my stories and my writing. All of this is because in our country – unlike in Ray Bradbury’s book – we have the precious freedom to read.
I remember reading Fahrenheit 491 by Ray Bradbury when my mom suggested it to me (it didn’t interest me, but I would read anything at the time). I didn’t like it (perhaps it is one of those books that I should read again) but I remember it. In Ray’s fictional world, books are banned. No one is allowed to read or possess any books, because they are bad. The society is almost one of zombies, people who have stopped thinking and are just going through life. The main character eventually joins a group of rebels who, though unable to possess books, have memorized parts of books or entire books. They band together to keep these books alive in their memories.
Books are so common today that it is easy to take them for granted and to forget why they are valuable. Thousands of books are produced by publishing houses every day. Bookstores hold hundreds of books and more are available online. Everyone has a stash of books in their house. Don’t take me into a bookstore, as I won’t leave without buying at least one book. Or two or three. Even if they won’t fit on the bookshelf when I get them home, because I already have so many.
Books represent history, the ages of learning and thought that have gone before us. It is possible to go without them, as Ray shows in his book, and as happened before books existed; stories can be memorized and retold orally. Yet one book can reach thousands – more people than one person could reach. Stories can be preserved, passed on, long after the tellers have died and forgotten the stories. This is the power of the written word – to transcend borders and time.
As a reader, I have a long list of books that I want to read and a long list of books that I have read and loved. I want to learn from the books that I read, to see new worlds and new ideas. As a writer, I want to see my own books on shelves, well-read and loved. I want to see people touched by my stories and my writing. All of this is because in our country – unlike in Ray Bradbury’s book – we have the precious freedom to read.
Friday, February 23, 2007
Telus and Pornography
It was one of about a dozen emails in my inbox that had piled up over the weekend while I wasn’t on the computer. I glanced at it quickly at first. A forward from a friend, urging me to email Telus to protest their cell phone pornography. I flipped on to the next email, telling myself I didn’t have the time to look up Telus’ website, compose a message, and send it. The email stayed in my inbox for another week, when I nearly deleted it. Then I decided that it would only take five minutes so why not.
I hacked out a quick message on their comments site and hit send. Just before I did that, I ticked the box requesting a reply, as I was curious to see how they would respond. I figured my email wouldn’t do much good; I’m not even a Telus customer, and they’re probably making so much money selling porn that they won’t care I’m protesting. But too often I’ve done nothing and then regretted it, so I decided to at least send the email. Maybe a few other people had done the same thing and Telus would get the message.
I’d forgotten about it when, a day later, another email appeared in my inbox. Telus actually replied to my note, saying:
I was impressed. I hadn’t expected such a response, but somehow the 135 or more responses that Telus had gotten actually convinced them to stop doing something immoral. I helped make a difference.
It’s easy for us to say that our society is going to pot and to do nothing about it. I’m just as guilty of it as anyone else. Yet who is holding Canada to any standards? If we as Christians do not stand up to complain about the immorality, nobody else will. A local church has recently been putting up billboards around the city, calling people to repent and return to church. One billboard quotes Proverbs 14:34, “Righteousness exalts a nation, but sin is a disgrace to any people.” I applaud them for their efforts, though I wonder what good it is doing. Yet maybe, like my email, they’ve reached somebody in the millions of people who drive past that billboard every day.
So next time I see a little email in my inbox… maybe I will take those five minutes to do something about it.
I hacked out a quick message on their comments site and hit send. Just before I did that, I ticked the box requesting a reply, as I was curious to see how they would respond. I figured my email wouldn’t do much good; I’m not even a Telus customer, and they’re probably making so much money selling porn that they won’t care I’m protesting. But too often I’ve done nothing and then regretted it, so I decided to at least send the email. Maybe a few other people had done the same thing and Telus would get the message.
I’d forgotten about it when, a day later, another email appeared in my inbox. Telus actually replied to my note, saying:
… An important part of introducing any new product or service is reflecting on customer feedback in a genuine way. It is for this reason that TELUS has decided to discontinue offering adult content… Our original decision to offer the service reflects … our commitment to making a broad choice of entertainment, information and messaging options available to meet the many unique and personal preferences of our clients. As a result, we will be working … to build understanding of TELUS’ commitment to Internet safety for children and to help parents understand that they need to take the same precautions with mobile phones as they do with home computers that are connected to the Internet.
I was impressed. I hadn’t expected such a response, but somehow the 135 or more responses that Telus had gotten actually convinced them to stop doing something immoral. I helped make a difference.
It’s easy for us to say that our society is going to pot and to do nothing about it. I’m just as guilty of it as anyone else. Yet who is holding Canada to any standards? If we as Christians do not stand up to complain about the immorality, nobody else will. A local church has recently been putting up billboards around the city, calling people to repent and return to church. One billboard quotes Proverbs 14:34, “Righteousness exalts a nation, but sin is a disgrace to any people.” I applaud them for their efforts, though I wonder what good it is doing. Yet maybe, like my email, they’ve reached somebody in the millions of people who drive past that billboard every day.
So next time I see a little email in my inbox… maybe I will take those five minutes to do something about it.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Marks of Beauty
Drum roll, please for the exciting news... "Janny's Doll" won first place in Level 2 of last week's writing challenge. I really appreciate receiving all the feedback from the other writers there - many people really liked the story. That bumps me up to Level 3 now - yikes, higher competition! My next entry, "Marks of Beauty," is now online.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
He Delights In Me
Yesterday one of the managers came into my cubicle to talk about a document that I’m editing for her. I’ve been working on it for the past several months and we’ve been through a few reviews already. She answered a few of my outstanding questions and I updated her on my progress. Before she left, she said that what I did absolutely amazed her – I was so good at it and doing such a great job on the document.
I dashed around the office finishing some stuff from our discussion before heading down to catch my bus. I found my fiancé at my apartment with supper waiting for me. After we’d said hello and asked about each other’s days, he asked me about the spreadsheet we’d created for our wedding guest list. I’d rearranged it to create a mail merge and print the envelopes, so his list of names was out of order.
I went into my room to change, feeling like I’d messed things up and couldn’t do anything right. I should have printed the envelopes differently. I should have left his list in the order that he’d arranged it. I’d been trying to be organized and productive, and I’d bungled it all.
I stared out the window at the passing traffic, trying to overcome my feelings of inadequacy, until he called me for dinner. My previous happy mood was gone, and I tried to hide my feelings as we had supper and then set out on some errands. He wanted to know what was wrong, but I couldn’t tell him. Somehow saying how I felt would make it worse. I wanted to hide it, forget it, pretend I wasn’t feeling that way. I tried to talk myself out of it, tell myself it was nonsense to feel that way, but I wasn’t very convincing. A dark cloud remained around me, pressing upon me the feeling of my worthlessness.
A few hours later I was feeling better. We’d been wandering through Ikea together, looking for bookshelves for my apartment, and having fun comparing tastes in furniture (he laughed at my comment about the lamps that looked like Martian-heads) and debating what we needed now and what would be fun to get in a few years when we have a bigger house and more money. We finally escaped with the bookshelves and one bargain find (a TV stand – for the TV we’ll never get) and went home. He assembled his bargain and then we curled up on the futon.
Our conversation eventually came around to my mood earlier in the day, and I finally broke down and cried on his shoulder. He slowly coaxed me into telling him how I had felt. I knew I had no reason to feel that way, but the feeling was strong enough that I was bawling into his shirt. My manager had just been telling me I was a great editor. My fiancé is always telling me I’m amazing and wonderful and beautiful. And I have memories of a night in Alice Springs, sitting alone in my room with my Bible, as God told me in every verse that I read that He delighted in me.
So I talked and cried and got it out, and laughed when my fiance started cracking jokes. I woke up this morning feeling better, but with the memories of yesterday still there. I know how dark that feeling is, how deep it goes in me, that it will come back (and I will use it as material for one of my novels). But I also know I have a family, friends, and fiancé who love me. I know that I am the daughter of the King, that I am His creation, and that He delights in me.
I dashed around the office finishing some stuff from our discussion before heading down to catch my bus. I found my fiancé at my apartment with supper waiting for me. After we’d said hello and asked about each other’s days, he asked me about the spreadsheet we’d created for our wedding guest list. I’d rearranged it to create a mail merge and print the envelopes, so his list of names was out of order.
I went into my room to change, feeling like I’d messed things up and couldn’t do anything right. I should have printed the envelopes differently. I should have left his list in the order that he’d arranged it. I’d been trying to be organized and productive, and I’d bungled it all.
I stared out the window at the passing traffic, trying to overcome my feelings of inadequacy, until he called me for dinner. My previous happy mood was gone, and I tried to hide my feelings as we had supper and then set out on some errands. He wanted to know what was wrong, but I couldn’t tell him. Somehow saying how I felt would make it worse. I wanted to hide it, forget it, pretend I wasn’t feeling that way. I tried to talk myself out of it, tell myself it was nonsense to feel that way, but I wasn’t very convincing. A dark cloud remained around me, pressing upon me the feeling of my worthlessness.
A few hours later I was feeling better. We’d been wandering through Ikea together, looking for bookshelves for my apartment, and having fun comparing tastes in furniture (he laughed at my comment about the lamps that looked like Martian-heads) and debating what we needed now and what would be fun to get in a few years when we have a bigger house and more money. We finally escaped with the bookshelves and one bargain find (a TV stand – for the TV we’ll never get) and went home. He assembled his bargain and then we curled up on the futon.
Our conversation eventually came around to my mood earlier in the day, and I finally broke down and cried on his shoulder. He slowly coaxed me into telling him how I had felt. I knew I had no reason to feel that way, but the feeling was strong enough that I was bawling into his shirt. My manager had just been telling me I was a great editor. My fiancé is always telling me I’m amazing and wonderful and beautiful. And I have memories of a night in Alice Springs, sitting alone in my room with my Bible, as God told me in every verse that I read that He delighted in me.
So I talked and cried and got it out, and laughed when my fiance started cracking jokes. I woke up this morning feeling better, but with the memories of yesterday still there. I know how dark that feeling is, how deep it goes in me, that it will come back (and I will use it as material for one of my novels). But I also know I have a family, friends, and fiancé who love me. I know that I am the daughter of the King, that I am His creation, and that He delights in me.
Psalm 18:18-19
18 They confronted me in the day of my disaster,
18 They confronted me in the day of my disaster,
but the LORD was my support.
19 He brought me out into a spacious place;
19 He brought me out into a spacious place;
he rescued me because he delighted in me.
Psalms 147:10-11
10 His pleasure is not in the strength of the horse,
Psalms 147:10-11
10 His pleasure is not in the strength of the horse,
nor his delight in the legs of a man;
11 the LORD delights in those who fear him,
11 the LORD delights in those who fear him,
who put their hope in his unfailing love.
Monday, February 19, 2007
Freedom to Read Week
Next week is Freedom to Read Week. Such a topic may surprise you, as most of us think that censorship of books only happens in countries like communist Russia. However, even today in Canada many books are being challenged, particularly in the school systems. I glanced over such a list of challenged books. Some of the titles sounded like they were rightfully challenged – for pornography, immoral themes, bad language, etc. – but other titles on the list surprised me. For example, here’s some of the titles and authors that I recognized (though I haven’t read all of these):
Many of the books on the list, however, were censored for being pornographic, and I have to say that I probably agree with such censoring. There are books out there that are rightfully illegal, in my opinion. When I become a parent, I intend to review the books that my children read, and to only allow them to read books that I feel they are ready for or that are appropriate for them. So it is good that schools are being cautious about what books are available to the children.
So, where is the line drawn on censorship? Is it good or bad? In our society, the word itself draws negative connotations that I’ve already mentioned – like Hitler or Stalin banning good, moral books. We all know of times when Christians have not been free to read or have a Bible, and we should appreciate our freedom to do just that. Yet is all censorship bad? Or, in a just and caring society, is some censorship a good thing, to prevent immoral books from being produced?
- The Bible
- Lord of the Flies by William Golding
- Dance Me Outside by W. P. Kinsella
- To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
- Lives of Girls and Women by Alice Munro
- The Harry Potter books by J. K. Rowling
- Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger
- Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck
- Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain
- On the Banks of Plum Creek by Laura Ingalls Wilder
Many of the books on the list, however, were censored for being pornographic, and I have to say that I probably agree with such censoring. There are books out there that are rightfully illegal, in my opinion. When I become a parent, I intend to review the books that my children read, and to only allow them to read books that I feel they are ready for or that are appropriate for them. So it is good that schools are being cautious about what books are available to the children.
So, where is the line drawn on censorship? Is it good or bad? In our society, the word itself draws negative connotations that I’ve already mentioned – like Hitler or Stalin banning good, moral books. We all know of times when Christians have not been free to read or have a Bible, and we should appreciate our freedom to do just that. Yet is all censorship bad? Or, in a just and caring society, is some censorship a good thing, to prevent immoral books from being produced?
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Janny's Doll
My entry in last week's FaithWriter's Writing Challenge, "Fishing with Grandpa," was highly commended. You can read my entry, "Janny's Doll," in this week's challenge while I'm working on what to write for next week's challenge! (Footnote: you have to be a FaithWriters' member to comment on the story there, but you can also leave comments on the story on my blog.)
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Valentine's Day
Just in case you are a hermit who doesn’t have a TV (like me), listen to the radio (like me), or see all the advertising going on around this time of year (can’t miss that)… it’s Valentine’s Day!
One of the secretaries went around the office this morning dropping off Winnie the Pooh Valentine’s for everyone. She’s a holiday person who celebrates everything. Another person sent a note around via email, wishing everyone a happy Valentine’s Day. My co-worker read the note about the same time that I did and went, “Bah humbug.” I laughed. She said Valentine’s day is just an annoyance to anyone single (like her), and I told her about someone I know who used to call this day “Single’s Awareness Day.”
I went looking yesterday for a card for my fiancé. Maybe it was because I was looking on the day before Valentine’s Day, or maybe it was because we aren’t married yet so I couldn’t pick any of the cards that began “To my husband…”, but there wasn’t much selection out there. All the cards were pink and red and had roses or hearts all over them. Or lace and ribbons and cutesy pictures. They didn’t seem to fit. (If he reads this before he gets his card tonight, he’ll be wondering what on earth I found.) I mean, I might like that sort of card, but what guy wants a flowery, rosy sweet Hallmark message?
Maybe that’s the problem with the holiday – Hallmark got involved. Any holiday is an excuse to sell more stuff and make more money. So the pressure is on – all the couples out there should do something romantic for each other and all the singles out there feel left out. Give her roses. Get her perfume. Take her out for dinner. Buy her chocolates.
Oh, wait a minute… what’s the girl supposed to get her guy? The predictable gifts of Valentine’s Day are flowers and chocolates. I can just see every guy out there telling his buddies, “Man, I can’t wait to see what sort of flowers she got me.” Most of the advertisements I’ve seen or heard are directed at men and what they’re supposed to do for their sweethearts. My fiancé gave me my card and a gorgeous bouquet of orchids and roses last week. I’m planning a surprise for him for tonight (and he’s trying to find out what it is), but I’m still a bit mystified about what a girl gets for her guy for Valentine’s.
By now you’re thinking that I’m saying “Bah humbug” to this holiday just like my co-worker. Maybe I am. Sure, I’ll take it as a good excuse to celebrate with my fiancé and tell him I love him, and I’ll appreciate the card and flowers he gave me (did I mention they’re gorgeous?). At the same time, we found an excuse last month to do the same thing… and to do little things for each other every day to show that we love each other. So I get tired of all the hype around Valentine’s Day, the advertising and sentimentalism, the idea that once a year every man is going to do something special for his significant other and then the rest of the year he’ll go back to being his normal self who doesn’t do that.
So happy Valentine’s Day and bah humbug. :)
One of the secretaries went around the office this morning dropping off Winnie the Pooh Valentine’s for everyone. She’s a holiday person who celebrates everything. Another person sent a note around via email, wishing everyone a happy Valentine’s Day. My co-worker read the note about the same time that I did and went, “Bah humbug.” I laughed. She said Valentine’s day is just an annoyance to anyone single (like her), and I told her about someone I know who used to call this day “Single’s Awareness Day.”
I went looking yesterday for a card for my fiancé. Maybe it was because I was looking on the day before Valentine’s Day, or maybe it was because we aren’t married yet so I couldn’t pick any of the cards that began “To my husband…”, but there wasn’t much selection out there. All the cards were pink and red and had roses or hearts all over them. Or lace and ribbons and cutesy pictures. They didn’t seem to fit. (If he reads this before he gets his card tonight, he’ll be wondering what on earth I found.) I mean, I might like that sort of card, but what guy wants a flowery, rosy sweet Hallmark message?
Maybe that’s the problem with the holiday – Hallmark got involved. Any holiday is an excuse to sell more stuff and make more money. So the pressure is on – all the couples out there should do something romantic for each other and all the singles out there feel left out. Give her roses. Get her perfume. Take her out for dinner. Buy her chocolates.
Oh, wait a minute… what’s the girl supposed to get her guy? The predictable gifts of Valentine’s Day are flowers and chocolates. I can just see every guy out there telling his buddies, “Man, I can’t wait to see what sort of flowers she got me.” Most of the advertisements I’ve seen or heard are directed at men and what they’re supposed to do for their sweethearts. My fiancé gave me my card and a gorgeous bouquet of orchids and roses last week. I’m planning a surprise for him for tonight (and he’s trying to find out what it is), but I’m still a bit mystified about what a girl gets for her guy for Valentine’s.
By now you’re thinking that I’m saying “Bah humbug” to this holiday just like my co-worker. Maybe I am. Sure, I’ll take it as a good excuse to celebrate with my fiancé and tell him I love him, and I’ll appreciate the card and flowers he gave me (did I mention they’re gorgeous?). At the same time, we found an excuse last month to do the same thing… and to do little things for each other every day to show that we love each other. So I get tired of all the hype around Valentine’s Day, the advertising and sentimentalism, the idea that once a year every man is going to do something special for his significant other and then the rest of the year he’ll go back to being his normal self who doesn’t do that.
So happy Valentine’s Day and bah humbug. :)
Monday, February 12, 2007
Meet the Neighbours
I met my downstairs neighbour on the weekend.
I had invited four of my girlfriends over for some girl time and talk while my fiancé was away for the weekend. We looked at pictures, listened to music, flipped through wedding magazines, talked about the latest gossip and ate chips and crackers. When they left at 10:30, I put the kitchen in order again and was on my way to bed when a knock sounded at the door. It was a very grumpy, bald man in his fifties, informing me that they were trying to sleep downstairs. I apologized and closed the door, but I was annoyed.
Why on earth my neighbour waited to complain until after all the noise had ceased doesn’t make sense to me. He didn’t need to say anything then; my apartment would be dead quiet in a few minutes. If he had said something earlier, I would have tried to make sure that we talked a bit more quietly. However, they are also my noisiest neighbours (other than the people next door with the yippy dog that they aren’t allowed to have), and I haven’t complained yet about their noise.
I live on the second floor of the apartment building, which means that there are people below me and people above me. Most of the time, that isn’t a problem. Once in a while I hear the people upstairs tramping around. The people downstairs are noisier, particularly with an annoying banging than I haven’t figured out yet. The first time I told my fiancé about their late-night parties shortly after I moved in, he asked if they’d kept me awake. Nope. I just went to sleep and woke up a few hours later to hear them still partying before I went back to sleep again. That’s the realities of living in an apartment building and sharing walls/floors/ceilings with other people.
The night after the complaint, my neighbours were watching a movie, loud enough that I could hear the dramatic, soaring music coming up through the floor. Maybe that was just a comfortable volume, or maybe they were trying to get back at me for the night before. The night after that, they had their music on. If they are doing it to annoy me, I find that rather childish and pettish. I’ve managed to ignore their noise for the last month, so they could return that consideration. I don’t want to get into an apartment war with any neighbors. So I’ll turn the other cheek and turn on my music to cover their noise.
I had invited four of my girlfriends over for some girl time and talk while my fiancé was away for the weekend. We looked at pictures, listened to music, flipped through wedding magazines, talked about the latest gossip and ate chips and crackers. When they left at 10:30, I put the kitchen in order again and was on my way to bed when a knock sounded at the door. It was a very grumpy, bald man in his fifties, informing me that they were trying to sleep downstairs. I apologized and closed the door, but I was annoyed.
Why on earth my neighbour waited to complain until after all the noise had ceased doesn’t make sense to me. He didn’t need to say anything then; my apartment would be dead quiet in a few minutes. If he had said something earlier, I would have tried to make sure that we talked a bit more quietly. However, they are also my noisiest neighbours (other than the people next door with the yippy dog that they aren’t allowed to have), and I haven’t complained yet about their noise.
I live on the second floor of the apartment building, which means that there are people below me and people above me. Most of the time, that isn’t a problem. Once in a while I hear the people upstairs tramping around. The people downstairs are noisier, particularly with an annoying banging than I haven’t figured out yet. The first time I told my fiancé about their late-night parties shortly after I moved in, he asked if they’d kept me awake. Nope. I just went to sleep and woke up a few hours later to hear them still partying before I went back to sleep again. That’s the realities of living in an apartment building and sharing walls/floors/ceilings with other people.
The night after the complaint, my neighbours were watching a movie, loud enough that I could hear the dramatic, soaring music coming up through the floor. Maybe that was just a comfortable volume, or maybe they were trying to get back at me for the night before. The night after that, they had their music on. If they are doing it to annoy me, I find that rather childish and pettish. I’ve managed to ignore their noise for the last month, so they could return that consideration. I don’t want to get into an apartment war with any neighbors. So I’ll turn the other cheek and turn on my music to cover their noise.
Thursday, February 8, 2007
The Writing Challenge
Just have to share my good news somewhere, so it's going here! I won second place in Level 1 of the FaithWriter's Writing Challenge for last week's entry. Now I have a novel idea to get working on... that short story was supposed to be just that - a short, cute story. Apparently everybody who read it wants to know the rest of the story. (Some of you, who will have recognized the semi-autobiographical elements to the story, know the rest of it!) But someday I will tell it! :)
You can also read my entry in this week's challenge. It's nonfiction this time, instead of fiction, so that's all there is to the story.
As a writer, it's a huge encouragement to get such a commendation of my work. Writing is often lonely work - I write something, put it out there, and don't get much reaction to it. I put a site meter on my blog just to see how many people were actually reading it. I was surprised! It's nice to know that people are reading what I write. That's why I write!
On Monday, I was feeling pressure to post something, as I had posted every weekday for the last couple of weeks. But I didn't know what to write about. Maybe nobody cared what I was writing. Maybe nobody was even reading it. Then my fiance called me at work quickly, and in the middle of telling me about three different things at once, mentioned that he had read my story and he liked it. I glowed. He liked it! That was enough to make me want to write more.
I'm going back to editing someone else's writing now, but my brain is brimming with ideas for my own writing...
You can also read my entry in this week's challenge. It's nonfiction this time, instead of fiction, so that's all there is to the story.
As a writer, it's a huge encouragement to get such a commendation of my work. Writing is often lonely work - I write something, put it out there, and don't get much reaction to it. I put a site meter on my blog just to see how many people were actually reading it. I was surprised! It's nice to know that people are reading what I write. That's why I write!
On Monday, I was feeling pressure to post something, as I had posted every weekday for the last couple of weeks. But I didn't know what to write about. Maybe nobody cared what I was writing. Maybe nobody was even reading it. Then my fiance called me at work quickly, and in the middle of telling me about three different things at once, mentioned that he had read my story and he liked it. I glowed. He liked it! That was enough to make me want to write more.
I'm going back to editing someone else's writing now, but my brain is brimming with ideas for my own writing...
Wednesday, February 7, 2007
Things in Common
I wandered far enough into the room to get away from the coat rack and door, where everyone else was coming in and hanging up their stuff. Finding a space on the wall, I helped prop it up and surveyed the room. Dance class would begin in ten minutes, and I was feeling the absence of my fiancé. He was in a university course and would be joining me later, but I was taking the first class by myself again for review.
I don’t like dealing with crowds, and I usually find it hard to strike up conversations with strangers. I pictured myself standing there, looking like the wallflower I was, until the dance class started and I could hide my shyness in the busyness of doing something – dancing like everyone else. I tapped my toe to the waltz music and eyed the guys scattered around the room, wishing they would ask me to dance and yet wishing they wouldn’t. I don’t like dancing with strange guys, but it would be better than standing by the wall.
Then another person stepped up beside me, gave me a hesitant smile, and commented on my multi-coloured nametag. She was pulling hers out of her pocket and sticking it on her blouse, and it was also multi-coloured. We had something in common. We explained to each other why we were taking both classes and discussed the dance classes that we had taken before. She talked about her ex-boyfriend/friend whom she dances with, and I mentioned my fiancé. Then another fellow joined us, also with a multi-coloured nametag, and we talked and joked until the dance instructors called us to start.
The next week I was putting on my shoes when my new friend showed up. We said hello to each other and then noticed that we were both wearing crosses; mine a small silver crucifix, hers a gold cross on a longer chain. She eyed mine for a minute before commenting that she liked it. I thanked her, and we talked about dancing before she asked about what church I went to. We had something more in common: a mutual Friend. We discussed churches and faith until dance class started.
That isn’t the first time that my faith has been a doorway to meeting new people. When I started university a few years ago, I felt just as lost and out-of-place as I did at dance class. Chapel was not only a comforting place but a good study break, and it became the place where I could join my friends. When I was on a tour in Australia, I quickly noticed the WWJD bracelet hiding under the tour guide’s sleeve. We discovered we shared a liking for Amy Grant and she took the chance of asking me if I was a Christian. We were the only two Christians on the tour and that brought us together as friends. She was the first Christian I’d met there, and I was the first Christian she’d had on a tour. She was able to share her frustration with not being able to mention her faith while working, and I was thrilled to feel like I was no longer alone down there.
As dance classes continue, I’m starting to get to know a few of the other dancers who also get there early. We talk about dancing and ask about each other’s weeks. Most of those acquaintances will be gone when dance class ends. But I know I will have those friends who share a connection of faith with me for a very long time. Even into eternity.
I don’t like dealing with crowds, and I usually find it hard to strike up conversations with strangers. I pictured myself standing there, looking like the wallflower I was, until the dance class started and I could hide my shyness in the busyness of doing something – dancing like everyone else. I tapped my toe to the waltz music and eyed the guys scattered around the room, wishing they would ask me to dance and yet wishing they wouldn’t. I don’t like dancing with strange guys, but it would be better than standing by the wall.
Then another person stepped up beside me, gave me a hesitant smile, and commented on my multi-coloured nametag. She was pulling hers out of her pocket and sticking it on her blouse, and it was also multi-coloured. We had something in common. We explained to each other why we were taking both classes and discussed the dance classes that we had taken before. She talked about her ex-boyfriend/friend whom she dances with, and I mentioned my fiancé. Then another fellow joined us, also with a multi-coloured nametag, and we talked and joked until the dance instructors called us to start.
The next week I was putting on my shoes when my new friend showed up. We said hello to each other and then noticed that we were both wearing crosses; mine a small silver crucifix, hers a gold cross on a longer chain. She eyed mine for a minute before commenting that she liked it. I thanked her, and we talked about dancing before she asked about what church I went to. We had something more in common: a mutual Friend. We discussed churches and faith until dance class started.
That isn’t the first time that my faith has been a doorway to meeting new people. When I started university a few years ago, I felt just as lost and out-of-place as I did at dance class. Chapel was not only a comforting place but a good study break, and it became the place where I could join my friends. When I was on a tour in Australia, I quickly noticed the WWJD bracelet hiding under the tour guide’s sleeve. We discovered we shared a liking for Amy Grant and she took the chance of asking me if I was a Christian. We were the only two Christians on the tour and that brought us together as friends. She was the first Christian I’d met there, and I was the first Christian she’d had on a tour. She was able to share her frustration with not being able to mention her faith while working, and I was thrilled to feel like I was no longer alone down there.
As dance classes continue, I’m starting to get to know a few of the other dancers who also get there early. We talk about dancing and ask about each other’s weeks. Most of those acquaintances will be gone when dance class ends. But I know I will have those friends who share a connection of faith with me for a very long time. Even into eternity.
Monday, February 5, 2007
Friends Who Go Before
My fiance and I spent Saturday afternoon at the Bay doing our wedding gift registry. If you think that is as easy as making a Christmas wish list, then you haven't done one yet. It took us three and a half hours. I had already made a list of what we needed, so all we had to do was decide which toaster and crockpot to request, find the right colour of towels, debate which bedspread we wanted, look for the rolling pin that the Bay doesn't sell, wander around the rest of the store making sure that we hadn't forgotten anything...
Shortly after we got engaged, I thought wedding planning was fairly easy. A friend offered to do the catering and another friend to do the invitations. We booked the church and the hall, found a photographer on a friend's recommendation, and got the fabric for my dress (my mom is sewing it). Things were coming together easily. I wondered why everybody seemed to think weddings were stressful.
Fast forward to the other day, when my fiance looked at a calendar and realized how few weeks are left until the wedding (at the end of May) and how much we have left to do... mail invitations, get his kilt, do the gift registries, find hall decorations, talk to the deacon and the priest and the music person, do a marriage prep course... Suddenly, we are just a bit stressed out. Weddings are a lot of work, as our friends warned us!
In so many places in life, it is comforting to know that I can pick up the phone and have a listening ear on the other end, someone saying "I've been through it and so will you." I joke with my friends who are older than me, telling them at every birthday, "Man, you're getting old!" but then adding that they make it easy for me because by the time I hit that same number, it doesn't seem so big. I've spent hours on the phone talking with my friend who is starting to date a Catholic, as I did just over a year ago. It helps as I plan the wedding to have friends who have gone before - either as brides or bridesmaids - and can tell me what to expect.
I have another friend too, who has also gone before me. Jesus walked this earth a few thousand years ago to say, "I have been where you are." He was tempted. He wept. He laughed. He got angry. He had close friends and friends who betrayed him. He even helped out at a wedding, when things didn't quite go as planned. He's been through it all for us and He will walk through it with us. He's there when wedding planning goes like magic and when it gets stressful; He'll be there for the wedding and for every day after, until we come to the final place where He's gone before us - to His Father's mansion to prepare a room for us.
Shortly after we got engaged, I thought wedding planning was fairly easy. A friend offered to do the catering and another friend to do the invitations. We booked the church and the hall, found a photographer on a friend's recommendation, and got the fabric for my dress (my mom is sewing it). Things were coming together easily. I wondered why everybody seemed to think weddings were stressful.
Fast forward to the other day, when my fiance looked at a calendar and realized how few weeks are left until the wedding (at the end of May) and how much we have left to do... mail invitations, get his kilt, do the gift registries, find hall decorations, talk to the deacon and the priest and the music person, do a marriage prep course... Suddenly, we are just a bit stressed out. Weddings are a lot of work, as our friends warned us!
In so many places in life, it is comforting to know that I can pick up the phone and have a listening ear on the other end, someone saying "I've been through it and so will you." I joke with my friends who are older than me, telling them at every birthday, "Man, you're getting old!" but then adding that they make it easy for me because by the time I hit that same number, it doesn't seem so big. I've spent hours on the phone talking with my friend who is starting to date a Catholic, as I did just over a year ago. It helps as I plan the wedding to have friends who have gone before - either as brides or bridesmaids - and can tell me what to expect.
I have another friend too, who has also gone before me. Jesus walked this earth a few thousand years ago to say, "I have been where you are." He was tempted. He wept. He laughed. He got angry. He had close friends and friends who betrayed him. He even helped out at a wedding, when things didn't quite go as planned. He's been through it all for us and He will walk through it with us. He's there when wedding planning goes like magic and when it gets stressful; He'll be there for the wedding and for every day after, until we come to the final place where He's gone before us - to His Father's mansion to prepare a room for us.
Friday, February 2, 2007
Blogging Inspiration
Since I started blogging, I’ve discovered a huge community of Christian women writers online. I have enjoyed reading their blogs and getting ideas and inspiration for my own blog. A few weeks ago, Janet was posting about an online writing competition she had entered. I really liked reading her entries, but I also got interested in the contest myself. I joined FaithWriters and starting surfing around the site.
The topic for the weekly competition was Reading. I thought about it, trying to decide what I could write about. It was a broad topic, something I could write pages about. But finally I hashed out a story that I entered in the contest. It was a small sense of accomplishment for me, because I had:
-written something on a topic provided
-written it within the deadline and word count
-actually done something with my writing, rather than just leaving it sitting on my computer to be submitted “someday.”
It’s a short simple story, and I’ve already thought of ways to revise it. The point, however, was to write and enter the contest. You may have noticed that lately I’ve been posting more frequently. I’m writing again. After four years of “sabbatical” while I was in university and writing mostly English and History papers, I’m once again pursuing my writing. My brain is brimming with more ideas than I can type – ideas inspired by other bloggers, by the people around me, by the things I do. And it feels good.
The topic for the weekly competition was Reading. I thought about it, trying to decide what I could write about. It was a broad topic, something I could write pages about. But finally I hashed out a story that I entered in the contest. It was a small sense of accomplishment for me, because I had:
-written something on a topic provided
-written it within the deadline and word count
-actually done something with my writing, rather than just leaving it sitting on my computer to be submitted “someday.”
It’s a short simple story, and I’ve already thought of ways to revise it. The point, however, was to write and enter the contest. You may have noticed that lately I’ve been posting more frequently. I’m writing again. After four years of “sabbatical” while I was in university and writing mostly English and History papers, I’m once again pursuing my writing. My brain is brimming with more ideas than I can type – ideas inspired by other bloggers, by the people around me, by the things I do. And it feels good.
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