1,000,000

So I read that Mr. Bradbury says, in regards to becoming a good writer, that once you've written a million words you start to know what you're doing. Hmm.

Doing some quick math, I've determined that at a thousand words a day (the rate Mr. Baradbury claims to have written since age 13), it would take around three and a half years to write a million; say I started in six days, at that rate I'd "know what I'm doing" by partway through senior year.

Of course, I'm no Bradbury, and (as proven by the bestseller status of The Da Vinci Code, Eragon, and James Patterson's novels) the general public in this country doesn't give a rip about writing quality these days.

Still, I figure I'm at somewhere over three hundred thousand words. It's something to think about.

Ok, enough bloody introspection. I need to carve up some literature.

Diaspora, and Such

Well I've grown sick and tired
Of trying to stand still
I've learned to let the wind
Blow me where it will
To throw myself into the will of the wave
How can we ever be brave until we're free
-Dustin Kensrue

Though I doubt there is anyone who's had any contact with me over the past couple months who doesn't know this, I'll be going to Bethany Lutheran College this fall. And by this fall, I mean starting in six days. Yikes.

I'll be an English major. I've made no secret of my desire to become a sucessful fiction writer; and I have no delusions as to what that will entail. As to life immediately after college (assuming that bestseller doesn't hit while in school), I really have no idea. Oh, I'm not scared of not making money, of not working. I just don't know what form that work will take. There are a couple jobs abroad I may go for; I'd like to get out and see the world somewhat, before getting too tied down.

I have evangelical friends who like to remind you to "factor God in" to your plans, as if He's a girlfriend or something and you want to make sure not to move too far away from Him. One must make sure one is honoring God in all one does. This last part is Biblical, of course, but the phrasing is deceptive.

I personally find it rather arrogant to be "facoring God in", implying that if we don't remember the Creator of the Universe then, well, He can't do anything with us. It seems rather pointless for me, a fallen, sinful being, to try and determine the will of God, at least on a personal level where he has not inspired a Biblical passage about it (ie, "Where thou shalt go to school" as opposed to "Thou shalt not murder").

Rather, I have faith that despite my blindness, God will lead me down the path He has set forth for me. Even though in my sinful nature I fight him, he has already cleansed me of that nature. Nothing I can do, no "factoring in," can either help or harm this. I simply have faith that He will lead me down the path and, in the end, lead me home.

FOR YOU

This year's HT conference was great, of course. I found it a lot harder to write summaries of this year than last year, as we didn't do a whole lot of stuff that makes for good reading. Heidi posted as good a summary of that as I can write.

I do have a few thoughts, though (and all the people run away screaming). One is that, unlike many of the various sorts of youth gatherings I went to in my younger days *cough*, HT conferences aren't designed to be "mountaintop experiences." They're designed to be a great time, of course, and there's all sorts of euphoria that goes along with that. But you will NEVER see, for example, an emotional call to repentance delivered by a pastor who is nearly crying himself, backgrounded by soft praise music that suddenly gets louder as said pastor declares an Altar Call.

There were several moments that brought tears to my eyes, but they were tears at the sheer beauty contained in our faith, rather than those coerced by provocative preaching and mood music. One example, perhaps, is in order.

The closing service was glorious, as always at HT conferences. We took Communion while 1000 people sang At The Lamb's High Feast--now if you want beauty, there you go. I'd been hearing teaching about Communion (among other things) all week, and as I went back up into the balcony after taking the body and blood of our Lord, thoughts that had troubled me were laid to rest. I had looked down on someone, but (I suddenly realized) Christ died for that sin. I had resented someone, and He died for that sin too. I had unthinkingly snubbed someone, and he died for that too. A whole host of sins, some of which I'd forgotten, some of which I hadn't let myself think about, came rushing back to me--and they were all laid to rest, defeated, by the body and blood of our Lord, given and shed for me--and for you.

Door Co. Reflections

So I was in Door County last week and part of the week before (for the ignorant--if you look at a map of Wisconsin, Door is the little thumb-ish peninsula jutting out into Lake Michigan). The digital camera ran out of batteries on the second day, which was a pity because there really are some spectacular shots to be had up there. (There's a restaurant with goats on the roof, for one thing...) Ah well. At least half of that place's charm is incommunicable to someone who hasn't actually been there.

So despite an overabundance of obnoxious yuppies (mostly from Illinois) and a slightly smaller but still overabundant crop of obnoxious pizzles (most of these, sadly, from Wisconsin), it was a good time. There weren't many experiences to report: went to every bookstore in sight, (as well as every antique store, that one being my mom's fault), went go-karting just after it rained, barely keeping the kart under control and having loads of fun almost-crashing; saw Ratatouille and Pirates at the Drive-In Theatre. There seemed to be fewer pretty girls there than in other years; I have no idea why. I managed to read three books and write most of a short story while there.

I'm thinking of working at Wilson's next summer.

Note

Starting tomorrow, until the 15th, I will be in Door County, WI, with my family. Feel free to contact me, but I probably won't get back to you till I return. Hopefully I'll have pictures.

Reading Goals

So, about a month ago I realized I might want to have some kind of goal or project to work on during my free time (a laughable concept, right enough) this summer. I realized, however, that 1) I'm pretty sure I've never finished (nor even usually half-finished) a summer project I've set about in the past; and 2) that I would probably want to spend any time I might get for a project reading. Hence I have decided to make that my project.

I already had the rather vague goal of catching up on my sci-fi/fantasy reading before school started. But I have more specifics, now: finish the Harry Potter series; finish The Company series (the last book of which also comes out in late July); read up on "old" (pre-Tolkien) fantasy; and Other.

As for HP, I am currently reading the Blue Brick and will probably be done with the Dark Green Brick by July 21st. I will soon start the fifth Company book (including the last one, there will be 8). (And btw, it's too long a sysnopsis to put here, but the Company novels are awesome. That's with emphasis.)

In case anyone was wondering, the reason I'm doing the old fantasy stuff is because I've noticed the best fantasy writers are extremely well-versed in the formative works of fantasy literature. That is, not just Tolkien, but Dunsany and ER Eddison and Robert Howard and other really great authors who somehow nobody's heard of. I think I have a lot of my bases covered here; the only glaring omission so far is that I've yet to read any Lovecraft.

Other is just, well, other stuff I've been meaning to read. Battle Royale, the second Abarat book, Galilee (another Clive Barker), Altered Carbon, Mistborn--the road, er, list goes ever on and on and on...

Whales on Stilts & Hugo Cabret

(Two books I've been meaning to write about, so I decided to make them one post. Plus, this will force me to keep my ramblings to a reasonable length.)

Whales On Stilts

("What, Captain? Reviewing juvenile fiction? Is something wrong with you?"
Shut UP! So I have eclectic tastes. So sue me.)


I respectfully submit to you that the fairly recent children's book Whales on Stilts has one of the best opening lines in the past 18.5 years of fiction:

On Career Day Lily visited her dad's work with him and discovered he worked for a mad scientist who wanted to rule the earth through destruction and desolation.

This bit of bombast is followed by a tongue-in-cheek description of Lily's small town, and then gets down to describing Lily herself:

... She watched things a lot, and thought about them a lot, but she didn't say much, except to her closest friends. She hid behind her bangs. When she needed to see something important, she blew on her bangs diagonally upward, either from the left or the right side of her mouth. Her bangs parted like a curtain showing a nose-and-chin matinee.

The first thing that comes to mind is that Lily seems to be a classic introvert. The second is that here the tone has subtly changed--this is real character description, relying on an eye for distinguishing features, rather than broad humor relying on preconcieved knowledge of mad-scientist-cliches.

To be honest, the first thing that attracted me to this book was its cover. It looked old-fashioned and pulpy, in the best possible way. The lines, I thought, had some twenties art-deco to them, but the images of the whales on stilts gunning down things with their laser eyes were very fifties-ish, while the kids looked like Nancy Drew, Tom Swift, and a Boxcar Child, putting them somehwere in the thirties-forties. I showed it to my mom, who is supposed to be good with this kind of stuff, and she conclued, "Twenties-thirties-forties-fifties, somewhere in there." So much for inquiry.

As for the book itself: Lily uncovers her dad's boss's maniacal plot to take over the world with his secret weapon, whales on stilts with laser eyes. She enlists the help of her two best friends to thwart this evil plot: Jasper Dash, the boy technonaut, who spends his time inventing things that are really advanced for about 1912; and Katie Mulligan, who lives just off Route 666 and spends her time fighting off zombies, were-goats, and so forth. Both have childrens' book series written about them. Together, the three have to save the world.

I found this book hilarious, though not everyone would. But for someone like me, who's read at least a third of the 150 Boxcar children books, dozens of Hardy Boys, a few Nancy Drew (because girls made him, ahem,), and even a few Tom Swift--well, it's perfect.

In closing, I would also like to note that this book contains one of my favorite chase scenes ever:

... The guards ran after them.
Oh, I don't know about you, but I really hate chase scenes. It's all just chase, chase, chase, up the staircase, down the staircase, bang, bang, bang,"Over this way," "No--that way," under the desk, over the chair, and you know that either they're going to get caught, or they're not. So why prolong the agony?
I'll just flat out tell you.
They made it to an old laundry chute.

Yeah.

The Invention of Hugo Cabret

The subtitle of this book is A Novel in Words and Pictures. After a short introductory couple of paragraphs, you open to "Part 1." The first page contains a picture of the sun starting to rise. The second contains one of the sun higher, the thir page of the sun higher still, etc. There's a shot overlooking Paris, then we zoom in to a train station, then on the face of a boy. We follow the boy into the hidden passages of the train station, and watch as he spies out through a clock on an old man and a little girl in a toy booth.

Turn the page then, and there are several paragraphs of prose, narrated as though the previous series of pictures were also prose. After several pages, there are pictures again, then prose, and so forth.

The story itself is set in Paris in the Thirties, and is kind of hard to describe. Hugo lives alone in the train station, tending the clocks. He is an orphan, and his past and his father's are strangely linked with that of the little girl and the old man. The first third or so is somber and a bit dull, but the novelty of the book's format carries you through. It ends up being an interesting little story, obviously influenced by early (even pre-Hollywood) movies. Parts of it reminded me of Truffaut's 400 Blows, and the Charlie Chaplin silent The Kid.

And the series of pictures used to tell the story are somewhat like watching a silent film-they're a visual medium, and you can even get a sense of movement, but you have to interpret the story by watching it, not reading or hearing it.

A final note on the style. Less is required of the prose in this than in most books; we already have physical descriptions, a sense of setting and an atmospheric feel. The prose is firstly concerned with the interior lives of the characters, mainly Hugo (though it's told omnisciently, switching from character to character). It also has much to do with the telling-Hugo's past, for example, things that need something of a summary, or scenes that need to move fast.

The book is five hundred pages long, and because of the thickness of the pages, looks much longer. However, the prose amounts to 26,000 words or so, less than half the length of a short novel, so this is a fairly quick read.

A Short, Bookish Rant

Often, when recommending a really good book to someone, I find myself biting back on saying something like, "Reading this was like getting punched in the stomach." What I mean, of course, is that whatever book I am referring to is extremely powerful, or wrenching, or just bloody good. But, as I said, I resist this particular description because when you pick up a book, you're not looking for physical abuse. A good book is something euphoric, something that makes you happy. Right?

Not in this scribbler's opinion. Of course, there are books whose intention is just to be funny. Some of them even suceed. But really good books are not one-note, just-funny (or chase-escape-here's-your-happy-ending, or whatever). A good book is like... Like being in love. It makes you happy, sure, but it's also thrilling, exhilerating, maddening, moving, terrifying, bittersweet, uncomfortable. It makes you vulnerable. But in the end, no matter the outcome, there's almost always a reward to be had. Whether one can grasp said reward is a different matter.

I will leave with a quote by Franz Kafka, which, though perhaps a little extreme, suits my purposes well enough in closing:

I think we should only read books which bite and sting. If the book that we read doesn't wake us like a blow to the skill, why do we read the book? To make us happy...? My God, we could be happy even if we had no books, and if really necessary we could write books to make us happy ourselves. But we need the books that affect us like a disaster that hurts us greatly, like the death of someone we love more dearly than ourselves, as if we were driven out into forests, far away from any human beings, like a suicide, a book must be the axe for the frozen sea within. That is what I believe.

Snippet

So this whole Virginia Tech thing inexplicably depressed me. That is, it depressed me moreso than such an incident normally would, for whatever reason. As usual, this took itself out in my writing, and I churned out a whole load of crappy sentences. The whole thing was too fresh in my mind, you see. It needs to work its way further back into my subconcious to become grist I can use to mill something truly worthwhile. Out of that couple days' worth of writing, however, I did like this one little bit:

"We are children of light," said the old man. "And as such, the darkness clusters all around us. We speak of high-minded things, of good versus evil, of slaying dragons within and without. But we forget, sometimes, that our doppelgangers DO exist; we forget that there is truly evil in the world. And when it comes roaring out of the shadows, fangs bared, and tears us and scars us with unspeakable horror, sometimes we lose sight of the good that, in the end, is really the victor.

"And sometimes, lost in Misery, in the dark wood of Despair, there is nothing to do but sing, a song of light in the darkness, and wait for others to answer our call. And soon, oh soon, that song will be ended, and its yearning--fulfilled."

Book Tag (From Nat, a while ago)

1. One book that changed your life: The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, by Mark Twain. Mainly because it served as a sort of "gateway drug" for me to read the rest of Twain's works.

2. One book you've read more than once: I don't read many books more than once. I'll say Beroul's The Romance of Tristan.

3. One book you'd want on a desert island: I've heard Dubliners is such a book, since it can be read so many different ways. Unfortunately, all the ways it can be read are depressing. I'll say a copy of the Bible bound with The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy. ;-)

4. One book that made you laugh: The Innocents Abroad (Mark Twain).

5. One book that made you cry: No comment. No comment at all about Ecclesiastes in the Old King James.

6. One book that you wish had been written: The end of The Last Tycoon.

7. One book that you wish had never been written: I'm going to say it. It's Eragon. If for no other reason than that it provided a bunch of middle-aged parents otherwise ignorant of fantasy (and other ignorant people) with a view of fantasy as cliche-ridden, childish, and imbecilic.

8. One book you're currently reading: Magic for Beginners (by Kelly Link). Best fantasy short stories I've read since.... Lord Dunsany. And besides that, some of the best speculative fiction I've read period.

9. One book you've been meaning to read: Elantris (Brandon Sanderson). I meant to start it, but I seem to have misplaced my copy. Grr.

10. Scariest book you've ever read: The Mysterious Stranger, by Mark Twain, was pretty creepy, but it's more of a novella. I'll think of something scary that's actually a book later.

I will tag Aaron, since he needs to post. :P Anyone else who wishes to be tagged, you may run in front of my oustretched hand and consider yourself so.

The Feast 5: Saying Goodbye & The Feast 6: Going Home

(You thought I wouldn't finish it? Ha! I say. And Ha! again. Like certain other people, I am too stubborn.)

(This used to be two posts, but I combined them into one long one.)

Friday at The Feast was bittersweet. Of course, it was wonderful to see all the MH people one last time, but it was that one last time bit that was the killer. Aaron had to leave in the morning, which sucked, but I caught up with him (or his alter ego) before breakfast, and he (or his alter ego) gave me a post card, which was cool. Nathan sat next to me for half of the confessional service, so before he left I was able to give him my priceless piece of Modern Art, and he proved to be surprisingly reliable in passing it on. ;)

Pastor Bender's conclusion was awesome, of course. Pastor Preus's conclusion was actually similar to Pastor Borghardt's, in that the former was talking about vocation, the latter's about what to do with the rest of your life, which is largely tied in with vocation.

At lunch, Heidi and I concluded that, Herr Luther's objections aside, we need to build a monastery for all the MHers to move into. It will have to be out in the country somewhere, or our music and noise will bother the neighbors.

The closing service was beautiful. There was moisture in my eyes, which may or may not have been due to the fact that it was hot in the church. Afterward everyone was running around saying goodbye. I hate saying goodbye and am no good at it, and I hated this as much as anything. But at the same time it was great to know you had all these friends and that they felt the same way you did.

People scattered to vans and cars and buses, and I hoped I hadn't said anything stupid in my haze of exhaustion and undersleep and trying to keep my eyes dry. Paul and Andrew and I walked back to our dorm to get our stuff. Not being them, I don't know how they were feeling, but I was sad. We saw Heidi and Tarja across a lawn and waved at them, and they waved back, which made me cheer up, for no reason I can explain simply.

I think of that as the official end of The Feast. It wasn't the end of the trip, however. The group who had chartered the bus we went on was staying an extra day and night to go river rafting. We had opted to save the money and stay in the city. One of the kids from the group who had broken his wrist and could not raft stayed with us.

We cleared out of our rooms and waited in the Worner Center for the rental car to supposedly be dropped off. We discovered that our Feast-issued passwords still worked in the computer center, so I signed on to the HT Forums and wrote to my parents (something I was supposed to do days earlier), and read the blogs of people I already missed. I left my lightsaber up with Mrs. Gehlbach and whatever kids were there gaurding the luggage, and I could hear it starting and turning off and hitting things, even though I was across the building and down a set of stairs. :D

After we had waited for over an hour, one of the women from HT who helping clean up drove Mrs. Gehlbach down to the rental car place. The brakes on said car squealed terribly, and since we planned to go up Pike's Peak next day, Mrs. Gehlbach went back and exchanged it. We spent the evening walking about the streets of Colorado City, looking in some very interesting shops and shop windows. Apparently before it was Evangelical Capital of the World, it was a hang-out for hippie types, which accounted for some of the weird shops.

We went to our somewhat small, but nice and clean hotel room, and played Apples to Apples, and then went to bed.

We checked out next morning. I can't remember the chronology of events exactly, so I'll put things in a firm order which may be completely wrong. We went up Pike's Peak, and I would like to mention that we prove the posted sign wrong--it recommended half a tank of gas, and we got up and down again on less than a quarter. :D We went to a grocery store then, and bought a lunch to eat at Garden of the Gods. It was fun to create out-of-place items to show to Paul, who would out of habit put them back in place. (I stopped just barely before he hit me.)

We had lunch at Garden of the Gods, and hiked around there for a while. After that we met the bus in a Wal-Mart parking lot. Then we started out for home. I found it much easier to sleep on the bus this time than coming down. Got in Gehlbachs' car there, who brought me back to their house, and from there my dad brought me home.

For postscript, I can come up with nothing better than what I wrote in a haze of sleeplessness that very night. (Now slightly revised and with good spelling! :D)

And, for future reference (and for anybody who cares) I will put links to the rest of the Feast posts below.

The Feast 1

The Feast 2

The Feast 3

The Feast 4

The Leprechauns Did It!

Erin go bragh!

Yes, it's that time of year again, when you can put food coloring in your beer (if you're older than I am) and where all divides of race and creed are put aside, and everyone claims to be Irish. (As the full-blooded Irish lady who volunteers at the library when I work says, "If you have even a drop you're all right.)

In honor of the day, I donned my brilliant POG MO THOIN shirt, saw part of a local Celtic band's show, and wrote a short play about leprechauns for a magazine which never responded to my e-mail. Sigh. Well, I think I shall post the lyrics to one of my favorite Irish songs. Young men take note.

In a neat little town they call Belfast
Apprenticed to trade I was bound
And many an hour's sweet happiness
I spent in that neat little town.
Till bad misfortune came o'er me
That caused me to stray from the land
Far away from my friends and relations
To follow the black velvet band.

(Chorus)
Her eyes they shone like the diamonds
You'd think she was queen of the land
And her hair hung over her shoulder
Tied up with a black velvet band.


Well, I was out strolling one evening
Not meaning to go very far
When I met with a pretty young damsel
Who was selling her trade in the bar.
When I watched, she took from a customer
And slipped it right into my hand
Then the Watch came and put me in prison
Bad luck to the black velvet band.

(Chorus)

Next morning before judge and jury
For a trial I had to appear
And the judge, he said, "You young fellows...
The case against you is quite clear
And seven long years is your sentence
You're going to Van Dieman's Land
Far away from your friends and relations
To follow the black velvet band."

(Chorus)

So come all you jolly young fellows
I'd have you take warning by me
Whenever you're out on the liquor, me lads,
Beware of the pretty colleen.
She'll fill you with whiskey and porter
Until you're not able to stand
And the very next thing that you'll know, me lads,
You're landed in Van Dieman's Land.

-"Black Velvet Band," Irish Traditional