The Rise and Fall of Literature and Hope for the Future

Sometimes, I do my best of thinking while driving; that's to say, I'm not thinking about the act of driving, but everything else... which does explain why a few people prefer to not drive with me (among other reasons, including the lack of breaking ability in the passenger seating areas). That aside, I was on my way to someplace this week when I found my mind and car weilding around a large series of objects. Of far more interest, obviously were the non-steel and brick objects. Over the Memorial Day holiday, my Hemingway weekend produced a great deal of writing of which I was and remain very happy with--but since then, I've not done a whole lot. It isn't writers block so much as it is mental blockage and the two are distinctly different.

Writers block is the difficulty and/or absence of the ability to create an idea and put it to paper. I've heard others liken it to the "well being dry" or as I have always been found of "dead air." Mental block is more that the ideas are there, they are working in the head, but the mind is refusing to allow the body to sit down and allow them to leave... it is the writers Guantanemo (albeit temporary, unlike the real situation).

It was in this train of thought that it came to me: Anybody can come up with a plot idea, and anybody can put words down on a piece of paper, but not anybody can do them simultaneously and with alert interest or intrigue to others aside from the scriber. And perhaps, that fact alone is precisely why the mind works in the way that it does... the ideas are ready yet, they are still being flushed and the language tested?

And then I got to thinking about Virginia Woolf, and the idea of a room of one's own... and while I took some liberty with her intent, part of my mental backlog is that I don't want to sit at my drafting table and write these days... but I also don't want to bother with a change in scenery. I know I must... as a writer you have to find a place in which you can write and a space comfortable enough for the duration. To some extent, it is why my Hemingway weekend works; there is a defined sense of space and expectation and reckless abandon. Of course, that would lead one to think that it should then be done more often than yearly... and perhaps there is some logic in that, but the Hemingway weekend is one which is draining and then there is the sangria.

Writing is an interesting space; many writers need "things" when they write... and at one time I thought I was particularly weird (eh, no comments) when I would get up in mid sentence and grab a lei, a tiara, decide a different glass was necessary... they are distractions, but unique to the creative process for me... and I've learned since, to many others as well. Does it seem off that one might suddenly need to wear strappy stilletto shoes while writing? Perhaps, but I find that it makes just as much sense as a runner who needs to wear a certain token going into a race or hunters that need to have certain good luck charms on them.

It is the space of the writer... and our space is slowly being crowded out. Crowded out by noise, a lot of noise. When novelists write their books with the thoughts of who will do the screenplay later, we have failed. But I had some hope yesterday. I haven't picked up a new fiction release in some time and thought--I want to or NEED to read this... I've been going back to books published 10+ years ago, or reading non-fiction... but on the shelf at Borders between something stupid and something released with the movie cover sat what inspired me as hope toward the future... "Michael Tolliver Lives." Armistead Maupin spun off his Tales of the City character for a new novel, independent from Tales, but gives us a truly rich jewel. It has been the first time since perhaps the release of Thompson's The Rum Diary that I've been truly excited to read something new in the world of fiction.

Whadda week!! A migraine down and a week of crazy work... I finished my Friday off with a bout of cardio and strength training and am feeling back to normal! Which is just in time... tomorrow is my last long training walk... this time next week, I'll be in DC--probably having dinner with a friend and getting ready to get up BRIGHT and EARLY on Saturday. And by early, I truly do mean early as in 4 or 430.

I'm also taking on a garden this summer; and for those of you thinking... Did she just say SHE was going to garden. Yes, I did. I realize that is outside the realm you would normally picture me in... and it completely is. I've been asked what I am going to grow and really the only thing I've planned to buy for this garden so far is a hat, some gloves and those cute gardening shoes. If nothing else, I'll be properly accessorized--which is always my key to success in everything. CLEARLY with the right straw hat and shoes, veggies and herbs will grow in abundance. Isn't that how it works? Nonetheless, I'm terrifically excited about the prospects and look forward to my experiment with nature.

This week also found a sad--very sad--realization that Cocoa Krispies make me quite ill. I had blamed the migraine, but migraine-free, Cocoa Krispies make me very ill... bummer.

The highlight of my week, however, is that I have a brilliant new idea for a new story that I've almost worked through in my head to the point that I am ready to write. With any luck, I'm looking at a Pulitzer, but I'd settle for a movie deal.

In due time

Here is a lesson in creative writing. First rule: Do not use semicolons. They are transvestite hermaphrodites representing absolutely nothing. All they do is show you've been to college.
~Kurt Vonnegut

It was high school when I first read Vonnegut, only because he was on the "LIST" in which in order to read for class, you had to have a piece of paper signed indicating that your parents were aware and approved of your reading the book. In this case, it was Slaughterhouse Five. The very fact that Vonnegut was on that list, I came to conclude, was ironic. Indeed, all on that list I ended up reading "unofficially," as my teacher called it (how you unofficially read a book for your own edification, I have no idea still), created some form of that same irony.

One might think that putting a bunch of books on a list that required parental permission would encourage students to read these books... or at least that is the current logic... bring it up, mention it, talk about it, say it isn't allowed and somehow, teenage pregnancy ensues. But that wasn't the case with those in the class of 1993... ambivalence prevailed (as did pregnancy), and I believe it still does among most of whom with I graduated.

I was raised that you read books. I never needed permission to read anything. As such, I adamantly refused to seek written authorization for these listed books. To this day, I still cannot understand why Catcher in the Rye is so controversial and such a point of contention. Perhaps, though, I am the abnormal one... comparatively, it didn't seem nearly as shocking as Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, which I read for first time around the same time. Profanity, sex and teenage issues are not nearly as shocking when you are 16 as profanity, drugs and the American Dream being lost. (Note: Hunter Thompson was not on any list in high school--I found him via my own "research.")

Still, we lost a true original this week... there aren't many left.

Inspired moments

After spending last week actually listening to my body's screaming cry for a break, I also listened to that part of me (as my therapist would say) that is tired and overwhelmed and exhausted as to what it wanted... it needed to read--to stop, pick up a NEW book and get lost in someone else's words and world for a while. As my March reward for following the dietician recommendations, I bought myself a copy of Infidel by Ayaan Hirsi Ali... and gave myself the moment to stop and read for a while. It truly is an inspired book thus far. And, I feel more at ease today. Maybe, just maybe, I need to stop and listen more.

Religious Illiteracy

A day behind as I am on The Daily Show, I was catching the rerun from last evenings show and saw Jon Stewart's interview with Boston University's Stephen Prothero, who penned the book, Religious Illiteracy. I was amazed and appalled by the stats shared in the interview (i.e. that in an interview, intelligence agents were not able to appropriately identify Al Queda's Islamic affiliation... folks, that shouldn't be a guess (and an incorrect one at that) if you have declared war.

From the book description:

The United States is one of the most religious places on earth, but it is also a nation of shocking religious illiteracy.

Only 10 percent of American teenagers can name all five major world religions and 15 percent cannot name any.

Nearly two-thirds of Americans believe that the Bible holds the answers to all or most of life's basic questions, yet only half of American adults can name even one of the four gospels and most Americans cannot name the first book of the Bible.

Despite this lack of basic knowledge, politicians and pundits continue to root public policy arguments in religious rhetoric whose meanings are missed—or is interpreted—by the vast majority of Americans.

Sickening, but I recall from a college course called "Death and Dying" which was a survey course on how various religions viewed death, dying and various associated metrics. Everyone was all good and fine with the concept of religion as "myth" for the term of the class until, that is, we got to Christianity. Those who hadn't spoken a word all term suddenly had a lot to say... accusing the professor, me and anyone who argued that facets of Christianity were mythic stories based in faith (just like every other religion). That was true of all other "fake" religions, I suppose, but as we all know, Christianity is the real religion and our blaspheming the back-to-back creation stories as a leap of faith and mythologic in scope was not to be tolerated.

I might be an agnostic, heathen unworthy of the Rapture, but I can name the five major world religions, and a few more... I'm also fairly confident that I can come up with a few of the main gospels off the top of my head... and the first book of the bible... yeah, I can name that, too... along with the first few words, too. And folks, it doesn't start off with "Once upon a time..."

But part of Prothero's main argument is that if we are going to politicize religion, and it is unavoidable, perhaps the fine citizens of the United States, and especially those in government positions, should know at least the basics. And the basics, in my opinion, is not even sufficient, but it is a start.