tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60883170035374222292024-02-02T01:50:31.099-07:00storyfiresElena Jarvis Jubehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00153379522786866966noreply@blogger.comBlogger170125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6088317003537422229.post-5543902570902122752021-02-11T11:15:00.016-07:002022-06-12T21:41:24.383-06:00A Peace Offering <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid9mCSFZeUFNL82WY0lrSDdb3d7n9GdKxl5vRUi1OdJ115OYLael-hYXiFx_fgi1YADCYma4W9W4JSJ_o06w-LB8BqiyIHJAfaYhTruzT19DObC5rl3imM5Y2pI8ShdQ3OOrVYdoeP9f20/s881/Screen+Shot+2021-02-11+at+10.50.18+AM.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="498" data-original-width="881" height="369" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid9mCSFZeUFNL82WY0lrSDdb3d7n9GdKxl5vRUi1OdJ115OYLael-hYXiFx_fgi1YADCYma4W9W4JSJ_o06w-LB8BqiyIHJAfaYhTruzT19DObC5rl3imM5Y2pI8ShdQ3OOrVYdoeP9f20/w653-h369/Screen+Shot+2021-02-11+at+10.50.18+AM.png" width="653" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p></p><p>I realized I've let this blog go dark. I blame 2020 and the small fact that nobody actually reads blogs. My year was probably a lot like yours: a bit like a roller coaster, with a lot of hurtling downhill. I'm sure I don't need to expound, except that for me, the high points generally involved these two cute little people, who arrived in April and June:</p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD0VnP_LqSZLB2d-zwWXLAUmGlv6S1NuLIgeUVnnyahYNbSA1w2OykpmiEs-Boj8Q441rMTRH2XoTrl2ZxyIr2XbxbIP9eWXkai9PkEfkoDJ__Hbw4OnBmEhmrxOXCpJYjaflHqS6y5Dsx/s1637/IMG_0248.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1637" data-original-width="1529" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD0VnP_LqSZLB2d-zwWXLAUmGlv6S1NuLIgeUVnnyahYNbSA1w2OykpmiEs-Boj8Q441rMTRH2XoTrl2ZxyIr2XbxbIP9eWXkai9PkEfkoDJ__Hbw4OnBmEhmrxOXCpJYjaflHqS6y5Dsx/w299-h320/IMG_0248.jpg" width="299" /></a> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Which felt like amazing gifts in the middle of the rest of everything. <br /></div><div><p></p><p>I found I couldn't write last year, as things developed, and fell apart, and sometimes exploded. Silence, even in the face of growing awareness of suffering and inequity may still be very far from violence. Sometimes silence is listening. Processing. And listening sometimes takes all your energy as you reach to understand something that no one can ever completely understand--another person's suffering--through hearing their stories. <br /></p><p>Sometimes it becomes almost impossible to listen, like when people who in face-to-face real life are thoughtful, kind, generous and decent suddenly transform into nasty trolls who bully your gentle little mom, or your kind friend down the street, or say outrageous, cruel things about an entire category of people that includes you--or doesn't. Sometimes you might have to mostly move off public social media to more private forums, like family group chats on WhatsApp, because the way things are being said these days you can't listen to so closely or so often anymore and stay mentally OK.<br /></p><p>Even so, with that little distance, if you really listen past the bluster and rants, underneath it all you can hear a silent story about hurting, anxiety, hopelessness. Even grief. Anger is always a secondary emotion.<br /></p><p>Grief you recognize, because you're human and yes, humans suffer. <br /></p><p>Some of the stories that moved me most this year were little grief-stories that people close to me or to people I love took the time to sit down and write out. One of these was my daughter's physician-assistant friend in Brooklyn who kept a diary of everything she was experiencing during the early horror of the pandemic in New York.<br /></p><p>And my friend, Mika, one of the kindest, cheeriest, most generous people I know, who on Black-out Day instead of sitting silent, wrote out a list of hurts and abuses she and her family regularly suffer here in my very-white community and wherever she goes, because her skin happens to be dark. <br /></p><p>And my healthy little sister, who got a "mild" case of COVID last February that turned into a still-ongoing case of COVID involving significant heart and lung problems, and she still isn't fully well, but who keeps cheering me through my own ongoing bout with COVID, and who took the time to write out a summary of her year, which, when I read it, made me cry. </p><p>Well, I cried for all them. </p><p>Stories are empathy machines, as Neil Gaiman says. <br /></p><p>Through all the insanity of 2020 I almost forgot about an essay I wrote a few years ago and which I submitted to a contest early last year and won, until the editor of the magazine contacted me in November and said it was finally going to print. I did the final edits in the middle of my worst COVID brain fog. When the essay came out just last month in <i>BYU Studies </i>magazine, I was in the middle of rereading Dostoyevsky's Crime and Punishment (really, depressing Russian novels <i>do </i>help stave off depression), which reminded me that reading about someone else's suffering can sometimes help relieve our own. The empathy factor is powerful. </p><p>And suddenly, I really wanted to share my thoughts on grief with all of you, the people I love, and strangers, too, in case it makes you feel better. Maybe nobody will find it. I mean, who reads blogs? But I wanted to send something positive out into the universe. A small gift. Breaking my 2020 silence.<br /></p><p>So, here's my little offering: my essay, <a href="https://byustudies.byu.edu/article/peace-offering/" target="_blank">"Peace Offering,"</a> about my son's brain surgery and a dove I once ran over with my car. <br /></p></div>Elena Jarvis Jubehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00153379522786866966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6088317003537422229.post-87892451510900689872020-03-20T17:16:00.003-06:002020-03-23T17:30:51.579-06:00Diminish Your Sense of Isolation During Social Distancing: Read Aloud to Your Ficus<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
With many/most of us stuck at home waiting out the novel
Corona virus and generally freaking out because, I mean, plagues <i>and </i>earthquakes? Waking up and your bed is shaking and lights swinging from the
ceiling and now that the power is back on are you going to have a job
tomorrow? And there's no toilet paper on the store shelves, and more importantly, Harmon's is running out of Cadbury eggs! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Gah! So stop stockpiling already!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, you could sit around frying your brains and shortening your attention
spans obsessively scrolling through social-media feeds, watching cat videos,
binge-watching Netflix...</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Or you could maybe re-discover the pleasure of reading aloud--to your cat or your brother or your roommates or sister. Or to your fiddle-leaf ficus plant. Whatever or whoever you happen to be stuck inside with. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSTu50LiQK_wROIWB95qOhr1KvIcbtquaklNd7n2WP-BKemm1qn76MJkKRKIWV2vOuIAIaoWrYD_OzpXliPLCorEzJDuzMsFXqCq5IigbmBHW1KjMfY_ivuhydpCewQw6lOzpxMjle89Ho/s1600/Screenshot+2020-03-20+16.32.36.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="366" data-original-width="275" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSTu50LiQK_wROIWB95qOhr1KvIcbtquaklNd7n2WP-BKemm1qn76MJkKRKIWV2vOuIAIaoWrYD_OzpXliPLCorEzJDuzMsFXqCq5IigbmBHW1KjMfY_ivuhydpCewQw6lOzpxMjle89Ho/s320/Screenshot+2020-03-20+16.32.36.png" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ficus is a good listener</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Might as well make it a community thing. Loneliness can suck your soul as much as any virus.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Even alone with a book you're of course not alone. Studies like <a href="https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/novel-finding-reading-literary-fiction-improves-empathy/">this one</a> back up the idea (which always seemed intuitively true) that reading--especially literary fiction, or any fiction with complex characters--is one of the few ways to actually practice empathy for an extended time, as you spend hundreds of pages imaginatively experiencing life inside the brain of another human being. And that imaginative practice actually does translate into an increased ability to feel empathy for others in real life. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What could possibly be more important, especially as we slog through this crisis together? (Why does everyone keep calling it a war? It's a slog).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Back in the days before screens and wires, people generally agreed that reading aloud together was an indispensable form of nightly entertainment. In my experience, that sharing of literary delight and humor and drama and even trauma with somebody else invites greater connection and deepens relationships. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Two of my most vivid childhood memories, ones that create real feelings of fondness for and connection to my siblings: sitting on the back wall tasting dog food together (because we were curious) and one night curling up on my mom's bed as teenagers and demanding that she read aloud to us <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/wonderful-story-of-henry-sugar-roald-dahl/1100554681?ean=9780141304700">Roald Dahl's <i>The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar. </i></a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<img border="0" data-original-height="425" data-original-width="281" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTHoDLpsPEQfKiVsfLqJGIObxw35gBGutlGfR6zigycw1YdzPvblK0EJ9S8x9YcdpuqkufRfSnTDvtBaie6i7PPCWfyQpirLDCtgBo5b2RYBT0iINqn33upMQj2eVZu6nNj1hB4fypNjdo/s320/Screenshot+2020-03-20+16.37.12.png" width="211" /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At that age we mostly thought we were too old for stuff like being read aloud to<i>, </i>but Henry Sugar was not a little kids' book. Still, it was magical. Sure, growing up in a family with six kids there were plenty of fights, but there was also Henry Sugar. And of course tasting dog food. But Roald Dahl left a more pleasant aftertaste.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I had teens of my own, they discovered even Shakespeare was sometimes actually entertaining when you took turns reading aloud all the parts--because of course the Bard's stuff was never meant to be read alone in silence. And Huckleberry Finn made us hoarse when supposed half-hour reading sessions stretched into two-and-a-half.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Something happens when you read aloud together and practice that imaginative empathy simultaneously with someone else. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I believe it's a powerful way to counteract the sense of deep isolation many people are feeling after a week or two of
social distancing--to build instead a feeling of connection and community with family/roommates/friends/children; whether your reading aloud happens in person or
through online hangouts. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If your thing is non-fiction, that's great, too. Experiencing any good book aloud together is one of the best ways I can think of to connect with other humans, in fact. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And seriously, guys. It's seriously fun. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If you're going to buy something to keep busy with while you're stuck at home, buy books. So many great ones out there! So, in honor of social distance, our family has decided
to close the emotional gap beginning with the deliciously readable Dickens and nightly reading-aloud sessions of
David Copperfield. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvJkM1u14iCvPhA022pKDe2wDyAQFKn0mzT9oVhozx8h6QGiBSlRDhe1Drb4CZAGYt_yZjHrEThpX50BjP9dy-R40zYpM_rsAXBIx3egf4bOa1Vzc0FiPicBrRz3sIAR2sMmxgHfh57OIy/s1600/Screenshot+2020-03-20+16.41.09.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="256" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvJkM1u14iCvPhA022pKDe2wDyAQFKn0mzT9oVhozx8h6QGiBSlRDhe1Drb4CZAGYt_yZjHrEThpX50BjP9dy-R40zYpM_rsAXBIx3egf4bOa1Vzc0FiPicBrRz3sIAR2sMmxgHfh57OIy/s320/Screenshot+2020-03-20+16.41.09.png" width="205" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What are you reading during your quarantine? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If you need read-loud ideas, contact me. I'm happy to help connect you with your next book. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
panose-1:0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0;
mso-font-charset:128;
mso-generic-font-family:roman;
mso-font-format:other;
mso-font-pitch:fixed;
mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
panose-1:0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0;
mso-font-charset:128;
mso-generic-font-family:roman;
mso-font-format:other;
mso-font-pitch:fixed;
mso-font-signature:1 134676480 16 0 131072 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:Cambria;
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1073743103 0 0 415 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}</style>Elena Jarvis Jubehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00153379522786866966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6088317003537422229.post-18621078429331753652020-02-14T12:54:00.005-07:002020-02-14T14:33:33.985-07:00In Spite of Valentine's: Writing Effective & Tasteful Romance & Emotion without Any Sap or Cheese Whatsoever<br />
<span style="font-family: "avenir light"; font-size: 14.0pt;">So,
Valentine’s Day. It was bound to show up eventually this year. </span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnzBkfQqTtBH5LdRSVyyPpBEaDykZCxcUXjrnEHWMnVPcrEtl4VxlJ3civkQvQwiRYuXP78IRz0iUk13n2yiQ0ar3YkPj_SqXc2TGRj7mjRNVWPGAAg0uUoZ47reWVVov637uu5-IgfaK0/s1600/Screenshot+2020-02-14+12.37.03.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="415" data-original-width="212" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnzBkfQqTtBH5LdRSVyyPpBEaDykZCxcUXjrnEHWMnVPcrEtl4VxlJ3civkQvQwiRYuXP78IRz0iUk13n2yiQ0ar3YkPj_SqXc2TGRj7mjRNVWPGAAg0uUoZ47reWVVov637uu5-IgfaK0/s200/Screenshot+2020-02-14+12.37.03.png" width="101" /></a><span style="font-family: "avenir light"; font-size: 14.0pt;">I
appreciate today for precisely one reason: See’s California Brittle, which you
can get in milk or dark chocolate and comes pre-packaged in 8-oz. bags so you
don't have to stand in a two-hour line like all the poor sods who want
special-order mixed boxes. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "avenir light"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Aside
from Valentine’s Day always slinking around in my least-favorite month of February, which tends to be
brown, and aside from three-hour wait-times at every decent restaurant in town,
not to mention the in-your-face reminder to everyone not currently in a happy relationship
that their lives lack that certain spark, I hold three special grudges against St.
Valentine’s day. No offense to the patron saint of courtly love and epilepsy,
or anyone who likes to pray to him.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "avenir light"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "avenir light"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Purple, pink, and red look
ugly together. I mean, really.</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "avenir light"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "avenir light"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Pepto-bismol-flavored candy hearts. </span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "avenir light"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "avenir light"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Romance does <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i>, in fact, equal sex or sappiness…but
try telling that to Valentine’s Day.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "avenir light"; font-size: 14.0pt;">I
happen to be a fan of romance—genuine romance, not the pseudo stuff we get fed
on this day—so I object to Valentine’s movies in general. Not to mention all
the books out there that claim to be romantic and only succeed at being porn or
sap with maybe a story attached. Authentic romance—not the fake knock-off
version—is about meaningful connection and emotional intimacy, making an
attempt to understand somebody who’s maybe not that much like you, learning to
look for and see her good qualities even when it’s hard—especially when it’s
hard—because real-life relationships are never easy. They take work, are
complex. That’s the difference between porn and romance. Porn refuses to see a
complex human being; it turns the object of affection into a prop. Romance says
I love you anyway.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhksA3Vh09RgWskJgan3kC2AXT5HLzDLcLzFzm9JO0EYR1FLur_6fRbHCn3UXtsYpvfZ35stGUgvPoXjzkag4zBfQMBP32noJfSNi7KRWutAfioMW2o74ekeVKnjpQansdwvv0oQyEpkvz/s1600/Screenshot+2020-02-14+12.30.40.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="318" data-original-width="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhksA3Vh09RgWskJgan3kC2AXT5HLzDLcLzFzm9JO0EYR1FLur_6fRbHCn3UXtsYpvfZ35stGUgvPoXjzkag4zBfQMBP32noJfSNi7KRWutAfioMW2o74ekeVKnjpQansdwvv0oQyEpkvz/s1600/Screenshot+2020-02-14+12.30.40.png" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "avenir light"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Pride and Prejudice, </span></i><span style="font-family: "avenir light"; font-size: 14.0pt;">one of the most romantic
stories of all-time, doesn’t have a single kiss in it. The only kissing—n’
stuff—happens off-stage, when Lydia runs away with Wickham (your classic dashing
romantic character) and the couple hides in London, unmarried, where they, you
know, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">do </i>it. And are utterly bored,
waiting for Darcy to find them and bribe them into marriage, because the
doing-it bit turns out not to be that interesting after a while. The exciting
part—the romantic part—happens between Lizzie and Darcy, who constantly fight
whenever they are together and only actually touch each other once—their hands,
briefly, when dancing. It’s an electric moment because it’s rare…and because
Austen does not use the word electric. She understood, of course, that romantic
tension has little to do with kissing and everything to do with holding off.
She also understood that well-wrought romance works mostly because of
interesting, complex characters. Darcy is a romantic trope now, but he wasn’t
when <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pride and Prejudice </i>hit the
booksellers several hundred years ago. He’s rich and good-looking (mainly good-looking
because of the money, Elizabeth jokes), but he’s also a snob who goes around sneering
at people and hurting their feelings and won’t dance with Elizabeth because
she’s not pretty enough. He’s shy and awkward and blunt and unforgiving and
doesn’t know what to do with a sense of humor when it up and smacks him in the
face. Of course Elizabeth falls in love with attractive and charming Wickham
first. She hates Darcy’s guts for good reason. She only comes to love him after
a lot of disgust and fighting and after slowly discovering his lovable
qualities—things like integrity, and adoring his little sister, and kindness
when nobody’s looking, and true generosity when it matters. Elizabeth claims
she falls in love with Darcy the moment she sees his big, beautiful house, but
we don’t believe it (in spite of an 18-century woman’s lack of job options) because
Austen has been setting us up all along with little glimpses of possibility in
the middle of the conflict. It’s intensely romantic, and all with no kissing or
even any eye-gazing, because Lizzy is too embarrassed to look into Darcy’s eyes
long enough to find out what color they are. So we never know.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3pn4M94f2I9iZH688KJZXUQ4meC5FjX__JiPcUqmRv0HC0vL-Ur4QtV1k8SyLcxN5zXbZjqRlFZfztSge28ABNpfHfbdXgx92xoATsOEWs10gm_j7x-_SePlOm9bq3fbDl7W9qPHQubcj/s1600/Screenshot+2020-02-14+12.42.14.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="601" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3pn4M94f2I9iZH688KJZXUQ4meC5FjX__JiPcUqmRv0HC0vL-Ur4QtV1k8SyLcxN5zXbZjqRlFZfztSge28ABNpfHfbdXgx92xoATsOEWs10gm_j7x-_SePlOm9bq3fbDl7W9qPHQubcj/s320/Screenshot+2020-02-14+12.42.14.png" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "avenir light"; font-size: 14.0pt;">The
rom-coms of the 90’s figured Austen had it right and left out most of the touching,
too, to great effect. Sometimes characters spend all their time together
fighting, meanwhile sharing anonymous vulnerable moments over email. Sometimes
they don’t meet until the end, after we’ve come to really know and like these
people, and often they’re the last people to figure out that, yeah, they maybe
are in love after all. The 90’s rom-coms worked because they focused on character
and tension and made us desperately want the couple to get together without
giving that to us until the very end. Which made the end oh-so-satisfying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "avenir light"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "avenir light"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Intense
emotion of any kind is hard to write well, in fact. It can so easily become
sappy and cheesy and knock us out of the fictional dream the story worked so
hard to create. So, a few additional thoughts, mostly gleaned from some other
great writers on writing
strong emotion (i.e., love) without cheesiness or sappiness. Feel free to add
literal cheese and actual tree-sap if you like. Just stay away from the
figurative kinds.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "avenir light"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Martine Leavitt: Make it
fresh. No breathings of any kind: heavy breathing, heaving bodices,
breath-holding, breathlessness. No clenchings, hands or jaw. No tingling,
crushing, or electricity images. No gazing into eyes. In fact, avoid describing
eyes and physical appearance. Focus on behavior. </span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "avenir light"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Martine again: No crying.
Crying kills sympathy. Sorry.</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "avenir light"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Dostoyevsky: Make it about
the characters. Try to fully empathize with even your most despicable ones—what
would they really think and feel?</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "avenir light"; font-size: 14.0pt;">John Gardner: Don’t tell us
how a character feels; use setting to make us feel it, too. What’s happening in
the environment around them? Don’t mention love, attraction, or lust.</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "avenir light"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Tolstoy and Gary D. Schmidt:
use imagery in the environment as a metaphor for the emotion (like Tolstoy’s
budding tree or Schmidt’s bird in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Okay
for Now)</i>…but don’t point out that it’s a metaphor. </span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">6.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "avenir light"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Henry James: be sincere.
Avoid manipulation.</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">7.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "avenir light"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Shakespeare: Use humor. Too
much intensity can pull us out of the fictional dream.</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">8.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "avenir light"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Jane Austen: less is more.
Keep it simple, a light touch. Small interactions, non-sexual touching.</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">9.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "avenir light"; font-size: 14.0pt;">The Bronte sisters: Tension
is essential. But build the conflict into the story so it doesn’t feel
contrived. </span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">10.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "avenir light"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Tolstoy and James and
Dostoevsky and Dickens and basically every great storyteller ever: Make the
story about something besides the romance. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "avenir light"; font-size: 14.0pt;">In fact, we all get our emotional scenes wrong probably more often than not. I shudder when I go back and read my own writing half the time. "Pure slop," I moan. "Cheesy drivel. Please don't let me die before I revise." But that's why we keep reading and working on our craft, right? The masters had it down. It's up to us to work for something more than cringe-worthy. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1791491579 18 0 131231 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"Cambria Math";
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:Cambria;
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1073743103 0 0 415 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:Garamond;
panose-1:2 2 4 4 3 3 1 1 8 3;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"Avenir Light";
panose-1:2 11 4 2 2 2 3 2 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-2147483473 1342185546 0 0 155 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
p.MsoListParagraph, li.MsoListParagraph, div.MsoListParagraph
{mso-style-priority:34;
mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
margin-top:0in;
margin-right:0in;
margin-bottom:0in;
margin-left:.5in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-add-space:auto;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
p.MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst, li.MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst, div.MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst
{mso-style-priority:34;
mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-type:export-only;
margin-top:0in;
margin-right:0in;
margin-bottom:0in;
margin-left:.5in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-add-space:auto;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
p.MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle, li.MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle, div.MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle
{mso-style-priority:34;
mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-type:export-only;
margin-top:0in;
margin-right:0in;
margin-bottom:0in;
margin-left:.5in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-add-space:auto;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
p.MsoListParagraphCxSpLast, li.MsoListParagraphCxSpLast, div.MsoListParagraphCxSpLast
{mso-style-priority:34;
mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-type:export-only;
margin-top:0in;
margin-right:0in;
margin-bottom:0in;
margin-left:.5in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-add-space:auto;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
/* List Definitions */
@list l0
{mso-list-id:412747665;
mso-list-type:hybrid;
mso-list-template-ids:111810256 67698703 67698713 67698715 67698703 67698713 67698715 67698703 67698713 67698715;}
@list l0:level1
{mso-level-tab-stop:none;
mso-level-number-position:left;
text-indent:-.25in;}
@list l0:level2
{mso-level-number-format:alpha-lower;
mso-level-tab-stop:none;
mso-level-number-position:left;
text-indent:-.25in;}
@list l0:level3
{mso-level-number-format:roman-lower;
mso-level-tab-stop:none;
mso-level-number-position:right;
text-indent:-9.0pt;}
@list l0:level4
{mso-level-tab-stop:none;
mso-level-number-position:left;
text-indent:-.25in;}
@list l0:level5
{mso-level-number-format:alpha-lower;
mso-level-tab-stop:none;
mso-level-number-position:left;
text-indent:-.25in;}
@list l0:level6
{mso-level-number-format:roman-lower;
mso-level-tab-stop:none;
mso-level-number-position:right;
text-indent:-9.0pt;}
@list l0:level7
{mso-level-tab-stop:none;
mso-level-number-position:left;
text-indent:-.25in;}
@list l0:level8
{mso-level-number-format:alpha-lower;
mso-level-tab-stop:none;
mso-level-number-position:left;
text-indent:-.25in;}
@list l0:level9
{mso-level-number-format:roman-lower;
mso-level-tab-stop:none;
mso-level-number-position:right;
text-indent:-9.0pt;}
@list l1
{mso-list-id:604381307;
mso-list-type:hybrid;
mso-list-template-ids:-301050480 -457700688 67698713 67698715 67698703 67698713 67698715 67698703 67698713 67698715;}
@list l1:level1
{mso-level-tab-stop:none;
mso-level-number-position:left;
text-indent:-.25in;
mso-ascii-font-family:Garamond;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Garamond;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
@list l1:level2
{mso-level-number-format:alpha-lower;
mso-level-tab-stop:none;
mso-level-number-position:left;
text-indent:-.25in;}
@list l1:level3
{mso-level-number-format:roman-lower;
mso-level-tab-stop:none;
mso-level-number-position:right;
text-indent:-9.0pt;}
@list l1:level4
{mso-level-tab-stop:none;
mso-level-number-position:left;
text-indent:-.25in;}
@list l1:level5
{mso-level-number-format:alpha-lower;
mso-level-tab-stop:none;
mso-level-number-position:left;
text-indent:-.25in;}
@list l1:level6
{mso-level-number-format:roman-lower;
mso-level-tab-stop:none;
mso-level-number-position:right;
text-indent:-9.0pt;}
@list l1:level7
{mso-level-tab-stop:none;
mso-level-number-position:left;
text-indent:-.25in;}
@list l1:level8
{mso-level-number-format:alpha-lower;
mso-level-tab-stop:none;
mso-level-number-position:left;
text-indent:-.25in;}
@list l1:level9
{mso-level-number-format:roman-lower;
mso-level-tab-stop:none;
mso-level-number-position:right;
text-indent:-9.0pt;}
ol
{margin-bottom:0in;}
ul
{margin-bottom:0in;}
</style>
-->Elena Jarvis Jubehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00153379522786866966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6088317003537422229.post-26308912346018833772020-01-15T13:21:00.004-07:002021-08-10T13:19:30.740-06:00THIS YEAR I PLAN TO COMPLICATE MY LIFE<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 14pt;">I enjoyed
the Marie Kondo thing. Really. (Is it over yet?). For example, I enjoyed the
fabulous new pants and cosy wool sweater I acquired when my friend Emily, a violist
in the Utah Symphony, Marie-Kondoed her closet. And I enjoyed all the articles
people wrote in response to the Kondo craze, like the one in the Guardian by
the writer who decided to ditch all her friends who didn’t spark joy…and then
realized the only person left was herself. Oh, well. I especially liked the
article/s reacting to Marie’s supposed claim about books, that nobody needs to own more
than thirty (wait, people can actually live without hundreds of books?) which included
interviews of people who loved their various huge, messy, beautiful libraries.
I spent some time after that gazing at my own huge, messy, beautiful library,
and tried to imagine whispering to each book as I loaded it into a box to throw
away, “Thank you for your service.” And decided I didn’t actually have that
much imagination. I didn’t get rid of anything. Though practically everyone I
knew was down-sizing and getting rid of stuff. Even my kids. It was inspiring,
in a distant, theoretical kind of way.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 14pt;">This year, I
considered setting a New Year’s goal to simplify my life. But then I realized
that one of the things I ended up doing which sparked the most joy, and which
hadn’t even been an actual New Year’s resolution even though I started my quest
in January, almost exactly one year ago, was learning how to make my own delicious
sourdough<span id="goog_1059729195"></span><span id="goog_1059729196"></span> bread. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVyng6gYJATmI4cG00DytYly1BJyI7b3SGnT-p6UsxH0DrjGzQUIqS8pEn9TP4pAyWektWLWAITmMBxJVd_dk0lezzP7QwYt6kmoKGodlq7khLzhkkncko54g9UlMm95pm3_4z6Ag8M6Be/s1600/IMG_3114.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVyng6gYJATmI4cG00DytYly1BJyI7b3SGnT-p6UsxH0DrjGzQUIqS8pEn9TP4pAyWektWLWAITmMBxJVd_dk0lezzP7QwYt6kmoKGodlq7khLzhkkncko54g9UlMm95pm3_4z6Ag8M6Be/s320/IMG_3114.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 14pt;">Which involved
acquiring a lot of stuff. And which is about the most complicated way I can
think of to acquire bread. Simple would have been to buy it. You can purchase
decent sourdough bread at the bakery. It’s quick. You don’t have to plan to set
aside most of a day to babysit dough. You don’t have to buy equipment. Buy,
eat, toss bag, you’re done. Instead, I spent about six months researching
recipes, watching YouTube videos, acquiring proofing baskets, lames,
combo-cookers and cookbooks, driving 25 miles away just to buy good local
flour, growing levain on my countertop, filling my fridge with wild-yeasty
starters, thumping dough, and generally flailing around until I started
consistently making good sourdough. And guess what? Thumping dough sparks joy. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYTS9R5DOAzpyxoFoJ1WVz4wVU5n6VfuxYcI8h-cxSZ-r-X_TlKoCHETGmelT4VzyDZLc1d13WISLbjbaPmR6A2Wy-6m7K3vVm7OsZ-nsMXqi72vCV0X1QW9rE_eolMdondPHVQs8SuGwE/s1600/IMG_3005.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYTS9R5DOAzpyxoFoJ1WVz4wVU5n6VfuxYcI8h-cxSZ-r-X_TlKoCHETGmelT4VzyDZLc1d13WISLbjbaPmR6A2Wy-6m7K3vVm7OsZ-nsMXqi72vCV0X1QW9rE_eolMdondPHVQs8SuGwE/s320/IMG_3005.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 14pt;">So does eating something crispy on the outside and fluffy and fabulous on the
inside that you made yourself after six months of trial and bread-disasters,
including many loaves that could have been mistaken for bricks, or doorstops. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 14pt;">So this
year, I’ve decided to complicate my life in whatever ways I want. Like becoming
a grandmother twice (thanks, my children!). Making more dinners at home so we
eat together as a family more often. Collecting soft blankets and wool socks. And
buying more books, even though my library is already overflowing the available
shelf-space. Perfecting my whole-wheat version of sourdough bread, which still
tends to turn out dense as doorstops about half the time. Making more things
from scratch and walking to get places more often, to soothe my eco-anxiety and
reduce my carbon footprint. Writing more novels, and working harder at my
craft, because it’s not just fun, it’s satisfying to stretch for a level of
quality you’ll never quite reach. Writing more blog-posts, even though I couldn’t
tell Marie Kondo honestly that blog-writing necessarily sparks <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">joy</i>. I’ll also take on writing monthly
blog-posts for my husband’s law blog, just because I want to help him out. I’m
setting a goal to take the long way sometimes. And the slow way. The hard way. Thinking
more. Talking to people in person, instead of just through text and Instagram
comments.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 14pt;">The truth
is, the easiest, simplest way to live is probably what we’re already doing with
ourselves: fast-paced, drive-though, social-scrolling, throw-away. Letting
technology do our living for us. Letting Twitter tell us how to think instead
of doing that for ourselves. I know it sounds trite, but we all know none of
that really sparks joy, or we wouldn’t be the loneliest, most anxious and
depressed group of people in generations. Yes, it’s true, we buy too much, but
sometimes the answer to the stress we feel isn’t simplicity. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes the path to a satisfying life is
taking on more complication. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 14pt; font-weight: normal;">Although</span></i><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 14pt; font-weight: normal;">…I
have to admit I was intrigued to learn that Elizabeth Warren’s secret to great
skin at age 70 is lots of face cream and never washing her face…how simple
would that be? Never wash! And OK, yeah, the truth is, I don’t feel like making
bread today, or tomorrow, either, or cleaning out my storage room, for that
matter…In fact, I’m tired, Marie. And I just had an epiphany: maybe the true
path to joy is taking naps…We could call it Power Napping. </span></div>
<h1>
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 14pt; font-weight: normal;">Why am I feeling a sense of</span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 14pt; font-weight: normal;"> déjà vu? </span></h1>
<style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:Times;
panose-1:2 0 5 0 0 0 0 0 0 0;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1791491579 18 0 131231 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"Cambria Math";
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:Calibri;
panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-520092929 1073786111 9 0 415 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:Cambria;
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1073743103 0 0 415 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
h1
{mso-style-priority:9;
mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-link:"Heading 1 Char";
mso-margin-top-alt:auto;
margin-right:0in;
mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto;
margin-left:0in;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
mso-outline-level:1;
font-size:24.0pt;
font-family:Times;}
span.Heading1Char
{mso-style-name:"Heading 1 Char";
mso-style-priority:9;
mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-locked:yes;
mso-style-link:"Heading 1";
mso-ansi-font-size:24.0pt;
mso-bidi-font-size:24.0pt;
font-family:Times;
mso-ascii-font-family:Times;
mso-hansi-font-family:Times;
mso-font-kerning:18.0pt;
font-weight:bold;}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
</style>
--> Elena Jarvis Jubehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00153379522786866966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6088317003537422229.post-34968017494971559652019-07-09T18:23:00.002-06:002019-07-09T18:32:40.229-06:00coexistence<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">A robin has built a nest and laid three eggs in it, in the grapevines just outside my front door. I can see her through my window, sitting there as I work. She adjusts herself north, south, east, west--quarter turns, like kneading dough--for something different to stare at, I expect, or to incubate her eggs more evenly.</span><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">I
imagine it's a pretty boring job. Twelve to fourteen days until her
eggs hatch, the internet informs us, another nine to sixteen until
the fledglings leave the nest. </span><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrXVfMCbchjgrSt7ma8JL7rONIL-E6ImtIe30bBv1nzui7exMjrsnk_Nq_iTN5QfFCXCoOf1YPSnAnjO02vTQwFsbein1toXtL5u8N9cmtmI3gKw6w_d7RPJ3EkkI3zTJTcqo7-tvz2W-c/s1600/IMG_3004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrXVfMCbchjgrSt7ma8JL7rONIL-E6ImtIe30bBv1nzui7exMjrsnk_Nq_iTN5QfFCXCoOf1YPSnAnjO02vTQwFsbein1toXtL5u8N9cmtmI3gKw6w_d7RPJ3EkkI3zTJTcqo7-tvz2W-c/s400/IMG_3004.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Mama's at the top of the trellis. </span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">She stands up, preens, adjusts inside the nest--eggs, bedding?--wiggles back and forth, settles back in, tail bent up slightly so she fits down inside the nest-bowl. She's been sitting there all afternoon hardly moving. Now she's restless, twitchy. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">It's mostly a nice spot for a nest, I think, very green, out of reach of the cat pacing down below. And then there are those annoying people who keep turning on lights, peering at her through the window. Also, the cat pacing down below, but I don't think he actually sees her. We try not to use the front door, tiptoe around, open and close windows quietly. She flies away when I play the piano--not sure if that's a comment on my Chopin prelude, or if, to a bird, it sounds like a musical threat. Maybe she just got tired of sitting.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">I'm not playing now; I'm typing away behind a closed window in my air-conditioned house. She's very restless. It's hot today, the hottest part of the day. She flies off for a snack, a wing-stretch, a change of scene. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Which reminds me, I'm hungry and could use a stretch myself.I'm just about to get up when she flies back, settling in, facing north, in spite of cats patrolling and people peering and loud piano playing every evening. And sometimes Jeopardy and Alex Trebec. It's her spot and she's going to do her job. She's already turned a quarter turn, due east, like dough...</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />Elena Jarvis Jubehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00153379522786866966noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6088317003537422229.post-65443133726342728292019-04-01T17:53:00.001-06:002019-07-09T17:15:51.472-06:00Playing High and Dry with Sourdough <span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Lately I've been playing with dough. It's become a sort of compulsion.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Maybe because I'm tired of driving all the way to some bakery every time I want a sourdough loaf--which, lately, is always. Maybe because I graduated with my MFA last August and I'm still figuring new rhythms which now include bread.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Maybe because I sometimes feel like rebelling against technology, want to go back to old ways of doing things, from times when people made things by hand and they were fabulous, instead of buying assembly-line things that taste and behave as if assembled in a line. Or a line-up. Criminally bad.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When assembly-line bread began appearing in France, the French did what you'd expect them to do--made bad bread illegal. Which is why their bread is fabulous and ours is criminal. But, you know, freedom--sort of a big deal in our part of the world. However, there are costs. Freedom means suffering will necessarily be part of the world, as Dostoyevsky always said. Freedom also means if I don't like suffering with criminally crappy bread, I can learn to make good bread myself. And send out good bread into the world, thereby reducing in some small way the overall suffering of the world. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So I've been researching, experimenting with, baking, and, especially eating sourdough obsessively for the past month. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Now sourdough is taking over my kitchen.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody></tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Tatb24kfJwKKGuLfQuRql56AaJOQqKb-A99T9AAmr0S-UB52xb02FSvH_uHIM2Tcf-qCnUH7ZA_BuGVeQsQ6T4TMinTyBYbVXnUXIcedZdkHEb2ivFJ-JYh1Hvb_BU4F_c6PNRsepeoL/s1600/IMG_2585.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Tatb24kfJwKKGuLfQuRql56AaJOQqKb-A99T9AAmr0S-UB52xb02FSvH_uHIM2Tcf-qCnUH7ZA_BuGVeQsQ6T4TMinTyBYbVXnUXIcedZdkHEb2ivFJ-JYh1Hvb_BU4F_c6PNRsepeoL/s400/IMG_2585.JPG" width="300" /></a></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Three sourdough starts--because I can't bear to throw the extra away and it multiplies. Please come get some.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody></tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody></tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNiYU0-xYAj1pB__JMOt8DKdBf72PsdqjnKODrYM-o7jQ7tUjgUsVIlmomzzVEHe_eNFggOUv14pUi0e1-RinVcBrfpVRT0OwaViCa9B-vx_W_CA71o7QVBu0Y-rFcw_6trQCwChTmRNfZ/s1600/IMG_2594.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNiYU0-xYAj1pB__JMOt8DKdBf72PsdqjnKODrYM-o7jQ7tUjgUsVIlmomzzVEHe_eNFggOUv14pUi0e1-RinVcBrfpVRT0OwaViCa9B-vx_W_CA71o7QVBu0Y-rFcw_6trQCwChTmRNfZ/s400/IMG_2594.JPG" width="300" /></a></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Sourdough in three stages--starter, dough, and just-baked bread--because it's becoming a compulsion. I really can't stop. My bread box is full and I keep making more.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody></tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody></tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmwlXSQl1iOOsDgErMX6tH_qJ04fskXmhY0mk2kOCe3XDnUbEYJ2gO9VsZ_cJI3IRPwKpt53PD97AATF9TqdF6aPeNFRd4WUfWj6X-JEiV9_q7DF8ieSS0cAATy10AEdY4pkGwYuiTxjfx/s1600/IMG_2615.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmwlXSQl1iOOsDgErMX6tH_qJ04fskXmhY0mk2kOCe3XDnUbEYJ2gO9VsZ_cJI3IRPwKpt53PD97AATF9TqdF6aPeNFRd4WUfWj6X-JEiV9_q7DF8ieSS0cAATy10AEdY4pkGwYuiTxjfx/s400/IMG_2615.JPG" width="300" /></a></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A finished loaf--because that's what it's all about. Still working on my scoring.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody></tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Meanwhile, I've learned some things--about myself, about sourdough.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">All bread was once sourdough. Quick-acting yeast is a recent invention, result of the Industrial Revolution's tendency to transform all things slow into all things speedy and mass-produced.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Once you learn how--and work out all the glitches--sourdough is easier to make than regular bread. It just rises longer.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Also, it tastes better. But we already knew that.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Also, it's easier to digest, because the wheat has time to ferment. Some hail sourdough as the salvation of the gluten-intolerance epidemic. Some blame quick-acting yeast for the epidemic in the first place.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I'm a perfectionist (not that we didn't know that already, too), and bread-making is a glitchy process if you want a perfect crust, perfect crumb, perfect flavor, a beautiful-looking loaf. It's especially glitchy if you're making whole-grain sourdough at high altitude in the desert. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">All the best sourdough recipes originate at sea-level, in relative humidity, moderate temps. San Francisco, for example. And sea-level recipes are all wrong for baking in the dry, high (5,000 feet) cold late-spring air of the mountains where I live. It makes for fabulous snow if you like skiing, but sucks the moisture right out of your flour. And your dough. And your bread. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I don't know if I can eat regular bread ever again, in spite of glitches. Sourdough just makes great bread.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></li>
</ul>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">More later on my experiments. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span>Elena Jarvis Jubehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00153379522786866966noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6088317003537422229.post-75832440751533379892019-04-01T16:06:00.001-06:002019-04-01T18:16:30.945-06:00Best Timeless Children's Books (to Compensate for Your Newsfeed)<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Note:
Originally published December 31, 2018, but Blogger freaked out with an
attempt to make a small editorial change and made this post unreadably
tiny, and then froze it that way. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt;">This morning when I
woke up and remembered how swiftly the old year was rolling towards the new, I
responded first by putting off my gym workout, rolling over and going back to
sleep (in case 2019 turns out to be as exhausting as 2018). </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Once I’d finally forced
my eyes open, I put off my workout again—as well as my yearly personal
reflection and goal-setting session—by scrolling through my news feed and
reading other people’s reflections on the turn of the year, including <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/magazine/wp/2018/12/30/feature/dave-barrys-year-in-review-2018/?noredirect=on&utm_term=.223caae0969c">Dave
Barry's sum-up of 2018’s news</a>, in what might have been a humorous piece for
the Washington Post if the reality of last year’s events hadn’t been so
absurd…which was a depressing way to face the last day of the year and left me
longing for something timeless.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br />
Like books.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br />
Good books. The best books. The kind that transform you. The kind that people
still read 20 years later because those books still have three crucial things
that make a person want to spend all those hours reading and not care if the
book actually does have 1200 pages because she doesn’t want it to end, ever:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br />
1. Great stories,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt;">2. Fabulous
language, and </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt;">3. Unforgettable
characters.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br />
As the world gets madder by the minute, I regularly consider dumping my
newsfeed altogether and moving entirely to longer mediums like actual, physical
books with covers and paper pages and ideas that don’t go out of date by 5:00
pm. Like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">War and
Peace</i>, if you can get through the Napoleon sections, which I keep thinking
I really <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ought </i>to
tackle one of these days, after all these years of its looking untouched and
attractive on my book shelf. And then something like the Kavanaugh hearings
comes up and I’m hooked again. And besides, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">War and Peace</i> is
freaking 1200 pages. With hundreds of pages about Napoleon.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br />
And then you finish with the Kavanaugh hearings and you think, wow, I just
wasted hours of my life and it didn’t make any difference at all. And you turn
back to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">War and
Peace…</i>or something else, if you’re not up to 1200 pages of Russian history
and philosophy with some story mixed in. Something like timeless children’s
books, which tend to be much shorter, with gripping stories, brilliant language,
and lovable characters, or they wouldn’t be timeless, right? Kids would never
put up with anything boring.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br />
One good thing about getting older, I’ve realized recently, is that much of
what I took for granted during my childhood is now considered vintage and rare.
Like the books I read. And since I spent most of my childhood reading, and then
my early adulthood hanging out at used bookstores buying up the books I’d read
as a child so my own children could experience those stories, too, a large
portion of both my brain and my basement now revolve around these
now-so-called-vintage children’s books. The best books. The ones you still
secretly enjoy as an adult and use all your powers of persuasion to convince
your child to let you read them aloud to him—not because he's so thrilled about
that, but because you want an excuse to read those books again.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br />
So, in case you’re not up for 1200 pages of Tolstoy, here are my 2019 New Year
recommendations for some of the best timeless children’s books out there, most
of which you’ve likely never heard of. I’ve numbered them and even considered
alphabetizing them because it’s the New Year, and that makes things look
organized, but really, whatever.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br />
1. <i>Petronella</i>, picture book by Jay Williams, pictures by Friso Henstra.
A flipped fairytale published in 1973 and sadly out of print, packed with
clever wordplay, a vibrant heroine, and a surprising, utterly satisfying
ending. All of Jay Williams’s books are witty and delightful, by the way, but
this is my favorite.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/51wfgRyfimL._AC_UL436_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="327" data-original-width="436" height="240" src="https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/51wfgRyfimL._AC_UL436_.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="center" class="separator" style="text-align: center; text-indent: -.25in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl2mBk0vxl8EgoqxYqoDdhjg-c6nDXWdEzYnM5UN3Lt_Qtesn1jBC-79R_D-SMx27lR6qxE_Ms_moa-p-THKQp69J3yZgIsxbG72QNYzG1oEUsD3nuPEzIZD50JCNlD1AcUBClAPdFqDHf/s1600/IMG_2380.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; text-decoration: none;"><br /></span></a><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
<div style="text-indent: -.25in;">
<i style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></i><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="text-indent: -.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="text-indent: -.25in;">
<i><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt;">2. The King with Six Friends, </span></i><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt;">picture book also by Jay
Williams, also out of print, also a fairytale cleverly retold, about a king who
is out of a job so goes looking for a kingdom to rule and gathers friends with
magical abilities as he travels, each of whom help him prove himself worthy of
a kingdom.</span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="text-indent: -.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="text-indent: -.25in;">
<i style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt;">3. Jingo Django,</span></i><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> chapter book by Sid
Fleischman. Also out of print, but I’ve found it both in libraries and used
online bookstores. Fleischman won the Newbery for his <i style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Whipping Boy, </i>but this book
is better by far. A nearly perfect book, not a wasted word, full of language to
love and characters you’ll never forget, emotionally powerful, with surprising
plot twists and buried treasure, but the real gold is the relationship between
the two central characters—complicated, difficult, meaningful and
heart-yanking.</span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="text-indent: -.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt;">4.
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Marvelous Land
of Oz </i>and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Ozma
of Oz, </i>novels by L. Frank Baum. Though <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Wonderful Wizard
of Oz </i>is of course the most famous (also—need I say it?—far better than the
movie, which ruined the fantasy by explaining it away as Dorothy’s fever
dream), the other Oz books are every bit as zany and exciting, and Baum wrote
something like 14 of them. Luckily, my public library had them all, but these
two were my favorites. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Marvelous</i>
introduces us to the boy Tip and Jack Pumpkinhead, and the witch Mombi. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Ozma </i>contains one
of the most disturbingly memorable characters you’ll meet anywhere in
children’s lit—Princess Langwidere, who collects beautiful girls’ heads and
never changes her clothes; instead she swaps out heads when she wants a new
look. Very creepy. In a delightful sort of way.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/517GEKUh3aL._AC_UL436_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="436" data-original-width="313" height="320" src="https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/517GEKUh3aL._AC_UL436_.jpg" width="229" /></a></div>
<div style="text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: -.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="separator" style="text-align: center; text-indent: -.25in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNu1uiGljPvtI3I_NN_VAYB5qoAUedfQIR5lrSJbI8IXX2vi2dL-nHOGhTBETpDFOgAhcY8nYFmO8kT9NjlHG9dxnPReHWdig8_eWoMtBkiaWvesVts3qcWtT8GcARwhkMnLEYhjoOI15y/s1600/IMG_2382.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; text-decoration: none;"><br /></span></a><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
<div style="text-indent: -.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt;">5.
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Dark is Rising
</i>series,<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>novels
by Susan Cooper. Dark and brooding, full of myth and magic, this series made me
want to be a Welsh bard when I was 11. But I’m cheating a bit, because the
series has three more books: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Over Sea, Under
Stone, Silver on the Tree, </i>and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Grey King. </i>Luckily,
two of these won Newberys, so they tend to be available.</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: -.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/61wNqOvha1L._AC_UL436_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="436" data-original-width="358" height="320" src="https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/61wNqOvha1L._AC_UL436_.jpg" width="262" /></a></div>
<div align="center" class="separator" style="text-align: center; text-indent: -.25in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-9D8okZEnRcKrq9-_oxd-hCQDP9xqjaCZAXVUx9p9oTIZ-nTlQPCucRpEXRBvgpDe46dASDREmOYoIHAfq4Hvo3_L3EY1AfCRN7940GHW71tmg0DE25taF9YR4nrxEFaMj-UdLsjJsA-l/s1600/IMG_2383.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; text-decoration: none;"><br /></span></a><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
<div style="text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt;">6.
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Princess and
the Goblin </i>(and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The
Princess and Curdie</i>)<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>novellas by
George MacDonald. MacDonald was a Scottish writer who inspired the fantasy
novels of both J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis. My 8-year-old son wasn’t excited
about the covers or the old-fashioned language at first—it was written in 1872,
after all—but soon he was forcing me to read these aloud for hours until I lost
my voice—every day until we finished them. And I didn’t mind, really. We’d get
home from wherever and he’d shout, “Princess and the Goblin!” and then we’d run
downstairs to read together. Great story, characters, magic, everything you
want in a kid’s book. </span></div>
<div style="text-indent: -.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51SYjXY2mBL._SX346_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="348" height="320" src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51SYjXY2mBL._SX346_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" width="223" /></a></div>
<div align="center" class="separator" style="text-align: center; text-indent: -.25in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha4dLr-DK6c81HMGgCe4a5zWs4duTgwl4_Y2sQNer2w6E6TqlY7irQXxCo1oEpVi-9AymErqDxrToLdMkmQweLTnFJKiL1TlNzLwt4EjRx8HxLimgMFTLcIuYX-PDO5dR-wwNVNWJhdADG/s1600/IMG_2387.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; text-decoration: none;"><br /></span></a><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
<div style="text-indent: -.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt;">7.
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Wonderful
Story of Henry Sugar and Six More, </i>by Roald Dahl. These short stories are
for older readers than Dahl’s usual audience, but as magical in their own way
as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">James and the
Giant Peach. </i>I have happy memories of my mom reading <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Henry</i> to me and
my siblings when I was about 14 and far too old (I mostly thought) to be read
to. There’s something magical about a great read-aloud intended for teens and
even adults.</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/51AaKeCtqqL._AC_UL436_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="436" data-original-width="282" height="320" src="https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/51AaKeCtqqL._AC_UL436_.jpg" width="206" /></a></div>
<div align="center" class="separator" style="text-align: center; text-indent: -.25in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2CcYxZwhDn32eyKDPkXGlOiRmmTn5lqoT9V5WElz97xysgVJrlzCYmNrXxou3rE6A6Pl2RfF0GFrn9YFg89gGZ2qGwS-NVEF8elDTmrq7OOgZbt8D1jwHnQ82nJCi30f_Z9Y7C7vnCSuZ/s1600/IMG_2388.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; text-decoration: none;"><br /></span></a><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
<div align="center" class="separator" style="text-align: center; text-indent: -.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt;">8.
Still, don’t miss <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">James
and the Giant Peach, </i>also by Roald Dahl, just because you’ve already seen
the movie, as well as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Fantastic Mr. Fox,
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, </i>or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Charlie and the
Great, Glass Elevator. </i>The movies completely omit the subtle humor and
savory language of the written stories, though Wes Anderson’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Fantastic Mr. Fox </i>does
admittedly have its own quirky humor. Sadly, many kids never encounter these
older stories of Dahl’s in book form, which I believe are better than many of
his later books, like <i>The Twits</i>. Ok, so that was four in one. But I need
room for</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span></div>
<div style="text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt;">9.
Ursula K. LeGuin’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Annals
of the Western Shore </i>series: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Gifts, Voices, </i>and
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Powers. </i>Technically,
these can't be considered vintage since they were published in 2004, 6 and 7,
but hardly anyone I've met--even the LeGuin fans--seems to have heard of them,
and they’re brilliant and posses every quality of timeless literature. Le
Guin’s language is characteristically beautiful, her characters alive, the
magic believable, the worlds richly imagined and complicated; they pull you in
and make you forget you’re not actually there, in this place that doesn’t exist
but feels as if it must, somewhere, somehow. And yes, all right, that’s three
in one.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/91fadg0nZcL._AC_UL436_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="436" data-original-width="302" height="200" src="https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/91fadg0nZcL._AC_UL436_.jpg" width="138" /></a><a href="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/511HMkcomjL._SX329_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="331" height="200" src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/511HMkcomjL._SX329_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" width="132" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/514ahf1rvoL._SX316_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="318" height="200" src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/514ahf1rvoL._SX316_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" width="126" /></a></div>
<br />
<a href="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51rVcpe7EiL._SX353_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" style="float: right;"><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; text-decoration: none;"></span></a><a href="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/515YQYfASSL._AC_US218_.jpg"><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; text-decoration: none;"></span></a><a href="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51wUxwC7PXL._SX355_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg"><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; text-decoration: none;"></span></a><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: -.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt;">10.
Diana Wynne Jones’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Dogsbody.</i> It was
written in 1975 so I should have encountered it during my childhood, but didn’t
actually discover this book—or Diana Wynne Jones—until I was an adult. Accused
of a murder he didn’t commit, Sirius the Dogstar is punished by being sent to
Earth to experience life in the brain and body of a dog. Of course, because
this is Jones, it’s complicated, delightful and surprising, full of magic and
sinister plots, but also resonates emotionally—the real reason Jones isn’t just
your run-of-the-mill fantasy writer. Her books pack power because they’re about
being human, her characters lonely, often lost, and reaching for meaningful
connection. While you’re at it, you really should read Jones’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Lives of
Christopher Chant, </i>and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Charmed Life. </i>And
also <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Dalemark
Quartet…</i>all written in the 70’s but missed by me until they were already
sort of vintage-y. And then there’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Howl’s Moving Castle,
</i>which wasn’t even written until the 80’s but still timeless, and if you’ve
seen the movie, is nothing like it whatsoever. Other than the green slime
scene. And the moving castle.... </span></div>
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span><br />
<div style="text-indent: -.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/51g71nG8hpL._AC_UL436_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="436" data-original-width="290" height="320" src="https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/51g71nG8hpL._AC_UL436_.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
<div align="center" class="separator" style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51Ilkxgp84L._SX331_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; text-decoration: none;"><br /></span></a><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Ok, so 10 books is
a lie. That’s more like 20. Or so. A good start. Though not actually
alphabetized, either, just incorrectly numbered. And granted, this list is not
entirely what you could call vintage, but every book on it I deem timeless and
worth reading to the kid on your lap, the kid under the covers with a
flashlight—or the kid in yourself, who really needs a break from the news feed for
2019. I give you permission not to read <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">War and Peace </i>this
year<i> (</i>unless you're a masochist or Russian novel addict like me),
but to delve into a timeless kids’ book instead. Read it aloud if
you need a ruse, but don’t be surprised if you find yourself sneaking a peek
and reading ahead when your kid’s not looking.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<style>
<!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:"Courier New";
panose-1:2 7 3 9 2 2 5 2 4 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536859905 -1073711037 9 0 511 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:Times;
panose-1:2 0 5 0 0 0 0 0 0 0;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-font-charset:78;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1791491579 18 0 131231 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:"Cambria Math";
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1107305727 0 0 415 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:Cambria;
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-536870145 1073743103 0 0 415 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
margin:0in;
margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
a:link, span.MsoHyperlink
{mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-priority:99;
color:blue;
text-decoration:underline;
text-underline:single;}
a:visited, span.MsoHyperlinkFollowed
{mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-priority:99;
color:purple;
mso-themecolor:followedhyperlink;
text-decoration:underline;
text-underline:single;}
p
{mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-priority:99;
mso-margin-top-alt:auto;
margin-right:0in;
mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto;
margin-left:0in;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:10.0pt;
font-family:Times;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";}
p.separator, li.separator, div.separator
{mso-style-name:separator;
mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-margin-top-alt:auto;
margin-right:0in;
mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto;
margin-left:0in;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:10.0pt;
font-family:Times;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS 明朝";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;
mso-header-margin:.5in;
mso-footer-margin:.5in;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
</style>
-->Elena Jarvis Jubehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00153379522786866966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6088317003537422229.post-29281875024967140682016-09-02T22:17:00.001-06:002016-09-02T22:18:36.893-06:0015 Bytes Book ReviewPublished my first literary book review, of Bev Magennis's <i>Alibi Creek,</i> in Utah art magazine <i>15 Bytes. </i>You can find it <a href="http://artistsofutah.org/15Bytes/index.php/making-life-out-of-dust-bev-magennis-alibi-creek/">here</a>. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://artistsofutah.org/15Bytes/index.php/making-life-out-of-dust-bev-magennis-alibi-creek/"><img alt="http://artistsofutah.org/15Bytes/index.php/making-life-out-of-dust-bev-magennis-alibi-creek/" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_8iv4Z7t_yrMhwo8nNIfDjHIuYhpAitCDXwvV8kYEjwd5KyibJP81FvmVVb6E_DGcwSxd2Cj4pnS9RVM5Zj_da8zPuHeTHOZ60yydOBYfNwnJMvUFegQyHnm8JtiZagfO3Khqy32K66-U/s320/Screen+Shot+2016-09-02+at+10.14.05+PM.png" width="211" /></a></div>
<br />Elena Jarvis Jubehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00153379522786866966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6088317003537422229.post-69553976481079184242016-06-15T18:01:00.001-06:002019-02-23T09:53:47.116-07:00The Dog PostLet's get something straight: I'm not a dog person.<br />
<br />
This is thanks to many traumatic moments as a child being chased by the evil Schnautzer across the street, and being terrorized by the Cocker Spaniel on my paper route, and especially thanks to the German Shepherd two doors down who wanted to kill me, and maybe even a little because of the wolf which the German Shepherd people had for less than a week, possibly, until the rumor went around that it had taken a bite out of a child. I was terrified of dogs. Especially big ones. Especially German Shepherds. Also, I am a germaphobe.<br />
<br />
Dogs are germ factories.<br />
<br />
This is not to say my family didn't have a dog of our own when I was growing up: a sweet-tempered little wiry-haired mixed-breed terrier born in the hollow at the base of our cherry tree when I was five. He lived under the plum trees near the garden and his name was Skippy. Don't make fun. We got it from those Dick and Jane readers (my brother was six and learning to read).<br />
<br />
I loved that dog. Really. As long as soap and water were close by. He was little, cute, and not even sort of scary. He ate plums and never bit anyone in his life. <br />
<br />
So, naturally, 12 1/2 years ago when my children decided they could no longer live without a dog, we acquired a German Shepherd we named Andre the Giant (he ended up a massive 90-100 lb. full-grown beast). I agreed on condition that this would be an outdoor- only dog, and Mom would never, ever have to feed, water, groom, clean up after, or take said animal to the vet. All I'd have to do was walk him, since I liked the idea of a run/walk buddy. Naturally. All those other things would be everybody else's job.<br />
<br />
Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! <br />
<br />
Here's the problem: I speak dog. Nobody else in my family (apparently) does.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
I know which bark means "intruder!" and "hello, family!" and "squirrel!" and "feed me, I'm hungry" and "doesn't anybody around here love me?" Also, that sad-eyed look that means "it's an hour past breakfast and I'm pretty sure they've all forgotten me and are you really going to let me starve? Huh?"<br />
<br />
No, I wasn't. Even when I was sick and it was somebody else's job.<br />
<br />
I hate the guilt stare.<br />
<br />
Can't tolerate it for more than a minute, max. I tried putting up a sheet over the glass door once so I wouldn't have to see those sad eyes when everybody forgot to feed him and I had flu. It didn't work. I could feel him looking through the sheet.<br />
<br />
Nobody else seemed the least bit bothered by that stare. Like I said, they don't speak dog. <br />
<br />
I ended up being the one to train him, too, because our German Shepherd had a biting problem, and an aggression problem, and I was not going to own a 100-lb. dog that bit little children. Or the mailman. Or trapped the flute teacher up against the house. Or snarled in people's faces. Or knocked people over when they walked past our house.<br />
<br />
Sigh. That dog.<br />
<br />
We had a love/disgust/annoyance relationship. He was incredibly irritating. And germy. Drooly. And way too dominant. But he didn't bite (eventually). And he was a great running partner. And watchdog. Even if I was always having to feed, water and pick up his poop because nobody else speaks dog.<br />
<br />
And having to change my clothes every time I was around him because I was allergic.<br />
<br />
And getting all covered with dog blood while taking him to the vet to have his ear sown up the time he was stupid and tried to run through barbed wire chasing after some deer (dogs are really not that bright, no matter what the dog-people say), then having to scrub the life out of my hands--and body--and the kitchen ceiling--to get the dog blood off because he just had to shake himself the second I brought him inside to fix him up. And then realized he'd torn his ear right in half. The vet took a look at me, all covered in blood, and swore he'd vouch for me if I got arrested for a violent crime.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZyk3Dxb6nF6DDQ-0hAy9IoXOJxqfEX9iMNdN8xuIPHa1myj5A7p4ZeCD8PDrlmzEHWWPBufmY9NHZ5ZFV0d9voCNvX9cFrF-j7pxJtyN6PEmSNVT7xzUyEsAaWxQL8MeD2YjvMFZC-nfj/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-06-15+at+5.41.00+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="377" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZyk3Dxb6nF6DDQ-0hAy9IoXOJxqfEX9iMNdN8xuIPHa1myj5A7p4ZeCD8PDrlmzEHWWPBufmY9NHZ5ZFV0d9voCNvX9cFrF-j7pxJtyN6PEmSNVT7xzUyEsAaWxQL8MeD2YjvMFZC-nfj/s400/Screen+Shot+2016-06-15+at+5.41.00+PM.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Andre the Giant</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Realizing it was time to say good-bye shouldn't have been hard. It should have been a piece of cake. Or pie.<br />
<br />
Andre-the-Giant was a pain in the derriere. By the end he was mostly deaf and mostly blind. But yesterday when I ended up having to be the one (of course) to drive him down to his last vet appointment, it wasn't a piece of cake, or pie, either. And not just because my kids were crying or because of the random creepy guy at the vet who put his hand on my shoulder to show sympathy (which was maybe sort of nice of him, but still very very creepy).<br />
<br />
I almost refused to take the dog in, but I couldn't stand the misery-stare. It was time. I knew it, and I think he did, too. Which is why yesterday, after getting home from the vet, and despite not being a dog-person at all, I broke my no-sugar-for-the-month-of-June diet and made consolation brownies. Not for the kids--for me. As Yvaine in <i>Stardust</i> comments, love can be "strangely easy to mistake for loathing," and that dog was my nemesis. A monster-sized pest. A pill.<br />
<br />
And I'm pretty sure I'll be missing him for a long time.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Elena Jarvis Jubehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00153379522786866966noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6088317003537422229.post-70596440872625049542016-05-02T18:09:00.001-06:002016-06-14T18:28:59.034-06:00Revising My TongueYou know those times when somebody asks you a question and everything depends on a decent answer, and somehow what comes out of your mouth is the opposite of what you meant to say? And as soon as you say it, it's out--you can't take it back--so you have to talk around the idiotic thing you said so it sounds like something different from what you actually said--opposite, hopefully, but what you really need is to have un-said it. To stuff it back in your mouth where it came from. Along with your foot. Because it certainly didn't come from your brain.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://img.weburbanist.com/pics/wp-content/uploads/2010/07/Foot-and-Mouth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://img.weburbanist.com/pics/wp-content/uploads/2010/07/Foot-and-Mouth.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This happened to me a few weeks ago. It was a job interview for a teaching position and the question was one of the easiest questions they could have asked a novelist: "What is your personal revision process?"<br />
<br />
I spend my life writing and then revising what I write. And also suggesting ways for other people to revise. I know my process. This should have been my dream question, the one that sealed my chances for a job teaching beginning university writing as a first-year grad student. Right? Besides, I'd heard rumors the school is desperate for as many graduate instructors as possible so the real professors don't have to teach the dreaded beginning writing classes. The interview may have been a formality. Nothing to be nervous about.<br />
<br />
But the University Writing Committee was sitting there looking at me, and I <i>was </i>nervous, so what rolled off my tongue and out of my mouth right into the air, where it hovered (cloud-like, menacing) was some peculiar and utterly nonsensical babble about Strunk and White and perfect grammar, punctuation, and making sure you have a clean manuscript.<br />
<br />
Perfect grammar? What? I don't think I was the one who said that. Was I?<br />
<br />
The committee looked at me with identical wrong-answer blank looks on their faces. Which made me forget the original question, so I tried to fix it by talking about how to help students rearrange their ideas into something coherent...or something.<br />
<br />
It didn't work. And I never actually answered the question.<br />
<br />
Speaking is not writing. What I needed was an overhaul revision of my misbehaving tongue, which thought it had a brain and didn't.<br />
<br />
Another pair of eyes, my real brain meant to say. An outside critique, since I'm blind to my own worst errors. Big to small, I should have said. Start with the big, the book as a whole: are the characters strong, and how do they change, does the plot structure work, does everything build to a climax? Then what about sub-plots, each chapter's arc? Have I followed through with all threads and themes, kept my dialogue and voice consistent throughout, made my world rich and deep, my descriptions in line with the mood of each scene? Book, chapter, scene, then the small stuff: each sentence, line and word; does everything flow?...And then, ok, yes, punctuation and grammar, typos.<br />
<br />
Last.<br />
<br />
Somehow I got the job anyway (<i>I</i> wouldn't have given it to me), so it didn't matter, but I've been obsessing ever since about the answer I should have given--the one actually inside my brain and not just in my mouth--and if I hadn't had two papers to write and a final to study for, I would have run straight to my laptop and pounded out a blog post on the spot: all about my personal revision process. <br />
<br />
Ah, well. Good thing I'm a writer and most of the time, when the words come out wrong, or stupid, or really, really crappy, I can revise, over and over and over again, sometimes for months. Sometimes a year. A really big overhaul--like when I decide to completely rewrite a hairy, beastly novel--maybe even a couple years or more. The key to no writer's block, ever, is permission to write that first crappy, wrong-headed first draft. And then revise until it's perfect. Or at least no longer embarrassing.<br />
<br />
Too bad there's no delete button for words off the tongue. All you can do is mutter, "Er, what I meant to say is...." and move on. Either way, it's a sort of revision. And if you're ever going to have a decent relationship with anyone, ever, you've got to learn to do it: "Sorry, I shouldn't have said that...," "I didn't mean..." "Let me tell you how I really feel..." "I was a beast. Let's start over, ok?"<br />
<br />
Mouth-revision is a good thing. And forgiveness when you try again? That's even better. Thankfully, the University Writing Committee thought so...<br />
<br />
Or else they were desperate...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />Elena Jarvis Jubehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00153379522786866966noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6088317003537422229.post-60003290972209860582016-02-14T00:25:00.002-07:002016-03-31T10:49:08.426-06:00February Survival GuideAnyone who knows me at all, or at least reads this blog, probably knows February and I don't play nicely together. This (in spite of anything I might have said in the past) has nothing to do with Valentine's Day, which is, after all, a cute, little holiday full of chocolate and flowers and little love notes...even if the mall (and yeah, ok, everywhere else you go) can't help celebrating with bad colors and trying to pass off eroticism as romance. I don't have to go inside the mall if I don't like it, do it? Especially since See's candy has moved out to a larger store in the parking lot.<br />
<br />
I tried to analyze what happens to my brain in February, and traced it to a lack of light, built up since about November, mixed with soupy-orange air caused by natural winter valley inversions and a lot of industrial smoke stacks and of course way too many cars on the road. Plus usually some bronchitis or flu. Or both.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghkTPQQUhBpZ1AQtABgyGPFIKrg_s7WSbwN6odtfnjd4LPqhN9oQwPbPo3vhKY8quH9aQaJ4-1cN1eaoV8E6QngzzYZhhL8x5pF2u5JdDPy1-xQIiGSLsaSwqKX3PY3WUsQthr8JkXFpKX/s1600/IMG_9951-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghkTPQQUhBpZ1AQtABgyGPFIKrg_s7WSbwN6odtfnjd4LPqhN9oQwPbPo3vhKY8quH9aQaJ4-1cN1eaoV8E6QngzzYZhhL8x5pF2u5JdDPy1-xQIiGSLsaSwqKX3PY3WUsQthr8JkXFpKX/s1600/IMG_9951-1.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view from Sundance, looking down into the polluted valley below</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
That's probably most of it.<br />
<br />
This year I haven't been sick, but my laptop broke, which was worse, because sickness is sort of a nice excuse to take some vacation time from all social interaction and have a writing marathon. So I've been studying literary critical theory instead of writing fiction and if you want to know, Saussure and Derrida are not making me like February any better. Well, and now I have a new computer, and if you think that's nice, well, it's not, because, well, learning curve, right? My old laptop was OLD. But it was my friend. I was used to it. I didn't have to think about how to use it. <br />
<br />
Still...<br />
<br />
There are things a person can do to survive February.<br />
<br />
For instance. <br />
<br />
With or without your laptop--maybe even on paper, heaven forbid!--you can make up the most fantastical stories just for fun and never submit them to anyone. And then later, maybe you will, because, dang! maybe they actually ended up being pretty good.<br />
<br />
You can read Patrick Rothfuss, <i>Name of the Wind</i> and then hurry out to Barnes and Noble and get the sequel, too, for a Valentine's present to yourself, because it's the perfect Aspirin Read for a month when the air is so thick you can taste it on the walk to class, and your husband doesn't realize you need a book a whole lot more than roses. I love discovering another great fantasy author. <br />
<br />
You can play the soul right out of your piano. Or violin. Or kazoo. Whatever.<br />
<br />
And listen to music that makes you weep. Weeping for beauty is an excellent cure for brain-fry. Which is also a great reason to re-watch "Bright Star," about the poet John Keats, and weep through all the poetry and especially the music scene and that other scene where John pets the cat. (Side note/warning: do not watch "Bright Star" if you have pneumonia. You will feel like dying). <br />
<br />
Finally, exercise--indoors, if you have to, if the air is especially orange--and get some sleep. That goes without saying, right? It's amazing how good sleep is for the brain and how foolish to stay up until midnight or one a.m. writing blog posts when it's February. Really, really, really foolish...<br />
<i> </i><br />
<i> </i><br />
<i></i><br />
<br />
<br />Elena Jarvis Jubehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00153379522786866966noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6088317003537422229.post-43705734790638666472015-11-17T22:18:00.002-07:002015-11-17T23:34:45.462-07:00Candles and flowersSaturday I got nothing done, thinking and reading and watching things
unfold. I woke up to "Did you hear about Paris?" And then, like most of the rest of the world, did almost
nothing but hear about it all day long.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDBilVFYsRZdx6MEP7caKCkR7YkozWC5e9vHcFerFzVA2j3VfNx2QCArXO0Br3YJktFl4v6jbO-uB6e9NY758QNQ1XukCzCt1_CO54wq0pS-bCpxROFhE-REFGPw0AV0AnlbJpQpt1A_vZ/s1600/IMG_0110.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDBilVFYsRZdx6MEP7caKCkR7YkozWC5e9vHcFerFzVA2j3VfNx2QCArXO0Br3YJktFl4v6jbO-uB6e9NY758QNQ1XukCzCt1_CO54wq0pS-bCpxROFhE-REFGPw0AV0AnlbJpQpt1A_vZ/s320/IMG_0110.JPG" width="320" /></a>I went for a walk this morning to quiet all the chatter still in my head. Social media, augh. It won't let <br />
me stop thinking about Paris and Lebanon and Syria and bombs and horror and how quickly fear turns into the same kind of hate that caused the horror in the first place.<br />
<br />
If that makes sense.<br />
<br />
Sometimes it doesn't make sense to me, either.<br />
<br />
But I don't think love and fear happen together.<br />
<br />
And some of the chatter helps. A huge conversation with the whole world on what to do when people suffer. It's amazing we can do this. <br />
<br />
My favorite story today was the little 3 year old French boy and his father being interviewed by a reporter, and the boy thinking they might have to move to a new house because of the mean men with guns who might shoot everybody. You've probably all seen it. No, his papa said, they won't shoot us. See all the flowers people are putting all around? That's to fight the guns. The candles, too, Papa? Those are to remember the people. So, the candles and flowers will protect us? the boy said again. Yes, his papa said. <br />
<br />
I loved the smile on that little boy's face. Ok, yeah, I sort of cried. He wasn't the only one who felt better. It reminded me of the story of Ferdinand the bull, and how flowers saved him from violence, too.<br />
<br />
Yesterday I needed to get far away. Practiced the piano for a long time. Tried to work on my latest novel, made some progress, too distracted to concentrate very well. All those chattering voices. Urgh. I need my brain back.<br />
<br />
I didn't realize how crazy I was feeling until I walked out this morning and watched the light hit the white mountains, the sun burst out over the peaks like quiet glory. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkMc_ImT4dLew2vbRpC21z2satGAQIqXrMIxON28BQX6BRq6N_rauIO_xJK9v1TZ3RSENjgXSfSYHEd70NPrqGYYsSsqFYFp-BTnCrM-Nt8RTGCQP9tXOqqwdnpfhyphenhyphenuxbvUm__bd_2rHQo/s1600/IMG_0115.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkMc_ImT4dLew2vbRpC21z2satGAQIqXrMIxON28BQX6BRq6N_rauIO_xJK9v1TZ3RSENjgXSfSYHEd70NPrqGYYsSsqFYFp-BTnCrM-Nt8RTGCQP9tXOqqwdnpfhyphenhyphenuxbvUm__bd_2rHQo/s320/IMG_0115.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My phone not quite capturing the moment</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt4wGjI-q7z9VXTLyEFkXko2OUCHSW6EEY-CCttjw0Qx1K_OyRGgHjv74tsjbQJOCERlms76hEqXlotJMR-gt0gWZgTcH8LJy0P5CtDP0YcHATx_UF2Z3wXlT4LlODLysg0SF1J4JzPY6Z/s1600/IMG_0103.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
I found tiny icicles dripping off firs, smelled sunflowers and sage crushed and bent under yesterday's snow, heard the chickadees and finches going at it, and witnessed all the dead and dying leftovers from summer buried under a perfect layer of whitest snow, like forgiveness. An old metaphor, but that's how it felt.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNJXHdN211BudCEk0V_wQpU955BLoac1QJ8RLKxWFpUYT8yY9wQn8CTiPlli8qXTymrtVBrmmobjSllXimIeKBG23_LjJQcoG8cXkkOytTPnmEeQ9CVHPT6J4NlkS8NU0yHcMufKNEhkJ-/s1600/IMG_0111.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNJXHdN211BudCEk0V_wQpU955BLoac1QJ8RLKxWFpUYT8yY9wQn8CTiPlli8qXTymrtVBrmmobjSllXimIeKBG23_LjJQcoG8cXkkOytTPnmEeQ9CVHPT6J4NlkS8NU0yHcMufKNEhkJ-/s320/IMG_0111.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVR0DPERFerbrDvgMm1u1FGiSs4LzRHuFYmfhVDxQ-4GC-5sU-lQZe0Ye4-wPXKv2dduPDwmW-Gpy0WlU4sKM53ErTPbaMePKpgGD_O70J87TkI8v1pzxtYcOKZV8aCiTHOlvdg_Qb8Yog/s1600/IMG_0112.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVR0DPERFerbrDvgMm1u1FGiSs4LzRHuFYmfhVDxQ-4GC-5sU-lQZe0Ye4-wPXKv2dduPDwmW-Gpy0WlU4sKM53ErTPbaMePKpgGD_O70J87TkI8v1pzxtYcOKZV8aCiTHOlvdg_Qb8Yog/s320/IMG_0112.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not sure the icicles are visible.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The craziness finally faded in all that beauty, and I thought, yeah, flowers are a pretty good weapon against guns and les <span class="Latn headword">méchants</span>, those mean guys. The three-year-old was right about the candles: remembering people we love--sadness without anger--that's protection, too. Maybe beauty and remembering are the only good weapons when there are people in the world who don't care if children die. <br />
<br />
And a father teaching his son about love--that's about as beautiful as anything. Love is what flowers and candles both meant anyway, right?<br />
<br />
Thanks, Papa. <br />
<br />
But sometimes, all those voices out there talking to each other through wires and screens, well, it's a little much, especially when the conversation turns nasty. Some of us are introverts. You know? So tomorrow I'm putting away all my screens except my novel-writing one and going for a nice long run in the snow. I'll light a candle to remember Paris, and Beirut, and especially the Syrian refugees, and then I'll let the birds and mountains help me find my brain again.<br />
<br />
Time to let the real voices fade so there's room for imaginary ones in there.<br />
<br />
Salut, tout le monde! <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt4wGjI-q7z9VXTLyEFkXko2OUCHSW6EEY-CCttjw0Qx1K_OyRGgHjv74tsjbQJOCERlms76hEqXlotJMR-gt0gWZgTcH8LJy0P5CtDP0YcHATx_UF2Z3wXlT4LlODLysg0SF1J4JzPY6Z/s1600/IMG_0103.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt4wGjI-q7z9VXTLyEFkXko2OUCHSW6EEY-CCttjw0Qx1K_OyRGgHjv74tsjbQJOCERlms76hEqXlotJMR-gt0gWZgTcH8LJy0P5CtDP0YcHATx_UF2Z3wXlT4LlODLysg0SF1J4JzPY6Z/s320/IMG_0103.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Narnia lamppost. Sort of. Not really. Still nice. </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Elena Jarvis Jubehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00153379522786866966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6088317003537422229.post-47958392085262400562015-09-23T09:20:00.003-06:002015-09-24T09:21:11.186-06:00Rat Gets a Little HonorMy favorite slave boy, Rat, prefers to be invisible most of the time, but his story (told by him, written by me) picked up an Honorable Mention this month from<span id="goog_474847508"></span><span id="goog_474847509"></span> the Utah Arts Original Writing Competition 2015. You can see the results of all the category winners <a href="http://heritage.utah.gov/arts-and-museums/ops-competition-original-writing-competition">here</a>.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://heritage.utah.gov/wp-content/uploads/OWC-slider-September-2015-1200x511.jpg?07bae3" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://heritage.utah.gov/wp-content/uploads/OWC-slider-September-2015-1200x511.jpg?07bae3" height="170" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Thanks, Utah Arts!<br />
<br />
Love that Typewriter on Green painting.<br />
<br />Elena Jarvis Jubehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00153379522786866966noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6088317003537422229.post-89818256842450880952015-09-04T19:11:00.002-06:002015-09-04T23:50:22.855-06:00Barefoot StyleApparently, going barefoot is out of style.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlRH8Hyhe9goDpxXZ5CLt78bdad-KARnl2pTqfN9EekEvfpbGPDH0SwNjJ_iPzltLmFwbIeEcSRnK5RUCKfo6YuEsmsoh_0Zl2LNaaWguedDI2C2-8J0o7e3w-8dBfsIEyhlSNQDIP50_1/s1600/IMG_0818.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlRH8Hyhe9goDpxXZ5CLt78bdad-KARnl2pTqfN9EekEvfpbGPDH0SwNjJ_iPzltLmFwbIeEcSRnK5RUCKfo6YuEsmsoh_0Zl2LNaaWguedDI2C2-8J0o7e3w-8dBfsIEyhlSNQDIP50_1/s320/IMG_0818.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bare feet run fast--if you're Kenyan</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Not that it was ever quite <i>in</i>, but minimal shoes and barefooting were sort of a thing. The Haitians and Jamaicans grew up without shoes, and those guys were<i> fast</i>. So were the Kenyans. And Zola Budd. And that secret running tribe in the Copper Canyons of Mexico, who ran in thin, leather huaraches. There was Barefoot Ken-Bob, the barefoot guru. And Barefoot Ted. <br />
<br />
But then people got injured when they stepped out of their ultra-cushioned shoes onto the actual ground, or into a pair of shoes with no raised heel and very little padding. LOTS of people got injured. Achilles tendon damage. Foot bone stress fractures. The military actually banned minimal shoes.<br />
<br />
The rash of injuries isn't too surprising, when you think about
it--something like spending your whole life in a cast and suddenly
expecting your leg to hold you up. Or walking around wearing sunglasses all the time and then taking them off one day and finding the light hurts your eyes.<br />
<br />
The problem was, I think, that people wanted instant results. They wanted a pill. No injuries! Ever! Shoes are bad! Take off your shoes--or mostly off--and you'll run like the mysterious Tarahumara tribe in Mexico! <br />
<br />
I took off my shoes because I had plantar fasciitis for a year and a half and everything the doctors said to do about that made it worse, until a guy in my local running shoe store handed me Christopher McDougall's book, <i>Born to Run</i>, and suggested I get rid of padding and arch supports. Also, my brother had started running barefoot and he thought it was just <i>fun.</i><br />
<br />
It took another year and a half to work slowly into wearing minimal shoes--or bare feet--100 percent of the time when I run, and I still have to be careful when I put on a lot of miles. You have to ease into it slowly, and remember your feet are weak from years of wearing padded shoes with heel lifts. Wearing raised heels all the time actually shortens the Achilles tendons. There's a reason the shoe-boxes for minimals usually warn beginners to start out wearing them only ten percent of the time.<i> </i><br />
<br />
Super-padded shoes are the new trend, the guy in my local running shoe store tells me. Trail runners so floaty-thick-and-soft they could make you believe rocks don't even exist. Pure fantasy.<br />
<br />
All right. I get it. People don't want to get hurt. <br />
<br />
Personally, I believe in rocks, especially when I trip on them. My
ankles and knees (which haven't been twisted or injured since the day I
paid to have out the padding cut out of my running shoes), they believe
in rocks, too. <br />
<br />
So does my daughter, who got twenty-one stitches over the course of one summer tripping over rocks and roots in her highly padded heel-lifted running shoes (she's still not a fan of minimal shoes).<br />
<br />
So, I didn't buy the super-padded floaty-soft shoes. Instead, I picked up a great deal on a pair of discontinued minimal trail runners, which I bought in case they weren't there next time I really needed some, and backpacked 27 miles in those shoes--with a 45-lb pack on my back. Which was freaking heavy, maybe because of the six tangerines and two apples--and the baggie of garden peas--and pillow from home, because I wanted to sleep, didn't I?--and the giant canister of bear pepper spray. No twisted ankles or tripping, though, because, yeah, I could feel the rocks, which were definitely not fantasy. When we went on a day hike through squishy marsh and snow, I kicked off even those shoes and went barefoot across the snow. For some reason no one wanted to join me. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoWpPPBwt2PG4Bu2ItF0DLx3WyrW0KMZBgRXg9QImySh6aBGQhIB3j-9QUKHzxh2-wH3CAg4LRoyEJK5i8jxxxetEI2nC9_71s6eIGHcPjPyN5A68YHfgH_OW0bk9B86Q14WRdFw0h4G1G/s1600/IMG_0377.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoWpPPBwt2PG4Bu2ItF0DLx3WyrW0KMZBgRXg9QImySh6aBGQhIB3j-9QUKHzxh2-wH3CAg4LRoyEJK5i8jxxxetEI2nC9_71s6eIGHcPjPyN5A68YHfgH_OW0bk9B86Q14WRdFw0h4G1G/s320/IMG_0377.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The 45-lb pack--see it tipping off to one side? That would be the bear spray, probably.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
After we got back I wore my thrashed zero-drop padded shoes for a few days, because my bones weren't used to that kind of abuse and some padding felt good.<br />
<br />
But I've been back in my minimals for awhile. And my favorite run will probably always be the barefoot one in the drainage-basin park which they always over-water and the grass is splashy and squishy under your feet and it's SO MUCH FUN! Even with that little thistle patch on the southwest part of the basin, which doesn't hurt anymore, because my feet have become pretty tough.<br />
<br />
Moms with little kids glare at me, think I'm setting their children a bad example. <br />
<br />
Maybe. I just like to know the ground is real. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTpIbhw-DTPwkkKlquuxGL5GPG45JEQ2fFvvNiFQjwyI82rYpqFXq7tpMOu58zX47Tsfl4nlPbkyBG8QGVG9hV6twT9MJZurrc4vrq_MfrhSmDA4RmE_mmDScwLciEkKKsagbVPKeeVeoi/s1600/IMG_0825.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTpIbhw-DTPwkkKlquuxGL5GPG45JEQ2fFvvNiFQjwyI82rYpqFXq7tpMOu58zX47Tsfl4nlPbkyBG8QGVG9hV6twT9MJZurrc4vrq_MfrhSmDA4RmE_mmDScwLciEkKKsagbVPKeeVeoi/s320/IMG_0825.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bare feet in grass!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />Elena Jarvis Jubehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00153379522786866966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6088317003537422229.post-27765067696116474302015-07-16T11:39:00.001-06:002015-07-16T11:39:18.643-06:00Apologizing to the Birds, again<br />
*Note: <br />
I wrote this post a couple of years ago, after the Boston Marathon
bombings. In the following months, my son had brain surgery, his
friend's sister was diagnosed with leukemia, my daughter got an ulcer on
a major artery and almost bled to death, and a friend of mine lost a
daughter in a tragic accident up the canyon. And then last month our
bishop and half his family went down in a plane crash, and my son asked
me, "Why do so many things keep happening?" <br />
<br />
A part
of me wanted to say, it could be worse. Things could be so much worse. We live in a little bubble of safety here below our Wasatch mountains. But I
didn't tell him that. It wouldn't change the pain. Or the shock of each new thing. So I just said, I don't know.<br />
<br />
But there was this: my kids all wanted to stay a little closer to home and to each other for awhile. And whenever we saw one of our neighbors, we cried together. I still don't have an answer. But I think we all love each other a little more. And I kept thinking about Boston, and Alyosha, apologizing to the birds, so thought I'd post this again.<br />
<br />
*** <br />
We've all been going through a rough patch lately.<br />
<br />
Some of the details are different.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH3NX95SgsNgnoJLi7_O5tdYpv1Q_wJNWYWx7XXwxSxoLMkIwKUOI61GMuYDAJsxXD1HyMrcEKvEuiylOjah0eEh-Hi2M7R39eZ85IepnFDX033xkTo_vSOYmszkj7bW3wG4ww522wpa69/s1600/oil_spill.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH3NX95SgsNgnoJLi7_O5tdYpv1Q_wJNWYWx7XXwxSxoLMkIwKUOI61GMuYDAJsxXD1HyMrcEKvEuiylOjah0eEh-Hi2M7R39eZ85IepnFDX033xkTo_vSOYmszkj7bW3wG4ww522wpa69/s200/oil_spill.jpg" width="183" /></a>We all cried for Sandy Hook. All those children. And that movie theater in Colorado.<br />
<br />
And
back in February there was my sixteen-year-old neighbor who died of
complications from flu. Not swine flu, just normal flu. The kind your
kids got this winter, too. One week he was playing water-polo and
fouling people in basketball and the next week he wasn't here
anymore. And no, he didn't have special health problems that made him
unusually vulnerable.<br />
<br />
And then the mom of one of my kid's friends died.<br />
And then that same friend's brother died, too, just this week. Nobody knew any details.<br />
<br />
And
of course, Boston. We're all still reeling from that. Who bombs a
marathon? Kills eight-year-olds? Tries to murder people gathered
together to cheer on determination and hard work and human spirit? Who
does that? Nails and metal shards exploding from a pressure-cooker? What
a sorry use of potential creative talent.<br />
<br />
The same day
as the marathon bombs, a middle-school girl in my city went missing.
Left for school and never got there. They found her yesterday, safe and
whole, and we all cried again, this time with relief.<br />
<br />
And then yesterday, there was that explosion in Texas.<br />
<br />
And
the Senate rejecting any gun-control legislation whatsoever, as though
rubbing into our faces all those Newtown and Colorado deaths by
military-assault-style weapons. As though saying yeah, the world sucks,
and we're going to do our best to make it suckier.<br />
<br />
But there were also all those people in Boston rushing straight into
the smoke to help. Ripping down metal barriers to get to the injured.
Giving away their coats. Sharing phones. And all those runners running
all those miles and then running some more to the hospital to donate
blood and save some lives.<br />
<br />
Of course they did.<br />
<br />
Right? Wouldn't you? And the hundreds of volunteers, who didn't even know that missing girl, showing up to help search for her.<br />
<br />
It's what we do, isn't it?<br />
<br />
Yeah,
there's horror in the world. A lot of it. There are people who try to
make others suffer. It's the way this planet is. Sometimes it's the way
some of us make it, and sometimes bad things just happen for no apparent reason. But part of being human is reaching out and sharing
the burden. Which people do, too.<br />
<br />
Last night my son
came into my room at midnight to tell me that his hair was crunchy from
the gel in it and he couldn't sleep, so he was going to take a shower,
ok? And, by the way, his friend's brother who just died? It was suicide.<br />
<br />
I
don't think my kid woke me up because his hair was crunchy. He didn't
want to talk much, just let me know about that suicide. Somehow it made
it a little easier for him to sleep, that he didn't have to be alone
knowing really horrible things happen in the world.<br />
<br />
When I thought about it this morning, I cried again. And thought of Alyosha's hero, Father Zosima in <i>Brothers Karamazov</i>,
telling about his brother apologizing to the birds for the condition of
the world, because he knew if he were just a little bit kinder, better,
more generous, things would be better for that bird outside the window,
and for every other creature and person on the planet. And then Alyosha
going out and trying to live that way, as if he owed the birds.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA5IxLC4r4oHmOHP4OD9JcC04YwJg3wVJb63VQ_uMifhOqgig_BJSAR7VD1zRF0MAv3RdrMrun1N8y4Cv8nkl8-mU1MX5KjiBmZtQe1CisFH46IQfaR1RTh3aTR3M_eW4tVMwUbeVLMTyL/s1600/mr.+rogers.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="197" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA5IxLC4r4oHmOHP4OD9JcC04YwJg3wVJb63VQ_uMifhOqgig_BJSAR7VD1zRF0MAv3RdrMrun1N8y4Cv8nkl8-mU1MX5KjiBmZtQe1CisFH46IQfaR1RTh3aTR3M_eW4tVMwUbeVLMTyL/s200/mr.+rogers.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nobody steals Fred Roger's car</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And I thought about that story I heard of the guy who
stole Mr. Roger's car, and when he found out, gave it back. Because you
just don't steal Mr. Roger's car--the man who sang, "you are my friend,
you are special to me"? Because every kid who grew up watching Mr.
Rogers secretly knew he loved us, even though we'd never met. We all
need to feel that from someone.<br />
<br />
What if we were all Fred Rogers and Alyosha Karamazov? Would people still bomb marathons?<br />
<br />
Maybe. I wonder.<br />
<br />
<br />
But
we can at least keep on running a few extra miles past 26.2 to donate
blood. And we can keep on talking, sharing the burden of all the
suffering through the stories we tell. The stories that make us feel,
yeah, people are good. They really are.<br />
<br />
I don't think
the terrorists won in Boston. Humanity did. Because the stories are
bigger than the bombs. Maybe we'll even get to the point where we can
apologize to the birds.<br />
<br /><br />Elena Jarvis Jubehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00153379522786866966noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6088317003537422229.post-56362155014974485572015-03-26T17:45:00.001-06:002015-05-13T21:37:54.647-06:00We Are HungryI love food--it's a fact. And I'm picky. It has to be <i>good </i>food. If I don't like it, I don't swallow. No, not that bad, Ratatouille. But it's true my neighbors have become addicted to my hot fudge sauce, to the point where
they sneak the jar into the closet and eat it cold with a spoon. And they
won't share with their their sisters when there isn't enough to go around on everybody's ice cream. <br />
<br />
Worse, I'm afraid I've turned my children into food snobs. It's sad. And expensive. And a really big problem, because I write novels and I DON'T HAVE TIME TO COOK ALL THE TIME! And nobody at my house will eat frozen burritos. And my garden is still dead.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0wNJ62mBAH3tWNQ5-U113WUvqxgm6FVhOdjJ-ZqvF72ISpH5SC1agfzLgjJ4bLTFwEOSlNcAf-4SmUAUjZRI_xbU6P0agnoLdew0Lvcp2EMEOxEqpqFYDuQ8psQQAfuY4S02EA5TD33Q0/s1600/IMG_0455.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0wNJ62mBAH3tWNQ5-U113WUvqxgm6FVhOdjJ-ZqvF72ISpH5SC1agfzLgjJ4bLTFwEOSlNcAf-4SmUAUjZRI_xbU6P0agnoLdew0Lvcp2EMEOxEqpqFYDuQ8psQQAfuY4S02EA5TD33Q0/s1600/IMG_0455.jpg" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Missing last year's garden</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL4vJU4p6gGGsBvJJz16j_8FAsIFNyRR9BKhmau30XTQRvvF276MtPcHegw4tcmdgtM-13AMm7jF-wcY3JFiN3yAR1uc5bh60MADBDMxoOt0Ke12teMPFDkQzYF1iQHzfp5-wQ7irkMTRE/s1600/IMG_0462.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL4vJU4p6gGGsBvJJz16j_8FAsIFNyRR9BKhmau30XTQRvvF276MtPcHegw4tcmdgtM-13AMm7jF-wcY3JFiN3yAR1uc5bh60MADBDMxoOt0Ke12teMPFDkQzYF1iQHzfp5-wQ7irkMTRE/s1600/IMG_0462.jpg" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Especially the tomatoes </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKvsDR0i6JYqSP22JtmqhRqiftCTB4Ro2S-Gw1RHQKV13mp_-4c214qfLsyOnUxPodloDyMDmEEA-t1EnMQVTc4hH7IAPGnfCAlUVH0mRDkTUz9QeG-Y7FiHO1DiYoJRQANWiMtwK5RO4_/s1600/IMG_0451.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKvsDR0i6JYqSP22JtmqhRqiftCTB4Ro2S-Gw1RHQKV13mp_-4c214qfLsyOnUxPodloDyMDmEEA-t1EnMQVTc4hH7IAPGnfCAlUVH0mRDkTUz9QeG-Y7FiHO1DiYoJRQANWiMtwK5RO4_/s1600/IMG_0451.jpg" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And the fresh basil to put on the tomatoes</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
I made food yesterday. It was supposed to last for two dinners and several days' lunches at least, but it's already gone and there's nothing to eat again.<br />
<br />
People should be snakes and only need to eat every two weeks.<br />
<br />
So...if you know any good recipes that only use real ingredients and are full of anti-oxidants and fiber and also taste like something you'd get at a French restaurant in New York City and...only take five minutes to produce...please let me know immediately, because it's dinner time and we might be eating Cheerios again.Without milk, because I didn't have time to buy any. I was writing.<br />
<br />
We could starve before I finish this draft of my novel.<br />
<br />
Maybe that's why my MC is always hungry.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Elena Jarvis Jubehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00153379522786866966noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6088317003537422229.post-61865783136768954982014-12-03T07:12:00.000-07:002014-12-03T07:12:01.522-07:00For the People Out There Who Equate Fantasy With Drug Abuse"All advances are [fantasies in origin] until someone makes them into reality. Airplanes have existed in fantasy ever since the story of Daedalus; Arthur C. Clarke invented communication satellites as part of a fantasy; a thermos flask figures in several Celtic tales as one of the miraculous Treasures of Britain. And so on. The ability to fantasize is the most precious one we know. Because it solves problems, it has tremendous survival value. And--fortunately--it is built into us so that, unless mistaken adults inhibit us, we all have to do it.<br />
<br />
"Children, of course, do it all the time, but even the most adult of businessmen in the most boring meeting will say "Let's play with a few figures here" or "Let's play around with this idea for a bit"--and this is the right way to talk about it because it helps if your imagination is exercised with a lot of pleasure and in a great deal of hope. Then your "What ifs" go with a verve and you're really likely to get somewhere.When the missing bit is found, it is often accompanied with wonder and enormous delight. <i>Eureka! </i>I always see Archimedes bounding about punching the air like a soccer player who has just scored a goal, and dripping all over the street.<br />
<br />
"People probably thought Archimedes was insane, but actually what this element of play and delight is doing is keeping you sane...[fantasy is a way] of keeping your mind cool enough and clear enough to deal with a difficult situation."<br />
<br />
<br />
--Diana Wynne Jones<br />
<br />Elena Jarvis Jubehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00153379522786866966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6088317003537422229.post-51033232717584998522014-10-28T20:04:00.001-06:002014-10-28T20:08:45.982-06:00From William Faulkner<br />
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia; font-size: small; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">“I would say to get the character
in your mind. Once he is in your mind, and he is right, and he’s true, then he
does the work himself. All you need to do then is to trot along behind him and
put down what he does and what he says. It’s the ingestion and then the
gestation. You’ve got to know the character. You’ve got to believe in him.
You’ve got to feel that he is alive, and then, of course, you will have to do a
certain amount of picking and choosing among the possibilities of his action,
so that his actions fit the character which you believe in. After that, the
business of putting him down on paper is mechanical.”</span></span>Elena Jarvis Jubehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00153379522786866966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6088317003537422229.post-87696955602616620682014-10-18T20:59:00.003-06:002014-10-30T13:20:37.967-06:00Thanks, Patricia. I just read <a href="http://pcwrede.com/research-and-imagination/">this blog post</a> by Patricia Wrede on research and imagination and thought I'd share. <br />
<br />
This is something I've been thinking about for awhile, since I often wonder if I'm over-reaching myself. It sometimes seems outrageous to be writing what I'm writing, about a culture that not only isn't mine, but was mistreated by mine. I'm sure I've mentioned this before. Not long ago, a friend whose culture it <i>is</i> (sort of, though you could argue nobody quite knows precisely <i>what</i> culture that is, as the city which inspired my story disintegrated almost 900 years
ago and everybody argues over where the descendants went and where the
ancestors came from); anyway, this friend warned me that bad things happen to people who over-reach themselves when dealing with such stuff. She casually threw out an ominous warning or two about skin-walkers and other ghostly wreakers of vengeance. And about strange, coincidental accidents. <br />
<br />
To those who like to send such curses: I mean my story as a gift. An offering. Please take it as one. Also, as an apology for the evil things my ancestors did to yours. <br />
<br />
Love,<br />
<br />
Me.<br />
<br />
<br />
P.S. <br />
To Patricia Wrede: Thanks for reassuring me that, no, I don't have to know from personal experience or have been there to write about it, as long as I've done my research and have imagination.<br />
<br />
Imagination can <i>make</i> it real. Of course I know that. Does any writer <i>not</i> know it? But your validation gives it authority. So, thank you. Curses are at stake.Elena Jarvis Jubehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00153379522786866966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6088317003537422229.post-38371624825987232362014-10-09T12:25:00.002-06:002014-10-09T12:30:36.483-06:00When Writing Turns into Map-making<br />
This week I realized something while working on my novel: Until I chart out my city and its outlying regions in detail, I can't write my final battle scene. Got the climax basically wrapped up (that final showdown between the two brothers), but what's going on down below them in the city is fairly important, too, and that's just a little hazy in my head, because I haven't figured out where everything goes. Not exactly.<br />
<br />
I need a map. <br />
<br />
This would not be a problem if I were an artiste. Or if I hadn't played around so much with my setting, which is only loosely based on reality. I <i>had</i> to play. The real setting didn't fit my story well enough. And anyway, it was fun. <br />
<br />
Apparently, this sort of thing happens to writers a lot. <br />
<br />
I came across <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/the-allure-of-the-map">this</a>
entertaining article on the subject while I was looking for ways to
procrastinate drawing my own map. I laughed a little. Those crazy
writers! And sighed. Because I'm one of them. And yes, I know I do need
that map.<br />
<br />
I was interested--and a bit relieved--to learn Tolkien didn't draw his own maps. He commissioned a map-maker for Middle Earth. And then C.S. Lewis borrowed Tolkien's map-maker for Narnia. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH1Ff3lyGmejyieVHLdeiIZiB4NPzUnewUlwHjdEcMZ-8yPtBMQ-17B3aEtPxgC8gVbUnXBldamgswPH_w1-K5HFOQSBAGvkjK7AiT7T1a1Ow1ETEUWs4ZFccKkbjp33sQuj1TOwH_1FEi/s640/NarniaMap_fullsize.jpg" class="decoded" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH1Ff3lyGmejyieVHLdeiIZiB4NPzUnewUlwHjdEcMZ-8yPtBMQ-17B3aEtPxgC8gVbUnXBldamgswPH_w1-K5HFOQSBAGvkjK7AiT7T1a1Ow1ETEUWs4ZFccKkbjp33sQuj1TOwH_1FEi/s320/NarniaMap_fullsize.jpg" height="240" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Map of Narnia by Pauline Baynes</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
However, Robert Lewis Stevenson and Ursula Le Guin didn't need to borrow anybody. They drew their own maps of Treasure
Island and Earthsea long before they ever began to write the books to
go with their drawings. Even Faulkner drew maps for his fictional
Yoknapatawpha County, and was duly proud of the result. <br />
<br />
Apparently, writers are obsessed with maps.<br />
<br />
Perhaps because we live in other worlds and want those worlds to be real? What we want is the biggest possible map, with as much detail as possible, and then to step into that map and...<br />
<br />
Well, whole stories have been written about that.<br />
<br />
I don't draw. And unfortunately, I'm too impatient to wait around until someone who can has enough time and ink to create a map so I can plot out the details of my big battle.<br />
<br />
So this week I am writing by drawing a map, and wishing I'd taken an art class or two in college. Who knew drawing was one of those prerequisite skills for creating a novel? And I keep running out of room on my paper. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Elena Jarvis Jubehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00153379522786866966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6088317003537422229.post-83218499368072962462014-10-04T17:33:00.000-06:002014-10-06T10:03:57.683-06:00Neil Gaiman Cometh. Also, Grapes.I did two productive things today instead of writing. Might have gotten ahead of myself on both, just a little.<br />
<br />
Thing 1: Harvested and turned my grapes into juice, even though we haven't had a decent frost yet, and everyone knows you have to have a couple of good frosts to set the sugar in grapes, right? <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8lePov5zL1eROrhPQ0R0hn4bqcRq1a5QaENQ7GWhF2d1FHfEVzHl2JRZQl_f2FbeIPZTNasuXxaPbaKw9aqfKQgqgrpo9VoHdbcFUCssBPLWM5ODD2NoL9iZtiRtkKD29C1noMWy-Y99C/s1600/IMG_0132.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8lePov5zL1eROrhPQ0R0hn4bqcRq1a5QaENQ7GWhF2d1FHfEVzHl2JRZQl_f2FbeIPZTNasuXxaPbaKw9aqfKQgqgrpo9VoHdbcFUCssBPLWM5ODD2NoL9iZtiRtkKD29C1noMWy-Y99C/s1600/IMG_0132.JPG" height="149" width="200" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ272CB6GVPemCsTDMafZlH2pwFd8q5c9JgIe-4cLm3CZuXGVnuBmJTSnwWcGfzvFkrVqpF2qD8C-qxj_NZcwwxmomlrfkWbgVID_48yONUuOOHMUfUkhxb4Y-5I1SzcwnHjOoRJ17PQq4/s1600/IMG_0101.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ272CB6GVPemCsTDMafZlH2pwFd8q5c9JgIe-4cLm3CZuXGVnuBmJTSnwWcGfzvFkrVqpF2qD8C-qxj_NZcwwxmomlrfkWbgVID_48yONUuOOHMUfUkhxb4Y-5I1SzcwnHjOoRJ17PQq4/s1600/IMG_0101.JPG" height="149" width="200" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Juice was good, but a little on the tart side. Don't care. I like tart.<br />
<br />
Thing 2: Bought tickets to <a href="http://ecclescenter.org/portfolio-items/an-evening-with-neil-gaiman-saturday-april-18-2015/"><i>An Evening with Neil Gaiman</i></a> in Park City. Yes, Neil's coming. Here. Soon.<br />
<br />
All right, not that soon. April 2015. There were plenty of seats. Everything was available, in fact. Perhaps I was a little overanxious. But I'm not about to miss Gaiman when he comes within 35 minutes of my house.<br />
<br />
In case you're interested, you can click on the link above for info. But you might want to hurry. It's only six months away. Meanwhile, you can watch Neil expound on koumpounophobia, below.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/vQC0QVXa33o?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Elena Jarvis Jubehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00153379522786866966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6088317003537422229.post-49583977867631342582014-09-19T22:30:00.003-06:002014-09-30T18:45:31.889-06:00Even the great ones had to work hard...<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><a href="data:image/jpeg;base64,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" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" class="rg_i" data-sz="f" name="4v38hOzqADLzoM:" src="data:image/jpeg;base64,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" style="height: 172px; margin-top: 0px; width: 113px;" /></a><i>"Despite attending lectures by J. R. R. Tolkien and C. S. Lewis [at University], I did not expect to be writing fantasy. But that was what I started to
write when I was married and had children of my own. It was what they
liked best. But small children do not allow you the use of your brain.
They used to jump on my feet to stop me thinking. And I had not realized
how much I needed to teach myself about writing. I took years to learn,
and it was not until my youngest child began school that I was able to
produce a book which a publisher did not send straight back."</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"> <i> --Diana Wynne Jones</i></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">It's nice to know even Diana Wynne Jones's stories didn't just fly off her pen from the beginning. Yes, we all have to put in our hours. And learn as we go along. Though whether we end up as good as Diana in the end...Hmmm, yes. Well, it's something to reach for, isn't it?</span><br />
<br />Elena Jarvis Jubehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00153379522786866966noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6088317003537422229.post-38599814858423602812014-07-10T12:23:00.000-06:002014-07-10T12:24:05.667-06:00A Letter From John Steinbeck<div>
<br />
<i>Dear Writer: <br />Although it must be a
thousand years ago that I sat in a class in story writing at Stanford, I
remember the experience very clearly. I was bright-eyes and
bushy-brained and prepared to absorb the secret formula for writing good
short stories, even great short stories. This illusion was canceled
very quickly. The only way to write a good short story, we were told, is
to write a good short story. Only after it is written can it be taken
apart to see how it was done. It is a most difficult form, as we were
told, and the proof lies in how very few great short stories there are
in the world.<br /> The basic rule given us was simple and
heartbreaking. A story to be effective had to convey something from the
writer to the reader, and the power of its offering was the measure of
its excellence. Outside of that, there were no rules. A story could be
about anything and could use any means and any technique at all – so
long as it was effective. As a subhead to this rule, it seemed to be
necessary for the writer to know what he wanted to say, in short, what
he was talking about. As an exercise we were to try reducing the meat of
our story to one sentence, for only then could we know it well enough
to enlarge it to three- or six- or ten-thousand words.<br /> So there
went the magic formula, the secret ingredient. With no more than that,
we were set on the desolate, lonely path of the writer. And we must have
turned in some abysmally bad stories. <b>If I had expected to be
discovered in a full bloom of excellence, the grades given my efforts
quickly disillusioned me. And if I felt unjustly criticized, the
judgments of editors for many years afterward upheld my teacher’s side,
not mine. The low grades on my college stories were echoed in the
rejection slips, in the hundreds of rejection slips.</b><br /> It
seemed unfair. I could read a fine story and could even know how it was
done. Why could I not then do it myself? Well, I couldn’t, and maybe
it’s because no two stories dare be alike. Over the years I have written
a great many stories and I still don’t know how to go about it except
to write it and take my chances.<br /> If there is a magic in story
writing, and I am convinced there is, no one has ever been able to
reduce it to a recipe that can be passed from one person to another. The
formula seems to lie solely in the aching urge of the writer to convey
something he feels important to the reader. If the writer has that urge,
he may sometimes, but by no means always, find the way to do it. You
must perceive the excellence that makes a good story good or the errors
that makes a bad story. For a bad story is only an ineffective story.<br />
It is not so very hard to judge a story after it is written, but,
after many years, to start a story still scares me to death. I will go
so far as to say that the writer who not scared is happily unaware of
the remote and tantalizing majesty of the medium.<br /> I remember
one last piece of advice given me. It was during the exuberance of the
rich and frantic ’20s, and I was going out into that world to try and to
be a writer.<br /> I was told, “It’s going to take a long time, and
you haven’t got any money. Maybe it would be better if you could go to
Europe.”<br /> “Why?” I asked.<br /> “Because in Europe poverty is
a misfortune, but in America it is shameful. I wonder whether or not
you can stand the shame of being poor.”<br /> It wasn’t too long
afterward that the depression came. Then everyone was poor and it was no
shame anymore. And so I will never know whether or not I could have
stood it. But surely my teacher was right about one thing. It took a
long time – a very long time. And it is still going on, and it has never
got easier.<br /> She told me it wouldn’t.</i><br />
<i> ---John Steinbeck</i><br />
</div>
Elena Jarvis Jubehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00153379522786866966noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6088317003537422229.post-67751317610844511652014-05-14T19:07:00.000-06:002014-05-14T19:07:29.510-06:00How do you know when you're done with your book?I wrote a <a href="http://elenajube.blogspot.com/2011/03/how-do-you-know-when-youre-done-with.html">post</a> on this a few years ago, when I was finishing up my last book.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHBRh8mhkRntAYPQIRFBDQMgcHERD6v_rokPlpvxE8imdoNn57HzcCuj1P57gl06Drsiokvv8vsUqlBaXqsWOJ2eghZ9a0N5g0uA_D8q8jbmQPnJNinWaLA_3gf_KfLllEui1LrRfRbIw8/s1600/editing_red_pen1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHBRh8mhkRntAYPQIRFBDQMgcHERD6v_rokPlpvxE8imdoNn57HzcCuj1P57gl06Drsiokvv8vsUqlBaXqsWOJ2eghZ9a0N5g0uA_D8q8jbmQPnJNinWaLA_3gf_KfLllEui1LrRfRbIw8/s1600/editing_red_pen1.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a>I think the main thing I have learned since then is this: if you think you're done, you're probably not. You probably need to send it off to another few good critique friends and get more feedback, then ponder the advice you get, and overhaul the damn thing. Again. I guarantee it needs it. And then do it again. And maybe again. As many times as it needs. It's not as good as you think it is.<br />
<br />
Sorry if you thought so.<br />
<br />
And when you get your novel<br />
all perfect and polished into oblivion, and an editor loves it, that's when the real editing begins. Because it won't be perfect then, either.<br />
<br />
But that's ok, because it's the rewriting that makes a book good. It will never be perfect, but it can be wonderful. Enchanting. Exciting. Brilliant. Magical. <br />
<br />
Writing is like that. Excruciating and wonderful. Exhausting and invigorating. And if you love it, like I do, it's totally worth all that. <br />
<br />
Happy re-writes!<br />
<br />
Elena Jarvis Jubehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00153379522786866966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6088317003537422229.post-38358275128434819112014-04-18T15:49:00.000-06:002014-04-18T15:49:51.995-06:00No wonder we're all messed up...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_kDVkpbvpW0nJvc1rXPHQMak5nWx8dFPhilTK2jQm3Vo0lt80czIzKH50c9AxGqNhDCIIzL5Ql2kyCt9HVPRfHMyuKrf8IX8L3rUIwemm03643uqqlZ0IM0mDCngcEwNnmpA2-3LDHKYu/s1600/fitzgerald+writers+quote.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_kDVkpbvpW0nJvc1rXPHQMak5nWx8dFPhilTK2jQm3Vo0lt80czIzKH50c9AxGqNhDCIIzL5Ql2kyCt9HVPRfHMyuKrf8IX8L3rUIwemm03643uqqlZ0IM0mDCngcEwNnmpA2-3LDHKYu/s1600/fitzgerald+writers+quote.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />Elena Jarvis Jubehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00153379522786866966noreply@blogger.com0