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As I type my handwritten Festival of Faith and Writing notes into the computer, I am reminded:
- first, how much I learned, not only about writing, but about thinking and life; and
- second, no wonder I came home so tired!
Action items and philosophical gems are side by side in my notes ~ like a Festival gift basket containing ruby-handled scissors, solid gold pen, French chocolates and wine (these last for inspiration and digestion). These are notes I'll savor often and remember the privilege of learning from and being changed by such fine teachers.
Another embarrassment of riches item is the blessing of having my parents, sister and brother-in-law, and nephew and his wife in our home for Mother's Day. Being together filled my heart with joy, much like the way our "dessert cup" overflowed. We had jointly agreed upon NO desserts other than a fruit salad. My secret surprise, however, would be a lemon and white chocolate mousse and strawberry parfait. Then I thought, what's Mother's Day without strawberries dipped in dark chocolate? So I prepared a lacy tray of those. Others had also concocted secret sweet surprises. Mom showed up with macadamia nut bars she'd baked. My sister showed up with hazelnut-chocolate candy she'd made. My niece showed up with an orange-chocolate torte. Truly an embarrassment of riches, not to mention embarrassing appetites!
In several sessions at the Festival of Faith and Writing, speakers recommended copying the structure of a novel we like. This strikes me as a bit like buying a Van Gogh coloring book. Even learning that most stories follow similar structures and knowing each author will "color" the story uniquely, I find this advice lacking. Copying structure may be an effective starting point, but developing literary craft and style are critical to being an artist in my own right. The first takes hours of analysis; the second takes a lifetime of study and practice. On another level, the first is something I can do; the second reflects who I am. This will require more than simply coloring my Sunflowers blue instead of Van Gogh's gold and my Starry Night green instead of his blue.
When I hear new ideas, it helps to have pegs in my brain to hang them on. Reflecting on the horizon-broadening ideas I heard this month at the Festival of Faith and Writing, I can think of a few pegs. Here's an example:
From Scott Russell Sanders and Kathleen Dean Moore ~ Art described as "regional" is usually from someplace other than the big cities the media normally highlights as the norm. If the New York Times calls writers of the stature of Wendell Berry and Gary Snyder "regional," there's something wrong with the term.
I associate this with other discernment lessons about the propagandizing power of media biases, especially in the areas of politics and religion. I didn't realize this ethnocentric tunnel vision happened with media presentation of the arts, too. Another peg to hang this on is questioning established definitions, such as how we define success or freedom.
In three days at The Festival of Faith and Writing, I have sat in numerous lecture halls for classes, and I have planted myself on numerous benches in tulip gardens between classes. Here are some miscellaneous snippets I heard and overheard:
in the beginning was the Word
journey
how far up do you want to be?
the litmus test of vocation: i can't NOT do it
an essay is mosaic art, a stained glass window light can come through
archeology professor
someone has to write web content
journey
monster truck rally of writers conferences
i mean that in a good way
journey
it would feel more like a job
he wasn't that creative in the bedroom
poet laureate of Lake Wobegon
divisiveness puts democracy at risk
i forgive you; will you forgive me?
once you think you have the answer, you stop asking questions
oprah called just to say thanks
anyone know where i can find coffee?
eavesdropping complicates everything
The Israelites did as Moses instructed and asked the Egyptians for articles of silver and gold and for clothing. The Lord had made the Egyptians favorably disposed toward the people and they gave them what they asked for. Exodus 12:35, 36
When the people saw that Moses was so long in coming down from the mountain, they gathered around Aaron and said, "Come, make us gods ..." Aaron answered them, "Take off the gold earrings that your wives, your sons and your daughters are wearing, and bring them to me." So all the people took off their earrings and brought them to Aaron. he took what they handed him and made it into an idol cast in the shape of a calf, fashioning it with a tool. Then they said, "These are your gods, O Israel, who brought you up out of Egypt." Exodus 32:1-4
Let's see ... I bet some of the gold jewelry that went into that calf was provided by God through the Egyptians. Provided by the real God who brought the Israelites up out of slavery in Egypt ~ with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm, and many miracles. How could they use His very gift, provided to bless them, to give credit to a golden calf for His mighty liberation?
Let's see ... How could I take the marriage God has given to bless me and bow to its imperfect promise instead of bowing to the Giver's perfect promise? How could I find my security in a house that could blow away in an instant instead of finding my security in the palm of God's hand? How could I stand proudly at the altar of people's approval instead of kneeling humbly before my holy God?
Lord, may I worship at Your feet, none other. Keep my feet from running back into slavery. May I walk in the freedom that Jesus paid so dearly for, for Your glory.
I really admire John Steinbeck's writing but couldn't stomach the evil upon evil upon evil in East of Eden. It read like the six o'clock news on steroids. I took it back to the library and picked up The Secret Garden, which it seems everyone's read but me. I wasn't prepared for Snow White meets Pinocchio meets St. Francis of Assisi ~ a character named Dickon who enters one scene with a crow named Soot on his right shoulder, squirrels named Nut and Shell on his left shoulder and in his coat pocket, a rescued newborn lamb in his arms, and a little red fox trotting by his side. Though it's a bit syrupy, I enjoyed the innocent interlude anyway.
The Secret Garden reminds adults of the healing power of childlike wonder over childhood wounds. The golden nugget of wisdom at the heart of this charming allegory is the Proverb: As a man thinks in his heart, so is he, or the words of Jesus in Luke 6, For out of the overflow of his heart, his mouth speaks.
At the beginning of the novel, cousins Mary Lennox and Colin Craven, both 10 years old, have developed self-defeating attitudes due to parental abandonment. The mystery of a locked garden, also abandoned for 10 years, intrigues them. Nurturing this garden, they nurture their own and each other's hearts. Their transformation brings wonder and delight to the adults around them. Key change agents in the story are members of a local family, Dickon's, who enjoy simple pleasures, are one with nature, and who love giving life.
As if the metaphor of tending a garden (with its need for weeding and seeding to produce beautiful flowers) weren't enough, author Frances Hodgson Burnett plants another strong analogy. Dickon's family speaks a broad Yorkshire dialect, which Mary delights in learning. I especially liked one vocabulary lesson, when she learns that wick means alive or lively. As she abandons her dour outlook, replaces it with newfound purpose and wonder, and reaches out to love others, Mary becomes more wick.
My innocent interlude is over. Next book: Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe.
Don't know when I've enjoyed the Olympics so much. Past games have been enthralling, certainly. The 2008 Beijing opening ceremony was unequaled. But this winter, the Olympic games in Vancouver seemed to be fresh celebrations of our common humanity. Maybe I'm at an age where I'm more aware of international strife, so the Olympics, for the most part, transcending borders and differences was more meaningful to me this year.
Another refreshing aspect was that I could watch TV not produced by Hollywood. I could see beautiful, glittery, figure-hugging skating costumes not designed to push the boundaries of decency. I could see real life contests, not fake-real life contests.
As always, I could admire and be inspired anew by the physical freedom produced by physical discipline. And I was beginning to be inspired by the bouquets to grow broccoflower in my vegetable garden next year ~ but then I learned the bouquets were NOT broccoflower, but green spider mums, hypericum berries, and loops of monkey grass, along with other greens. Could've fooled me.
Favorite funny moments: a snowboarder adjusting his iPod seconds before beginning his half-pipe run with his head bouncing to whatever he was listening to; and the giant inflated beavers in the closing ceremony.
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