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I've picked up Dante's Divine Comedy (Inferno, Purgatorio, and Paradise) to study for my WIP.

(Side note: thank you, Kindle, for making this selection available to me for free. We love you, Kindle, oh yes, we do.)

A couple of interesting observations from my study of the poem and the little I've read on it (mostly in order to understand the references):

1. The Roman Catholic concept of purgatory originated with this work, which is allegorical. Most likely, Dante intended Purgatorio to represent the Christian life. Some things never change when we take allegory too literally.
2. The arrangement of sins--which is worse, in other words--differs from how the evangelical church would today arrange sins. While Dante's work isn't divinely inspired (and therefore not the biblical standard for arrangement of sin), it provides an interesting anthropological study in how our cultures affect our view of sin. To clarify: this doesn't imply that lust, for example, is a sin in one culture and not in another, or that the culture itself defines lust. It shows how we as human beings attempting to grapple with sin, its effects, and transformation from sin into life, do so differently in different ages. Dante's culture, and the problems therein, affected which sins (while all worthy of punishment and separation from God) seem more harmful. It brought to light the sins we prefer to gloss over because of our situation.
3. Dante struggled with God's justice and mercy. He reiterates that those in hell reside there because they denied Christ. And, above all, separation from God is a horrible thing. But you also see in Dante this hesitation to see good people in the hands of an angry God. So men like Virgil, Homer, Julius Caesar, Plato, and other great philosophers and thinkers, while apart from God (and quite upset to be so, to Dante's credit) are not actively tortured as others are. These men reside in a meadow in hell, which wouldn't seem so bad except for the complete lack of presence from God. Dante asks, "Is this eternal? Or will there be reprieve?"
   
   This subject continues to bother us. What is hell? What is the gnashing of teeth? What about those who seemed so close to baptism?
4. Dante incorporated Greek and Roman mythology (popular during his day as mythology saw a resurgence in the Renaissance). He uses it almost sacramentally: everyday items infused with God's grace to draw the unknowing to God.
5. Finally, an amusement: Dante had no quelms about putting real people in hell, men he admired, and men he blamed for the downfall of Florentine society. This is the writer's ultimate retribution, is it not? Cross me, and I'll put you in my novel. We may change the names (Dante didn't bother to do even that!), but we carry out our ideas of justice and revenge in our own ways.

I have not been able to keep up with Michelle's weekly Popinjay Photo Challenge, but I'm able to pop in every once in a while (knee slap for that pun, please).

This week's word: Guilty

Recently I finished Unveiling by Suzanne Wolfe (an excellent read I highly recommend due to her poetic prose, complex characters, and willingness to enter into suffering and beauty). In it she comments that museums, with their metered environments, lose the contexts of churches and homes for art. This made me think about museum installations. Are they the artist's desire to create context where none exists?

I suppose "no context" is impossible. How about sterile? Removed? Unfamiliar with the breathings of our daily lives?

***

Over the past several years, memoirs have invaded Barnes and Nobles. I recently read an article about this plethora of memoirs. The author (Daniel Mendelsohn) compared this to the phenomenon of reality TV. He remarked, "If you can watch a real lonely woman yearning after young hunks on a reality dating show, why bother with Emma Bovary?"*

In a global, transient, cyber world, are memoirs our attempts to grasp a lost context? The question, "Where are you from?" becomes more and more difficult to answer without giving an essay.

Mendelsohn also notes that this may stem from a misunderstanding of the type of truth presented by fiction, "'a truth' about life," he says, "whereas memoirs and nonfiction accounts represent 'the truth' about specific things that have happened." While not wanting to dismiss all memoirs by any means, in a world where specifics shift faster than we change our shampoo bottles, perhaps we look for specifics rather than general truths in the books we read.

*quote from "But Enough About Me" in The New Yorker, Jan. 25, 2010, p. 73.

One of the threads that weaves through Douglas Coupland's apocalyptic novel concerns blogging. (Yes, Generation A is apocalpytic in that it portrays the end of the world as we know it--and, thanks to a Prozac-like drug, we feel fine.)

Each of the main characters in Coupland's story tells his/her own stories. One character tells a story of a young man who has lost the story of his life. The implication is clear: springing from our obsession with fame, we all look for the story of our lives. Unfortunately, with nothing real left in life, we can't find one. We use our extreme sports and death-defying feats in attempts to bring fame-worthy excitement into our lives.

In the story of the young man who has lost his story, the following exchange occurs between a woman at the Learning Annex, where this young man has gone for lessons in something interesting (bungee jumping, Tae Bo), and the young man (it begins with Craig, our young man in question):

"I thought maybe Tae Bo would loan my life a unique narrative edge."

The woman--whose name was Bev--said, "Craig, the hardest things in the world are being unique and having your life be a story. In the old days, it was much easier, but our modern fame-driven culture, with its real-time 24-7 marinade of electronic information, demands a lot from modern citizens, and poses great obstacles to narrative. Truly modern citizens are both charismatic and [sic] can only respond to other people with charisma. To survive, people need to become self-branding charisma robots . . . So, in a nutshell, given the current media composition of the world, you're pretty much doomed to being uninteresting and storyless."

"But I can blog my life! I could turn it into a story that way!"

"Blogs? Sorry, but all those blogs and vlogs or whatever's out there--they just make being unique harder. The more truths you spill out, the more generic you become."

(I'd give you a page number, but Kindle doesn't list page numbers.)

To add to this evidence, I read an article in The New Yorker the other day about media, specifically in regards to Obama. This article also pointed out the (negative) consequences to this 24-7 media marinade, which disallows journalists from getting any real story. Several times, especially when quoting Obama communications administration, they referred to the narrative Obama wanted to communicate, or the narrative of Americans. Have we become so self-aware of our own story that we can no longer let it unfold naturally? What are the implications of this?

(Side note: These past weeks, we all watched the events in Haiti, blogging, twittering, perhaps watching a rescue on TV. I'm happy to see our concern for another nation, but I wonder how much is true concern and how much is it safe concern? If our sympathies are real, why not spend time on a weekly basis in homeless shelters, orphanages, and nursing homes, entering into their suffering?)

While these Neil Postman-esque prophesies unfurl around us, I don't believe this means we abandon blogs (obviously, or I'd be using this post to say Goodnight, Gracie). Ruth Haley Barton warns us against accepting technologies without evaluation. This doesn't mean we all don Amish garb. It means we better know how things affect us--our Christianity, our communities, our families, our work, our play. We can't all become Wendell Berrys. Because of blogging, I've found other writers, knitters, gardeners, poets, and photographers (as well as a slew of other artists) who have encouraged me in these endeavors. I've discovered friends who have encouraged my spirituality. If I consider creativity and spirituality (not entirely different entities, by the way) to be essential to humanity, than blogging has shaped me in positive ways.

But I also have been obsessed with finding my own niche, my own small pond in which to be famous. I've asked, how can I be unique in this space? What is my brand?

I suppose we approach this as we do everything: with mixed motives. I am neither purely good nor entirely corrupt. I am saint and sinner. Coupland's comments and The New Yorker's article remind me to always pay attention to the whats, whys, hows, and consequences, to not do things willy-nilly just because I want to. And that's a good thing.

Thoughts? Reactions? Poison?

Print between the lines: Title quote from Bones (Sealy Booth)

He's probably lounging on a beach in the Caribbean sipping a gin and tonic, goggling the girls with his one good eye.

Meanwhile, I'm stuck, senza Muse, to figure out what to do with this writer's block.

I've deleted more words than I've written. How is that mathematically possible, you may ask.

Exactly.

I'm in negative wordage. Which means I have to scribble words on random surfaces until I'm back at zero and can return to my manuscript. I write on Post-It notes, backs of receipts, and bathroom stalls. (Yes, I've discovered the mystery. Messages on stall walls were written by blocked writers, not delinquent teens. Tommy Tutone cured his artistic block by scribbling "867-5309" on a bathroom wall.) I create grocery lists I don't intend to buy, to-do items I'll never do.

The next time my Muse goes on vacation, I'm going with him.

Today, I received one of those treats born on fairy wings.

It happened on my way to yoga--an ordinary day in an ordinary car taking my ordinary route. The classical radio station started playing Lehar's Gold and Silver Waltz. For those unfamiliar with the piece, it's sprightly, delicate, and at times, mischievous. In other words, the perfect soundtrack.

At an ordinary light at an ordinary, albeit busy, intersection, something had gone awry (the work of Puck, perhaps?). The light had stopped working. Cars, most on their way to work, some to drop off kids at school, treated the six-lane intersection like a stop sign.

And that's when I noticed it.

All of these cars, normally infused with Dallas impatience and road rage, waltzed, a sprightly, delicate waltz.

The intersection became the ballroom, and cars lined up and took their turns. One, two, three, one, two, three. Light, on your toes. One, two, three. Not a misstep.

We danced to Lehar's Gold and Silver Waltz.

And then I came to the other side of the intersection, and the moment had ended. For me, at least. The dance continued behind me.

I suppose if it had not been an ordinary day, I wouldn't have noticed the fairies making mischief. 

One of my regrets: I didn't write down the stories my grandmother told me at the kitchen table. I didn't ask her to write her memoirs.

Whether as a legacy to family or as a book for the masses, memoir is story made from real life. I asked Mary DeMuth, whose book Thin Places: A Memoircomes out in February, to guest blog on writing memoir.

***

Heather kindly invited me to write about memoirs. I’m thankful to have the opportunity. I wrote Thin Places (releasing in February) only after I gave myself permission to say it all. More on that later.

First, one clarification about memoir: no memoir can be 100% accurate. Every memoirist must recall, to the best of his/her ability what happened in the past. Only God knows what truly happened! And to protect the people listed in a memoir, I’ve changed names and distinguishing characteristics. That’s allowable in a memoir, and is often expected.

To make a memoir work, it must be:

1. From someone famous.
2. Or a story so strong and surprising, the story carries the book.

I’m of the latter category since I am by no means famous. But my story is raw and redemptive. And a bit out there.

The most important thing for a memoir is that it be memorable and beautifully written. If you don’t have a platform, near perfect writing is a must backed up by an intriguing/surprising story. Think of a memoir as a novel with rising action, climax and denouement. Consider writing it as you would a novel, with characters, dialogue and a plot (even if the plot is your life!).

A great example of a memoir that tells an amazing story is Parting the Waters: A True Story: Finding Beauty in Brokennessby Jeanne Damoff.

But even though the story is beautifully written, Jeanne shopped the story to every publishing house far and wide through her agent. Though it was a great story, she faced a lot of rejection.

Eventually, after much prayer and seeking wisdom, she decided to self-publish the book through WinePress. It’s got a wonderful cover and is selling well.

Another amazing memoir is Startling Beauty: My Journey From Rape to Restorationby wife Heather Gemmen. Wow. It’s one of the most beautifully written, achingly painful memoirs I’ve read.

It’s not easy to write a memoir. I fear that some people are so afraid to do it because the people involved aren’t yet dead. So they work on a fictionalized version. Is that really honest? What is the purpose of telling your true story if you make it fiction? Of course, you can take elements of your struggle and life and place that in fiction, but I’ve found that tacked on messages seldom make a book.

My best advice: obey God. Write what He tells you to write. If you’re too afraid to write a memoir, then don’t do it. Prayerfully consider whether your need to get it all out is, instead, a form of catharsis that no reader really needs to see. And if you add some of your story to the memoir, consider that story is the king. The story must support what you write about.

Author of three parenting books, four novels, and a memoir, Mary E. DeMuth helps foks turn their trials into triumphs. Mary has spoken at several national writers conferences and has had the privilege of teaching in the US, Europe, and Africa for various churches and church planting ministries. She’s appeared on national TV in Canada, and WFAA’s Good Morning Texas. Mary and her husband, Patrick, reside in Rockwall, Texas with their three children. They’ve returned from breaking new spiritual ground in Southern France, where they planted a church. 

Two things occurred to bring together this photo:

1. I gave my husband a Nikon D40 for Christmas (actually, several family members went in with me to give it to him). I (mostly) gave him the camera because he always finds creative shots and loves playing with the settings of our simple point-and-shoot for the best picture. If he produces unusual pictures now with limited settings, I can't wait for the photos he'll find with all the bells and whistles. But I also gave him this because I wanted to play with it. Yes, I know. I've opened the door to getting an HDTV for my next birthday gift.

2. Michelle started a new photo challenge called Popinjay. I won't spell out the details (you can see them here), but this week's word is hope.

Now, on to the picture itself.  

I chose a mailbox. At summer camp, my muscles jittered at mail call. And who doesn't look through the stack of bills and junk mail with some semblance of hope of a real letter, or at least a Netflix DVD? Also, I wanted to get the mailbox from a child's perspective. 

You'll notice that the mailbox is dirty, old, simple, and leaning to one side. I knew this was the perfect mailbox when I saw it. It's not about the mailbox itself. The mailbox is the conduit for the real hope--brown paper packages tied up with string.

It's a simple shot, but I took dozens of photos of this mailbox (because I wanted to play around with all these magical settings--in some cases my camera yelled at me, like when I tried to make it have a large aperture with bright sunlight; Too much light! it said, or something to that effect). I wonder what the neighbors thought of me as I snapped away. Stalker?

And, yes, I know you're not supposed to take pictures into the sunlight, but I liked the bit of haze the sunlight gave the mailbox.

First things first: The story would make Christopher Vogler proud, but it's predictable in every way. The computer graphics are amazing, especially with how they work with the real life film. At times, I couldn't tell which was which. And I applaud Cameron's imagination to create this amazing world with the animal and plant life. That imagination testifies to God's creativity implanted in us.

But (spoiler alert!) the ending fails.

In the beginning, the scientists talk about their desire to coexist with the Na'vi on Pandora. Yet, in the end, this does not happen. Not really. One guy becomes a Na'vi through spiritual intervention, and the Na'vi choose a couple of humans to remain on Pandora. But Cameron gives us no reason to believe that humans and Na'vi will attempt to live together peacefully, bringing together their two different cultures.

We all cheer when the military fails to destory the sacred place of the Na'vi. We did not want the U.S. military to conquer and dominate. But I'm not sure the Na'vi kicking out the military completely is a satisfying ending either. Where's the peace and harmony in this?

Also, Avatar offers no real redemption. They lost a great opportunity to do so with Parker Selfridge's character (nice name, huh?). Jake Sully warned Parker that he did not want that kind of blood on his hands. And Parker seems to show hints of regret. They could have developed that more--his remorse and repentance. Instead, they focus on the Na'vi, with guns and arrows pointed at the military, kicking them all out.

I'm not saying I'm on the side of the military. Clearly, the military were wrong and selfish and consumerist-driven. This calls for justice. But justice doesn't exclude redemption.

One last complaint: Cameron created straw men. Is there truth embedded in the characters he created--in this innocent native group and imperialistic military group? Yes. Of course. But he took this to the extreme. The innocent natives are only innocent and the imperialistic military and corporate guys are only impirialistic. The only type of redemption, then, available in this system is to become a native. In other words, to be saved, you have to leave your culture and enter into another culture rather than work with Christ to change the culture in which you live so that every culture will bow at the name of Christ.

No real redemption. No peace and harmony between people groups. That's why Avatar fails.

I could have said, "Why Niles* Is Great in Bed," but I do have scruples.

My husband, because he loves me and because he realized we could write it off (but mostly because he loves me), gave me a Kindle as my Christmas/birthday gift. I fell in love. And the other night, I discovered why a Kindle makes for great bedtime reading.

Since the Sony Reader, the Kindle, and other ebook readers, publishers and readers have discussed the plausibility of paper books disappearing (for example, Monica raised the discussion yesterday).

Yes, I love paper books. I love the smell. I love the sound of the binding giving way for the first time. I love walking into a bookstore, dizzy with opportunities for new friends. But more than that, I love stories and characters. I love whatever brings these stories and characters into my life.

Still, I don't think the paper book will die. At least, not for a long time.

Here are some reasons why I love my Kindle:

1. When reading in bed, instead of trying to hold a heavy book open with one hand while hiding the other arm under the covers to keep it warm, I can hold the light Kindle one-handed easily. Also, there's no awkward adjusting when I turn a page (this happens when I'm laying on my side).
2. You can get almost any classic book free on Kindle. Who doesn't think free books are a plus? If you're a classics lover, this is a dream come true.
3. Books are cheaper. (No, I haven't done the math to see how long it would take to pay back the cost of the Kindle.)
4. Currently, if a bookstore overbuys a title, they can return these books to the publisher. They do so by ripping off the cover. These books cannot be reused. Not only that, but if they don't sell, that's a lot of wasted paper and money. With ebook technology, perhaps publishers can save some money and take more risks.
5. Though it costs a small fee to upload Word docs on a Kindle, I can. I have yet to do it (since my Kindle is still new), but this feature allows me to make editing notes in the doc. This gives my eyes a much-needed break from the computer screen.
6. Speaking of that break, I can read blogs on my Kindle.
7. All of my Kindle books and notes are backed up in my online Amazon account. (Yes, Amazon is taking over the world along with Apple.) This means if something ever does happen to my Kindle (God forbid), I don't lose my work or my books. (You can't say this if a fire ripped through your house.)
8. The Kindle has a built-in dictionary. If I need to know the meaning of a word, I scroll the cursor in front of that word, and voila! The dictionary's definition appears in the footnotes. I could have used this feature while reading The Elegance of the Hedgehog.
9. Buying books (or downloading them for free) is easy-peasy. Literally one-touch. My husband would put this particular feature in the below list (things that I don't love). But I'm the one writing this, so it stays here.

And here are the things that I don't love about my Kindle:

1. I can't borrow a book through Kindle. In this economy, I borrow most books from the library or from friends. Perhaps Kindle could work on some technology (like the technology that allows me to "borrow" audio books from my library) so that after a two- or three-week period, the book automatically deletes from your Kindle, or something like that.
2. I'm more nervous reading my Kindle while eating or cooking. Sauces splashes on a book are one thing, but I worry about corrupting an electronic device.
3. I enjoy the bookstore experience. I love flipping through books to decide which one I'll buy next. Of course, I lose this whenever I shop at Amazon period. Their "Look Inside!" feature will never come close to a real bookstore experience.

Since I don't own the new Nook (Barnes and Noble's competitive ebook reader), I can't do a fair comparison. My husband researched some of the differences here. If I remember correctly, he decided on the Kindle because the Nook does not offer Word doc support while the Kindle does. As a writer and editor, this is a key feature for me. It does seem that the Nook as some sort of technology for lending books, though I cannot confirm this, and I don't know what this means exactly.

When I asked my husband if he researched the Sony reader, he replied, "Oh, Sony's are out." He's the gadget expert in the family.

*Niles is the name of my Kindle.