On Women

Recently, I started reading Seven Men and the Secret of Their Greatness by Eric Metaxas. For those of you unfamiliar with this author, he wrote biographies on both Dietrich Bonhoeffer and William Wilberforce. In the introduction to his latest book, Metaxas brings up the ideas of what culture today says about manhood. He writes that "we live in a culture where strength is feared and where there is a sense that--to protect the weak--strength itself must be weakened....It leads to a world of men who aren't really men. Instead they are just two kinds of boys: boasting, loud-mouthed bullies or soft, emasculated pseudo-men" (xx). Metaxas points out that manhood as God designed it is the selfless use of men's greatest gift from God, their strength, to protect those who are weaker. I agree whole-heartedly with this statement and think a great many of societies evils could be cured if men chose to use their strength in this way.

Reading this introduction, however, led me to wonder what God's greatest gift to women might be. I would like to set forward women's ability to use words, especially speech, as one of the main talents God has provided the fairer sex. And, just as men's talent has been perverted by culture, I think women's talent has been tainted as well. 

Allow me to explain. We are repeatedly told in the New Testament to use our words to encourage each other to good works, to build each other up and to show respect to the men in our lives--most especially husbands. But I see women all the time who use their words to purposefully disintegrate relationships, whether those are relationships with other women or men. Rather than using their talent for words, especially spoken words, to help, they are used as swift stabbing weapons, and whoever can think faster is the "winner" of the verbal warfare. As everyone knows, the old adage about sticks and stones could not be more untrue. Words can leave wounds that gape and fester for years, even a whole lifetime, after the actual injury is done. I could go on and on in this subject, talking about the prevalence of gossip and spreading of malicious rumors that seem to be the topic of so many television shows geared toward a teenage female audience, which I find horrifying and sad for so many reasons, but my main point is simply this: women have a God-given talent. Just as men should use their strength to protect the weak even to the point of self-sacrifice, women should use their talent to honor and encourage and bring life back into relationships. These talents are two complimentary sides of a coin. The loss of one leads to the downfall of the other. So let me encourage you women out there to use what you have been given for good. Write a note. Send an email or text or telegram if you have to. Tell someone you love them. Tell them they are important and special and that you are glad to have them in your life. Tell them you respect them...and then, act on what you say.


----

Metaxas, Eric. Seven Men and the Secret of Their Greatness. Nashville: Thomas Nelson, Inc., 2013.

Summer Reading List

For those who are always looking for new books to read here are a few recommendations from some of my favorite authors:

1. Pathfinder/Ruins by Orson Scott Card : 
         A far-future sci-fi series about the expansion of the human race to another planet. It's written for young adults but thoroughly enjoyable for a more advanced reader as well.

2. The Wind Through the Key Hole by Stephen King : 
        An addition to his infamous Dark Tower series, this is a tale within a tale within a tale that occurs during the events of the main series. If you were a fan of the series, you should enjoy this.

3. Dodger by Terry Pratchett :
       This novel has much of the humor and flavor of the Discworld series while holding to the setting of Victorian London.

4. Worldshaker/Liberator by Richard Harland :
       Steampunk science fiction for young adults that focuses on the strict class differences aboard the mobile city, Worldshaker.

5. Behemoth/Leviathan/Goliath by Scott Westerfeld :
       Another steampunk science fiction trilogy that begins at the onset of an alternate version of World War 1. I highly recommend this series as well as his Uglies series.

6. Reckless/Fearless by Cornelia Funke :
       A new fantasy series from the author of the Inkheart trilogy. Jacob Reckless is a hunter of fairy-tale artifacts in "the world behind the mirror," but finds himself in trouble when his brother follows him.

7. The Yard/The Black Country by Alex Grecian :
      These novels follow the cases of Detective Walter Day of the Scotland Yard Murder Squad after the infamous Jack the Ripper has disappeared from the streets.

8. The Affinity Bridge/The Osiris Ritual/The Immorality Engine by George Mann :
       Fans of steampunk should definitely give these a read. Newbury and Hobbes, working for Queen Victoria, whose life has been extended indefinitely by a monstrous version of life-support, hunt down the occult in London.

9. Portlandtown by Rob DeBorde :
       Zombies and a little voodoo mixed with northwestern American mythology.

10. The Complaints by Ian Rankin :
        A twist on the normal police/detective fiction involving Malcom Fox of "The Complaints", the Internal Affairs of Britain's police force.

11. Rot & Ruin by Jonathan Maberry:
       Zombies and a coming of age with an interesting message : "Zombies were people, too."

12. The Eyre Affair (Thursday Next #1) by Jasper Fforde :
        Time-travel, a literary detective agency, a master villain...This series moves so fast, it'll be hard to keep up if you aren't paying attention. You'll probably enjoy this series if you have a prolific knowledge of the classics, such as Jane Eyre, Great Expectations, Hamlet and more.

Three Personalities

"In the late 1940's, WH Auden became enamored of the idea that every writer's mind is a household containing three personalities. T.S. Eliot's, he wrote, included an Archdeacon, an old peasant grandmother and a young boy who liked to play practical jokes." - Adam Kirsch


I came across this quote as a writing prompt and decided to try my hand at it. I think there are far more than three floating around in here, but these are the top three personalities that I find myself writing into every story without conscious decision to do so.


LadyAmadeus' Household

1. The Flawed Hero
This is the protagonist who strives and strives for perfection even while making, sometimes extremely destructive, mistakes. He uses his strength (or sometimes weakness) to protect others as best he can while being singularly unconcerned for his own safety and well-being. This is a growing role. Flawed men turn into Heroes throughout the course of the story. And, yes, it usually is a "he," because in my own opinion females are far too complicated for this role (but this is an entirely different subject and may appear in another post at length, so we'll leave it to rest for now).


2. The Misunderstood Villain
My favorite is the misunderstood villain, because, if you are willing to let him, he can unearth a level of empathy that a hero is simply incapable of evincing. It requires the realization that everyone has their own reasons for doing what they do. Very rarely do people set out just to be evil. There are extenuating circumstances. There are turning points and cruxes and opportunities for change. The degree of separation between this villain and the hero can sometimes be as small as a single moment of decision, but that decision was shaped by a past, which is what I'm interested in. I myself am very rarely a hero, even a flawed one, but I do like to think that if I ever play the part of a villain it's simply because my actions are being misunderstood.


3. The Younger Brother
This is the one who desires more than anything else to make others proud of him, to make them acknowledge his skills and ability, and to live up to a standard that was set by someone, usually older and more skillful, going before him. The younger brother is useful in that jealously and unreasonable decisions as well as labile mood are completely in character. You still love him and want him to grow up well, but sometimes, he's simply maddening.

Hollow Land

I am lost in hollow lands
shades of things present and past collide together like astral planes
justice a bankrupt commodity, a mockery for the world-wise and powerful
avarice a staple of see-it-now-and-have-it-yourself mentality
the truth hemorrhages, crushed beneath an earth-weight ton of lies cast in heady disguise as noble means to save the world
I have fallen prey myself to such tremors of conscious, confabulation of purpose in a desert of shifting sands and crooked lines
and I am lost in the desperate caustic dust of drought

Lost until the gleaming morning star fixes direction, sets justice high above kings, floods greed with gracious generosity, overwhelming love, and proves truth the only thing able to save the world despite the sugar-sweet subterfuge of the overlord of this hollow land

The Alley

Thanks to Nicholas Schafer for the lovely picture that inspired this story. This is just an opening scene, and I don't plan to run it as a series on this blog. However, if you are terribly interested, let me know and I'll send you a copy when the story is complete.



I.
    Alois blinked several times. Paint dripped from his fingers. He could smell it. He stared at the wall in front of him, but he couldn’t see anything except a blur of browns and greens without his glasses.
    He wiped the paint off on the leg of his pants and wondered where he’d gotten the paint from this time. His head ached, right behind his eyes, and he drew his somewhat cleaner left hand across his face. He knelt down carefully and felt across the ground for his glasses, but he couldn’t find them.
    “Not again,” he muttered.
    “Hello? Alois?”
    “Jana?” he said, squinting at the figure coming toward him.
    “Thank goodness and mercy. I didn’t think I was going to find you.” She handed him a damp cloth and his glasses.
    “How long was I gone this time?” he asked.
    “I was out until about an hour ago. You were gone when I got back.” She looked past him at the wall. “What this?”
    He shrugged and turned to see what he had done.
    “This is amazing. How do you do such detail without even a brush?” she asked, leaning closer to the still wet paint.
    “I don’t know,” he said. He glanced at the scene, a sunny forest glade.
    “I feel like I could walk right into it,” Jana said.
    “You’ll get paint all over you,” Alois said without a hint of humor.
    “Probably.” She turned back to him with a smile. “We’d better go. It’s almost curfew, and you don’t want the badges seeing what you’ve done. Even if it is beautiful. They don’t like people painting up walls that aren’t theirs.”
    Alois gave a startled look up at the street light that stuck out of the wall and past it at the darkened sky.
    “Come on now,” Jana said, holding out her hand to him.
    He looked up at her. “Are my parents home?”
    “No, darling boy,” she said with a look around her eyes that was pitying. “Come along, and I’ll get you something to eat.”
    Alois rubbed at his temples, trying to stop the pain behind his eyes as he followed his nanny out of the alley.

II.
    At half ten, long after the curfew bells had rung and the lights had gone out, a boy about sixteen years old darted into the alley with the sound of boot steps following him down the street. He wasn’t surprised to find that the alley was a dead end. That was just the way his luck was running that night. He crouched against the wall, hoping the shadows would hide him and knowing that they wouldn’t.
    It wasn’t a part of town he normally hung about. The people who lived there were the posh of the nobs, and he was a factory worker who lived in the Shatter. The kind of guy who came home with grease embedded in every crease and crevice.
    He wouldn’t have been there at all if the Rocker Men hadn’t been waiting for him outside the building where he kept a room. He rubbed the back of his head where the first––and last––blow had landed. As soon as it had, he’d scrambled back up and run, because that was what he was good at––running, not fighting. He wasn’t used to having anyone so very intent on catching him though.
    They were going to gut him, he was sure, and he was very particular about the amount of blood in his body. If he could have his own way, it would be all of it. He studied the walls in the dim light, but they offered no way up. The one behind him was covered in a mural and smelled of still wet paint.
    “Come out, little Joe,” said a voice he recognized as belonging to Figs, the mouth of the Rocker Men. “We just wanna have a nice, little talk with you.”
    Four silhouettes appeared at the end of the alley, and Joe eased back, never minding the wet paint. It would wash out easier than blood in any case. But he couldn’t find the wall behind him. He slid back farther and his hand came down in something damp and soft. He drew it back at once, not wanting to think about what he might have stuck his hand in.
    He looked over his shoulder just for a second to see where exactly the wall had gone, only to discover that it wasn’t there at all, and neither, when he turned back, was the alley. He sat alone in a clearing surrounded by deciduous trees and filled with the faint but distinctive smell of wet paint.

Faye

She drinks the evening sunlight in

Amber and ocher, swirling steam

Like hot tea, it tastes of cinnamon

The fragrance of lilac hangs

Lazy drops of amethyst about her wrist

Silver bird song spins and twines

Through her hair, through the night

Moonlight wraps her in his arms

Starlight crowns her pretty face

Leaves move in the breeze,

Play a waltz as she dances

If you ever see her

No doubt you'll be enchanted

The Great Gray Divide

The darkness is
a living thing
that breathes
out coals and poison
and turns my soul
to ashes

The light is
a mighty force
that scorches
so brightly does it shine
and turns my soul
to gold

The gray is
where comfort lies
No change required
No pain to bear
and leaves my soul
just as it is

A dusty, useless thing