A Storyteller's Worth

Writing a novel is a marathon. It starts out as an energetic and optimistic activity. Predictably for me, though, at about the three-quarter mark, a shift occurs. After writing again and again about the same characters, I am tempted to throw the lot out the window. At this point in a work-in-progress novel, it is superbly easy for me to generate a long list of what is wrong my writing. Completing the novel becomes a more daunting task than what has already been accomplished. The ignominy of not finishing is experienced daily.

Luckily for me, in this latest novel project, when I have been ready to quit, I received metaphorical refreshing drinks and pep talks. It started with the news that another of my short stories had been accepted by a literary review, which goes a long way toward renewing my faith in my writing abilities. When an editor says, I like your story enough to publish it, I am reminded that, at least in moments, I can write well. Parenthetically, when this story is published later this year, I will provide the link in a blog post.

The other refreshing drink and pep talk came from a surprising source, my late father. No, I’m not talking about séance-like contact. Instead, recently, I had the privilege of compiling an anthology of his essays, poems, and sermons which allowed me to hear his “voice” again. It was another soft landing to calm my jitters. It reminded me that writing, even if vastly different in content, is the family business, and I am doing exactly what I was born to do.

Then, I received the first installment of surveys being carried out about my dad's legacy. All the living members of the church my gentle, wise, and humble father pastored for thirty-three years have been queried. The project leader said, “The stories are pouring in. Many hand in their questionnaires with tears in their eyes.” While reading the questionnaire results, I was struck by how my father’s written and spoken words sustain a living quality. Words matter, I concluded. The role of the storyteller is essential to the human psyche.

So I pick up my banner as storyteller and know it is not a frivolous undertaking. I embark on the final quarter of my novel, renewed in my commitment to make my words matter. Because, if I write the story well, they will matter.

"Til Next Year" - Flash Fiction

Last year, I came across a request for submissions from Glossolalia, a literary review “… dedicated to the art of flash fiction ... only publish[ing] stories under 500 words.” I had a 229-word story “Til Next Year” which had always been too short to submit to anyone. So I reread it, tweaked it a bit and sent it off, truly not expecting much. To my surprise, Glossolalia published my story.

Belatedly, I focused on the name of the literary review. Glossolalia can refer to the religious practice of speaking in tongues familiar to me from my fundamentalist childhood. But, having surveyed the submission guidelines and read their other published stories, I found that the review had nothing to do with religious “speaking in tongues.” Nor did it seem to have anything to do with that other definition of glossolalia: “nonsensical or invented speech, especially resulting from a trance or schizophrenia.”

Oh well, the review does focus on flash fiction, and my short story definitely qualified as flash fiction. So, whatever the reason for the review’s name, I am honored that Glossolalia chose my story. Here is the link: Til Next Year And, no, my story has nothing to do with religious speaking in tongues either.

Guilt about Not Blogging?

Recently, Nathan Bransford asked if blogging had peaked, eliciting 138 interesting comments, many citing blogging's excessive time requirements and also competition from Facebook and Twitter. I had noticed that some of my writer colleagues have been blogging less frequently. I also had been feeling guilty about my relative blogging inactivity since announcing last November that I would be giving priority to completing my work-in-progress novel.

Nathan Bransford's post and my own progress on my novel have made me feel less guilty. My novel is now at about 70% of my goal for the first draft. I don’t think I could have accomplished that, and also taken care of Life, if I had not stepped away from blogging full time.

Having broken my discipline of posting weekly, and then hearing from Bransford et al., though, I find myself tempted to never post again. Then I realize that, despite my already demanding schedule, I still find myself drifting back to my favorite blogs. Because I enjoy them! Invariably, I have to pull myself away or I would do nothing but read blogs. I also realize that I miss posting about issues that matter to me.

So blogging is not dead in my estimation. It has perhaps accommodated itself to the reality that we all have just twenty-four hours a day to take care of Life. I know that, as soon as I can get my novel in shape to start the publishing querying process, I will return to active blogging. I actually miss it.

Meaning of Religion

Blogger A Cuban in London recently hosted a discussion about the meaning of religion. I was one of the participants. He posed questions about the nature of religion, its role in modern democracies, and the role religion plays in things like individualism, rampant consumerism and unchallenged materialism. In today’s post, I feature my answer to Cuban’s challenge to define religion. The link to the entire discussion is provided at the end of the post.

Religion is, on a personal level, finite humanity’s endeavor to explain itself vis-à-vis the infinite. On a social level, religion establishes codes of morality and behavior. Culturally, it facilitates expression of cultural norms. Politically, it can serve as a tool for creating and defending the political unit. It is paradoxically both unifying and divisive. In other words, religion is a protean concept.

That is my answer through a cognitive filter. But, if religion appealed only to the mind, it would not have achieved its enduring quality. It would also not explain why, despite significant differences, the overwhelming majority of people associate, formally or loosely, with religion in all its variants.

The opening line of my favorite hymn says, “Oh, Lord, My God, when I in awesome wonder consider all the works Thy hand hath made.” Am I a churchgoer? No. Do I believe that there is a Creator responsible for bringing our world into existence? Not in the anthropomorphic sense. And yet that hymn moves me every single time I hear it. Is that because it is a relic from my childhood? Perhaps. Or could it be that the hymn appeals to an unknown and unknowable part of me that wants to connect with that dimension of life which, science’s efforts notwithstanding, we fall short of grasping in all its beauty. Of science’s efforts, Max Planck himself said that future progress in understanding liminal conditions “…will never enable us to grasp the real world in its totality any more than human intelligence will ever rise into the sphere of ideal spirit: these will always remain abstractions which by their very definition lie outside actuality.”

Rather than try to understand or judge the human predilection toward embracing religion, I simply accept that it exists. Indeed, I respect that religions seek coherence and order in a world that intrinsically may be incoherent and chaotic. I also embrace religion’s attempt to connect with the numinous, which has little to do with the mind. Of course, my respect and tolerance do not extend to the use of violence and oppression.

I come to this stance having experienced the full spectrum of religious belief. As the daughter of evangelical ministers, I grew up in a theistic environment. I then became an atheist, only to later shift to an embrace of the numinous. In my fiction, I spend a lot of time in churches, with characters who embrace, characters who flee from, but always characters who try to make sense of religion and spirituality in their lives. In this, they reflect my own life's journey. In a larger sense, they may reflect humanity’s journey as well.


The entire discussion can be read here.

Caught Peeking - Two Short Stories

Recently, I shared with a friend two of my newly published short stories. He said he enjoyed them and that, “I see you peeking through in both of them.”

I was stunned. The stories were so not about my life. Indeed, one of the main characters was a young male. Except for the fact that I once cruised on a boat, there was nothing related to my life in those stories.

And then I realized. Of course, my friend would find me peeking in my stories. I was the author. It was my voice telling the stories. I could not help but be there. Even when I didn’t think I was.

So here are the two recently published stories in which my friend caught me peeking:


“The Details” published in Rose and Thorn.

“About a Boy” published in Gemini Magazine.

Thank you, Gemini Magazine and Rose and Thorn for selecting my stories.

More Short Stories Accepted

Three short stories accepted for publication. Two blog posts requested for an anthology. I might start to think that going on blogging hiatus is good for my publishing career. Or I could be whimsical and say that in December the stars aligned themselves in my favor. Whatever the reason for the sudden spike in acceptances, I am thrilled. As soon as I am free to provide the links to the newly published short stories and anthology, I will do so.

As for my novel in progress, I am still making headway on that. To help clear my head from novel writing, I continue to write and send out short stories. I also entered a “Dear Lucky Agent Contest” sponsored by Guide to Literary Agents. As soon as I can type The End for my novel in progress, I will return to active blogging. In the meantime, have a wonderful new year.

The following are links to already published posts grouped under my major themes:

A Hero's Journey

Multicultural

Religion

Writing