An explanation and an excerpt...

So what's been going on?
Um...work. Lots and lots of work. I've read some good books lately, too. C. S. Lewis' Space Trilogy (I'm on the third one now, "That Hideous Strength"). "Downsiders," by Neal Shusterman. "An Abundance of Katherines," by John Green. And some others.

I have been trying to write more, but I'm working on about half a dozen different things, so progress is slow. However, I thought it was time I put something new up on my blog so as not to completely abandon it.
So: here is an excerpt from something I've been working on.
It's called "Blind Like Love" and it's about a broken-hearted girl named Brianne (after my bff) who is finishing college with a pottery class and guitar lessons from a blind adjunct professor, Evan Anderson. I'd love to know what you think.

Chapter Six

“I believe in music the way
some people believe in fairy tales....
The music is all around you.
All you have to do is listen.”
—Evan, “August Rush”

“Okay, first things first,” Mr. Anderson said as he settled across from me in the empty pottery studio. “This,” he patted the guitar as he cradled it, “is Grace. As in, 'Amazing Grace.' She was my grandfather's, and the first thing he learned to play was...”

“Amazing Grace.”

“Right. So that's what he named her. And, that was the first thing he taught me, when he gave her to me.” He gave her a quick, arpeggiated strum, and grinned. “She says 'hi.'”

“Right. Um, hi, back, I guess.” I picked up the guitar he'd brought for me. “Does this one have a name?”

“I brought the black Martin, right?”

I checked the name at the top, by all the tuning pegs. “Yep.”

“Right. That's Roxy.”

I was glad he couldn't see the somewhat skeptical look on my face. It seemed silly to be naming inanimate objects.

“Now, I know this feels a little weird, for me to be teaching you guitar. I mean, I have worksheets and textbooks for you, and obviously I don't go by them. But that stuff—that's just mechanics. I learned how to play both guitar and piano before I lost my sight, so I know how to read music and chords, and I understand chord theory. Honestly, you can learn that stuff from anyone. I think you can even teach it to yourself online. But I'm of the school of thought that music is not taught.”

“It's not?” Then what was I paying him for?

“Well, not exactly. Now, some would disagree with me—after all, music has a very mathematical quality to it. It has set rules and forms. It follows patterns and structures. Right?”

“Sure.” I strained to remember the one chord theory class I'd taken. “That sounds right.”

“Well, I think that while music—like other forms of art—contains structural properties and guidelines, it is inevitably something that either flows out of you, or not. That's why I don't charge for the first lesson. This is basically to see if it's in you, or not.”

“If what is in me?”

“Music. Art. Some people think they have it, but they're really just regurgitating formulas. Others don't know they have it, and never try. But think of the great artists: they weren't people who just studied colors and lines and concepts. They painted what they saw, what they felt. Same for musicians. You can study all you want, but it won't make you a musician if you're not one. To really be good, you have to feel it, in your soul. You have to mean it. It's not science. It's...philosophy.”

He was losing me, rapidly. “Huh?”

“I mean, it's something you let soak into you, and flow back out. It's like a religion, or a relationship. When you devote yourself to God, or to a person, you make a commitment. You spend time with them. You study them. Music, really, is like love.”

That sounded interesting. “How so?”

“Well, like I said, you can't just base it around formulas. A plus B equals C. I mean, yes, if you put this finger here, and this finger there, and strum, you get E minor. But making music is about so much more than that. Like a good relationship, you have to put in time and work. But just being with a person and talking to him, even taking care of his needs, doesn't make it a romance. Just like just playing chords doesn't make someone a musician.

“You have to feel it. Like love, music fills you up, heart and soul. You think about it. You obsess. You hear it, you notice. Even when no one else does. You get lost in it, sometimes. That's what makes someone a musician. Even over talent. Just like...a relationship can look perfect from the outside, but be dying. People can play and sing without meaning it, but the great ones...like relationships that last...they mean it. They know it, they feel it.”

“Wow,” I whispered. A little chill went down my spine. “I've never heard anyone talk about music that way. Except in the movie 'August Rush,'” I amended. “You start off all your classes like this?”

He shrugged. “More or less.”

I drew a deep breath. “Well, I'm not sure if I really fit that description.”

“Well, let's find out.”

“How?”

“What's your favorite song?”

I gawked at him. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“I...I don't have one favorite,” I told him. “I couldn't possibly.”

“Why not?”

“You should see my iPod,” I said, forgetting that he couldn't actually see it. “Seriously. I have so many different genres and artists and songs I love. I tried to make a playlist of my favorites? Yeah, it's over two hundred songs. Songs I love. I have a hard time even picking a top five.”

He smiled. “And they are?”

I sighed. “Um, 'Cannonball,' by Damien Rice. 'On Fire,' by Switchfoot. 'The Breaking of the Fellowship,' from the Lord of the Rings soundtrack. 'Clocks,' by Coldplay, even though I know it's overplayed. And...oh, I don't know. There are too many others. Isn't a top four good enough?”

“Yes,” he replied. “In fact, you just told me exactly what I needed to know.”

“I did?”

“Yes. You love music. In various styles and formats. You seem to cut across genres and labels and trends. That means something.”

“What?”

“Well, I think it means you're more of a musician than you know.”

I shrugged a little. “Yeah, but, everybody likes music.”

“Not exactly,” he returned. “Some people just like a certain kind of music. And some people just use it as background noise. Some people play music to remind themselves of another time in their life. Some people just listen to the radio and like certain artists because they think they're supposed to—for them, it's just another trend to follow.”

“I guess when you put it that way....”

“Yes, Brianne, you're more unique than you realize.”

“Fantastic.”

He overlooked my sarcasm. “Now, before we get into learning chords, I assume you're most interested in learning worship songs, correct?”

“Um, yeah. I guess. Though I suppose it would be cool to learn a Coldplay song or two.”

He nodded. “I think we can manage that. What kinds of songs are you guys into at IV?”

“Mm, mostly Chris Tomlin, Matt Redman, and David Crowder stuff. Some oldies. Some hymns.”

“Okay. I'll try to pull some music for you. I've found that most people are more motivated to learn chords if they are learning to play a song they like. For now,” he rifled through a folder, feeling the corners of each sheet, “let's start with this one. It's what I teach all of my students on the first lesson.” He handed me a piece of music.

“Amazing Grace,” I read.

“Yeah. A classic. It's my grandpa's favorite. Grandpa Ray taught me to play the guitar, and since the first thing he learned was 'Amazing Grace,” he figured it should be the first thing I learned, too.”

“And now you carry on the tradition.”

“Exactly. You know the song, right?”

I snorted. “Who doesn't?”

“Right. So you can see the letters at the top of the music—those are chords. G, C, D, and E minor—all very simple, basic chords. Once you learn those, you'll be able to play practically any song in the world. Just maybe not in your key. But that is what this is for.” He felt around in his guitar case and pulled out a funny looking metal contraption. “This is called a capo. You squeeze it here,” he demonstrated, “and you fit it on the fretboard,” it clamped onto the neck of his guitar, “and it puts your song in a different key. I have a circle of fifths for you that helps with transposing, too. And a map of the fret board to help with chord theory.”

“Okay, slow down, Mr. Anderson. I learned a little tiny bit about chord theory, but that was a few semesters ago, so. I barely remember the stuff I'm learning this semester.”

“Okay,” he laughed. “Sorry, sometimes I get ahead of myself. Let's try a C chord first.” He positioned his fingers on on what he called the fretboard and pressed down on the strings. Then, with his right hand, he strummed. “That's a C. Think you can give it a try? Put your fingers where mine are.”

I looked at his fingers carefully and tried to mirror him.

“Okay, now give her a strum.”

I did. It sounded like crap. I let out a grunt of irritation.

“That's okay. Everyone sounds like that at first. Try adjusting your pointer finger down one string. And make sure you press down hard, with just the tips of your fingers.”

I tried again, and it sounded slightly better.

“There you go! You got it!” My teacher was effusive with praise. I was glad he couldn't see my skeptical expression. “Yeah, strum some more. That's a C. Good job. Now let's try a G.” He repositioned his fingers, and once more I copied him. “Okay, good. Now a D.” He taught me an E minor also, and after reviewing, he suggested we try the song.

My fingertips were already sore from pressing down on the thin metal wires that passed for strings. But I gave it a shot, haltingly getting out each chord. It sounded awful, and I knew it.

“Let's try it together,” Mr. Anderson said. He began strumming, and then singing. It was too low for me to sing, so I concentrated on trying to match him and play the same chord at the same time. My strumming was horrible. I stopped after the first verse, but he kept going.

I tried to make my fingers remember where they should go to correspond with each letter. I still didn't sound as good as he did. He had the easy, relaxed strum of someone who's been playing for years and loves it. And he could sing, too. It wasn't a classically good voice, like someone who would do well in show choirs; he had a unique, kind of soulful, yearning voice.

He sang Amazing Grace like he meant it. And though it didn't matter whether his eyes were open or closed, he closed them anyway, as if by default, to shut out the world a little. Like he forgot I was there. So I just listened as he sang the last verse, about singing praises for eternity. Then he circled back and sang the first verse again, and suddenly I felt awkward.

The last line of it—“was blind, but now I see”—stuck out to me, and I wondered how he felt, singing that. He chose to sing it a second time, and chose to teach the song to me in the first place, so it clearly didn't offend him. His strumming stopped and he fell silent. “You stopped playing,” he said.

“My fingers hurt,” I told him.

“Ah. Well, you'll develop callouses. Start by practicing a few minutes every day. Work on the chords we learned, and I expect you to play the whole song with me next time. And sing,too.”

“Um, okay. But how will I practice? I told you I don't have a guitar.”

“Well, you can hang on to Roxy for now. I told you I'd help you find one, and I will. You just worry about practicing. Okay?”

I ran my hand over Roxy's smooth, varnished surface. “Okay. So...I was kind of crap.”

He smiled patiently. “You did fine, Brianne. Trust me, everyone sounds like that when they start out. You'll get better with practice.”

“Yeah, but you gave that whole speech about trying to see if the music was in me, remember?”

“Right.”

“So is it?”

He didn't answer right away. “I didn't hear you sing,” he said. “When I played 'Amazing Grace.'”

“It was too low for me,” I told him.

“You a soprano?”

“Yeah. I can sing some alto parts, but that was just too low.”

He thought for a moment. “Then let's put it in your key. What do you think, C? Or D?”

“Um...” I tried to remember what Clarke would transpose songs into if I was singing lead. “D?”

Evan strummed a few bars. “That sound right?”

“I guess.”

“Then let's hear it.”

I cleared my throat nervously. I was relatively used to singing in front of people, but in the sudden solo performance for an audience of one, I found myself feeling awkward and unsure. I was beginning to think I didn't really have the music in me after all.

Mr. Anderson graciously, quietly started me off, though it was clearly not an ideal key for him. “Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound....”

“That saved a wretch like me,” I joined in. “I once was lost, but now I'm found. Was blind,” I tried not to falter, “but now I see.”

Mr. Anderson's gentle chords soothed my jitters; the key was good for me, and I found myself singing the very familiar song with my own eyes closed. And we were in our own little world, the two of us making music that colored the darkness behind my eyelids. I felt as in that moment that the music had a weight and substance to it, like it meant something.

On the final verse, he joined in again, adding a little harmony—I was impressed. He was really very talented. But somehow, he made me feel like I was talented, too. And it was more than that: I felt like our song had lodged somewhere in my soul. It had soothed some rough corner of my heart and I wondered if he felt that way every time he sang.

“That was really beautiful, Brianne,” he said, in the silence that followed our duet. “You have an amazing voice.”

I shrugged modestly, as I always did, then caught myself. “I enjoy it,” I said.

He nodded. “I can tell.” He felt for his case and began putting Grace away, as well as the rest of his materials. “If you keep at the guitar, I have a feeling you'll find you enjoy that, too,” he said, as he gathered up his things and headed for the door. “Don't give up too quickly. It'll be a challenge at first, but you'll get it.” He turned and flashed me a smile. “You do, by the way.”

“Do what?”

“Have the music in you.”

“Oh. Thanks.” My words were simple, and completely inadequate to express the joy I felt knowing he thought so.

“See you Tuesday.”

Year in Review.

I stole this survey off of someone else's blog, because I couldn't come up with anything creative and contemplative on my own.


1. What did you do in 2008 that you'd never done before?
Traveled overseas. Got a passport, had an international flight, went through customs.
Drove into Pittsburgh by myself. Drove to Missouri and back, the whole way!!


2. Did you keep your new years' resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
Um...not as well as I would have liked. I am making some resolutions, because hope springs eternal. And also because I'm making new "decade" resolutions.

And because some things just have to change!!

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
Well, I know a few people who had babies. Nobody that I'm super (at least in terms of physical proximity) close with, though.

4. Did anyone close to you die?
Not this year, no.

5. What countries did you visit?
IRELAND!!! It was awesome.

6. What would you like to have in 2009 that you lacked in 2008?
I would love to know what I'm doing with my life, but I doubt that will happen.

7. What dates from 2007 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
From '07?? Well, probably some boy related ones that seemed momentous at the time but are now irrelevant...and Jan. 2nd, when Brianne got her tat and I got my nose pierced. That was a good day in 2007.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
Geez. This is tough. I mean, I think just going to Ireland was the biggest deal. I finally did it. That was a lifelong dream, to get over to that part of the world.

9. What was your biggest failure?
Sometimes the way things ended with CW feels like I failed. Or maybe just how I handled it.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Just the usual colds I always get.

11. What was the best thing you bought?
My camera. They say material things can't bring you happiness, but it has brought me such simple joy.

12. Whose behaviour merited celebration?
We threw Jake a going away party...but that wasn't really a celebration. We still miss him.

13. Whose behaviour made you appalled and depressed?
It was hard watching my brother's relationship go sour. (Sometimes it was hard to watch when it was good, too; but it sucks watching someone you love go through a bad break-up.)

14. Where did most of your money go?
Stuff I didn't need at Target, probably. And Mp3 downloads.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
Ireland. Going to see Brianne. Prince Caspian. My new phone. Spring.


16. What songs will always remind you of 2008?
Pocketful of Sunshine. "This is Home," by Switchfoot. "The Call," by Regina Spektor.

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:
a) happier or sadder? About even, I think.
b) thinner or fatter? I've probably put on a few this year.
c) richer or poorer? Slightly poorer, since my job change.

18. What do you wish you'd done more of?
Writing. Job hunting, maybe. Yoga.

19. What do you wish you'd done less of?
Worrying. Stressing. Complaining.

20. How will you be spending New Year's Eve?
Hopefully going downtown for First Night with friends.

21. Did you fall in love in 2008?
No. Fell out of love, actually. But it's a good thing.
Well, unless you count my mad crush on Zachary Levi of "Chuck."

22. How many one-night stands?
None. I could have changed that to "dates" and the answer would still be the same.

23. What was your favourite TV program?
Chuck. Eli Stone. Heroes. Lost. Bones. Pushing Daisies. Monk. Psych. Samantha Who?

24. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?
Well, it's more that an already strong disliking intensified.

25.What was the best book you read?
"Culture Making" by Andy Crouch, or "The Celtic Way of Evangelism" by George G. Hunter. Both AMAZING books. I'd put "Walking With God" by John Eldredge, but I'm not quite finished with it yet.

26. What was your greatest musical discovery?
I discovered that I love Coldplay. I know, they're popular and ubiquitous. Like U2. I never thought I liked them much, either. But I do, now. It's weird.

27. What did you want and get?
A camera. My new phone.

28. What did you want and not get?
A new job--something that I'm MEANT to do, you know? Some purpose and direction.

29. What was your favourite film of this year?
Ooh. Well, the sad thing is, I haven't seen a movie since July ( I know, right?!). Ironman was good, so was Get Smart. I really liked Prince Caspian, despite plot changes. HATED The Happening, but Kung Fu Panda was cute. I adored Wall-E.

30. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
Hmm...I believe I went to Seib's with friends. Yes. Several birthday drinks were consumed. Well you only turn 29 once. Or, once a year from now on.

31.What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
A sense of where I'm going and what I'm supposed to be doing with my life. That would have been helpful.

32. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2008?
Scarves. Ballet flats.

33. What kept you sane?
My friends. You know who you are. My head would have exploded without you.

34. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
I think I answered that already, but I'll gladly say it again: Zachary Levi. Mmm.

35. What political issue stirred you the most?
Ugh. Don't get me started. I tried to avoid everything remotely political.

36. Who did you miss?
Brianne.

37. Who was the best new person you met?
I met some cool folks in Ireland.

38. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2008?
Community. Fellowship. Vital to survival.

39. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year:
"It started out as feeling, which then grew into a hope.
Which then turned into a quiet thought, which then turned into a quiet word.
And then that word grew louder and louder, until it was a battle cry!
I'll come back, when you call me, no need to say goodbye."
--Regina Spektor, "The Call" (From the Prince Caspian Soundtrack)

I used this already this year, but:
"I still haven't found what I'm looking for." --U2

Music is My Mood

So, just about ten minutes ago, I was browsing my myspace, and discovered that my [former] favorite band is releasing a new "Greatest Hits" album this month. I (a) cannot believe it is time for another one of those already, and (b) already like the two new songs that will be on this album (courtesy of their myspace).

I've been thinking about music a lot lately. It's funny, I never really considered myself as an overly musical person, even though I play guitar. Even so, I don't think of myself as a "musician." that's reserved for people who can actually read music--or write it, for that mater. People who know how to play multiple instruments or sing or can speak in musical terminology. BUT I have always loved music. And I did want to be a singer when I was about nine.

For most of my life though, I've been fairly sheltered in my selection of music. It's not entirely all my own doing; my parents got rid of all their secular albums (y'know, vinyls) when I was a baby. They didn't want it to have a negative impact on me. It was okay, though, because Christian music was just starting to come into its own at that time. So I grew up on Maranatha, Michael W. Smith, Amy Grant, Twila Paris, etc.

It wasn't until my senior year of high school that I voluntarily listened to the radio. True story. That's perhaps why I love 90's music so much. Anyway, in college I went through another Christian music relapse...but as it helped shape my understanding of worship, I don't consider that such a bad thing.

But lately, I've been branching out again. It's due to a lot of things. The Indie stuff is because of Brianne. The techno/alternative-type stuff is because of Kyle. The Obscure stuff is because of "Chuck" (on NBC before Heroes)...and the Classic/Rock stuff is because of Guitar Hero. You can't listen to those songs as many times as it takes to get them right and not start to jam to it just a little. (Do I like them all? No. But more than I ever expected to, once again scandalizing the 16-year-old-me.) I'm surprised to find, for example, that I kind of like the Foo Fighters. At least a couple of their songs. And I'm really digging a song by the Eels that was on Chuck this week.

So I've been building my digital library lately, in hopes that soon I will be able to get a Zune (I'll save my anti-itunes rant for another time). Because CDs just aren't cutting it anymore. And music is useful for so many things: expressing feelings, keeping me on track when I'm doing mundane tasks, shaping moods, and helping me visualize a scene. I use playlists a lot in my writing. I kind of do this thing when I'm listening to music--I picture what is going on. Maybe it's due partly to growing up in the Mtv generation, and all the music videos. But a good song can often help me picture a specific scene in one of my stories. Sometimes it even changes or enhances the direction I was going.

But most off all, music just makes me feel good. Doesn't it? I love blasting a song in my car, singing at the top of my lungs, the bass thumping loudly, people in cars around me laughing at me. It's great. Music: What would we do without it?

Happy Birthday, Blog!

Or should it be Happy Anniversary?

For ‘twas one year ago today that I first logged onto blogspot.com, at Brianne’s behest, to get myself a blog. And so the bright pink and link-ified “Scope For Imagination” was born.

This is my forty-second post. That means I've averaged a post once every 1.23....weeks.

I myself can hardly believe that I’ve actually somewhat kept up with it for a whole year. I was never great at journaling, if you must know (however strange that sounds). But I do love to write, and I also love to share my opinion on…well, anything I have an opinion on.

When I think about where I was a year ago, and where my life is heading now, I am quite amazed. God is Great!

I would write more, but there’s quite a lot going on at the Richards’ Residence these days. But don’t worry. I’ll fill you in eventually. All in good time.

Holding out for a...

Well, Dear Readers, it's time you knew the truth about me. So I'm going to come clean.

I

am

a Geek.

It's true. According to the McGill definition, geekiness is generally described not by level of intellect or how much studying you do. Instead it is defined by the level of your obsession and passion for something. Thus, geekiness extends to many areas of study (i.e., movie geek, sports geek, video game geek, underwater basket weaving geek, etc.). Characteristics include (but are not limited to): frantic shrieking and/or hyperventilating when the object of your geekdom is mentioned, ridiculously belabored conversations regarding the geek-worthiness of the particular subject, and large amounts of trivia, factoids, lines and lyrics being stored in your memory for handy dispensing on the uneducated, un-geekified masses. [Correction: the consise McGill definition of a geek is: "unhealthily obsessed." Also, please Nerds, do not take offense; I count myself among you, too.  {Nerdfighters, too.}]

Now, there are many areas I would admit to geekdom (and many you could probably guess without straining a single brain cell), but I'm here today to discuss one in particular: Superheroes. The truth is, I had no idea how geeky I was when it comes to comic book heroes. By no means am I nerdy enough to be an expert (geekiness doesn't require you to know things like the first ever appearance of Spider-Man was in what comic book released on what date, or who the original inker for the Fantastic Four was--though it often helps). When I went to see X:III with a group of people my age, I was surprised at how few others were outraged by some of the movie's blatant character redirection (don't even get me started, unless you want to see geek-fury). And certainly, if I may be slightly sexist for a moment, none of the girls seemed all that interested in the heated discussion that followed. Nope. Just me. Is it odd that I am into comic books? You would think not, in this day and age; but I still am a bit of a rarity. Truthfully, I'm about as geeky about superheroes as I can be without surrendering my second X chromosome. (And if you're curious as to why more girls don't read comic books, pick one up some time. You'll find less cleavage in a Victoria's Secret catalogue. Seriously. Don't ask me why—you already know the answer. I just wish they could understand how unrealistic that is...and how unappealing to a lot of females.)

I grew up being fascinated by heroes—any old swashbuckler would do in a pinch, but it was those masked men who really caught my interest. The intrigue of the double identity drew me in, as well as the daring rescues and commitment to helping those in need. I used to love to watch the old black and white Zorro show on Disney. And when I was a little older, I watched cartoons every Saturday morning—Batman, X-Men, and Spider-Man. I loved them. Now that I'm a lot older, I still find myself drawn to the caped crusaders. And not just in a hero-worship-fantasy kind of way. I recently read a fantastic book called "Superheroes and Philosophy" which discussed a lot of the philosophical, theological, and moral motivations behind what superheroes do.

In case you're wondering, yes, I do know that superheroes don't really exist. But it's fun to think about what it would be like if they did. (I've even written a story about it.)I've been watching the Sci-fi show "Who Wants to be a Superhero?" hosted by Stan Lee, since it premiered a few weeks ago. I know, I know, it's reality, and generally I really hate reality TV. But this one at least has challenges that are interesting to me. I still don't totally like...well, any of the contestants left, really. With good reason, I think. If nothing else, this show has proven to me that most people are not cut out for a superhero's life. Can you take a guess why?

Most people think about how cool it would be to have superpowers—like being able to fly, or turn invisible, or blow up something just by staring at it. The truth is, it wouldn't be cool at all. (Okay, maybe a tiny bit.) But most of the time it would freak other people out, so you'd have to keep it to yourself. And then you'd have to decide: are you going to use your powers for others, or for you? That's the difference between a Superhero and a Supervillain. And if you stop to think about it, what's the fun, really, in always being at the beck and call of a helpless humanity? That's why the Spider-Man comics coined the famous phrase "With great power comes great responsibility." And all heroes seem to struggle with the weight of that responsibility—even though they want to do what is right. It's not easy to put everyone else first.

And that, I believe, is at the core of why I love superheroes so much. Not because of how cool they are. But because they represent a struggle that is central to another group of people—ones that actually do walk the earth among us: Christians. We, as followers of Christ, also wrestle with our responsibilities. And have been from the beginning. (Look it up.) We may want to do what is right, but so often our desire to help others, to reach out to the lost, gets swallowed up.

Superheroes aren’t just great role models for humanity; they’re great role models for Christians. (Okay, not all of them. The ones that top my list? Flawed as they are—Spider-Man, Batman, Superman, Rogue, Nightcrawler, and The Thing.) They show us what it’s like to serve others constantly, and to struggle between being others-centered or self-centered. There are lots of reasons to love superheroes: this is just one of my favorites.

Resurfacing

Hello. My name is Jessica, and I am a Movie Addict.


(This is the part where you say, “Hello, Jessica.”)


They say you have to admit a problem before you can fix it. The trouble is, I don’t know how motivated I am to “fix” it. Do I watch too much TV and too many movies? Yeah…probably. But I’m conflicted about whether that’s really such an awful thing. Certainly it has impacted my blogging time. *ahem!*

In the past month or so, I’ve been to the theater more times than was probably good for my bank account (because I often treated) and rented quite a few as well.

As I indicated in my last post, I saw Superman Returns. I loved it. I think it’s my favorite summer movie so far, and that’s including Pirates 2.

Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest was good. I enjoyed it—but I didn’t leave the theater saying, “That was awesome!” or anything. And you know why? Because it’s the middle of a trilogy. Seriously. The second installment of any trilogy is notoriously darker and less beloved. Think Empire Strikes Back, Matrix Reloaded, and The Two Towers. They always leave at a somewhat bleak point; the story arc hasn’t resolved and so you don’t know how it’s going to end. Endings are key. It’s rare to like any story most of the way through but hate the ending.

I also saw The Devil Wears Prada. It was good. Not quite as funny as I’d sort of thought it’d be; but interesting none-the-less.

And I rented:

Yours, Mine & Ours—ehh. Take it or leave it. It’s family fluff. It was alright.

Just Friends—mostly stupid. A little funny, and a good ending, and I guess a good message, if there was one—but mostly stupid humor.

Just Like Heaven—way better than I thought it would be. Very cute, funny, and sweet. And a nice pairing of actors.

On a Clear Day—very good. This is a British film, set mainly in Scotland, so you know I like it. Good story, if a little choppy and disjointed in some places, but overall full of the importance of family, friendships, integrity, and purpose. Plus, Billy Boyd is frickin’ hilarious. I love him. *sigh.*

She’s the Man—if you don’t like Amanda Bynes, don’t bother. But I happen to find her very funny; and since the whole movie kind of hinges on whether or not you find her brand of improv, timing, expressions, and tone of voice funny…I really enjoyed it. I laugh at her if I even watch five minutes of “What I Like About You.” But also, it’s an interesting take on Shakespeare’s “Twelfth Night,” in the same way that 10 Things I Hate About You updated “Taming of the Shrew” and Clueless reinterpreted “Emma.”

Well, I guess that’s it…I did see most of Cellular on TV…that was pretty good. Intense. There’s probably something I’m forgetting, because this list doesn’t sound so impressive and time-consuming after all. Maybe it’s just that I’ve also been buying and re-watching too many movies, too.

I don’t know. I guess my feeling is that I “collect” good stories, and that includes movies just as it includes books. Sometimes you come across a good one, sometimes a stinker. Some people watch movies purely to be entertained. I look for meaning and depth and something that points to lager truths about who we are and what life is about. But that’s just me. And I like to laugh and be challenged in the process, if possible. Is it a waste of my time? What do you think?

______________________

Addendum:
I just saw Lady in the Water last night, and I had to blog about it.

I loved it.

A lot of people seem to want all of M. Night Shaymalan's movies to be just like Sixth sense...which is ridiculous. Now it may be partly because the ending was ruined for me...but Sixth Sense is my least favorite of his. My favorite was Signs. Until last night.

Lady in the Water was a perfect example of why I go to movies. It was beautiful; it had deep meanings and underlying themes. It spoke of purpose and love and redemption. I don't know what else to say. I was blown away by the movie. I don't want to rave too much and build it up too much...knowing that the critics are already griping about the movie. (So what if Night himself is in the movie? Is that so horrible? Matt Damon and Ben Affleck won a freakin' Academy Award for a movie they wrote and starred in. Geez. Give the guy a break. They just didn't like what happened to the movie critic in the story!)

Anyway--go see it, and if you disagree with me, tell me why. If you liked it, I'm also very open to discussion. I am already anticipating a long and probably geeky conversation with Brianne in which we both pull the movie to fibers analyzing it.

Arrividederci!

About Time

I know what you’re thinking. You’re rejoicing that I have finally gotten around to posting a new blog. Not because you are riveted by my every post, but because you are just sooo tired of seeing my cats.

Well, so was I.

There really are any number of things I could have blogged about between then and now. My brother came home from a three-month-stint in Texas, for one. He subsequently went with me to the movies, me for the first time since Narnia, to see “V for Vendetta.” Could have done a whole post on that. Kyle then proceeded to get me hooked on Firefly, the Best Canceled Show In Existence. I could go on about that as well…but I won’t. I also keep toying with the idea of doing a MacGyver Tribute…but alas, that too will have to wait.

Really, this post is about one thing: celebration. That’s right. Not only is today Easter (or as we call it in my house, ‘Resurrection’), the day celebrating Christ’s triumph over death (Hallelujah!), but it is also the end of Lent. Woo hoo!

Those last few days were really hard, because the end was in sight. And also because I could not believe it had been so stinkin’ long since I’d picked up a book.

The first thing I did this morning was crack open Blue Like Jazz while I was in the bathroom (where my mother left it after she finished; our shared loo is a veritable library. You wouldn’t believe it.). I’ve already read it, but it just felt so good to be holding a book in my hands again.

After that, I went straight up to my room and compiled a stack of books to last me the next few weeks. (I didn’t trust myself to do it on my fast.) First on my list, by Brianne’s recommendation, is Velvet Elvis by Rob Bell. Just below that is a YA novel I picked up at that garage sale earlier this month, called The Boggart, by Susan Cooper—good fluff reading. Plus, they go to Scotland!!! My internal list is very long, but as I’ve been so deprived, I probably will read what ever I feel like, whenever. I’m working the closing shift at the coffee shop tomorrow, and it will be so nice to have a book during those slow hours. My only trouble will be deciding which book to take with me!!

So, what exactly did I learn during the last 47 days? Discipline is hard. I generally don’t have enough of it. Obedience is costly, as Oswald Chambers would say. I really don’t know what else I learned…or if I was meant to. Will I ever do it again? Well…a month and a half is a long chunk of time out of every year to not be reading. But that bottom line is, if I get the nudge again, of course I will. The whole thing was an exercise in obedience to Christ—sacrificing something to show homage to He who is truly Lord of my life. Why else would I give up reading for 47 days??? Y

Nothing is Sound

I got a new CD the other day. I took it home from the store and cut it open to read the lyrics. I was blown away. I put it in the CD player to listen and just continued to play it over and over. I have been listening to it almost constantly.

Now if I was Brianne, you would know what the album was without even asking, since she talks about her passion all the time on her blog.

But this is my blog and therefore you probably want to know what CD I’m referring to. (Unless, of course, you recognized the title.)

I’m talking about Switchfoot’s new album, Nothing is Sound. I first got into Switchfoot with their Beautiful Letdown CD, so it’s not like I’m a long-time, die-hard fan writing here. But I was touched deeply by songs like “Meant to Live,” “This is Your Life,” and “Dare You to Move” (which is probably one of my most favorite songs ever).

So naturally I was drawn to the new CD, despite my brother’s warning that a friend of his hadn’t liked it as much. Well, I like it so much that I’m blogging about it, except I hardly know where to begin.

I guess what hits me most and hardest is the unrelentless honesty of their songs. They are singing about things like brokenness and wounds and what is life all about, anyway? They pick up on the absurd paradoxes and double standards of our culture in a way that keeps form being overly cynical by adding in hope, and they aren’t afraid to humbly admit they are as much a part of the problem as anyone else.

I love it.

The minute I began reading the lyrics, I was hooked. But now I’ve been playing it over and over, and I just went to their website. I read Jon Foreman’s notes on how the songs came about and what the album is really supposed to be saying. I almost cried. Sometimes I’m afraid that the things I love so swiftly and deeply are things I will regret later. This is probably a lie of the Enemy. I told my family (and Brianne) that it felt like they had read through Ecclesiastes before writing the songs, and Foreman mentioned not only Ecclesiastes, but Psalms as well. He spoke with such honesty about the paradoxes in our world…I don’t know why but it was so refreshing.

This is the kind of CD I could put in at the end of a long, horrible day, when I’m angry with my life or myself or when I just don’t understand what is going on in the world. And it is the kind of CD that would make me feel better. It is like a lament: it starts with questions, with admissions of pain, loneliness, and wounds…and moves into an acknowledgement that there is still hope. It lets you cry, it lets you sing, it lets you breathe.

To keep this from sounding like an ad for Switchfoot, I just want to make it clear why I love it so much. I have felt for a long time that there is something lacking in our culture—and that it has spilled over into the Church. Call it what you want—honesty, openness, authenticity. We are afraid to be ourselves. We are afraid to let others see us struggling. Wait. No. I. I am afraid to let people know when I am hurting. I don’t want people to see me when I am vulnerable. I hate to cry in front of others.

I think the reason for this is that something critical happens when we share the vulnerable broken parts of ourselves with someone else. You can only forge a genuine friendship—or any other kind of ’ship—when you are real with someone else. And if there is one thing our Enemy hates, it is fellowship. He will keep us from being real if it keeps us from being connected.

These songs are about brokenness; they aren’t about how great life is when you become a Christian. They aren’t La-la-la-le-lujah songs. Those have their place, but we’ve made them the center. We have forgotten how to lament.

Sometimes when I walk into church, I want to turn around and walk right back out again. I hear the music: it’ another “It’s a Wonderful Day So Let’s Praise the Lord” song. Are you kidding me? I overslept and missed breakfast and got into fights on the way here. I had a lousy week at my lousy job. The highlight of my week was watching TV. And now I’m supposed to automatically turn on my smile and start singing? I can’t do it. Well, I guess I can…but I don’t like to. I need time and silence to get my heart right with God again.

These songs speak to that need. They speak to that place inside you that wonders while you sing in church, “Am I really satisfied? Am I really as happy in Christ as this song says I should be?” So if you’ve ever felt like something wasn’t right—with you, with the world, with everything—go get this CD. And go read what they have to say about the songs. And don’t ask me if they are a Christian Band. Listen to it and decide for yourself.

And the next time someone asks how you were doing, before automatically responding, “Fine,” at least consider being honest. 

...On Writing

I have to tell you, having this blog makes me feel a little bit like a journalist. I’m always trying to come up with a topic for my “article.” And it has to have a title, and it ahs to be short enough that people won’t despair of getting to the end of it while they’re scrolling down.

Of course, my audience is much smaller than any newspaper or magazine; but I still appreciate you taking the time to read my humble, rambling thoughts. I hope you also know that I LOVE getting comments about what I write, hint hint.

I always like to get feedback on my writing. For one reason, I like to feel connected to my readers, and knowing how people respond helps me to be a better writer. I can only write so much (on one of my twenty ideas) before I make someone read it—usually a member of my family, like my brother Kyle, or my good friend Brianne.

Right now, however, I have a couple of other people reading my “Found Phoebe” manuscript. I want to get all the errors caught and confusing parts clarified before it goes to press with Red Lead. I want it to be the best it can be…and I’ve already been revising it for two years. It’s always different, though, when someone else reads your work.

About a week ago, the pastor of North Park Church came by the house with my dad after lunch. Pastor Hopper mentioned to me that he had read the first chapter of my book online, and that he enjoyed it. He was very encouraging and shared with me some advice from a class he had taken on writing for publication. He told me that his teacher said not to identify too strongly with your writing. Authors who do that have a hard time with criticism because they feel like they themselves are being edited and judged. It’s called “Red Pen Syndrome” or something like that.

I had my first real experience with that (outside of school) earlier this week. A friend of my dad’s is one of the people editing “Phoebe” for me right now. Mr. Lesher sent me the first two parts of “Phoebe” edited in such a way that you can see what was changed as soon as you open the document in word. The changes are marked in red. Naturally. When I opened the document to the first page, all I saw was a mass of red.

Now, I’m not saying that his revisions weren’t helpful; they were. And I really do want my writing to be the best it can be. It’s like…if you watch a craftsman at work—A potter for example, or a glass blower or metal smith. They take a portion of their material, work it, shape it, and the next thing you know thy destroy it. It is a formless blob again and they are starting the process all over. They saw a flaw that needed to be fixed. It would be silly for one of them to let his pride in his talent keep him from making the best objects he can.

In the same way, I know that the kneading and melting processes are necessary for my work to be its best. Is it hard? Heck yeah. But it’s worth it. 

Community Worship

Last night a woman asked me for my autograph.

Not because of my writing. Because of my music.

I am not a “musician.” My friend Brianne? She’s a musician. But I like to play the guitar, and I like to sing. And because of those to interests (notice which one came first) I volunteer in my church’s worship band a couple times a month. Sometimes more.

We have a contemporary service on Saturday night called “Community Worship” (link just added on the right). I like being a part of it, getting to teach new songs to the congregation. (After singing and playing them at least once a week for four consecutive years, I am little tired of songs like “Holiness,” “Open the Eyes of My Heart,” and the especially overplayed “Better is one Day.”)

Anyway, this week, there was a problem with the schedule: a shortage of vocalists. So since I was already scheduled to play guitar, Alycia (the Coordinator of CW schedules and one of the worship leaders) asked me to also be a vocalist. I normally sing when I play; I have a microphone in front of me. But it is harmony. Even when I sing the melody, there are usually at least two other voices singing with me. You can’t really her me. I know this because my family has complained, “We can’t hear you!”

A woman who also plays the bass was going to do vocals as well. But she, too, usually does the harmony part. And we are both altos. So you can see this was going to be tricky. It ended up that we both sang lead on different songs…but I did the majority. At first I was a little annoyed. I like singing harmony. But then I thought, maybe it is a bit too much in my comfort zone.

In practice I was relatively fine. No big. And in my room…well, I usually belt it out there anyway. But it is a completely different thing when there is a microphone in front of you, and a monitor pointed in your direction so you can actually hear yourself, exactly as you sound. Add in an audience and…you get a bundle of nerves. At least, I did. I was a basket case before we started. I’m always a little nervous, because I don’t want to screw up. And just so you know, it takes coordination to sing and play guitar. Rock stars make it look easy, but it’s not.

I think I mentioned earlier that I like to sing. I do. I’m not someone you would hear and go, “Wow! Someone get her a recording contract!” but I’m also not someone you hear and go, “Is a dog dying somewhere nearby?” Still, I had no choice. I had to usher the congregation into worship. I took a breath, closed my eyes, and let it out.

Afterward, I had people tell me we sounded good. Note the “we,” that’s important. A leader without a band is just…lonely. And the woman who asked for my autograph? No, it wasn’t my mom. But it was a friend of mine. And she really did make me sign a piece of paper.

I guess the point could be that it’s good to stretch yourself; that it’s good to get out of your comfort zone. Or not to care too much what “everyone” thinks. But actually, there is no moral here. Sorry. I just wanted to tell the story of how I had to sing at CW. That there were people actually listening to my voice and they didn’t boo or leave or throw rotten fruit. You can be told that you’re okay at something, even that you’re good, by people. But when they’re family or friends, I think we all just kinda go “yeah, right” in the back of our minds. Even if the person is a ferociously truthful person. But until you go through a public trial, you never really know.

And so I’m still waiting to be asked for my autograph in my novel.