Irritating Fictional Artists I Love

I've been recommending The Horse's Mouth to a certain somebody for a couple of months. Right now she's reading Chesterton's take on artists. I should read Chesterton, too, but the regional library near my home hasn't any Chesterton on its fiction shelves. (It's a lovely building, but it's collection is ever so lame, and I haven't the brain cells to properly lament what that means just now.)

One of the enduring memories I have of this book is Gully Jimson's obsession with the 18th century mystical poet, William Blake. If you haven't heard of Blake, you're really missing something. For someone writing in the middle of "The Age of Reason," Blake was something of an alien among the earth-bound, but unlike the punning, dry wit of his peers, Blake's sensual imagery and wild, prophetical, metaphysical musings still inspire modern readers. His best known poem, "The Tyger" provides the image of Gully's life as an artist--inspiring, compelling, vain, dangerous, and ultimately untamable.

But if you're looking for a fun evening, watching an irritating (but loveable) artist take on his world, look no further than Alec Guiness's film adaptation of the novel.

Then read the novel. "Tyger, tyger, burning bright" will never mean the same to you again.

Gully takes on Polite Society. Gully's prank call (below). No, he's not asking if they've got Prince Albert in a can.

Doh.

In the interest of full disclosure and hyper-transparency, let me introduce you to my brain. The rest of this x-ray appears to be Homer Simpson, but really, he has no brain; they just borrowed mine.

This past week I've been quietly happy about sending off the package to the lit agent. Actually seeing my first partial slide into the post office package bin was a relief. You know that kind of big college paper relief where you're not half as concerned about your grade as you are that you finished the dang thing.

And so I tripped blissfully through my week, knowing I had done good. Or at least followed through on a grand opportunity. I wasn't even expecting much. I was faithful, and it was good. That was enough.

Then last night as I lay in bed, a question came to me: did I send an self-addressed, stamped envelope with my lovely package? Because, you know, Shanna, that's Submissions 101--always include a SASE. Without it, you won't even receive a rejection letter.

If it weren't for the Tylenol Sinus PM I'd just taken, I wouldn't have slept a wink.

So the next morning, I pulled up said agent's address from my cover letter--and wouldn't ya know...I had misspelled her name on the salutation!

I fell over in a dead faint.

My husband revived me by passing a cup of kheer under my nose several times until the cardomom scent triggered my consciousness. But the shame of my cluelessness clung to me.

Then I ate the rice pudding. (I'm a practical person that way.)

Fortified by my soul food, I sent another note (this time with the SASE and the correct spelling), and decided that if my luck is in, she'll overlook my blunders--and if it isn't, then I've provided her with two handy reasons to decline any interest in me.

I'm so helpful.

Doh.

Stranger Than Fiction

As most of you can guess, we don't watch many movies in movie theaters. But man, every once in awhile I see a preview for a movie that makes me wanna run to the calendar and start counting down the days until its arrival.

This is one of those films. Crazy. Can't wait. Love the cast. Linda Hunt, for goodness' sake! And, of course, I luv, luv, luv Emma Thompson--a wickedly funny, wickedly intelligent woman. Will Ferrell even looks good.

So there. It's on my calendar. November 2006 I need to find a babysitter, without fail.

Here's the trailer.

40

This is where I began to do business with God, back when I didn't know much beyond the names of the four gospels, back when friends spent their days and nights wandering the mall and I spent that same time working at home for my mom, selling furniture, and wondering if I'd ever have a 'normal' teen life. Back when I thought normal really was the norm.

I didn't know anything about the faith of Bono, or Larry Mullen, or the Edge, but it didn't matter. I would cry everytime I heard the song--a soul cry of mourning, not the narcissistic self-absorbed sorrow of hormones. How long to sing this song? I wanted to know because I didn't like the words of my life, much less the tune. I could only see one side of the earthly paradox--the pain of here, the trap of finiteness. In time, I heard the transcendence, heard the joy in the midst of the sorrow...felt the soft touch of there.

This is my 40th blog on this site. Already I've been graced with much good here, and I'm so thankful for the fellow travellers I've discovered. You have all given me a touch of there.

My little gift to you today is a song. If you've never listened to U2's '40', please give it a try.

40

May you all sing a new song today.

I waited patiently for the Lord
He inclined and heard my cry
He brought me up out of the pit
Out of the miry clay

I will sing, sing a new song
I will sing, sing a new song

How long to sing this song
How long to sing this song
How long, how long, how long
How long to sing this song

He set my feet upon a rock
And made my footsteps firm
Many will see
Many will see and hear

I will sing, sing a new song
I will sing, sing a new song
I will sing, sing a new song
I will sing, sing a new song

How long to sing this song
How long to sing this song
How long, how long, how long
How long to sing this song

Soul Food

Today when I picked up Tesla from VBS, she had a little white stick pointing out of her mouth and a sated grin on her face.

"Hi, honey! Did you have a good time?"

"A lollipop! I got a grape lollipop!" It was one of those gumball sized Tootsie Pops, now sucked down to dimensions of a raisin, and she poked it into my face with glee. "You lick, Mommy!"

Oh, yeah. Soul food for a four year old--and a divine gift, surely, because it was only the second lolly of her lifetime.

Jesus loves lollipops, too, honey.

I'm sure VBS and lollipops have brought many a young thing and the Great Sandaled One together. How can I complain? And how can she not love Jesus if he loves lollipops?

So I decided I can't get too grumpy or flustered about the sugar thing. Doesn't help anyway. You do what you can and leave the rest to God.

And if Tesla were say, eight or so, she'd probably point out my own need for sugar, my own soul food: rice pudding.

I love the stuff. Give it to me thick, in a custardy casserole hot out of the oven on a cold mid-winter's eve, or give it to me thin, in a chilled, sweet creamy soup on a hot summer's night. Call it 'pudding' or call it 'kheer', I'm your girl if you've got some to share.

White people don't have much in the way of real 'soul food' (fried chicken not withstanding), so we borrow liberally from other cultures.

Oh, we have souls; we just don't put them to work for our tastebuds. Probably has something to do the gnostic, body-despising streak we've been burdened with since, I don't know, maybe Augustine. But I didn't go to seminary, so don't quote me on this.

So we borrow. I mean, have you eaten traditional English food outside of popovers and Beef Wellington? There's a reason the unofficial dish of the British Isles is curry. A thousand years of boiled old sheeps' shanks were happily ditched when they discovered what a handful of Indian spices and a little yogurt can do. (Did you know that Jesus loves curry, too?)

And because I'm far too invested in all things sensual, I'm a sucker for a hundred thousand calories in an 8oz bowl. Worse, I'm convinced that these calories will actually make me happier. So when my brain goes a little sour, I ply it with sweet rice pudding and invite Jesus in to have a bowl.

He's been talking to me these past couple of days about money. I gotta tell you, I'm not liking the hard things he's telling me, but it's Truth. But He's really cool about it, because He finally got me around to making that pot of kheer I've been craving for a week now. Admonitions and course corrections all go down better with dessert.

Oh, my soul! Jesus loves rice pudding.

Wounded

Something is wrong with Tesla, and we don't know what. Of course, she can't tell us. That would be too easy.

So we're left trying to decipher the second-hand code of her body language, the time of day, possible event triggers, food source irritants...as well as the probable influence of weather patterns, star configurations, saints' days...whatever might help us sniff out the problem. It's terribly tricky. Really.

In fact, Randy's designing a whole compiler at work to help us deduce our daughter's mental/physical state of health. When he gets it going, we're gonna make a mint off the autism community! Ha.

Until that magical day when Tesla can tell us what hurts (or Randy's compiler works), we can do nothing but sit by and let her rage like a wounded animal until she calms down long enough to let us comfort her.

My gut says it's the yeast thing again. We've been treating it all summer with pau d'arco, but what we need is a serious prescription anti-fungal, something our current ped PCP probably won't give us. In fact, I know we need a different doctor. But who?

Then there's the VBS we signed her up for this week. And you know what that means: sugary treats! (Oh lord, is this all we know to feed our kids with??)

So today they passed out cupcakes. Then another teacher remembered Tesla usually brings her own snacks. So they took the cupcake away... And Tesla did what any sane child would do if her cupcake were snatched from her: she freaked.

Now I've got another dilemma: do I let her stay in VBS, eat the sugary snacks with the rest of the kids? or do we only stay as long as my registration duties require me to be there--and then leave to go home and drive one another nuts all day??

Poor kid. Poor mom. Poor everybody.

So I think I'll rework my gluten-free cupcake recipes and see what I can come up with for our frazzled family.

It's not gonna be these. But they're pretty to look at, aren't they? They're from a Singapore baker, so you know they're teeny-tiny Hello Kitty bite-sized minatures! Ooooooooooo!

If you're a cupcake freak (and as far as food fetishes go, I guess it's not so bad...), you might want to check out this site for inspiration, or tantalization! Warning: very enabling.

I'm really still here

I'm just type, type, typing away. Trying to get that partial and it's companion, the slippery synopsis, all spiffed up for the big date.

Then yesterday I read that TL Hines's partial got rejected by 80(!) agents before Dave Long found it on Tony's web site. Stuff like that can make a person's large intestine twist up in one serious knot of creative constipation.

I mean, my Lord...

And to think I started all this a year ago as an antidote to ebay browsing...and because we needed a second income! WHAT WAS I THINKING?!?

I'm so glad my god suffers fools with gladness.

Typing away,
shanna

Before the heat set in...

I finally finished sewing this quilt top for a young woman and her hubby who were married last year. My lovely friend and surrogate mom, Coleen, completed it on her quilting machine and gave it a black binding. I was afraid the black trim might give it too much of a stained glass look, but the binding was very slim and the total effect was pretty snazzy.

Love this young woman. She's been a student of mine and co-laborer in youth ministery, and I wanted to give her something very special. When I apologized for the lateness of the gift, her eyes welled up with tears, and she said, "Oh that's alright. They say you have a year to give wedding presents, and today is the 364th day!"

I had honestly forgotten.

Love to you, Julianne. And that good man, Jason, too.

flat-lining

I swear, I'm checking the weather channel every half hour--as if I pester it enough, this heat will go away. For those of you who live in the ultra-airconditioned deep south or wild west, I'm sure you see this behavior and sneer at my weakness. But dang! 106 today. 105 tomorrow.

My brain is flat-lining.

butterfly love

1 John 4:18
There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love.

1Peter 4:8
Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.

What love have you seen recently?