SolitaryRoamer

Resurrecting the literature blog

Hey remember that literature blog I used to update on occasion? The one I haven't updated in nearly two years? That's OK; I had almost forgotten about it myself.

But guess what? It's back. I needed some inspiration for my writing and I get that from reading the words of great writers. If nothing else this will allow me to type these powerful words and have them in my memory that way. And it gives me easy access to them through the blog.

So check out The Epiphany of Truth. You should be able to see in the column to your left. My new posting is about "The Road" by Cormac McCarthy.

Emotions

Last week everything went so smoothly. I finished stories ahead of time. I slept well. I even felt good.

This week it’s been the opposite. I had writer’s block — one of the worst cases since I began making a living as writer five years ago. I haven’t slept well, except for last night (which was wonderful) and I’ve had headaches and back pain all week.

To top it all off I’ve been extra emotional. Thursday night I watched “Waltz With Bashir,” an animated documentary about a man who served with the Israeli Army during the Lebanese War and was near a massacre of Palestinian women and children at one point. It was hard to watch much of the film, but because it was animated it was less realistic. Then, toward, the end, you hear the wailing Palestinian women and suddenly the animation fades and you’re watching actual documentary footage from the aftermath of the massacre. And there, lying on the streets are the tiny Palestinian children the Israeli soldiers brutally murdered. It was horrifying. And I lost it. I’ve never felt so emotional while watching a film — maybe because I understood that this was not fiction. This was real and those were real, murdered children.

So I was still a little emotional when I went to work Friday and began writing  a story about Amy and Melissa McDonald, two local sisters who taught at the Shanti Bhavan school in India over the summer. The school only accepts children from the “untouchables” class of people — lower than the lowest caste. It wasn’t my own writing or even the interviews with the sisters that got to me. It was Amy’s blog. She’s a journalism student and has a beautiful way with words. I made the decision to include snippets from her blog in the story. And it was reading those snippets that got me. Hearing her talk of these sweet, innocent children and the love she developed for them made me think of all the kids in these less-than-ideal circumstances across the globe. I thought of the Palestinian children in that documentary. I thought of the little African girls that occasionally come to St. George to dance and raise awareness of their plight. And I thought of the sweet Filipino children I knew on my mission there 10 years ago.

And I cried. Right there in the office, sitting at my computer, trying to write a story. I did well hiding it. The blurry eyes made it difficult to see the screen. And as I fell myself falling into tears, I would take a deep breath and fight it off. I had a deadline to meet. I couldn’t cry all over my keyboard.

Now I don’t cry in many stories. I can only think of a handful over the years that have brought me to tears. I cried when the local National Guard unit left for Iraq and I covered their farewell parade. I also cried when they came home and I saw those soldiers kissing their little children, some of whom they had never met. I cried while writing about a case of child abuse that made me realize I had to get off the news desk or get out of journalism. And I cried when covering the devastation left in the wake of Hurricane Katrina and the people left without homes. But that’s a handful of stories among the few thousand I’ve written in the past five years.

Then Friday night I went to see “The Time Traveler’s Wife” with a few friends. I loved the book (and cried while reading it) and was skeptical about the film version. I didn’t think it would come close to living up to the book. Of course, it wasn’t as good, but it wasn’t bad either. And there were a few instances that nearly brought me to tears. However, I tried to fight back the tears because I was at the movie with four girls (now that’s the way to see a chick flick). I had to appear tough, right? But when I admitted that the final scene did create one tear (one that I wasn’t able to control and fend off), one of the girls said it was “cute.” So maybe it’s OK to shows those emotions.

And maybe all these emotions I’ve felt in the past few days are the reason why I was able to sit down about an hour ago and finally type out a full synopsis of the novel that has been banging around in my head for about a year. And I like where it’s going. Like every other novel idea of mine, it begins with someone dying. And there’s plenty of heartbreak throughout the plot. But I think the ending may be hopeful. We’ll see. But I’m excited about it.

Maybe the hopefulness came from a great night in the mountains of Pine Valley. One of my friends hosted a party there at her family’s cabin and it was just a wonderfully fun and relaxing evening. It was a good day.

Finally touched

Our coverage of President Hinckley’s death continued today. I spent 10 hours working on two reaction pieces to his passing — one focusing on Latter-day Saints and another focusing on leaders from other faiths.

Unfortunately my story did not appear in the print edition of USA TODAY. I’m not sure what happened since it was still planned when I got off the phone with an editor there at about midnight Sunday night/Monday morning. But my articles in The Spectrum garnered plenty of attention, nearly all of it positive. I actually received quite a few compliments today. One person even threw in some good words about my travel writing in an e-mail to my editor, Todd. Another told me to tell my editor that I deserved a raise.

I was feeling about that the reality of President Hinckley’s passing had not hit me until I was nearly done with my second story. Finally all the stories of how President Hinckley touched the lives of those I talked to finally got to me and the tears came. Luckily it was about 7 p.m. and many of my coworkers had already gone home.

So I decided to continue my tribute to President Hinckley on my literature blog, The Epiphany of Truth. His teachings have been important to me in my life so I shared some of my favorites from his book, “Stand A Little Taller.”

My issue

I have decided that my issue this election season is torture. Yes, I care about getting us out of Iraq. Yes, I care about healthcare, the environment, education and the economy. But the subject of torture is the one that bothers me the most on a moral level.

I’ve always felt fairly patriotic and have thought of the United States as “the good guys.” But if we continue state-sponsored torture we are no longer the good guys. I cannot look at anyone who supports torture of another human being as a good guy. And neither can the rest of the world.

Nothing is more threatening to our standing in the world than continuing to torture prisoners — any prisoners. And waterboarding is torture. When a Bush Administration official asked of one its own for his opinion on whether waterboarding was torture, the justice department official logically surmised the only way to know for sure was to allow himself to be tortured. So that’s what he did. And when they waterboarded him he knew it was torture. But when he told his superiors, this noble man lost his job. Apparently that wasn’t the answer they wanted.

Now the United States has been added to Canada’s list of countries where foreigners risk torture and abuse. Guess who else is on the list? Upstanding countries like China, Syria and Iran. Of course, we have some “allies” on that list too: Afghanistan and Saudi Arabia. But the big problem is that one of our greatest allies, and the country with which we share the longest border, considers the United States a threat to its citizens. We are now a country that other civilized countries warn their diplomats about.

I believe that all the Democratic candidates are against waterboarding. But the Republicans are another matter. John McCain — who has the most authority to talk about torture, having been a victim of it himself as a prisoner of war during the Vietnam conflict — is very much against waterboarding and speaks passionately about the subject. And I think Ron Paul is against it as well. But the others seem a bit more vague. Tom Tancredo, who is no longer running, said he would use it to protect the security of the United States. Rudy Giuliani tried to say he wasn't really sure about the definition of waterboarding but seems to support "enhanced interrogation techniques" (as long as they will help stop another 9/11) and Mitt Romney got all tangled up in words and still never gave an opinion, which I think means he probably supports it as well. McCain went after Romney on the subject and with good reason. I wonder what Romney would think about it if he heard the story of Alyssa Peterson, which I wrote about in a previous blog.

This subject also inspired an entry on my newly revived literature blog, The Epiphany of Truth, in connection with a quote from Henry David Thoreau.

Art ... and how it moves us

Tonight I returned to the Utah Shakespearean Festival in Cedar City to see the play “Art” for the second time. I think it is possibly the best play I’ve ever seen. It’s hilarious. It’s dramatic. It’s touching. It’s moving. Yet at the crux of the play is a question about how art is able to move people. Although the play extends the question of “What is art?” to “What is friendship?” the play itself becomes a moving piece of art.

My friend Mandy attended the play with me and on the hour-long drive back to her place on the west side of St. George following the show we had a wonderful talk about how art inspires and moves people in different ways. We talked about static art, of course — the kind of art depicted in the play. But we extended it to The Arts: Literature, music, film, theater, etc.

Realism is a great factor in art moving people. The play we saw, for example, seemed more realistic than many of the more melodramatic works of Shakespeare that while they are brilliant, sometimes lack a human connection. That human connection made the play all the more touching. Yet art with a complete lack of realism, such as the abstract painting Mandy mentioned (or the one at the center of the story in “Art”) can be extremely moving for certain people. Even for me, the painting that has moved me most in recent memory was a somewhat abstract, pastoral landscape. While it depicted a possibly realistic scene, it was in a dreamy, abstract way.

Our conversation eventually moved to literature and some of the inspiring writing we’ve read. It reminded me that I need to update my literature blog, something I haven’t done since (literally) the first of the year. One of the most inspiring lines to me as a writer (and hopeful novelist) comes from Azar Nafisi’s “Reading Lolita in Tehran.” It even inspired the name of my blog.

So I decided I need to get serious about writing. I truly believe I have it in me to become a great writer. I really think I can write a great novel. And I even have an idea that is close to my heart. Of course it would be great to make a lot of money and get out of the tight financial constraints I face right now. But I can’t imagine how it would make me feel to someday write something that will inspire people like me to write about how much my writing inspired them.

A hero for the ages

I finished it. I finally finished it. For a few days now I’ve hardly been able to think of anything but “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows” and now its finally done.

And I only cried three times.

So I beat my previous record of cries. The only other book to actually make me cry was “The Kite Runner,” a moving novel about two boys growing up in Afghanistan. As wonderful as that novel is, I wasn’t nearly as close to its characters as I became to Harry Potter and his friends.

The book was absolutely moving and engaging. It was physically difficult to put down at times. Harry Potter is not simply a character from a children’s book but a hero for the ages. And J.K. Rowling is the greatest storyteller of our time.

Never has a book grabbed me and drawn me as this one. No television show or movie could even come close to the level of intimacy I found in this book.

Not only was it an engaging story, but it spoke powerful metaphors for our time. In it we find that true heroes earn their reward through love, trust, loyalty, honor and faith. Only evildoers resort to treachery and torture. Somebody should pass that thought on to the Bush Administration.

OF course, I don’t want to say too much and risk giving it away to those who have not yet read the story. But I did cry. However, I also laughed, more often than I expected. And I rejoiced, sharing in triumphs throughout the story.

Rockin' in the condo world

I rock.

Yes. I just broke a guitar pick for the first time because I was rocking out in my living room. That’s how I’m spending my Memorial Day — rockin’ the condo. And I have Neil Young to thank for it since it was his masterpiece, “Rockin’ In the Free World,” that I just happened to be rocking out to when my beloved Budweiser guitar pick broke. It’s been my favorite guitar pick for the last year or so ever since my sister, Becca, got it for me on the Budweiser Brewery tour in St. Louis. Unfortunately the pick has passed on, but at least it went out in style.

I was inspired to rock today by Will Ferrell and his brilliant “Stranger Than Fiction.” I just finished watching it with the new neighbor girl upstairs. Of course, my guitar, Sexy, isn’t sea foam green like Will's guitar in the movie, but she’s sexier.

Aside from rocking out and watching “Stranger Than Fiction,” it’s been a fairly uneventful Memorial Day weekend. I’ve cleaned the condo quite a bit, but not nearly enough. And I played a few games with some friends last night. Otherwise it’s been pretty quiet. I’ve been catching up on some reading (Barack Obama’s “Dreams From My Father” and Gregory Maguire’s “Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister”) and frequenting the new bubble tea smoothie place (I tried a mango smoothie Friday then an avocado bubble tea smoothie Saturday — it’s really not as gross as it sounds).

Oh, and I got a new haircut Friday morning. It’s quite a bit shorter than anything I’ve sported for about five years. And it’s fully my natural color for the first time in nearly five years. And, unfortunately, the shorter hair revealed what appears to be a receding hairline. Here I’ve been worrying about how young I might look if I shave my beard but now I’ll have a receding hairline to go with the boyish looks. I just can’t win. But here’s the new ‘do:

So it goes ...

Here’s to you Kurt Vonnegut. 1922 — 2007.

So it goes.

My Expanding Empire, part two

I decided to celebrate my birthday today by finally creating my third blog. I’ve been paying for the ability to have three blogs hosted through Typepad since I started What Do You Hear in These Sounds? on Sept. 24, 2005. I could never figure out where my focus should exist for this third blog, though.

While falling asleep last night it came to me. I would write about literature, featuring my collection of quotes from books I have read and how that writing has inspired me, both as a writer and a human being.

So I officially announce the creation of my third regular blog, The Epiphany of Truth. Let me know what you think (all three of you who read this). I hope you enjoy it and that an occasional entry will be as inspiring to you as the basis of that entry was for me.

As for my birthday, it was much better than last year, which I spent completely by myself. I got a variety of phone calls, e-mails and text messages from family and friends, went to church and had dinner with my cousin, Morgan; her husband, Jeremiah; and their adorable 2-year-old daughter, Mya.

COMPLETE WORLD KNOWLEDGE

I’ve read some really good books lately (“Reading Lolita in Tehran” and “Memoirs of a Geisha” among them) but for sheer enjoyment, John Hodgman’s “The Areas of My Expertise” takes the cake, the hobo cake that is. Actually the book’s full title is, “AN ALMANAC OF COMPLETE WORLD KNOWLEDGE COMPILED WITH INSTRUCTIVE ANNOTATION AND ARRANGED IN USEFUL ORDER BY ME, JOHN HODGMAN, A PROFESSIONAL WRITER, IN THE AREAS OF MY EXPERTISE, WHICH INCLUDE: Matters Historical, Matters Literary, Matters Cryptozoological, Hobo Matters, Food, Drink & Cheese (A Kind of Food), Squirrels & Lobsters & Eels, Haircuts, Utopia, What Will Happen in the Future, and Most Other Subjects.” Technically, I think the title goes on and encompasses much of the book’s introduction, which is cleverly printed in small type around the cover, the spine, the back of the book and the front flap.

Though the book claims to be an almanac of COMPLETE WORLD KNOWLEDGE, I believe that Hodgman, in fact, made most of it up. I’m fairly certain he did.

I found out about this literary treasure while watching The Greatest Television Show in the History of the World, also known as “The Daily Show with John Stewart.” Stewart, who is apparently an avid reader and a very clever guy, often invites authors onto his program. He also likes to talk to these authors as one author to another. Stewart, as I’m sure you know, helped pen the brilliant literary masterpiece, “America: The Book.”

Anyway, as I’m watching the “Daily Show,” Stewart introduces his next guest, a writer for the New York Times Magazine: John Hodgman. Then this really tweedy, nerdy guy comes out, looking kind of shy and uncomfortable. Stewart, with a completely straight face, starts talking about the book as if it’s some ordinary almanac containing, well, COMPLETE WORLD KNOWLEDGE. And then he mentions that Hodgman has written quite a bit about hoboes.

I knew at that point that I would buy the book. Or at least put it on my Christmas list. Which is what I did. And my dear mother did purchase it for me. I’ve been laughing since I tore off the wrapping paper.

Among the highlights of the section entitled “Hobo Matters” are these gems:

• “When in the spring of 1932 great masses of unemployed veterans descended upon Washington to urge the passing of the Bonus Bill, hoboes came with them. Under the leadership of Joey Stink-Eye Smiles, they infiltrated the White House, pocketing sandwiches and replacing Secretary of the Treasury Ogden Mills with one of their own, Hobo Joe Junkpan. And across the country they began a coordinated reign of terror: soiling featherbeds, salting the cornfields, and dancing manic, heavy-footed jigs on parlor floors while ordinary citizens looked on in horror. In Kansas City, a hobo declared himself Duke of All the West and began demanding tithes. They wanted cheap beer and warm hats. They wanted bent nails and pieces of string. They demanded half barrels of swallowfeather sauce, and no one knew what they were talking about.”

• There is the story of “… Mindbender Steve, the hobo poet, who scratched out tales of boxcar life in the margins of the newspapers he had fashioned into undergarments.”

• And, of course, there is the story of Joey Stink-Eye Smiles, the hobo king, who was discovered as an infant by a group of hoboes with a blind, kingsniffing dog named Punch. The story goes like this: “That is when they first saw Gordon junior sitting upon the stair, fashioning with little hands a miniature bindle stick and wearing a full beard. The hoboes immediately knelt before him. … The child instinctively identified the three items that had belonged to the dead king: a snuff box full of dead flies, a chain of paper clips, and an unfinished pork chop.”

• Also, as advertised in an orange box on the book’s front cover, Hodgman also includes 700 hobo names. He offers, by way of advice, “… if you do decide to take to the rails, you should choose for yourself a proper hobo moniker.” Among those hobo names are such gems as Stewbuilder Dennis; Mr. Wilson Fancypants; Wicked Paul Fourteen-Toes; The Damned Swede; James Fenimore Cooper; Senator Cletus Scoffpossum; Beef-or-Chicken Bob Nubbins; Niles Butterball, the Frozen Turkey; Chrysler LeBaron, The Fishin’ Physician, Slo-Mo Deuteronomy; The Personal Secretary to Jed; Nick Nolte; Honey Bunches of Donald; Stingo the Bandanna Origami Prodigy; Gooseberry Johnson, Head Brain of the Hobosphere; Rumpshaker Phil; Blind Buck and “Woozy,” the Invisible Seeing-Eye Dog; Sssssssssssssssss, the Hisser; Reasonably Priced Motel Reese Unger; El Boot; Huge Crybaby McWeepy; Poo-Knickers Elias; Not-Only But-Also Pete; Caboose-Fouling Ferris Ntz; Hot Gnome Jimmy Jackson; my-e-hobo.com; Overload-the-Dishwasher Mac; Transistorized Maximillian, the Hobo Cyborg; Bum-Hating Virgil Hate-Bum; Packrat Red and his Cart o’ Sad Crap; Myron Biscuitspear, the Dumpster Archeologist; Douglas, the Future of Hoboing; El Top-Hat Swindlefingers; Chicken Butt, Five Cents a Cut; Uranus John, the Star-Traveler and Sanitized-for-Your-Protection Eddie Summers. And those are just a few of the 700.

How much fun did this guy have writing this book?