To what extent is it healthy to be able to let go of things beyond individual control?
I always try to think about this sort of thing in two ways. First, I consider it from a secular point of view. I would think that most psychologists and psychoanalysts would consider it perfectly healthy to be able to just dismiss the circumstances and move on. Then I consider it from a more religious stance, and I remember the line from the AA meetings: Let go, let God. We can't control everything, and too strong an inner need to attempt to control everything leads to madness, and in that madness, self-medication.
So what brings up this topic at this time? My daughter. She was due to begin camp today. We had everything packed, she was all ready, and then we arrived at camp. She checked in, then checked in with the nurse. And the nurse found head lice.
I was horrorstruck. I had seen the signs at the day camp where Audra and Jackson are spending their days this summer that they had two confirmed cases. "Doesn't affect me," I thought. "My kids are clean." Guess what? That doesn't matter. I was still operating under the assumption that only dirty people get lice. So not true, I found out. But this isn't about me. This is about my daughter.
My wife broke the news to my daughter like a doctor breaking the news to a cancer patient. "I'm so sorry," she said. I watched Audra's reaction. I also watched her for a reaction to the news she has head lice (had - first stop was Walgreen's for a lice treatment kit and we are still washing every bit of washable fabric in the house and spraying the rest).
There was maybe a flash of disappointment as the news hit home...and then she was off and playing and joking with her younger brother again like nothing had happened. And I wondered, is this healthy?
I didn't want her to have a fit. Or break down in tears. But a little more disappointment seemed a little in order to me.
Of course, this is also the girl, who upon being told that her errant behavior in kindergarten made both me and her mother very said, "Oh, do what I do. If something makes me sad, I just don't think about it."
And she still doesn't. I wonder how it is to be that way. Everything in my life that has ever hurt me or disappointed me or caused me emotional pain seems to within arm's length at any given time. I can distinctly remember the pain of being rejected by peers as a child and by employers as an adult with just a casual foray into my memory.
This doesn't seem to exist for my daughter. And I wonder. Will she be happier than me? I certainly hope so.
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Prufrock, or that damned snickering eternal Footman.
The entire poem is here: Prufrock
This is the poem that often runs through my head. It is the song that, while I recognize its flaws, I will probably always consider it my own special song.
T.S. Eliot. A genius. And I don't consider him a genius because of "The Wasteland," that work of his that gets so much attention. That poem is for smart people. When I have to refer to footnote after footnote to catch references in order to even begin to understand it, then I have a hard time putting any kind of emotional investment into it.
Ah, but Prufrock. I get this poem. It speaks to me, and affects me. The language is simple, the main character is...well, me, and conversely the me I'm glad I'm not.
I have seen a poster utilizing one of the lines from the poem as a caption, "Do I dare disturb the universe?" This line, in isolation, is inspirational. In the context of the poem, however, it is a sad statement concerning the doubts that assail each of us when we consider endeavors that will draw attention to ourselves. Sad, because for the main character of the poem, that answer is no. And while this is a great line, it is not the line that keeps me awake at night. Sometimes, yes, I do dare to disturb the universe. Maybe not as often as I could, but universe-disturbing should probably not be a constant labor.
The line that always gets me is "and I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker/and in short, I was afraid." Oh, poor Prufrock. He knows there will be no posterity for him. He never asserted himself, he never pushed anything to a conclusion because he was afraid the answer would be no.
Fear is awful. Fear of failure is worse than failure. Failure teaches. Failure hurts, but it is also an opportunity for growth. Fear of failure is simply paralysis. Nothing changes, nothing gets better.
I regret most often the times I didn't try because of fear of failure. Currently, I'm experiencing a lot of failure, and it hurts. But I also believe that I'm growing. Even at this late date in my life, I'm growing. If nothing else, I'm growing more compassionate for others who have faced failure.
But what if I had tried harder earlier, what if I hadn't let the fear of failure stop me? Where would I be? I don't know, and that kind of speculation is really pointless. Regret is useful only to the extent that it drives us to not repeat the circumstances that brought about the regret. I must try now. That is all that matters.
I will disturb the universe at times. I will eat a peach. And yes, the mermaids will sing to me. I may fail, but those mermaids damn sure will be singing for me.
This is the poem that often runs through my head. It is the song that, while I recognize its flaws, I will probably always consider it my own special song.
T.S. Eliot. A genius. And I don't consider him a genius because of "The Wasteland," that work of his that gets so much attention. That poem is for smart people. When I have to refer to footnote after footnote to catch references in order to even begin to understand it, then I have a hard time putting any kind of emotional investment into it.
Ah, but Prufrock. I get this poem. It speaks to me, and affects me. The language is simple, the main character is...well, me, and conversely the me I'm glad I'm not.
I have seen a poster utilizing one of the lines from the poem as a caption, "Do I dare disturb the universe?" This line, in isolation, is inspirational. In the context of the poem, however, it is a sad statement concerning the doubts that assail each of us when we consider endeavors that will draw attention to ourselves. Sad, because for the main character of the poem, that answer is no. And while this is a great line, it is not the line that keeps me awake at night. Sometimes, yes, I do dare to disturb the universe. Maybe not as often as I could, but universe-disturbing should probably not be a constant labor.
The line that always gets me is "and I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker/and in short, I was afraid." Oh, poor Prufrock. He knows there will be no posterity for him. He never asserted himself, he never pushed anything to a conclusion because he was afraid the answer would be no.
Fear is awful. Fear of failure is worse than failure. Failure teaches. Failure hurts, but it is also an opportunity for growth. Fear of failure is simply paralysis. Nothing changes, nothing gets better.
I regret most often the times I didn't try because of fear of failure. Currently, I'm experiencing a lot of failure, and it hurts. But I also believe that I'm growing. Even at this late date in my life, I'm growing. If nothing else, I'm growing more compassionate for others who have faced failure.
But what if I had tried harder earlier, what if I hadn't let the fear of failure stop me? Where would I be? I don't know, and that kind of speculation is really pointless. Regret is useful only to the extent that it drives us to not repeat the circumstances that brought about the regret. I must try now. That is all that matters.
I will disturb the universe at times. I will eat a peach. And yes, the mermaids will sing to me. I may fail, but those mermaids damn sure will be singing for me.
Monday, July 9, 2012
Things To Think About When Writing a Zombie Apocalypse Novel
So I've been writing a young adult zombie novel. This gives rise to some serious and not so serious considerations.
Serious consideration:
What do zombies represent in the American consciousness, the zeitgeist, the deeper meaning?
I've done a little reading considering zombies. I'm talking the George Romero-Night of the Living Dead zombies, not those wimps from the Caribbean and Central and South America in The Serpent and the Rainbow. Werewolves represent the onset of adolescence, vampires represent awakening sexuality, so what about zombies? To me, they represent the transition from adolescence into adulthood. We go from being lively, curious, and emotional to a dead, grasping, emotionless, decaying state. I addressed this matter to a PhD friend of mine, and she pointed out that zombies want to eat living brains in much the same way the current educational system wants to transform children into "productive members of society."
Not so serious consideration:
If zombies eat, do they also poop?
Okay, so I've been thinking way too much about how zombies could really function. So much so that I have to occasionally step back and remind myself that animated corpses are impossible. I've read quite a bit about possible causes of a zombie apocalypse, and I've formulated several ways I could justify their existence in a work of fiction. But the simple fact of the matter is that it just doesn't matter. Too many people overexplain causes. I've determined that the majority of people don't care about the how or the why, they just want the what next? That's not to say I don't address it in my novel. But it really isn't important. I guess I'm a story teller, more interested in thrusting people into difficult circumstances and seeing how they deal with it rather than dwelling on the scenery and vehicle for the action. See also this: Do zombies poop?
Serious consideration:
By the time I finish this novel, will zombies be passe?
There is a chance that could happen. Recently, we've gone into and out of the vampire craze, and are well into the zombie craze. I looked at direct-to-Kindle published books on zombies. There's only, like, 700 of them. Of those I sampled, some were awful, and some were quite good. There was everything from historical zombies to romantic zombie stories to adventure and horror. But I'm not writing just to be riding the wave. I think I have something to say. I think I'm writing a good book that happens to take place in a zombie apocalypse.
Not so serious consideration:
Why don't characters in zombie novels and movies know that they are facing zombies?
My wife asked me this question the other night. We've watched The Walking Dead, Zombieland, and she is currently reading David Moody's Autumn series. I like Robert Kirkman's (creator of the graphic novel upon which the television series The Walking Dead is based) response to this question: The novel/series takes place in an alternate world where George Romero never made Night of the Living Dead . From a writer's point of view, this almost has to be the case. Post apocalyptic novels have been written, certainly many inspired by the Cold War. But a scenario in which the dead rise and walk? We all think about how we would deal with it. Many of us know the "rules" and survival techniques. But what fun would it be to write that? Actually, it might be fun to write that, and have the biggest zombie survival experts fail miserably, while the bumblers survive and thrive. Oh, wait. That's been done in Shaun of the Dead.
Serious consideration:
How much can I change the "rules" and still appeal to zombie apocalypse fans?
Things we know about zombies:
They eat people (sometimes specifically brains).
They can only be stopped by destroying their brains.
In large groups they are unstoppable.
They move slow.
And of course, all these rules have been broken at one time or another by one author or another. So I think I can change the rules quite a bit and still have a zombie novel. My apocalypse, my rules. The only thing I have to have is dead people who refuse to go gentle into that good night.
Not so serious consideration:
Why I must never use the word "zombie" in my zombie apocalypse novel.
'Cause it's low rent. That word is not used in any zombie novel of substance I've come across. "Zombie" is a term applied by fans to all the creature-driven works of fiction inspired by Romero who was in turn inspired by Richard Matheson's I Am Legend, written in 1954, well before the more recent Will Smith debacle which butchered the key idea behind the novel, which was that we never really know who the monsters are, especially when they are us. Zombie is a cheap term for a complex representation of human hopes, fears, and nightmares. But everybody knows what you are talking about when you use it, so go on ahead.
Serious consideration:
What do zombies represent in the American consciousness, the zeitgeist, the deeper meaning?
I've done a little reading considering zombies. I'm talking the George Romero-Night of the Living Dead zombies, not those wimps from the Caribbean and Central and South America in The Serpent and the Rainbow. Werewolves represent the onset of adolescence, vampires represent awakening sexuality, so what about zombies? To me, they represent the transition from adolescence into adulthood. We go from being lively, curious, and emotional to a dead, grasping, emotionless, decaying state. I addressed this matter to a PhD friend of mine, and she pointed out that zombies want to eat living brains in much the same way the current educational system wants to transform children into "productive members of society."
Not so serious consideration:
If zombies eat, do they also poop?
Okay, so I've been thinking way too much about how zombies could really function. So much so that I have to occasionally step back and remind myself that animated corpses are impossible. I've read quite a bit about possible causes of a zombie apocalypse, and I've formulated several ways I could justify their existence in a work of fiction. But the simple fact of the matter is that it just doesn't matter. Too many people overexplain causes. I've determined that the majority of people don't care about the how or the why, they just want the what next? That's not to say I don't address it in my novel. But it really isn't important. I guess I'm a story teller, more interested in thrusting people into difficult circumstances and seeing how they deal with it rather than dwelling on the scenery and vehicle for the action. See also this: Do zombies poop?
Serious consideration:
By the time I finish this novel, will zombies be passe?
There is a chance that could happen. Recently, we've gone into and out of the vampire craze, and are well into the zombie craze. I looked at direct-to-Kindle published books on zombies. There's only, like, 700 of them. Of those I sampled, some were awful, and some were quite good. There was everything from historical zombies to romantic zombie stories to adventure and horror. But I'm not writing just to be riding the wave. I think I have something to say. I think I'm writing a good book that happens to take place in a zombie apocalypse.
Not so serious consideration:
Why don't characters in zombie novels and movies know that they are facing zombies?
My wife asked me this question the other night. We've watched The Walking Dead, Zombieland, and she is currently reading David Moody's Autumn series. I like Robert Kirkman's (creator of the graphic novel upon which the television series The Walking Dead is based) response to this question: The novel/series takes place in an alternate world where George Romero never made Night of the Living Dead . From a writer's point of view, this almost has to be the case. Post apocalyptic novels have been written, certainly many inspired by the Cold War. But a scenario in which the dead rise and walk? We all think about how we would deal with it. Many of us know the "rules" and survival techniques. But what fun would it be to write that? Actually, it might be fun to write that, and have the biggest zombie survival experts fail miserably, while the bumblers survive and thrive. Oh, wait. That's been done in Shaun of the Dead.
Serious consideration:
How much can I change the "rules" and still appeal to zombie apocalypse fans?
Things we know about zombies:
They eat people (sometimes specifically brains).
They can only be stopped by destroying their brains.
In large groups they are unstoppable.
They move slow.
And of course, all these rules have been broken at one time or another by one author or another. So I think I can change the rules quite a bit and still have a zombie novel. My apocalypse, my rules. The only thing I have to have is dead people who refuse to go gentle into that good night.
Not so serious consideration:
Why I must never use the word "zombie" in my zombie apocalypse novel.
'Cause it's low rent. That word is not used in any zombie novel of substance I've come across. "Zombie" is a term applied by fans to all the creature-driven works of fiction inspired by Romero who was in turn inspired by Richard Matheson's I Am Legend, written in 1954, well before the more recent Will Smith debacle which butchered the key idea behind the novel, which was that we never really know who the monsters are, especially when they are us. Zombie is a cheap term for a complex representation of human hopes, fears, and nightmares. But everybody knows what you are talking about when you use it, so go on ahead.
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