#tragedy makes my poetry even more heartbreaking Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[idyllghost]

lol sorry for being inactive my mom died

[thewildeleven]

This was written sometime around 2015. While there may still be solid advice on here, I have to admit there are some parts I would've written differently. I am posting it "as-is," with the original text preserved, because it might help some people pero tinatamad na ako mag-edit.

"Any advice you can give to get better at poetry?"

This question has been asked of me a handful of times (most recently on tumblr), and while I never really answered it in-depth, I thought I would write something about it, once and for all. I'm not an authority on the subject, but I like to think that I write decent poems. So this will just cover some basics, which I think will help those who want to get into writing poetry and actually get shit done.

1. Avoid cliché like the plague--

First off, let me start by saying that I believe avoiding cliché is one of the best ways that you can watch your writing stand out and grow. I also think avoiding it is like any other skill in that one needs practice to be good at it.

Of course, to avoid this pitfall, you will need to know what a cliché is. "My heart is full of love that it might burst" -- that's a cliché. "Your smile is calm; it brightens up my day" -- cliché. "I would give anything just to hold your hand," -- cliché. Hell, even the title of this item, "Avoid cliché like the plague," is a cliché. Basically any line, phrase, or thought that has the air of being overused is a cliché.

As a testament to how hard this bastard is to avoid, even up to this day, I still suffer from using cliché to convey thought. I mean, who wouldn't, right? They're easily understandable, and easily-relatable. I read many people who wrote that their love is like that of the Sun and Moon, or that love is a tragedy worth dying for and everyone should be Jack and Rose and Romeo and Juliet. It's a quick way to "connect" to an audience and appeal to already-familiar feelings that reside in them. It's ready-made.

It also tends to make your poetry as stale as cold pandesal on a rainy day.

I don't know about you, but reading about how a heart was broken the same way for a hundred times over just doesn't do it for me any more. Maybe on the first read it will be nice, even cute. On the second it will still be sweet. By the tenth or fifteenth, going through a heartbreak poem littered with cliché is such a slog that reading becomes quite a burden. You may think that your poem is unique, as such that you wrote it in a room all alone with all the feelings and emotions of a heartbroken human being, but there are others who do that, too.

And I'm not saying your feelings are faked and your experience are the same as others -- they are not, and that's the point. I'm sure they are genuine, so you need a better way to express them and prove that they are unique to you, and you need to distinguish them from the common rabble.

So how do you do this? How do you avoid it?

You stop. 

No, really, I'm serious. You stop yourself from writing.

Once you recognize that your line is a cliché, you stop it before it takes root in the poem. You cut it out like the unwanted weed that it is.

Then, — here comes the harder part, the one that requires you to actually think — you plant a new one.

So when you write "Your smile is calm; it brightens up my day," you think, 'Stop. Cliché incoming.' This is where your imagination and creativity comes in (funny, I seem to remember poetry falls under "creative writing" huh). Perhaps this line could do better with something like,

"Your smile is the steady hovering of a blackbird's wing above aspen — an effortless glide, as reassuring as air."

I hope you agrre that this line already does a good job of expressing the calmness of the smile, how it affects the speaker, and all without that pesky cliché looming above one's writing!

2. Love concrete nouns, marry verbs, make friends with adjectives, and kill adverbs. (also, don't write riddles)--

So once you get the hang of dodging every cliché your brain throws at you, you will need to have a lot of new stock so that you can replace the unwanted ideas. It's like taking the garbage out. You. Will. Need. More. Nouns. And. Verbs. This cannot be understated.

[Okay, quick refresher: nouns are names of things, adjectives describe nouns, verbs are words that denote action, and adverbs (sort of) describe verbs.]

You need concrete nouns and verbs most because when I said that you need to express things in more unique ways, that doesn't necessarily mean that you need to be "deep" -- just varied ("the more, the merrier!"). It's actually better to keep your poetry as simple and as easy to understand, and what better way than to use concrete nouns and verbs?

Consider Margaret Atwood's "You Fit Into Me:"

You fit into me

like a hook into an eye

a fish hook

an open eye.

— Margaret Atwood, 1971

Atwood uses very simple words ("fit," "fish hook," "eye," "open" used as an adjective) to express the suffering of being in an unhealthy relationship; this imagery is what makes the poem powerful. They "fit" in such a hurtful, perhaps even sadistic way - who would want a fish hook in their open eye?

Now, if that poem was written like,

You said you love me / but I know this is not true / You always try to hurt me / Huhuhuhu

-- then I don't think it will be as popular as it is. I think the beauty of poetry is such that you're free to explore expression; that you can express yourself in ways you have never imagined before, and that discovery is pure joy.

Why concrete nouns and verbs, then? Because they are precise. Because they can easily evoke images and feelings as accurately as you want the poem to be. Remember how cliché are like that? Concrete nouns are easily relatable, too, without compromising the genuineness of your ideas. It also helps if you use more specific nouns. Don't write tree -- write "oak," or "linden." Don't say "flower,"-- say "carnation," or "chrysanthemum." Don't write "bird" -- write "robin," or "rook" (yay Sylvia Plath!). It adds more character and nuance.

Abstract nouns can be misinterpreted; when you write "love," or "sorrow," or "sadness," it means a lot of things to different people. But if you want to get your feelings across as precisely as you want, you use concrete nouns and verbs. When I write "Your love is a journey that always leaves me heavy," people can interpret it as a bunch of wildly different things. But when I write "Your love was such a journey, and I am the sleepless horse, dragging carriage," it gets a more specific point across. Everyone can imagine what a sleepless horse dragging a carriage feels like; you would not interpret the poem in any other way. Or, at least, not without the pitiful image of a very tired and thirsty horse -- which is how I, the writer, would like you to exactly imagine it (as such). Concrete nouns and verbs serve this purpose.

Why avoid adverbs? I won't ramble too long about this, as there are times that it really is unavoidable. I still use adverbs sometimes (can't help it if there's rhythm to consider).

Adverbs are words like "gently," "softly," "slowly" -- and to avoid them is just good practice in general, because adverbs are shortcuts. When I write "I wanted to touch her hair softly," I'm being lazy, shortcharging -- basically cheapening the experience. What the hell is "softly"? Readers need to know.

If you can, try weeding out adverbs in your writing. You'll find that you will stretch your mind in ways that can help you improve.

"My fingers shall be dandelions upon your hair, blooms caressing bright tresses worthy of such light and gentle innocence" -- that's how "softly" I wanted to touch her hair.

You may have noticed that in this part, I was all about getting your point across precisely. That's because most people, when new, think that poetry is all about being enigmatic. This is like me in the past, like using obscure words and writing "mysteriously" make for the best poems. No! It's actually the opposite-- it’s about letting your readers experience your emotions in a unique but very understandable way; it's a way of sharing with them the experience through phrases that would easily resonate with them!

Do not write like a riddle-maker -- if your reader scratches his head after reading your poem, then you have failed as an agent of expression.

Another point: does this mean that you have to expound and transform every single cliché and abstract idea into a concrete form that the reader can relate to? Maybe not entirely, but this decision I would leave to you as an artist — it's your call. This is poetry, after all, and you still have to consider rhythm and meter.

(I will not talk about meter and rhythm because those two are entirely different beasts and I can write volumes on them that won't fit with the general practical approach of this write-up. Although, one practical advice I could give is listen to a variety of music. Pop, hip-hop, waltz, jazz, ambient, and maybe even some metal -- those will help your head get a feel for rhythm).

3. Let it sit, and revise, revise, revise

By the time you think the poem is finished, you will get this uncontrollable urge to post it or publish it immediately (maybe in an online outlet like this one, Facebook). My advice is, don't. Just don't.

Let it sit for at least twenty-four hours, then read it again. I promise that you will see different patterns emerge; you'll find a better choice of words for a particular passage; better imagery; a better sequence; etc. Basically, you'll see your poem in a different light. Do not be afraid to experiment and revise!

You don't need to post them immediately; think of posting them in this barely new-born state as pre-maturity. They may be a bit okay, but you have to believe that they can still be better.

If at least twenty-four hours has passed and you really don't see anything you can change to make it better (of that, I'm highly doubtful), then that's the time you can say with confidence that the poem is done. You have said all you need to say. Nothing left out of that particular idea or theme anymore. Then okay, go. Post.

But like good food, poetry takes time. At least remember to let yours simmer. 

4. A change of environment or writing implements will do you good

A lot of people probably exclusively write with laptops and/or phones. Maybe they use paper and pencil, too, but never for creative work (academic stuff, etc). But try it -- I know it sounds like pseudoscience or overly-emotional bull, but there is a certain… sublimity in writing with paper. There was this poem that I wrote ("Aokigahara") that was written on paper first and then transferred on laptop. It looked like this incomprehensible ramble of shit when it was first conceived, but it turned out decently — thanks mainly to the writing being a different experience than usual. Similarly, if you're one who always writes with paper-and-pen(cil), try writing a poem exclusively on a phone or computer, too! See how it turns out.

Also, this advice I would give with such pain in my heart because I don't like going out of my room, but — GET OUT OF YOUR ROOM AND GET SOME FRESH AIR YOU MEME-INFESTED FHFJASGFKAHASAHJAH

There.

5. Read a lot of poetry

Kailangan pa bang i-memorize 'to? Read, read, read. Aside from learning a lot, you will find that voices matter, and everyone's voice will help you grow. Read the classics. Read contemporary. Read beatnik stuff. Cry to "Ang Huling Tula Na Isusulat Ko Para Sa'yo" for the last time, decide that while it is a good spoken word piece we should not all emulate it because that will make for a homogeneous poetry community and that will suck balls because everyone will be crying and everyone will want to die. Then watch  slam poetry. Admire people. Be inspired. Everyone's voice matters (except those who still cling to cliche because they neglected point number 1). Which brings me to my last point:

6. It is not a contest

If you feel bad when you think someone's writing is "better" than yours, or that you find yourself jealous at how some people use words better than you do, then you're not writing in the right attitude, (wo)man. It's that simple, you're simply not. I can't give further advice regarding this because a.) you will wallow in self-pity and self-deprecation no matter how much I tell you that this is not a contest and, b.) your poetry will always suck because they are written in the spirit of impressing other people and not entirely about expressing and creating stuff. You disgust me.

Heh, kidding aside, just get out of this hole. There's really not much I can say about it. Renew your mind. Transform your principles, change your attitude. Be inspired of others instead of being jealous. You'll find poetry to be one of the most sorrowful and the most joyful endeavor you will ever get into (not to mention the least expensive).

7.  ALSO SEVEN DAMN I ALMOST FORGOT PLEASE ACCEPT CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM YOU CRAPTARD DOLTS NO ONE IS PERFECT

Cheers~

[curriebelle]

Time to Rant about Poetry

I am currently thinking about 3 things:

1) a tag on a post I saw that said “I don’t like poetry as a rule”

2) a philosophy professor who told me, quite smugly, how studies showed that people interpreted sayings that rhymed (eg ‘a stitch in time saves nine’) as more meaningful than sayings that didn’t, even if they meant the same thing.

3) this part of this poem by aziraphalesbian:

I should be clear that I actually like this poem because I think it’s funny, and I kind of sympathize with the frustrated emotional energy in it. I also don’t know how ironic it’s meant to be or what the author actually thinks about poetry so this is not A Takedown or an attempt to explain someone’s poetry to them.

Instead I would like to use this poem as a middle finger to that philosophy prof. Mansplaining moron. (Thanks for the flaming sword, @aziraphalesbian .)

“Why do English teachers go crazy over stanza breaks and Times New Roman?” “Why do people think rhyming words are smarter than Regular words??” “Why should I have to give a shit about poetry??”

There is one answer to all of these questions: Form creates meaning, just as content does. How we arrange words is just as significant as what we’re saying.

(Also, as an important aside - when I say “meaning” I don’t mean like the Secret Theme of the Work and the Purpose of Being Alive. “Meaning” can just be something that creates or intensifies emotional impact, or even a hint as to how you’re supposed to read the work - as truth, as satire, as fiction, etc.)

So, form - how we arrange words - also carries meaning. When we insert paragraph breaks into a single line, it’s not a trick. It’s not an attempt to Deceive you about how Deep something is. Those paragraph breaks actually *create* meaning, purely by existing. Take a look at this but:

These paragraph breaks aren’t arbitrary at all - they’re *very* purposeful, because they isolate the “but”. They accentuate and draw attention to the “but”, and by doing so, they tell us that the poem has a turning point in it, and that turning point is very important.

Funny thing is - this is a principle that poets have used in sonnets for centuries. In sonnets it’s called a volta. There are different types of sonnets, but at a specific point in each type - either after the sixth, eighth, twelfth line - the poem will switch gears and offer a new perspective on the topic. Sonnets are also structured around a “but” - and that “but” is conveyed through form.

Hehe. Butt.

Also, the random stanza breaks are characteristic of a form called free verse. Free verse came to popularity around the First World War. The war was so illogical and destructive that it became impossible to see order in the universe - and so poetry became similarly disordered. Very appropriate choice for a poem questioning how order makes meaning!

Because let’s face it, the meanings created by form are quite alchemical - and very difficult to explain. A lot of them rely on established knowledge and precedent, for example. We know that the 12-pt TNR rant with stanza breaks is a Poem, because we grow up being taught What Poetry Looks Like from historical examples. A lot of good modern poetry - like found poetry or blackout poetry - is about investigating the assumption created by form.

Form is a tool used by all writers everywhere, too, even outside poetry. Lemony Snicket is fantastic at playing with form. He knows he’s writing A Prose Novel and what expectations that creates, so he does self-aware stuff like this:

And on that comedic note, form is great for comedy. Tumblr jokers pull that *all* the time - think of those beautiful calligraphy posts of lewd quotes, or that post that turned Thrift Shop into a sonnet.

It’s not that stanza breaks are meaningless!! It’s that form *creates* **meaning**!

And why do I give such a heck?? Why am adamant that YOU give a heck??

First off, to keep our egos under control. I’m sorry, Mr. Philosophy Prof, but you are far from the first person to question the meaning of poetic form. I really love people like the noetry poem’s author, who investigate and challenge poetry’s capacity for meaning, and where it comes from, and how. I am *afraid* of people who dismiss poetry as just meaningless nonsense that people only Pretend is Deep because the words are arranged all pretty.

Secondly - and this is why I say I’m *afraid* - is because this attitude of “fneh fneh it’s all meaningless gilding, you only think it’s important because the stanza breaks tricked you” - puts major blinders on the way that form can be emotionally impactful - and even manipulative! Statements *are* more meaningful to us when they are constructed carefully. You know - like advertising slogans. Or recruitment posters. Or pledges of allegiance. Or headlines. If you aren’t aware of how form can be used to create meaning - and create Authority - you can be taken in by it.

Finally - and this is why I find the attitude not just dangerous but heartbreaking - this kind of artistic nihilism is really unhealthy for us. For our souls, I think.

The only poem that has ever made me cry is Keats’s “When I Have Fears”. It’s a short sonnet about Keats - who was already dying when he wrote it - and his fear that he wouldn’t be able to record all the ideas he had before he died. It’s only fourteen lines but it’s overstuffed with these unbelievably beautiful images. I don’t think reading it would have hurt so much if it wasn’t a sonnet, because the brevity reflects the brevity of Keats’s life, and the strict organization of the sonnet makes me think of him madly packing away every idea he can, sorting his thoughts in sheer paralyzed panic.

And I think about it a lot because it’s one of those poems that keeps me alive. We have things left to make, you and I, and leaving before they are done would be a tragedy.

There’s also a wonderful comic going around right now reinterpreting Mary Elizabeth Frye’s “Do Not Stand at my Grave and Weep” from the perspective of a transman coming out to his mother. And because of that, the poem helped me understand trans experience in a way I hadn’t before. And now I’m going to think about that a lot too, because that poem was one form given another form and it helped me be a more compassionate person.

Fittingly, William Carlos Williams figured this all out before I did:

[pentanguine]

Favorite Books of 2019

Half of this list is Terry Pratchett. That���s not hyperbole.

20. Night Watch, Terry Pratchett

Everyone adores this book, and while I certainly loved it, I think it may have been a bit overhyped for me. But this was the first Discworld book I read where I remember finding it heartbreaking--not just angry at injustice, but angry at the tragedy of injustice. 

19. The Truth, Terry Pratchett

Terry Pratchett writing a well-developed romantic arc?? It’s more likely than you think! I am also a sucker for philosophical questions like “What is The Truth?”

18. Small Gods, TP

I think chronologically, this is the first blisteringly angry Discworld book, where you suddenly realize how much fury is pent up in the satire. There’s a lot of futility and frustration in this story, but the ending is so simple and quiet and good.

17. Record of a Spaceborn Few, Becky Chambers

I find Chambers novels to be more like leisurely explorations than novels with a driving plot, and I could have happily explored this culture for days. Again, I’m a sucker for philosophical questions: What is the meaning of death? What purpose does culture serve even when it’s no longer practical? What makes a human society work?

16. In an Absent Dream, Seanan McGuire

I love this book’s style of focusing on small moments, and putting all the battles, quests, and conventional milestones of growing up off the page. This is a brutal read, but the brutality is in the terrible, everyday choices Lundy’s forced to make.

15. Monstrous Regiment, TP

Come for the cross-dressing, stay for the social commentary on war, nationalism, religion, and being an underdog of any stripe. Gender is bonus window-dressing.

14. The Wee Free Men, TP

I’ve realized that I love Pterry’s approach to kids’ books because he spends them deconstructing tropes, even the tropes of deconstructing tropes. Tiffany Aching is incisive and bookish, but also hard and selfish, and also sensible, and also strange...she’s like a real kid! A real person!

13. I Shall Wear Midnight, TP

Later-Pratchett often dispenses with the satire and goes straight for righteously angry social commentary, and this book packs a wallop. Stand your ground! “...change the present, so that when it becomes the past, it will turn out to be a past worth having!”

12. The Library Book, Susan Orlean

"Makes history come alive” is a cliche, but so true in this case. Even at its most drily factual, the book is gripping as it explore the rollicking past of American libraries and westward expansion, with some gorgeously poetic homages to stories and fire.

11. Lord of the Rings, J.R.R. Tolkien

If you’ve only watched the movie, which predictably focus on big, theatre-packing action sequences, I encourage you to read the books. They tell the story of ordinary people going through unimaginable horror, but also a delightful, bittersweet tale of undying friendship. [They’re also very racist. Tolkien, why.]

10. Jingo, TP

And this was the Discworld book where I felt like he really started to develop his characters as people. Almost a year later, my most vivid memory is of the hilarious friendship between Colon and Nobby.

9. Unseen Academicals, TP

Worth!! This book is brimming more of that glorious, cold, barely contained fury, and even though it’s not Pterry’s strongest writing, I adore it. Nutt and Glenda work together so well and make a perfect pair of unlikely badasses.

8. Going Postal, TP

My note for this book says “Moist is an inspiration and a riot,” and although I don’t remember why I found him inspiring, he is definitely a riot. Or maybe cleverly orchestrating one from behind the scenes.

7. The Argonauts, Maggie Nelson

This is a pretentious book about ideas. It’s dense, intellectual, packed full of high-brow culture, and honestly, sometimes kind of annoying. But the writing and the story are so rich, and her interpretation of queer motherhood is so original, that it’s almost impossible to put down. I’m also in love with language that talks about the impossibility of language. 

6. Thud!, TP

One of the things I love about Discworld is that it’s never easy. There’s none of this Shining White Warrior defeating the Evil Dark nonsense, just Sam Vimes, reading Where’s My Cow?, becoming more jaded and more determined to be a good man at the same time.

5. The Fifth Elephant, TP

I’ll be honest that I read this book almost a full year ago and don’t remember the nuances of why I loved it, but it was the first Discworld book that blew my mind. It made me jump around my room; it made me want to reread it immediately; it made me stay up until 1AM having passionate opinions about a man named Carrot.

4. Gender Queer: A Memoir, Maia Kobabe

This was probably my most anticipated book of the year, and it more than lived up to the expectation. I’ve been reading Maia’s comics for years, and they’re beautiful reflections on nonbinary experiences (and often on books, nature, and activism as well). I read eir memoir twice in two weeks, each time in one sitting, and it did make me cry.

3. Caroline’s Heart, Austin Chant

I am determined to make “Trans Western” an actual genre, and this is the jewel in the crown of the books I’ve read so far. It’s a gentle love story between a witch and a cowboy that’s also a devastating tale of grief, with excitingly original world-building. If you’ve never read Austin Chant, I encourage you to give him a try--he’s a wonderful writer.

2. Days Without End, Sebastian Barry

Days Without End is a good book to read when you’re Sad. The entire book feels like a slow, quiet elegy to some forgotten idyllic time, but who can say when that time was? The Wild West is full of cold, dirty, violent death, starvation, genocide, loneliness. There’s nothing to romanticize here, and yet somehow Barry has written an impossibly R/romantic book. Every sentence is slow, quiet, and poetic. Every moment, however horrific, feels like it’s drifting slowly through a strong spell of sunlight. I could try and describe the dreamy horror of this book for days and never come close to capturing what it does.

1. In the Dream House, Carmen Maria Machado

Everyone is raving about this book, and there’s a reason for that: it’s GENIUS. The structure of the book is genre-busting (or maybe genre deconstructing would be more accurate), and the writing is like poetry in that every word feels so deliberate and loaded with meaning. I took three pages of notes as I read and I’m not sure it was enough.

[petrichara]

My favourite book recommendations!

These books have all impacted me for a certain reason, each in a different way. I cannot recommend them enough.

1- ‘Falling Into Place’ by Amy Zhang

Blurb:

‘One cold fall day, high school junior Liz Emerson steers her car into a tree. This haunting and heartbreaking story is told by a surprising and unexpected narrator and unfolds in nonlinear flashbacks even as Liz's friends, foes, and family gather at the hospital and Liz clings to life.’

Why this impacted me:

I cried. I cried for Liz, for myself, for everyone in the world. I cried and I cried and I cried. It’s such an unusual book- it’s written in a non-linear style, and told by a narrator with an unknown identity. For so long I refused to tell anyone about this book because it was ‘mine’, but it really is beautiful. The prose is stunning, the plot is incredible, and it definitely gives you a new perspective. It does deal with many sensitive topics so a content warning is in place, and it’s a mature book, but it’s done well. It gave me hope, and it has stuck with me for that reason ever since.

Quote that stayed:

‘I watched her carve her mistakes in stone, and they arranged themselves around her. They became a maze with walls that reached the sky. Because she learned from so few of them, she was lost. Because she didn’t have faith in anything, she didn’t try to find a way out. I watched her try to face her fears alone, too proud to ask for help, too stubborn to admit she was afraid, too small to fight them, too tired to fly away.’

2- ‘We Were Liars’ by E. Lockhart

Blurb:

‘We are the Liars.

We are beautiful, privileged and live a life of carefree luxury.

We are cracked and broken.

A story of love and romance.

A tale of tragedy.

Which are lies?

Which is truth?’

Why this impacted me:

The goddam plot twist. I got to the last page, in tears, and had to go right back to the beginning and read it again. Beautifully written with an incredible, awakening plot with such an amazing message. ‘We Were Liars focuses on the theme of self-acceptance, family morals, and the possibly-deadly consequences of one's mistakes.’ The prose is exquisitely written and absolutely gorgeous- almost poetry. I love all of the main characters; they’re multidimensional, real, flawed and loveable. Easy to emphasise with and love. Just such a well-written book that I come back to time and time again.

Quote that stayed with me (one of dozens):

‘Now, he was free to go forth and make a name for himself in the wide, wide world.

And maybe,

just maybe,

he'd come back one day,

and burn that

fucking

palace

to the ground.’

3- ‘The sky is everywhere’ by Jandy Nelson

Blurb:

‘Beautiful, funny and heartfelt, The Sky Is Everywhere is about love and forgiveness. Seventeen-year-old Lennie Walker spends her time tucked safely and happily in the shadow of her fiery older sister, Bailey. But when Bailey dies abruptly, Lennie is catapulted to centre stage of her own life – and suddenly finds herself struggling to balance two boys. One boy takes Lennie out of her sorrow; the other comforts her in it. But the two can't collide without Lennie's world exploding...’

Why this impacted me:

It understood how I was feeling. The walls of Lennie’s life collapsed around her when her sister died, and she perfectly describes what it is like to be lying in the wreckage of the destruction of a life. So how do you rebuild yourself? This book describes it accurately. The poetry this book contains is also just remarkably astonishing. It grounded me when I felt like I was going to float off and join Icarus as he floated to the sun.

Quote that stayed:

‘How will I survive this missing? How do others do it? People die all the time. Every day. Every hour. There are families all over the world staring at beds that are no longer slept in, shoes that are no longer worn. Families that no longer have to buy a particular cereal, a kind of shampoo. There are people everywhere standing in line at the movies, buying curtains, walking dogs, while inside, their hearts are ripping to shreds. For years. For their whole lives. I don't believe time heals. I don't want it to. If I heal, doesn't that mean I've accepted the world without her?’

4- ‘Love Letters To The Dead’ by Ava Dellaira

Blurb:

‘It begins as an assignment for English class: write a letter to a dead person - any dead person. Laurel chooses Kurt Cobain - he died young, and so did Laurel's sister May - so maybe he'll understand a bit of what Laurel is going through. Soon Laurel is writing letters to lots of dead people - Janis Joplin, Heath Ledger, River Phoenix, Amelia Earhart... it's like she can't stop. (..) But much as Laurel might find writing the letters cathartic, she can't keep real life out forever. The ghosts of her past won't be contained between the lines of a page, and she will have to come to terms with growing up, the agony of losing a beloved sister, and the realisation that only you can shape your destiny.’

Why this impacted me:

It made me feel something. Yes, I cried. And yes, it had me staring at a wall for over an hour after reading it because I was feeling too much. It’s very real about the struggles of grief, homophobia, growing up, loss, and finding who you are after your world is destroyed. It’s just very real. That’s all I need to say, it’s real. And I think everyone who is dealing with personal demons will relate to the story this book wonderfully told. (Again, content warning is needed.)

Quote that stayed:

‘What I told you about saving people isn't true. You might think it is, because you might want someone else to save you, or you might want to save someone so badly. But no one else can save you, not really. Not from yourself. [...] You fall asleep in the foothills, and the wolf comes down from the mountains. And you hope someone will wake you up. Or chase it off. Or shoot it dead. But when you realize that the wolf is inside you, that's when you know. You can't run from it. And no one who loves you can kill the wolf, because it's part of you. They see your face on it. And they won't fire the shot.’

5- ‘Shatter Me’ by Tahereh Mafi

Blurb:

‘I have a curse

I have a gift,

I am a monster

I'm more than human,

My touch is lethal

My touch is power,

I am their weapon

I will fight back.

Juliette hasn’t touched anyone in exactly 264 days.’

Why this impacted me:

Guys. This is my favourite book series of all time. I have cried just talking about it because I love it so much. The prose? The plot? The characters? The dialogue? The description? The twists? The message? The diversity? The representation? Absolute perfection. My OTP is in this series. My whole life is this series let’s be honest. It’s such a refreshing read. A dystopian series and the best dystopian series I’ve read. Read it. Read it. Read it.

Quotes that stuck with me (three of too many to count because I can’t choose just one):

‘The truth is a painful reminder of why I prefer to live among lies.’

‘His smile is laced with dynamite. "Go to sleep"

"Go to hell."

He works his jaw. Walks to the door. "I'm working on it.”’

‘Hope in this world bleeds out of the barrel of a gun.’

[inloveandwords]

I read a total of 14 books between June 14 & June 27 and there were so many great ones!

All of the books I mention in this video can be found and purchased on my storefront here.

  Quiet Girl in a noisy world by Debbie Tung

4 stars

This is a graphic novel that is basically a series of scenarios that will be very relatable to true introverts. I am much more of an extroverted introvert, so there were some things that I didn’t fully relate to, but I totally understood. The illustrations were adorable and I read this book within an hour. I think this book would make a great gift for your introvert friends who don’t get enough love in this noisy world.

Can I Come Over by Whitney G

4 Stars

I saw that a friend of mine on bookstagram was reading a couple of Whitney G novels and this was one of them. It definitely inspired me to pick it up since it was my birthday and her novels tend to be short and sweet – like a little treat on a day of relaxation.

This book had so many great romance tropes happening in it. First of all, the heroine, not unlike Whitney G, is a successful author of short, self-published, steamy romance novels. She joins this sort of pen pal ish service that is supposed to be strictly platonic and starts talking to this guy. At first he’s a douche, but then they work things out. Turns out he is her dad’s good friend. So there is a forbidden and age gap scenario.

I have to be honest, I didn’t love this at first. I really didn’t like the way the hero was talking to our heroine at all and I worried he wouldn’t redeem himself.

He did and I ended up really enjoying this. Whitney G does what few authors can when it comes to steamy novellas: she builds chemistry quickly and crafts a believable romance in otherwise outlandish settings. Her and Katee Robert are my two very favorite short, steamy, romance writers for that reason.

When a Scot Ties the Knot by Tessa Dare

5 Stars

I finally did it! I read a Tessa Dare novel and everyone was right. I freaking loved it.

This book is about a woman who is incredibly introverted and to avoid having to do the typical coming out in society thing, she makes up a pretend boyfriend. A Scottish soldier who, it turns out, actually exists.

He has been receiving her letters and learns all about her from them, so when he shows up unexpectedly at the house she inherited because of her fake engagement to him, she’s obviously surprised.

For those who don’t normally like historical romances, I think Tessa Dare is the perfect place to ease your way into the genre. Her heroines aren’t annoyingly innocent and naive. Her books feel modern even though they are not.

This had so many elements of a great romance: fake dating, a little bit of enemies-to-lovers, and an adorable meetcute.

I can’t wait to read more Tessa Dare!

The Black Flamingo by Dean Atta

5 Stars

This is a coming-of-age memoir about a mixed-race gay teen who eventually finds himself when he discovers drag, written in verse. Obviously I can’t personally speak for the rep in this novel, but I can tell you that it was beautifully written.

I’m a big fan of modern poetry and though I connected a little more with the poetry in The Poet X a little more, I still really liked this one. While I loved the audiobook, I have seen a few pages of the book and I wish I had it as I was reading as well.

I feel like this book is so important for young people to read, to help them see outside of their boxes – or to help them find themselves on page. To help them not feel so alone.

Cherry Magic

4 stars

My very first official manga was gifted to me by my sweet friend, @genkireader, for my birthday. There was definitely a learning curve when it came to reading this. I was messaging her on Instagram with questions like, “Wait, this book is backwards, where do I start? Do I read right to left or left to right?” It was surprisingly more difficult than I expected, but I REALLY enjoyed this book. So much so that I ended up buying a few more of her favorites.

This book was quirky and cute. It’s about a guy who has developed the power to read people’s mind through touch and he thinks it is because he’s a 30yo virgin. He ends up reading the mind of a charasmatic, good-looking guy in his office and discovers that he is attracted to him. So many adorable moments ensue, a ton of over-thinking and awkwardness, but also super sweet, swoony moments, too. I feel like this will speak to any of us who overthink every little thing when we are falling for someone. Especially when it is unexpected.

Thank you, De’Siree for this gift, it was like you gifted me a piece of yourself because I know how much you love these stories. Lovelovelovelovelove.

Rafe by Rebekah Weatherspoon

3 Stars

This is a cute romance between a buff, tattooed nanny who begins working for a savant young surgeon and mother of two girls.

This book was fine, though I didn’t see anything special about it. Maybe I gave in a little to the hype surrounding it and that was the issue, but mostly the romance was just ok. I felt like it was a little rushed, I wished there was more pining and more of a forbidden aspect to this, but it seemed like they both gave in pretty quickly.

Loving Mr. Daniels by Brittany C Cherry

5 stars

This was a super angsty, emotional story about a girl and a guy who are both dealing with terrible tragedy and find solace in each other. The first night they meet is filled with unbelievable chemistry, it’s almost too good to be true.

And it turns out to be. Because it turns out he is her high school teacher.

The heroine was held back in school because of a medical condition, so she is 19 years old and a senior. He is a young teacher, in his early twenties, so the age gap isn’t really a thing, but it doesn’t make it any less forbidden.

When they realize the situation, it’s heartbreaking because of how intense their first meeting was. A series of super angsty things happen and it’s all very intense, but in the best epic love kind of way.

I was rooting for this couple the entire time, but not only that, I loved the heroine’s relationship with her step siblings even with all that drama.

All American Boys by Jason Reynolds

5 Stars

This is a super relevant fictional story that is somewhat reminiscent of The Hating Game.

This is about a boy in the ROTC in high school who is falsely accused of stealing by a racist, hateful police officer who ends up beating him until he is unconscious which stirs protests in his town that is sick of this constantly happening.

Sound familiar?

What’s interesting about this story is how it follows the perspective both of the victim and a white boy that goes to his school who is linked to the police officer.

I was completely invested in this story, while also cautious. I was super curious about how this book would end. Would it be far too optimistic or would it be realistic?

When I finally came to the end, I very much appreciated it. It was hopeful without being naive. It left questions that we still need answers to, but it didn’t feel too unresolved that it leaves you unsettled. I almost took it as… let’s let current events tell us how this story is going to end.

The Prince and the Dressmaker by Jen Wang

5 Stars

I read this sweet, heartwarming graphic novel with my girls. They adored it from the very first night we read it before bed.

This story is about a prince who likes to wear dresses and hires, in secret, a dressmaker to make him custom dresses.

I didn’t tell them what it was about, I wanted them to discover it on their own and ask questions as they came up.

Books are an essential parenting tool for me.

The girls begged me every night to keep going. They loved the characters in this book and they were excited to see what was going to happen.

This entire book, but especially the ending was so adorable. I absolutely loved it and can’t wait to read more from this author. Especially if I can share the experience with my girls.

Addicted series books 1 & 1.5 by Krista and Becca Ritchie

5 stars and 4 stars

A lot of my friends have read and loved this series, between that and the premise, I’ve been super excited to read it.

This is about a woman who is a sex addict and her best friend she’s in a fake relationship with who is an alcoholic.

This is a super angsty, dark, gritty series so far with such a strong romance. These are extremely troubled characters who are using their relationship and each other to hide their addictions.

I found this book, ironically enough, addicting to read and I can’t wait to read on in the series.

The second book did seem to drag on a bit, I feel like it could’ve been half as long as it was, but I know it was necessary.

Take a Hint Dani Brown by Talia Hibbert

5 Stars

I am absolutely LOVING these Brown sisters books! Chloe’s book was fantastic, but I think this one might be my favorite so far.⁣

⁣

Dani is a smart, independent savvy woman who is not interested in a long term relationship. Zaf is basically the complete opposite.⁣

⁣

The two of them have not had much more than a nice rapport – he’s the security guard at the school she teaches at, until Dani gets trapped in an elevator and Zaf rescues her. This wouldn’t be a big deal if the entire rescue didn’t get caught on film and go viral.⁣

⁣

The “going viral” thing seems to be really popular lately and it’s not normally something I would gravitate towed. Honestly, I tend to prefer if romance novels just pretend that social media didn’t exist. I think it’s tricky including anything involving technology in contemporary romance novels only because things change so rapidly, it’s easy to become outdated.⁣

⁣

However, I didn’t care what this book was about, I knew I was going to read it and fully expected to love it … and I was right.⁣

⁣

As always, Talia’s steamy scenes are SO on point, but more than anything, she writes sweet heroes SO well. I adored Zaf with everything I am. I can’t handle how much I love his side job and that despite being a big guy, he’s a big softie. ⁣

⁣

And, of course, I adored Dani. I love how badass and confident and independent she is, even if it does complicate her relationships.⁣

Becoming by Michelle Obama

5 Stars

I borrowed this on a whim from my library. I’ve been reading a few nonfiction books lately and have enjoyed all that I’ve picked up.⁣

⁣

I have to admit, though, I loved this one the most.⁣

⁣

I didn’t realize Michelle’s father had MS. As soon as she mentioned his symptoms, my stomach dropped and I just KNEW it. It’s always hard for me to read about people who have Multiple Sclerosis, especially nonfiction because I’m always wondering if that will be me and when.⁣⁣

⁣

As a romance reader, I adored Michelle and Obama’s romance. I officially ship them SO hard. Watching their relationship unfold was so satisfying and adorable.⁣

⁣

I’m not a big crier while reading, but I got choked up so many times. When she talked about visiting the VA, when she talked about Sandy Hook… it wasn’t overly dramatic, but it was enough to have me covering my mouth with my hand trying not to cry.⁣

⁣

I’ve always admired this woman, but even more now than I did before learning more about her. ⁣

  Recent Reads: June 14-27 I read a total of 14 books between June 14 & June 27 and there were so many great ones!

[beauty--by--mary]

Please Love Yourself | A Note On Self-Love Pt. 1

Recently, I have been going through my follower lists every so often. I have really been in the mood to get more personal with this blog, especially since its summer and I have the time. One thing I found when I was combing through was that many blogs who follow me are those whose focus is on “thinspo”, and “ugw”, and all these other related things.

This caught my attention because I was unfamiliar with these terms, and wanted to understand. Upon very brief research I came to realize that these things fit under the genre of eating disorder blogs. And before anyone gets mad at me for saying something so serious in a blunt way, even Tumblr knows this. Ever looked up the word “thinspo” on Tumblr? The first thing that comes up is a page asking if you’re okay, and giving advice for those with eating disorders. It even sends you to the NEDA (National Eating Disorders Association) Tumblr blog. 

Now, I am a person who believes that being confident and feeling good about yourself are tremendously important. BUT, please, I beg you, do not put your health off to the side so that you can focus on what some stupid scale tells you. 

And I know its hard, and I know that I probably will never fully understand having not gone through this myself, but I want you to know that no matter what a scale says, or what a person says, or what the media says, or even the things you might say to yourself are worth more than your life. I understand wanting to lose weight, and if you are not in a healthy state that it can even be beneficial to lose weight. But I have seen your blogs, and I have looked through stories, and what I saw just hit me as such lies.

I saw girls who looked healthy, and even underweight saying that they needed to be skinnier, or that they were fat, or that they hated their bodies. And I am in no way trying to shame the people who say these things, I am heartbroken and want to ease their pain. Because an eating disorder is a mental health issue. That is just a fact. And to see young, beautiful, smart, lovely, kind, powerful, and loved women to harm, beat-down, or even kill themselves over something as superficial as this makes me so upset.

The biggest heartbreak that I feel as a blogger is the thought that this blog could have fed this issue. Because, yes, many of the posts I share have women who are thin. That’s how media is. I swear I never meant to share things because a person was a certain weight, or because they met societal beauty standards, but I shared those posts because I enjoyed their clothing, or their makeup, or their aesthetic. I never, ever, ever want to be the reason someone harms themselves. I have a personal history with mental health, and so do many of the people closest to me, and I know first hand the tragedies that come with it. So please know that I do not encourage these actions, and I do not want to cause anyone pain.

I believe that people can do whatever they want, as long as they aren’t hurting themselves or others. So you can change your body, and be comfortable with who you’re with, but don’t harm yourself to do it. Don’t obsess over calories, don’t spend hours in the mirror pointing out your flaws, don’t look at people with “more desirable” bodies and say “if I looked like that, I would be happier”.

Love yourself. That’s the bottom line. All those things, they only hurt you. You have to be able to love yourself, no matter what. And if you don’t, then you can’t properly love others. Love yourself.

All of this being said, I encourage you to take five minutes and do one or more of the following:

1) Look in the mirror, and say the things you love about yourself

2) Get a glass of water, and refresh yourself

3) Grab a journal, or a piece of paper, or even a napkin: doodle, write poetry, take your mind off of the things ailing you

4) Make a list of the things you LOVE about yourself. Sit in front of that mirror, say a big “fuck you” to all the demons saying horrible things, and instead shed some light on your beauty. Because I know it’s there, even if you don’t see it. 

There is beauty, and there is love, and you deserve to feel both. And it all starts with you. Message me if you don’t feel love, because I have a lot to say and it would bring me so much joy if I could spread love and positivity.

I now leave you with a quote from my favorite singer Halsey...

I'm bigger than my body I'm colder than this home I'm meaner than my demons I'm bigger than these bones

**Note: I wrote this a while back, but I contemplated for a long time as to whether or not to post it. My blog is usually not a place for deep stuff, but I’ve decided that maybe it should be. And this issue is something that worries me, because I care for all the people following me. Everything I said is still true, and if you need someone to talk to, I’m here. Love- Mary**

[pamphletstoinspire]

Angry with God

My older sister Patricia died of spina bifida before I was born. My younger sister Linda died of spina bifida when I was 3. Given that I was raised in a traditional, stoic, Irish-Catholic family, my sisters and their deaths were never talked about. In fact, I didn’t even know they existed until I was 5 and found their names in our family Bible. “Who are these people?” I asked my mother.

“They are your sisters”—that was all she said.

As I grew, I thought about them a lot. Eventually, I began to ask my mother why God did this to our family. She said simply that some crosses were heavier to carry than others. Somehow that answer and the related resignation didn’t work for me. And so I began to become angry. Specifically, I began to become angry with God.

For most of my youth, I felt this anger was wrong, sinful. Yet it didn’t go away. I encountered more and more suffering that did not make sense. A friend lost both his parents by the eighth grade. A very good priest dropped dead of a heart attack. The brother of a friend died in Vietnam.

As I began my work as a psychologist, I would touch on spiritual matters with my clients. I found that I was not alone in my anger. Worse, I met people whose explanations for tragedy were heartbreaking.

One woman, for example, believed that her prayers for a dying daughter did not work because her prayers were “not worthy of God’s attention.” Even my own father, as he dealt with a series of strokes, told me they were “punishment for my sins.” As I heard such struggles, I felt more and more that, because of anger, I was bound to grow away from my faith. Then I read the Book of Job.

Job: Not Merely Silent Suffering

Given that the Catholicism of my youth did not include a great deal of biblical study, I knew very little about Job other than the phrase “the patience of Job.” When I read this marvelous book, I realized among other things that Job was hardly patient. In fact, like me, he was angry!

The story of Job begins with a bet. Satan is arguing with God, saying that faith is easy when everything is going well in one’s life, but that people tend to lose that faith when times are tough. He then brings up Job, pointing out that Job has great faith but is also very comfortable and successful. But suppose, suggests Satan, that Job falls on hard times: Will he then be so faithful? God gives Satan permission to take away everything of Job’s but not to harm him. Satan does this, but Job holds on to his faith. So Satan ups the ante by asking God to let him harm Job directly.

And so Job ends up homeless, penniless, and afflicted with horrible skin diseases. He begins to seek an explanation from God. In fact, Job demands an explanation!

Job’s friends show up and offer standard explanations for his troubles. “You must have sinned,” suggests one. “You haven’t prayed hard enough,” says another. And yet Job continues his outcry, ultimately demanding that God show up and explain himself.

And God shows up! Granted, God tends to put Job in his place and never really answers Job’s “Why?” question. But the important points are that God shows up and that he never punishes Job for his outcry.

But Why, Lord?

I think the Book of Job is there to encourage us to embrace our outcries, not suppress them; and to struggle with the “Why?” question, not dismiss it. And so, somewhat timidly, I began to allow myself that anger.

It soon became clear to me that I needed to explore my anger at several levels. The most immediate level was the “Why?” question that was a large part of my youth. As I began to read, I found out that the “Why?” question has in fact given rise to a specific area of theological study called theodicy. Specifically, theodicy examines the issue of how an all-good, all-loving God can permit evil.

As I explored my anger, I came across the book May I Hate God? by Pierre Wolff. Despite its provocative title, this is a very gentle-spirited book that reminds us that God is a loving parent; and that loving parents, upon learning that their child is angry with them, want to hear about the anger—not necessarily condone it, but hear about it. This opened up to me the awareness that, when I am angry with God, my tendency is to express that anger in the same way I do at a human level. I shut down and use the “silent treatment.”

Novelist Joseph Heller put it another way in his novel God Knows. King David is reflecting on whether he is angry with God and concludes, “I’m not angry with God. We’re just not speaking to one another.” So it was with me and the God of my understanding.

In any case, Wolff’s book helped me to accept my anger. But I still struggled with the “Why?” question. Other thinkers offered helpful insights. Viktor Frankl did not answer this question, but he observed that, while we don’t always have a choice over what happens to us, we always have a choice regarding how we face it. Similarly, Rabbi Harold Kushner, in his well-regarded When Bad Things Happen to Good People, offered what for me was a novel idea—that perhaps God wasn’t responsible for some of the bad things that happened to us.

At first, Kushner’s notion was comforting. Maybe God wasn’t behind my sisters’ illnesses or children with cancer or senseless random shootings. Maybe those things just happened. Somehow that thought made me fear God less. Yet the thought that perhaps God wasn’t behind all bad things that happened created another question articulated by Annie Dillard, who wrote in For the Time Being, “If God does not cause everything that happens, does God cause anything that happens? Is God completely out of the loop?”

My anger at God brought me to wrestle with some important issues. It challenged me to reexamine my image of God. Did I see God as punitive, misreading the Old Testament? Did I see him as loving, as in many New Testament stories? Did I see him as uninvolved, caring for the big picture and leaving the details to us, as the Oh, God! films suggest?

My anger also brought me face-to-face with my struggles about prayer. Does God answer prayers? Clearly not all prayers. It’s been said that there are many unanswered prayers at deathbeds. If God doesn’t answer all prayers, to follow Dillard, does he answer any prayers?

These struggles have been productive, prodding me toward a more mature understanding of God, as well as a more clear appreciation for prayer. But I still come face-to-face with my anger.

A Personal Encounter with God

Over the past few years, I have read the entire Bible three times. It has been a truly enlightening experience. I saw clearly that Job wasn’t the only one to argue with God. Abraham did it; Moses did it; even Jesus did it! I was in good company.

I saw, too, that David’s Psalms were at times outcries. Within the poetry, one can hear the oppressed poet yelling out to God, “Do something!”

I’ve learned from my many clients who sit and try to understand tragedies in their lives. In asking these great teachers, “Are you angry with God?” I’ve heard many instructive answers. One woman wrestling with a lifethreatening illness said, “Of course I’m angry with God! But he’s God. He can take it!” Another very spiritual young woman observed, “No, I’m not angry. But I sure would like to have a peek at his operations manual.”

Harold Kushner recently published a piece on the Book of Job titled The Book of Job: When Bad Things Happened to a Good Person. It is a literate and scholarly book that offered me a new note of comfort. Kushner suggests that Job is comforted and consoled not so much by God’s explanation but by the encounter itself. Job deeply experienced God’s presence and took comfort in that meaningful experience. I found a note of personal truth in this thought. I realized that, yes, I’ve had meaningful encounters with God in nature or in the world of great art or in the sound of my grandchildren’s laughter.

But I realized that I have also encountered God in my anger in a way that has been profound. As I voice that anger, I feel God in a manner as profound as, albeit different from, my experience of God in nature.

The story of this journey of anger has a more recent turn to it, one with which I am still dealing. I recently saw an episode of The West Wing, a program from the early 2000s starring Martin Sheen as a fictional president. Prior to this episode, the president had lost a much-loved secretary in a senseless car accident. After the funeral, he stands alone in the National Cathedral and unleashes an anger that shocked me. As an example, his character refers to God as a “vengeful thug.”

I felt I’d long validated the importance of anger in my relationship with God, yet I found myself uncomfortable with the intensity of President Bartlett’s anger. But, upon reflection, I understood it. My anger is more than annoyance or disappointment—at times it is rage. Yet, out of fear, I withhold that rage and instead, like David in Heller’s novel, stop talking to my God or at least temper my feelings. Yet, when I allow myself to approach that rage, I find God waiting for me.

And so I come face-to-face with the God of my understanding. Is that God a vengeful parent who will not tolerate my anger and will punish me for speaking up? Such was the God of my youth. Or is the God of my understanding a loving God willing to wrestle with me, willing to accept my vented rage in the name of open, ongoing dialogue and genuine encounter? And do I have the courage to fully embrace this understanding of God and remain in dialogue in the midst of my rage?

The great Jewish scholar Abraham Joshua Heschel once wrote, “God stands in a passionate relationship with Man.” Anyone who has lived in a longterm, passionate relationship learns that passion is a package deal. You can’t have the joy and ecstasy unless you also accept and embrace the anger and alienation. I’ve dealt with several couples who say they don’t fight. But they are in my office because their relationship is stagnant. Without the struggle, there is no passionate intimacy.

The Path of Relationship

I realize at this point that, for me to have a joyful, peaceful, vibrant relationship with the God of my understanding, I must also embrace the rage. Not just annoyance, but rage!

And so, as I struggle, I return to reflect on my mother’s faith in the face of tragedy. I see that her faith was not some passive, shoulder-shrugging, “Oh well, it could be worse” type of faith. Throughout her life, she believed not only in the power of prayer but also in the persistence of that prayer. Like the woman in the parable seeking justice, she would not quietly plead or go away. Rather, she would “storm heaven with prayers.” Nor did she let tragic loss engender cynicism: on her deathbed and with absolute certainty and joyful anticipation, she said, “I’m going to see my girls.”

And yet I know my path is one of wrestling and arguing. It occurs to me that perhaps within the mystical body of Christ, we both play a part. People like my mother indeed inspire me to not lose hope and to continue to believe that understanding God’s mysterious way is possible.

But perhaps people like me—the questioners, the wrestlers—help others not to lapse into passive, depressed resignation. Perhaps in encouraging others to “fight back,” we help them experience real encounters with God. Perhaps we wrestlers help others to hope that our pain and anguish do matter. And perhaps together we can link arms and sing those words of Job offered not as an answer but in hopeful expectation: “The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord!”

Richard B. Patterson, Phd, is a clinical psychologist and freelance writer from El Paso, Texas.

[aitian]

8/23/20 3:02am, sunday

think i have been going abt the way i talk & interact w ppl wrong. feels shitty that as an adult i am still so repressed. a lot has to be unspoken bc maybe i dont have words that other ppl want to hear. & otherwise i had always been scared to say what i mean. thinking today abt what it might be like to be honest w ghosts. maybe they would materialize but i wont try.

we would go to stone valley. him & i. somehow its hard to admit thats who has lived in my head for so long. i really don’t much remember what he looks like, only photos. or that feeling of being so enchanted. the heartbreak, numb, is still familiar. i think its on my mind bc i reread ganbare nakamura kun yesterday & the furious rewriting of truth inside the head (is it just me? they couldn’t.. wouldn’t... would they?) made me feel so sad. i was thinking when he feels rejected on the school trip, when hirose seems to enjoy the company of everyone else, nakamura goes to the aquarium alone anyway to see the cute octo. & he has this happy face. & he finds tako & its so cute & he becomes so frustrated, upset. of course things would end up this way. & thats where my story ended. but hirose appears, paid the entrance fee & tells nakamura he is funny & charming, & reveals an intimate moment of i would rather be with u. 

the wind would blow across the water. my hair would be pulled up into a messy bun, or maybe i would just clip back the sides. i might pick him up, but i would have to practice the route. he would say, woah... you’ve changed. i might say... im not sure. is that okay? & there’s no way to say no. so we would end up by the reservoir, & i might ask why he agreed to meet me, or he might ask why i wanted to see him. i might tell him how i felt that year. how i was so upset to watch him graduate. i guess i think he would be uncomfortable around me. & i might tell him i dont have any expectations. i just wanted to see him again.

writing & rewriting endings (continuations) is a strange strategy i don’t know how to feel about. i thought deeply about it first reading eve ewing’s poetry guided by hui ying. i guess most happy stories feel like rewritings already. like there’s what an author who lives a lovelier life would expect to happen to them. but for me it wouldn’t happen that way. & that’s why i find it difficult to rewrite my own stories- because they wouldn’t happen that way. & i want them to be anything but real so bad. the real story is much more mundane & painful. so to rewrite my stories into mythology or whatever else carries a lot of weight. like, of course representations are easily imagined to be perfect, full of vigor & triumph & diversity & heroes & villains & lessons but it doesn’t make sense to me to deform my past into smth worth ingesting. its yucky to share the dirty & ugly feelings i have had as well as a sanitized retelling. maybe i just want to tell a story full of monsters.

ive started drawing a little but even that imagining of a representation is icky to me. i guess thats why i think i can only draw myself- bc im not a representation. that my image can literally be a version of me flattened onto a page. & thats different from designing characters to fit an ideal image for a story. i guess i am very unideal for my tragedy lmao. i will draw tmrw.

some updates abt the summer: - hate texting/msging ppl. did it rarely but somehow felt like a lot - sad that i don’t know what ppls lives are like who i care abt & that is a shameful contradition bc clearly i dont care if i dont know & dont want to ask but i dont want to ask bc that already embodies the contradiction of not knowing but wishing i knew - rly lonely sometimes. like now writing abt him & regretting how i have gotten to this point in my now 20′s without building the beginnings of any future that has love in it, friends, partners, comrades, children, guardians, mentors - looking forward to umibe no etranger movie i guess. tbh i rly dont like the manga characters but the art is cute i guess & voice acting from the trailer is pretty precious. been reading a lot of bl these few days & i think it is the most interesting part of my life. cis women can write these dramatic narratives abt what is feels like to be a queer boy in love. it is so easy & pleasurable to abuse imagined beings. i have to write vestigial bodies this year.  - alice is home this weekend. we celebrated dads burthday today. i think 56. mom and dad both say they are not old, & alice was quick to agree. i think it is convenient for her to not have to see them every day & think abt their futures. alice made drinks & i made spocy ramen around midnight & i think this is the type of carefree activity i miss indulging in w friends, ppl who i want to eat well & be happy & see their beautiful faces & talk abt everything w. friends is such a bad, generic word. - school starts in two weeks i think - idk what else. had a period of rly enjoying the sunrise & running outside, but i am back in the slump. its so difficult to wake up when i dont know why i would want to do that shit. lol. its always not so difficult anymore once i am awake but i realized i am so upset when i am tired, & im just used to living with those feelings until i pass out. i dont need more than 8 hrs a day to feel happy but its difficult to stop the slump from making its nest - pastimes r watching one piece (im on episode 500+ & i cannot multitask when reading subs), reading bl, playing botw, playing w myself, & eating i guess. i also read sula in one day bc i wanted to prove to myself that i still knew how. obsessive. comforts & pleasures > coping. our brains r wired so weak by scarcity relations. & also idk... adhd & ocd tendencies + anxious obsessive & depressive obsessive.

goals for the end of this year i think: - 80 pgs of lianhuanhua type graphic novel - vestigial bodies essay on virtual pleasure & bodily rejection (pain, deterioration, abuse, freakishness) - maybe centered on some media? not sure yet.. thinking abt video games & comics as virtual life where representations replace bodily function, distance pleasurable simulated outcomes w the body that produces unpleasurable irl outcomes - visual novel in febuilder if i figure out what i want to do with gameplay. - learn blender. maybe construct one scene

[mrmichaelchadler]

Brian Tallerico's Top Ten Films of 2018

It’s that time of year when critics take a look at dozens of different pieces of art and try to put them in the same box. There’s something inherently odd about pitting films against each other, but it’s also a way to draw attention to things you love and want to share with more people. It’s often a way to consider themes in art, but I was struck more this year by what my top ten says about my personal taste more than overall motifs in the world of moviemaking. I spoke to Barry Jenkins earlier this month, and he commented on how he’s attracted to what he calls genuine filmmaking. That’s clearly a through-line in my picks too, none of which were made purely to garner awards or fatten wallets. They are deeply personal films from masterful filmmakers, across the spectrum of genre and style. What do Boots Riley and Debra Granik have in common other than a deep passion for what they do? They share that passion with us, and lists like this, at their best, amplify it just one step further. I saw around 250 films released this year. This list could be different with rewatches or even just over time. It’s always subject to change. But, as of today, these were my favorites of a very good year:

Runner-ups: “Black Panther,” “Blindspotting,” “First Man,” “First Reformed,” “Hereditary,” “Lean on Pete,” “Mission: Impossible - Fallout,” “Spider-Man: Into the Spider-verse,” “Wildlife” and “Zama”

10. “Sorry to Bother You”

It’s the rare film that can feel both completely current and ahead of its time. Boots Riley’s incredible social satire, anchored by a performance from Lakeith Stanfield that is only getting a fraction of the year-end attention it deserves, is the best debut of the year (and it was a strong one for debuts with this, “Hereditary,” “Minding the Gap,” “Eighth Grade,” and more). Riley’s film echoes his music in its blending of different styles and influences into something that feels both defiantly new and classically funky. It is often hard to tell when you’re in a year what movies from it that people will be watching five or even ten years from now. I would bet money they’ll be watching this one.

9. “You Were Never Really Here”

Lynne Ramsay’s award-winning “thriller” (the quotes because there’s not really one genre appellation that feels like it captures everything this movie does) is such a perfectly calculated work of art that it’s easy to take for granted the first time you see it. Every choice here has been carefully considered by a master craftsman, but that attention to detail is offset by an organic, emotional, borderline dangerous performance in the center from Joaquin Phoenix, doing what I consider the best acting work of the year. Phoenix is mesmerizing, capturing a man who has to access his trauma to do his very unusual job, and someone who dives deeper into his own nightmarish abyss each time. It’s a challenging, unforgettable film, and a testament to the overall quality of the year that it’s this far down the list.

8. “Shoplifters”

Hirokazu Kore-eda is one of our best living filmmakers, a man who personifies the Ebert principle of cinema as an empathy machine. He makes movies about real people, using them to encourage conversation about complex issues like masculinity, justice, and the definition of family. His Palme d’Or-winning latest is arguably his masterpiece, a film that reconsiders so many of his previous themes, but also works purely as heartbreaking melodrama. He spends 90 minutes getting his viewers deeply involved in the life of a family on one of the lowest rungs of society, and then challenges how we feel about them with stunning revelations in the final act. Directing some of the best performances in his catalog (Ando Sakura’s work here may be the most underrated of the year), this is an example of a master working at the top of his form.

7. “Annihilation”

What’s the cinematic equivalent of an earworm? You know those songs, or even ad jingles, that burrow their way into your brain and don’t go away? You think of them at random times, humming them to yourself without even knowing you’re doing so? Alex Garland’s latest is the movie version of that, a movie I saw early this year that will not go away. The images, the themes, the faces, the horrors—there’s something about "Annihilation" that has lodged itself in my memory in a way films rarely do. Part of the reason for that is how open the film is to interpretation, relying on imagery instead of plot twists. Those are the movies that last. We may remember a line or some shocking twist from films we like, but it’s the images from the movies we love that sneak up on us. “Annihilation” will be doing so for decades.

6. “The Ballad of Buster Scruggs”

I smile every time I think of Joel and Ethan Coen’s latest Western anthology, which is somewhat ironic given it’s a movie about death. Maybe that’s part of the game. After all, the final segment in Netflix’s film is about bounty hunters who distract their targets with stories. We’re all just distracted by the stories of life, many of my favorites told by the Coens, on our way to shuffling off this mortal coil. These stories work on their own or taken as an entire piece, elevated by the Coen’s incredible attention to detail in every element of the production, including Bruno Delbonnel’s stunning cinematography, one of Carter Burwell’s best scores, and a simply perfect ensemble. I wrote more about the excellence of this film here, and I’m still smiling.

5. “Widows”

Every once in a while, there’s a movie that gets dismissed as pulp by the critical Illuminati. What’s funny is those pulp movies more often find their way into the cinematic firmament than the most buzzed Oscar bait. I'm not worried about the future of "Widows." It didn’t help Steve McQueen’s masterfully entertaining and enlightening examination of corruption and agency in Chicago that it was horrendously advertised, leaving viewers who might like it at home and those who probably wouldn’t angry in their theater seats. Suffice to say, “Widows” was mishandled, but I am as confident in anything on this list that “Widows” will find a loyal, devoted audience over time. Great movies always do.

4. “Burning”

My top 2-4 are relatively interchangeable, all films that did what is so much harder and harder to do every year—broke through our increasingly diffused attention span. With the amount of distractions in this tech-heavy world, it’s getting more difficult even for film critics to “give themselves over” to a movie. For me, I’m often distracted by the other work I have ahead of me—pieces I have to write or editorial duties at this site. Our brains seem to increasingly be asking “what’s next?!” And so there’s something breathtaking about a movie that is powerful enough to push out the “next” with the “now.” Lee Chang-dong’s masterful thriller does exactly that, weaving a mesmerizing tableau for over two hours and then throwing you back into the world, dazed and marveling at what you just watched.

3. “Leave No Trace”

I had a similar reaction to Debra Granik’s poignant drama when I saw it in Sundance. All the other films in Park City faded away as I became deeply invested in the lives of two strangers. Granik’s compassion for these two people is contagious. We feel for the young Tom (Thomasin Harcourt McKenzie) and her PTSD-afflicted father Will (Ben Foster) in ways that is rare in cinema. We want Tom to be happy. We want Will to find stability. We want them to be their best selves, and yet Granik doesn’t even remotely judge Will for his trauma or Tom for her increasing need to leave him. It’s that rare subgenre of the character study that isn’t designed to make some grand statement about all of humanity but fully capture the lives of the people in its center. Will and Tom feel real. We know them and we root for them. And we don’t forget them.

2. “If Beale Street Could Talk”

I couldn’t possibly capture why I love Barry Jenkins’ adaptation of James Baldwin’s “unfilmable” novel more completely than Odie Henderson did in his brilliant review, so just read that first. My top two films of the year—and this clearly reflects a personal preference in what I’m looking for lately—blend the lyrical and the realistic. The story of Fonny (Stephan James) and Tish (KiKi Layne) is tragically real in its injustice and examination of broken dreams. And yet there’s also a poetry to Jenkins’ filmmaking that’s simply beautiful. There is poignant tragedy here, of course, but there’s also overwhelming joy. The joy of a family, of love, of hope, and of filmmaking artistry. It’s the rare movie that I feel will shift ever so slightly every time I watch it, offering me something new to appreciate and adore.

1. “Roma”

That last sentence also holds true for Alfonso Cuarón’s masterpiece, the best film of 2018. So many movies lately feel like they “take” from their audience, whether it be with lazy filmmaking or CGI extravaganza that leave you more exhausted than exhilarated. “Roma” gives and gives. I put so much of myself —what I value in both film and criticism—into my review that I’m not sure what else I could say other than I walked out of this movie on a high that films rarely give me any more. Perhaps it’s a reflection of the state of the form or just getting older and busier, but that “spark,” that “movie magic” doesn’t come along like I wish it would as often as it did when I was younger. I was floating after “Roma.” I still am.  

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[how2to18]

IN JASON REYNOLDS’S new novel in verse Long Way Down, it all began with The Rules.

No.1: Crying Don’t. No matter what. Don’t.

No. 2: Snitching Don’t. No matter what. Don’t.

No. 3: Revenge Do. No matter what. Do.

Will’s brother Shawn has just been shot. Knowing that it is his responsibility to honor the rules of his community, Will goes in search of the man who ended his brother’s life, carrying Shawn’s gun to complete the deed. In the elevator of the building where Will is supposed to find Shawn’s killer, he is visited by ghosts from his past, all of whom have suffered a similar fate at the hands of a man with a gun. As the elevator descends, and the ghosts all reveal the circumstances surrounding their deaths, the reader is dragged down through the chaos of Will’s grief-stricken mind.

Something ached inside me when I finished this novel, a quiet pain that still hasn’t quite left. Even now, I can feel its presence when I sit down to write, the way someone might gingerly touch the new skin of a healing wound. Perhaps it is just the universal feeling of grief that overpowers us when we lose a family member, because we have lost a piece of ourselves.

but if the blood inside you is on the inside of someone else,

you never want to see it on the outside of them.

The feeling of helplessness was too familiar, because even though the rules that govern my own life are different, I can still see their power in Will’s world. I can see how they wind their way around a person, especially a young person, cutting off his options and obscuring his view.

“Every community has rules,” says Reynolds. “Rules that are blindly followed. Codes of conduct that come from police brutality and poverty that make necessary certain rules, because they are put in place for safety.” Safety from the people who are supposed to protect us, safety that is actually an illusion because no one is ever really safe, which is the greatest tragedy of this story.

Shortly after the novel was published, I asked the author how he spoke to young people about the subject matter of his work, especially those whose stories were not unlike Will’s. “I talk to them about things that matter to them,” he said. “That actually have nothing to do with my books. Sometimes my childhood. Sneakers, ice cream trucks, swimming pools…” He adds: “Even though this book is an obvious warning against gun violence, it is also meant to humanize young people in the midst of all of this” — an important message because it has become too easy to look away from tragedy when it isn’t happening in our own families.

But of course we understand the pain of loss very well, as it is one of those uniquely human things that unites us regardless of circumstances. We may not live by Will’s rules, but we can empathize with a grieving brother, and our blood still runs cold at the thought of our own mother experiencing the loss of a child:

She sat in the kitchen, sobbing into her palms, which she peeled away only to lift glass to mouth

With each sip came a brief silence, and with each brief silence I snuck in a breath.

Long Way Down inspires empathy by forcing readers to experience the protagonist’s anguish. It reveals what Reynolds calls the “feeling of anger when you’re so upset and don’t know where to put the pain.” Grief replaces rationality with uncontrolled rage and creates a tidal wave of emotion that demands to be felt. The excruciating sensations of loss and anger and responsibility overwhelms all other thoughts. You can’t escape it. You are trapped in your own destructive sadness, which is what makes the elevator setting of this story so appropriate. It is like grief itself: once you are in it, you are trapped until it releases you — until the doors clang open and you can think freely again.

“It’s a physical space that directly mimics the feeling of trauma,” says Reynolds. “And when we think about pain, it’s closed in, slow. I chose a space that mimics the psychosis of intense pain.”

He accomplishes this with a genuine love for the rhythms of his story, which led me to ask how he felt about narrating the audiobook version. “Weird, but good,” he said. “Poetry was my first love and medium. Reading this felt natural for me,” which is why he felt a certain degree of responsibility to record it himself. “If you miss a beat, you ruin a page.”

In fact, the whole story follows a series of well-timed beats, as the elevator doors open to expose the deaths that haunt Will’s looming choice — to follow the rules or walk away. The first ghost, Buck, “the only big brother Shawn had ever had,” doesn’t seem surprised that his life was cut short by a gun. As a street dealer, he lived with the prospect of violence every day: he followed the rules, and he died by them. Then comes Dani, a childhood friend, appearing eight years older than she was when she was killed. Will remembers her flower dress, but more importantly he remembers a time when they had been happy, before the rules applied to them. And as the elevator descends further, we feel the bittersweet loss of childhood as he tells her what he needs to do and she asks, “What if you miss?”

The story was written and rewritten until Reynolds was satisfied that it was ready. “It was originally written in vignettes,” he told me. “I knew the characters and the plot points. I knew I needed different kinds of visitors. Good Guys. Bad Guys. I rewrote in verse and found the language, but only the necessary language. For me that was the most rewarding part. Trimming the fat and only using the language that served the story best. Over and over and over again.”

This obsession with detail is obvious to anyone who picks up the novel. Reynolds insists that this is a “novel-in-verse,” not “a novel in poems,” which is probably another reason I was able to connect more easily with his words. Even though Reynolds might not classify this work as poetry, he admits that the white space on the page serves as “an entrée to poetry,” which is comforting to readers who might be anxious about tackling a novel in verse.

It also speaks to the author’s own arrival to this level of craft because his journey as a writer was not a smooth one. While he might be a New York Times best-selling author, a National Book Award Honoree, a Kirkus Award winner, a Walter Dean Myers Award winner, an NAACP Image Award Winner, and the recipient of multiple Coretta Scott King honors, there was a time when Reynolds felt shut out by the world of literature. During his childhood in Washington, DC, Reynolds felt that books were about other people and their problems, which made it difficult for him to connect. This struggle to find himself on the page led him to set books aside at the age of nine; he would not discover them again until he was a teenager. At the University of Maryland, he earned a BA in English with a concentration in writing and rhetoric. Yet, were it not for the influence of Queen Latifah’s 1993 album Black Rain, he might never have found his own voice — the language that led him to poetry and then ultimately to the heartbreaking prose of Long Way Down:

Uncle Mark and My Father

looked at me with hollow eyes dancing somewhere between guilt and grief, which I couldn’t make sense of until my father admitted

that he had killed

the wrong guy.

These lines — detailing an accidental murder that occurred in the service of rules no one can escape — struck me the hardest. Will’s father’s ghost is trying to explain the circumstances surrounding his death so his son will not repeat his mistakes. It was a painful reminder of the price of revenge — that it isn’t always justice and the result not always what we intend. I was destroyed by the agony in the father’s voice and the truth spoken as he watched his son with “hollow eyes.”

Family is a powerful force in this story. Reynolds is very sensitive to the loss of innocence that comes with losing the last of our protectors — father, brother — leaving us alone to battle a desperate grief. Long Way Down is an elegantly crafted work by a writer who understands the tragedy of this subject.

¤

Julia Walton is the author of the young-adult novel Words on Bathroom Walls published by Random House in July 2017. She lives in Huntington Beach, California. Follow her on Twitter and Instagram @Jwaltonwrites.

The post The Ghosts of Gun Violence: Jason Reynold’s “Long Way Down” appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

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[pamphletstoinspire]

Angry with God

My older sister Patricia died of spina bifida before I was born. My younger sister Linda died of spina bifida when I was 3. Given that I was raised in a traditional, stoic, Irish-Catholic family, my sisters and their deaths were never talked about. In fact, I didn’t even know they existed until I was 5 and found their names in our family Bible. “Who are these people?” I asked my mother.

“They are your sisters”—that was all she said.

As I grew, I thought about them a lot. Eventually, I began to ask my mother why God did this to our family. She said simply that some crosses were heavier to carry than others. Somehow that answer and the related resignation didn’t work for me. And so I began to become angry. Specifically, I began to become angry with God.

For most of my youth, I felt this anger was wrong, sinful. Yet it didn’t go away. I encountered more and more suffering that did not make sense. A friend lost both his parents by the eighth grade. A very good priest dropped dead of a heart attack. The brother of a friend died in Vietnam.

As I began my work as a psychologist, I would touch on spiritual matters with my clients. I found that I was not alone in my anger. Worse, I met people whose explanations for tragedy were heartbreaking.

One woman, for example, believed that her prayers for a dying daughter did not work because her prayers were “not worthy of God’s attention.” Even my own father, as he dealt with a series of strokes, told me they were “punishment for my sins.” As I heard such struggles, I felt more and more that, because of anger, I was bound to grow away from my faith. Then I read the Book of Job.

Job: Not Merely Silent Suffering

Given that the Catholicism of my youth did not include a great deal of biblical study, I knew very little about Job other than the phrase “the patience of Job.” When I read this marvelous book, I realized among other things that Job was hardly patient. In fact, like me, he was angry!

The story of Job begins with a bet. Satan is arguing with God, saying that faith is easy when everything is going well in one’s life, but that people tend to lose that faith when times are tough. He then brings up Job, pointing out that Job has great faith but is also very comfortable and successful. But suppose, suggests Satan, that Job falls on hard times: Will he then be so faithful? God gives Satan permission to take away everything of Job’s but not to harm him. Satan does this, but Job holds on to his faith. So Satan ups the ante by asking God to let him harm Job directly.

And so Job ends up homeless, penniless, and afflicted with horrible skin diseases. He begins to seek an explanation from God. In fact, Job demands an explanation!

Job’s friends show up and offer standard explanations for his troubles. “You must have sinned,” suggests one. “You haven’t prayed hard enough,” says another. And yet Job continues his outcry, ultimately demanding that God show up and explain himself.

And God shows up! Granted, God tends to put Job in his place and never really answers Job’s “Why?” question. But the important points are that God shows up and that he never punishes Job for his outcry.

But Why, Lord?

I think the Book of Job is there to encourage us to embrace our outcries, not suppress them; and to struggle with the “Why?” question, not dismiss it. And so, somewhat timidly, I began to allow myself that anger.

It soon became clear to me that I needed to explore my anger at several levels. The most immediate level was the “Why?” question that was a large part of my youth. As I began to read, I found out that the “Why?” question has in fact given rise to a specific area of theological study called theodicy. Specifically, theodicy examines the issue of how an all-good, all-loving God can permit evil.

As I explored my anger, I came across the book May I Hate God? by Pierre Wolff. Despite its provocative title, this is a very gentle-spirited book that reminds us that God is a loving parent; and that loving parents, upon learning that their child is angry with them, want to hear about the anger—not necessarily condone it, but hear about it. This opened up to me the awareness that, when I am angry with God, my tendency is to express that anger in the same way I do at a human level. I shut down and use the “silent treatment.”

Novelist Joseph Heller put it another way in his novel God Knows. King David is reflecting on whether he is angry with God and concludes, “I’m not angry with God. We’re just not speaking to one another.” So it was with me and the God of my understanding.

In any case, Wolff’s book helped me to accept my anger. But I still struggled with the “Why?” question. Other thinkers offered helpful insights. Viktor Frankl did not answer this question, but he observed that, while we don’t always have a choice over what happens to us, we always have a choice regarding how we face it. Similarly, Rabbi Harold Kushner, in his well-regarded When Bad Things Happen to Good People, offered what for me was a novel idea—that perhaps God wasn’t responsible for some of the bad things that happened to us.

At first, Kushner’s notion was comforting. Maybe God wasn’t behind my sisters’ illnesses or children with cancer or senseless random shootings. Maybe those things just happened. Somehow that thought made me fear God less. Yet the thought that perhaps God wasn’t behind all bad things that happened created another question articulated by Annie Dillard, who wrote in For the Time Being, “If God does not cause everything that happens, does God cause anything that happens? Is God completely out of the loop?”

My anger at God brought me to wrestle with some important issues. It challenged me to reexamine my image of God. Did I see God as punitive, misreading the Old Testament? Did I see him as loving, as in many New Testament stories? Did I see him as uninvolved, caring for the big picture and leaving the details to us, as the Oh, God! films suggest?

My anger also brought me face-to-face with my struggles about prayer. Does God answer prayers? Clearly not all prayers. It’s been said that there are many unanswered prayers at deathbeds. If God doesn’t answer all prayers, to follow Dillard, does he answer any prayers?

These struggles have been productive, prodding me toward a more mature understanding of God, as well as a more clear appreciation for prayer. But I still come face-to-face with my anger.

A Personal Encounter with God

Over the past few years, I have read the entire Bible three times. It has been a truly enlightening experience. I saw clearly that Job wasn’t the only one to argue with God. Abraham did it; Moses did it; even Jesus did it! I was in good company.

I saw, too, that David’s Psalms were at times outcries. Within the poetry, one can hear the oppressed poet yelling out to God, “Do something!”

I’ve learned from my many clients who sit and try to understand tragedies in their lives. In asking these great teachers, “Are you angry with God?” I’ve heard many instructive answers. One woman wrestling with a lifethreatening illness said, “Of course I’m angry with God! But he’s God. He can take it!” Another very spiritual young woman observed, “No, I’m not angry. But I sure would like to have a peek at his operations manual.”

Harold Kushner recently published a piece on the Book of Job titled The Book of Job: When Bad Things Happened to a Good Person. It is a literate and scholarly book that offered me a new note of comfort. Kushner suggests that Job is comforted and consoled not so much by God’s explanation but by the encounter itself. Job deeply experienced God’s presence and took comfort in that meaningful experience. I found a note of personal truth in this thought. I realized that, yes, I’ve had meaningful encounters with God in nature or in the world of great art or in the sound of my grandchildren’s laughter.

But I realized that I have also encountered God in my anger in a way that has been profound. As I voice that anger, I feel God in a manner as profound as, albeit different from, my experience of God in nature.

The story of this journey of anger has a more recent turn to it, one with which I am still dealing. I recently saw an episode of The West Wing, a program from the early 2000s starring Martin Sheen as a fictional president. Prior to this episode, the president had lost a much-loved secretary in a senseless car accident. After the funeral, he stands alone in the National Cathedral and unleashes an anger that shocked me. As an example, his character refers to God as a “vengeful thug.”

I felt I’d long validated the importance of anger in my relationship with God, yet I found myself uncomfortable with the intensity of President Bartlett’s anger. But, upon reflection, I understood it. My anger is more than annoyance or disappointment—at times it is rage. Yet, out of fear, I withhold that rage and instead, like David in Heller’s novel, stop talking to my God or at least temper my feelings. Yet, when I allow myself to approach that rage, I find God waiting for me.

And so I come face-to-face with the God of my understanding. Is that God a vengeful parent who will not tolerate my anger and will punish me for speaking up? Such was the God of my youth. Or is the God of my understanding a loving God willing to wrestle with me, willing to accept my vented rage in the name of open, ongoing dialogue and genuine encounter? And do I have the courage to fully embrace this understanding of God and remain in dialogue in the midst of my rage?

The great Jewish scholar Abraham Joshua Heschel once wrote, “God stands in a passionate relationship with Man.” Anyone who has lived in a longterm, passionate relationship learns that passion is a package deal. You can’t have the joy and ecstasy unless you also accept and embrace the anger and alienation. I’ve dealt with several couples who say they don’t fight. But they are in my office because their relationship is stagnant. Without the struggle, there is no passionate intimacy.

The Path of Relationship

I realize at this point that, for me to have a joyful, peaceful, vibrant relationship with the God of my understanding, I must also embrace the rage. Not just annoyance, but rage!

And so, as I struggle, I return to reflect on my mother’s faith in the face of tragedy. I see that her faith was not some passive, shoulder-shrugging, “Oh well, it could be worse” type of faith. Throughout her life, she believed not only in the power of prayer but also in the persistence of that prayer. Like the woman in the parable seeking justice, she would not quietly plead or go away. Rather, she would “storm heaven with prayers.” Nor did she let tragic loss engender cynicism: on her deathbed and with absolute certainty and joyful anticipation, she said, “I’m going to see my girls.”

And yet I know my path is one of wrestling and arguing. It occurs to me that perhaps within the mystical body of Christ, we both play a part. People like my mother indeed inspire me to not lose hope and to continue to believe that understanding God’s mysterious way is possible.

But perhaps people like me—the questioners, the wrestlers—help others not to lapse into passive, depressed resignation. Perhaps in encouraging others to “fight back,” we help them experience real encounters with God. Perhaps we wrestlers help others to hope that our pain and anguish do matter. And perhaps together we can link arms and sing those words of Job offered not as an answer but in hopeful expectation: “The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord!”

Richard B. Patterson, Phd, is a clinical psychologist and freelance writer from El Paso, Texas. He is also the author of the article “Welcome Home, Soldier.”