Boy Like an Angel

Once there was a beautiful boy with very long eyelashes and silver-blond hair. He stopped into the library one day while I was working at the circulation desk. I saw him appear, like an angel, through the rotating doors—so small, so fragile and light. Something in my heart leaped at the sight of this boy, though—do not mistake me—not in a lustful way. I’d given up romantic fervor long ago; my age was such that I now preferred the calm equilibrium of platonic love, of kindly affection unmixed with the frenzies of passion. So when I saw the boy, I ached with a love that erred more toward compassion than desire, and something about his delicate frame aroused a feeling of protectiveness in me. I watched carefully as the boy turned to the right and found a small blue chair in the corner, near the books on Natural History. He settled himself into the chair, cross-legged and compact, then dropped his hands to his lap and looked serenely ahead. He was carrying no bag, so far as I could tell, and he seemed uninterested in taking a book from the shelves. Indeed, he appeared more keen on imbuing his surroundings with the intensity of his gaze—his eyes were grey-blue and wonderfully round—and filling the room with his preternatural light.

Potted Plants and Reassurances against Insanity and Doubt

I haven’t been writing very much recently, but for the sake of posting something new, I combed through my (sparse) entries from the last few months and assembled a few excerpts here. Enjoy~

September

A few days ago, while I was sitting in the library studying for the MCAT, I observed a boy a little ways in the distance point to a potted tree and remark: “You know it’s real if it’s dying.”

What an interesting statement, I thought. Of course the boy was referring to the mottled trunk and the falling leaves of the tree, and proffering these markers as evidence that the plant was, indeed, not made of silk and plastic; but, without knowing it, the boy also happened to conjure a bit of Life Wisdom.

I didn’t think about the statement too much, only noticed that it had the ring of profundity and someone could make probably make something of it if they took the time to ponder it. I guess that’s the writer’s task, after all: to catch scraps of daily utterances that might have the gleam of truth in them, that retain the potential of something more elevated.

 

September

How does a person function when burdened by the awareness of the impossibility of the work that has been set to her? How does one stay sane in the midst of turmoil? Better to say, how does one stay sane in the midst of insanity? The answer, I suppose, is that a person must become bigger than the insanity, must expand her being until it swells in size, enough to contain all that threatens to overwhelm it—so that, in the end, one is not conquered, but one lives in harmony with the essence of that beloved Scripture observation: “And Mary kept all these things and pondered them in her heart.”

 

October

The voices in your head are not at odds with the voice in your heart, although sometimes they are led astray. What really needs to be said will be said by the clear voice of truth when the time is right. The rest is just entertainment for the ride.

 

October

The rays of light are hitting your face with the kind of grace that’s only seen in moments of pure luck. There are people in the kitchen, drinking cans of soda and cups of coffee like it was time to die. Well, there can’t be any reason to worry after this. All the crazies have left your mind and now there’s a lot of empty space to sit and think. When you feel the pressures of life, how do you respond? With a hopeful look to the future, or a sorrowful disdain for the present? You are burdened by many cares which don’t even belong to you. Your soul is buried beneath layers of fear that have nothing to do with the real truth. This is what makes your life so troubled, so hard: you work from a habit of fear and all that fills you is on a path to bring you dread. Shake it off before the load becomes too much to bear.

When your heart is in pain, what can you do? You wish to cry, but the time is not right, there are too many faces around, too many bodies to avoid. But if your heart were free of pain—if it could finally be free and light—what would you do? How would you live? The love would come light and easy and there would be no hindrance of doubt to weigh it down.

You’re often afraid of leaving God behind—of not serving Him in the right way. But, child, the truth is more magnificent than that; it’s wider and it gives you room to breathe. The truth is that God cannot be separated from you, and your ways are intertwined with His own.

Then the sun comes out and you aren’t sure what to do. The voices in your head come dutifully and quick—they are chatty and have much to say. Maybe if you give them an outlet—give them their (daily) 15 minutes of fame—they’ll quiet down and go rest in the corner. Maybe they just need to be subdued by a quick acknowledgement and some reassurance that they will be heard.

Now the time is short and you are wearing a crown of roses in your hair. Did someone forget to tell you that you’re a beautiful girl? Well, the time is too short and can’t be wasted in worry. The truth is that you have nothing to fear—all is well in the way of the soul, and the outside world responds. Don’t believe me? Try this piece of advice: Close your eyes, count to ten, and see the face that appears to you in the dark. Go on, try it. I know there is much nonsense in the writing of this book, but there is much sense in it, also, and I’d hate to see you throw out the baby with the bathwater, for fear of losing your heart to fickle things.

 

Writing Process: Pep Talk

In case you’d like to get a behind-the-scenes look at how I sometimes have to persuade myself, very gently and kindly, to sit down and write something–here’s a transcript of one day’s writing work (a conversation, really). See how much encouragement I need and how happy I am with even a little progress? 

A leaf was falling from its tree when a little boy stopped and reached toward the sky.

The next sentence that occurs to me is the one I will begin with. All you need is a beginning and the rest will follow of its own accord. Just don’t run away too soon. Don’t worry, it’s not too scary if you just resign yourself to the circumstances and realize you’re not going to be getting out of this one, so you might as well throw in your whole soul and will.

The next step is to fashion yourself into the kind of author you’re meant to be. The way you go about doing this is simple enough: you search inside the deeper parts of yourself and find what kind of things are hanging out in that territory. Then you assemble your wits and make a fair assessment of the things you’ve observed there. For instance, if you’ve found lots of sadness and grief, you might want to remember that your writing will have a little seriousness to it, a little melancholy even when it’s lighthearted and playful. Or to take another example, let’s pretend that you have lots of childhood memories hanging about in that deep inner cavern of your psyche. Well, this means that you’re going to be a writer who has a special reverence for the things of youth, for an innocent attitude that takes joy in the simple things. Make sense? You see what I’m getting at, at least.

… [Your] voice is the product of something that’s been growing in you for a very long time. In fact, it has been growing in you since you were born, and it’s becoming ever more refined as you get older and practice a little more. You can plumb the depths of your heart and find what’s there for yourself, but in short, I think you’ll find plenty of nice things, including, chiefly, a desire to love and understand God, a desire to be united with the simple beauty of life, a playful creativity that rejoices in nonsense and fantastical wonderings, a commitment to beauty, and a desire to get to the real core, the real depth, the truth of things. Does that sound right? Indeed, child, your heart seeks to express its most fundamental feelings and experiences in ways that resonate with other people’s souls. You’re not in the business of impressing people with vain ideas; your desire is for the essence, the deeper meaning of things.

One of your biggest struggles as a writer is that you don’t stay to finish the work. I know it’s uncomfortable at times, but the greatest fruit will be yours to harvest when you stay with the work and see it through. You’re in danger of living your life in haphazard fits and starts. To prevent this, you must gently work with yourself to remain patient and persistent. It may seem difficult at first, but you’ll slowly get into the habit and the pleasure of working in an honest way will feed your soul and make you hunger for more of this fulfillment and daily ritual. Besides, you will touch more people this way, and their response will be heartening enough to keep you going along this path.

Let’s try a sample exercise, nothing too complicated.

This will be a writing activity in which you describe a person who has touched your life in some important way. Don’t worry, you shouldn’t be exhaustive here. We’re just going to focus on a few small details. We just want to catch a glimmer of this person: what their habits are like in a certain circumstance, what their eyes look like when you catch them looking at you.

OK, first we choose the person. It may be hard for you to write about –, since he carries a lot of emotional resonance for you. So let’s pick another person. Maybe —. We can try writing about — for just a few minutes. OK? Don’t worry, I’ll be here to guide you, just as I have been guiding you this whole time.

OK, let’s begin.

When the night fell and the apartment was getting quiet and hot, she stepped into her pajamas and curled up in bed. She was feeling a little unwell, more tired than usual, and her head was hurting. It wasn’t her time of the month, she was pretty sure of that. So what could it be? It was very hot in the apartment, and the windows didn’t let in much air, so it was going to be difficult to sleep. Yes, she was having trouble with her boyfriend, that’s true. He was acting a little childish again, a little taciturn. But that was nothing new. Things were getting better, on the whole, but the old itch for adventure, for seeing what else lay beyond, was impossible to ignore. So many decisions to make this year, so many possibilities and it would be hard to lay out the options in a way that could suggest an obvious choice. Her stomach was hurting a little now, too. She hadn’t felt hungry the last several days. Something was changing, but she wasn’t sure what. She took out her computer and read news stories in bed until the time for sleep came and brought her into one strange dream after another.  

See, that wasn’t so bad now, was it?
Rest easy, you did a good job. A good night’s work!

 

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