Never Mind Wasting Time

Our book club read the Shack by William Young. I was a little apprehensive before the discussion, because I wasn’t crazy about the book, although I know some people are. But as always, it was a great conversation with the ladies, not only hearing their different perspectives on the book, as well as an amazing conversation about our different perspectives on God, Spirituality and Religion.
One of the questions we discussed was whether we liked Young’s vision/description of God. My answer was that honestly, I prefer my own 4 year old child’s impressions of God.

I’m reminded of one of my favorite songs, by Dishwalla, “Counting Blue Cars.” It’s a song full of great imagery of childhood and adult/child interaction. When I first heard it I was reminded of summer evenings with my grandma, playing the counting cars game. But it also made me wish for a child of my own to whom I could say, “tell me all your thoughts of God.”

So I’m loving my little boy’s thoughts, like, “I think God’s house is really, really big, bigger than the whole world. And the whole world is inside it. And it’s invisible.” I wonder how to respond to his complaints that “God didn’t say anything back to me,” or “God didn’t give me what I wanted.” (what did he want? Oh, just a pet bird.) Or “God knows how to get to the restaurant, because God knows just about everything.”

It makes me laugh, it makes me think back to when I longed to have a little one to have these conversations with, and it takes me back to my own childhood, the carefree games, the incomprehensible adults, a memory of fresh air. It’s one of the most wonderful things about parenthood, that vision back into the past with new eyes, like rewatching a movie with a twist ending like “The Sixth Sense” or “Fight Club” and saying “aha”, as everything becomes clear with new meaning.

Just got back from seeing “Eat, Pray, Love” and I am inspired.

No, no, no, hold on—I need to explain. Movies have this effect on me, and it has nothing to do with Elizabeth Gilbert’s book. I know some people LOVE this book, but I’m not one of them. I liked it, that’s about all I can say.

On a scale of inspiration, this movie ranked below “Far and Away” but above “Without a Clue." And if you know either of these movies, you now know that I’m easily inspired.

I’ve been riding the crest, because I’ve gone to two movies within the last four days. Before then? It’s been months. Used to be I’d go to a movie every week. If I’d seen all the good movies showing, I’d see art films, or bad movies. But on the big screen, almost any movie can be good as long as you’re willing to accept the premise and get into it.

That’s the key. You must get into it. And to do that, you have to go to the show. Can’t be done at home, surrounded by comfy pillows, neglected chores and the distracting clutter of your stuff. Can’t be done if you can pause for pee breaks and telephone calls and your child having nightmares, because the TV is too loud.

Seeing movies in the theater is one of the few things in life I’m actually passionate about. So permit me a poem. (And don’t worry--I’ll try not to do this too often.)


Into the dark
Immersed
Every thought of mind
Dispersed

Replaced

To another place
Implanted
Every emotion
Enchanted

Reversed

In the universe
Unbounded
In history
Ungrounded

Relived, Relieved, Revived, Reminded.

Movie Meditation by Maria A.W.

I’m writing on this blog to 1) brush up on my writing skills 2) procrastinate and 3) force myself to get motivated. My sis (who will be my first and perhaps only reader of my 1st novel attempt) has been pestering me for the finished product. But my 65,000ish words are far from a finished product. I need to first, and foremost, WRITE THE DAMN ENDING, which is the hardest part. I also need to go through and eliminate all the redundancies and contradictions and stuff that says “need a better word for this.”

But instead, I re-read my favorite parts, sprucing up the spelling and punctuation, tweaking a word or two here and there, chuckling at how awesome and clever I am. Then I skim over all the kind of iffy parts, make a few revisions. Then I accidentally read one of the really, really, bad parts, and do stuff like gag audibly, or slam the laptop shut and literally run away.

I then read some real, published book, and use it to berate my book. “Book, why can’t you be more like (Bridget Jones’ Diary, Harry Potter, Pride and Prejudice)? That book is interesting, has vivid descriptions, entertaining details, and a plot with an ending. Why do you have to be so lazy and boring? When are you going to make something of yourself?”

Oh Book, I know you’re not really to blame. You just lack discipline. Me too.

So in an effort to be more disciplined, I’m trying to write every day, even if I just end up writing a blog post. I started writing this post a week ago, so as you can see, it’s been slow.

But good news. Today, I wrote 1,200 words of my WIP (that’s work in progress--don't I sound all smart with my new-found writer jargon?) I also made a decision to tone down an aspect of the story that I have never been thrilled about writing anyway. And I felt a little hope that I can whip this WIP into something I wouldn’t be ashamed to let people read.