Story Magic

Several months ago, I sat in a writing workshop put on by the wonderful Writer’s League of Texas, and the instructor had us do some quick writing using the skills we were learning about. I wrote about a mailman who fell in love with a woman to whom he delivered mail.  At first he admired her from afar. Then he began reading her mail to learn more about her.  Then he began sending her mail.  There was a boyfriend involved, the mailman grew jealous, the writing exercise ended before I found the ending.  There were a lot of descriptions of her clothing, all of it yellow.  I don’t know why.

I thought no more about these people until last week when I was browsing the stacks of the local library and came across this book:  The Peculiar Life of a Lonely Postman, by Denis Theriault, translated by Liedewy Hawke.  The back of the book told me it was a story of a mailman who reads people’s mail and falls in love with one of the people whose letter’s he delivers. I was intrigued.  I was hooked.  I checked it out.

What followed was a lovely story about a man’s obsession with a woman through the poetry she writes and sends to one of the people on the postman’s route.  In an effort to continue his relationship with the woman, he takes greater and greater risks, makes wild choices and sees his life unravel because of them.  It is a fun story with a poignant and thought-provoking ending.  It is a far better than the one I began to write in that workshop, and I am grateful that fate brought it to me.

So, the idea so similar to mine.  What’s that all about?  Elizabeth Gilbert writes about it in Big Magic.  Gilbert tells of a story idea that leapt from her mind to that of Ann Patchett when the two met and exchanged a kiss.  She continues to say that instead of assuming or accusing Patchett of stealing her idea, she believes “that ideas are alive, that ideas do seek the most available human collaborator, that ideas do have a conscious will, that ideas do move from soul to soul” looking for a conduit to expression.

Now, I’m not saying that I had the same idea as Theriault, because his book existed prior to my writing exercise, but I do believe there is some magic out there that gets books into our hands the moment we most need them, at the time when they will have their biggest impact.  I believe in synchronicity in the stacks.  I love the idea of ideas having lives of their own, of their searching for someone to bring them into being, a partnership as it were. 

What is this story trying to tell me?  I don’t know.  Yet.  That’s the magic of words, stories, and reading.  They sit with you and continue to work on your soul, teaching you long after you’ve closed the pages.  Perhaps it was a call to interact with more poetry, or to go back and look at old writing exercises.  Perhaps it was a call to discover a new writer.  I think it may have been a call to be more daring in my writing, to take more risks, to make worse things happen to my characters.  What’s the worst that could happen?  Okay, let that happen.  Then what?  Push the boundaries of what’s possible. 

Next time you close a book, ask yourself what it shared with you and why.  And if you’re looking for a good, short read, try The Peculiar Life of a Lonely Postman. 

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How hard can it be?


I’ve been thinking about this a lot recently.  When I can master this shift in thought pattern, the rest of life seems to fall in place.

Of course, it’s not as easy as it sounds.  My mind seems to go to a negative place or outlook far easier than it does a positive one.  I can “worst-case-scenario” like a pro.  I rehearse failure with as much tenacity as a would-be Broadway star.  When I do, it just leads to a mess, otherwise known as a self-fulfilling prophesy.  But even more than that, it’s main effect is to stop me time and time again from chasing my dreams.  I stop before I get started, before disaster can come a courting.  It’s easier, safer, not to risk.

And yet.

When I can turn this around, when I can focus on the possibility of success, I can be unstoppable.  I came across this question the other day: What is your life moto?  Without hesitation, I thought “How hard can it be?”  When I can get myself into this framework, where I ask myself how hard can something be, when I can capture and hold onto the cocky, confident girl that lives inside me, I can accomplish almost anything.

This summer, I was faced with a similar situation.  While planning a trip to England, my first in over 20 years, I was excited.  But as the reality of how difficult it could be weighed on me, I grew hesitant and fearful.  To see what I wanted to see in England, I would need to have a car.  I got lost in self-doubt, paralyzed with fear.  How could I possibly drive in England, where everything is on the wrong side?  I would get into a wreck, I would total the car, I would kill someone and end up in jail.  My life would be over.  It was better to just stay home and stay safe. I got so bogged down in imagined fears and catastrophes that I did not want to go on the trip and almost cancelled the whole thing. 

Then something happened.  One day I was sitting with my journal in an unexpected hour of quiet, and previous accomplishments marched one by one into my memory.  My Master’s degree earned with a 4.0 GPA while working full-time, my successful cross-country move to attend another graduate program before they had even accepted me (because who would not want me?), spearheading my church’s VBS program despite having little to no experience with such a thing, staining cabinets just days before putting a house on the market with absolutely no experience.  Armed with YouTube videos and a kick-ass attitude, I asked myself How Hard Can It Be? And did it.

To make an already long story short, because y’all have better things to do and your own goals to get out and achieve, I did take the trip.  I recaptured the “how hard can it be” attitude and attacked the issue of driving.  Again, it was YouTube videos to the rescue.  So, for the most remote part of our trip, I did rent and drive a car and yes, everything was on the wrong side.  And, yes, I did have an accident, but it was not the worst-case scenario I had rehearsed.  I scraped up the car trying to pass another car on a ridiculously narrow country lane.  The irony of the act that I scratched the car along a stone wall while trying to find the home of my stone-mason is not lost on me.  But, I did avoid hitting the other car and we had gotten all the available damage waivers, so nobody got hurt and I did not go to jail.  It could have been a lot worse.

So, how hard can it be?  Far stupider people than I have done it.  These are the things I tell myself.  I read badly written books and think, if they got published than surely, I can too, right?  These things are easier said than done sometimes.  I know that better than anyone.  I’ve fought my share of battles against depression, anxiety, and negativity.  I fight them almost every day.

But today, I encourage you to look on the bright side.  Rehearse for success, not failure.  I’ll keep reminding you if you’ll keep reminding me.  Instead of asking, what could go wrong, let’s ask what could go right?  Who knows what we could all accomplish if we could sustain belief in ourselves.  And check YouTube.  There’s probably a helpful video for you.

Write on.  I know I’m going to.


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Saint Francis of Assisi

A Review of "Francis of Assisi – A Revolutionary Life", by Adrian House


This is a book I have long wanted to read.  How long?  Sixteen years.  It’s been on my TBR list since I worked for our community’s start-up library and oversaw collection development.  One of the perks of the job was to be able to buy some of the books I was interested in.

My interest in St. Francis dates back before then.  Intrigued by the cloistered life and fond of animals, I was drawn to this figure who preached to birds and founded a religious order.  I’ve had the Prayer of St. Francis hanging on my bedroom wall for almost 20 years.  In some ways, you could say I was a groupie, albeit a very ignorant one. 

Like countless others, I knew the story of a man who renounced his family’s great wealth and his partying ways, removed his clothes and took a vow of poverty, then went off to preach to birds.  I had a lot to learn.

This book by Adrian House more than filled in the gaping holes in my knowledge; it did so in an entertaining and thought-provoking way.  It is a dense book, filled with too many Italian names and places to keep straight, but as I kept with it, I was rewarded for my persistence.  I continually came across insightful passages connecting Francis’s journey and thoughts to modern times or to other historical events.

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The year is 1568. Queen Elizabeth sits on the throne of England. Mary, Queen of Scots, has fled Scotland seeking refuge with her cousin Elizabeth. Instead, she finds herself imprisoned and turned over to the Earl and Countess of Shrewsbury. In March of 1568, a young stonemason, by the name of Robert Smythson, leaves Caversham, where he has been working for the Queen Elizabeth’s cousin Sir Francis Knollys, and travels to Longleat in Wiltshire, to join the workforce of Sir John Thynne. He will spend the next twelve years building one of the most beautiful homes in England for a man renowned for his demands for perfection and stinginess, before moving north to oversee the design and building of Wollaton Hall for Sir Francis Willoughby and finally Hardwick Hall for the Countess of Shrewsbury.

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Radio Silence

It’s been a while since I’ve posted here, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been busy living or writing. I have, however, been wearing my parenting hat a lot of late, answering more to the sound of “Momma?” than to my own inner voice.

May is always hectic, as any mother of school age children knows. Add to that the start of summer swim team, the re-occurrence of a child’s health concern, and some serious vacation planning (more on that later), and you can imagine how creativity and introspection have taken a back seat.

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