I've been thinking a lot about Thomas Wolfe. Well, not necessarily about him personally, but about a short phrase that has entered our vernacular, which Mr. Wolfe likely could never have anticipated.
You Can't Go Home Again was actually published after his death. And, actually, I don't think that is what he inteded for the novel to be called. But, yet, the phrase is probably used nearly as often in our daily lives as "a rose by any other name..." Five or six words that, in both cases, summarize volumes.
Wolfe wrote a lot about change, and I think this fortuitious title means something different to many of us. To me, during a particularly reflective time, it has me wondering if it is every possible to recapture things as they were when you were young.
OK, OK, some of you may be reading this and thinking "dude, you're 29, stop being fatalistic." But I don't mean young chronologically. Yes, I am very young in that regard. However, I feel that I have aged a great deal in the last half a decade, and I often wonder if I will ever be able to again see things as I did before.
This has all been brought on by my current business trip, which has brought me to a too-warm hotel room that is a little too close to Downtown Disney. I just walked through, seeing parents with children and couples in love. I remember being here as a child, remember how beautiful and electric it felt. The Magical Kingdown truly was magical, but as an adult, I see an empire spun of stereotypes and discriminatory practices. When did I lose the fun??
The flip side of this takes me back to Max and Menna. In the book, the title characters recall their lives as children and often point out how they are incapable of remembering this without interjecting the adult perspective. They often muse over whether they noticed being dirty, or simply cannot retell the event without mentioning it since logic promises they were, etc.
But, I think our memories work the other way. I remember Disney World when I was nine being amazing. I remember fireworks clearly, and holding my mom's hand in line for the teacups. I remember kissing Mickey on the cheek and laughing giddily on some roller coaster. Those memories are vivid and easy. I have to think really, really hard to remember that it was oppressively hot that day and my shorts kept sticking to me. I can recall lines being long, and riding Small World over and over because it had AC (despite the fact that it smelled a little bit like vomit). And I remember crying because I was too short to ride anything, but that, too, I have to dig for.
Realizing this at first depressed me. It made me think that I can't ever really "go back" to seeing things so idealistically because I never did in the first place. I filtered out the stuff that didn't fit in with that view.
This isn't depressing, though. It's sort of promising-- I think it is far more likely, and far closer at hand to think that I will perhaps regain the ability to experience everything, and filter out the negative than it is to hope for an entirely new outlook on life after everything I've experienced.
And if I didn't experience the hot days, long lines, and sticky clothes, would the memory of my mom's face staring up at the fireworks be as powerful to me as it is?
Anyway, just some musings after too many days on the road. Tomorrow night, after nearly a week, I finally get to sleep in my own bed. Oh, and eat the special skins from Joe Squared-- they have crawfish. It is a little mean to put those on a weekly special when I am gone half the week, but I will forgive.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Something of a rant in defense of Ryan
OK, so I try very hard to steer clear of political and/or religious discourse in a public forum. I mean, I am a novelist-- who cares what my political leanings are, right? I am trying really hard just to get people to care that I am a novelist. My beliefs are mine, and I don’t see the need to force them on others. I am sure people who‘s beliefs are opposite of mine feel them just as passionately and often have just as many salient points to their arguments. But, today, I am irritated.
Ryan Buell, near the top of my dreamy men list, apparently admits in his forthcoming book that he is bisexual. This is according to Perez Hilton thus far, so I will have to wait until my copy arrives to verify. Regardless, for me, this changes nothing. He is bi, so clearly there is still opportunity for me to sweep the man off his feet, right? ;0)
However, I am totally appalled by how Twitter and the rest of the interwebs are going crazy over this. Buell is Catholic, and his faith forms the cornerstone of some of his work with the paranormal. Now, one would think that might be enough to draw some annoyance from the Church, but apparently his bisexuality crosses a line. Some meanie on Twitter told him that he should be excommunicated, and was zealous enough to post a link so he could go figure out what that meant.
Really?
With each passing day I realize two things more and more: 1. I miss my mom, and 2. I learned so much from her. She wasn’t a self-professed liberal. She actually would probably be annoyed if I called her that. What she was, however, was tolerant. My mother saw the best in everyone ALWAYS, sometimes when they truly did not deserve it. She didn’t so much care how people lived their lives, as long as they didn’t hurt anyone else in the process. She was so full of faith—I am still, to this day, amazed by how she managed to have so much faith in the midst of all of the pain and turmoil she went through—but she always used her faith as a comfort, not as a weapon.
I miss my mom. I am surprised by how much the hateful words of one ignoramus towards someone I have only met once brought this all up for me (though, since she has only been gone a month, it is still pretty near the surface all the time). I just miss her goodness, and her kindness, and her tolerance. She would have responded to this news by telling me that she hopes Ryan Buell finds a really good man OR woman, as long as he finds someone who makes him happy. And she is totally right.
I am even more private about my faith than I try to be about my politics, but why would God make people a certain way and then damn them for it? And you know what, even if He did, why on Earth do people completely removed from the situation feel that it is their place and duty to spread their hate?
For those of you who haven’t read Max and Menna yet, if/when you do, you will see just how important an issue tolerance is to me. I think the world would be a better place if we were all just a little bit more like my mom.
As for me, I am just glad the dreamy men list is verrrryyy long, since I now have more of the population to compete with over Ryan Buell!
Ryan Buell, near the top of my dreamy men list, apparently admits in his forthcoming book that he is bisexual. This is according to Perez Hilton thus far, so I will have to wait until my copy arrives to verify. Regardless, for me, this changes nothing. He is bi, so clearly there is still opportunity for me to sweep the man off his feet, right? ;0)
However, I am totally appalled by how Twitter and the rest of the interwebs are going crazy over this. Buell is Catholic, and his faith forms the cornerstone of some of his work with the paranormal. Now, one would think that might be enough to draw some annoyance from the Church, but apparently his bisexuality crosses a line. Some meanie on Twitter told him that he should be excommunicated, and was zealous enough to post a link so he could go figure out what that meant.
Really?
With each passing day I realize two things more and more: 1. I miss my mom, and 2. I learned so much from her. She wasn’t a self-professed liberal. She actually would probably be annoyed if I called her that. What she was, however, was tolerant. My mother saw the best in everyone ALWAYS, sometimes when they truly did not deserve it. She didn’t so much care how people lived their lives, as long as they didn’t hurt anyone else in the process. She was so full of faith—I am still, to this day, amazed by how she managed to have so much faith in the midst of all of the pain and turmoil she went through—but she always used her faith as a comfort, not as a weapon.
I miss my mom. I am surprised by how much the hateful words of one ignoramus towards someone I have only met once brought this all up for me (though, since she has only been gone a month, it is still pretty near the surface all the time). I just miss her goodness, and her kindness, and her tolerance. She would have responded to this news by telling me that she hopes Ryan Buell finds a really good man OR woman, as long as he finds someone who makes him happy. And she is totally right.
I am even more private about my faith than I try to be about my politics, but why would God make people a certain way and then damn them for it? And you know what, even if He did, why on Earth do people completely removed from the situation feel that it is their place and duty to spread their hate?
For those of you who haven’t read Max and Menna yet, if/when you do, you will see just how important an issue tolerance is to me. I think the world would be a better place if we were all just a little bit more like my mom.
As for me, I am just glad the dreamy men list is verrrryyy long, since I now have more of the population to compete with over Ryan Buell!
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Calling for your great loves!!
I am back from a totally relaxing weekend of camping, which included great food, great friends, and a great amount of much-needed doing nothing. I was totally relaxed, until I came back to a passed deadline on final Max and Menna edits, school work past due, and a really long backlist of other stuff. Ugh. Adulthood is tough.
I am moving at the beginning of October. I’ve been packing up boxes all weekend, and, as always, am shocked by the sheer number of books I own. I packed up 4 full egg-carton sized boxes of books, and this only cleaned off one of four shelves, and took care of the stacks of books lying all over my bedroom.
We’re moving to a smaller house, and I feel somewhat compelled to shed some of my considerable clutter. I am, believe it or not, incredibly sentimental, so I have a hard time parting with things. Apparently, the idea of parting with books is detestable to me. I tried. I convinced myself that I did not, in fact, need more than 500 paperbacks (from my bedroom alone), and that at least 50 of these are books that I didn’t even like. Despite, I found only 8 that I was able to put in the Goodwill pile.
And why is this? I’m actually alarmed by my inability to get rid of books. I am sentimental, for sure, but these hold little to no sentimental value to me. I am surely not materialistic, and so it isn’t the number of my possessions that is crucial. Nonetheless, even books I didn’t like contribute to this symbol of my collective knowledge and experience. I also firmly believe that books have the capacity to change you.
It’s a discussion I have had with my roommate many, many times. She is mystified when I tell her that stories have changed me—not my mood, but the way I think about and interact with the world. Now, the books (and movies and songs) that have done this for me comprise a very short list of the best of the best. But they do exist. And I can’t get rid of books, because what if I happen to pick one up at just the right moment, when I am in the perfect state of mind, and it becomes the next book that changes me. I love that feeling, and I cannot get rid of something that may someday have that power over me.
And so, I ask everyone—what books/movies/songs (if any) have changed you? I don’t necessarily mean your favorite book/movie/song, or the one that has the most awesome explosion, or the best sex scene or anything like that. Are there other people out there who have been so moved by a story that it changed them on some basic, fundamental level? Or am I just weird? If you do have a life altering book, share a little bit about it with us.
I am aiming to have some life-altering sushi from Chiyo tonight and settle in with a Paranormal State DVD to guide me through my edits… as I’ve mentioned, Ryan Buell (Paranormal State’s founder and a man who is near the top of the dreamy men list) has written a book that comes out this month. Apparently, we can demand that his book tour bring him through Baltimore. Another chance to chat with him might alter my way of interacting with the world. I think you should all go DEMAND IT! You know... for the sake of... literature :0)
http://eventful.com/performers/ryan-buell-paranormalstate-book-tour-/P0-001-000237801-0
I am moving at the beginning of October. I’ve been packing up boxes all weekend, and, as always, am shocked by the sheer number of books I own. I packed up 4 full egg-carton sized boxes of books, and this only cleaned off one of four shelves, and took care of the stacks of books lying all over my bedroom.
We’re moving to a smaller house, and I feel somewhat compelled to shed some of my considerable clutter. I am, believe it or not, incredibly sentimental, so I have a hard time parting with things. Apparently, the idea of parting with books is detestable to me. I tried. I convinced myself that I did not, in fact, need more than 500 paperbacks (from my bedroom alone), and that at least 50 of these are books that I didn’t even like. Despite, I found only 8 that I was able to put in the Goodwill pile.
And why is this? I’m actually alarmed by my inability to get rid of books. I am sentimental, for sure, but these hold little to no sentimental value to me. I am surely not materialistic, and so it isn’t the number of my possessions that is crucial. Nonetheless, even books I didn’t like contribute to this symbol of my collective knowledge and experience. I also firmly believe that books have the capacity to change you.
It’s a discussion I have had with my roommate many, many times. She is mystified when I tell her that stories have changed me—not my mood, but the way I think about and interact with the world. Now, the books (and movies and songs) that have done this for me comprise a very short list of the best of the best. But they do exist. And I can’t get rid of books, because what if I happen to pick one up at just the right moment, when I am in the perfect state of mind, and it becomes the next book that changes me. I love that feeling, and I cannot get rid of something that may someday have that power over me.
And so, I ask everyone—what books/movies/songs (if any) have changed you? I don’t necessarily mean your favorite book/movie/song, or the one that has the most awesome explosion, or the best sex scene or anything like that. Are there other people out there who have been so moved by a story that it changed them on some basic, fundamental level? Or am I just weird? If you do have a life altering book, share a little bit about it with us.
I am aiming to have some life-altering sushi from Chiyo tonight and settle in with a Paranormal State DVD to guide me through my edits… as I’ve mentioned, Ryan Buell (Paranormal State’s founder and a man who is near the top of the dreamy men list) has written a book that comes out this month. Apparently, we can demand that his book tour bring him through Baltimore. Another chance to chat with him might alter my way of interacting with the world. I think you should all go DEMAND IT! You know... for the sake of... literature :0)
http://eventful.com/performers/ryan-buell-paranormalstate-book-tour-/P0-001-000237801-0
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