On the Rarity of Single Advice

                I need to write about everything in life the same way I need to read about everything in life. I’m fascinated by all people, all subjects. I’ve read graphic novels, fan fiction, textbooks, counseling books, novels, experimental fiction, unfinished drafts, memoirs, journals, biographies… every genre. The abundance of reading material for every topic intrigues me; there’s so much to say about motherhood, growing up, fixing cars, thinking, language, history, etc. - and so many people who want to say it.

                However, that same abundance doesn’t apply to the topic single life. There’s so many single people – yet none of them really want to talk about what it means to be single, to embrace it, to hate it, to grow through it, to find fulfillment within it – and why is that?

                I love to play with people’s minds. The other day, I painted on perfectly red lips, swathed myself in a stylish gray sarape, and walked into a beautiful nation-wide bookstore chain.

                “Excuse me?” I asked an employee. “Can you direct me toward the section on single life?”

                She looked a little disturbed. “We don’t … I mean, I’m not sure. The relationship advice section is down that aisle,” she pointed, “and the counseling section is the aisle next to it. The shelves…” she wandered a bit in the general direction. “Is there a particular title I can help you find? Sometimes these things are easier to find with titles.”

                I didn’t want relationship advice or counseling.

                I smiled and said, “Thank you. I’ll just be looking,” leaving her relieved with a false smile on her face.

                If I’d asked her for the section on religion or motherhood or success or becoming an Olympic track athlete, she wouldn’t have regarded me half-so strangely.

                Despite the masses of single people occupying the world, not many of us have anything to say on the topic. I couldn’t believe it. And yet, I could.

                Among my friends, the subject is slightly taboo.

                “I’m single now.” are words sniffingly conveyed over drinks on a Friday night after the last-straw in a relationship snaps.

                Single is a silent status change, an internet mating call of sorts notifying potentials of openings. Or a not-so-silent public humiliation and fall from grace that no one wants to discuss afterward. It is the excuse to be bored or overly busy, to take a job promotion or a volunteer position or your sister’s kids for the weekend. It is the explanation to splurge on a spa day or sleep with the next random turn-on, to Netflix and chill, to spend all day at the gym and all night at the club.

                But single is being sick and not having a partner to wash the bedding and make tea. Single is shoveling your own snow and finishing your own home project and having no one with whom to share the final product. Single is knowing that a +1 on a wedding invitation might always be filled with a different person or no one at all. It's never coming home to a finished dinner and a lit interior.

                Singlehood is everything and nothing. No one I know can say that concisely in a way that’s not embarrassing. We face the skepticism of the older generations as they appraise our seemingly stagnant love lives, wondering;

                “She’s so lovely. What is wrong with her?”

                “She’s afraid of commitment. It’s because her parents couldn’t make it work.”

                “He works too much. If he’d just get out and date more…”

                “Why doesn’t he just settle down? He’s such a playboy!”

                There is a list of endless stereotypes, some rooted in fact, which swarms around our mysterious lives, as our parents and older friends and relatives genuinely attach bewildered secret stories to our personal (or not so personal) choices. Because in their minds, something is wrong with my character, with my looks, with my family history if I’m not married.

                I remember watching one of my long-time friends genuinely cry over her singlehood.

                “I’m not doing anything wrong.” She said, tears running down her cheeks.“I just get so tired of being alone.”

                She wasn’t doing anything wrong really. She was waiting for the right person, investing in her career and personality, making good friends, going on occasional dates, always hopeful, always talking about the future – much different from my cynical stance toward relationships.

                I wondered at that.

                I wondered why she didn’t get together with one of the handful of single men at our church. Why they didn’t get together with her. Why she didn’t dive deeper into online dates. Why she wanted something she didn’t have.

                The generation above us is conditioned to sort singles into various simplistic groups:

    1. Those without looks/personality on their side destined to be single forever unless they marry another person from their same grouping

   2. Those so consumed by work/self/travel that they need a Hallmark man/woman to sweep them off their feet and make them realize what is important in life, causing them to temporarily set aside their _____________ and make room for love (and let’s be real; that’s not real)

   3. Those who are players and only are concerned with being rampant sex maniacs, partying every weekend with a new partner, and need to get a grip on their wild lives and settle down

 

The problem is most singles no longer fit into any of these 3 groups in such a simplistic way. They are a “normal” middling group of people with average looks, personality, tastes, and preferences with a variety of careers, many of whom want to settle down at some point and most of whom do not throw themselves at bar tenders and drug dealers every single weekend. They are looking for other like-minded and like-oriented people with whom to have intelligent conversations, good meals, and amazing sex.

                We’ve been taught to aim higher, to want more, and not to settle for less than what we need. We grew up believing in ourselves and following our hearts and doing our best. We’ve been conditioned to accept getting out of bad marriages, leaving hometowns and childhood friends behind. We’ve been betrayed by the government, our parents, our teachers, and our best friends. We know that being an adult isn’t nearly as much fun as we thought, getting drunk and high isn’t nearly as bad as we’ve been told, working hard isn’t always the way to get ahead, and trusting pastors and teachers can lead to molestation, discrimination, and pain.

We grew up in a world of flux where the next moment a bomb could fall, the next hour a bully could drive us into the ground, the next day we could move, the next week a new phone could come out, the next month dad could leave forever, and the next year we could get a job.  

Settling down isn’t an easy concept for the generation that saw over 14 different iPhone options. Commitment isn’t an easy decision for the generation that watched the divorce rate dial above 50%. Religion isn’t a lifestyle for the generation that witnessed radical Islam flatten the Twin Towers, Mormons abuse children, and Baptists violently protest the funerals of gay soldiers.

And for those married people who dare to say that they know what we’ve been through, that they are living in the same world, that they can empathize with our loneliness – we already know that they can’t. They were single in a different generation, in a different world, with different people, different churches, and different priorities. Therefore, we can’t take their advice; it doesn’t apply to us, we don’t believe them, and we doubt their sincerity. And above all, we wither at the fact that the next words out of their mouth may be;

“Somewhere out there is someone in the same boat, and you’ll come together soon!”

“Just wait until you meet The One!”

And my all-time favorite:

“God is saving you for someone special.”

Dear God! Save us all!

Orange

 I like to study the work of other amazing artists who were famous for their craft. This year, I'm working through a personal "class" based on a writing idea book called The Creative Writer's Notebook. The notebook takes a famous author, lists some of their works that the reader should consider, then creates three or four ideas/writing prompts/brain games for the reader to do based on that author's style.

I'm not sure if Christina Rossetti is in the notebook because it's only the beginning of the year, and I haven't looked too far ahead in the study. However, just doing this study causes me to look for inspiration to mimic in the work of other great artists.

Recently, I stumbled on this poem by Christina Rossetti and thought how fun it would be to compose a color poem.

When I was in elementary school, I remember writing color poems after reading Mary O'Neill's Hailstones and Halibut Bones, a poem book composed only of color poems for children. I think I still have some of those poems somewhere, but I decided to graduate my efforts and bring me back to those creative childhood memories. Writing and English were always my favorite subjects.

Color

By Christina Rossetti
 

What is pink? a rose is pink

By a fountain's brink.

What is red? a poppy's red

In its barley bed.

What is blue? the sky is blue

Where the clouds float thro'.

What is white? a swan is white

Sailing in the light.

What is yellow? pears are yellow,

Rich and ripe and mellow.

What is green? the grass is green,

With small flowers between.

What is violet? clouds are violet

In the summer twilight.

What is orange? Why, an orange,

Just an orange!

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Source: The Golden Book of Poetry (1947)

Orange 

By Anna Witan 

If life could be a color

it would be the same shade as change:
orange.
A physical, tangible fruit in your hands,
a word that doesn't sound in your ear like
any other,
and a metaphysical palate tone you can't put your finger on.
Bright and warm
ugly and sour.
The flower in spring
The sun in summer
The leaf in autumn
The dusk in winter
A slash of yellow
with a red glaze.
Equal portions light, cowardice, sunshine, shock -
Equal parts anger, blood, roses, love. 

The Crazy Busy #WriteLife

During the last year, I've learned so much about the fun, frustrating, unpredictable life of the person who loves writing, the person who is compelled to write, and the person who writes for a living. I'd like to briefly share some of that wisdom with you!

"Writers aren't people exactly. Or if they're any good, they're a whole lot of people trying so hard to be one person." ~ F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Last Tycoon

"In your reading, find books to improve your color sense, your sense of shape and size in the world." ~ Stephen King

"Sometimes you have to go places with characters and emotions within yourself that you don't want to, but you have a duty to the story and as a storyteller to do it." ~ Hugh Jackman

"There are writers who write because they cannot help it. They must write as they must breathe."  ~ Annie Proulx

"Without the dark parts told honestly, it's really hard to appreciate the other."  ~ Philip Gerard

"Everybody's got a story, but not all of them are true."  ~ Charles LeDuff

"You never have to change anything you got up in the middle of the night to write."  ~ Saul Bellow

"Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass."  ~ Anton Checkov

"Reading usually precedes writing and the impulse to write is almost always fired by reading. Reading, the love of reading, is what makes you dream of becoming a writer."  ~ Susan Sontag



"We are educated so we can say out-loud what other people are afraid to say, and we write for the same reason."  ~ Sonia Sanchez

"The best writing is re-writing."  ~ E.B. White

"A good writing day ought to be simply any day you worked."  ~ Richard Bausch



 

Security or Adventure?

         For my graduation last May, one of my best friends from my senior year bought me a journal with questions to inspire writing every day. Writing every day was one of my goals last year, so the journal is now a part of my daily routine.

            The question for a few days ago asked; are you searching for security, or are you up for adventure?

            I had to pause and think about that question (which is always a good thing to do before writing anything) because I’m huge on security, planning, routine, and safety. The structure and rules were things that I appreciated about college life; I attended a Christian college with more rules and regulations than most universities.

I met God at college, and He took over my life, which was an experience similar to a cross between being abducted by aliens and finding out I was a princess unawares. The people I encountered at college fell into one of the two camps: those who were at various growth stages within their royal roles while seeking to expand their knowledge of our King, and those who desperately whispered escape plans from our alien abductors while refreshing their knowledge of what the “normal” world was like. I could relate to both groups. Some experiences and information were completely alien to me, grating against everything I’d ever known. Some experiences and information made me feel so special and so blessed royal. However, I didn't completely identify with either group. I came to the warped conclusions that it was because I was such a late addition to the “society”.

I liked the clear-cut, black-and-white, no-way-out format of the college because I didn't have the anxiety of wondering what I should do, what I should wear, and how I should respond to things. I always felt very safe. All I really had to worry about was schoolwork and running.  

            Before college, I lived in an environment with fewer rules and regulations, more freedom, more responsibility, more decisions, and a hectic work and school schedule which I had to make myself. In college, a lot of the decisions were already made for me – what I could wear, where I could go at what time, which classes I needed to take in order to graduate, which hours I could work on campus, even what I could eat based on what was in the cafeteria that day – and I appreciated the new-found safety which I enjoyed as one piece of a 50+ year old, well-oiled system. I loved the singular focus of homework and cross country. College snatched quite a bit of the burden of the rest of the responsibilities off my shoulders.

            Then, I graduated early, wishing that I could spend another year in college, and yet thrilled to be done.

Life became instant confusion. Maybe it sounds stupid, but I wrestled with issues as little as whether or not I should go back to wearing blue jeans (because we weren't allowed to wear blue jeans at college) and whether or not it was okay to miss a Sunday service because of work (this was highly discouraged at college). Also, I struggled with bigger issues, such as whether or not I should be okay with a stranger spending the night on my couch (not even a feasible situation in a women’s Christian college dorm), what church I should even attend (there had been a list of approved churches at college), if I should still love gory action movies, and how I should respond when there didn't seem to be a correct answer to a question. 

My job posed even more ethically complicated situations, which I had before faced and accepted as a non-Christian in the job world. Now I struggled because I had a new conscious and the Holy Spirit, both of which I often didn't know how to handle. What were the college rules that I was unconsciously connecting to my relationship with God, and what was the Holy Spirit, and what was the old me?

Christians seem to somehow think that meeting God makes things less complicated. On a big picture level, I found that truth to be beautiful; nothing in the world makes any sense without God. On a day-to-day basis, I found that thought to be a horrible lie.

Imagine having a unexpected collision, landing in the hospital with all these problems caused by the collision, being told that you actually have a bunch of other problems revealed by X-rays and tests, finding out you aren't who you thought who you were, nothing in life means what you thought it did, your purpose is completely different than what you thought it was, you need a heart transplant and a brain transplant (if that’s even possible) and a blood infusion, and the person who is going to do those procedures and give you those things is now hugging you and shaking your hand, and he’s a stranger to you, even though he’s known you for forever. You’re meeting him for the first time, freaking out because he'll now be part of your life forever. Regular surgeries will be required throughout your entire life, some more painful and hard than others, and your life will never go back to “normal” (whatever normal was in the first place).

That’s what meeting God did to me.  

The rest of last year, I felt dangerously insecure. I felt like I was either being reckless or being a kill-joy. I felt like I was being labeled simultaneously as a conservative Pharisee or an irresponsible liberal by different people. I tried to make my own list of morals and answers to my FAQs. The organization didn't help; no matter what situation appeared, I always lost. Without fail, I lost. Sometimes the decisions I made seemed okay, then crumbled. Sometimes someone told me a decision I felt was wrong was actually right, or a decision that I thought was right was actually wrong. I thought I’d been welcomed into a society of doppelgangers, and I was in grave danger of becoming one as well.

The security or adventure question was another one of those questions that I would lose, no matter what I answered.

Spontaneity is nice to a degree, but I prefer security, always knowing what is coming next, having clear boundaries, correct answers.

Complaining to God, I cried;

“I don’t feel secure.”

What don’t you feel secure in?

“Everything.”

How much do you need to know to be secure?

I blanched, realizing my problem. “Everything.”

My prerequisite for security was omniscience. My definition of security was never feeling uncertain in anything, not even in what time I got up in the morning, and especially not in when I would have the money to pay my bills or if I would be hurt by a certain person.

I wanted God to be like college: a list of then/if equations, fail-proofs to various scenarios, something like a step-by-step to life, or a Life for Dummies book, and He just … wasn't. I wanted Him to be simple to understand, when He is a complex, round character (to put it in author's terms). 

The answer to the security or adventure question has to be both options, I ended up recognizing eventually. Life with God is going to be a default adventure because I will never know everything, but I can be secure in the fact that He will always be in control of the adventure and always right by my side in the middle of it.

I’m just never content to have it be that way.

Is All Sci-Fi Unbelievable?

Recently, a LinkedIn sci-fi writing group to which I belong posed an important question to its group members. That question was, What comprises believable science fiction writing? I contributed to the discussion (of course!), but I also took a moment to scribble out a longer response to a broader form of the question:

“I think that the problem with the question, ‘What comprises believable writing?’ lies in word choice. ‘Believable’ is perhaps not as accurate as ‘logical.’ We, as readers, should never believe everything we read or hear – not even non-fiction. We should constantly be dissecting and digging into the plot, even of a newspaper article or a historical biography because every author has a bias that is already trapped inside the pages of their works.

The questions in this context really are, Is this author’s train of thought logical according to what I know about the book/genre/style/plot? Are this author’s characters behaving logically according to what I know about them as people, creatures, aliens, etc.? Does the situation logically develop from the premise? ‘According to what I know’ is another important phrase here. Sometimes the plot/character/situation is logical… just not based on the information that the author has provided for us up to this point in the story. Other times, the plot/character/situation is not logical in the real world, but it is perfectly logical within the world that the author is presenting.  

Another very important question also rises in this context: if the plot/character/situation is not developing in a logical manner currently, we must ask ourselves as readers if we are willing to wait until the author provides us with a sufficient motivation within the story for the illogical plot/character/situation.

This question is the critical point where we all differ as readers; we all have a different definition of what “sufficient motivation” really is. We all disagree on the point at which the author ‘proves’ the plot/character/situation is actually logical/worth reading. That is the reason why some readers can be content with never finishing a story and other readers didn't even stop to eat or drink while reading the same story.

However, I think that if we apply these kinds of reader questions (good readers should constantly be asking questions of themselves and of the story) to our personal writing and editing, we can use the answers and the knowledge gained in the creation of all genres. Ultimately, we want readers to become involved in our writing and be able to follow it, not come to an unhelpful jolt in the middle of our stories. We never want to discourage someone from continuing to read our writings from start to finish.”

What are some other factors which make writing believable or logical? 

Please Don't Write for Your Audience

To a degree, all writers want to be widely-read, famous authors. Perhaps all writers even have ambitions like me. Every once in a great, long while, I’ll say something like, “Yes, such-and-such a thing will happen to me after I write my award-winning novel which is turned into an Oscar-nominated film, in which I get to act and write the theme of the music score.” 

Of course, I’m joking. Or am I? We all write for an audience, hoping that it’s a big audience. However, there is a sizable amount of hype about writing for an audience of one: yourself. What is the balance? What part of art is for us, the writers and creators, and which part is for the audience? 

I’m going to explain a few parts of writing which I enjoy as the writer, without even thinking about the audience.

The part that the audience doesn't know about: I've already waxed eloquent on the advantages of newspaper poetry, but I have an example of this “unknown” from a newspaper poem I wrote. The article was actually a question posed by a person wondering how to best wear the latest style. The question was boastful; the person proudly lauded his/her personal youth and beauty and demanded to know how to flaunt the new trend. 

Through my newspaper poem, I turned the columnist’s helpful and kind answer into a realistic commentary on why pride can pull the wool over someone's eyes when it comes to physical appearances. Readers of my poem would understand my focus, but they wouldn't know about the irony behind the blacked-out lines. That’s my own private smile-maker every time I look at the poem (unless I told my readers, like I just told you … ironic, right?)  

The part where your readers tell you to change something which you know is essential: Recently, I read a book centering on how we shouldn't be people-pleasers. The book was a fantastic, deep read with a spiritually-focused line of thinking. I came away with a better understanding of pleasing God, as well as the understanding that I can do things that I enjoy without trying to please those who don’t appreciate or care about those same things. Everybody had unique tastes.  

As the writer of your poem/story, you also have a degree of “omniscience” and “omnipotence.” In a way, you are in control over everything that happens in your work, and you know what you are going to make happen (most of the time!) There is no such thing as an omniscient reader. So, the next time someone tells you to change what you consider a necessary line, just…don’t. Think about it deeply and critically, but if it fits in the end, just … don’t.

The part where your ideas originate: Over the centuries, readers and critiques discuss how the author’s personal life is reflected in his/her works. While it is true that the personal lives of authors surface throughout their stories/poems, nobody really knows where an author’s ideas are conceived. Sometimes, the author doesn't even know. 

One of the silliest questions an author can be asked is, “Where do you get your ideas from?”

“Um … from my head?” 

In his memoir, On Writing, Stephen King elaborates on how ridiculous this type of question sounds to an author. (Side note: his memoir is a terrific must-read for every writer.) Yes, the idea for The Hunger Games came from flipping channels between a reality TV show and coverage of the War on Terror, but does that fully explain the plots, the characters, the strange mix of Romeo and Juliet, dystopian fiction, “The Lottery,” the love triangle, and the 12 – oopps! I meant 13 – colonies, plus the dozens of other aspects of the books? No way! 

Authors are blenders; the delicious (or disgusting) smoothie of a book that the reader just drank in is the attempted organization of a confused kaleidoscope of years of thinking and living. The readers don’t get to know all of those interpreted and re-interpreted experiences and thoughts. Those are just yours to enjoy as the writer.

What are some other ways you enjoy your own writing and the creative process? 

Why My Book List Is Like My Life

I discovered something humbling the other day: my summer reading list. It was messy, ambitious, and long. Very long. Seeing this list prompted me to write down the actual books I’d read over the summer. I was further humbled because out of the 30+ books I had listed to read, I’d read 3 on my actual list. 10%. Lousy. See for yourself:

My Want-to-Read Book List for the Summer

1.     Beauty Will Save the World

2.      Desiring God

3.      I Heard the Owl Call My Name

4.      Maze Runner series

5.      The Return of the King

6.      Hoy Es Fiesta

7.      Until We Have Faces

8.      The Four Loves

9.      Eat, Pray, Love

10.  Antiworlds

11.  Winter’s Tale

12.   A Streetcar Named Desire

13.  Loving God With All Your Mind

14.  The Book of Lost Things

15.  The Giver

16.  The Ghost Writer

17.  The Passion of Jesus Christ

18.  La Sombra del Viento

19.  The Fault in Our Stars

20.  Midsummer Night’s Dream

21.  Pride and Prejudice and Zombis

22.  Notes From a Tilt-a-whirl

23.  Sun Tzu for Women: The Art of War for Winning in Business

24.  On Writing

25.  Harry Potter series

26.  Wild At Heart

27.  Insurgent

28.  Allegiant

29.  To Kill a Mockingbird

30.  Much Ado About Nothing

Books I Actually Read This Summer

1.      The Book of Lost Things

2.      Waiting to Be Heard

3.      Church Membership

4.      Desiring God

5.      Captivating

6.      The Secret Thoughts of an Unlikely Convert

7.      The Book Thief

8.      The Fault in Our Stars

9.      The Five Love Languages

10.  Captivating

We have pretty unrealistic expectations for ourselves. I should remember that because I just found and posted a journal essay about my limitations. Well, I was pretty discouraged about the discrepancies in the lists. I told myself to stop moping, sit down, and make another long Fall reading list, hyping myself up for an invigorating literature experience. Then, God grabbed my mind.

If I had arduously stuck to my list, I would've missed out on amazing reads like Church Membership and The Secret Thoughts of an Unlikely Convert. These books were both unexpectedly loaned to me by great friends who are strong Christians. I was so challenged and convicted by both of those books. It’s hard to read things that are convicting because you are choosing to be convicted as you continue reading and every time you pick up the book. Some of the aspects of these two books made me cry over things that I haven’t cried about as I opened parts of my mind and heart that I’d stamped and sealed years ago. Some of the chapters made me think deeper and got me into different parts of my Bible. They both changed me as God used them to help me make big, positive decisions for life.

As for some of the rest of the list, yes, I wanted to read The Fault in Our Stars, but I hardly expected to pull a practical all-nighter reading it the day before I was going to see the movie (I normally won’t see the movie unless I read the book first.) Waiting to Be Heard is the memoir of Amanda Knox, who studied in Italy, fell in love with an Italian, was accused of murdering her British roommate, and landed in a foreign prison for four years until she was ruled innocent by the Italian court system. It was on my book list last summer, and I wanted to read before I went to Mexico, but I didn't have time. I completely forgot about it until my roommate walked in the door of our apartment with the hunking book in her hands this summer. In retrospect, it probably would have scared me to read it before going to Mexico. The Book of Lost Things is Gothic literature. Gothic literature was my favorite type of literature and the only genre that I've consumed for the past couple of summers. The Book of Lost Things is the only Gothic literature on the list of books I actually read this summer. And it’s one of only 4 in the Gothic genre on my want-to-read list. I was stunned when I discovered that fact because my desires had changed so naturally. I didn't even notice that I read less Gothic literature now until I looked harder at my book lists. 

My book list is like my life.

I always make life plans. Some of them happen the way I expected, like reading Desiring God. It was the first book I planned to read after my graduation, and that’s exactly what I did. Some of them happened, but not the way I expected, like reading The Fault in Our Stars. Some of them are entirely unexpected blessings, like Captivating, a spur-of-the-moment buy at a Christian book sale. Some of them are unforeseen challenges, like The Secret Thoughts of an Unlikely Convert. Some of them I think I can handle at the moment, but in reality, God knows that I can’t. They don’t happen at all or they happen later, like Waiting to Be Heard. Sometimes He just takes the desire away, like He took away my unhealthy obsession with Gothic literature.

I’m so glad that God is in charge of my life. I know that He is absolutely sovereign over everything that happens. Psalm 115:3 says that God is in heaven, and He does whatever pleases Him. In Isaiah 46:10, God states that whatever He plans will be accomplished according to His pleasure. He knows and does; I just don't and can't. I’m immensely humbled by how He has changed me, even while I've been unconscious of the fact. His grace has preserved me from things He knows I can’t handle, and I get to be reminded once again that it’s not me who knows how to change me and help me; it’s Him.

The actual book list is a lot more beautiful than the want-to-read list. And I get a visual idea of what it means to fall short… once again. But I’m ok with not completing my plan; He always completes His.