Book Ende

First Draft of "The Wasteland" by T.S. Eliot, edited ruthlessly by Ezra Pound

"How many books do we read from which the writer lacked courage to tie off the umbilical cord? How many gifts do we open from which the writer neglected to remove the price tag? Is it pertinent, is it courteous, for us to learn what it cost the writer personally?" 
-Annie Dillard, The Writing Life




"People tend to look at successful writers, writers who are getting their books published and maybe even doing well financially, and think that they sit down at their desks every morning feeling like a million dollars, feeling great about who they are and how much talent they have and what a great story they have to tell. . . But this is just the fantasy of the uninitiated. I know some very great writers, writers you love who write beautifully and have made a great deal of money, and not one of them sits down routinely feeling wildly enthusiastic and confident. Not one of them writes elegant first drafts." 
-Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird

"Even in a country you know by heart
it's hard to go the same way twice.
The life of the going changes
The chances change and make a new way.
Any tree or stone or bird
can be the bud of a new way.
Any tree or stone or bird
can be the bud of a new direction. The
natural correction is to make intent
of accident. To get back before dark
is the art of going." -Wendell Berry, Traveling at Home

Thoughts
"Each night before I go to sleep I try to catch them like a child chasing after fireflies on a summer night, running around with an open jar, ready to snap the lid on the second one flies inside. 

Once it's inside I can hold it up, examine it closely from all angles, watch it softly glowing, illuminating the inside of the jar. I line the jars up on the edge of the weathered wooden porch rail, one next to the other, and stand back, watching them glow, lighting up a piece of the black night. 


They'll never really be fireflies as long as they're in those jars, they'll light up one square inch of world for a moment, then cease to exist. They forever remain thoughts, ideas, projects stuck inside a glass jar, trying to get out. 


One by one I unscrew the tops and let them loose into the dark. Maybe they'll come back to me. . ."

My dear friend and fellow aspiring artist recently started her own blog. She has some great thoughts on remaining hopeful and faithful in the face of the day to day struggles that may cause us to second guess where God has placed us. Check it out!

I'm always looking for new Christmas books, books that cut through the haze of cartoon illustrations, presents, and heavy handed saccharine endings. I picked this up at the bookstore a few years ago mostly because I haven't found a book by Kate DiCamillo or a drawing by Bagram Ibatoulline that I don't like. The illustrations, even from the front cover seemed to be cast in a soft, magical glow, the street lamps peering through a thick fog that settled over the street, waiting for something to be discovered there.

In that fog in the midst of winter, on the corner of 5th and Vine, sit an organ grinder and his monkey. From a window overlooking the street corner a little girl, Frances, watches the organ grinder play and the monkey in the red jacket hold out his silver cup. One night, she notices the pair still sitting out on the corner after everyone else has gone home. The next day, as her mother helps her to prepare for her Christmas pageant, Frances can't stop wondering what will happen to the organ grinder if he stays out on the street. As she and her mother are walking to her pageant later that day, Frances asks the organ grinder to come with them. He smiles a gentle smile as Frances' mother quickly pulls her away.

Bagram Ibatoulline, also the illustrator for Crow Call, is able to capture the slightest look on a characters face. The organ grinder stares sadly but with a hint of affection at the monkey. Frances stares quizzically and longingly out at them. Her mother's face is tight and drawn with worry as she looks at a picture of Frances' father in military uniform. The soft, understated illustrations beautifully compliment the well chosen words of Kate Dicamillo's story.

This is not just another "true meaning of Christmas" story, like the board book about the animals at the stable on Christmas night that I used to read when I was little. The title, Great Joy comes from the angels announcement of Christ's birth to the shepherds (which just happens to be Frances' line in the pageant). "Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all people." Frances, her mother, the organ grinder . . .all kinds of people. With childlike innocence Frances cares for the organ grinder, she asks him to come to the pageant. Bursting with childlike enthusiasm at his entrance, she declares her message of Great Joy! This book is as warm and beautifully delicate as the pictures themselves.

"I go among trees and sit still.
All my stirring becomes quiet
around me like circles on water.
My tasks lie in their places
where I left them, asleep like cattle.

Then what is afraid of me comes
and lives a while in my sight.
What it fears in me leaves me,
and the fear of me leaves it.
It sings, and I hear its song.

Then what I am afraid of comes.
I live for a while in its sight.
What I fear in it leaves it,
and the fear of it leaves me.
It sings, and I hear its son.

After days of labor,
mute in consternations,
I hear me song at last,
and I sing it. As we sing,
the day tuns, the trees move."
-Wendell Berry