If I were writing a real post, I would pull things together that I want to talk to you about, like for instance:
- The contradiction we touched on this week, of our dream of literary success, and our desire for quiet, obscure lives.
- The one-year anniversary of Latayne's dream trip to The Holy Land to research her new book, and of her coming home to find her husband was desperately ill. You can read her latest update here.
- The ways all of us ladies on Novel Matters have struggled in this new economy and new publishing world, and the ways you have struggled as well.
- My long-time resistance to finding a real job for fear that my life would change in ways I would hate, which ended in my stumbling upon a dream job that I dearly, dearly love.
- Bonnie's book, Talking To the Dead going FREE for just a couple days - but it's still not too late.
Then, if I were writing a real post, I would ask myself how these things connect to one another. I would probably think a long time for the obvious reason that the connection is not obvious.
But I would find the connection because I have twenty-five minutes now and I have to.
Here we go:
We told God we wanted to write good stories, but maybe He thought we said we wanted to live good stories. Which sounds fine on the surface, until you realize that good stories involve conflict, even tragedy sometimes, and stunning reversals, and we wanted - remember? - quiet lives and literary success.
We forgot that art comes out of pain. But He designed it that way. I don't know why. Still, this morning it all seems strangely beautiful.
If I were writing a real post, I would probably quote Marilynne Robinson's Gilead yet again, because I think it is the wisest novel I ever read.
Here's a good one:
"Strange are the uses of adversity." That's a fact. When I'm up here in my study with the radio on and some old book in my hands and it's nighttime and the wind blows and the house creaks, I forget where I am, and it's as though I'm back in hard times for a minute or two, and there's a sweetness in the experience which I don't understand. But that only enhances the value of it. My point here is that you never do know the actual nature even of your own experience.
I'm off to work, my friends. Please forgive my jumble here. I hope you'll comment anyway - I love to read what you have to say.