Girl Detective

Lisa Schmeiser of The Rage Diaries, on how to deal with the recent glut of mommy-related media:

Consider it the editorial form of non-violent protest — non-attention protest. Ignore these spurious mommyfestos. Acknowledging them only gives them what they want, most likely at your expense.

So no mommyfestos from me. Instead, two of the things I’m wrestling with today.

One, how to celebrate the fact that my child is a unique individual, while also acknowledging, to myself and to him, that he’s just like everybody else. The former without the latter means a skewed sense of oneself in relation to the world, like Zaphod Beeblebrox and the fairy cake, from Douglas Adams’ The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Universe.

Two, how to hold the difficulties lightly and free myself to enjoy parenthood. When my husband and I moved to Minnesota, some of the first advice we got was, “Learn to like winter. Don’t hide inside, or you’ll hate it here.” Those words have stood us well for the nearly seven years we’ve lived here. Now I just need to figure out how to do the same thing with being a mom.

Both things are simple, but neither is easy.

As is our morning habit, my eighteen-month-old son Drake and I went out Friday to the coffee shop then the park. We walked in snow that was astonishingly lovely. It fell as dry, discrete flakes. I managed to catch a few perfectly formed, six-pronged crystals on my sleeve. Their descent was slow and steady, dampening the noise of the nearby traffic. I paused often, to stare both at the snow and at Drake, who ran purposefully ahead in his fuzzy snowsuit with its pointed hood. He’d stop occasionally to look back, curious why I wasn’t keeping pace with him.

The quiet snowfall reminded me of a scene from Japanese director Hayao Miyazaki’s animated film “Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind”, released in the U.S. this week on DVD. The pronunciation has been Americanized on the television commercials I’ve seen as “NOZ ih kuh”, but I believe it is more correct as “Nah OOSH ih kuh”. The image in my memory is of drifting plant spores, not snow, but they held the same quiet beauty.

I saw my first Miyazaki film, “My Neighbor Totoro,” about ten years ago, and have been a devotee ever since. Miyazaki came to greater American renown in 2002, when “Spririted Away” won the Oscar for best animated film. I am thrilled that his films are now available in English to the American market. His next movie to be released in theaters will be “Howl’s Moving Castle,” based on one of my favorite books by English fantasy author Diana Wynne Jones. All of Miyazaki’s films feature smart, believable, young-girl protagonists, and are filled with wonderful, magical images.

For more on Miyazaki and his wonderful films, see the January 17, 2005 The New Yorker article “The Auteur of Anime: Inside the wonderful world of Miyazaki” by Margaret Talbot, who discusses it online here.

He looked up at his clock, which had stopped at five minutes to eleven some weeks ago.

“Nearly eleven o’clock,” said Pooh happily. “You’re just in time for a little smackerel of something,” and he put his head in the cupboard.

In our house, we don’t see the need to alter the clocks. We have our smackerel between three and four in the afternoon. My husband G. Grod and I have tea; currently it’s English Breakfast for him and camomile (not technically a tea, since it’s not made from the tea plant) with Ames Farm honey for me. Our son Drake gets diluted juice, usually prune. For food, we munch on crackers, fruit and cheese. Most recently, Drake is eating (and saying the word) dates, and learning how to eat sandwich cookies.

Our afternoon smackerel is one of my favorite family traditions. It provides a useful (and tasty) push to see us through the torpor of late afternoon.

Before I got married to my husband G. Grod, my grandmother asked me, “Is he handy?”

“Not really,” I replied sadly, thinking of my late grandfather, who built furniture and created electonic gadgets in addition to holding a day job and being a musician. “Not like Poppa was.”

Years later, I have have reconsidered her question, and have a different answer. What she meant by handy was if he was good at those same things that her husband had excelled at–stuff around the house. I have never been good at those things. G. Grod claimed not to be either, but over the years, and especially since we moved into our new old house last fall, he continues to surprise me, such as when he fixed a leaking radiator last December.

Where he excels, however, is in tech support, which I think is the new frontier for handiness. I’m a writer. I adopt technology on an as-needed basis. But when something funky happens, like when I get an error message, I am not able to fix things. G. Grod, on the other hand, is almost always able to fix things. The only time I’ve ever lost data was on my PDA, when I went too long between backups. On our computer, though, I don’t think I’ve ever lost data. Whatever happens, G. Grod is always able to rescue whatever I was working on, oftentimes even though I hadn’t yet saved it. (I am terrible about frequent saving, so he has now set our computer to do it automatically, electronically compensating for my shortcoming.) Additionally, our system hardly ever crashes, error messages are rare, and we have never had a virus.

G. Grod has set up a smoothly functioning system that is technologically progressive, ethically correct and defiantly anti-Microsoft. We use Debian GNU/Linux (cute penguin!) operating system, and Free programs for things like word processing and email. I type entries in Gedit, a text editor. The draft of the novel I just finished is a PDF in OpenOffice.org Writer. I use two mail programs, Ximian (now Novell) Evolution (cute monkey!) and Mozilla Thunderbird. As is perhaps obvious, I am more entranced by the cute icons than I am by how these things work. They do work, thanks to G. Grod. Because they work, I can focus on writing; I don’t have to wrestle my words from mercurial electronic programs.

That, for me, is pretty handy.

Over the past few years, I’ve found other writer friends whose partners are technologically inclined, as is mine. It makes me wonder whether we creative types are now seeking out partners with specialized knowledge, in a technology-age form of natural selection.

This is one of my favorite quotes, from an interview on Book Sense with Lee Smith. I printed it out, and it has occupied a prominent place on my desk ever since. She is responding to a question about young women writers, but I think her advice works for everyone.

My advice for young women writers is just do it. Don’t wait for some ideal point in your life when you will finally have “time to write.” No sane person ever has time to write. Don’t clean the bathroom, don’t paint the hall. Write. Claim your time. And remember that a writer is a person who is writing, not a person who is publishing. If you are serious about it, you will realize early on that (particularly if you expect to have children) you can’t take on a high-power career in addition to writing. You probably can’t be a surgeon, and have children, and “write on the side.” (On the other hand, you could marry a surgeon, thereby solving the whole problem.)

In the past five days, I wrote an additional ten thousand words. I edited thousands more. I re-worked the beginning. I developed a character to make her more sympathetic.

I have just finished the fourth draft (or is it the fifth?) of my novel.

The idea for the book is good; I know this. I also know that I am not yet a skilled enough writer to actually write the book that I envision.

I will soon embark upon the next draft. I may eventually have to leave this novel behind. I may never be a good enough writer to write it. Then, I will work on another. That is also a humbling thought.

Worse, though, would be giving up.

I read several parenting books before and after my son Drake was born. Almost without exception, they would make me feel anxious, incompetent, or both. I got rid of the What to Expect… books because they aggravated me so much. I kept one or two others, but over time I hardly refer to them at all. There was only one baby book that I liked, Baby 411 by Ari Brown and Denise Fields. It was a reference book, not meant to be read cover to cover. It was practical and often funny. Best of all, I never felt anxious or incompetent after reading it. Just better informed.

One of the problems I had with the baby books were the lists of developmental milestones. Reading these usually led to me feeling anxious if Drake hadn’t yet achieved a milestone by such and such an age. One of the great things about ignoring the books, though, is that I can now appreciate new skills of Drake’s that don’t get mentioned.

Recently, for example, he is experimenting with walking backwards, on level ground, and up and down stairs. When he does go forward down the stairs holding my hands, he alternates his feet, clearly wanting to do it like we do. Periodically, I see him in a yoga pose, like Bridge, Hero, Downward Dog or Locust. The other night he did Upward Dog in the bathtub. I have never done yoga in front of him; I have not taught him these poses.

Yes, he’s not talking as much as other kids his age. Our doctor told us not to worry and to keep an eye on it, so we are. Not worrying lets me keep an eye on the cool stuff, like baby yoga. I ignore the parenting books and instead try to nurture the small voice of my own parenting instinct. I’m much happier that way. I’m pretty sure that Drake is, too.

My toddler Drake is eighteen months old this week, and has finally worked his way up to listening to every word of both Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel by Virginia Lee Burton, and Bedtime for Frances by Russell Hoban, illustrated by Garth Williams. Bedtime for Frances is especially fun for me to read. I get to make up tunes for Frances’ made-up songs, and I very much enjoy reading the voices of Frances and her father, one timid and the other grumpy, in this exchange toward the end. I have a hard time not laughing as I read it. Drake also finds it funny, and laughs at the same place every time. He has a wonderful, gurgly, delighted laugh. It is a joy to hear.

Frances stood by Father’s side of the bed very quietly,
right near his head.
She was so quiet that she was the quietest thing in the room.
She was so quiet that Father woke up all of a sudden,
with his eyes wide open.
He said, “Umph!” [Drake laughs here.]
Frances said, “There is something moving the curtains.
May I sleep with you?”
Father said, “Listen, Frances, do you want to know
why the curtains are moving?”
“Why?” said Frances.
“That is the wind’s job,” said Father. “Every night the wind
has to go around and blow all the curtains.”
“How can the wind have a job?” said Frances.
“Everybody has a job,” said Father.
“I have to go to my office every morning at nine o’clock.
That is my job. You have to go to sleep
so you can be wide awake for school tomorrow.
That is your job.”
Frances said, “I know, but…”
Father said, “I have not finished.
If the wind does not blow the curtains, he will be out of a job.
If I do not go to the office, I will be out of a job.
And if you do not go to sleep now,
do you know what will happen to you?”
“I will be out of a job?” said Frances.
“No,” said Father.
“I will get a spanking?” said Frances.
“Right!” said Father.
“Good night!” said Frances, and she went back to her room.

I started a blog in June of 2002 because I wanted to practice my writing and editing skills. Writing a public weblog ensured that I’d write, regularly. This regular writing has also helped me to get over writers block. Best of all, though, it’s helped me become a fairly fast writer and editor. I’m writing a teen novel, and am nearly through the fourth draft. Today, during a lovely long nap that my son Drake took, I was able to write another 2800 words, as well as edit the almost 4000 words I’d written over the previous two evenings.

At different points in time when I’ve had other things going on, I’ve thought that I should, and even tried to, take a break from blogging. It hasn’t worked. What I’ve found is that writing begets more writing. The more writing I do, the more writing I want to do, and the more writing I’m able to do.

For a long time in my life I fancied myself a writer, though I hardly wrote at all. Writing a weblog changed that. Now hardly a day goes by that I don’t write something, somewhere. Blogging gave me the structure for a writing practice, so I could stop just talking about being a writer, and actually get down to the messy business of writing itself.

2: Yolen, Jane, Briar Rose. New York: Tor, 1992. Extremely well-done fairy tale interwoven with Holocaust historical fiction that neatly avoids the usual cliches.

3: Thomas, Rob, Rats Saw God. New York: Simon Pulse, 1996. An insightful boy coming-of-age novel, including sex, by the creator of the television series Veronica Mars.

4: Vaughn, Brian K. (writer), Harris, Tony, (penciller), Feister, Tom (inker), Ex Machina Volume 1: The First Hundred Days. La Jolla, CA: Wildstorm Productions, 2005. Collection of the first five issues of new comic-book series about Mitchell Hundred, who acquires strange powers and goes on to become the mayor of New York City. Funny, intriguing, fabulous art.

5: Vaughn, Brian K. (writer), Guerra, Pia/Parlov, Goran (pencillers), Marzan, Jr., Jose (inker), Y the Last Man Volume 4: Safeword. New York: DC Comics, 2004. Latest collection of compelling comic book series about Yorick, the only male on the planet after a plague wipes out the rest.

I recommend them all.

I am a recent convert to Blog of a Bookslut, which has links and notes to all sorts of literary goings-on by Michael Schaub and Jessa Crispin. At the beginning of the year, Crispin noted that there was a 50 book challenge for 2005:

“The idea, of course, is to read 50 books in 2005 and blog about them either in this livejournal community or on your own blog.

I thought, “What a great idea,” and have spent six weeks trying to get around to it. I’m doing the last six weeks retroactively. I’ll try to keep the reviews short; I’ll say it in a sentence, if I can.

1: , New York: Tor Books, 1989. A swordfighting fantasy in which men sleep with women and men, but there isn’t a word for it; it’s just what people do. Quick and fun, but not without literary merit.

I attended the mid-winter conference for the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators last weekend and was privileged to hear two talks given by Michael Cart, an expert on young adult literature. Cart noted that the market once referred to as young adult was now dividing roughly into three age groups: 10 to 14 years, middle grade novels; 14 to 18 years, teen novels; and 18 to 25 years into a market he proposed referring to as “crossover”. He and many others have long decried “young adult” as derogatory; the books and the readers who are their audience are not somehow less than adult. These crossover books are sometimes books published as teen fiction but read by an older audience, or books marketed to an adult audience that are also read by teens. The marketing department of the publisher makes the call whether teen versus adult. Cart wondered why publishers in the U.S. couldn’t do as some have in England, putting books out in different formats for different markets.

Some books that were published as adult but that featured teen protagonists include The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold, Life of Pi by Yann Martel, and Prep by Curtis Sittenfeld.

Francesca Lia Block, one of my favorite authors, was this year’s recipient of the Margaret A. Edwards award, which honors an author’s lifetime achievement for writing books that have been popular over a period of time. The Margaret A. Edwards Award is sponsored by School Library Journal and administered by the Young Adult Library Services Association (YALSA). Cart noted that Block was one of the first crossover novelists, whose teen novels were also read by adults.

A recent link from Blog of a Bookslut, though, points out other, less impressive and enlightening crossover books, including the Sisterhood of the Pants books, the Gossip Girl series and others. In a damning comparison, one of the authors hopes that her book will be as popular as Sweet Valley High and Goosebumps books were. For her sake, I hope her book has somewhat more literary merit.

I was away for a week, but it’s still taken me some time to put together my own response to the 01/30/05 New York Times piece on mommy blogging, “Mommy (and Me) by David Hochman.

Many of the responses to Hochman’s piece have been angry and defensive. They see his piece as the latest attack in the mommy wars. I used to consider myself a mommy blogger; I even wrote here and here against those who would write against them. I didn’t find Hochman’s piece to be an attack on mommy blogs, though. There was critique, but I also found empathy, e.g.,

Daniel J. Siegel, a psychiatrist on the faculty of the Center for Culture, Brain and Development at the University of California, Los Angeles, and co-author of “Parenting From the Inside Out,” said that what is being expressed in these Web sites “is the deep, evolutionarily acquired desire to rise above invisibility, something parents experience all the time.” He explained, “You want to be seen not just by the baby whose diaper you’re changing, but by the world.”

and

But perhaps all the online venting and hand-wringing is actually helping the bloggers become better parents and better human beings. Perhaps what these diaries provide is “a way of establishing an alternate identity that makes parenting more palatable,” said Meredith W. Michaels, a philosophy professor at Smith College and the co-author of “The Mommy Myth: The Idealization of Motherhood and How It Has Undermined All Women.” “You’re turning your life into a story that helps answer the question, ‘Why on earth am I doing this?’ ”

Yet many of the responses to the piece, some written by the bloggers quoted in it, were unhappy with it, and disagreed with statements like

Today’s parents - older, more established and socialized to voicing their emotions - may be uniquely equipped to document their children’s’ lives, but what they seem most likely to complain and marvel about is their own. The baby blog in many cases is an online shrine to parental self-absorption.

I found that Hochman’s piece contained both empathy and criticism and I appreciated both. Yet the responses relayed mostly a perception of criticism:

Andrea Buchanan of Mother Shock grumbles here that her book but not her blog was named, and disagrees that parental blogging is anything “remarkable.”

Alice Bradley of Finslippy calls it “faintly damning” here.

Melissa Summers of Suburban Bliss says here that it’s “vaguely insulting.”

Ayelet Waldman of Bad-Mother gripes here that she was only quoted on the second page. Read down to a comment by “metacara” that is critical of Waldman’s comments in the article.

Heather Armstrong of Dooce notes here that

I had a hard time containing my glee � not because I and some of my fellow women writers were made out to be selfish, resentful, overreacting pigs in search of validation; funny that none of us were informed that the article would run with that notion when we were interviewed � but that my child�s green eyes were staring at me from the pages of a national paper.

T.O. Mama of MUBAR writes here what most other mommy bloggers say is the best and most balanced response to Hochman’s piece. She says “the article was not troubling itself but it raised some tricky issues.” Yet what’s interesting is the string of comments that follows her post, most of which criticise the NYT piece, and don’t acknowledge it as complicated.

Jen Weiner (pronounced WHY-ner, not WEEner, FYI) of Snarkspot clarifies, with her tongue firmly in cheek, here that her blog “isn’t just an ‘online shrine to parental self-absorbtion.’ It’s an online shrine to authorial self-absorbtion, too!”

I think Weiner’s comment is interesting, because she acknowledges on her blog, as she did in her quote in the NYT piece, that the parent blogs are self-involved. Her breezy tone, though, refuses to let this stick as a judgment. She goes a step further to say that her blog (a journal/diary type of blog) was self-involved before her daughter arrived, and has remained self-involved beyond her daughter since she became a mother. Weiner’s quote implies, correctly, I think, that many blogs are self-involved. And it’s that point that T.O. Mama took issue with from the NYT piece. Not that mommy blogs were being questioned, but that they were being questioned while other blogs weren’t; why are moms singled out for special attention and criticism?

Perhaps the most prevalent gripe about mommy blogs is that many are poorly written. True, but there are a lot of poorly written blogs out there, mommy or not. And while some are poorly written, others are both well written and funny.

So what’s the harm, then, if they’re well written and funny? They can be entertaining, and, as noted in Hochman’s article, they can also help struggling parents out of isolation.

One harm is noted by Hochman, who wonders about what the child in the future will think, “But the question is, at whose expense? How will the bloggee feel, say, 16 years from now, when her prom date Googles her entire existence?”

Hochman further quotes blogger Ayelet Waldman, “Fundamentally children resent being placed at the heart of their parents’ expression, and yet I still do it.”

Additionally, much of the content of mommy blogs is venting. Venting, in short spurts, can be a good thing. It releases pressure so that a system can function in equilibrium. But venting as a matter of everyday practice isn’t healthy, for either the ventor or the ventee. It devolves into bitching. Griping. A lowest common denominator of discourse.

The author of the weblog Mental Multivitamin noted the harm of such venting in an email she wrote in the wake of the NYT piece that she quotes here:

…if, in fact, weblogs are a historical record of the everyday (as the NYT suggests), [then] angst-soaked entries about the flu or potty training or whatever will be prevailing message of our time — not, for example, the pursuit of a rich interior life via reading, thinking, learning; that child- and spouse-bashing, however cleverly written, will represent the common experience of the ordinary mother, not celebration, wonder, merriment….

For more on parenting and mommy blogs by Mental Multivitamin, see her response to the Hochman article here. Interestingly, she also focused on the criticism rather than the empathy in his piece; unlike the other writers I’ve noted, she applauded his critique.

I have a further concern, though. Even if books and blogs contain both “angst-soaked entries” as well as “celebration, wonder and merriment”, then I believe that the former is what leaves a more lasting impression; I don’t believe a reader gets a balance of both. When writers detail the drudgery and the joy, the drudgery gets more print. It’s more concrete, it’s more physical, while the moments of joy and wonder are more fleeting and often emotional. The response to Hochman’s piece mirrored the difficult, if not impossible task, of creating a balanced portrayal that includes both difficulty and joy. His piece contained both, yet the negative got the most attention.

I wrote on one of my previous sites, Mama Duck, here, about how telling the truth about the difficulties had been a trend in recent motherhood books that I found myself unwittingly repeating in my mommy blog. I vowed to try harder. That was last June. Even with that awareness, I still feel like I failed to overcome the focus on the mundane that Mental Multivitamin decries.

In the 1950’s, we had a June Cleaver portrayal of motherhood as noble and tidy. Then there was the antithesis of telling it like it is, starting in the mid 1990’s, perhaps most notably with Ann Lamott’s memoir Operating Instructions. Now that antithesis is reaching a fever pitch with the mommy blogs. Again, we have a backlash, the unfair criticism that T.O. Mama questions. The backlash means that the antithesis of the truth-telling is no-better than the fog filters of yesteryear. I take this as a challenge to move toward a synthesis: something that celebrates the joys, tells the truth about the pain, but doesn’t dwell so much on the latter than the former is effaced.

Like many others, I was blogging before I became a mom. I blogged about pregnancy, birth and motherhood because I was so gobsmacked by the experiences. I felt unprepared and very alone. What the New York Times piece and what the multitude of responses to it have done, though, is to make it very clear that while I felt alone, I never was. There is an ever-growing number of books and blogs that proves that many women (and men) are surprised and frustrated by the challenges of parenthood. The point I have reached, then, is that there is no need to add my voice to the crowd. I no longer care to participate in the “motherhood is hard” discussion. This is not just true of writing, it’s also true of reading. What I write is inextricably tied to what I read. Reading and writing about the tough stuff just encourages me to focus on the difficulties, instead of keeping my eyes open for the moments of joy and surprise.

I became a parent because I wanted to learn. What I want to write about is that learning process, both in being a parent and in general. I will still write from personal experience, which includes motherhood. But I’m going to write in a way that emphasizes the learning and the joys. I’m not going to pretend that the tough stuff doesn’t exist. But I think I’m going to share that privately, rather than with all and sundry online.

From Carolyn Mackler, The Earth, My Butt, and Other Big Round Things, (Massachusetts: Candlewick Press, 2003):

Strawberry is a funky discount store that I’ve browsed in before, but I’ve never had the guts to buy anything there. I like that they have cool clothes in every size, from extra-small to extra-large. And they’re all mixed together, so the fat girls aren’t banished to the fat floor where the dresses look like gunnysacks and the mannequins resemble embalmed grandmothers. (P. 187)

I just finished this book, and recommend it. It’s shelved at libraries and bookstores in teen fiction, formerly known as young adult–more on that distinction later, I promise. The main character, Virginia Shreves, has an emotional depth of character and a strong, funny voice.

I’ve written before about fashion injustice for non-mainstream sizes here, and here.

I wrote recently here about an episode of America’s Test Kitchen in which they killed then cooked a lobster. I was surprised when the director of the show, Herb Sevush, took the time to write a detailed and thoughtful response, which I will reprint so it appears on the main page, and not hidden in the comments.

I�m glad to hear you are enjoying ATK. But if you�re upset about the lobster I�m pretty much the guy to blame.

You�d be amazed at how much time we spent discussing and debating the different ways of killing the lobsters. The way we showed you is much faster and more �humane� than boiling or freezing a lobster to death. The other problem is that we were pan broiling it and both pre-boiling or pre-freezing would have ruined the dish. We discussed starting with the lobster already cut up, but as you�re probably aware the ATK style is to show, in detail, how a dish should be prepared at home. The cutting of the lobster was too important to skip.

We know that some people are offended by the way it looks when we cut them up, especially the twitching that occurs well after they are dead. The problem is an even larger number of people like to eat lobster, and this being the most delicious lobster recipe I�ve ever tried, we wanted to present it.

So, with me leading the way, we just went for it. It�s my own opinion that eating something you’re too disgusted to watch being prepared is the height of hypocrisy. For those who don�t eat lobster and were turned off, what can I say other than we won�t do it again any time soon. Although we will break an egg from time to time.

I�m glad you liked the new science segments. We�ve been trying to come up with the right way to do science for years and then our producer discovered Odd-Todd. I think he�s a major talent.

Again, thanks for watching, and I hope the rest of this season�s offerings don�t cause you such difficulty.

Herb Sevush
Director

I was glad to learn that the method they depicted was in fact more humane than boiling (the method decried by David Foster Wallace in the Gourmet article I linked to in the original post). I was not actually surprised to learn that the staff had spent a lot of time discussing and debating both whether to show the recipe and how to do so. I have been reading Cook’s Illustrated for over ten years. I’m a huge fan of their thorough approach to food in general and recipes in particular. I took the online name of Girl Detective because I’m naturally curious, but when someone else does such a thorough job of investigating something that interests me (in this case, food), then I can trust in their work and spend my time cooking and eating, not experimenting.

I agree with Sevush’s point that it’s hypocrisy to eat something I refuse to see killed. My modern, non-agrarian life keep me insulated from the means of producing food. Sevush’s letter was a good reminder that I should put my food ethics where my squeamishness is, or get over it. I haven’t eaten lobster since seeing the episode and am not sure if I will again. If I do, though, I will now be fully cognizant of what happened on the way to my plate. And for that heightened consciousness, I thank both America’s Test Kitchen and Herb Sevush.

It has been fascinating to see Drake develop as a reader over the less than 18 months he’s been alive. Over the past six months he has become more involved in reading all the time. If we hold out two books, he will imperiously push one away. Once we have finished reading a book, he will shut it, flip it over and return it to my hands, indicating that he wants to hear it all over again. When he’s done with however many times he wants to hear that book, he’ll slide off my lap, toddle to his shelf of the bookcase and return with another selection. His favorites shift and change. There are certain books that we haven’t read in months, and others that we suddenly see returning to the rotation. He has an extensive collection of board books, but over the last few months I’ve been supplementing those with paper picture books as well. When he first listens to a new book, especially a longer picture book, he doesn’t make it all the way through. He’ll bring the book over again and again throughout a day, and day after day. Over time (not even necessarily each time; it’s more gradual than that) he will listen to more words on each page, and listen to more pages out of the entire book. Yesterday he sat through more of Mike Mulligan and his Steam Shovel by Virginia Lee Burton than he ever yet had. Tonight he listened to nearly all of Bedtime for Francis by Russell Hoban, after which he insisted on two times through Come Along Daisy by Jane Simmons, followed by Goodnight, Moon by Margaret Wise Brown. We finished with Mike Mulligan, after which I spirited him into his bed before he could ask for another. It is clear that his mind is growing and stretching with each reading. It’s also clear that he wants this exercise; he brings the books to us again and again. While we have been guilty of occasionally “misplacing” certain books that we’d read past our point of tolerance, my husband and I almost always follow Drake’s lead, reading the books he wants as many times as he wants to hear them. Yes, occasionally it can be tedious. But really, truly, watching a person come into being as a reader? It is stunning.

Thanks to Blogenheimer for the news that Battlestar Galactica has been renewed by the Sci Fi channel for a second season. According to Sci Fi Wire, creator Ronald Moore wants the second season to address questions of religion.

A few years ago, I attended the annual conference of the American Academy of Religion. Dr. Ross Kraemer, currently a professor of Religious Studies at Brown University, chaired a session on Star Trek and religion. The purpose of the session was to determine whether there was sufficient interest and material for a scholarly investigation. The answer must have been yes, because she went on to co-author Religions of Star Trek with fellow religious scholars William Cassidy and Susan Schwartz. Unfortunately I remember little of the session, other than that it was quite crowded, and that Dr. Kraemer firmly but politely shut down an eager audience member who wanted to know her thoughts on religions in Babylon 5.

Point of trivia: did you know that one of the races portrayed in Babylon 5, the Gaim, was named for Neil Gaiman? They sported stylized gas masks like that of Morpheus in early issues of Gaiman’s Sandman.

Dr. Kraemer’s scholarly focus is usually women’s religion of the Greco-Roman world. She is perhaps best known for her work on the text known as “Joseph and Aseneth,” a piece thought to be included in the pseudoepigrapha. More on the story of Joseph and Aseneth can be found here, including reviews of Kraemer’s book When Aseneth Met Joseph.

I’m experiencing a maddening form of writers block. I have plenty to write about, but I can’t shape it into a form that pleases me. I feel as if I’ve lost any small skill to write in a coherent, meaningful way. I know the way out of this rut. It’s to write, trying to keep things brief and focused. Even that simple-sounding prescription feels beyond me today, though.

The current blockage is ironic. I haven’t posted in over a week because I was out of town for a writers conference. The speakers and sessions sent a combined message of humility and hope: write, hone your skills, continue in spite of almost inevitable rejection, and someday you may be published.

Midway through the conference I experienced a whopping low. I was suddenly certain that I was a hack and that my manuscript was crap and not worth any further time or effort. Either of those might be true. But if I follow the advice to keep writing and learning, then someday they might not be true.

I hope to be a better writer, therefore I write. It’s very simple, really.

On last Friday’s (01/28/05) episode of Joan of Arcadia, Annie Potts finally proved what television viewers have always known.

She is evil.

Kudos to Joan of Arcadia for casting her so perfectly against type. The reveal was so satisfying it was positively delicious.

I’ve written before about why I like the show. It focuses on a family that includes teenagers. Amazingly, the portrayal feels both realistic and yet, *gasp*, not bitter or depressing. And every member of the family gets a thorough characterization.