I love “Dear Diary” writings, or books that are written as letters (known as epistolary novels). These entries are sort of random, – not necessarily fiction, as much as they are a light-hearted and zany. If I ever were to write a story, I’d be very drawn to this type of story-telling. What about you? One of my favorites of this genre is “The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society” by Mary Ann Shaffer (although I did not like her portrayal of Christians and her observations about God). I also enjoyed “Dear Mr. Knightly” by Katherine Reay. Please let me know if you’ve got a book like that to recommend to me. Anyway, I might follow through on this as a short-story fiction device. But not today.

This has sort of been Fiction Friday by Me.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning…

There’s something oddly appealing about this photograph. It should have gone to the trash icon and died a silent death, but I just couldn’t delete it.

Chiaroscuro
Black leaves, sharp edges,
Startling against the blue.
Dark defined by light.

Let’s finally admit this: I’ll probably never delete anything – in the morning or any other time.

I can take no credit for that image, other than the fact that I took the photo. Here’s how the original photo looked before I did some computer magic with it:

It looks good as a silhouette (although I now see that another pesky dust particle has crept into my camera). I wanted to know what kind of bird it was, so I brought it over to a photo editing app called PS Express to bring out some of the detail. Then I noticed that you can augment or enhance the background of the photo and, ooh! Look! Watercolor background! Is it still art if all you did was make some editing choices? You may weigh in on that deep philosophical question if you’d like. It feels like cheating to me.

Art Implied or Applied?
The bird, he was anonymous,
A mysterious black silhouette
“Twas an app that made his image clear:
A sparrow in a pirouette.

But that’s not all that this app did;
It wasn’t done interfering.
A pastel sky it drew out of its hat,
And flung it into the clearing.

There was no artist with a brush,
No palette of purples and golds…
Just a soulless app in the hands of a hack
But oh, what wonders it holds!

This has been Watercolor Wednesday…or has it? I’m having an existential crisis! Or am I?

I’ll probably delete this in the morning…or will I? Is anything really deleted?

What would you do if someone called you a “trull?” Or a “quean?” Worse yet, a “mandrake root?”

I’ve been reading Till We Have Faces by C.S. Lewis. The story is narrated by Orual, the king’s oldest daughter. She tells of a time when he exploded with anger at her thusly:

“You!” He shouted. “You! You to raise your voice among the counsels of men? You trull, you quean, you mandrake root!”

Well, of all the nerve! If you’re like me and have no idea what any of those things mean, here’s the breakdown:

Trull: a prostitute
Quean: an impudent or ill-behaved girl or woman
Mandrake root: supposedly resembles the human form, allegedly shrieks when pulled from the ground.

Nice guy. Definitely not getting the “Father of the Year” award.

I wouldn’t recommend adopting those terms to use when you’re angry at someone, but it’s a useful tidbit to tuck away just in case those words get volleyed at you.

And here’s what Anthony Esolen wrote in the book Out of the Ashes, championing the role of the mother:

“Even the phrase ‘stay-at-home mom’ is patronizing and faintly derogatory, like ‘stick-in-the-mud mom’ or ‘sit-in-the-corner mom.’ Do we talk about a ‘chained-to-the-desk mom’ or a ‘stuck-in-traffic mom’ or a ‘languishing-in-meetings mom’? To do fifty things in one day for which you alone are responsible, for the immediate good of the people you love, is deemed easy, trivial, beneath the dignity of a rational person…

Chesterton put it well when he said that the work of a mother is not small, but vast. A teacher would bring to fifty children the arithmetical rule of three, and though that is an interesting thing, it is but small and limited. The mother brings to one child the whole universe. That is no sentimentality. It is exactly true.”

I love that: “The mother brings to one child the universe.”

Yes!

May the wind chimes in your life melt all the coldness in your bones.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning since it contains words like “trull” and “quean.”

I completed an important quest for Leonardo DaVinci today – just thought you all should know. I hadn’t known I was on a quest, but life brings the occasional delightful surprise. I’m not sure whether to be excited or embarrassed that it took me nearly 17 hours to finish this game – er, to complete this quest.

The first game of this nature that I played on my iPad a few years ago was called “The Room.” Each room in the game contains an ornate box or container and you have to solve puzzles of various kinds in order to unlock all the secrets of the box and then go on to the next level. Theres’ a story that goes with it, but it’s almost irrelevant to me. It’s all about the puzzles. I absolutely LOVED this game and could hardly wait for each sequel to come out and was never disappointed – each one surpassed the previous one in terms of complexity and design, as well as in the creative nature of the puzzles. Alas, after The Room 4 (“Old Sins”), the game designers decided to make The Room 5 only accessible to Virtual Reality platforms. Boo.

I decided to look for other games like The Room and came across “House of DaVinci.” Reading the reviews I came across someone who had given it a low rating, saying it was just a rip-off of The Room games. Just what I was looking for – sign me up!

Both of these games seem to be able to detect when you’re having trouble solving a puzzle and the “hint icon” begins waving its little arms (metaphorically), practically begging you to take a hint or two, but I’m loathe to do it, as it feels like cheating. And it’s so rewarding when you persevere and finally figure it out.

Having completed the quest of House of DaVinci 2 (although my character was in mortal peril at the end – cliff hanger!), I was instructed to invite my friends to play. And now I have.

This has been Monday Musings with Lynniebee. I’m pretty sure I lost 90% of my readership in the first paragraph, but I’m holding out hope that 10% of you got to the end and really want to try the game. Just do it!

I’ll probably go on another quest in the morning if I can find one. If not, I’ll delete this post.

Rats, Kelly thought to herself. She hadn’t wanted to come to this party, but had felt maneuvered into it. Well, not so much maneuvered as having fallen prey once again to her reluctance to say no when people at work included her in any sort of social gathering. And now she had gotten sucked into the orbit of a particularly high-brow group conversation. They were blathering on about something esoteric having to do with the intersection of art and literature.

Well, she’d played this game before. The trick was to nod your head thoughtfully and keep a pensive look on your face. She drew the line at laughing uproariously when everyone else did, however – this was a minefield she’d stepped onto before and regretted it when she laughed louder and longer than the others, causing them to lift the dreaded Eyebrow of Disdain. After that, she’d developed a new technique which consisted of allowing a mysterious smile to play on her lips – sort of the Mona Lisa approach. She was a devotee of the Advice to Hapless Party-Goers which came directly from the Good Book: “Even a fool, when he keeps silent, is considered wise. When he closes his lip, he is considered prudent.” This was easy enough since she was essentially an invisible part of the group, anyway – most of them probably didn’t even know her name.

She was in the middle of one of these mysterious smiles (which she’d perfected by practicing in front of a mirror), when the question came like a thunderbolt.

“What do you think, Kelly?”

She didn’t see who’d asked the question. Although startled, Kelly prided herself on her poker face. She hadn’t really been listening, but they didn’t need to know that. A bold note went zipping through her brain, accompanied by a little trill of mischief. She grabbed at the most random thing she could think of and threw it right out there. “I find it’s always helpful to reflect back on what Bennet said in one of his lesser known works – so simple and yet so profound.” She paused for effect, and said it, the words that had come to her in a dream fragment recently: “Encourage chickadees.” Uh oh…so much for staying silent and being considered wise.

Silence. Someone gave an uncomfortable half-chuckle as the group pondered this bit of fluff. Kelly worried she’d gone too far, but right on schedule, Brett, who never liked being caught with his academic pants down, nodded sagely and said, “Yes, I’ve always admired Bennet’s avant-garde views. His insights always take one by surprise – he makes you work for it, doesn’t he?”

At this the whole group, grateful for the cue, nodded thoughtfully and looked pensive. The conversation ebbed and flowed as they all tried to outdo one another with comments about Bennet and his seminal work. Kelly’s mysterious smile threatened to turn into an unflattering snigger, but she managed to stifle it. She’d been reading Pride and Prejudice again and “Bennet” was the first name to come to mind. It looked like she was off the hook, so she prepared to break out of the orbit of this conversational planet and head over to the snack table.

“That phrase – ‘encourage chickadees…’ – What do you think it means, Kelly?”

Rats again. She’d noticed that one of the guys in the group had been eyeing her with a mysterious, knowing smile of his own. It appeared that at least one person in the group suspected her intelligentsia credentials and meant to expose her. In fact, she’d bet he was the one who asked the first question. Nothing doing, buster, she thought to herself. All eyes were on her.

“The elegance of Bennet’s wisdom, of course, is that he means to let you come to your own conclusions, Alex.” More nodding from the group, but Alex merely stared and called her bluff. Very well. The gauntlet had been laid and she would pick it up. Time to nip this in the bud with a strong finish.

“But I think what Bennet clearly meant is that we need to return to an appreciation of the natural world around us for our inspiration. What could the chickadees represent, but the many delightful thoughts that arise when we leave our inner sanctums and take in the fresh air of this glorious and beautiful world in which we live? Do we want our souls to flourish? Encourage those thoughts, those chickadees! That’s what he meant, and I, for one, will always live by that rule.”

The group nearly applauded this burst of eloquence. Alex’s stare became a grin of admiration. She’d won the game.

Kelly walked over to the snack table. Alex followed.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

This has been Fiction Friday brought to you by Lynniebeemuseoday.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning, while wondering how much mileage I can get out of the phrase “encourage chickadees.”

I am trying to figure out why I’m so enamored with that photo. I think it’s the juxtaposition of the bright crystals against the dark background. It looks like a crystalline wave about to break over a dark blue sea.

The snowdrift began to rumble,
Each crystal tried to break free
With a mad desire to tumble
Down into the deep blue sea.

Short and sweet today! Well, at least short.

I’ll probably delete this in the crystalline morning.

Erasmus wrote a book called On Free Will. I’m currently tackling Martin Luther’s response to that book, called The Bondage of the Will. It’s definitely not light reading, but got off to a sizzling start with Luther’s scathing comments to Erasmus about his book:

“…your book is, in my estimation, so mean and vile that I greatly feel for you having defiled your most beautiful and ingenious language with such vile trash, and I feel an indignation against the the matter also, that such unworthy stuff should be borne about in ornaments of eloquence so rare, which is as if rubbish or dung should be carried in vessels of gold and silver.”

Luther was a little ball of fire, that’s for sure. It’s strong stuff, but almost lyrical compared to the kind of things people express on social media when a disagreement arises.

Elisabeth Elliot, Keep a Quiet Heart, p. 135

“Restlessness and impatience change nothing except our peace and joy. Peace does not dwell in outward things, but in the heart prepared to wait trustfully and quietly on Him who has all things safely in His hands.”

I am often impatient and assume I’m not the only one. Maybe you needed to read this today, too.

And here’s a little whimsical look at germs by the humorous poet, Ogden Nash:

The Germ
A mighty creature is the germ,
Though smaller than the pachyderm.
His customary sleeping place
Is deep within the human race.
His childish pride he often pleases
By giving people strange diseases.
Do you, my poppet, feel infirm?
You probably contain a germ.

“Strange diseases,” feels just a little bit too relevant right now!

I hope you are able to wrap yourselves in warm light on these cold days as you cozy up with a good book.

I’ll probably delete this when someone tells me how mean and vile it is.

For those of you who are interested, I’m going to follow through on why we ended up loving the Harry Potter series so much. For the rest of you, class is dismissed.

First: Objections Answered (I really want to use the phrase “Mischief Managed” here)

Dark. Another way of expressing this would be to say that as the books progress along with Harry’s age (one year per book), the stakes get raised in terms of the manifestation of evil and its consequences. In a sense, when the books were first released, children grew up apace with Harry. The bad things that happen in the first few books are more in the realm of bullies, mean teachers and mysterious disappearances. As Harry grows, the threat of evil grows, finally emerging as a truly dark thing with the killing of a classmate in book 4 (or maybe book 5 – I can’t remember). But the darkness is never glorified, nor is it treated in comic book fashion – it is real and it is frightening, but it is always in its proper context. I think Rowling did really well with building this throughout the series so that by the time Harry and his friends begin to meet it head-on, they are becoming mature enough to handle it. I’m not sure that the whole series should be galloped through by a young reader, but it probably depends on the maturity level of the reader.

Lies. There’s no getting around it – Harry tells lies in the early books to get out of trouble. And he doesn’t always get caught and punished for it. But again, these books were meant to show the story arc of a young boy who is growing up and maturing as he grapples with increasing threats against him and those whom he loves. In the last book, Harry tells one last big lie, but it is to his friends in order to save their lives by giving his life for theirs. It is a beautiful redemption of this early weakness of his.

Witchcraft. Harry attends a school of witchcraft and wizardry. Within that milieu everyone learns spells and has a wand for casting spells, but it’s really more about learning to use weapons for good, along with strong discouragements and restrictions on their possible uses for evil. The context is very clear. I don’t think one need worry that their children are being drawn into the real practice of witchcraft – we certainly didn’t. It’s clearly very fanciful and, to be honest, quite fun.

Line Between Good and Evil. A common complaint after the first book came out was that the line between good and evil wasn’t clearly enough drawn. To this I can only say “Nonsense.” That’s not to say that there wasn’t some nuance to the characters. Sometimes “good” characters did foolish or bad things. Sometimes you learn that those who seem evil aren’t as “bad to the bone” as they appear at first. But the ultimate line between good and evil is never really in doubt.

I think that sums up the objections. Now to some of the elements that I found commendable.

Story. This is really a well-crafted story. I read once that it took Rowling 5 years to plot it all out before she started writing. That might not be true, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was. There are minor details included in earlier books that take on huge significance that surprise the reader in later books – that had to take some major planning ahead.

Characters. I could go on and on with this one. Rowling assembled a huge cast of characters for these books exploring a large range of the human condition: funny, tragic, wise, buffoonish, sweet, cruel, misunderstood, evil, earnest, phony…

Creativity. I love the whole world that Rowling created. It is interesting and fantastically creative without requiring you to learn an entirely new vocabulary.

Depth. There are back-stories, there are stories within stories, there are characters that seem minor, but are surprisingly important. You get the impression that these were almost real people to Rowling, she so generously endowed them with real histories and heart.

Themes. Rowling explored some major themes throughout the books, including father hunger, sin and redemption, fear and courage, love and sacrifice. If you don’t get choked up at least one time per book, you’re made of stronger stuff than I am (which may not be saying much).

Marriage and Family. It may be a small thing, but I appreciated the fact that couples did not live together – there was a strong culture of marriage and the expectation of marriage. The Weasley family was a wonderful depiction of a good, strong marriage and a large family where everyone was loved and valued. You could say that they were the core family in the series.

I’m going to quit here because I don’t want this to get too long. I’ve tried to tell you about why we loved the books without giving too much away. If you haven’t read them before, I hope you’ll give them a try, but I recognize that this genre isn’t everyone’s “cup of tea.” I’ll be reading them again this year!

I’ll probably delete this…but maybe not. It took me too long to write it.

He passed by this window every day at the same time, in the late afternoon when the lowering sun brought deep shadows to the window panes. Normally, he burrowed into whatever book he was listening to and paid no attention to his surroundings, but one day he was arrested by the thought that the window was calling to him. He stopped and looked around – was anybody else similarly affected? People streamed past him, moving out of his way like water rushes around a boulder in the river.

He looked at the window. Nothing special. How very odd, he thought, and went on his way, the boulder becoming part of the river again, the incident forgotten.

But the next day as he walked by the window, it called again. Distinctly. Irresistibly. He stopped and looked at it, carefully this time. The glass panes were dark and nothing could be discerned beyond them. He pressed “pause,” on the book to which he’d been listening and began to listen for something or someone else. Perhaps he had been mistaken.

“What?” he inquired politely, hoping the passers-by would assume he was on the phone.

“I SEE YOU.”

In that moment, the window became a mirror and he knew what it was to be seen, really seen. Guilt and shame flooded his soul as his eyes were opened to the oppressive mysteries of his heart. He felt a nightmarish nakedness, bereft of hiding places. Before him as on a public billboard were all the lies he’d told, people who loved him that he’d ignored and hurt, women he’d used up and discarded, seeds of life that he’d planted, never caring whether they lived or died, those degrading websites he kept visiting, the sheer unremitting self-centeredness of his life. Even the “good” things he’d done were tainted by grimy self-interest. And how had he responded to all of the good fortune that he’d enjoyed,the simple pleasures of his life, and the beauty and wonder of the world around him? He’d been bored and unsatisfied, always wanting more. He tried to find his face in that dreadful mirror, but a skull stared back at him.

This was untenable! He’d always thought himself a fairly good fellow, somewhat innocuous and certainly not evil. (After all, there was always Hitler to compare oneself with when one was in danger of seeing the evil in themselves.) But in this one, awful moment, he knew what he was. He was depraved. He was lost. He was dead.

“Stop!” he cried out, not caring if the world heard him. “I don’t want to be seen!”

The mirror became a window again; the man pressed “play” on his book and went on his way, agitated and stricken. He tried to forget and failing that, tried denial. He found other ways to walk home from work, but the window kept calling his name. One might even say it harassed him. He tried cleaning up his life, but quickly realized that this was easier said than done and the blackness of his soul weighed more heavily on him every day. Finally, he could stand it no longer. He had to go back, to find out what could be done about this predicament in which he’d found himself.

When he came before the window, he couldn’t even look at it. The window beckoned. Sweetly. Irresistibly.

“COME AND BE CLEANSED.”

And this time, when he looked up at the window expecting to see again the dreadful mirror of his life, he saw a cross.

And he was cleansed.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

This has been Fiction Friday with lynniebeemuseoday. I’d love your feedback on this story. I really felt quite desperate this morning when the fiction piece I had been planning to write just withered away.

I’ll probably delete this over the weekend, or (perhaps even worse) I’ll go back and start tweaking it here and there.