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7 Quick Takes: How To Write Good

For this week’s 7 Quick Takes, I refer you to Frank L. Visco who offers us all an invaluable lesson in…

 

HOW TO WRITE GOOD

1. The passive voice is to be avoided.
2. Avoid cliches like the plague. (They're old hat.)
3. Comparisons are as bad as cliches.
4. One should never generalize. Be more or less specific.
5. Don't be redundant; don't use more words than necessary; it's highly superfluous.
6. Eliminate quotations. As Ralph Waldo Emerson once said: "I hate quotations. Tell me what you know."
7. Prepositions are not words to end sentences with.

Originally, there were 23 of these gems, but these were the 7 I liked best.

Happy Friday, y’all!

Who Is, Himself, Moved

A brilliant theatre professor at my university was fond of quoting a playwright—I no longer remember who—who once said something to the effect that

“You can either be an artist who represents himself as having had an experience, or you can be an artist who is, himself, moved.”

At least, I’m pretty sure that’s how it went.

In any case, it’s what I can recall, and it is this concept that has rattled about and crystallized in my mind, inspiring me for the past eight years, not only in my work as an actress and a writer, but throughout my life.

The Christian’s life is not unlike the artist’s. Like the artist, a Christian is called to seek beauty and truth, not merely for his own benefit, but so that he can share that beauty and that truth with others. Both paths require the discipline of reflection, fearlessness to face the world with the eyes of inspiration, and courage to lay oneself down without any guarantee of human appreciation. Both demand communication, compassion, and continuity: An outer expression that reflects an inner spirit.

If the creative outlet of artist does not magnify the inner reality of the heart, then that artist is a fraud, a counterfeit, a liar. If the outer life of the Christian does not reflect the inner reality of the heart, then that Christian is something far worse: a hypocrite.

This hypocrisy can exist in two forms. The first is an inner spirituality that is not lived out in word and deed. The other is an outwardly “religious” lifestyle driven by anything apart from the love of Christ. Both the inner heart and the outer expression are vital parts of the Christian life.

In the world of acting, there are two schools of thought on how one can become “the artist who is, himself, moved.” They are sometimes referred to as “inside-out” and “outside-in.” In the first, the actor builds a strong inner life and understanding of his character, and then that inner reality shines out as he begins to speak and move about. The “outside-in” school prefers to build up an outer reality for the character that will influence an inner experience. For example, Marlon Brando stuffed his lower lip with cotton balls to create just the voice he wanted to play The Godfather, and it was from this external starting point that the inner life of this iconic character was born.

You will find critics of both schools. You will also find phenomenal actors from either school. What you will also find are lousy actors who never made the complete circuit from either outside-in or inside-out, who stayed trapped in one reality or the other. In the end, it matters not how we begin but that, on the journey, we find our way to both the interior life and the exterior expression.

The same can be said of the walk of faith.

Some Christians find that daily disciplines and religious duties do, in fact, produce a rich inner spiritual life—not through any merit of their own, but because these disciplines and duties create an environment and a mindset that allows their hearts to be molded into the likeness of Christ’s.

Other Christians find that focusing primarily on the heart—and on the One who fashioned it—result in an outpouring of charity, modesty, generosity, gratitude, and all the other “trappings” of the Christian life.

And, then there are those who perform their religious obligations with no effect whatsoever on the heart.

There are others, still, who spend so much time navel-gazing at their inner spirituality and taking such comfort in what they find there that they feel no compunction to adjust their outer life or to share that inner world with those around them.

Whether you work from the inside out or the outside in, take care not to neglect either side of the balance. And, if you find a Christian who works from the other side, remember that both sides matter. One is not better than the other. To paraphrase the playwright whose name I have forgotten, it is only in the one-piece life of an inner spirituality united to a lived-out faith that we become the Christian who is, himself, moved by Christ.

Peace and grace to you on your journey. May you find yourself moved.

7 Quick Takes: Sophism Edition

And, no, I don’t mean “sophism” as in “a specious argument for displaying ingenuity in reasoning or for deceiving someone” (thanks, Dictionary.com). I mean “Sophism” (capital S), as in brilliant things Sophia said this past week that display some measure of ingenuity, absolutely no reasoning, and which are either so sweet they make you coo or are otherwise capable of making a grown woman (me) snort (literally snort) with laughter! 

-1-

“Mama, thank you for making such a lovely breakfast for us. I love it.”

For this Sophism, I’d like to offer a shout out to Father Badger. Thank you, Father! Oh, and to my incredible husband who tells me every day! xo Love you, Honey. Either way, let us be agreed that positive examples are the building blocks of sweet children and happy mamas.

-2-

“Mama, you’re the wife. So, Daddy, that means you’re…the man!”

For the record, she’s been a flower girl in two weddings in the past year, during which ceremonies, she heard the couple proclaimed “man and wife.” Incidentally, despite being arguably far more conservative in our views of marriage than either of the couples in question, Brian and I used “husband and wife” as the phrase in our wedding—although, we were announced as Mr. & Mrs. Brian Hudson immediately thereafter!

I promise, it certainly didn’t come from this.

-3-

“Mama, when I’m bigger and I get married, can you get me a husband?”

I believe an explanation on the basics of courtship may be necessary somewhere down the road.

-4-

“Daddy, don’t eat me! Don’t eat me!” (Daddy assures Sophia that he will not be ingesting her this evening.) “But, I’m a bit tasty. You’re going to eat me at some point!”

The two favorite games of my children right now:

1. 
   
   Sheep shearing. After going to the annual sheep shearing event at one of our local parks, the children have gone bonkers for shearing! So, in order to live out their fantasy of being sheep shearers (or maybe they want to be the sheep; who knows?), we all take turns wrapping ourselves up in a boucle blanket which is then unwound—oh, excuse me shorn by the other members of the family.
2. 
   
   Nom nom. In which one of the children “nom noms” another family member who is meant to cry in giggling protest, “Don’t eat me! Don’t eat me!” Incidentally, my husband was innocently giving Sophia a bath when the above cry of protest began. So, maybe we need an explanation of the basics of gastronomy, as well.

-5-

“James, be quiet. I’m talking to God.”

We’ve been praying with Sophia since she was in utero, but only recently has she shown a  consistent desire to pray even without Daddy or Mama’s assistance or attention. She’s truly starting to develop her own relationship with Jesus, and it is so incredible to witness her love for Him!

-6-

“Excuse me! Mama. Mama! Mama, excuse me. Ex-CUSE me!” (“Yes, Sophia?”) “I love you.”

(Well, gorsh.) I love you, too, Sweetie.

-7-

And finally, I just wanted to mention two ways that I preserve these and other irreplaceable moments which are (unbelievably) too easily forgotten in the hurly-burly hourglass of life.

1. 
   
   Journals. I keep one journal for each of my children. It begins with the story of his or her birth and contains dated entries to record holidays, birthdays, and ordinary moments that I want to hold onto and recall in years to come. Neither of my children knows that I keep these, yet. I look forward to the day when I will be able to sit down and share with them my memories, thoughts, and prayers as they were in the days of their childhood.
   
   (Incidentally, I gleaned this idea from the fictional protagonist of Elizabeth Prentiss’ Stepping Heavenward, who did the same thing for her children. In a truly touching passage, she is able to share memories from the journal of a deceased son with his living siblings, many of whom were too young to remember him when he died.)
   
2. 
   
   Birthday letters. Every year on the eve of our children’s birthdays, Brian and I sit down and pen a letter to the birthday boy or girl. When all the festivities are done the next evening, we take a few precious minutes alone with our sweet child to read them their letter, which contains our thoughts and memories of the past year and our hopes and prayers for the year to come. When our children are grown, I plan to give them their letters to take with them, a reminder of all that we, their parents, wished for them, a record of our love at every age.

Blessings and grace for the end of your week.

Candid Camera Rolling Grace {Mother’s Day}

I have often thought that life is like the lens of a camera. One that never stops rolling and never runs out of juice. The flash sparks, shutter snaps, moment upon moment, to create the flipbook of split second snapshots that tell the story of our years.

Candid camera. Capturing every body slam-bear hug, and each lip tremble. Document of sharp words and lullabies. There are moments we want to hold onto forever that somehow slip through with the sands of time. And, there are memories we’d like to erase that burn brightly three decades down the line. But, it’s all there on the film roll. Or the memory card?

We start and stop and stumble, flounder, fail—wait, up again, and triumph!

The camera keeps on rolling.

And we learn as we live (don’t we just) that it’s not the single frames that tell the story. It’s that flipbook journey, many moments culminating in big picture visions.

We could sit a million portraits. Have the man with the rattle call our child’s name until the eyes are forward and the tears stopped and the giggle bursts forth from toothless smile all dimples. We could wrap our arms around each other, just so, and bend the leg, and rearrange so that we’re all sitting right in the light deflected off the bounce card. We could do it every morning, try to mold the Hallmark moment, but it would just whip by in a flash.

Blip on the flipbook journey.

Why attempt to manufacture moments when every moment already is precious and fleeting—seared on the negative of time and yet flying by with the flip of the next frame?

Pose, clutch, covet, fret… Oh, sometimes. Yes, sometimes, I must confess, I do.

But a mother is not defined by a single frame. It is the flipbook journey of these lives all bumping breathless laughing tearful cheerful sleep sloppy love around on the canvas of our years that write the story of motherhood.

All I can do is frame it up, take the shot, and live it while it lasts and say with every page, “Thank you. Thank you for this grace.”

7 Quick Takes: Take 2

-1-

Osama bin Laden is dead. Wow. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever hear that sentence without immediately rushing off to Snopes.com to falsify the rumor. But, it’s true. Now, what do I do with it? Do I feel any safer knowing that he’s no longer out there, plotting the murder of millions of innocent people, the downfall of Western society? No, not really. This fight was never about one man, nor did one man lead it. It’s an idea and a worldview we are at war against, not men. There is a certain sense of justice in it, particularly for those who lost loved ones in the September 11th attacks. For me, bin Laden’s death is simply a reminder of all that still remains at stake, and there is so much yet at stake.

-2-

This historic news arrived on what may be the most profoundly Providential day of the entire liturgical year: Divine Mercy Sunday. The day when we remember the infinite mercies of our Lord, Jesus Christ. I gazed upon the beloved icon, light and blood flowing from my Savior’s heart, His nail-pierced hand raised toward me in peace, forgiveness radiating from His eyes, and my heart breaks and how—how can anyone rejoice at the death of another human being, no matter how despicable, no matter how guilty, no matter how soaked in blood, when we are all—every one of us—bathed in Blood?

-3-

Now, there really was something worth celebrating on Sunday: Pope John Paul II is one step closer to canonized sainthood! He was the pope of my generation, the man who stirred the hearts of millions—even those who despised his faith, his Bible, his position, everything he stood for. His wisdom, compassion, and strength have inspired me my entire life. My heart was filled with joy over his beatification. It was a quiet joy, a private joy, that what I have known my whole life—the goodness, the greatness of Karol Wojtyla—was finally declared from Rome.

-4-

And, then there was this: the words of a dear friend, whom I have never met but prayed for often. Words of praise and joy and hope in the wreckage of a home, a way of life, and the loss of loved ones. I am so humbled by this woman, and I say, “Praise Jesus!”

-5-

All of these things combine to make me think of this song. (Sorry, I tried to embed it, but apparently I’m doing something funky, and I couldn’t get it to work.) Anyway, rocking song, rocking message, rocking Savior.

-6-

Onto less weighty topics: bread! I love bread. I think I could quite happily spend the rest of my life on a diet of bread, cheese, and apples with utter contentment. Okay, maybe the occasional bowl of strawberries. And grilled asparagus. Nothing like grilled asparagus. But, back to bread. Fresh bread. There’s nothing like it. That smell that wafts through your entire house, enticing everyone who gets within a three block radius to come bang down your door. But, in all honesty, who’s got time to knead and let rise—twice—day in and day out, especially with littles underfoot? I mean, there are places to be, people to see, tummies to tickle! Enter Artisan Bread in 5 Minutes a Day. I was skeptical. Oh, so skeptical. But, I have been using this baby for a month now. I’ve tried half a dozen recipes—and let me tell you: they are fantastic! So, moms: You know what to ask for from the kids this Sunday, right?

-7-

And finally, ALL of these things combine to remind me of the greatest take of all time!

Blessings and grace for the end of your week.

Of Cups and Clothes

The mug in this picture is one of my favorites. It was purchased at the bed & breakfast where my husband and I honeymooned in the San Bernardino Mountains. I love wrapping my hands around it’s warm belly on a cold, rainy morning while I breathe in the hot, brown scent of hot coffee.

Next to the mug is a tea cup in my parents’ Royal Doulton wedding pattern. I inherited the set from my mother when Brian and I married. Drinking from this tea cup feels different from drinking out of my big green mug, and it makes me feel different. The tea cup encourages me to sit up straight, to hold my cup carefully, to sip slowly. I relish the quiet clink of the cup foot on the saucer and try to see how softly I can set it down.

 

In a similar way, I think something happens when we, as women, wear skirts. They just feel different; they demand a different way of moving and sitting. They even encourage a different mode of behavior and we--and others--view us differently when we wear them. For better or worse, skirts feel different than pants.

 

There are days when nothing will do but a flannel shirt and a comfy pair of blue jeans. For raking leaves or riding horses. For the fifth day in a row without sunshine. For the good cry.

 

And, then there are days—so many days—for twirling pretty in tiered cotton. For tying apron strings over skirt waists. For slipping on fabric-skin of femininity and saying yes to beauty; yes I am a woman, beautiful.

A version of this post originally appeared in January 2010. I apologize that I was unable to transfer comments. Know that your thoughts are always welcome.

Happy Nameday, James!

Today is the Feast of St. James the Just, cousin of Christ, first Bishop of Jerusalem, and author of the Book of James and of the Apostolic Decree spoken of in Acts 15.

 

St. James suffered death at the hands of the Pharisees for publicly proclaiming Jesus to be the Christ. Even as he was being stoned to death, the great saint prayed for those who murdered him. The story of his martyrdom is so similar to that of St. Stephen that some say Stephen may have merely been a pseudonym for St. James. (The name means “crown,” and so could have been used to connote the first Christian crowned as a martyr.)

St. James' feast is celebrated on May 3rd (today) along with the feast of St. Phillip, and it is our James’ Nameday!

Last year, we had a delicious Israeli meal, since St. James was as an Israel Jew and was, in fact, the bishop of Jerusalem. This year we’ll enjoy the same wonderful falafel, a veggie platter with hummus and olives, and some whole wheat pita bread. For dessert, I’ll stuff dates with a little almond paste (leftover from Shrove Tuesday) mixed with orange flower water. This a simple. economical, delicious meal that has been enthusiastically adopted in our home as a yearly tradition. I can’t imagine improving upon it!

O Glorious Saint James, you were our Lord's cousin and at the same time his friend and disciple. You wrote that every good and perfect gift comes to us from the Father of lights, and that faith without works is useless. You preached the divinity of Jesus until your death as a martyr. Obtain for us from the Father of lights the great gift of a living faith in Jesus' divinity which will inspire us to unstinting labor in the service of God and our fellow men and enable us to reach our heavenly destiny. Amen.

I Dare You

It’s the 2nd Annual Dress Dare! Defining Beauty has defined the rules:

1. Wear dresses and skirts throughout the month of May
2. Feel free to make exceptions for sleep an exercise.
3. Honor Mary, grow closer to Jesus.
4. Be beautiful—be YOU!

I’m in! How about you?

The Gifts Go On (Multitude Monday)

80. Tick-tock of Grandma’s namesake cuckoo on my wall
82. bulk vanilla extract
83. For slow-stirring forcing pause
84. Milky swirls, steam curls dancing in the pan
86. Cookie jar savored to the last crumb
91. For wise words of woman humble, inviting me to the thanksgiving feast
92. That life is not an emergency
96. Sunshine against the odds
98. Baby-boy spiraling down slide so high
99. Full-bellied husband reaching for second helpings
102. Tear-drying teddy delivered in big sister’s arms
104. For washable markers that really are
106. Hot-pink jewel-breast of a hummingbird that hovers just long enough for my children to see
109. Endless pourings of clean water
112. Lover hands strumming chords to the Beloved
123. Apples all rosy in wicker nest
124. Hot mug of steaming tea on cool spring morn all dewy damp
125. Barren women blossoming hope from the Grace seed
126. Job in despair crying, “Blessed!”
127. A God who is in control, even in the pain. A GOOD God.
128. Sun-soaking on verdant grass, back warmed by earth, face warmed by Heaven
129. Running breathless, childlike
130. Armful of shrieking, smiling babe caught tight
134. The last lap, the homestretch