My new “treadmill book” ( the one I read while I huff and puff at the YMCA) is Ernest Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast. It’s a memoir of his life as a very poor expatriate, living and writing in 1920s Paris.
I first read it in college, and re-reading it is like traveling in a time machine. The marked passages are like a little glimpse into the twenty-year-old me, who was spending an exhilarating semester studying in the City of Lights. Most of the marked quotations have to do with Hemingway’s descriptions of Paris and its seasons. It fills me with a longing for the city that actually surprises me, it’s so intense. It’s a feeling I’m going to have to explore some more.
But that’s not why I’m writing this post. I’m here to share the following passage from A Moveable Feast with all you other writers out there. In this passage is contained the single best bit of writing advice I’ve ever heard:
But sometimes when I was starting a new story and I could not get it going, I would sit in front of the fire and squeeze the peel of the little oranges into the edge of the flame and watch the sputter of blue that they made. I would stand and look out over the roofs of Paris and think, “Do not worry. You have always written before and you will write now. All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know.” So finally I would write one true sentence, and then go on from there.
I was re-introduced to this particular passage a few years ago, so I’vebeen taking this advice to heart for a while. And let me tell you: it works. It works beautifully.
It’s especially good advice to follow when writing about spiritual topics. It’s so easy, when writing about faith, to fall back on big broad generalizations that sound good, that sound like the things people expect you to say. But these generalizations are not always the truth. Sometimes, for me, the truest sentence I know is more along the lines of, “I have absolutely no idea who God is.” Sometimes, it’s “I am not liking being Catholic at the moment.” Sometimes, it’s “I don’t really know if I even believe all of this stuff.”
These “truest sentences” rarely end up on the page. They usually stay in my mind, as a kind of reminder; or, if I do use them, I often end up revising them slightly. But they never fail to get me out of my writer’s block. Even better, when I stop and write the truest sentence I know, that’s usually when my writing begins to move and breathe on its own.
If you’re ever stuck, try it. Think of the truest sentence that you know … and then follow it where it takes you.
One of the great things about having a blog is getting to meet fascinating people online. One such connection I’ve made is Jennifer, artist and blogger extraordinaire.
For the month of May, she’s been honoring Mary on her blog, sharing gorgeous photography and explanations of Marian traditions. For her most recent post, she interviewed me about my book Mary and Me. If you want to know more about the book… or find out about my current relationship with Mary … or learn about my very favorite place to write … then mosey on over and take a look!
Oh, and while you’re there, check out Jennifer’s fabulous art. Her unique, inspired pieces really highlight the beauty and power of Scripture.
It’s Sunday morning. I’m getting Matthew cleaned up after breakfast. “Time to get ready for church,” I say brightly, as I get him down from his booster seat.
“I need church,” he says distinctly.
You know what this means, right? It means that at the tender age of two and a half, my son knows something that it took me twenty-five years to figure out.
Yes, it’s been 100 posts since that first one way back in August, when I shared this picture of Mary behind the wheel of my son’s car (backstory here).
On that summer evening, I hit “publish” with a feeling of nervous excitement. My very first post! It felt like my mom should be waiting with milk and cookies to ask me how it went.
Back then, I had no idea how this whole blogging thing would work out. I was full of questions. Would I have enough time to do it? Would I run out of things to write? Would I ever get sick of it?
Over the last 99 posts, I’ve learned that the answers to those questions are : Yes. Not yet. No; far from it.
In honor of the occasion, I’ve put together a little roundup of some of my favorite posts. If you’re new to the blog, consider this an introduction. If you’ve been there since the beginning, maybe you’ll see something you missed the first time around.
And thank you, SO much, for your readership and support. I appreciate it more than you know. I hope that my random musings offer a touch of lightness, and maybe even a bit of depth, to your days.
May is nearly over, but there’s still time to celebrate the month of Our Lady. For a veritable smorgasboard of thoughts on Mary, visit Just Another Day of Catholic Pondering. Lots of bloggers (including yours truly) are contributing posts about Mary and parenthood.
If you get a chance, mosey on over and take a look! Better yet, post something yourself!
Susan Boyle, whom I could not resist writing about a few weeks ago (making me like every other blogger in the world, apparently), has returned to Britain’s Got Talent. She sang “Memory,” from Cats. She started off a bit shaky, but recovered herself. And when she hit that high note at the end: Good stuff. VERY good stuff.
The media was giving her a bit of a hard time a few weeks back, when it was clear she’d glamoured herself up a bit. I guess they like to give people a hard time about anything, right? I mean, it’s not like she’s suddenly blonde, with a new nose. She still looks like the Susan Boyle everyone fell in love with earlier.
It must have been tough to walk out on that stage … harder even than the first time, I’m guessing. But she sang like an angel. And I don’t know about you, but I can ALWAYS use a little bit of heavenly inspiration.
Lately, my toddler keeps asking to watch The Pajama Game. It has, apparently, supplanted I Love Toy Trains as his new favorite video. And — like any other Broadway-musical-loving sucker of a mom — I always put it on.
In spite of the saucy pose that Doris Day is striking on the cover, The Pajama Game is actually a kid-friendly film, with little objectionable content for the under-three set. I saw it for the first time a year ago, and I was instantly a fan. In a nutshell: Doris Day works at a pajama factory whose workers are mobilizing to demand a pay raise. She falls in love with the supervisor, John Raitt, who is handsome and crazy about her but who also, alas, represents Big Bad Management. They sing and dance and break up and eventually have the sunny happy ending that you would expect from a 1950s musical film.
Matthew doesn’t give a hoot about the story, probably because he has never seen the whole movie. We skip right to the musical numbers, which he loves. Someday, he will be shocked to learn that there is actually a plot in between all those songs.
There is one song that I DO skip. When Doris and John sing “There Once Was a Man” to each other, she playfully pretends to sock him in the stomach, and he doubles over in fake agony (which probably looks pretty real to a two-year-old.) Last week, when Matthew was watching the song, I realized too late what was coming up. Pow! went Doris, and I instantly scrambled to do damage control. “Time out!” I yelled. “She needs a BIG time out!” Matthew continued watching, unfazed.
But that song aside, I’m more than happy to show him the movie. Heck, there are worse things for a kid to watch than a film with a strong pro-union message (little does Matthew know how much my OWN union went to bat for me over the maternity leave I took for his birth. I will love them forever for that). And if it comes to a choice between John Raitt singing “Hey There” or Barney singing his theme song … well, the answer to that is pretty darn clear:
My sister Amy is two years older than I. That’s a good age difference. Over the years, we’ve been super-close — sharing paper dolls and clothes and good times.
But even sisters who like each other have moments like this:
“MOM! Amy has been in the bathroom forEVer!”
“MOM! Ginny keeps playing that stupid Phantom of the Opera music and it is driving me CRAZY!”
“MOM! Amy still hasn’t fed the rabbit, and now I’m going to have to do it AGAIN!”
Over the years, my mom has done what all moms do: she has been The Restorer of Harmony. When Amy and I were at any kind of impasse, scowling at each other (or worse), Mom would step in. Sometimes she’d restore peace through an executive order: “Ginny, turn off your music for a while.” Other times, she’d hear both sides, sigh, say “You girls will just have to work this out between yourselves,” and leave us alone to grudgingly broker a truce. The reconciliations were not always swift or easy; I’d often turn down my music mutinously, muttering about my sister’s lack of taste. But, eventually, with Mom’s help, Amy and I would move beyond the place where we were stuck. The ice of the tension would crack. Eventually, a thaw would come.
When I interviewed my mom for the book Mary and Me, I was curious to hear what she’d have to say about Mary. Given my mom’s past experience as Resolver of Conflict, her answer should not have surprised me. “Mary represents so much peace,” she told me. “When I look at her, I feel peaceful.”
I like to think of Mary in this light, as a force for calm. So many of her messages have to do with peace. In her apparitions, she asks us to pray for an end to war, or for the softening of hearts that are hardening into hatred. Like any mom, she longs for her kids to get along together, to have a happy home: only, for her, the home is the entire universe, and the kids are all of us. She can’t force us to love one another — it wouldn’t be love if it isn’t freely chosen — but she can nudge us toward harmony. Like all moms, she can throw us the tantalizing option of rising above our pettiness and our grudges.
My own kids are pretty young ( two-and-a-half and eight months) so I haven’t yet had to do much in the way of restoring peace. But, if my boys are anything like my sister and I — or like every other set of siblings on the planet — they’ll eventually have their moments of conflict. I’m hoping that, when they do, I’ll be up to the task. I hope that I’ll be able to slip into the role that my mom played so instinctively, that Mary plays so beautifully: the restorer of harmony, the bringer of peace.
Luke has figured out how to crawl. He’s pretty fast, too. He’ll see something he wants — like his stuffed monkey lying two feet away — and he’ll start moving those little legs. Next thing you know, he’s got the monkey pinned to the ground in a wrestling hold.
Part of me beams with pride. I see him and think, You go, little dude! The world is yours!
Another part of me feels dread in the pit of my stomach at the thought of re-babyproofing the house.
And another part of me watches him scoot and feels a stab of sadness. I see him and think, Can’t he stay a baby just a little bit longer? Just a bit?
These three different feelings often coexist at exactly the same moment. That could be worrisome to me, but it isn’t. I know that it doesn’t mean I’m emotionally unbalanced, or anything like that.
If you’re reading this blog, odds are good that you kinda like Mary. Or maybe you’re curious about her and you visit this site to learn more about why she means so much to so many people. (Then again, maybe it was that Jane Austen post that reeled you in …)
At any rate, Sarah at Just Another Day of Catholic Pondering is hosting a Mary Moments Carnival for May 25th. If you’re not familiar with the carnival concept, it’s a way for various bloggers to post their thoughts on a common subject, all in one place. And you guessed it: the subject is Mary.
So if you have a blog and want to pass along a post about Mary, please send it along to Sarah! The more bloggers, the merrier. The theme is Mary and parenthood … and even if you aren’t a mom or dad yourself, you certainly know what it’s like to have a parent (or a parent-like figure) in your life.
You don’t even have to have your own blog to be able to share some thoughts on Mary. Check out this link for more info.
At the very least, click your way over to Sarah’s blog on the 25th and check out the posts. They are guaranteed to be far more satisfying than most carnival fare … and much less bad for the teeth.
I'm a formerly lapsed Catholic who likes to write about faith, real life, and how the two intersect. Oh, and I love Mary -- check out my book Mary and Me below!
My new “treadmill book” ( the one I read while I huff and puff at the YMCA) is Ernest Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast. It’s a memoir of his life as a very poor expatriate, living and writing in 1920s Paris.
For the month of May, she’s been honoring Mary on her blog, sharing gorgeous photography and explanations of Marian traditions. For 
In spite of the saucy pose that Doris Day is striking on the cover, 
When I interviewed my mom for the book Mary and Me, I was curious to hear what she’d have to say about Mary. Given my mom’s past experience as Resolver of Conflict, her answer should not have surprised me. “Mary represents so much peace,” she told me. “When I look at her, I feel peaceful.”
