The Power of Words

I have been in love with words since I was a little girl. The way they can be moved around and placed together to form a beautiful or clever or meaningful statement has fascinated me from the time I first began filling up journals in elementary school. I remember sitting in my Kindergarten class stressing over a basic test because I saw that the words we were being tested on had many different meanings, and so it was really an impossible task to only circle one picture for each word the teacher read aloud. I could make up a story in which each word could fit every single picture my teacher put in front of me. The way words fall on my ears is important to me, and the way they look on paper is something that can drive me a tad bit insane. Now not only am I a lover of the written word, but I am also a Bible reading gal, which let me tell you, brings me to a whole new level of word obsession. There are only so many "red letters" in my Bible, and so it is only good and natural that I really take time to ponder how they were placed together, and not just in my language, but in the original language they were written in. I mean, would I only study Shakespeare in Spanish or German, when I could look up the original words of the writer? Okay, so there you go...I obsess over words. I think about words a lot, and I do not think they are things to just throw around in a casual way as we go through our day. Sometimes, most of the time really, people should think about what they are saying, hearing, writing, and reading. But, alas, this is such a strange concept for us in this texting while watching television age.

Now, I am actually ranting about words for a reason here. I happen to think that children are wonderful gifts. There really is not a sweeter gift to be entrusted with here. Sure, being a parent can be stressful, but that's just part of the "saltiness" of the deal (see my first May blog post for clarification on "saltiness"), and stress does not take away one itty bitty ounce of the special blessing a child is. So, why oh why oh why, do people in the grocery store or at the park or a gas station or wherever tend to comment on how crazy a mother is for having another child? "You're expecting another? Have you lost your mind?" "Another girl," they will say, "Well, you are gonna have your hands full." "You'll have three teenagers all at once? I don't envy you!" "Just wait until those little girls grow up and the boys start calling and coming around and wait until they don't want to listen to you." And then the stranger in the pasta aisle will say, "Enjoy the time you have with them now because they won't want anything to do with you when they're 16."



In what world are these statements appropriate to make to a woman in the grocery store you do not even know? And in what world is this the best choice of words for even your closest friend? I mean, I know that parenthood will grow into a more and more challenging role for me, but come on, people. I also know that I hope and pray and expect the best out of not only my children, but also myself. I know that what I want to be for my family is realistic, yes, but also optimistic. I want to expect great things for my children, and not to have my little girls hear from the mouths of strangers over and over again just how difficult they are going to make my life. Because then they just might grow up to be difficult, and they just might learn to hate themselves a little for believing themselves to be nothing more than a nuisance to the people around them. Why not be what is expected of them? Of course teenagers have a tough time and so do their parents...I mean, look at this broken world they are trying to grow into. But calling out toddlers and babies still in the womb for being stressers and trouble makers and nothing beyond curfew breakers and bathroom hogs? Seriously, adults in the world, stop pointing your fingers at my tummy and name calling and complaining about the life you and your own situation created for yourself.



So the next time I see a pregnant woman at the grocery store, I will not say, "Oh, honey, what are you thinking bringing a child into this world?" I will say to her, "Oh, congratulations!" or "This is such an exciting time for you!" Or you know, I might even pray for her unborn baby...pray that he or she will grow up to be a light in this world, rather than just another wailing infant who will grow into a wailing teenager.

Don't get me wrong...sometimes mommies need to take a breath and laugh and cry about the chaos that is often their lives, but I think I will also spend my time surrounding myself and my husband and my children with words to encourage us and strengthen us, because as I am so often reminded by frank, tummy-touching strangers in the check-out line, we're going to need all the strength and encouragement we can get.



If this post seems a little meaningless to you, then think about the words from your past. I bet you can remember some of the moments in which you heard the kindest and also the coldest words about you in your life. And these words probably shaped you in some way. Maybe they helped you love something about yourself, or hate something about your family, or maybe they convinced you of something about your life. Words often have real power behind them.

The Thing about Jane Austen, One of Them Anyway

I'm not obsessed with everything Jane Austen. Writing fiction comes more naturally to me than non-fiction. And those are two statements that go together quite well, as one certainly proves the other, and makes me not a liar, but a writer. I just cannot get enough of Austen's characters. They are so darn clear in my mind, so fully developed and wonderfully flawed. I feel I know them better than most flesh and blood people around me. And truth be told, I am not only completely head-over-heals in love with Jane Austen's work, but I am also quite smitten with the search and discovery of sequels written by other Austen admirers. Sure, some of these sequels can be a bit sappy and not remotely up to par with Miss Austen, but one must do what one must to get a glimpse into the continuing lives of characters whose stories were ended much, much too soon. When I read Pride and Prejudice or Northanger Abbey, it's the characters, not necessarily the stories, that pull me in towards another night of squinty eye reading and sleeplessness. And ain't it kind of funny that the thing I adore most about Austen's novels is the thing that has twisted around into an issue for me in my own writing? Character development just pours out of me when I write, which could be a good thing...BUT, it is often the only thing that pours out of me when I write.



Story development. Plot. That is stinking hard for me. It's just about as slow as a pesky little algebra equation. Thankfully though, I don't despise developing a story as much as I do algebra, but still...it can be tough to actually make things happen. I can sketch a character all day...100 pages of character sketch...all in a day's work. Fifteen pages of plot development, now that's a day's work, real work. It is a wonderful thing though, when I see these characters from my mind, whom I really do care about, in a scene with things happening around them and to them. They're not just sketches any more, not just word pictures, but they're active and tested, and this makes a writer, and a reader, really get them on a new level. Maybe this whole process is an itty bitty glimpse of what I'll experience when I send my kids to kindergarten or send them out in the world. I mean, I have my little ones home with me, in this protected, controlled environment, and they are just precious here. They have funny little personalities and are so special and clever and enchanting, but when they will go outside their home and experience new and different things, then I'll see them in a new light as they make friends and help people and decide what matters to them in the outside world. So there it is, the thing about Jane Austen, well one of the many, many things, is not only did she give us girls Mr. Darcy to dream of and Miss Eliza Bennet to admire, but she can reach straight out of the 1800's and make me get all dreamy and emotional just thinking about my kids going outside of my house. Now that's something. The ability of a writer to create characters who live on for centuries, and who attach themselves to a reader's mind, even when that reader is a twenty-something country girl from across the pond. I cannot even fathom what that sort of creation would feel like. I think it's pretty great to simply create a character who is real to my own mind. That simple creation is really all the power a writer needs, of course, what a writer may want for her characters is a different thing.





And here's a little fact about this ridiculous mom here: I read Northanger Abbey to my toddlers. The whole thing. And you know, they actually listened intently to at least a fifth or so of it. My little troopers.

Salt the Sugar

So I'm blogging. Me, the girl whose favorite smell is the mustiness of old books. And me, the girl who would love more than anything to be from a different time; a time without computers and television sets, and of course, cell phones. Does anyone else out there think that electrical cords strewn across a floor sort of color away the beauty of a place? Maybe not, but that's fine. After 26 years on this earth, I have finally come to a place where I can play the role of me, the genuine, quircky, old-fashioned, country, dreamy me, who God created me to be. So why blog? Because as bakers know, you should not be afraid to add some salt in with the sugar. It balances out the sweetness, and strangely, brings out the sweetness a little more. I love to write. Writing is a sweet, sweet thing for me, so in order to make a nicer place for writing in my life, I'm adding a little technology, a little salt, to my writing.

I want this blog to be a place of honesty. I'll be here to write about the toddler years and infancy of my beautiful daughters, my quest to steal away moments to write and to get my novel published. I'll comment on what I'm reading, thinking, doing that day, and also what I'm not doing...which is often a much longer list than what I am doing. Where do all these motherhood tasks come from? It's like a new chore is invented for me to do everyday? I mean, I lived 20 years of my life before I even knew people cleaned baseboards. And cleaning potty seats? Repairing favorite toys? I would be just fine if I lived the rest of my life without cleaning out another diaper bag. But there are good "chores", too. I'll braid my three year-old daughter's hair and teach my almost-2 year-old to sing songs my parents taught me all day long. Those hard chores make it possible to cherish the wonderful ones. It's that salt and sugar thing again.

So I'm blogging. Thanks for reading.