When the novelist Anthony Burgess was a young man, he was told he had a brain tumor and would die in a year. Did he despair?
No, he plunged into a frenzy of writing that resulted in nine books, a heroic effort to outrun death and make a name for himself. Fortunately for this multi-talented writer and musician, the doctor was wrong, but the diagnosis prompted a creative outburst. Is there a lesson here for writers, one I can share in an upcoming seminar I am planning? Perhaps.
I have always valued deadlines, although in the case of Burgess, the connection between "dead" and "deadline" is too grim. Writers don't need death sentences to motivate them. Still, I know that the more time I have, the less I do and that having a time limit is essential in getting a project underway and completed.
Although I doubt I would act as Burgess did, I know how fear can be a useful means of motivation. Yet too much fear, in the form of worry, can produce writer's block (a topic I address in some of my workshops). As always, the middle way has to be the goal.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
My feline side
I seem to have several identities. Some people know me as a writer on spirituality, others see me as an editor and grammarian and former English professor, and many others recall my 2003 book, "Writing with Cats," and think of me as a cat fancier.
To our Lizzie, the cat who inspired the book, I will always be exclusively a cat man. I am the one she mainly plays with each evening. As I do so, I recall the words of one of the many authors who were inspired by their feline companions, Colette: "Time spent with cats is never wasted."
Cats, who seem to be born to do nothing, are generally peaceful creatures who spend their few waking hours in what I call a contemplative trance. As such, they inspire meditation and so are ideal companions on the spiritual journey, as well as on the literary journey, as all the writers who have kept cats would testify.
Writers and cats seem to go together; cats naturally fit in bookstores and libraries. They exude calm and add to the atmosphere we writers need to produce good work. And when we read books, we often turn to books about cats.
One of the most recent is CATSCAPADES: Tales of Ordinary and Extraordinary Cats by Patricia L. Fry, a prolific California writer (Matilija Press, 2009). In this delightful collection of anecdotes, Fry uses her fifty-plus years as a cat fancier to assemble stories of all sorts of cats--traveling cats, adventuring cats, heroic cats, spiritual cats, clever cats, and of course all sorts of amusing ones. She includes the story of a working cat, which would seem to be a contradiction in terms; and there is Gus, the amazing, if reluctant, baby-sitting cat. Although there are no contemplative cats specifically mentioned, they are there by implication in this collection.
Fry,like Mark Twain and many others, melts at the sight of a kitten and simply can't resist stories of special cats she has known and heard about. Especially moving are stories of throwaway cats who made new lives for themselves.
Anyone who loves cats will enjoy Fry's book. Most of my cat-owning friends (that is, friends who serve as staff to their cats) will enjoy these charming and amusing stories of real cats. My only quibble is with the "ordinary" in the subtitle since, as Colette herself declared, "there are no ordinary cats." But, of course, this book (which might inspire me to return to writing more about cats) proves the validity of this dicitum.
To our Lizzie, the cat who inspired the book, I will always be exclusively a cat man. I am the one she mainly plays with each evening. As I do so, I recall the words of one of the many authors who were inspired by their feline companions, Colette: "Time spent with cats is never wasted."
Cats, who seem to be born to do nothing, are generally peaceful creatures who spend their few waking hours in what I call a contemplative trance. As such, they inspire meditation and so are ideal companions on the spiritual journey, as well as on the literary journey, as all the writers who have kept cats would testify.
Writers and cats seem to go together; cats naturally fit in bookstores and libraries. They exude calm and add to the atmosphere we writers need to produce good work. And when we read books, we often turn to books about cats.
One of the most recent is CATSCAPADES: Tales of Ordinary and Extraordinary Cats by Patricia L. Fry, a prolific California writer (Matilija Press, 2009). In this delightful collection of anecdotes, Fry uses her fifty-plus years as a cat fancier to assemble stories of all sorts of cats--traveling cats, adventuring cats, heroic cats, spiritual cats, clever cats, and of course all sorts of amusing ones. She includes the story of a working cat, which would seem to be a contradiction in terms; and there is Gus, the amazing, if reluctant, baby-sitting cat. Although there are no contemplative cats specifically mentioned, they are there by implication in this collection.
Fry,like Mark Twain and many others, melts at the sight of a kitten and simply can't resist stories of special cats she has known and heard about. Especially moving are stories of throwaway cats who made new lives for themselves.
Anyone who loves cats will enjoy Fry's book. Most of my cat-owning friends (that is, friends who serve as staff to their cats) will enjoy these charming and amusing stories of real cats. My only quibble is with the "ordinary" in the subtitle since, as Colette herself declared, "there are no ordinary cats." But, of course, this book (which might inspire me to return to writing more about cats) proves the validity of this dicitum.
Monday, January 26, 2009
a new beginning
Along with the cold air this January, we have fresh air coming out of Washington, in what appears to be fresh thinking about society and government by the new administration after eight years of brutality and incompetence.
Much of the world seems to share my enthusiasm for Obama and my hopes that he will do what we know is impossible--a complete overhaul of the way public business is done. As we pray for his success and safety, we must also pray for patience to prepare ourselves for some inevitable disappointments when the idealism, evident at last week's inauguration, gives way to the ugly aspects of political reality.
It so happens that I have been reading about the symbolism of light and how inseparable it is from darkness. Brilliant light casts shadows and, undiluted, is unbearable without some darkness. Human experience is never unalloyed.
Much of the world seems to share my enthusiasm for Obama and my hopes that he will do what we know is impossible--a complete overhaul of the way public business is done. As we pray for his success and safety, we must also pray for patience to prepare ourselves for some inevitable disappointments when the idealism, evident at last week's inauguration, gives way to the ugly aspects of political reality.
It so happens that I have been reading about the symbolism of light and how inseparable it is from darkness. Brilliant light casts shadows and, undiluted, is unbearable without some darkness. Human experience is never unalloyed.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
The Real Journey of Life
"The only way to change the world is to change the thoughts and desires of those who live in it."
These words by Thomas Merton, so characteristically direct, honest and insightful, have, it seems to me, both spiritual and political dimensions.
The real journey in life, Merton wrote, is interior, and the "world" for him is the outward expression of our inner lives.
Having just completed directing two retreats on Merton and contemplative silence, I hope I have done a little to affect, if not change, the thoughts of those attending. Most of my retreatants in south Florida and in central Florida responded well to the Psalmist's message, "Be still and know...." They could see that quieting down and listening to the "still, small voice" of God is essential for them and for those they encounter.
How can we expect our lives to be peaceful when we don't cultivate inner peace?
How can we expect peace in the world if we are overly busy, restless, anxious...? The questions are easy to pose. Realizing solutions is never easy, yet the coming to power of the Obama administration gives many of us hope that, at last, we have a thoughtful, patient and intelligent man leading a gifted group of people through some of the most turbulent problems imaginable.
If Obama succeeds in reaching those who resent him at home because of his race and in reaching those beyond our shores in the Islamic world, and if they really listen, as he is capable of listening, I believe much good will be done to reduce the ancient tensions that provoke violence.
That, at least, is a noble hope and wish for this season of peace.
These words by Thomas Merton, so characteristically direct, honest and insightful, have, it seems to me, both spiritual and political dimensions.
The real journey in life, Merton wrote, is interior, and the "world" for him is the outward expression of our inner lives.
Having just completed directing two retreats on Merton and contemplative silence, I hope I have done a little to affect, if not change, the thoughts of those attending. Most of my retreatants in south Florida and in central Florida responded well to the Psalmist's message, "Be still and know...." They could see that quieting down and listening to the "still, small voice" of God is essential for them and for those they encounter.
How can we expect our lives to be peaceful when we don't cultivate inner peace?
How can we expect peace in the world if we are overly busy, restless, anxious...? The questions are easy to pose. Realizing solutions is never easy, yet the coming to power of the Obama administration gives many of us hope that, at last, we have a thoughtful, patient and intelligent man leading a gifted group of people through some of the most turbulent problems imaginable.
If Obama succeeds in reaching those who resent him at home because of his race and in reaching those beyond our shores in the Islamic world, and if they really listen, as he is capable of listening, I believe much good will be done to reduce the ancient tensions that provoke violence.
That, at least, is a noble hope and wish for this season of peace.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Milton and Merton
In 2008, two writers who have greatly influenced me and millions of other readers have significant anniversaries: John Milton was born 400 years ago, and Thomas Merton died 40 years ago.
I have spent much of my adult life thinking and writing about these two writers, Merton mainly in the past decade, Milton during my years as a university professor. There is no connection between them except their obvious concern with Christian theology. For me, each raises important questions about the ultimate issues of faith and about what G. M. Hopkins called the "incomprehensible certainty" of God.
No one who reads "Paradise Lost" or Milton's other major works comes away unimpressed. The sheer energy and determination of the man is as apparent as his often forbidding erudition. With each reading of his work, I come away disagreeing with, or disliking, much of it yet admiring the poet's ability to triumph over adversity despite great personal and political setbacks. I refer to his blindness, mainly, and the defeat of the Puritan Revolution, out of which came his greatest creation, the defiant Satan of his epic.
Milton was born in December, 1608; Thomas Merton died in December, 1968. The extensive writings of Merton, the Trappist monk, writer, peace activist and spiritual master, remain lively and relevant in our time, and I keep discovering new facets of his work. Like Milton, Merton is an optimist in spite of everything, and so is an inspiration to people like me.
Intellectual curiosity, emotional openness, and wide reading combine in Merton with a mystic's heart to produce great writing. He expresses himself in memorable prose (and poetry) about silence, solitude, and the inner life, making the ancient monastic tradition of contemplative prayer meaningful for readers today.
I have spent much of my adult life thinking and writing about these two writers, Merton mainly in the past decade, Milton during my years as a university professor. There is no connection between them except their obvious concern with Christian theology. For me, each raises important questions about the ultimate issues of faith and about what G. M. Hopkins called the "incomprehensible certainty" of God.
No one who reads "Paradise Lost" or Milton's other major works comes away unimpressed. The sheer energy and determination of the man is as apparent as his often forbidding erudition. With each reading of his work, I come away disagreeing with, or disliking, much of it yet admiring the poet's ability to triumph over adversity despite great personal and political setbacks. I refer to his blindness, mainly, and the defeat of the Puritan Revolution, out of which came his greatest creation, the defiant Satan of his epic.
Milton was born in December, 1608; Thomas Merton died in December, 1968. The extensive writings of Merton, the Trappist monk, writer, peace activist and spiritual master, remain lively and relevant in our time, and I keep discovering new facets of his work. Like Milton, Merton is an optimist in spite of everything, and so is an inspiration to people like me.
Intellectual curiosity, emotional openness, and wide reading combine in Merton with a mystic's heart to produce great writing. He expresses himself in memorable prose (and poetry) about silence, solitude, and the inner life, making the ancient monastic tradition of contemplative prayer meaningful for readers today.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
What is happiness?
Is happiness possible? This is one of the most obvious of the many questions about happiness that writers raised long before Thomas Jefferson's declaration of a God-given right to "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness." This famous phrase, whatever it means, signifies earthly happiness, not the joy promised in the afterlife.
What happiness meant in the 18th century world of Jefferson, what it meant for the Greeks and for earlier thinkers, and what it has meant in more recent centuries is the subject of Darrin McMahon's valuable book, HAPPINESS: A HISTORY, which has given me much to think about.
A basic question is whether happiness is a matter of luck, as the English word's origins suggest, or if it is something we have the power to create. It is certainly more than a feeling or a passing pleasure--or winning the lottery. As an enduring condition, it is rare; but it has something to do with a sense of being content with who and where we are.
Happiness to me seems inseparable from love. Thomas Merton, as usual, put it well: "A happiness that is sought for ourselves can never be found: for a happiness that is diminished by being shared is not big enough to make us happy." True happiness is found in unselfish love, he says, a love that increases in proportion as it is shared.
That is probably the most we can hope for in finding earthly happiness.
What happiness meant in the 18th century world of Jefferson, what it meant for the Greeks and for earlier thinkers, and what it has meant in more recent centuries is the subject of Darrin McMahon's valuable book, HAPPINESS: A HISTORY, which has given me much to think about.
A basic question is whether happiness is a matter of luck, as the English word's origins suggest, or if it is something we have the power to create. It is certainly more than a feeling or a passing pleasure--or winning the lottery. As an enduring condition, it is rare; but it has something to do with a sense of being content with who and where we are.
Happiness to me seems inseparable from love. Thomas Merton, as usual, put it well: "A happiness that is sought for ourselves can never be found: for a happiness that is diminished by being shared is not big enough to make us happy." True happiness is found in unselfish love, he says, a love that increases in proportion as it is shared.
That is probably the most we can hope for in finding earthly happiness.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Gratitude
Why is it so hard to say 'thank you'? Is it shyness, as in the case of my students, who complete one of my courses and rarely say anything? Is it self-absorption or simply a lack of training in courtesy?
The reason could be some or all of the above; it could also be, as in the case of a few friends who don't acknowledge their indebtedness to me, a reluctance to relinquish their independence. For to say 'thank you' in a meaningful way is to acknowlege one's dependence on the generosity of another.
When I feel hurt by being taken for granted by people who fail to show gratitude, I am reminded of the Gospel story of the ten lepers. All were healed, yet only one went back to Jesus to say 'thank you.' That story has always resonated with me, for whatever reason. I have always wondered about those other nine since it seems so natural to give thanks, especially for such a gift!
And I have always been aware of the need to say 'thank you' to relatives and friends--and especially to God. The older I get, the more I see that much of what I call prayer is essentially an expression of my gratitude to God or the universe for the singular, unrepeatable wonder of each day.
I look at the blue Florida sky, notice the flowering plants, listen to the birdsong, talk to friends, meet people, read books, enjoy my home, appreciate my wife, talk to my cat--and in being aware of all of this, especially at the end of the day, when I sense the richness of the little experiences that have constituted the day, I am filled with gratitude. Ordinary affirmations are prayerful expressions of gratitude that help overcome the annoying or negative aspects of life, as when pains and problems tend to dominate our lives.
I don't know if God is personally responsible for each of these points of happiness, but God is the overall source of all that is good. And, as the Psalmist says, "in the midst of everything, God is with us."
That prayer is essentially gratitude is an idea beautifully expressed by David Steindl-Rast. This Benedictine monk and writer, born in Austria, is one of my spiritual mentors. "Gratefulness: the Heart of Prayer" and his book on listening are among my favorite friends. He shows us how simple prayer really is.
I am grateful for Brother David's wisdom as my journey continues.
The reason could be some or all of the above; it could also be, as in the case of a few friends who don't acknowledge their indebtedness to me, a reluctance to relinquish their independence. For to say 'thank you' in a meaningful way is to acknowlege one's dependence on the generosity of another.
When I feel hurt by being taken for granted by people who fail to show gratitude, I am reminded of the Gospel story of the ten lepers. All were healed, yet only one went back to Jesus to say 'thank you.' That story has always resonated with me, for whatever reason. I have always wondered about those other nine since it seems so natural to give thanks, especially for such a gift!
And I have always been aware of the need to say 'thank you' to relatives and friends--and especially to God. The older I get, the more I see that much of what I call prayer is essentially an expression of my gratitude to God or the universe for the singular, unrepeatable wonder of each day.
I look at the blue Florida sky, notice the flowering plants, listen to the birdsong, talk to friends, meet people, read books, enjoy my home, appreciate my wife, talk to my cat--and in being aware of all of this, especially at the end of the day, when I sense the richness of the little experiences that have constituted the day, I am filled with gratitude. Ordinary affirmations are prayerful expressions of gratitude that help overcome the annoying or negative aspects of life, as when pains and problems tend to dominate our lives.
I don't know if God is personally responsible for each of these points of happiness, but God is the overall source of all that is good. And, as the Psalmist says, "in the midst of everything, God is with us."
That prayer is essentially gratitude is an idea beautifully expressed by David Steindl-Rast. This Benedictine monk and writer, born in Austria, is one of my spiritual mentors. "Gratefulness: the Heart of Prayer" and his book on listening are among my favorite friends. He shows us how simple prayer really is.
I am grateful for Brother David's wisdom as my journey continues.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)