Category Archives: Writing

Family, Feelings, Friends, Latin, Third Phase, Translating Metamorphoses, Writing

Getting My Kicks

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Imbolc                                                                             Valentine Moon

Woke up, saw fluffy white snow outlining the trees, shrubs and fences.  A beautiful way to start my 66th year.  Spoke with brother Mark, Mary kept off by technical issues.  A new hard drive.  Always a good way to lose a program or two.  As they say in the Old Testament, blessings and curses.

I’ve been motoring along this morning finishing up a lengthy session in Ovid.  Or, I should say, several one hour or one hour + sessions that equal a lengthy one.  I’ve translated 21 verses and I’m confident of most of what I’ve done.  There are still hitches in my git along, but at least for right now I seem to have a flow underway.

Almost finished with the Eddas.  Then I’m going to put pencil to large format desk pad and start roughing out Loki’s Children.  I want to get it thought through to some extent before I start my revision of Missing.  That way, if I have to change things in Missing (and I think I will) I can do that in the upcoming 3rd revision.  I hope #3 is what will make me ready to start the search for an agent.

As I said the other day, I’m cruising into the third phase of my life, which I count as having started with the arrival of my Medicare card, with clarity of purpose, emotional support from family and friends, and good health.  Here we go.  Charlie, the final chapter.

Aging, Dreams, Family, Garden, Latin, Our Land and Home, Third Phase, Translating Metamorphoses, Writing

The Life Ahead

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Imbolc                                                                Valentine Moon

So.  66.  Tomorrow.  How that long-haired, green book bag carrying, dope smoking political radical could be turning 66 is, I admit, a puzzle.  Yes, he looks a bit different in the mirror.  Well, ok, quite a bit different.  Instead of long hair, little hair.  Instead of the book bag, a kindle.  Not smoking at all.  Hmmm, still a radical though.  Guess the other stuff is detritus of past fashion.

After passing the last great social milestone before the final one, that is, signing up for Medicare, my life has taken on a new cast.  I’ve written about it here, a change that came gradually but with a strange persistence.  That new cast has home, writing, Latin and friends as its core.  It entails reduced traveling into the city, a much lower profile in terms of volunteer work in either politics or the arts.  A word that sums it for me is, quieter.

Quieter does not mean less energetic or engaged, rather it signals a shift in focus toward quieter pursuits:  more reading, more writing, more scholarship, more time with domestic life.  Unlike the pope I do not intend to give up my beloved theological writing. (Kate believes he’s suffering from dementia.)  I intend rather a full-on pursuit of the writing life, novels and short stories, a text on Reimagining Faith.  This full-on pursuit means active and vigorous attention to marketing.

The primary age related driver in this change is greater awareness of a compressed time horizon, not any infirmity.  How many healthy years will I have?  Unknown, though I do actively care for myself.  Still, the years will not be kind, no matter what I do.  So, I had best get my licks in now, while I can still work at my optimum.

So, the man turning 66 has a different life ahead of him than did the man turning 65.   An exciting and challenging life.

 

Asia, GeekWorld, Latin, Literature, Translating Metamorphoses, Writing

Just Stuff

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Imbolc                                                                                 New (Valentine) Moon

The images, each moved from their numbered folders into new folders named for the organizational scheme that moved me at the moment, have a new home.  I’ve checked the prior machine for missing images, found a few and they’ll get added in tomorrow, but in essence the big image reorganization, self-inflicted, is over.

(Valkyrie (1908) by Stephan Sinding located in Churchill Park, Copenhagen, Denmark)

On March 1st I’m going to hit Missing with my third revision.  I’m hoping this one puts me close to finished that I can begin shopping it to agents.  I think it will, but until it’s done, I won’t know.  Research for Loki’s Children goes well, too. I’m almost done with all the Eddas, then I’ll go back over them again, looking at my notes and underlining, taking pieces here and there that I’ll use.

With the image reorganization I’ve felt a bit off my game this last week, but I’m back now.  Time to step up again.

Each day, though, I have (for the most part) finished a sentence of Jason and Medea.  That doesn’t sound like a very ambitious rate, but by the time a sentence is done, which can be between 2 and 14 lines long, I’m ready to put away the Lewis and Short, the Wheeler and the Anderson, close Perseus and go upstairs.  It’s a pace that, for now, allows me to work at an intense level, get work done steadily and yet allows enough time to do a quality job.

Been reading Civil Servant’s Notebook by Wang Xiaofang.  Author of 13 novels, all about Chinese bureaucracy, this is his first translated into English.  Published by Penguin.  Of all the material I’ve read on China of late this one seems to have the most insight into contemporary China.  Wang gives a satirical perspective on life inside municipal government, but he also strips the veins of a culture deep with history and short on ethical guidance.  I’ve read elsewhere of a moral aimlessness that inflicts contemporary China, but I was never able to put my finger on it until reading Civil Servant’s Notebook.  I don’t have it down here with me now, but tomorrow I’ll quote a few lines from it to show you what I mean.

Commentary on Religion, Faith and Spirituality, Humanities, Latin, Myth and Story, Poetry, Reimagine. Reconstruct. Reenchant., Translating Metamorphoses, Writing

A Life Long Passion

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Winter                                                            Cold Moon

“A mythology is the comment of one particular age or civilization on the mysteries of human existence and the human mind…”                                                                                                                                            H.R. Ellis Davidson, Gods and Myths of Northern Europe

A life-long fascination with mythology and its companion fields, ancient religions and folklore, can be explained by this quote.  We have multiple ways of understanding the world, of asking and answering big questions.  In our day science is regnant, queen of the epistemological universe, but it is not enough.  Not now and not ever.

(Charles Le Brun, Fall of the Rebel Angels, 1685)

Science cannot answer a why question.  It can only answer how.  Neither can science answer an ethical question.  It can only speak to the effects of a course of action over another in the physical world.  This is not a criticism of science, rather an acknowledgment of its limits.

Mythologies (usually ancient religions), ancient religions, legends and folklore are our attempts to answer the why questions.  They also express our best thinking on the ethical questions, especially folklore, fairy tales in particular.

Where did we come from and why?  “1 In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, 2 the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters. 3 Then God said, “Let there be light”; and there was light. 4 And God saw that the light was good; and God separated the light from the darkness. 5 God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And there was evening and there was morning, the first day.”  NRSV

(edward_burne-jones-the_last_sleep_of_arthur)

Want to live a good life?  Live like Baldr or Jesus or Lao Tze or Arthur.

How can we tell a just society from an unjust one?  Look at the 8th Century Jewish prophets.  Look at Confucius. (not a religion, yes, but functions like one)  Look at the Icelandic Sagas.  Different answers in each one.

I fell in love with these complex, contradictory wonderful narratives when I was 9 years old, maybe a bit younger.  Aunt Barbara gave me a copy of Bullfinches’ Mythology.  I loved Superman and Batman and Marvel Comics.  I was an attentive student in Sunday School and later in seminary.  Over time I’ve come to recognize this fascination as a ruling passion in my life, one that guides life choices with power in my inner world.

It will not, I imagine, fade.  It means writing fantasy is a work of great joy and a hell of a lot of fun.

Writing

I Let It In

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Winter                                                                                          Cold Moon

Let me tell you how it goes with me sometimes.  I’ll see a note like Tudor Keg Party at the MIA.  I think then not of art nor beer, nor even Tudor’s, but rather of boars.  Boars and the woods before the axe.  The woods before maps.  Of men hunting boars with bows and arrows, walking through the woods, the unmappable and unmapped woods.  A boar rushing, cruel curved tusks already sharpened on rocks, thighs burning from the intensity of his rage.  A human in my place.  My woods.

(source)

Blood, then.  And gore.  A downed hunter, the hunter hunted.  Prey become predator.  The world dangerous.

That’s how it goes with me sometimes.

Faith and Spirituality, Family, Great Wheel, Poetry, Writing

First First

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Winter                                                                          Cold Moon

Kate premiered as both lyricist/poet and sung song writer.  She wrote the following to the words of the passover song, Dayenu.  We sang it today during the service at Groveland.

 

Refrain:            Di-di-urnal              di-di-urnal

di-di-urnal,  di-di-urnal,  di-urnal,  di-urnal:[[  di-urnal, time has come

 

 

Circles come and circles go round

Life eternal, everlasting

Everlasting, life eternal

Diurnal  (refrain)

Season come and seasons go round

Spring and summer, fall and winter

Winter, autumn, summer and spring.

Diurnal

Spring has come and life awakens

Time to get the garden ready

The ground is turned, seeds are planted

Diurnal

Summer comes and brings warm weather

Flowers bloom and insects hover

The crops grow big and bear their fruit.

Diurnal

Autumn comes and brings the ripening

Apples are crisp, berries are sweet

Harvest starts with food preserving.

Diurnal

Winter comes, the earth goes to sleep

Time for reflecting, memories sweet

The cycle ends, new one begins.

Diurnal

Circles come and circles go round

Life eternal, everlasting

Everlasting, life eternal

Diurnal

Dogs, Faith and Spirituality, Family, General, Reimagine. Reconstruct. Reenchant., Writing

A Productive Day

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Winter                                                                          Cold Moon

Kate spent the day at a sewing retreat.  All day.  From 9 am to 9 pm.  She came home exhausted, achy and smiling.  “I got a lot of work done.”  That’s Kate for I had a really good day.

Meanwhile I worked upstairs reading the Eddas and editing my presentation for Groveland tomorrow.  The dogs tend to get a bit rowdy if one of us isn’t upstairs with them.  With Kate gone, that needed to be me.

We did our dance together, the dogs and me’ I napped and worked out.  Watched a TV series on Netflix.  A laid back but productive day for me, too.

I have posted a link to Living in Season here.  It’s yet another segment in my continuing work on reimagining faith.  This one focuses on developing a pagan liturgical year.

Family, Feelings, Friends, Woolly Mammoths, Writing

A Good Week

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Winter                                                                                     Cold Moon

This has been a good week.  Woollies Monday night at Mark’s.  Good food, intimate conversation with friends of many years.  A solid base to life outside the home.

Tuesday night Kate and I went to see the Hobbit.  Ate dinner at Tanner’s afterward.  Going out together is part of the glue that holds our relationship together.  The movie itself reinforced my writing, excited me.  The movie together puts another memory in the common memory bank.  Like South America, the Aegean, Europe, Hawaii, Mexico, Denver.  All part of our mutuality.

Yesterday dinner with Bill Schmidt, then Sheepshead with Roy, Ed, Bill and Dick.  Another base outside the home.

Then breakfast this morning with Mark Odegard.  He’s reading Missing and offered some very helpful insights.  We talked about life, art, how do we work in this third phase of our lives?

Weave into those social events a few Latin sentences translated, more of the Edda’s read, a bit of thinking about how to continue my love affair with art and the art world.  Steady exercise and a sensible diet.  The dip that showed up early has begun to disappear.

Weather +Climate, Woolly Mammoths, Writing

A Cold Night Under the Cold Moon (with Jupiter right beside it)

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Winter                                                                               Cold Moon

And down we go.  -10 right now.

Woollies met tonight at Mark’s.  Warren, Bill, Frank, Scott, Tom and myself.  Mark served up chili, a perfect meal for a cold night.

(source)

We talked about working beyond our comfort zones, out on the edge.  Mark says he remembers the edgy times when he’s out there, adventuring, not the comfortable times.  Warren’s edgy moment fast approaches as he signs off from the Star-Tribune and begins another life in his third phase.  He’s excited.

Bill’s wondering who he is now, after Regina’s death.  He says he’s up to the task of finding out…and I agree.  Frank’s helping drunks and bringing Lakota ways into his own life.

I had a chance to talk about the solid turn toward writing that I’ve been torturing these pages with.  Consensus was I’d already decided.  I will exercise my right to wait a while before formalizing it, especially with the Art Institute, but I’m going all in with the writing.

 

Art and Culture, Latin, Writing

Personal Best: Cont.

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Winter                                                                              Cold Moon

Focus on writing.  All the best hours.  Really dig into it.  Revise.  Rewrite.  Write.  Market.  Put stuff out there, in the world.

Hang with the Latin.  As a hobby, in off hours.

That seems to be where I’m headed.  The museum?  May have to go.  Still noodling.