Interpretation

My friends made fun of the title to the children's book I am reading. It is called Foursome the Spider. It's kind of sad that they made fun of it. Just because it had the word "foursome". The idea hadn't even crossed my mind until they said something. Now I am going to think about that every time I read it. Sometimes I wish we could go back to the innocent days of being a child when things like that didn't even enter our mind. Nowadays we have to worry about everything we say because it might get interpreted the wrong way. No wonder Christ says that we must be like little children to enter His kingdom. Kids are genuine and sweet.

The Chronicles of Narnia, The Last Battle, C.S. Lewis

I am about to finish The Chronicles of Narnia, The Last Battle, by C.S. Lewis. It is incredible. I read the entire series when I was in fourth and fifth grades and I loved it, but I don’t think I even caught the (incredibly obvious) Christian undertones. This one is about the end times. The image that struck me the most was when Aslan calls the beasts to him and each looks into his face. If they are good, they go to his right and enter through the gates of Paradise. If they are bad, they go to his left and disappear into his shadow never to be seen again. I also enjoyed the end of the world. Father Time awakens and blows his horn, and everything begins to melt away. The stars fall out of the sky to stand behind Aslan; the dragons and giant lizards destroy the forest and the lands; a massive ocean swallows up the earth. If freezes, and the world ends. Powerful. C. S. Lewis is a mastermind. I love his books.

Child is Us

I am at a racquetball tournament this weekend. The lady at the front desk was really funny. She was probably in her forties, but she acted like a young girl. The funniest thing she said was, "They have this Italian restaurant there and it is, like, so yum." It made me laugh. It makes me wonder how much adults want to be like children. How often do adults try to make themselves look younger, sound cool, or hang out with a younger crowd? I wonder how many of these people really love children's literature. It's not just literature for children because there is a child in each and every one of us. That sounds so cliche but it is so true. (Cliches have to come from somewhere don't they...) We know that A Child's Garden of Verses is a collection of poems written by an adult but from a child's perspective. They reminisce about life as a child, the good times. Everyone wants to always be a kid. It's fun, imaginative, innocent. Everything in the world is playtime.

Bunnies and Eggs?

Goodness, this has been a long week and I haven't written nearly enough. It seems like I had just gotten back to school when I was leaving for home again for the Easter Holidays. Not only that, but I have a big project due next week and I have been working on that endlessly it seems for the past few days. Oh well.

Speaking of Easter, I wonder where the Easter Bunny came from. I heard someone say recently that it is related to the pagan sign of fertility (as is the egg), but why do we have an Easter bunny that carries around a basket of eggs? That doesn't make much sense. Is there a children's story about the Easter Bunny? You know, something like the one about ol' Saint Nick. Of course, the story of St. Nick makes a lot more sense than an Easter bunny that likes to hide eggs. I don't know if anyone even could make a great story out of that. It seems kind of wrong, really. Easter is supposed to be about the Resurrection and new life. And yet, the eggs this Easter Bunny hides are unfertilized, boiled, painted, and eaten (sometimes). What kind of new life is that? And still, why on earth would a bunny have anything to do with eggs, or baskets, or candy. It doesn't make sense.

The Art of Expression in Poetry

I love poetry. It is a beautiful art. It is one of the most free-form expressions a writer can have. A poet doesn't have to follow the conventions of language but can manipulate language, punctuation, and even the way the words are written on the page in order to convey a certain message. It is a lovely freedom. I sometimes like to write poetry myself; it is one of the easiest ways to express how I am feeling. In fact, I know a good many people who I would not consider writers, but who write poetry when they are feeling particularly emotional. It is almost like a release, a way of uncorking the emotion bottled up inside. The funny thing is: a good piece of poetry not only shows the reader how the writer was feeling, but can also speak to the reader in a way that is different from everyone else's experience. A good piece of poetry expresses something but also sparks more emotion and thus more expression. Ah, poetry; what a beautiful piece of art.

Princesses

I like MacDonald's idea that we are all princes and princesses. Daughters of the King. Isn't that a beautiful concept? There is certainly something to be said in it. Princesses must be honest, keep their promises, treat others kindly. But some princesses, as it can be seen throughout history and in many other stories, do not act so wonderfully. They are pompous and rude, and see others as beneath them. This is hardly the kind of princess that MacDonald intended to portray. It's too bad that this is the way we most often see royalty. It seems that power corrupts people and makes them, in a sense, less than what they are. But from a Christian perspective, it is only through being humble and kind that you even become true royalty. This is not to say that only good people are God's children--we all are--but it is those who accept what it means to be the King's child who will make it to His final palace.

Messages

I wrote something for the writing contest today. I wrote it on a spur of the moment. I was suddenly inspired with a story, and I sat down to compose it, and it seemed finished in no time. Well, I guess that is a bit of a lie. I was interrupted the evening I started to write it and didn't finish it until the next morning, but each time I sat at my computer the words flowed out of me like water, steadily spreading across the page. The crisp white page soaked them up quite nicely. The interesting thing is, the contest is about Christian writing, and I certainly wrote from a Christian perspective. It is quite obvious. I wonder if that will be a downfall for me. It seems nowadays the trend is to have less obvious connections: analogies that are difficult to see when viewed from the surface. Sometimes I understand this; I really enjoy trying to dive into works of literature and discover the hidden messages. But at the same time, most people don't like diving into a sea of words to see what treasures may be uncovered, only to find that one's lungs can only hold so much air. Then, under the weight of the words, it is a struggle to come up for breath. Unwilling to search: what they see is what they read is what they get. There is something to be said for obvious connections, so that people get the point on the first pass, and do not mistake what they are reading.

That being said, I would venture to say that many people are affected by unobvious connections whether they know it or not. Nearly everyone who reads a fantasy knows that it is not real and could never happen, but many, as they read it, have a secret hope that it really could happen, or find some glimmer of reality in it. Perhaps that is because much fantasy is teeming with underlying themes, theories, and analogies to real life. There is a yearning in the reader for something in life that is like what is in the story. Only the something in life is real, and the story is only a metaphor.

Anyway, back to the point. Sometimes clear connections are important, too. There are a good number of people in this world who don't like to beat around the bush. They want it plain and simple. We are real, physical beings, and we like things to be seen and touched. That includes the reality of words. In many of the world religions, we use physical actions and verbal prayers that are signs of the spiritual, analogies of the supernatural. These analogies are very real and very direct, such as breaking bread or calling upon the Holy Spirit. Why can't the analogies of our literature do the same? I suppose we need a little bit of both. We need the direct messages to catch our attention, to remind us to keep on the lookout; but we also need the hidden messages to call us deeper, to lure us into the depths of language, where life lessons are trapped in the ocean. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why literature is so important in life.

They Would Soar

I hope no one gets tired of my story updates... Although it has been a while.

Adon was barely tall enough to see over the stall wall. But then he heard a snort, and movement, and before he was ready, a large head peered over the door. Adon faltered, taking a step back. He was huge.

“Well, let’s go!” Marion said, and he reached for the door latch. Before Adon had time to comprehend what was going on, Marion had led the animal out of the stall and into the dim morning. He was pulling himself up on the massive animal’s back as he struggled to keep the creature from walking forward. “This is Veridus,” Marion said. “Now get on.”

Adon hesitated. Where had this creature come from and why were they allowed to use him.

“Come on!” Marion shouted. “We don’t have much time. I promise you; we are allowed to borrow him.”

Having no other choice, Adon did at he was told and pulled himself up behind Marion. He heard Marion say a word that he did not understand, and with a jolt, they were soaring on the air. Adon clutched at Marion’s back, almost reeling backward off the horse. “Oh my God!” he shouted. “What the hell is this?”

“Watch your language!” Marion grunted over his shoulder. Veridus tossed his head wildly as if understanding the boy’s words. “This, is a flying horse.”

Adon only gripped Marion’s back tighter and leaned into his shoulders. He could feel Marion waver a moment with Adon’s weight and then heard his voice.

“Can’t you keep your own balance, boy?” His voice quavered, and there was a sense of unease in it.

“What have I got to hold on to? You’ve got a mane.”

“This is going to take some getting used to,” Marion mumbled, crouching closer to Veridus’s neck. He was careful not to wrap his arms around it.

It didn’t take long for Marion to realize that he wasn’t exactly sure where he was going. He had been so caught up in the idea of leaving that he hadn’t given much thought to his actual direction. He glanced below. Everything looked so different from above. Landmarks were not as distinguishable; roads were obscured by the tops of trees; clouds and mists veiled the landscape; even the sun appeared differently from the sky. He scanned the terrain searching for some sign: a large road, lights of a city, the river. Ah, the river. Marion found it. He tugged Veridus slightly to the right and judged that they were about on the right path. They were on their way. For now, they would soar.