At the start of October, I spent a weekend at the Catholic Imagination Conference hosted by the University of Dallas, and (though it has taken me an unconscionably long time to get started) I suspect it may be the topic of posts for the next several months as I unpack the many, many ideas I was exposed to over the two days of sessions. (It was a star-studded, tightly scheduled conference, so there’s a lot to unpack.)

One thing that struck me, as has been the case in other Catholic writing talks, essays, and conferences of my experience, was a bit of a doomsday view of our culture at large. (Though happily with the emergence of new small presses, journals, and National Book Award Winning-authors of a Catholic flavor, the laments of “Why aren’t there any more Flannerys?” seem to have died out a bit.)

By no means would I argue that our culture is flush with artistic expressions of the three transcendentals, but compare this distress to how Carey Wallace, author of The Blind Contessa’s New Machine (which I found rich and compelling), Stories of the Saints (which my kids love), and The Ghost in the Glass House (the first three chapters of which I have enjoyed to date), describes her thoughts on the “culture-making conversation” in her interview with Charlie Peacock:

…doomsday proclamations about the death of culture from both the right and left…seem blind to what I see as constant outbreaks of thoughtful culture from all kinds of unexpected quarters…

She continues:

I believe art doesn’t need to make an argument for itself, and that, outside of a small group of professionals whose livelihood depends on debate about the nature of art, everybody know this. One way or another, we all dance, sing, write, act. And when we’re done putting food on the table and a roof over our head, the first thing we do is reach for a book, turn on the radio, pick out a show. Art in all its forms is intimately connected with every aspect of all lives. We sing when people die. We dance when they get married. Even sports events and video games incorporate music, dance, images, theater. The things I make are only my participation in that constant, unstoppable swirl of creation. (emphasis added)

I, who hate conflict and always want everyone to get along, naturally prefer a middle ground, a nice Catholic “both/and” if you will. Art is not created in a vacuum, and thus an understanding of, engagement with, and (when appropriate) lamentation of the state of our culture at large can act as both a starting point and a stimulus for the creation of art. After all, it is difficult to enter into a conversation when one has not been listening. On the other hand, I believe it is wise not to spend so much time consuming (and, more particularly, lamenting) culture that little time is left for one’s own creative endeavors. Considering the saturation of our lives with media, and particularly digital media, this is a real danger.

If Wallace is correct, art doesn’t need our protection. It does, however, need our attention, as well as our intention to contribute beauty to our own cultures–whether they be as small as our own families or as large as the national literary scene. And I think we can all agree that the best way to create the culture we hope for is simply to create, and to create work that is so compelling in its truth, goodness, and beauty that it is nearly irresistible to viewers and auditors of goodwill, whatever their background or current creed.

Last week was recital week. Two of our daughters performed: one danced as a butterfly and a swan, the other portrayed water on the aerial silks. (“On the what?” you ask. It was something like this.)

It was a long week – the girls were at the theater part or all of the day Tuesday through Saturday – and we’re all tired. Honestly, I was dreading all the trips to the theater and all the disruption of our usual schedule that this week involves. So I was amazed at how many of the little dancers (who, to be fair, had a shorter schedule than we did) wanted recital week to keep going after the last performance.

The week was grueling, but that meant the girls were together for hours, working towards a common purpose, as well as just spending time together while waiting their turns on stage. It was a different dynamic than our sheltered homeschoolers are used to, but I think it was good for them. One taught her friend to knit; the other stepped up to help clean a big mess she didn’t make. All the girls worked hard, encouraged each other, and celebrated what they had made together. I have to give credit to the instructors, who made it a point to keep everyone positive, including giving younger girls “encouragement buddies” who left them kind notes during the week. That in particular meant a lot to my daughter.

Also, there were fewer squabbles in our house than any week I can remember recently. (It may catch up to us later, but it was sure nice while it lasted!)

The show itself was a beautiful mix of ballet, contemporary dance, and aerial arts. As always, the cute little ones stole the show, but the grace and skill the older students exhibited was impressive. And I have to say, it’s hard not to get excited about an art form that allows you to be both a mama penguin and the queen of the realm in the space of five minutes. Plus, there were dragons. Flying dragons. The silks quite literally add a whole new dimension to the show.

The weird part for me was that I’ve somehow become a resource mom to our friends who are newer to the program. Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined myself being the one people came to for advice on how to make a ballet bun or what to do about stage makeup. It’s a far cry from my tennis and intramural flag football days.

And while I’m not quite ready to be a “backstage mom” (taming 4-year-olds is NOT my superpower) I’m settling into this dance mom thing. I can play chauffeur, man the bobby-pin station, and provide heat packs for sore feet. My girls seem to have found something they really love, ways to strengthen their bodies and their minds, and both give and receive joy and beauty.

I’ve always accepted the idea that creating art requires sacrifice. Until this week I had only applied that to myself – not my children. I understood that if I want to spend time writing, that meant sacrificing something else, whether it be recreational reading, or sewing, or house cleaning…or all three. This week our whole family, and all the families at our dance studio sacrificed so that our children could be part of something bigger – something that brought joy and beauty to our community (and even had a “moral to the story.”)

Recital week proved to me that my girls are ready to make sacrifices to bring beauty into the world. Last week that included their time, energy, and comfort, especially the comfort of their feet. Nothing earth-shattering, of course, but their willingness to put up with suffering and inconvenience for the sake of beauty gives me hope for the world they’re growing up into.

I heard one of the best writing tips of my life this week listening to an old episode of On Being. Naiomi Shihab Nye suggests to try writing just three sentences a day.

That’s it. Three sentences. What happened today, what you see out the window, what you’re worried about. Whatever.

I just imagine if I had three sentences for every day of the last year. Or for every day of a child’s babyhood. That would be an amazing record, but not overwhelming to write or to read.

The thought of keeping a running journal has been overwhelming to me for a long time, but three sentences I can do. It’s never too late to start, right? I’m on day three, and so far, so good. Here are the three from yesterday:

It’s raining so gently that even on the porch I can barely hear it.

The yard-long beans are starting to climb.

“We’re not going to make much noise,” they said. And proceeded to giggle.

Technically four, I know, but the third one didn’t make sense without the fourth. It feels like writing poetry, without the pressure to make it into “something.” Much easier than writing a good closing sentence for a blog post. 🙂

I set myself a writing goal for Lent: one poem a day, related in some way to the daily readings. I knew it would be a challenge, but I sit down to write almost every day anyway, so it should have been just the first part of my usual writing time, repurposed.

I did not expect it to be so hard.

I think I’ve missed one day so far, so that feels like a victory. (Jacob has decided he does still need naps after all, so that has made it much easier.) Quality is another matter entirely. Sometimes I look at the readings and think, “What could I possibly have to say about that?” Sometimes I don’t even get that far – I feel too tired to even read, much less make something of my own. In those times I do it just because I said I would, and sometimes I’m rewarded by a poem that isn’t totally terrible.

Needless to say, I haven’t written anything I’m willing to share. Yet.

Also, I will not be continuing this practice after Easter. I had a teacher in middle school who had stopped giving things up for Lent, because everything she gave up for Lent she ended up giving up for good. I’ve never had that problem, and don’t expect to start now.

On the other hand, this feels like a “storing up treasure” experience – besides the close attention it’s forced me to pay to Scripture, I’ll have forty-ish first-draft poems by Easter. That’s months and months of revisioning waiting to happen…and while some of them will certainly be left on the shelf, there are already a couple I’m excited to spend some more time with, to dig deeper into, and form something thoughtful and perhaps even beautiful.

Also, I am looking forward to Holy Week. I may skip the readings for Holy Saturday and write about the Exsultet. It includes bees. Twice. That’s liturgy I can get behind.

I spent my snow-day laundry catch-up time watching this video of Malcom Guite’s book launch (if you haven’t experienced his beautiful poetry, check it out here), and I have some thoughts.

To give credit where credit is due, this video from Alastair Gordon and friends about art and faith (also laundry-folding entertainment in my house) started me thinking about some of these things. If you have time, both are worth watching.

Something that struck me about the artists (I’m lumping poets, writers, and other makers in to the group “artists” here) in both videos was their humble acceptance of the goodness of their work. I tend towards a shrug and a deflection on the odd occasion when someone complements my work. It still feels like an indulgence to take the time to “make” at all, and to think that my work is well done, or stranger yet, serves some greater purpose, feels arrogant.

So it was both jarring and illuminating to see artists discuss their methods, their motivations, and their finished work as if it were totally normal to spend a work-day sketching by the seashore or filling enormous canvases with paint or scribbling sonnets – and to do it intentionally for the glory of God.

At the same time, it was helpful for me to see people whose expertise is in different fields appreciating the art. Like maybe, just maybe, art isn’t some special language only accessible to people who have earned an MFA.

I love the idea of art being just another one of the many ways a person might be called to serve God and neighbor. I guess in my mind art has always been set apart – as if a special kind of people who lead a radical kind of life are the only ones who can make art. These chosen few have special studios and strange ideas and are often anti-social. (Although, by that standard, maybe I have two out of three – no room for a studio here!) They also have nearly unlimited time to work on their craft, perfect their style, and make lots of mistakes on the way to finished pieces.

It’s been hard to see myself as part of this world, however much I might enjoy creating in my spare moments. I suffer from a distinct lack of studio, precious little time, and a dread of mistakes.

So it was good for me to watch these artists be normal people with families and big ideas, and to see that they simply have made the choice to make art their lives, to hone the gifts they were given, and to think deeply about how to best share those gifts with the world. Not to say that that’s easy, but it’s so helpful to see both that it can be done, and a glimpse of how a person actually goes about doing it.

So it’s been a while…again. But good news! I’ve been asked to join the lovely ladies who blog at Mighty Is Her Call, so hopefully that will be some motivation for some more writing, both here and there. In the meantime, here’s my first post over there:

Beauty is closer than I think

And here’s some eye candy from the tree across the street:

This was a couple of weeks ago, and the blooms have been replaced by lush green leaves now. Japanese magnolia season is short, but it might be my favorite time of the year!

I guess that title could also refer to our renewed search for a permanent dwelling place (prayers for that, please!)…

but this poem hit close to home, considering what we’ve been through during the last six months.  So I thought I’d share it.  Thanks to poets.org and their poem-a-day project for bringing it to my attention.

The Things That Count

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Now, dear, it isn’t the bold things,
Great deeds of valour and might,
That count the most in the summing up of life at the end of the day.
But it is the doing of old things,
Small acts that are just and right;
And doing them over and over again, no matter what others say;
In smiling at fate, when you want to cry, and in keeping at work when

          you want to play—
Dear, those are the things that count.

And, dear, it isn’t the new ways
Where the wonder-seekers crowd
That lead us into the land of content, or help us to find our own.
But it is keeping to true ways,
Though the music is not so loud,
And there may be many a shadowed spot where we journey along

          alone;
In flinging a prayer at the face of fear, and in changing into a song a

          groan—
Dear, these are the things that count.

My dear, it isn’t the loud part
Of creeds that are pleasing to God,
Not the chant of a prayer, or the hum of a hymn, or a jubilant shout or

          song.
But it is the beautiful proud part
Of walking with feet faith-shod;
And in loving, loving, loving through all, no matter how things go

          wrong;
In trusting ever, though dark the day, and in keeping your hope when

          the way seems long—

Dear, these are the things that count.

I’m getting a late start on this, but Malcom Guite’s moving poetry seems to me an excellent addition to Holy Week.  His words cut to the heart – take a look for yourself.

Sonnet for Palm Sunday

It’s been quite a weekend.  I have had the privilege of visiting the University of Notre Dame (also known as “my old stomping grounds”) for three days.  By myself.  It was great.  

So before I gush about how excited I am to hug my kids again, you might want to know what on earth was so exciting it could get me on an airplane for the first time in 10 years?

A number of equally excited people joined me in South Bend this weekend for the “Trying to Say God” conference…basically a bunch of Catholics-who-happen-to-be-writers and writers-who-happen-to-be-Catholics (and people who consider themselves to be both with equal ferocity) trying to scratch out a vision for what “Catholic literature”* was, is, and will be.

*This is maddeningly hard to define, and I’m not going to try.  If it includes some component of “Catholic” and some component “writer,” for now, it counts.

I will not bore you with the details…yet.  First, the take away.

If you looked into any of the essays I posted here, you know the debate.  If you didn’t, here’s the jist:  Why isn’t anyone today being Flannery O’Connor???  (That means: writing literary, challenging fiction with Catholic sensibilities and themes which is published by the major publishing houses and read by the multitudes.  No pressure.)

There are myriad answers to the question, but I’d like to focus on a different angle of it.  What we found this weekend was that the writers are out there.  I think the readers are out there.  At least, I know a few in my own small friend group.  Why can’t the writers and readers find each other?

Well, here perhaps I can help.  For the eight or so of you who still read this on occasion, I will share some of the amazing authors I met or heard about this weekend.  I will make the effort to find the small Catholic presses, the literary journals, and yes, the chapbooks of whoever is working toward goodness, truth, and beauty in their writing.  

Will you join me?

So that’s my manifesto…and here is installment #1.  Probably the longest one I’ll ever do, since I have three days worth of awesome to lay out for you.  So here goes.

Novels

I was privileged to hear a reading by Randy Boyagoda from his forthcoming book Original Prin.  It included pickleball.  I was sold.  The bad news is, it doesn’t come out until Fall 2018.  I will be holding my breath.  He does have two previous books, Governor of the Northern Province and Beggar’s Feast.

After hearing Suzanne Wolfe speak, I’m also ready to pick up Confessions of X.  And get a subscription to Image, to which I arrive at shamefully late.

I am currently working on Valerie Sayers’ The Powers and loving it.  Be aware it is not as fast-paced as some novels, but I fell in love with the grandma at once, and was bowled over to read about the Catholic-worker wanna-be and his encounters with Dorothy Day.  Who writes about that?!?  Valerie Sayers does.  I’m only three chapters in…but I’m recommending it anyway.

David Russell Mosley’s On the Edges of Elfland sounds like a party to me.  Starting to realize I may have all my reading for the rest of the year planned out after this post…

A great surprise was to find that my friend from Baton Rouge, Karen Ullo, was not only at the conference, but on the panels and selling her book.  It’s not for the faint of heart, but Jennifer the Damned follows an orphan vampire raised by nuns.  “Why a vampire book?” I asked.  “Because no one deals with the importance (and implications) of the Church in these vampire stories.”  Karen does.  Be warned: it is scary.  I might let Craig read this one.  But if you want horror with depth, this might be the book for you.

Poetry

I have been trying to add poetry to my diet, but wasn’t sure where to look.  Problem solved!  The bookstore sold out of Mary Szybist’s Incarnadine, so I am ordering it.  I was on the verge of tears three times listening to her insights from studying images of the Annunciation, and the poems which they inspired for her.

I skipped it, unfortunately, but many people were blown away by Natalie Diaz’s talk.  Check out When My Brother Was an Aztec.

Children’s/ Middle Grade/ YA

Amy Cattapan has written a highly-acclaimed book on teen suicide, Angelhood, which she hopes will succeed in opening up conversations about such a difficult topic between teens and their parents.  Again, haven’t read it (yet), but Amy is amazing.  Excited to get to this one.

Non-Fiction

Heather King delivered a beautiful, encouraging, kick-in-the-pants address for the conference.  I can recommend her post here unabashedly, and I can’t wait to read more of her gorgeous writing in Parched, Redeemed, or Shirt of Flame.  

Ken Garcia has a memoir coming out soon called Pilgrim River about finding God in the wilderness.  His reading at the conference included a geologist who cursed in geological terms…my favorite might have included the words “tiny precambrian brain.”  I was rolling.

The Strange Pilgrims blog duo, Jessica Mesman-Griffith and Jonathan Ryan are coming out with Strange Journey: How Two Homesick Pilgrims Stumbled Back into the Catholic Church.  Again, the reading was wonderful, and I’m looking forward to the rest.  This is not your grandmother’s come-to-Jesus story.  

Other Stuff worth checking out

Film: In Pursuit of Silence (forthcoming)

Commonweal (magazine)

Image (literary journal)

Dappled Things (literary journal)

Sick Pilgrims (blog thingy)

Wiseblood Books (publisher)

So.  I guess that’s a start.  Looks like I will be busy.  There are amazing, holy (well, mostly holy – like any of us!), engaging writers out there in the Catholic world.  Come, read their stories with me, and be transformed!

I fear this blog is digressing into writing conference memoranda and book reviews.  

I guess it could be worse.

On that note, my summer plans include a visit to South Bend for a Catholic Writer’s Conference:

Trying to Say God

So it turns out that I’m not just lacking in talent for finding Catholic publishers…there are very few of them out there.  And few reviewers.  And few “Catholic” writers who claim the title and write with a “Catholic” worldview.

Why the “quotes”?  I’ve been doing the suggested reading to prep for the conference (see below), and this is one of the big questions: what does a “Catholic” writer look like and write about in 2017?  It’s easy to look back (Flannery O’Connor, Evelyn Waugh, Tolkein, and friends are mentioned constantly) but that’s not particularly helpful when faced with the challenge of how to address our current challenges and a church, as writers, and as readers.  So what’s a budding children’s author to do?

Thus the conference…maybe I’ll have some answers afterwards.  But if you need some reading (including lists of the American Catholics authors you may or may not have missed in your public high school American lit class), check out the links below, courtesy of Kenneth Garcia, who is hosting the conference.

And seats were still available last I heard…come join me!

Dana Gioia,  “The Catholic Writer Today,” Dec. 2013, First Things (https://www.firstthings.com/article/2013/12/the-catholic-writer-today)

Paul Elie, “Has Fiction Lost its Faith?”  New York Times, Dec. 19, 2012  (http://www.nytimes.com/2012/12/23/books/review/has-fiction-lost-its-faith.html)

Kaya Oakes, “Writers Blocked: The State of Catholic Writing Today,” America, April 28, 2014 (http://www.americamagazine.org/issue/writers-blocked)

Randy Boyagoda, “Faith in Fiction,” First Things, August 2013 (https://www.firstthings.com/article/2013/08/faith-in-fiction)

Francis Spufford, “Spiritual Literature for Atheists,” First Things, November 2015 (https://www.firstthings.com/article/2015/11/spiritual-literature-for-atheists)