naming a new disease

We talk about people who can't keep from stealing as kleptomaniacs. We need to name a disease for writers who can't keep from plagiarizing. I really think there is a developing syndrome. It's happening more and more among published writers who definitely know better. And a recent student of mine, whom I thought I had put the fear of the Lord into on this matter, starting copying my posts in her comments to others students!

The Gospel According to Dr. Who

I'm told that the exec producer and head writer of Dr. Who (Russell T. Davis) is an atheist, but he must have imbibed the Christian story in his mother's milk, because it seems to be the Ur-Story behind all the stories. I just finished watching (most of, missed a few) Season II.

WARNING: SEASON II (ROSE TYLER) SPOILERS.

I was struck by how Rose's trajectory illustrates this passage from the Gospel according to Mark, chapter 10:


29"I tell you the truth," Jesus replied, "no one who has left home or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or fields for me and the gospel 30will fail to receive a hundred times as much in this present age (homes, brothers, sisters, mothers, children and fields—and with them, persecutions) and in the age to come, eternal life. 31But many who are first will be last, and the last first." (New International Version).

In the last, "Doomsday," episode, she reminds the Doctor that she has already made the choice of him over her mother (whom she loves). She is willing to die with him to save the world again. At the last minute before she dies, she's whisked away to the parallel dimension where she will live with a restored family, including a father who died when she was very small. Of course, unlike the Kingdom of Heaven, she doesn't get to see the Doctor anymore when she's there. But still.

Kid stuff

So I’d probably seen about twenty or so Dr. Who episodes before I found out that the British consider this a children’s program. While Buffy was a teen-oriented show, it wasn’t for children, and we wouldn’t let the girls watch it when they were younger. Dr. Who is for children? Have I already entered my second youth then, that I find it engrossing and even scary at times? I wouldn’t even have known it was considered a children’s show if I hadn’t watched some of the supplemental material on the DVD and heard the actor speak of it that way. When I started watching, I did tell my husband he’d probably like it, because there wasn’t graphic violence (the fight scenes on Buffy used to bother him). But that didn’t detract from the fact that one usually gets caught up in the real possibility that the universe might be extinguished, or all human life made into stew for the delectation of some alien species. The suspense feels real, though one knows that the doctor, in some incarnation or other, will survive. His survival is pretty much the only thing one can count on.

I remember railing against the crap the girls used to watch on Disney or the other kids’ channels. They all told the same message: kids are powerful; kids know best; kids will fix the world. (It’s no wonder they voted for the big kid who promised to do so.) So I guess that’s the pabulum I expect from children’s programming. The kind of stuff that moves product!

Children in the US were not to be told that the universe is a deeply mysterious and deeply dangerous place, full of aliens that are basically the same as Buffy’s demons, only with pseudo-scientific explanations. They should never be told the truth about human loneliness and fragility. So what makes the British consider it reasonable to reveal it to the young ones? Well, the answer is clear, and was made so in the third episode of the new series, “The Empty Child” which takes us back to England’s primal trauma: World War II. Homeless children fend for themselves, and one in particular who wanders around asking “are you my mummy” haunts the city, spreads like an infection (due to some nanobots, of course).

English children experienced conditions that Americans never have and they have grown up and passed to their children an awareness of the darkness and fragility. Americans still believe they are Superman or at least Mighty Mouse come “to save the day.” I have to say that I find the British view far truer and more compelling. We do need a doctor, because we are very sick.

I have a writing coach

Julia had suggested that I divorce the writing process from work: get out of the office, get away from the computer. It is working, as I now begin to think of scribbling the novel as a relaxing activity, something I can do even if I’m a bit tired, or have already poured a glass of wine. That doesn’t mean I don’t still have to use a system of rewards and threats: no tv or novel reading until you’ve put in your fifteen minutes. Yes, fifteen minutes is what I start with and sometimes it’s longer and sometimes it isn’t, but even fifteen can produce a handwritten page or two. And, thanks to the liberal use of dialogue, the pages start to add up. It’s really much easier than all the agonizing I’d been experiencing. But the practice has not yet become truly a daily one. Particularly now with the thought of a possible full time position at Online U. and the reality of needing to finish prepping for the other online class, the discipline is slipping. When I went to see Julia last Wednesday, with pages I’d hurriedly typed up that morning, (having snatched the time from grading, so I’d have to complete that around 10 pm for the midnight deadline), I thought perhaps I’d not make a follow-up appointment, tell her I’d call to make one. Was it really worth it, after all, paying her when I was barely hanging on to do this thing? It’s still hard for me to define what role she plays in my life. Is she just a writing coach or is she also a therapist? My ambivalence washed away when I walked in the door and she welcomed me. She is so nice! What is it about her? Is it the way she somehow feels like a grandmother: happy to see me, totally accepting? I’ve really never had a therapist that made me feel that way. Let yourself experience that, I told myself. You need it!

Unwelcome blurbs, or appropriate ones?

Sorry, I'm ROTL, that Jimmy-gone-to-the-dark-side-Carter and Stephen Walt are upset that their books have been endorsed by Osama Bin Laden. It is absolutely predictable that their anti-Semitic lies are in accordance with his distorted and warped vision. I hope his "recommendations" ring in the heads of those who choose to read these books and help to keep their propaganda in perspective.

Tsk

I was driving down Maple Street, when I noticed a plain little ranch house with a stunning array of hollyhocks, in as many colors as I guess they come in, gracing the front yard. My tongue went to the roof of my mouth and I made a "tsk" sound. I have made that sound before, but never in response to flowers. Is this something that occurs when one passes a certain age? It seems like I can remember my grandmother making that sound at sights that pleased her, such as how I had grown, or my new tooth.

I love gardens, but I cannot view them without envy. My garden is pitiful. The Easter lilies were eaten completely by some bug: the star gazer lilies did open, but they were quite ragged too. Frankly, they looked like soldiers that had just returned from a routing. I know I've got too much shade and there has been way too much rain but I want to gaze at my own yard and go "tsk." Is that too much to ask?

Worries

I know it's a bit soon to worry about what might happen if this book got published, since I am only in the brainstorming stage, but it occurred to me that it would be hard to keep my stepdaughters, who are now 16 and 19, from reading a book that I might write that has something to do with a stepmother with two stepdaughters. I will, of course, change their names and call it fiction, but I have nothing to draw on but my experience. They will probably hate me. Should this stop me?


My wise friend Pru said not to read other works on the subject you are going to write about, but I think she may have meant not to read them once you've started, and I'm still in the brainstorming stage, as I believe I have mentioned, so I did do a little web search and then got the library to obtain "I'm not Julia Roberts" by Laura Ruby. Judging from some of the comments, either on Amazon.com or LibraryThing, the title is not a success. It requires one to remember a forgettable movie (note to Pru on why you should not reference Ephron's book). But so far, it's pretty good. Here's a paragraph from page 14:

"But worse than hating the ex was that Lu had started to hate Ward for having married the woman some gazillion years before, for having chosen such a solipsistic person as a mate. What could that say about him? And then what did marrying Ward, choosing someone with such flawed taste, say about Lu herself?" Wow, she nails a very essential dilemma very succinctly. Can I top this? Should I bother? Well, Ruby's book is about step sons, which are different. Daughter issues are very potent. Things like how at one point, they could borrow my shoes, but then, their feet grew and grew and grew into the huge feet their mother has, not my dainties. Spell-binding, won't it be?