Meditations on Being a Channel of Peace

After a long absence in which I haven't written much at all, I have recently felt inspired to blog again. I was thinking that, often, I'll have an interesting thought during the day that I later forget, but this time, I resolved to write it down straight away.

Yesterday, while I was working at the library, an encounter I had with yet another irate black woman made me meditate upon the little way of St. Thérèse of Lisieux and the prayer of St. Francis of Assisi.

The woman paid her overdue fine of $8.00 but when she asked for a receipt, she did so in a less-than-pleasant way. I wasn't sure if there was a way to simply print out a receipt from the computer, or if there was a procedure for ensuring the patron gets the correct information, but while I was trying to figure it out, she kept commanding me to "just write your name on a piece of paper saying I paid this."

The whole time I was writing it out for her, she stood there complaining to me about how she shouldn't have had the fine to begin with but she would pay it anyway, even though the "woman over there" (referring to Natalee, my coworker) had apparently given her a "hard time" earlier.

I managed not to say anything, but she was another one of these constantly irascible people who seem to exist just to exacerbate or exasperate others. After she left, though, the Holy Spirit must have prompted me in the right direction, thankfully, and I remembered the "little way" of my patron. Offering up this negative experience is not easy to do, and certainly not instinctual, but it made me think of how it can make the world a better place, one person at a time.

The Christian idea of "turning the other cheek" or "redemptive suffering" is a curious one on the surface; human nature and the way of modern man tell us to retaliate and to right the imbalance of justice in the universe created when such fricative encounters occur. But a deeper look into the reasons behind the Christian attitude reveal that it is the only way to reduce pain and hatred.

The idea I had was that of the Christian being a sort of "drain" from the universe. That is to say that, when bad things happen to us, especially those things caused by the ill-will of others, instead of reflecting that negativity back into the world, the Christian can become a "channel of peace" and funnel it out of the world by giving it to God. This is by no means to say that suffering the tempers of angry library patrons is easy to do, but giving it away to God instead of absorbing it personally makes life happier, both for yourself and the other person.

Besides this, looking to Jesus as our model provides another insight: I wondered what would have happened if he had resorted to retaliating while he was being crucified? But his mission was to come into the world not to condemn it, but to save it because of his great love. And true love entails sacrifice. By offering himself entirely to God, including his sufferings, Jesus was a channel of peace, and so great a one that he saved the entire world.

We might not be able to affect the whole world with our small offerings, but at least for the moment, we can help bring his saving love to the situation at hand.

I think it was interesting that I happened to be wearing my Prayer of St. Francis shirt while I was at work; I would not be surprised to learn that he had prayed for me at the time :)

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
and where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

Finished the First Draft of Shards of the Storm!

In response to all the congratulations I'm getting and curiosity regarding my book, I'm posting the excerpt I've shared with everyone. There is a lousy synopsis below. The excerpt is all polished for sharing, but the rest of the book will take a lot of work. It will be on a Barnes and Noble bookshelf one day though, so keep your eyes out in the future!

Thanks to everyone who cares so much and encourages me. Really it means more than you know.
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Isléann pulled her cloak tighter about her as the cold wind tugged playfully at it. Her horse, Aodhfin, snorted in the gust of icy air, and a small cloud drifted away from the animal’s nose.

The elf turned and looked at her traveling companion, Sylveren. The Sylvan strode briskly along with his cloak trailing behind him, though the leaves on his head seemed more wilted than usual in the cold weather. He was not used to the northern climate, having spent most of his life on the Isle of Avalon, their home far to the south.

“We are close now,” Isléann said quietly. “I can feel it.”

The Sylvan blinked slowly, pulled out of his reverie of studying the forest surrounding them. He nodded and replied, “Yes… Look how the road broadens here. I can feel the ground change here, as well. It is packed hard. I am thinking this road has been here for a long time, now… A very long time…”

She smiled to herself, but grew somber once more as the first view of the tops of thatch-roofed buildings appeared over the treetops.

As the pair entered the village of Àruinn, they elicited more than a few stares from the villagers who were already up and about their business. A large grassy sward near the centre of the village was covered in large, colorful banners, and a few wooden booths were set up already. Despite the air of activity, there was an odd silence for a town preparing for festival.

Approaching the large, three-storied inn near the town square, Isléann could not help looking about her at the townsfolk walking in the street. What is wrong with these people? And why is it so cold this far into the year?

The elf dismounted and whispered something to her mount before she patted him and handed Aodhfin’s reins to a stable boy, who led the horse away. Turning to Sylveren, she smiled, though he was once again lost in thought as he observed the village around them. He would still not be used to the villages of men yet, which differed so greatly from the elven Grove they had journeyed far from.

“Shall we go in, Sylveren?” she asked gently.

He nodded slowly before turning his gaze from a small boy holding to his mother’s apron strings as they walked down the street. “Yes. It is cold… Quite cold here. I will welcome the hearth once more.”

The two stepped into the Emerald Oak Inn and Tavern and were greeted by a warm wall of air and a cheery glow from a crackling fire on the large stone fireplace at the far end of the common room. There were only one or two patrons sitting at the tables at this hour of the morning, and both looked to be just finishing breakfast. Aside from a serving girl wiping a table, there was no one else in the room.

As Isléann surveyed the common room, a large, round, jolly fellow emerged from a door behind the bar. Upon seeing the two strangers in his inn, he cheerily called out, “Hallo, Miss!” She glided over to the counter, cool and serene with Sylveren following close behind her.

The man, apparently the proprietor of the establishment, gave a start and widened his eyes for a moment as he realized the lady before him was an elf, and her companion a Sylvan. “How can I be of service to you this day, m’lady?” he asked, bobbing his head.

Isléann allowed the ghost of a smile to touch the corners of her mouth and replied, “I will require rooms for two, if you please, Master… an’Bril.”

The innkeeper blinked in surprise and bit off the question that sprang to his mouth. “Right away, m’lady.” He waved over the serving girl who had been wiping the table, and she led them up the stairs at the back of the room.

Upon reaching the landing, they turned down a dim passage that led to the front of the inn. Turning to face Isléann, the serving girl dropped a curtsy and opened the door to a large bedchamber overlooking the street below. “Here you are, m’lady.” She nodded slightly to the girl and walked into the room as Sylveren followed her to the next room over.

The accommodations were apparently the best the inn had to offer. The room was clean, and it had its own fireplace to one side, though the furnishings were somewhat sparse. Placing her hands on her hips, Isléann surveyed the bed. Fortunately, it had no bugs in it, unlike one of the other stops she had made on her journey here. She grimaced at the memory and walked to the windowed wall, where she could see clearly both ways up and down the main street of the village which passed the inn.

Already in the short time she had been here, more banners and booths had been erected on the green field off to the right. More people were out and about now, too, and she could see the grey smoke of hearths being stoked for the morning floating up from the chimneys.

She suddenly realized that she had not brought up her bags and mentally chided herself for such ignorance. You fool child! You’re not old enough to be out on your own yet! A momentary tightening of her face was all that marked the passing thought, however.

She turned around to find Sylveren standing at the entrance to her room, tracing his hands along the worn, hardwood walls with his eyes closed and a faint expression of concentration on his woody features. He was no doubt listening to the wood’s story, feeling its spirit.

“Sylveren, I just realized that we left our things downstairs. Would you like to come help me with them?” she asked.

He opened his eyes and nodded. “Indeed, I will. This inn is old, quite old. It has a feel about it of having seen many things pass. Truly, this is an ancient town.”

Isléann led the way down the stairs and into the common room once more. As they stepped out of the inn, the cold air struck them just as suddenly as the warmth had when they had entered, and her breath made a small cloud when she spoke. “I believe the stables are just around the back here.”

As she rounded the corner of the inn, she was almost bowled over by a small boy dashing past with a bundle of wood under his arm. He had such a bright smile of eagerness on his face as he headed towards where the men were setting up the village green that she had to smile herself.

Looking up once more, the elf found the small yard beside the inn empty. She held up her skirts with one hand as she made her way delicately across the dirt yard and into the dim stable, where most of the stalls stood empty as well. The only person about that she could see was the young man who had led Aodhfin away earlier.

“Boy, I seem to have left my things out here yet,” she said.

He turned around from where he had been brushing and admiring Aodhfin, apparently startled at having visitors. He glanced between the two for just a moment before bowing slightly and opening the stall’s gate. “Right away, my lady. If I may say so, my lady, you have a fine horse here,” he said tentatively as he stepped out and strode over to the wall where saddles and other riding gear were hanging.

He picked up some bags leaning against the wall and stood up, waiting for her to lead the way out. As he straightened, something shiny flashed from his open collar and caught Isléann’s eye. She stood aside and motioned for him to go ahead of them.

As he walked past Aodhfin’s stall, the horse nickered and nodded his head slightly, his eyes following the boy as he walked out of the stables. Isléann looked at him studiously, almost in question, and the horse seemed to nod his head once more.

Before she followed him back to the inn, she leaned closer to her companion and said in a voice just barely above a whisper, “Sylveren, I think we have found what we are looking for.”

A Synopsis

So, as I've been promising, I have some information for those of you who don't know what my WIP is about. I made progress today with 3,000 more words ^_^ Only 7k more. And I'm quite pleased at how my progress in writing regularly- both in my manuscript and here- is coming along. Below is the synopsis I composed today, though it could change quite a bit in revising.

In Ages past, the world was a different place… until the war between Light and Shadow broke upon the land like a tidal wave, sweeping every nation into its fiery conflict. Man fought against man, and anglean against anglean. In the midst of the turmoil, seven of the most powerful artefacts in the world were forged- weapons that harnessed the power of heaven and hell themselves and unleashed havoc and devastation upon every corner of the world. When brought together, they enabled Micha'el, the right hand of the Creator, to banish the rebellious Dark Lord Samma'el to his prison in the Otherworld. But their power was too great for men to handle. In the backfire, the world was rent asunder in the cataclysmic event known as the Storm, and the seven artefacts were scattered across the land, where they have lain hidden for Ages… until now.

Young Aeneas Tuathail has lived in the tiny village of Àruinn for as long as he can remember, but he yearns for a life of adventure outside the walls of the small town. Little does he know that he will get his wish, for at the spring festival of Ostara, he narrowly survives an attempt on his life, immediately after which the mysterious elven princess, Isléann, appears, informing him that he bears one of the seven Shards of the Storm and is the rightful heir to the throne of his country after his father was murdered by an usurping warlord in league with those who hunt him.

Pursued by the Draoi Dorcha, the Dark Druids, who have arisen after a century of dark and secret plotting in exile, Aeneas must leave his home, accompanied by his rival, Nelain, one of the last Sages, who can read the flows of destiny and time, and his loyal friend, Mairead, who has abilities of her own she has yet to discover.

Together with Isléann, they make the long journey from Àruinn, facing treacherous obstacles along the way- from the giant spiders of Mistwood Forest, to the windswept heights of the Glas Mountains, to the shores of the vast Lough Eigh where a fearsome monster dwells, and down the singing Taramar River to the port of Tur'ismella, from which they sail to the Isle of Avalon, where Isléann must reconcile herself with her father: the only person who can tell them more about the seven Shards and where to find them.

Now, in a race against time, Aeneas and his friends set out to reclaim the seven Shards of the Storm before they fall into the hands of evil, making friends, as well as enemies along the way. With the ever-present threat of the Shadow looming overhead, things are never what they appear to be, and nobody can be trusted. Will Aeneas avenge his father and reclaim his rightful throne, returning peace to the oppressed kingdom of Caledonia? Will Nelain overcome his differences with Aeneas to use his abilities to help his quest? And will they find the Shards in time before the world is destroyed again in a final confrontation with Samma'el himself?

Milestones, Insurance, and Roadkill

So, today I had a terrible time starting my writing for the day, but I pushed through no matter what, and fortunately, when you do this, it breaks whatever was blocking you. I found that as I wrote, the story came along. I think the problem was that I did not have a good starting point, but I knew what happened after that.

As you can see, I made it to 90,000 words today. I should reach the 100K mark soon, though I suspect the wordcount will go over that. After that, I will let it sit for a while before trying to edit it, and in the meantime, I will begin planning my NaNo novel for this November. I already have an idea, I just need to develop it.

On another note, I was reading about different insurance information, and I learned today that if you lend your friend your car, and he is not insured and he gets in an accident, your insurance will pay for it if he is at fault. The basic line is

Auto Insurance = Covers Vehicle, regardless of driver.
Tickets = Driver related only, regardless of the vehicle.

So if you were ever wondering whether to lend your car out, you can keep that in mind. You can read the full article here.

And lastly, on a bit of a macabre note, I just took the dog out for a walk, and we discovered a vulture eating the half-eaten and mutilated remains of a poor squirrel right outside our front yard. I know there is a story in this somewhere...

Oh, I was supposed to tell you about my book this time. I promise my next post will.

An Introduction

Since November of 2006, I have participated in an annual event known as National Novel Writing Month. It is a contest against time and oneself sponsored by the Office of Letters and Light in which participants try to write 50,000 words of a brand new rough draft in the 30 days of November.

Some of you might think this sounds like a school assignment from hell, but there are those crazy people like myself who revel in the thrill of wild abandon and the challenge of such a preposterous undertaking. The most important rule of NaNoWriMo is to have fun; the mantra we go by is "You can edit crap, but you can't edit a blank page." The bigger, personal goal is to learn how to stifle the demon we like to call "our inner editor." So many people speak of writing a novel someday, but they don't start or they never finish because they fear their writing will not be perfect on the first go around. But that's ok. There is something entirely liberating in creating one's own universe, painting with broad, messy strokes like a kindergartener, and just enjoying the creative exuberance of it all. And I must say, having that progress bar inch over the 50K mark and knowing you have completed a couple hundred pages of an actual manuscript is one of the best feelings in the world.

Sometimes, though, no matter how hard we try, the inner editor haunts us and stifles our creative flow. Unfortunately for me, after my mad dash for the finish line in November, I tend to fall back into my daily routine, saying I'll take a short break from writing to rest up in what turns out to be a six month sabbatical. However, I have learned over the past two years that anything one wants to accomplish, one can if one sticks to it regularly.

And so, at the end of each post, you will be able to see my progress on my Works in Progress (abbreviated to WIP's). This will give you an idea of how long it takes to complete a novel, and as humans are social creatures and writing is quite a solitary task, having an audience and fans to cheer you on is a great motivational factor.

The bar you see below is my WIP from 2006- my first NaNo ever. I swore my new year's resolution would be to finish the rough draft of this book by the year's end, but if things keep going as well as they have been, I may even reach that goal by the end of this summer. What is The Shards of the Storm? Well, I'll let you know in my next post...

Welcome!

I have never been one for keeping journals, which is amusing because I love writing so much. Recently, though, I have been considering keeping just such a journal to chronicle my forays into the world of creative writing as well as the activities that comprise my everyday life. Especially now that I am a senior, it would do me well to record this last year in a huge chapter of my life.

My very good friend, Patrick, just began blogging with some very touching entries, and his example was the kick in the pants I needed to try my hand at another form of writing.

Here, you will find my daily progress in my personal creative writing endeavors, as well as hopefully gaining some insight into my life. There is not much here at the moment, but I hope you will find it unfold into a book that calls you back again and again. For now, though, welcome, and enjoy your stay...