Monthly Archives: October 2012

books books books

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Just finished …

The Narnian by Alan Jacobs | This is a biography of the life and creativity of C.S. Lewis (my favorite!), and while it didn’t have as much Narnia in it as the title would suggest, it was still a fascinating read.  It was interesting to hear the timeline of the books– I have read quite a lot of Jack Lewis’s books, but I guess I’ve never really thought about at what time of his life they were written.  Did you know the Narnia series came much later on, toward his life’s end?  Those seven books have so deeply influenced my spiritual life; I couldn’t quit thinking about what would have happened if he’d died before they were written.  I mean, of course, we would have never known.  But it gave me this strange existential feeling to wonder what other books haven’t been finished because of early deaths, etc.  Sigh.  I trust God’s will.  Anyway, the other thing that was interesting to hear about was the answer to a question I have had for a long time about Jack’s marriage to Joy.  She was a divorced woman, and I always wondered what Lewis thought of that, as a man of the Word.  Interestingly, since Joy was divorced from a man who had previously been divorced, Lewis didn’t consider that Joy’s marriage had been legitimate (and therefore, her divorce had been null too).  What a fascinating man.  I loved him even more after reading this book.

Unwind by Neal Shusterman | This YA book was absolutely fascinating and thought-provoking in a GREAT way.  The novel takes place in the future, after the Heartland War, a fictional war between pro-lifers and pro-choicers.  After the Heartland War, it was determined that abortion was illegal, but instead, children would be raised, and between ages 13-18, parents could choose if they wanted to have the child “unwound”– their bodies dissected and ALL organs given for transplant (so, technically, the child never died, since no body part died).  This story is about three unwinds– Connor, a troublesome kid whose parents are fed up; Risa, a ward of the state who didn’t show enough talent; and Lev, a tithe, the tenth child of a religious family.  The author did a great job of making you think of both sides of the debate.  It was fascinating, shocking, and gruesome.  In fact, it included the most disturbing scene I’d read since A Clockwork Orange.  Loved this book, which is the first in a series that I intend to pursue.

Quintana of Charyn by Melina Marchetta | My most-anticipated book of 2012!  I was so eager to read this book (the final book of the Lumatere Chronicles trilogy) that I ordered an Aussie copy rather than wait for the March 2013 US release date.  I loved it– but not as much as the first two books (Finnikin of the Rock and Froi of the Exiles).  The writing was masterful (as always), and I deeply cared for the characters, who are real and flawed and passionate.  The thing that was hard for me was that I really enjoyed the interactions in book #2 between Froi and Quintana, and in this third book, they are separated, so I missed that.  A lot.  Otherwise, I really enjoyed this book, plowing through it.  As far as I’m concerned, Marchetta can’t write a bad book.  I’m already thrilled for her to put something else out.  Patience, grasshoppah.

Meditations by Rene Descartes | As research for my YA book, Truest, I have been researching Descartes and his dream argument, reading from biographies and books that summarize his positions/thoughts, but– although I was understanding things– I still felt outside of his ideas.  I decided to just bite the bullet and climb inside of them.  Reading Meditations reminded me of my writing theory and ethics class in college, where I would just try to catch the thesis amidst all the verbiage.  I can tell that I’m growing because this book was easier for me to understand.  I will say that I am not used to having to re-read something to understand it; it was a long-forgotten experience from undergrad that I had to dig up while reading this.  All said, it is fascinating.  It is essentially Descartes’s proof that God exists, so … no small task.

A few late reviews …

The Time-Traveler’s Wife by Audrey Niffenegger | I decided to read this after I’d read and enjoyed Her Fearful Symmetry, and I wasn’t disappointed.  Niffenegger manages to weave an incredible tale of time travel (which is pretty much always interesting, if done well), love, and romance.  I can see why she was offered a ton of money for a second book after this one, which is essentially the love story betweeen Clare and Henry– Henry, who hops back and forth from real time to the past and to the future.

Stolen by Lucy Christopher | A super interesting book about 16-year-old Gemma, who is abducted at the airport– but whose abductor is kind, gentle, loving, although kinda crazy.  It’s an interesting twist on the kidnapping story: what happens when the kidnapper is not exactly the bad guy?

Hush, Hush by Becca Fitzpatrick | First book in a series that I didn’t continue.  This is the story of a fallen angel loving a regular teenaged girl.  To me, it was average paranormal romance (which is not exactly my favorite genre in the first place).

Shiver by Maggie Stiefvater | Another paranormal romance, another series I discontinued after book one.  This time the regular teenaged girl is in love with a werewolf named Sam.  (What does it mean if a book makes you think that Twilight is good and original?)

Big Sur by Jack Kerouac | Wow.  Wowowowow.  This is Kerouac’s account of his time spent at a cabin in Big Sur, where he is deteriorating mentally and physically from alcohol.  This was maybe the scariest account of alcoholism I’ve ever read … also fascinating.  Eye-opening.  A very good read.

The Road by Cormac McCarthy | When my former co-worker Kyle read this book four times in a row, I figured I’d better get my own copy.  A riveting but horrifying story about a father and son in post-apocolyptic America.

Al Capone Does My Shirts by Gennifer Choldenko | An interesting children’s story about a family growing up on Alcatraz Island.  The sister has autism, but the story is set in a time when very, very little was known about the autism spectrum.  Very interesting, very well-written children’s book!

Currently reading …
The Map of Time by Felix J. Palma
The Horse and His Boy by C.S. Lewis (yes, again— I’ve decided that, starting January 1st, I’m going to track my Narnia reading for a year!)

Up next …
The Casual Vacancy by Jo Rowling
Everyday by David Levithan

Any suggestions?  I also recently purchased Divergent by Veronica Roth but haven’t brought myself to start it yet.

Date a Girl Who Writes

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Recently, I posted Rosemarie Urquico’s marvelous essay entitled “Date a Girl Who Reads.”

This is meant to be its companion essay, written by yours truly, Jackie Lea Sommers, entitled “Date a Girl Who Writes.”  Enjoy! 

Date a girl who writes.

You know the type—she’s the one in the corner booth with her earphones in, battering the laptop keys to high heaven.  The one who, despite appearances, is not really in the restaurant at all, but in a world of her own making, or else with one foot in and the rest of her looking up a synonym for blue and debating whether the sky is more of a cobalt or an indigo.

A girl who writes can take you on a date to Venus and have you back in time for dessert.  Five minutes with her, and she will usher you through the gates of philosophy and religion and metaphysics.  She’ll make an explorer out of you.  You’ll need to run to catch up.

Creativity rolls off her in waves.  She can think of beautiful ideas and make them real.  She is quirky, fun, witty, and wise.  She notices everything, and all of it matters to her.  Can’t you see her eyes flickering from the old couple playing cards in the corner to the whipped cream melting into her cocoa?  She also just memorized every detail of your sigh, and now she is thinking of the name of an obscure artist and of the waitress’s accent.

Date a girl who writes because she is observant and smart, and what is sexier than an incredible vocabulary?  Think of how many different ways she’ll be able to tell you she loves you.

Writers are quirky, strange, fascinating people.  You will never be bored if you date a writer.  In fact, your life with her will be a wild adventure.  The highs will be a pleasure, and the lows will remind you that you are alive and that truth and excellence matter.

Date a girl who writes.  She’s funny, a storyteller; people are drawn to her at parties.  But you’ll be the one who brought her, and think how proud you’ll be!  Every interesting thing you do or say will go immediately into her notebook and crop up somewhere in the future—a lasting posterity.  You’ll never have to buy a cheesy greeting card again.  All you’ll need to do is write a heartfelt message; she prefers when things don’t rhyme.

While it’s true that sometimes it will seem you’re taking the backseat to people and situations that aren’t real, she still loves you.  If you want to bring her back to where you are, wrap your arms around her and ask about her draft.  Ask questions and listen carefully to her answers.  If you help her out of her writing rut, trust me, she’ll reward you.

Date a girl who writes because she knows that the best stories make you laugh and cry, and so your romance will be infused with amusement and passion, jokes and joy.  She makes the connections you can’t, looks for lessons in life, makes sense of the chaos.

If you date a girl who writes, you can be confident that she will work at your relationship—she is used to second, third, and seventeenth drafts without giving up.  She willingly returns to conflict day after day.  She won’t leave when you fight—she knows the climax comes before the denouement.

Bring your A-game.  Remember that she has probably already dreamed up the most incredible Prince Charming, one who is tall and has gray eyes, irrational fears, strong arms, and a twisted sense of humor.  If you want to compete with her protagonist, you’re going to have to step it up.

It will be worth it.

Because when you date a girl who writes, the two of you will happen to life and not the other way around.  She will teach you how to make a moment extraordinary, how to appreciate this beautiful world spreading its arms to you both in majestic invitation.

uncertainty

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I spent last weekend with my incredible friend Cindy, whom I know from Northwestern.  Cindy went to law school at Georgetown and now lives and works in Washington, DC, and she was kind enough to take the Amtrak to Boston to spend the weekend with me.  So, so good.

We did lots of fun stuff, but to be honest, some of the best parts of the weekend were just all the wonderful conversations.  You have to understand that Cindy is 100% brilliant, and you can talk to her about absolutely anything, and she has all this valuable insight.  One night, we ate a late dinner at the Cactus Club (where, btw, I had the most incredible chicken and avocado quesadillas), and we got to talking about Rene Descartes (since I had begun his book Meditations on the flight out to Boston and because he is playing quite a significant role in my YA book) and about his dream argument and the way he was establishing universal doubt.  It led to a great conversation on uncertainty and how healthy it actually is (in fact, it was the key to my therapy!).

Cindy and I talked about how certain statements and discussions used to jar us in regard to faith, but how as we got older, we both reached a point where we decided, “Look, I am committed to this Christianity thing.  I think it is true, even though I can’t really know that.  But I’m not going to be swayed by every new scientist and fact and detail and argument that arises.  I’ve made a choice and I’m sticking with Christ regardless.”

I’d like to hear what you think about this.  My assumption is that different ages will have different reactions.

Not to go all Narnia-nerd on you (but let’s be honest, I can’t always help it), but I told Cindy it reminded me a lot of Puddleglum the Marshwiggle in The Silver Chair.  Are you familiar?  Let me set the scene for you.

Puddleglum and friends are in the Underworld, and the evil Queen of Underworld is strumming her magical guitar and has tossed some sweet-smelling something-or-another into the fire, and the marshwiggle and his friends are falling under her spell as she tries to convince them that there is no Overworld.

“But we’ve seen the sun!” they argue.  The queen asks what a sun is, and they describe it as very large, very bright lamp.

“You’ve seen my lamp,” she contradicts, “and so you imagine a bigger and better one and call it a sun.”  The same argument is repeated when they bring up Aslan.  “You’ve seen a cat,” she said, “and you imagine a bigger and better one and call it a lion.”

But Puddleglum puts his foot into the fire, shocking him into clarity, and he essentially says, “It’s sad that if you’re right, we’ve still managed to make a play, fake world that licks your real world hollow.”  Then he goes on to say, “I’m going to live like a Narnian, even if there isn’t any Narnia.  I’m going to serve Aslan, even if there isn’t any Aslan.”

Cindy and I feel the same way about Christianity.  Now, don’t get me wrong: I believe Christianity is real, and I believe Christ is real and is alive today and is working in my life.  But I will allow for doubt.  Uncertainty in certain dosages can be very healthy, and I have made a choice to serve Jesus Christ, no matter what.

Thoughts?

 

 

Nine Names

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She dreamed often of a lion, tawny gold and glorious, with light that scattered from his mane as if it were born inside of him.  In her dreams, she stood beside him, staring east across a vibrant sea, and when she woke, it was always with the refrain, He has nine names.

She hated to wake.  The sea in her sleep was alive but behaved, and in the days since the accident, her days were a horror.  She was in a stupor, flummoxed with loss.  How can I be the only one left?  The mornings were darker than her dreams.

Her aunt and uncle had planned the funeral, which, she realized, was perhaps not the best choice, but she herself was of no use to anyone.  Then again, no one expected much of her at a time like this.  And when that dreaded service came, with the nine closed coffins at the front of the sanctuary, she could not greet the guests or be consoled but instead fled to the solace of the church nursery, where she sat in a chair meant for a small child, her arms wrapped tight about her body, rocking back and forth as if the motion itself would somehow comfort her.  There is no one left.

On the wall was a mural of Noah’s Ark—painted in the friendly, child-safe version that curtailed the dreadful details.  Instead, there was a large boat with a smiling man on board, surrounded by animals, and above them stretched a rainbow in the primary colors of youth.  Two giraffes poked their heads from the roof of the ark; a dove carried an olive branch back to the man; pairs of smiling anthropomorphic animals stood together on the deck.  Two elephants, two horses, two monkeys, two zebras.  One lion.

The lion.  He has nine names. 

She grimaced as she brushed away thoughts of her dream.

“Susan?” Aunt Alberta said, leaning her head inside the nursery door.  “Oh, there you are.  The service—it’s about to start.”

She nodded.  “I’ll be there in a moment.”

No tears had come yet, although she was certain that they would—and when those floodgates opened, she wondered if they would ever close again.  Her mother and father, her brothers, her sister, her cousin, and three friends—all gone, leaving her life as shredded as the railway tracks that day.  She had seen the bodies before they’d closed the coffins.  Nine plastic faces smiling serenely, as if they were all in on a secret she did not know.

Her throat caught as she stood to her feet for the service.  She wanted to blame someone, but whom would she blame?  She glanced again at the mural on the wall, all those happy animals looking as if they were talking beasts.  She frowned; it was as if—as if—it was like a moment of déjà vu.  Stop it, she told herself.  Just get through the service, through the burial.  Just hold together for a few more hours.

And yet, as she walked back toward the sanctuary, now full of mourning guests, it happened again.  This time an image burned in her mind as if it were a memory from another life: a stone table, cracked in two, empty of life or death, but full of meaning and magic.  And when she opened the door to the sanctuary, she uttered a loud gasp when she saw the crucifix at the front of the room.  The guests turned to look.

He has nine names.  And now she knew two.

A Night to Believe 2012, Part Two

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I am writing this post from the Starbucks located in the lobby of the Boston Sheraton Hotel, having had an incredible weekend.  My friend Cindy joined me in Boston, and I was sooooo blessed by her company; together, we explored Boston and Cambridge, including adventures like eating White Trash cheese dip at Bukowski Tavern, incredible treats at Georgetown Cupcake, and my first experience on the subway!

But Saturday night was certainly the highlight.  First of all, the International OCD Foundation has incredible staff members, and they made this whole experience so simple for me– booking my flight and hotel, picking me up from the airport (someone was there with a “J. Sommers” sign!!), and giving me plenty of time to explore the city.  Jeff Bell, spokesperson for the foundation and founder of the Adversity 2 Advocacy Alliance, was the emcee of the event, and he sat down with me on Saturday morning and asked fascinating questions about my OCD and my writing, putting me totally at ease about the on-stage interview that would come that evening.

The event began with a cocktail hour, and then the award ceremony began.  Jeff Bell is an absolute all-star, and he discussed the theme of OCD awareness week, which was “Dare to believe … together we can beat OCD,” hitting hard on the DARE, the BELIEVE, and the TOGETHER.  I cannot tell you how impressed I was with this man– I can’t wait to learn more about his A2A Alliance.  He has also written a book, which I’d like to read and review on this site soon.

After that, I was the first to share.  I read an excerpt of my novel, and people laughed in all the right places.  It was an incredible audience, a vocal one, so you knew when they were totally jiving with you.  Love that.  Then Jeff interviewed me on the stage about my experiences.  The only question he asked me that I didn’t expect was “Do you ever worry that people will think your fictional story is actually your true story?” and I said, “No, I don’t worry about that because I’m not ashamed of my OCD.  Neely has a lot of the same experiences as I’ve had … except she has a much better love life,” which made the audience laugh.  We also talked about cognitive-behavioral therapy and about how it is simultaneously horrible/incredible and how someone will know he/she is ready for it “when the hell you’re in becomes worse than the hell you’ll have to go through.”  It’s true.

Next up was Jenn Cullen from Washington, DC, who wrote a children’s story called Ranger Ben Discovers the Mysterious Mr. OCD, this wonderful story to help children with OCD feel empowered to tackle their disorder.  She wrote it for her son Ben, who was diagnosed with OCD at age 5.  He is 13 now, and he joined her on the stage.  Very, very cool.

Then we watched a film trailer for Englander Claire Watkinson’s in-process documentary called Living with Me and My OCD.  Claire is so talented, and I am so excited to follow the progress of her documentary!

Vincent Christoffersen from New Zealand finished off the evening with his song called “Till I’m Down,” which I completely adored.  Vincent is 21, looks 15, and has the maturity of a 30-year-old.  He had wonderful stage presence and everyone LOVED him!

They also presented an IOCDF Hero Award to Denis Asselin of Walking with Nathaniel.  Denis’s son Nathaniel suffered from intense body dysmorphic disorder, on the OCD spectrum, and took his own life in 2011.  Denis made a 500-mile pilgrimage from Cheyney, PA, to Boston, MA, for BDD awareness and research.  It took everything in me not to weep as he spoke.

Afterward I met him and was very impressed by his humility.  I also met Michael Jenike, professor of psychiatry at Harvard Medical School (by the way, I just looked him up, and his CV is 92 pages long!  Intense!), and a slew of people who thanked me for my story.  It was a wonderful, well-planned event, and I enjoyed being in a group of OCs and awareness advocates, and it only made me want to do MORE.  I want to just scream from the rooftops about CBT, and I want to help the general public to understand more about OCD (unfortunately, it still believes primarily that OCs are just “neat freaks”).

This whole Boston trip was an incredible adventure, and I want to thank everyone who voted for me in the creative expression contest.  I loved-loved-LOVED this entire experience, and I am so grateful to you for making it possible for me.

On a sidenote, I really want to go to the IOCDF annual conference in Atlanta when it rolls around next year … anyone want to join me??? 🙂

more thoughts on solipsism syndrome

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Solipsism syndrome is a psychological state wherein a person feels that the world is not “real.”  It is only marginally related to the philosophical idea of solipsism (only knowing that you yourself exist and having no way to know with certainty that anyone else does).

All of this intrigues me because I myself went through a period of time where I was very detached from real life.  In fact, for a time, I honestly wondered if people were really demons who wanted to somehow trick me into hell.  There was a part of me that knew it was completely ludicrous.  But I couldn’t let go of the idea that I was somehow stuck in my own personal Truman Show hell.  I was withdrawn from everyone, living in fear and distrust, sadness and loneliness.

In my completely unprofessional and completely personal opinion, solipsism syndrome has a large connection to Pure O OCD.  I am writing a story about a young lady with solipsism syndrome, and to me, it just SCREAMS, “Pure O!” over and over.

To me, the key to putting both OCD and solipsism syndrome under one’s foot is learning to embrace uncertainty. 

It sounds so simple, but it’s incredibly hard to do.  Cognitive-behavioral therapy was the tool in my life that helped me to do this.

more than you can handle

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You know that well-intentioned phrase that people say all the time, the one that goes God will never give you more than you can handle?

I hate it.  I think it is such a load of utter crap.

I can’t handle my sin nature and depravity.  I can’t handle death and devastation.  I can’t handle pain and letdowns and rejection and broken relationships and the monstrosities of this current age.

Praise God for the cross of Jesus Christ.  He can handle it all for me.

If God never gave us more than we could handle, then why would we ever turn to Him?

His sacrificial death and glorious resurrection proved He can handle anything and everything.  So I don’t dare say any ridiculous, silly phrase like He will never give you more than you can handle because I know that I am weak but He is strong.  Amen and amen.

dare to take off your mask

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Here is an article I recently wrote for the student newspaper at the university where I work …

I have obsessive-compulsive disorder.

It is my distinct pleasure to share this with others because I have learned how much freedom there is to gain by sharing my real self.

Years ago, I harbored my secret, held it tight in my fists, knowing that if I released it to the world, I could never go back to “the way things were.”  It would create an unalterable “before” and “after,” and I wasn’t sure I was ready for people’s avoidance (at best) or condescension (at worst).

Instead, what happened was that a long-time friend told me that he too struggled with OCD.  He was so ashamed of it that he hadn’t even told his own family.  Then someone else told me about her struggles with an eating disorder.  Left and right, people started removing their masks.  The more vulnerable I made myself, the more vulnerable others were willing to be with me, and this honesty worked as a glue between our hearts.

Honest sharing from one person draws out honest sharing from others.  In other words, freedom begets freedom.

Frederick Buechner has this amazing quote, which reads, “I have come to believe that by and large the human family all has the same secrets, which are both very telling and very important to tell.  They are telling in the sense that they tell what is perhaps the central paradox of our condition—that what we hunger for perhaps more than anything else is to be known in our full humanness, and yet that is often just what we also fear more than anything else.”

For years, I thought I was some kind of anomaly.  I’m not.  I’m just a girl living in a fallen world, and I stand alongside a world of brothers and sisters in Christ who share my same hunger to be fully known and fully loved.

Community matters.  Northwestern, open up your hearts and lives to one another this year.  These early weeks of the semester are exciting ones; I am thrilled when I think of all the possibilities and opportunities stretching out before the student body this year.  Be the kind of grace-filled community that welcomes vulnerability with open arms.  Love each other with the wild love of Jesus Christ, a love that encourages freedom, a self-sacrificing love.

OCD.  These days, I drop those three little letters into conversation pretty much any chance I get.  I am not ashamed of it or nervous to tell people I am an obsessive-compulsive.  I am only hoping that my newfound freedom will beget freedom.