i want this.
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Category Archives: romance
an honest post
Okay, all of my posts are honest … I guess I should have called this a vulnerable post, but I’m not going to go back and change the title because all my posts are published on my Facebook account, and I don’t want to draw too many extra eyes here.
I turn 31 two weeks from today. Thirty-one. I know it’s not, but it feels old. (It’s the oldest I’ll have ever been, ha!) Life is so different than what I thought it would be. Some good, some bad.
I have more joy and freedom than I have had since I was a young child. I survived a ravaging war against OCD and found victory. I have an assurance of salvation that was brought about by a paradoxical embrace of uncertainty. I have better friends than I could have ever imagined for myself. I love my job as a recruiter and would have never guessed I’d be good at sales.
On the other hand, I think about myself as a senior in high school, and I had my own little plan for life (How do you make God laugh? Tell him your plans.): I’d go off to college, meet the love of my life freshman year, marry him after graduation, get an advanced degree, write lovely little poems that everyone would clambor after, and have a family.
No graduate school. I am pussyfooting my way through fiction. My first manuscript was rejected by an embarrassing number of agents. And I am completely single– don’t even have a crush.
I look around at the friends of mine who are living my old dreams, and I don’t resent them (most of the time)– but I do feel light-years behind other people my age. They have masters degrees, 2.5 children, own their own homes, have husbands who work hard for them so that they can stay home with the kids. I live an apartment, hang out with college kids, take joy in being published in no-name literature journals just so I can update my writer’s resume in the hope that I will fool someone on a grant committee somewhere into giving me money.
My dream has changed a little. I’m not sure if it still includes children. I adore children– my friend Tracy’s three daughters (Emma, Ava, and Elsie) are so dear to my heart that I’m not sure I could love them more even if I’d birthed them myself. But I’m not sure I want to be a mom– I feel a little too selfish with my time. I want to write. My novel is (at this time) my baby, and I’m scared I would resent anything that took my attention away from it. I don’t know. We’ll see. I’ve learned to hold plans loosely.
But I do want to be married. Like, yesterday.
There have been so many boys, so many crushes, through the years– I burned through them like fuel for my poetry fire. And I don’t regret liking these men or “letting them go.” My friend Kristin says, “When God loves you, everything is mercy.” I am grateful to be where I am. I trust in his holy plan, believe in his masterful timing, even if that is that I remain single forever.
But I hope I don’t.
I have areas of brokenness in my life that I want to fix before I meet someone. Sometimes. Sometimes, I want to meet someone who will love those broken parts and pray with me for healing. I am glad I didn’t get married straight out of college– now I look back and realize that we were just babies then! Working at a university, I see these students getting engaged and I think, You don’t even know who you are yet.
Maybe that’s okay. They can learn together, grow together, change together. But I have seen plenty of failed and/or unhappy marriages amongst people who married young. I’m just making observations, not offering judgment.
I know I’m rambling, using this blog as a diary of sorts, which I try not to do. Maybe it’s okay once in a while. For this one honest, vulnerable post.
I try to never view a husband as life’s greatest gift, because I know that it’s not. Not by far. The gift of salvation by grace, the gift of daily knowing and loving my sweet savior– these are my life’s greatest gifts. I remind myself that a husband is just icing on the cake I already have. But I still want one.
Two weeks, and I will be 31. I already have Jesus Christ, who is a more permanent lover than any I could imagine; I own my faith; I have control over my mental illness; I have a job that I love and enjoy; I don’t own a home or have a graduate degree, but I write almost every day and believe in my story, believe I have messages on my blog and in my life that speak to people. Life is good, but sometimes I am still lonely.
And I am going to dare to say that that is okay. I’m not sure, but I think so.
Reading is sexy.
So true, in my opinion. Learning is sexy, and one of the best ways I can judge that is by whether a person reads.
I don’t care if he reads business journals, science fiction novels, textbooks, or biographies– or even if he listens to audiobooks to stick it to his dyslexia. If he likes to read, he enjoys learning, and both are sexy.
It is honestly one of my number one questions when getting to a guy. 1) Does he love Jesus? 2) Does he love reading?
This has definitely influenced the creation of the characters in the YA novel I’m writing.
“My turn to ask the questions,” said Silas, unwrapping a sandwich. “Tell me what books you like to read.” He had a nice voice, I decided. It was low and velvety … but with this sweetness to it, an animation that came from confidence. And something else: delight?
“Oh, everything,” I said, my feet dragging lazily in the sand beneath them as I bit into my apple—Gala, sweet. “Peter Beagle. John Green. C.S. Lewis. Dr. Seuss.”
Silas grinned. “C.S. Lewis. Have you read his space trilogy?”
“Only a million times,” I said.
His eyes grew wide with a childlike excitement that made me want to laugh. “I’m making Laurel read it this summer! That Hideous Strength!” he said, then quoted: “‘It was all mixed up with Jane and fried eggs and soap and sunlight and the rooks cawing at Cure Hardy.’” Silas sighed in delight. “Rooks cawing at Cure Hardy … all those k sounds.”
I smiled at him, a little skeptically.
“Don’t you like the k sounds?” he asked, eyes wide and beatific, and I burst out laughing.
“I’ve just never heard a teenager talk affectionately about plosives.”
Am I short-sighted in this?
If anyone knows where I could buy this mug, I would die of delight.
Tall, Dark, and Handsome
He shakes my tidy box of labeled dreams
until its bows are undone, a timid musician
in designer jeans who explains the economy
in a way that makes sense. He offers to drive,
steers with one hand while he seeks a certain song,
redefining my ideal until it is far more important that
a man can talk finance, sing softly in the driver’s seat,
and delicately raise one eyebrow into a perfect arch
like a cartoon villain or a famous work of art.
This is just A boy, not THE boy the poem is about. 🙂
Reblogged: All the Single Ladies
My friend Kristin is like a sage to me. We were friends in college; then, my senior year, she was my supervisor in the campus writing center. She left Minnesota for grad school– first out to LA, then to Chicago– before coming back to teach English at our alma mater, where I work in the admissions office. It was during round two of her life in Minnesota that I really got to bond with her. She knows scripture so well, and she is unbelievably wise. And really gracious. She is someone whom I can talk to about all my weird, really-out-there ideas without judgment. Instead, she pours wisdom into my life.
She has been living in Nairobi, Kenya, for the last year and a half, and she recently blogged about an issue that I am really feeling at this time of the year. I hope you’ll hop over to her blog to read it.
Here’s the first little bit:
All the Single Ladies: Facebook Holiday Survival Guide
Sometimes, it feels as if facebook is trying to tell me something. This morning, for instance, posts and links accumulated such that I felt like a detective at the end of a mystery novel—all the pieces were falling into place.
Post One: “He asked. I said yes.”
I’m not usually overly sentimental about such things, but this friend, who is about ten years older than I am, has been a particular influence on my life for the past couple years. This is often the case when you are a single adult woman and you know other single adult women who are older than you–especially happy, balanced single women who just like you don’t want to always be single but still manage to be, well, happy and balanced in their singleness. At some point, the age differentiation becomes very important–after this point, when people younger than you get married, you get angsty (why don’t they just wait their turn, for Pete’s sake?); when people older than you get married, you get hopeful (see? it’s possible!). Selfish, yes, but also true.
For the rest of her holiday survival guide, click here!
brought to you by the letter V
I love letters.
AEIOU. I like vowels, but I suppose if they were people, they would be cocky. The jocks or cheerleaders.
What about P? I think P would be a quiet girl who wears glasses and reads lots of books. She would be intimidated by the vowel clique. H would be an overweight boy. F is immature, short, and insecure, telling P and H, “It takes both of you to equal one of me.”
I bet R, S, and T would hang out with the vowels; they are pretty popular letters if you think about it. S’s are vowel groupies.
Y is unsure, a girl in puberty, without a solid identity yet. She fits with the vowels – but only sometimes.
V is the metro boy who wears tight pants and is a mystery. Even the vowels would be secretly jealous of V. V, you must know that you’re distinctive, above the others. Go write your poetry, your song lyrics, a love song for a beautiful girl. Remain a mystery to the others, but share yourself with her.
Date a Girl Who Writes
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.
Top 10 Literary Boyfriends
Oh, come on, be honest now … if you’re a reader, you have them too. 🙂
10. Marco Alisdair from The Night Circus | A handsome young magician with creativity exploding out of him? Yes please. “What did you wish for?” Bailey asks. Marco leans forward and whispers in Bailey’s ear. “I wished for her.”
9. Will Trombal from Saving Francesca | Confused, sweet, smart, willing-to-be-humbled student leader at an Aussie high school, eventually Will figured out just what he wanted. “Do you think people have noticed that I’m around?”
“I notice when you’re not. Does that count?”
8. Jace Wayland/Morgenstern/Herondale/Lightwood from The Mortal Instruments series | You know, I wouldn’t mind having a stunningly gorgeous boyfriend who was acerbically hilarious and could kick anyone’s ass, even if he was conceited as all get-out. Too bad something is always going majorly wrong with his world. “Not everything is about you,” Clary said furiously. “Possibly,” Jace said, “but you do have to admit that the majority of things are.”
7. Joe Fontaine from The Sky is Everywhere | His smile alone completely won me over. Joe is sincerely and deeply in love with life. “And then he smiles, and in all the places around the globe where it’s night, day breaks.”
6. Prince Char from Ella Enchanted | He is so real, so sincere, so sweet, so honest, so straightforward: “That’s funny, you’re funny. I like you, I’m quite taken by you.”
5. Finnikin from Finnikin of the Rock | Once he realizes what he truly wants, he is a die-hard. His loyalty and dedication won over my heart. “This hand says you spend the rest of your life with me,” he said, holding out his left hand, “and this one says I spend the rest of my life with you. Choose.”
4. Max Vandenburg from The Book Thief | Okay, so I don’t think readers are supposed to fall for Max, but I couldn’t help it. He writes books for her. Swoon. ‘Such a brilliant German day and its attentive crowd. He let his mouth kiss her palm. “Yes, Liesel, it’s me,” and he held the girl’s hand in his face and cried onto her fingers.’
3. Jonah Griggs from Jellicoe Road | A young, passionate cadet who will fight with you but also do anything to defend you, Griggs is one of my all-time favorite literary boyfriends! He’s hilarious and smart and hot and cares so deeply, even though he keeps up a tough facade. “I think it would cause a riot.” “Well, you know me,” he says, lowering his head towards me. “Causing a riot is what I do best.”
2. Gilbert Blythe from Anne of Green Gables series | Gilbert is one of the most wonderful men ever written about, period. From the time he was about thirteen, he has wanted one thing: Anne Shirley’s love. He is most girls’ idea of “the perfect man,” one who waited for her for years. He’s so funny and SMART and sweet and handsome. Love him. “Gilbert wisely said nothing more; but in his silence he read the history of the next four years in the light of Anne’s remembered blush. Four years of earnest, happy work … and then the guerdon of a useful knowledge gained and a sweet heart won.”
1. Augustus Waters of The Fault in Our Stars | I just cannot get over this guy. He’s smart, hilarious, gorgeous, a deep thinker, a reader, intense and honest and fun. “Oh, I wouldn’t mind, Hazel Grace. It would be a privilege to have my heart broken by you.”
Honorable mentions:
Ron Weasley of Harry Potter series
Cal Trask of East of Eden
Dickon of The Secret Garden
How about you– who are your favorite literary boyfriends?
a poem I wrote
I wrote this back in college, but I was thinking of it recently when I was up north at my summer camp. The poem is about a boy with whom I shared one wonderful week– and after that, things fell apart. In college, this was my assessment of the situation (which, for the record, took like three years to heal from. One week, then three years. Boys.)
Invitation
It appears to be about the temperature,
the way your body reacts to the sun,
how you kissed my hand and left.
You sang raw songs aloud, white flags
you spited for the sake of the sun,
a clumsy surrender to the afternoons,
later blaming the northern countryside for
the way it slows your blood,
allowing more time to warm.
And so you dressed your hurts in city shade,
where haste is the liquor to rinse your mind
of that summer and the way your hands were soft.
I left St. Paul and welcomed the day’s damage
because of the lessons that leak into open sores.
I make the most of my summer wounds.
But I want you to know—I would have helped you adjust:
dark faces shadowed by a background of pines,
only the moon with no warmth of its own.
Remember, dear, the northern nights are cold.
when half-gods go
I remembered this past week a poem that used to matter a lot to me in college, especially for its ending lines. I discovered it around a time of my life when I was clearing a particular boy out of my romantic life– a boy I was very close to, one I cared about a great deal, who was one of my best friends at the time. He was marvelous and hilarious and gorgeous, but I knew he wasn’t the right one. He was what Emerson refers to below as a “half-god.” I couldn’t settle for a half-god. Because when half-gods go, the gods arrive.
Give all to love;
Obey thy heart;
Friends, kindred, days,
Estate, good fame,
Plans, credit, and the muse;
Nothing refuse.
‘Tis a brave master,
Let it have scope,
Follow it utterly,
Hope beyond hope;
High and more high,
It dives into noon,
With wing unspent,
Untold intent;
But ’tis a god,
Knows its own path,
And the outlets of the sky.
‘Tis not for the mean,
It requireth courage stout,
Souls above doubt,
Valor unbending;
Such ’twill reward,
They shall return
More than they were,
And ever ascending.
Leave all for love;—
Yet, hear me, yet,
One word more thy heart behoved,
One pulse more of firm endeavor,
Keep thee to-day,
To-morrow, for ever,
Free as an Arab
Of thy beloved.
Cling with life to the maid;
But when the surprise,
Vague shadow of surmise,
Flits across her bosom young
Of a joy apart from thee,
Free be she, fancy-free,
Do not thou detain a hem,
Nor the palest rose she flung
From her summer diadem.
Though thou loved her as thyself,
As a self of purer clay,
Tho’ her parting dims the day,
Stealing grace from all alive,
Heartily know,
When half-gods go,
The gods arrive.
-Ralph Waldo Emerson
Still waiting for that Mr. Right!!!!
JACKIE LEA SOMMERS 