For Holy Week

Jesus, I will ponder now
On Thy holy passion.
With Thy spirit me endow
For such meditation.
Grant that I in love and faith
May the image cherish
Of Thy suffering, pain, and death
That I may not perish.

Only an Idiot

BIAS 1 : a line diagonal to the grain of a fabric; especially : a line at a 45 degree angle to the selvage often utilized in the cutting of garments for smoother fit 2 : a peculiarity in the shape of a bowl that causes it to swerve when rolled on the green in lawn bowling 3 : an inclination of temperament or outlook; especially : a personal and sometimes unreasoned judgment : prejudice. —Webster’s Online.

It sounds like an excellent idea. These ideas usually do. None of us can really know what it’s like to be a Native American, so we should just let the Native Americans speak for themselves. Likewise, no white person (with the possible exception of John Howard Griffin) can really know what it’s like to have been black in the 1960’s. No man should presume to speak about what women want (sorry, Chaucer) and no heterosexual can presume to understand homosexuality. Children are eternally puzzled by adults, who have themselves long averred that children are mysteries.

In Defense of Robin Hood

Of all the old and chivalrous heroes whose memory modernity has warped, one of the most ill-treated is Robin Hood. The attack is two-pronged in nature, giving the impression of a concerted effort; but, like so many other apparent alliances between hard left and hard right, the alliance against Robin Hood is an unintentional one, which, if recognized by either side, would be immediately repudiated by both.

What’s a Writer to Do?

I’ve run across a terribly frustrating barrier in my search for a publisher or agent for my first novel. The problem starts with me. You see, I wrote my story for myself, and not for the market.

Women in the Superbowl Ads

As usual, the adds were almost as much of a draw as the game--particularly since we all knew the Tebow add was going to be showing.

But, surprise, surprise, apparently NOW believes that the football player's spot encourages domestic violence. Hm.

Saturday at the Movies

I was feeling a little bit of a breeze from the Oscar buzz, and decided to compile my own list of movies—the good, the bad, and the quotable. Just for fun. Besides, some day I may need to start my own library, and it is good to have a plan in place for such exigencies.

Sifting "Owl Creek Bridge"

It's a bromide that teachers learn from their students. If the translation of the bromide comes to "Students impart information to their teachers of which the teachers were ignorant"

-->--I am not sure I agree. Or, if I have gleaned new information from those I teach, it doesn't tend to be the sort I was itching to know. (I really did not need to know that Ben Franklin's sells cap bombs. Really. Although I must admit it is in keeping with their patron's interests.) I will not deny, however, that I have learned from my students in this sense: that in looking for questions to ask them, I have had to dig deeper into certain questions than I would be likely to, left on my own.

In Five Acts

Recently I was reflecting on how to coax a play out of a certain story. It’s the second or third time I’ve given this particular short story a run-over, and both my earlier attempts completely dissatisfied me--so much so that this time I decided to scrap everything I had done before and start afresh. So I did what every good writer with writer’s block ought to do: I wrote something else, in this case, something in the nature of an outline. Since a great part of my difficulty with the story in question was structural (it’s cursed with scenes in many places, lots of time elapsing, plenty of authorial intrusion, etc.), I decided to set out the approximate structure of a play, in hopes that doing so might give me a template for altering the story in question.

What Humans Value

It is an unquestionable fact that we human beings value things more when we have sought them. A man who spends his entire life in the pursuit of greater riches and security will value it more than his grandson, who has no reason not to squander the old money passed down to him. A man who has had to work to find a job will be more appreciative of the job when he finally gets it, than the man who finds a plumb position dropped right into his lap. And the sensation of finally grasping a difficult proof in philosophy or in math is a wondrous one that will never be experienced by the rare geniuses who understand such things at first reading. (To be sure, genius has its own consolations; but that is another matter.)

Why I Am Not a Liberal, with Apologies to an Ancient Name

To return to Halloween night (which was enjoyable, no?), there was more than one germ of a story which I wanted to follow that evening. But rather than offering further reasons as to why I am what I am, I thought perhaps I might explain why I am not what I am not: a liberal.

Top Ten Reasons Why I am Roman Catholic

I once saw a shirt with that title on it, and it had some good ones. I remember pleasing your mother, beautiful weddings, having great popes (we've advanced since the Middle Ages, in case you weren't watching) and grand things like that. However, the makers of the t-shirt entirely overlooked two excellent reasons for being Catholic, which I think deserve attention. The first is for a later post. The second, being seasonal, is the subject today. The great thing about being Catholic, in addition to all those other great things, is that Catholics celebrate twice.

News or Chews?

Last night when I told my mother I had started a blog, she said, “Yeah, I just feel like being Chesterton or someone, going out and sitting in a garden in the sun and reading for a long time. Getting away from everything, the internet, the telephone, TV . . .”

So what if Spencer was anti-Catholic?

He wrote great poetry.

"So up [Redcross] rose and thence amounted straight.
Which when [Despair] beheld, and saw his guest
Would safe depart for all his subtle sleight,
He chose an halter from among the rest,
And with it hung himself, unbid, unblessed.
But death he could not work himself thereby;
For thousand times he so himself had dressed,
Yet natheless it could not do him die
Till he should die his last, that is eternally."

—Faerie Queene, Book I, Canto 9.