Off to Hutchmoot 2015

Hey!  Did you hear that gasp of air?  Yeah, that’s this blog taking its first breath in a long while.  I’m off to Hutchmoot 2015, brought to you by those wonderful folks over at the Rabbit Room.  Hoping my experience there helps my writing voice- and actually gets me writing again!

Here’s a short video showing you what Hutchmoot is all about:

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What Happened to the Magic?

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Two years ago today, author Brian Jacques (pronounced “Jakes”), creator of the Redwall series, passed away.  He authored 22 books of series in all, which featured the mice, otters, moles, hedgehogs, squirrels, and hares of Mossflower Country and Salamandastron, and their epic struggles against all manner of villainy.  Inspired by the memory and actions of their resident spiritual guide, Martin the Warrior, the goodbeasts of Redwall strived to create a place of peace in a hostile world full of rats, weasels, stouts, and other vermin.  Readers come away from reading Redwall with the satisfaction of having read a darn good yarn, full of feasting, fighting, riddles, cliff hangers, and songs.

I got addicted to these tales not too long ago, after getting sick and tired of contemporary “literary fiction ,” with its typical loner protagonists and navel-gazing ruminations.  I, like Brian Jacques at point, was wondering “What happened to the magic?!”

Jacques went off and wrote his own magic, and the gift he receives is in the giving, and with all the humility in the world.  As he once stated it:

“I don’t worry so much about the prizes for books, the accolade for me is the kids.  And the librarians, who’ve had an education, who are looking at a scalawag, who’s conned his way in—an exlongshoreman, ex-seaman, ex-truckdriver, who’s suddenly popped up as an author — and they say, “Oh, Mr. Jacques, we love your books.” I think, isn’t that nice, here are these people with this great education speaking to me as if I’m somebody—it’s a big thing.”

I thank him for creating magic and sharing it with the rest of the world,  especially late  thirtysomethings like myself who need some reminding.  His death two years ago today left many heartbroken.  But take heart, I think Jacques would say: join me anytime between the pages of Redwall.

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“Our homes are under miraculous skies”- GK Chesterton’s “The House of Christmas”

Today marks the end of the Christian liturgical year with Feast of Christ the King.  Today, during the homily, Father Jim urged us to remember that though we anticipate Advent and the celebration of the Incarnation, let us not forget Christ enthroned at the right hand of the Ancient of the Days.

Which I won’t, of course, but I am indulging in a bit of GK Chesterton as evening yawns into night, and this poem came to mind, with all its anticipatory and beautiful imagery.  So cheers to the new year approaching, the night air chill, but the house warm and snug, a house under miraculous skies:

The House of Christmas

G. K. Chesterton

There fared a mother driven forth

Out of an inn to roam;

In the place where she was homeless

All men are at home.

The crazy stable close at hand,

With shaking timber and shifting sand,

Grew a stronger thing to abide and stand

Than the square stones of Rome.

For men are homesick in their homes,

And strangers under the sun,

And they lay on their heads in a foreign land

Whenever the day is done.

Here we have battle and blazing eyes,

And chance and honour and high surprise,

But our homes are under miraculous skies

Where the yule tale was begun.

A Child in a foul stable,

Where the beasts feed and foam;

Only where He was homeless

Are you and I at home;

We have hands that fashion and heads that know,

But our hearts we lost – how long ago!

In a place no chart nor ship can show

Under the sky’s dome.

This world is wild as an old wives’ tale,

And strange the plain things are,

The earth is enough and the air is enough

For our wonder and our war;

But our rest is as far as the fire-drake swings

And our peace is put in impossible things

Where clashed and thundered unthinkable wings

Round an incredible star.

To an open house in the evening

Home shall men come,

To an older place than Eden

And a taller town than Rome.

To the end of the way of the wandering star,

To the things that cannot be and that are,

To the place where God was homeless

And all men are at home.

Sinai- Reflections on G. MacDonald 6

And is not God ready to do unto them even as they fear, though with another feeling and a different end from any which they are capable of supposing?  He is against sin: insofar as, and while, they and sin are one, He is against them- against their desires, their aims, their fears, and their hopes; and thus He is altogether and always for them.  That thunder and lightning and tempest, that blackness torn with the sound of a trumpet, that visible horror billowed with the voice of words, was all but a faint image… of what God thinks and feels against vileness and selfishness, of the unrest of unassuageable repulsion with which He regards such conditions.

MacDonald references the events that occurred on Mt. Sinai, when the Jews began their travels out of Egypt.  Manna fell from Heaven, and Moses was given the Ten Commandments.  During the time that Moses was speaking to God, the Jews got impatient, and formulated the Golden Calf and bowed down to worship it.  This, understandably, made God a bit upset.  But why?  Because He wanted all the glory?  Well, yeah- but to what end?  Here we have the Divine reaching out and wanting relationship with those that He created, and what he created them for: to rise above their own egos, fears, and faults, and come into communion with Him.  Let all that hinders you from the deepest of all Loves fall away, and become your True Self.