Life in liquid form

I haven't read Stephenie Meyer's Twilight series, though I plan to, even though I am very much no longer a teen. I've been intrigued by the response of young female readers to Meyer's books, both as an observer and as an author. Any book that can grip half a generation certainly deserves a look-see, if nothing else than to get a bead on the mindset of the adult reader of tomorrow. I am writing for that reader.

In today's San Diego Union Tribune, a staff writer considers the oddly romantic pull of the vampire legend. What is it about the vampire — that undead monster whose survival depends on blood and whose intimate bite enslaves others to his fate — that young and old find strangely irresistable?

Simply put, where the mummy and zombie and Godzilla are vicious brutes, the vampire is brutally romantic. A college philosophy professor, quoted in the article, says the bite of the vampire and the transfer of blood is intensely intimate. This fascination with all things Dracula is about intimacy of the near-carnal kind. To be bitten is to be chosen. Physically chosen. Needed. Practically embraced.

It's all about the romance of physical attraction and primal desire.

I actually think there is something much deeper here. The fascination is about the blood, not the handsome fiend with incisors. It's the blood. The blood is life.

Blood is precious. It can't be made synthetically, it can't be taken without sacrifice. In the Bible, the Israelites are told just as they are beginning a new covenantal relationship with God, "for the life of a creature is in the blood, and I have given it to you to make atonement for yourselves on the altar; it is the blood that makes atonement for one's life." - Leviticus 17:11.

The life of a creature is in the blood.

Remember when you were a kid and you and your best friend pricked your fingers, rubbed the blood together so that you could be blood brothers, blood sisters, forever?

Blood is life.

Why else do we turn away from blood when it is spilling or has spilled? Why do we close our eyes? Why is it we cannot bear to watch? Blood is life. It is intimate. Without it we are dead. There is an intensely spiritual component to our fascination with the power of blood to save us. I probably don't even have to mention the cross of Christ. It is so obviously the ultimate picture of blood that saves.

I concede that a handsome vampire has an enigmatic pull that Frankenstein just doesn't have. But hey. He's handsome. And Frankenstein is hideous. Based on those two facts alone, well,who would you chose?

Underneath it all is the pull we feel toward the twelve pints of wonder that course through our veins, allowing us to breathe and think and love and laugh and cry and smile and write. That stuff that we cannot bear to look at, it is that precious. . . that is what fascinates us.

Parting the Waters

I came home yesterday from a busy day at the day job to a box with books in it. That automatically made it a GOOD day. Inside were the copies of my dear friend Jeanne Damoff's newest release, Parting the Waters.

I read the manuscript of this book a couple years ago and was moved by the telling of this true story. Jeanne is a gifted writer, that goes without saying. But because she lived this story — breathed it, mourned it and embraced it — the words very nearly seem wet. Wet from the lake water that nearly snatched the life of a beloved son and wet from the tears Jeanne cried at every wonderful and painful moment in the world she began living in when Jacob woke up.

Here's what WinePress Publishing says about it: "When a tragic drowning accident leaves fifteen-year-old Jacob in a coma, the faith of his family and community is shaken to its foundation. Medical experts used phrases such as “persistent vegetative state” and “Jacob will never wake up,” but Jacob’s parents knew God would have the final say.

"Without sugar-coating the realities of pain and suffering, Parting the Waters presents the heart-warming, true story of what can happen when a community rallies around one wounded family. While Jacob’s parents struggle to preserve their faith and family, the prayers and innovative efforts of community members result in Jacob’s gradual awakening. Each dramatic milestone in Jacob’s recovery creates a new ripple, touching and changing many lives. Told from a mother’s perspective, Parting the Waters is a poignant tale of unexpected beauty found in brokenness."

Anyone who's traveled such a hard road could easily be a little grumpy — and who could fault them for it? But Jeanne, a sweetly-tempered Kristin Scott Thomas lookalike, is genuinely joyful. I love the bio on her website: "Jeanne Damoff has been married for 29 years to George, a biologist, poet, and musician. Their three grown children, Jacob, Grace, and Luke, are her favorite people in the world. She has degrees in social work, sociology, English, and secondary education, and has taught such varied subjects as English, Latin, art, music, and cheerleading. For eight years she taught pre-school through junior high Bible, using a curriculum she designed and wrote. Jeanne is a published writer, a professional choreographer, a musician, and a speaker. She loves to laugh and gives points to anyone who makes her laugh out loud. These points are very valuable. Everyone should strive to earn them, starting now."

Got to love it!

You won't want to miss her book. Especially if you've ever been broken. Or are broken.

Or breaking.

See you on Monday.

Dog years

A few weeks back I posted a weepy, quasi-review of The Art of Racing in the Rain, which you can read here.

It's the story of a family - a dad, a mom, and a child - told from the point of view of their dog.

Completely unconventional and fresh, I loved the premise, was captivated by the story and I balled like a paid mourner when the dog died of old age at the end. (I am giving away nothing here. The book begins with mercifully telling the reader the dog is dying.)

I confessed how I traipsed downstairs to find my 12-year-old Labrador, tears blinding my steps, so that I could wrap my arms around him and tell him what a good dog he was. He thumped his tail and turned his gray Skeletor face to mine, not peeved in the least that I had interrupted his senior dog slumber.

From that moment on I knew I was in for trouble. I had to do something to prepare myself for the inevitable. Luke is 84 in dog years. His days are numbered, just like mine, but he has far less days on the abacus. When the opportunity came my way to add Bella, a five-year-old blonde retriever, to our family, I jumped at it - and not just for me. Luke has gotten emotionally needy the last few months, following us around the house when we're home, pacing and moping when we're not.

So we brought her home last night. There was much sniffing and nervous tail-wagging, a growl or two from the old man - and this morning when he woke up and saw that Bella was still here, you could almost hear him saying, "Dang. I thought I had imagined that blonde chick." But in the end, I think he will come to appreciate Bella's quiet presence, her desire to please, her warm personality. I know I will.

In the end.

Have a lovely weekend, Edglings. Oh, and congrats to Lia, who won Melody's book, The Other Side of Darkness.

Peace, friends.

After darkness. . .

One of the things I appreciate most about Melody Carlson's contemporary fiction is its unfussy literary edge. She has such a masterful handle on the art of story as well as the pathos of human relationships on the brink of life-change.

Her newest, The Other Side of Darkness, takes the reader into the just-off-center world of a likeable woman flawed by her obsessive compulsive behavior and who loses herself within the legalistic confines of a toxic "church." Ruth is not larger than life, she is believable, relatable and her frustrations are palpable. Sometimes in the reading, you just want to grab her by the shoulders and shake the weakness out of her. Only a character who seems real evokes that kind of response. And only a skilled writer can convince you her characters are real. You can read an excerpt here.

I asked my friend Melody to stop by the Edge to talk with me about this book. Here's what she had to say:

Edge: Your main character battles with OCD – obsessive compulsive disorder. Did you learn things about this disorder during your research that surprised you?
Melody: The most surprising thing was that it's a lot more common than I realized. One statistic said "one in forty" struggle with this disorder. Of course, there are varying levels--everything from the person who obsesses over public toilets to the person who cannot leave her house because she's so debilitated with fear.

Edge: In your foreword to readers you tell us that fiction is often the most direct way to convey hard-to-tell truths. What hard-to-tell truths are expressed in The Other Side of Darkness? What makes these in particular hard to tell?
Melody: Most people with severe OCD do not want anyone to know about it. It's a humiliating condition that is hard to understand and easy to poke fun of (think Monk the TV sitcom). Unfortunately, some OCD (untreated) will grow worse--possibly reaching the place where the sufferer can't engage in normal activities. And unfortunately, isolation doesn't help. What a person with OCD wants more than anything is control. And if they have religious connections, they will often fall victim to legalism as an answer to their situation. OCD is by nature a very legalistic disorder. So imagine a person, untreated, getting pulled into some kind of psuedo Christian cult--and the problems that could arise.

Edge: Also in your foreword you ask the question “what kind of person becomes a leader in a church that’s going sideways?” Did you find the answer in the writing of this book?
Melody: Because this book is inspired from a true story, I have first hand knowledge of a person who led others into a messed up church. In reality this person struggled with issues in relationship to his own father, unforgiveness, and anger. In the form of fiction, I made the pastor flawed in some other areas. I think one of the keys to bad leadership is unconfessed sin--it always sets up the leader to hurt others.

Edge: What takeaway do you offer the person who doesn’t have OCD and has never had a “toxic” church experience? What do you want the average reader to know that we didn’t know before?
Melody: If the statistics are correct or even close, it's not unlikely that many people know someone who suffers from OCD. If this story encourages empathy and understanding toward a sufferer and if that leads them to getting help, support, encouragement, acceptance, I feel that it was worth the effort to write this book. People with OCD are some of the loneliest around.

Edge: Can you share what prompted you to write this book?
Melody: This book was inspired by the story of a loved one that I'd been close to for years. Unfortunately, we had moved a few hours away from her shortly before she went through this very dark time. And naturally she never called or worte to tell us about her problem. Instead, she got deeply involved in a very unhealthy congregation that took severe advantage of her and her fear. I never heard her story until after she had nearly taken her own life in total desperation and ended up in a lockdown treatment facility. That was more than ten years ago and it's been a slow uphill climb, but she's doing well now and we remain in fairly close contact. She wanted her story to be told so that others might not go down the same road that she traveled. Fortunately, for her, the other side of darkness turned out to be Light--it just wasn't easy getting there.

Thanks, Melody. I was especially moved by your statement that people with OCD are some of the loneliest people out there. That hadn't occurred to me before, but it makes perfect sense. Thanks for the eye-opener.

Want to win a free, signed copy of The Other Side of Darkness? Just reply to this post by Friday, Nov. 14. A random winner will be drawn.

Have a great weekend, Edglings

Forward motion

On Monday I was anxious for today, Wednesday, to get here - for two reasons. One, I was tired of the mud-slinging presidential campaign process, and two, I had no deep affection for either candidate and I was lamenting that fact.

Now that it's Wednesday and the voting is over - and with it the deeply polarizing forces silenced - I can say that I am happy Wednesday is here for two different reasons. One, I was moved by the speeches of both President-elect Obama and Sen. John McCain. Wish I had seen more of that valor and maturity on the campaign trail.

Second, I am proud that my nation will welcome an African American to the White House. I may not agree with every policy that will show up in the next four years but I am applauding the racial divide that crumbled to the ground last night. There was much that was gained on Tuesday, no matter which side of the fence you're parked on. Well done. . . Now we get busy, all of us, and move forward.

Waiting on Wednesday

You rememember that line in "Titanic" when the young immigrant mother tells her little children, "It'll all be over soon?"

That's the most tender moment in the movie, and one I quote far too often because each time I do, I feel like I rob from it just a little.

But to be honest with you, I can't wait for tomorrow - Election Day - to come and go. I want it over. I love what it stands for and I am wholly smitten with democracy and the privilege of voting but with this rosy privilege comes a slew of thorns. It amazes me that in a nation of millions we can be so polarized. So angrily red or blue.

On Wednesday there will be millions of happy people and millions of unhappy people. And though the mud-slinging and namecalling will end, the half that are unhappy will likely stay that way for 48 long months. Until we get to do this again.

I hate to whine and then not offer a solution, but I don't know what it is. If there was a standout candidate who everyone could get behind to some extent - and I don't mean a centrist who has no passionate opinions on anything - I wonder how different an election year would be. To be honest, I am not captivated by either of our presidential candidates; perhaps this is why I am feeling mopey today and walking around the house mumbling "It'll all be over soon" in an Irish brogue.

Do you remember the character Harrison Ford played in Air Force One? Remember that president? Brave and brilliant, tenacious and transparent, honest and honorable. Selfless and sincere. Everybody respected him. He wasn't perfect, but he had the respect due him. That's what I am whining for; I want a president whose resume inspires a commanding John Williams theme song and whom half the nation won't despise.

Sigh. Pass the soda bread.