A few books that inspire me . . .

A reader of my blog recently asked me what I was inspired by. Good question, I thought. Here is a list of writings that pierce my heart and challenge my thinking into fresh inspiration.


Out of The Silent Planet by C.S. Lewis

Ransom is a bumbling English man with big dreams and a pocket full of nothing. His chivalry demands that, one starry night on the walk of a homeless man, he check on a neighbor who lives in the country. Accidentally discovering a secret experiment in two professors' backyard, Ransom is drugged and stowed away on a miraculous spaceship. He wakes up in burning space as a primary component in the mad men's idea of human progression.


Byzantium by Stephen R. Lawhead
It's the Dark Ages for more than just religious people.
A dutiful monk named Aidan is chosen to be part of a pilgrimage that carries a jewel-embedded, hand-scribed manuscript known as The Book of Kells to give to Byzantium's new emperor. Despite the backstabbing greed of some treacherous monks who desire to steal the book, this humble man makes it to the sea with the manuscript, where the group is attacked by Vikings who take Aidan as a slave. After years of service, Aidan devises his way to Byzantium, where he is first cast into the mines as a slave, then escapes to become a royal servant. His wealthy master later offers his mesmerizing daughter to Aidan in marriage. Pressured to adopt the Islamic religion, Aidan thirsts for one goal: to free his Brothers who also languish in the mines. Through a well-crafted political plot, he approaches the Emperor with the remains of The Book of Kells.
Based on the true story of St. Aidan, Byzantium explores the faiths of Christianity and Islam, and the complex culture of a magnificent city through the eyes of man not yet well-experienced, but as shrewd and relentless as an eagle.

The Monk Downstairs by Tim Farrington
Rebecca is so lonely after her divorce from the wild surfer her child calls Dad. But Rebecca will not compromise her standard of intellectual abilities, something she can't seem to find in her workplace or social groups. When she rents out the basement to an outdated sort of man who says he is an ex-monk, Rebecca begins to realize she has an opinion of her own. And she wants to sleep with the monk downstairs.

The Story of Rich, Red Whine

When I was 17, I went through a clumsy phase. I literally broke things, like myself, that I didn't mean to destroy. My parents went through a disciplinary stage at that time. Although I have exaggerated their behavior in this story for the sake of fiction, I remember one night of not being able to handle the stress. I sat down at our computer and got into one of my favorite social-networks: old-fashioned email. In my inbox was the announcement that Write On! Books was hosting a short story contest. The prompt was "What would you do if you inherited five-million dollars tomorrow?" This was my story; I won an award for Most Original.

Rich, Red Whine

If I inherited five-million dollars tomorrow, the first thing I would do is press my hand to my heart and faint. And since I would be standing on the front porch by the mailbox, I would fall and hit my head on the rough concrete, causing me to crash into my mother's prize roses, bump and roll down the steps into the driveway. My dad would be coming home about that time, see me hurtling toward his moving vehicle, swerve, and drive right through our front window! At the sound of our beautiful stained glass window spraying into the living room as it shreds imported leather furniture, knocks antiques to the floor, and slices into a three-and-a-half-million dollar original painting, my mother would come running in her slippers down the hall.

"JANA," she would shriek,"WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO MY DISHES?! YOU ARE SO CLUMSY! YOU ARE GOING TO PAY FOR EVERY LAST ITEM YOU'VE BROKEN THIS YEAR! AND I MEANT IT!!!"

Mothers do have a way about them. Of course, dad couldn't take the blame. He couldn't kill his daughter, could he? And then the cracked skull, broken knee, and yard of skin I left stuck to the gravel would be added to my list of "careless actions for which there are consequences." Add getting the truck back out through the window, a shrink for the trauma, and I think I've spent my 5M. Thanks, but I think I'll pass on that one.

My Evil, Inner Editor

I am studying The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron as a way to challenge writer's block. One exercise is to draw a picture of what she calls "the inner critic," that self-criticiser that stems from roots of negativity we may have collected and held onto during childhood.

My "monster" is a sharp-chinned woman with a dark unibrow and tiny eyes. She dominates her way into the position of Executive Editor. Daily I have to tell her, "You're fired! Go wax your eyebrow!" because she seems to show up with a leaky red pen whenever I open my notebook.

"In my own case, I have found that my Inner Critic's most scathing comments are often reserved for what will later appear to be my strongest work." (Cameron, 2006, p. 96) Be secure enough to try something new in your writing. Or be secure enough to stick to what you're doing.

References

Cameron, Julia. (2006) Finding water. Penguin Group: USA.

The Pine Tree

The lavender-gray sky
is sprinkled with stars.
The huge, dark outline of
a pine tree
blotches this view,
a streak of sunlight
spreading almost to its tip.
I see a car
coming along the road
beneath it
and I move forward until
I am under the tree's strange
shelter.
As the fingers of a
piney bough drop down
to touch my head,
I realize I need not
fear the shadows:
they shelter me from that which I foolishly do not
fear.