It’s just we’re a wee bit jaded, my sibs and I. Always knew it was true, although never more so than when I recently transcribed a bunch of notes from my late teens, many of which are carefully constructed barbs about relationships and marriage that shall NEVER use, cross my sin-blackened heart.
Anyway, it was sort of typical yestereen when Steve, slathering his chocolate grahams with mint frosting, compared the state of official bliss rather unfavorably with his dessert. Not true, I suppose, but I laughed anyway.
Speaking of nothing remotely connected, I’m reading James Joyce (The Portrait…), and I’m finding myself extremely impressed with the writing and language. Well, and sad. I’m only in the middle of it, so I don’t know where things go from here, but it’s kind of miserable at the mome. The main character’s being tormented with guilt and consciousness of sin and religious despair and it’s SO SAD to me.
Better to have no Christianity at all than to have that kind of poisonous half-true perspective: only the God of judgment and wrath and cold perfection. No wonder people hate Christianity sometimes. I would too if that’s what it really was, but the problem is that’s not. I’m not denying the moral code, but the whole point of Christianity is that none of us can live up to perfection. It’s not about making God happy by being perfect. It’s about owning our sins and accepting forgiveness and getting past that kind of miserable score-keeping. It’s about new life. It’s about hope and being happy.
Better to have no God than a God without grace. That would be unendurable.
Anyway. It’s an interesting read. I’m hooked.
I’m also half way done with the second draft. Mostly refining the plot at this point. I’m planning to have a couple of readers look through it in a few weeks and tell me how the story seems before I start working too hard on language issues. I’m twitching to be done.
Which means I should probably be working instead of chatting.
