It all started back in the summer of 2011. Tom Rogers and I were trading pieces of writing back and forth via email. At one point I wrote: “Have you contemplated publication of a collection of your essays? It seems to me that there could be real value in that.” Little did I know…
Voting for the twelve finalist of the 2016 Mormon Lit Blitz is now open through this Saturday, June 11. The editors have made it super easy to vote this year. Just click on the link above, open up the links to each of the eligible works in a new tab, narrow your choice down to four, rank those four and then fill out the form on the original page.
Also: if you feel compelled to publicly comment on any or some or all of the entries, do leave a comment on the discussion post. We authors appreciate it when readers engage with what we wrote.
It’s a fascinating group of finalists this year — some names that are familiar from LitBlitzes of yore; some that are new. And quite the eclectic mix of poetry, personal essay and poetry. Kathy Cowley and James and Nicole Goldberg have done a wonderful job. So much so that I’m going to say something about each of the entries. You might want to wait to read the commentary below until you’ve read all of the entries. But I’m not kidding when I claim that you will be blessed if you do the reading required to vote for the finalists. I was:
“Foolish and Wise” by Lisa Barker: Lisa gets at something that I can really relate to — parables often present contrasts of two or three types of individuals. But most of us don’t fall cleanly into one of those types. We’re both or all.
“Fresh Courage Take” by Bradeigh Godfrey: when it comes to flash fiction the most difficult thing to do is fit a robust premise into 1,000 words. Bradeigh chooses the right situation for his story. We’re so familiar with the post-apocalyptic/trek back to Zion tropes that he doesn’t need to worldbuild those out. Instead he shows us the emotional impact and let’s us fill in the blanks to add even more weight to the story.
“Leaving Egypt” by Tyler Chadwick: When I taught the Old Testament, I was a bit harsh on the Children of Israel at points, but I also tried to show how they weren’t all that different from us and tried to provide context for their experience. Tyler captures in a few lines what weeks of clumsy lecturing on my part barely got across. That’s the power of poetry, folks.
“Ghost” by Merrijane Rice: I’m going to repeat a comment I left on the discussion post — If “Ghost” is about what I think it’s about, then Merrijane has given me quite the bittersweet view of the future (my daughter is currently 12). Actually: already starting to glimpse it. But then again: isn’t that exactly a type and shadow of our relationship to our Heavenly Parents? — and then add that this line continues to resonate with me: “let me haunt the corners of your mind”
“Requiem for Those People Who Lived Briefly in Your Ward” by Rose Green: Transient ward members are such a pain. The ones who live in a place too long to be visitors but not long enough to settle in. The ones who you have to reorganize home and visiting teaching around. Who you want to get to know, but not too well because, well, it’s painful when people you love leave. Read that third to last paragraph again. What a perfectly observed metaphor with a multitude of meanings.
“The Gift of Tongues“ by Annaliese Lemmon: I love, love, love that Annaliese takes this initial (very interesting and unique) conceit and then complicates it in a way that is so very Mormon.
“Branch 9 ¾” by Kaki Olsen: I have a thing about the personal essay form. I so often find it frustrating. Too crafted. Too earnest. Not fiction. But here Kaki takes one of the major themes that preoccupies me on an abstract level — that of the interaction between Mormonism and the broader culture — and presents us with something very real and meaningful.
“Golden Contact” by Lee Allred: Lee’s story is a joke. I mean that literally not as a commentary on the story. But I like that even in a story that is a joke Lee can include lines like “There’s sort of a unnatural sharkskin texture to them that almost glows.” He’s one of our best at expressing the uniqueness of Mormonism in a unique way.
“The Back Row” by Kelli Swofford Nielsen: Kelli’s essay does for me some of the same things that “Branch 9 3/4” and “Requiem for Those People Who Lived Briefly in Your Ward” did but with the added bonus that because I’m a back row sitter (who underwent a similar process to that described in the essay), I can very much identify with her observations.
“Rumors of Wars” by Zachary Lunn: An impactful poem because it connects the wars of today with the Church of today with the Church and wars of before and does so with some simple, powerful imagery.
“Last Tuesday” by William Morris: I hope other readers find that it balances the things I wanted to balance; otherwise, it’s kind of ridiculous. But what am I if not a leading Mormon purveyor of the ridiculous and the sublime?
“From the East” by Merrijane Rice: While up until this year Steve Peck might have some claim to the crown, I think it’s now obvious that Merrijane owns the Mormon Lit Blitz contest. This poem is another proof why. Pay especial attention to the rhythm of it and the use of alliteration which seems profligate in its abundance until you read it out loud and then it seems perfect.
INTRODUCTORY NOTE:Â This is the written version of a talk given by Sam Barrett in sacrament meeting February 2014 as part of the Berkeley Ward’s arts Sunday. The assigned topic was “What CREATINGÂ teaches me about the CREATOR.” Sam works in advertising and is also a composerÂ under the name Samson Y Hiss. His stuff is fun and creepy and weird—circus-hell music, you might say. (Worth mentioning: He agreed to let me post this here after seeing the word “grotesque” on the AMV about page.)
Samson Y Hiss is currently raising money on Indiegogo to record his music with real musicians on real instruments. I highly recommend checking the project out and supporting it. I have a cd of his work in the car and it certainly makes late-night drives more nightmarey. (The photos here are taken from the Indiegogo page.)
By means of introduction, if I remember correctly, the talk is structured around his day-to-day thinking about the topic as he prepared. You know. In case you find an all-caps MONDAY confusing.
In the mid 40â€™s at midnight in Manhattan, a young man named Thelonious Monk was working as a pianist at a nightclub. Much of his style was developed during thisÂ time as he participated in â€œcutting competitionsâ€ which featured many leading jazzÂ soloists. While engaged in one of these sessions he fell upon an old song heâ€™d writtenÂ years ago at the age of 19 back in North Carolina. Returning to the song nearly 13Â years later as a superior musician he embellished upon the tune greatly almost toÂ the point of rewriting it completely. This new tune would become known as RoundÂ Midnight. A song a number of jazz artists including Cootie Williams wouldÂ reinterpret for years to come. Round Midnight became the most recorded jazzÂ standard composed by a jazz musician. It appears in over 1000 albums.
He sold candy and newspapers on trains running from Port Huron to Detroit, andÂ sold vegetables to make money. He also studied qualitative analysis, and conductedÂ chemical experiments on the train until an accident prevented further work of thatÂ kind. Moving to Newark, New Jersey Thomas Edison began his career as an inventorÂ with the automatic repeater and other improved telegraphic devices, but theÂ invention that first gained him notice was the phonograph in 1877. TheÂ accomplishment was so unexpected by the public at large as to appear almostÂ magical. It recorded on tinfoil around a grooved cylinder. And despite its limitedÂ sound quality and that the recordings could be played only a few times, theÂ phonograph made Thomas Edison a celebrity. And he became known as â€œTheÂ Wizard of Menlo Parkâ€ New Jersey.
Creators come in many forms. They are musicians, painters, sculptors, inventors,Â scientists, philosophers. They are actors, writers, directors, designers, builders,Â preachers. They are moms, dads, grandpas, grandmas; even crazy uncles. As sonsÂ and daughters of God creativity is an all of us no matter our profession or position. Continue reading “Guest Post on Creation by Sam Barrett”
Emily Harris Adams is a Mormon poet and essayist. Her book For Those with Empty Arms: Â A Compassionate Voice For Those Experiencing Infertility was published earlier this year by Familius. In the book, Adams combines poetry and personal essay with Christian thought and a bit of self-help to tell her story in a candid, thoughtful way that those struggling with infertility (and their friends and family) will find relatable, touching and useful. Adams is also a perennial Mormon Lit Blitz finalist. HerÂ poem “Second Coming” took fifth place in the Mormon Lit Blitz in February 2012; in May 2013, she won first place in the Mormon Lit Blitz with her piece “Birthright”; and she’s also a finalist this year with her poem “Faded Garden“.
Could you tell us about the process you went through to decide to prepare what is very personal writing into the book that Familius published? Why do it and what decisions along the way were easy and what were hard?
I first decided to write about infertility after a disappointing trip to a local bookshop. It was early in my infertility journey and I was looking for a book to help me cope with the overwhelming disappointment I was facing. Instead of finding any books about infertility, I found an entire shelf of books on parenting and childbirth. When I saw that wall of books, I felt more isolated even than when the doctor had given us our diagnosis. I decided I didnâ€™t want anyone else to have that experience. So, as a writer, I felt my best option for preventing a similar experience was to write a book.
The hardest decisions to make were really just matters of transparency. Trent and I had to decide together how much we were willing to reveal about our diagnosis, treatment plans, and such. Personally, it was hard for me to reveal the times I didnâ€™t behave well. In particular, there is an essay called â€œEnvyâ€ where I talk about how I started to become bitter about my situation. I almost removed the essay from sheer embarrassment. In the end, I decided to leave it in because I realize that many suffering infertility do have feelings of envy. They need to know they arenâ€™t alone, and that they can overcome those feelings.Â Continue reading “Emily Harris Adams on her book For Those with Empty Arms”
Almost exactly two years ago I wrote this post for AMV. It is all about seeking permissionâ€” from the commenters, contributors, and readers of AMV, from God, and from myselfâ€”to start reclaiming things I had given up or lost. I framed it all in the context of writing and mother-guilt but, reading it now, I can see I wasnâ€™t actually asking for permission to write. I was asking for something much, much larger.
Two years ago, my life was a mess and I wasnâ€™t sure I was going to live much longer to fix it. My marriage was a destructive one and it was slowly killing me. I was having increasing amounts of suicidal ideations and my children were acting out in more and more ways. The things I was working so hard to fix (read: change, hide, or cover-up) werenâ€™t getting fixed and I was finding myself under more and more stress trying to compensate for all the things that happened behind closed doors.Â The gory details of my marriage donâ€™t belong on the Internetâ€”they are private experiences and I intend to keep them that wayâ€”but hereâ€™s what Iâ€™m willing to say about it: it wasnâ€™t tabloid-bad but it was bad.
Two years ago, I was waiting for someoneâ€”the commenters, contributors, and readers of AMV, God, or myselfâ€”to give me permission to stop living half a life, to be a full person, to get out of my marriage.
I was so scared when I wrote that post. Trying to keep myself and my kids afloat inside the context of my marriage was fairly all-consuming and confusing and, in June 2012, the parts of myself that I had given up listening to were telling me quite loudly that it was make-it-or-break-it time. These were the parts that urged me to write, the parts that urged me to keep praying and trusting God. They were also the same parts that told me my marriage was ruining my life. At thirty years oldÂ with four small children, so much of my life was a pile of things I didnâ€™t want and it was time to make it into something else or let it break me down, maybe permanently.
Over the course of my marriage I had found that the more time I spent writing the more cognitive dissonance increased. Flannery Oâ€™Connor said, â€œI write because I donâ€™t know what I think until I read what I say.â€ Joan Didion echoed that when she wrote, â€œI donâ€™t know what I think until I write it down.â€ Whenever I sat down to write the things that kept cropping up were loss and fear and darkness and surrender. The differences between what I presented, that far too common Sunday Face we all know so well, and my reality were strangulating.
Dropping into writing, committing to it, meant hearing all my parts and honoring the truth that was waiting for me there. There was so, so, so much pain and no matter how hard I worked and prayed and wished my marriage was still a mess and I was failing. Big time. Failing at being a present, engaged mother; at fulfilling the Mormon cultural ideals I held at my core; at being a writer; at being a whole human.Â There were so many things I had to keep hidden I couldnâ€™t engage in any form of honesty and, turns out, honesty is where a hell of a lot of success, both in writing and life, starts.
It took almost an entire year for the pieces to fall into place, but in May of 2013 God told me it was time to get out. In June of 2013 I moved my husband out of our family home and watched my childrenâ€™s hearts simultaneously break and start to beat easier. In July of 2013 I filed my divorce papers and finally took an honest look at the seven million broken pieces that were my heart and spirit. In August of 2013 I put my kids in daycare and went back to work. In October of 2013 the divorce was finalized. In March of 2014 our marital house sold and I moved to a new stake, where I could build a life for just my kids and I with a clean slate.
Itâ€™s been a year of horribly hard things.
But itâ€™s also been a year of honesty and a year of realizing that not all the failures are mine. My husband failed me. My marriage failed me.Â In fact, when it comes right down to it, looking back at all the things I failed at while I was trying to fix my marriage I donâ€™t see so much failure. I see someone doing the best she could in an impossible situation and maybe she wasnâ€™t perfect but maybe being perfect, keeping up with all the things she thought she was supposed to be, was never the point.
Jesus said, â€œAnd you shall know the truth and the truth shall set you free.â€Â Like pretty much every person ever, failure, my own and those of the people around me, were (are!) a massive part of my truth. I had (have!) to accept them in order to be set free.
Freedom, it turns out, is trickier than I thought it was going to be.
When I imagined being out of my marriage. . .well, actually, I never could fill that in. It was a giant blank space. It felt exactly the same as sitting down in front of a blank sheet of paper. Throat tightening. Heart pounding. Expectations rising.Â Mind racing. No clue what on earth was supposed to go there.
So Iâ€™m doing with my life what I do with blank pages: Iâ€™m folding it in half and then in half again because filling small bits of blankness is less overwhelming.
Just like novels get written one word at a time, new lives get written one day at a time. The key is the doing of it.
I get up every morning and I donâ€™t think about the vast expanse known as The Rest of My Life That Isnâ€™t What I Thought it Would Be. Yes, I still say things to myself like, â€œThis is not what I signed up for.â€ Being a single mom to four kids isnâ€™t easy. Trying to figure out how to make enough money to provide for four kids when my heart is yearning to just get an MFA and dream up novels and poems and teach for the rest of my life isnâ€™t easy. Dealing with being young and divorced in a family-oriented Church isnâ€™t easy. Waiting on God to reveal promised blessings and relying on the strength of my covenants isnâ€™t easy.
But I can rewrite my thinking now. My life might not be what I expected but it is something that, with Godâ€™s help and guidance, I can shape. Filling it in, shaping it, writing my own life might not be easy but itâ€™s something I can do. One word, one day, one draft at a time.
My days are now shaped by work and filling in the gaps with things I love: gardening, playing with my kids, exercise, reading, and writing. I still donâ€™t have a novel to hold up as validation or proof of success. Kinda like I donâ€™t have a marriage to hold up as validation for my life choices or as proof of success both as a functional adult and a Mormon. (And believe me, I want that validation so deeply!) But every day I put words on the page and while thousands and thousands of them get edited out and the ones that stay might not ever add up to any great work they fill the empty space, both on the page and in my life. And, sometimes, I even enter that charmed space of inspiration and unexpected moments of musicality and profundity and discovery occur.
It is incredibly satisfying.
Word by word, day by day, the pieces of my broken heart and spirit are being forged into something new, something bigger with nooks and crannies that are healing and filling out. There really is an art to being a whole human and itâ€™s one that I figure, like writing, Iâ€™ll spend the rest of my life practicing.
The best part, though? Iâ€™m no longer asking for permission because, it turns out, I never actually needed permission. I only needed to write enough to be able to hear myself think.
During February, Wilderness Interface Zone is launching its traditional month-long celebration of love and the natural world, Love of Nature Nature of Love Month.
To that end, weâ€™re issuing an open call for nature-themed, love-laced writing and visual arts: original poetry, essays, blocks of fiction, art, music (mp3s), videos or other media that address the subject of love while referencing nature, even if lightly. By the same token, weâ€™re interested in nature writing raveled up with themes of love.
If youâ€™ve written artsy Valentine wishes to someone belovedâ€”or perhaps created a video Valentine or made a live reading of a sonnet or lyric poem thatâ€™s original to youâ€”or if youâ€™ve written a short essay avowing your love for people, critters, or spaces that make you feel alive, please consider sending it to WIZ. Click here for submissions guidelines.
We hope youâ€™ll join our month-long celebration combining two of the most potent natural forces on the face of the planet: love and language.
I approached this review with a lot of trepidation. I am not a schooled poet. I took exactly three writing classes in college, and I havenâ€™t read nearly the amount of poetry that someone who professes to be a poet ought to have. I have written many poems, but I didnâ€™t really figure out what a poem was supposed to be, for me, until I took that one poetry class (Jimmy Barnes, BYU, â€œwriting poetryâ€) about ten years ago. So beware and bear with me. Iâ€™m coming at this from a very unschooled angle.
Field Notes on Language and Kinship is, essentially (I think) an observation on poetry and the way it fits into LDS culture in particular. Chadwick explores, in turn, how to read poetry (donâ€™t force interpretation, instead give way to the language), why to write poetry (poetry can â€œgive shape to ideasâ€¦ that might otherwise be too diffuse”), why to read poetry (poetry is often intended to be mediationâ€”an act of â€œmovingâ€ and â€œsofteningâ€ for a reader and for the poet, and thus might draw them closer to God, the gospel, or other redeeming forces/ideals.)
The first story Chadwick relates in the book is about his grandmother who loved to hike, and went on many difficult excursions during her life. At each hikeâ€™s summit, or endpoint, she would collect a rock and label it. She collected these rocks in a jar. And Chadwick inherited this jarâ€”chose it from his grandmotherâ€™s possessions after she died. As a boy, it intrigued himâ€”rocks from all of these high points of his grandmotherâ€™s experience.
I believe this book is a similar rock-collection for Chadwick, only instead of pieces of granite, he has assembled poems to mark high points, important conflicts, switch-points and turns in his development as a human being and as a reader and writer of poetry.Â Each of the sections focuses on a different aspect of his own relationship to language and how it developed and was influenced by life events, whether that be his mission, his mentors in college, his explorations of Sonosophy, his wifeâ€™s first pregnancy, the birth of a child, a sister struggling with infertility, and of course the time and attention he spent putting together Fire in the Pasture. Continue reading “Review of Field Notes on Language and Kinship, by Tyler Chadwick.”
Note: My talented wife, Anne Marie Ogden Stewart, previously wrote an insightful reviewÂ about The Book of Mormon Girl. This piece is meant to be a companion piece to that one, so I recommend you read Anne’s post as well.
Whether it was the “Pantspocalypse,” the bloggers at Feminist Mormon Housewives/ Exponent ,or faithful Mormon feminist Judy Dushku’s pointed critique of Mitt Romney, Mormon Feminists have been very prominent as of late. Call it a revival, call it a resurgence, call it what you will, but the advent of the internet and the increasing dialogue about the roles of women in American and world society has brought Mormon feminists out of their hiding places and rhetorical bomb shelters. Mormon Feminists have searched for each other and banded together. They have clamored for an equal voice in a society that has often tried to silence them and they have implored to their fellow Latter-day Saints to see them as fellow-pilgrims and not as antagonists of the faith. At the forefront of this effort has been the courageous Joanna Brooks,Â a professor of Comparative Literature at San Diego State University; a prominent blogger at Ask Mormon Girl and Religion Dispatches; a high profile resource about Mormonism for CNN, Jon Stewart’s Daily Show, and NBC Rock Center; as well as the author of The Book of Mormon Girl: A Memoir of American Faith.
Â Having loved Brooksâ€™ blog posts, watched/read many of the interviews she was involved in, and learned to appreciate her compassionate and thoughtful approach to Mormonism, I bought a copy of The Book of Mormon Girl for my wife Anne for Christmas. Anne and I consider ourselves devout Mormons. We connect deeply with and believe in Mormon scripture and theology; we love the heritage of having Mormon pioneer ancestors; I love to study the intimate details of Mormon history (which I often write plays and screenplays about), while Anne has a deep passion for Old Testament studies; as lovers of the New Testament, especially the Gospels, weâ€™re passionate believers in Jesus Christ, and gratefully claim him as our Redeemer and Savior; we believe in the core tenets of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and strive to find a place in our faith community. Despite that heartfelt and abiding faith, however, there have been times when we have felt like we were foreigners in our own religion.
This occasional alienation we have felt may have been a cultural quality that we thought had been overemphasized, a Pharisee-like pattern we find in certain elements and sub-groups of the membership, or a coldness we have received (or we have seen others receive) because of this or that circumstance. These, of course, are exceptions rather than the rule. I personally have found that Mormonism makes people better, if it is lived in the way it has been outlined by the scriptures and the tenets of the faith. And, of course, it is so much better to concern oneself with the beam in oneâ€™s own eye, than the mote that is in our neighborâ€™s eye.
Yet there are still those moments of alienation, of loneliness, of feeling like we donâ€™t quite fit in, despite our best efforts (which are often still insufficient) to keep peace and show love. Discipleship will always have its strains, and standing up for what you believe in, whether it is to the secular world, or even to those who share many points of common faith, is designed to be a lonesome ordeal. If there is a â€œmoldâ€ for the â€œtypicalâ€ Mormons, there have been times where we felt like we didnâ€™t fit it. Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â
It is here that works like Joanna Brooksâ€™ The Book of Mormon Girl have given me and my wife hope. Continue reading “Big Table Mormonism: A Response to Joanna Brooks’ _The Book of Mormon Girl_”