What to Do When You Have COVID

1. Read Widely; Read a Lot

I’m back after a rather unpleasant dance with the devil—COVID. “It’s not if you’ll get COVID but when,” the experts say, and evidently, I had a date with the disease, which was a rather mild date as it turns out and one I’d rather not endure again.

During my time in quarantine, I took the advice of Dr. Ruth J. Simmons to heart: “I’m much less convinced than many others that there is a prescriptive list of books that you must read. I’m more convinced that it is the reading widely that matters more than anything else.” So, I holed up with three books (2 non-fiction, 1 fiction) and read. And read. And read. I finished two of those books, and I should finish the third—100 Years of Solitude—this week.

Each of the books spoke something different to me, helped me refine some thoughts. For instance, The Gospel in Gerard Manley Hopkins (Ellsberg) reminded me that the writing life is often solitary and without much payoff, but the work is reward enough. On Living Well (Peterson) showed me that great writing can be simple. 100 Years of Solitude (Marquez) served as a reminder that wisdom comes by solitude and solitude comes by age and age comes for all of us.

Are you reading widely? If you aren’t, consider a few of my January selections.

(All links are affiliate links, meaning a portion of any book you purchase will help fuel my reading habit.)

2. The Most Amazing Video for Book Lovers

This might be my favorite mini-documentary on YouTube, and it’s the video containing the above quote by Simmons. Enjoy.

The Remedy for Chaos (Observation of the Week)

1. Another Christmas; Another Night of Hope

“For a child is born to us, a son is given to us;
upon his shoulder dominion rests.
They name him Wonder-Counselor, God-Hero,
Father-Forever, Prince of Peace.”

I heard these words again at another Midnight Mass, another midnight marking the beginning of another church year (or the end of another secular year, whichever you celebrate.) This year, these words vibrated in my bones, nearly shook the earth under me. I wanted those vowels and consonants to manifest, to take on flesh and bone, to come riding into the church building on a white horse and take his place in front of the altar. I imagined the words in all their glory, radiating shards of light through the tiny clouds of incense.

The older I grow, the more I realize just how unrelenting the chaos of the world is, how it begs for an incarnate Wonder-Counselor, God-Hero, Father-Forever, Prince of Peace to put it out of its misery. This is a grief observed, but grief observed lays the foundation for hope. Whether you’re a person of faith or not, this is an unassailable truth.

2. A Short Story

Sometimes, the best short stories don’t have many words.

Stealing Your Eyeballs? (Observations of the Week)

1. They’re Coming For Your Eyes!

THE QUESTION: What is the internet?

The Answer: Oh boy…

It is the place we go for the latest news, which is mostly terrifying, disheartening, or in the very best cases, vitriolic. In the last week alone, I’ve been: (1) swept into the Omicron craze (Omicron, my conspiracy-theorist social-media buddies have claimed, translates to the “end of time” virus); (2) informed of abuse allegations in an international non-profit I’ve supported in years past; (3) told that Pope Francis is somehow ruining the Catholic Church again (everyone is always ruining something); (4) put on notice that inflation, which was once called transitory (meaning “temporary”), might not be transitory at all.

Cheers to you, Internet, says I, raising my $25.00 bottle of acid-rain polluted tap water.

We live in the Age of the Eyeball. News organizations, social media influencers, and political parties do their best to buy our eyes, to attract our attention, and what better way to do this than by the constant churn of negativity? According to a 2019 article in the L.A. Times,

A new study involving more than 1,000 people across 17 countries spanning every continent but Antarctica concludes that, on average, people pay more attention to negative news than to positive news.

The takeaway? People in Antarctica are extremely positive folks.

The Observation: A local request.

Pause and consider this: How much of the fear mongering and outrage stoking is nothing more than hook and line? How much of it is designed to lure you in, to direct your attention, to pull you in a direction that benefits another? And how much of it distracts you from the needs in your very local life?

2. Monday Photography

Some things are still sacred.

3. A Drink With a Friend: Year-End Reflection

On Conspiracy Theories, Confusing Data, and Denialism (Observations of the Week)

1. An Observation on Denialism

There was a moment in history when the world’s brightest minds were subject to persecution for believing the earth orbited the sun, which was contrary to the popular belief that we were the center of the universe and that the sun orbited us. There was likewise an era when those who believed the world was round were subject to the inquisition. In each instance, there were deniers—Orbital Deniers and Global Deniers—and their denial was bolstered by the kings, the church, and the power of mass delusion.

In the same way, there are many deniers of [insert the many deniable things}. They use confusing data, conspiracy theories, or brute-force head-in-the-sandism to support long-held beliefs. Their dogmas are fixed and they dismiss any contradicting data. They believe whatever truth fits the truth-shaped hole in their own noggins.

This is human nature, and we’re all subject to our own pet denialisms. So, when the Santa Deniers come out in full force this year—whether on Twitter, Facebook, or the office Christmas Party—don’t engage their petty arguments. Don’t give in to their cynicism, either. Simply smile, wish them a merry Christmas, and go on your way in the knowledge that someone will not be getting a lump of coal in their stocking this year.

2. A Little Photography For Your Monday

On Endings (Observations of the Week)

1. A Bit of Hard-Earned Writing Advice

I am a writer, and not just of books with my name on the cover. I’m a co-writer and editor, the kind of pen-wielder who helps authors and publishers breathe life into their books.

Several years ago, I labored on a handful of books, each which had a clear beginning (with rising tension), a clear middle (with harrowing climax), but no clear ending. And so, in each instance, we created aspirational endings, endings which attempted to project some future resolution (some future business, some future geographic relocation, some future non-profit, whatever). These books left me unsatisfied, and it’s only now that I see why: Literature, like life, demands resolution, a satisfactory conclusion marked with a final period and followed by plenty of white space. So, if you’re a writer, hold off on publishing stories until you’re satisfied with the white space following The End.

2. Marcus Aurelius and the Power of Examination

This weekend, I read portions of Marcus Aurelius Meditations. There, I stumbled across this passage: “Nothing is so conducive to greatness of mind as the ability to subject each element of our experience in life to methodical and truthful examination…”

Examining my writing experiences truthfully led me to examine my dissatisfaction with the books mentioned above. Those stories ended in limbo or, in a very Catholic sense, purgatory. As emotional creatures, creatures who need our villains punished (often to death) and our heroes rewarded (or occasionally tortured), we want stories ending in heaven (comedy) or hell (tragedy). Anything less is lukewarm at best, and we all know what the holy books say about lukewarm endings.

3. True Masters Understand the Need for Closure

There are exceptions to every universal rule, even writing rules. But the grand masters of both literature and life write toward clear resolution. (Even Marcus Aurelius.) Why? Because writers, as observers of humanity, understand the universal human need for closure. Completion. The end of all things.

The end.

Advent, CoVID Variants, and the Dawn of Meta (This Week's Observations)

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Writers are, if nothing else, observers. It’s been some time since I’ve written on this blog, but I’ve decided to engage in a bit of a reboot. For the next few weeks, I’ll share a few short observations, things that caught my attention during the week (whether in writing, spirituality, business, art, or current affairs). If you enjoy this short series, perhaps I’ll keep it up through the new year. Feel free to drop me an e-mail to let me know your thoughts.

1. New beginnings

Monday, November 29. It’s the first day of the first week of Advent, which is to say the first week of good intentions. This Monday is much like every other Monday, except somehow more hopeful. Do you feel it?  

2. Meta, eh?

This weekend, I opened Instagram and noticed where it once said “From Facebook,” it now says “From Meta.” Meta—as in the The Platform Formerly Known as Facebook. Meta—as in short for the Metaverse, which is best optimized with Meta’s Occulus Virtual Reality equipment (coming soon to a home near you). It’s only a matter of time before we’re creating realtime 3D captures of our ordinary moments and allowing followers to virtually embody those moments. But in creating artificial connectivity to repayable, archived moments, are we eroding actual human connection in the real world in realtime? Trading connection for connectivity—now that’s meta.

3. Overthrowing Paternalism

We are on the verge of another CoVID variant. This weekend, I watched an interview with the New York Times columnist David Brooks, in which Brooks intimated that if the government locked down schools, he expected “violence in the streets.” Brooks was not speaking hyperbolically. Paternalism has always been met with resistance, whether from governmental authorities, our very real fathers, or the Supreme Father who rules over all and is in all. In the words of Kurt Vonnegut, “And so it goes.”


The Best Laid Plans COVID (And the Books I've Found Time to Read)

The best laid plans of mice and men, they say, are wrecked by COVID. This is not really what they say of course, but times being what they are, a little modification is in order.

I’d planned to drop another weekly update here on Monday, but Amber came down with that wicked virus. She immediately quarantined, holed up in our bedroom where she’s been left in relative peace (if anything about COVID can be peaceful). This has left me with a bit fuller plate than normal—boys and business and school and dinner and all the rest—which accounts for the delay.

Even in the pandemic pandelerium, there’s been a fair amount of beauty, though. Friends have shared flowers and food. I’ve carved out a little extra time to make the final edits to a novel I’ve been writing for over 8 years (you can read it in serial fashion by signing up here). And I’ve caught up on some nightly reading, particularly two books which I’d like to recommend.

Book the First: Shirt of Flame

Heather King is the kind of writer I’d like to be when I grow up. She’s a lawyer, a recovered alcoholic, a Catholic with a penchant for a fine twist of phrase. We have a good bit in common. For Lent, I began her book Shirt of Flame: A Year with Saint Therese of Lisieux. In it, she draws parallels between her life and the life of a cloistered nun from 19th century France. But like all great writers, King’s writing is not so myopic as to represent a conflation of her life and St. Therese’s. It’s far more universal than that. This is a book that allows you to find yourself in the pages. Over and over. And to make it all the more savory, she drops dimes like this:

“Love is the wild card that gives us the incandescent drive to subvert all power systems. Desire is the unpredictable x that throws off all bets.”

Book the Second: Learning to Pray

I also picked up a copy of Fr. James Martin, SJ’s new book, Learning to Pray: A Guide for Everyone. The title is self-explanatory. The reason I picked it might not be.

I’ve been asked lately about prayer and God and faith by those who don’t believe or can’t believe or choose not to believe for whatever reason (some of them very profound). In fact, one asked me whether there were good “beginner books” on things of faith, and when the algorithms on Amazon recommended Learning to Pray a few days later, I took it as a sign. I’ve only made my way through the first few chapters, but I can confirm: If you’re a beginner (or novice or expert) in the art of prayer, you’ll find something in these pages. It’d be a great book to round out your Lenten season (or simply your March).

I hope you’ll grab a copy of these books. And while we’re on the topic of books, shoot me an email and tell me: What are you reading?

A COVID Memorial

A year ago this month, the COVID lockdowns set in across America. In those 365ish days, we’ve all felt the effects—physical, mental, financial. And in this second Lent of the pandemic, the days in which a vaccine brings some shad of hope, the coronavirus from Hell continues to work us over.

John Blase, a friend and fellow writer, felt the effects of COVID last week.,He shared the news on Twitter.

Today, John wrote a poem about his father, who was a preacher by trade. By John’s account, his dad was one of the good ones. John is not the sort to gush on about preachers, so his words are more than poignant. They are a true memorial. I hope you’ll read them.

We’re still in the woods, and stories like this one remind us. As you go about your day today, remember the many like John who’ve felt the sting of this damnable disease. And go easy.

Creating Lent (What is the Work of Your Hands?)

Lent: The penitential season where we move (with great intention) from our gorged, swollen, addicted state to something more Divine. At least, that’s the hope. But is Lent all about fasting and prayers and saying holy things on the internet to garner attention?

Dear God, I hope not.

We are created in the image of a Creator, at least the ancient books says so. If this is true, and if Lent is a journey to connecting with the grace of our originally created state, shouldn’t Lent include some act of creation? Yes, I say.

Years ago, I wrote a novel. It was a beast of a thing (quite literally), entitled Bears in the Yard (you can read it in serial installments by joining here). It’s the story of a man who is making his pilgrimage to end, the great beyond, the far shore, whatever. It’s a recasting of his life—the joyful, the regrettable, the sexual, the sensual, the mournful. When I finished that novel, I let it sit. And sit. And sit. It sat while the earth made eight cycles around the sun, and this Lent, I’ve dusted it off. My goal? To complete the editorial process and get it to a literary agent by Easter. 

40 days to polish a novel. Let’s go.

 I create because I was made to create. So were you. Your mode of creation is different than mine, of course. You work wood, tie flies, knit stocking caps. You paint, sketch, stitch together haiku. Maybe you make those country checkerboards with roosters painted on the edges. Whatever your chosen mode, that act of creation is an act of becoming more Divine. It is a sort of liturgy, an act of prayer. 

Today, set a creation goal as a Lenten practice. You have 40 days to make something new, something unique to you. What will it be? If you’re so inclined, let me know by shooting me an email.

Why Am I Distracted in Prayer? (A Lenten Question)

Ash Wednesday is here, and so, I began the discipline of learning to pray the Morning Prayers of the Divine Office. For the unacquainted, the Daily Office is a way of praying through the Psalms (and selected scriptures) at certain hours of the day, which is why it is sometimes called “The Liturgy of the Hours.”

As I worked my way through the Psalms, my mind wandered, fickle as it is. Some small phrase reminded me of Eliot’s poem “Ash Wednesday,” which of course reminded me of the references to Dante’s “Divine Comedy,” which of course led me to thinking about a conversation Shawn Smucker and I had about writing a serial novel in which a middle-manager from middle America realizes that he is the Antichrist. This was no less than a five-minute diversion.

This is how the mind wanders in prayer.

Prayer, meditation, contemplation—why are we so distractible in it? When communicating with the Divine Love, shouldn’t we be more attuned?

Last night, I read Amber’s latest newsletter, “A Witness, a Work, and a Word: For When You Might Not Feel It.” (This is a subscriber’s only newsletter, but I promise it’s worth your time and a few bucks.) In it, she shared of Jacques Fesch, a twentieth century French murderer:

“Yesterday morning I read an excerpt from one the Prison Letters of “Servant of God” Jacques Fesch, who was a thief and a murderer in the 1950s. It was in prison that he came to believe and understand how very loved he was by God, and as he awaited his death sentence, he spent his meantime writing letters, testifying to that love in such a profound and real way that the church in France seeks his beatification. Again, I am a sucker for the saints, particularly the ones who know good and well how easy it is to pull a gun on a man. 

In the excerpt, Fesch discusses his current season, how hard it is to pray, his mind wandering, a lack of concentration, a stagnation, and what feels like spiritual paralysis. Oh, Brother Fesch, I feel you. He says he had experienced such lack of clarity and emotion before and knew that the recovery on the other side of it brought him to a state much greater than the one he was in before he’d fallen so low. The healing he needed to receive required the obstacles he was enduring. It’s faith that can say a thing like that in the midst of such loss and such expectation for further loss. He knew he’d be walking to a guillotine one day.”

To be human is to be distracted in prayer, whether we’d like to admit it or not. To be human, though, is also to keep pursuing the practice of prayer, even if our lot is the guillotine.