This is an excerpt from a little over halfway through my Nanowrimo novel. The novel is written in stream of consciousness, largely influenced by the overwhelming amounts of Virginia Woolf and James Joyce I have read in the past year. However, I have my own twist to the stream of consciousness narrative voices. I put it together like Woolf, going between the thoughts of many people, but their interactions with one another is what sparks a perspective shift. To the modern reader, I think this will be easier to read.
The story is about a soldier who remains nameless throughout the novel. It starts pre-Vietnam War and shows the soldier as his family and friends see him. In typical Woolfian fashion, we see little to nothing about the war itself, other than the faint echoes it has with the Mrs. Dalloway/Mrs. Ramsay character, Mrs. Thompson. She is the mother of the soldier and expects far too much from the man who comes back from the war. The novel continues with the way people see his inability to come back to normal life and his mother is the only one who takes him in despite his (obvious to the reader) mental incapabilities due to Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. When his mother dies of cancer, soldier has no choice but to find his existence on the street. The first time we hear anything from his point-of-view is in the following excerpt, near the end.
And for all you Virginia Woolf fans, yes, this soldier is based off of Septimus... I lovingly called him "Septimus Prime" in my working draft (this still is a working draft, I guess). And yes, he does have problems with communication. Afterall, this is the first time we hear from him.
Without any further ado, here is an excerpt from my yet-to-be-named nanowrimo piece.
“What a beautifully horrific sight. I have never seen anything like this place during my entire existence. My desire is to penetrate the curtain the fog creates, to plunge my hand, then my legs, and thrust my body into the unknown behind the white-reflecting particles. Yet I know that, when I do, I will find myself not found. I will see nothing, only the glow of more particles bouncing off the mysterious white light. Where does that light come from? From the glow of a creator? The earth radiates green, but the fog reflects white. Perhaps when I find myself in this mist, I will find myself in the presence of a creator.
My body trembles at the idea, at the mere thought. I should sit until I can collect myself, sit here on this bench where the curves of my legs find their home. Husband always scolds me so for leaving early in the morn, but I cannot help but find a thrill while filling my being with this place. It is my secret, the only thing that follows me here are my own footprints. A haven, yet a treasure cove.
The morning sun slowly burns away the mystique of this place. Every morning, I see a new image appear from the encircling fog. Yesterday I saw the birdhouse the grave keeper (although I hear he is just a groundskeeper, I like to think of him as keeping graves) created and erected. I hate the sight of the thing. The grounds are sacred, hallowed. Silence pervades the area until even a caterpillar can be heard in a nearby tree. It is part of the horrific beauty, part of the dead. The grave keeper himself must be in fear of losing his own life. Perhaps he already has, perhaps he is already dead and deceased, merely breathing. Oh grave keeper, keep your tired attempts at joy away from this mourning.
Alas, the first figure to grace my eyes is none other than a beautifully ornate statue, the first stop on my journey through the fading mist. I know I have seen this stone before, yet with the wind coming up to carry the fog away from it, it looks somehow different. The details are softened, the face of the man is attractive, entrancing. I cannot look away from his pupil-less eyes- he has the eyes of a warrior. A strong man, passionate, bewitching.”
“What the hell does that woman think she’s doing? This is my fracking bench, I lay here until the grave keeper calls me in every day. I don’t want to be disturbed, not even by the sight of a person. No shit the statue is crumbling, what did you expect? It’s old, years of service have made it into nothing but rock formed loosely together to create something that resembles a man.”
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Friday, November 20, 2009
My mind wanders and I wonder.
Tonight has been a hard night for me; today was a hard day. This week has been hard.
It was interesting to see who I reached out to. Of course I pulled out my Bible, read some Psalms, but I knew I had to talk to someone.
I had a few people text me back, but I knew that I couldn't really burden them with my heart. I told them a little, thanked them for being there for me, and just kept being upset.
Until I got a text back from one person in particular after asking him to tell me something happy. Here's his response: "I will call you in 30 min. Does that count as happy? :)" It was at this point that probably around five giant tears formed in my eyes. And I NEVER cry. When I say never, I mean never. The last time I remember crying was last February, and before that it was last October. About twice a year, and it's usually lasts only about three minutes tops and then I'm over and done with it.
Even though I had people text me back, he knew he had to call; he knew that's what I needed without even telling him.
Believe it or not, this guy was once my boyfriend. He was with me through all sorts of crazy stuff, and now that we're not together (and haven't been for over a year), he's been through even more with me. I don't know what I would do without him in my life- he honestly knows me better than almost everyone and still remains friends with me.
I guess what I'm trying to say through this post is that you should never ever lose a friendship with an ex-boyfriend/girlfriend because the relationship that comes out of it could be even more beautiful than it was while you were dating. Try and stay friends... you never know what could happen!! You may have a new best friend. :)
It was interesting to see who I reached out to. Of course I pulled out my Bible, read some Psalms, but I knew I had to talk to someone.
I had a few people text me back, but I knew that I couldn't really burden them with my heart. I told them a little, thanked them for being there for me, and just kept being upset.
Until I got a text back from one person in particular after asking him to tell me something happy. Here's his response: "I will call you in 30 min. Does that count as happy? :)" It was at this point that probably around five giant tears formed in my eyes. And I NEVER cry. When I say never, I mean never. The last time I remember crying was last February, and before that it was last October. About twice a year, and it's usually lasts only about three minutes tops and then I'm over and done with it.
Even though I had people text me back, he knew he had to call; he knew that's what I needed without even telling him.
Believe it or not, this guy was once my boyfriend. He was with me through all sorts of crazy stuff, and now that we're not together (and haven't been for over a year), he's been through even more with me. I don't know what I would do without him in my life- he honestly knows me better than almost everyone and still remains friends with me.
I guess what I'm trying to say through this post is that you should never ever lose a friendship with an ex-boyfriend/girlfriend because the relationship that comes out of it could be even more beautiful than it was while you were dating. Try and stay friends... you never know what could happen!! You may have a new best friend. :)
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
A problem, a relationship, and ultimately: love.
The first time I ever encountered homelessness, it was not even true homelessness even though I thought it was. I was a young girl, living in the far-reaching suburbs of Minneapolis. In our small town we had a streetwalker named Jimmy Hutmaker. He wore old, grubby clothes and did not always smell the best. He mumbled to himself constantly, yet people always were talking to Jimmy as he roamed the streets of Excelsior, Minnesota. No matter the weather, Jimmy was there day after day, talking to people, telling his stories, and being provided for by the local businesses. He did have a home however, with his brother Ralph. When Ralph died in 2004, everyone in the community cared for Jimmy until his death in 2007.
I remember very little from my childhood, but I do remember Jimmy. I remember seeing the way the community cared for him, I remember talking to him when my dad and I would be in downtown Excelsior. I remember seeing the way he knew everyone and their history, loved everyone, and sought nothing other than relationships with the people who would come to the city of Excelsior. And I remember wanting that lifestyle. I loved the thought of everyone taking care of me because they loved me and I loved them. I could offer them a relationship, someone to talk to, and they could offer me a meal. I wanted to bring people together the way he did.
And I still do.
As I remember the story of Jimmy I also remember the hundreds of other people I have met who are also streetwalkers, but not by choice. I see John, Casey, Diane, all people with extraordinary stories and beautiful hearts who spend their days searching for a community and people to love them back. I begin to wonder if they will ever find this community, if people will ever take the words of Christ seriously when He calls us to love our neighbor and give freely to all who have need.
In Hennepin County alone (the county that holds only Minneapolis, not St. Paul) at least 3,000 people are homeless on any given night. Out of that 3,000 people, a large majority of them are women and children. 25% of those people are veterans 9http://wwwa.co.hennepin.mn.us/portal/site/HCInternet/menuitem.3f94db53874f9b6f68ce1e10b1466498/?vgnextoid=ed9be74bbcbb3110VgnVCM1000000f094689RCRD&vgnextfmt=default).
I would be wiling to bet that at least 20,000 people who label themselves as Christians live in Hennepin County.
For some reason, I find this very wrong. Why are we not stepping up as the church and helping those in need? Why are we not clothing the naked, feeding the hungry, loving the broken? Why are we labeling them all as lazy and sinners when we are told not to judge? Why are we not opening our houses and seeking to supply a loving and encouraging environment for those people forced to go to war?
Proverbs 21:13 says, “If a man shuts his ears to the cry of the poor, he too will cry out and not be answered.”
Proverbs 31:6-9 says, “Give strong drink to the one who is perishing, and wine to those in bitter distress; let them drink and forget their poverty and remember their misery no more. Open your mouth for the mute, for the rights of all who are destitute. Open your mouth, judge righteously, defend the rights of the poor and needy.”
Time for a story. Even if you don’t adhere to the Christian belief, you will find this amusing (and I hope it touches you). Last summer, I was what I would consider homeless. I had all the things I needed in my car and slept at the houses/apartments of my friends and family. I was well cared for, well loved because I have a support system. Many of the people who live on the streets of Minneapolis do not have the support system that I do and thus have no home to go to.
One such man is John, perhaps one of my favorite Vietnam vets. He is homeless, living wherever he can find a place for the night (whether it be an overwhelmed shelter or one of his favorite “nooks”). Because of his mental instability, the few members of his family that still supported him when he came back from the war left him to take care of himself; yet with his undiagnosed but obvious mental issues, he cannot. I have known John for over a year and whenever I see him, he always brings up one subject: beer. For a long time, I was a firm believer that I should not give money to the homeless because they may use it to buy liquor and thus whenever John would tell me that he really wanted a beer, I would smile at him and tell him that it would not solve his problems. “I know,” he would answer, “But boy, would it taste good and make a man happy during a time like this.”
When I got back to Morris to start school, my roommate told me about the verses in Proverbs 31 (written above). I immediately thought about John. The next time I went home for the weekend, I grabbed a six-pack at the liquor store and told John at breakfast on Saturday morning that I would come visit him that night (we’re not supposed to have liquor on the premises of the soup kitchen I was at that morning). He lit up and asked the occasion to which I replied, “You’ll see.”
That night I showed up and found John with some friends. I pulled the beer out of my car and I have never seen John light up like I saw him that night. The smile on his face was priceless; I will never forget how he looked when he took the first swig. I gave a few of the other guys around us a beer too and the chorus of “Thanks” and “Thank you”s I heard from those six bottles of beer probably outdid the number I heard in the soup kitchen that morning. When John asked me why my opinion had changed and why I had brought beer, I was able to read the verse from Proverbs. He chuckled and we spent the next few hours talking about the Bible and God with his friends, sharing the gospel and telling them about Christ’s love for us.
Honestly, I have been hesitant about telling this story to anyone in the church because of the condemnation I know I will receive. But the fingers that will be pointed at me by sharing this story are not the fingers of the Christians living on the streets, rather, it will be the fingers of those who have not seen the streets and do not understand how hard it is to live there. Some people living homeless in Minneapolis do have drug and alcohol problems and will jump you if given the chance. But we as the church need to see all people through God’s eyes. Everyone is broken, everyone sins, yet all are washed freely of all sins through Him. Why do we need to single out the people on the streets, criminalize them because of the substances they turn to, and refuse to love them? The simple answer is, we don’t. In fact, we should do the opposite and love all people despite the choices they make.
Whether or not you are a Christian, know that you can help and that you should help. I have met people from all walks of faith (or lack thereof) who care for the broken and needy and let me tell you- it’s a beautiful thing. This article is more of a wake up call to the Church, the people who are called to do something about the needs of those around them. Yet I think we can all learn from Christ and make the world a better place by loving those who need our love. Don’t be afraid to create a relationship with people just because of their situations and circumstances. Don’t hesitate to give to your local food shelf. Do go and help at soup kitchens. Do go talk to people out on the streets and hear their stories. Do let your heart be changed by what you hear. No matter who you are and even if you do not want to admit it now, know that there is One greater than ourselves looking down from above and smiling, knowing that you are carrying out His commands.
I remember very little from my childhood, but I do remember Jimmy. I remember seeing the way the community cared for him, I remember talking to him when my dad and I would be in downtown Excelsior. I remember seeing the way he knew everyone and their history, loved everyone, and sought nothing other than relationships with the people who would come to the city of Excelsior. And I remember wanting that lifestyle. I loved the thought of everyone taking care of me because they loved me and I loved them. I could offer them a relationship, someone to talk to, and they could offer me a meal. I wanted to bring people together the way he did.
And I still do.
As I remember the story of Jimmy I also remember the hundreds of other people I have met who are also streetwalkers, but not by choice. I see John, Casey, Diane, all people with extraordinary stories and beautiful hearts who spend their days searching for a community and people to love them back. I begin to wonder if they will ever find this community, if people will ever take the words of Christ seriously when He calls us to love our neighbor and give freely to all who have need.
In Hennepin County alone (the county that holds only Minneapolis, not St. Paul) at least 3,000 people are homeless on any given night. Out of that 3,000 people, a large majority of them are women and children. 25% of those people are veterans 9http://wwwa.co.hennepin.mn.us/portal/site/HCInternet/menuitem.3f94db53874f9b6f68ce1e10b1466498/?vgnextoid=ed9be74bbcbb3110VgnVCM1000000f094689RCRD&vgnextfmt=default).
I would be wiling to bet that at least 20,000 people who label themselves as Christians live in Hennepin County.
For some reason, I find this very wrong. Why are we not stepping up as the church and helping those in need? Why are we not clothing the naked, feeding the hungry, loving the broken? Why are we labeling them all as lazy and sinners when we are told not to judge? Why are we not opening our houses and seeking to supply a loving and encouraging environment for those people forced to go to war?
Proverbs 21:13 says, “If a man shuts his ears to the cry of the poor, he too will cry out and not be answered.”
Proverbs 31:6-9 says, “Give strong drink to the one who is perishing, and wine to those in bitter distress; let them drink and forget their poverty and remember their misery no more. Open your mouth for the mute, for the rights of all who are destitute. Open your mouth, judge righteously, defend the rights of the poor and needy.”
Time for a story. Even if you don’t adhere to the Christian belief, you will find this amusing (and I hope it touches you). Last summer, I was what I would consider homeless. I had all the things I needed in my car and slept at the houses/apartments of my friends and family. I was well cared for, well loved because I have a support system. Many of the people who live on the streets of Minneapolis do not have the support system that I do and thus have no home to go to.
One such man is John, perhaps one of my favorite Vietnam vets. He is homeless, living wherever he can find a place for the night (whether it be an overwhelmed shelter or one of his favorite “nooks”). Because of his mental instability, the few members of his family that still supported him when he came back from the war left him to take care of himself; yet with his undiagnosed but obvious mental issues, he cannot. I have known John for over a year and whenever I see him, he always brings up one subject: beer. For a long time, I was a firm believer that I should not give money to the homeless because they may use it to buy liquor and thus whenever John would tell me that he really wanted a beer, I would smile at him and tell him that it would not solve his problems. “I know,” he would answer, “But boy, would it taste good and make a man happy during a time like this.”
When I got back to Morris to start school, my roommate told me about the verses in Proverbs 31 (written above). I immediately thought about John. The next time I went home for the weekend, I grabbed a six-pack at the liquor store and told John at breakfast on Saturday morning that I would come visit him that night (we’re not supposed to have liquor on the premises of the soup kitchen I was at that morning). He lit up and asked the occasion to which I replied, “You’ll see.”
That night I showed up and found John with some friends. I pulled the beer out of my car and I have never seen John light up like I saw him that night. The smile on his face was priceless; I will never forget how he looked when he took the first swig. I gave a few of the other guys around us a beer too and the chorus of “Thanks” and “Thank you”s I heard from those six bottles of beer probably outdid the number I heard in the soup kitchen that morning. When John asked me why my opinion had changed and why I had brought beer, I was able to read the verse from Proverbs. He chuckled and we spent the next few hours talking about the Bible and God with his friends, sharing the gospel and telling them about Christ’s love for us.
Honestly, I have been hesitant about telling this story to anyone in the church because of the condemnation I know I will receive. But the fingers that will be pointed at me by sharing this story are not the fingers of the Christians living on the streets, rather, it will be the fingers of those who have not seen the streets and do not understand how hard it is to live there. Some people living homeless in Minneapolis do have drug and alcohol problems and will jump you if given the chance. But we as the church need to see all people through God’s eyes. Everyone is broken, everyone sins, yet all are washed freely of all sins through Him. Why do we need to single out the people on the streets, criminalize them because of the substances they turn to, and refuse to love them? The simple answer is, we don’t. In fact, we should do the opposite and love all people despite the choices they make.
Whether or not you are a Christian, know that you can help and that you should help. I have met people from all walks of faith (or lack thereof) who care for the broken and needy and let me tell you- it’s a beautiful thing. This article is more of a wake up call to the Church, the people who are called to do something about the needs of those around them. Yet I think we can all learn from Christ and make the world a better place by loving those who need our love. Don’t be afraid to create a relationship with people just because of their situations and circumstances. Don’t hesitate to give to your local food shelf. Do go and help at soup kitchens. Do go talk to people out on the streets and hear their stories. Do let your heart be changed by what you hear. No matter who you are and even if you do not want to admit it now, know that there is One greater than ourselves looking down from above and smiling, knowing that you are carrying out His commands.
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