phywriter.com|Prone to occasional grandiloquence

There’s no polite way to put this – Alice Cooper is a maverick Christian.

He was the original shock-rocker but found Jesus along the way.  Read the lyrics to his album “Brutal Planet” and you’ll get an idea where he’s coming from.  Alice seems to be the poster-boy for “I became all things to all people so that I, by all means, could save some” if there ever was one.

Alice has a new release out called “Dirty Diamonds”.  In there, he writes a song that seems to address the very issues that we’ve been discussing in another thread.

“The Saga Of Jesse Jane”
by Alice Cooper

I’m in jail in a Texas town
In my sister’s wedding gown
I drive a truck all night long
Listening to Judy Garland songs

Now I’m locked behind bars of steel
I was just looking for a happy meal
I park my rig and I went inside
They’ve never seen such a pretty bride

Jesse Jane, are you insane?
Or are you just a normal guy
Who dresses like a butterfly
Jesse Jane

I paid my bill and I turned around
Facing every red neck in that one horse town
His face was red. His fist was clenched
He threw his coke and he got me drenched

Jesse Jane, are you insane?
Or are you just an average Joe
Looking for a fashion show
Jesse Jane

Well, I guess that was the final straw
I pulled a pistol from my Wonderbra
I killed him dead. I killed ‘em all
And they finally caught me in the bathroom stall

And now I’m doing ten to life
But I’ll tell you one thing, Bubba
Someday I’m gonna make someone in here
A h*ll of a wife

Jesse Jane, are you insane?
Or are you just a average guy
Who dresses like a butterfly
Jesse Jane

Jesse Jane, are you insane?
Or are you just a Peter Pan
Looking for his Neverland
Jesse Jane

This is the story of one mixed-up guy.  I mean, /really/ mixed up.  There’s so much there that rings alarm bells, that provokes a reaction.

And yet I wonder what Jesus would do.

So I’m thinking about this lyric in light of the recent thread (which shall not be named, heh), and I’m thinking about how we might react to this lost soul, and what might have happened, what maybe should happen.

I can understand the concern and the alarm on seeing this character.  I can understand drawing a pretty accurate impression of this twisted soul.  I can see those red-faced ones with the clenched fists.  I can even understand the motives, maybe righteous indignation, maybe something else.

Throwing the coke was over the line, no doubt.  It was the first strike, but not the first violence.  That happened in someone’s mind the moment this sad case walked through the door dressed in a battered baseball hat and a gown.

Here’s the thing.  When we harbor an “us vs. them” attitude, it’s not hard to see this playing out just as it does in the song.  Heck, it might even be me.  I hope not.

But there is another way this story could have turned out, and that’s what has kept me up to this unreasonable hour:

Despite the strange looks, one weathered soul walks up to the counter and orders another Happy Meal.  “One for the road,” he says.  Then he starts up a conversation with Jesse and they talk.

It comes out that Jesse is very confused.  He doesn’t know what he doesn’t know, if you know what I mean.  One thing’s for sure – this old guy sees something in him that the others, well, don’t, and if he doesn’t, he’s at least trying to understand Jesse, and maybe that makes all the difference.

All Jesse does know is that he somehow feels safe in that dress, and maybe a little pretty.  All he does know is that there are perhaps well-meaning folk out there with angry faces and clenched fists, and a guy has to protect himself from hate, right?  And he knows that there is the one feller that bought him lunch, and got to know him, and started to tell him a story about another outsider, one who also provoked red faces and clenched fists.

They killed that one.

Jesse knows the feeling.

That one was Jesus.

Maybe Jesse comes to know the Lord, and maybe he thanks his new friend and leaves, dress and all, but two things are for sure:

1) Jesse will have a lot to think about as he drives down the road (and if that isn’t a window of opportunity for the Holy Spirit, I don’t know what is).

2) There will be a number of Texas rednecks still alive thanks to one old guy who walked up with a couple of bucks and a few minutes instead of a red face and a clenched fist.

I have to think that Jesus would be proud of that old coot, and would hope that we would all learn something from that generous soul.

Could I be that soul?  Could you?  I don’t know.  But I believe we all might be, Lord-willing, and that’s I was really trying to say.

Peace.

First, you probably won’t notice a difference but I certainly do; I have, today, updated the blog to use the latest WordPress 2.0 upgrade.  That mostly means that the back-end where I post stuff is neater, clearer, and has much more power than the 1.52 version I was running before.

Also, I’ve upgrade the header banner image to use something from Ryan Bliss of Digital Blasphemy.  His site is amazing and his work is cutting edge.  Check him out if you get a chance.

The object was to surprise her, give her something that she would appreciate, to create a memory.

We made a very nice memory together. Or two. ; )

I walked into the house and produced a single rose from behind my back. She said “Oh, honey, how thoughtful.” She was following The Script.

I told you she was a casual gal. We went to the Mexican restaurant, she in sweatpants and a nice sweatshirt. She was telling me she was comfortable with me and comfortable in her own skin. They had a roaming mariachi in there, without the traditional garb, but he was nothing less than a hispanic balladeer. He was awesome. He played some children’s song (complete with quacks) for the table across the way, and then came over and engaged us in conversation. I told him how nice his music was, and then he played something “a little different”. It has some minor chords and some impressive fretwork and a haunting, lilting theme. I caught “musica”, “amour”, “carazon”; music, love, heart. It just goes to show that even though it was in Spanish, music really /is/ a universal language.

During dinner, Linda mentioned going to the local Verlo mattress store to check their specials. I knew that the store was closed, but it fit neatly in with my plans, so I went along with it. Since we were heading west, we took the next right, one of the many country roads that link up the city where we had dinner and our little town where we live. We wound our way around peaceful country roads and ended up by the river. We drove across the bridge “to look at the cheese hut at the top of the hill”, but they’d closed at 7. We turned around but instead of taking the highway home, I pulled into the parking lot for the Comfort Inn at the top of the hill overlooking the river.

Linda said “what is this?”

“Honey, I know that you’re not really into jewelry and making a big deal out of things, so I thought I’d give you something else for our 20th anniversary – a memory.”

I pulled a large bag from behind my seat and presented it to her; two new terry bathrobes and other sundries.

She wasn’t sure what to make of all that but she followed me into the hotel and up to the second floor. Our door was the first on right on the far north side of the building, very quiet, very private.

I keyed the door open and stepped out of the way. The door swung open revealing a large vase with the rest of the rose, babie’s breath, and other ferny pretty greenery. The look on her face reassured me that this was a good idea after all, and that was actually going to work.

She stepped into the room and saw a sixpack of the mini Dr. Pepper cans there on the counter, her favorite drink of choice. She turned and smiled at me.

Then she stepped further into the room and noticed the King-size bed and she blushed prettily. Then she turned and noted the hot tub and…

Well, let’s just say she thanked me profusely.

There was massage oil and bath salts and what-not, and then, some hours later, I revealed the final piece de resistance when I pulled out the chick flicks.

One might think that two consenting adults might have something saucier, but I know what my gal likes, and frankly, it all had the same effect anyway. The films I’d snagged from Wal-Mart on VHS earlier in the day were 13 going on 30 (Jennifer Garner and Mark Ruffalo) and Wimbledon (Paul Bettany and Kirstin Dunst). We ended up settling on the latter, and it was just right.

She really relaxed as the evening went along, and that really helped. We lounged in bed in our terry robes, and then in nothing at all, and it was all good, very good. We finally nodded off well after midnight and when we awoke, the good vibes from the prior night carried through into the morning. We finally arose, showered, and checked out. I took her out to breakfast, and then finally took her home. The puppies were as glad to see us as we were, them. My son was asleep on the couch, and they were keeping him warm.

I can’t tell you how many times she’s thanked me for this night out, and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your collective well-wishes and prayers. As a final coda, I happened to see her at Wal-Mart today at mid-day (I was there with Ashlei to finish off Christmas shopping) and despite having a short night of sleep in a strange bed without the puppies, and despite all the crazy shoppers and the lines of people and the short fuses, she was shining, glowing like Rudulph’s famous nose. She walked up to me and gave me a passionate kiss right there in the story in front of everybody, and I must say that didn’t bother me one bit. ; )

Bottom line, we made our memor(ies), and it was very good.

Tomorrow is 12/22/2005, and my 20th wedding anniversary with Linda.

She’s a simple gal, with simple tastes, so we’re going to eat at a new Mexican restaurant in town where the Chi-Chi’s used to be. (It’s far better food – they make their own guacamole.)

What she doesn’t know is that I’m going to hit there before I go home and leave some flowers. Then I’ll go home and pick up Linda and return. I’ll have the flowers brought out with our dessert. That’s all she had planned, and I won’t disabuse her of that notion.

Until we’re on our way “home”, when I’ll present her with a gift bag containing two nice terry bathrobes, his and hers, in the car. I’ll pass our house and take her to a nice Comfort Inn out in the country six miles from us. It’s out in the country by the river and they have some rooms with hot tubs.

My thought is to then present her with a bag of candles, oils, other sundry goodies, an Anita Baker CD, and a chick flick DVD with Andi McDowell and Dermot Mulrooney that I’d bought for her awhile back that she hasn’t gotten around to seeing yet.

Like I said, Linda’s a simple gal. She’s not into jewelry and doesn’t care to dress up and go out on the town. Therefore, instead of something that she doesn’t care about, I thought I’d give her something a little more intangible.

A memory.

Here’s hoping that it’s good enough to carry us through another 20 years!

Is there a place for magic in Christian fantasy?

Without getting into the already vigorous debate about Harry Potter, what should be our position as Christians with regard to the depiction or discussion of magic?

DKA’s venerable founder Rebecca Shelley Flowers, has a long, interesting take on this subject on her blog, and if you haven’t read it yet, it’s worth the read.

I’m also thinking about those who have gone on before, specifically Tolkien and Lewis, and how they used (or didn’t use) magic in their literature. Finally, I’m thinking about one final aspect. I believe that God is moving right now, in this moment of time, bringing forth a faithful remnant of literary, creative, believers to minister to the world through our art. As believers, we are to be salt and light to the world, and I don’t see how we can do that if we only preach to the choir. I write stories with a moral component in a universe predicated on Providence (that is, I assume a universe created by God without being preachy). A recent interview with author Ted Dekker reveals a similar perspective:

Gina: I’ve read that you have a pet peeve about fiction written by Christians being called “Christian fiction.�

Ted: Yeah. I believe artists create art. Some singers sing about rescue from sin, some sing about the beauty of lilies, or the smell of pine in a forest. Which song pleases the Creator more, the one about redemption or the one praising Him for His creation? He created the smell of pine. He created those lilies. I think both songs please Him.

You know my brother owns a hearing-aid company. When he’s fitting someone for a hearing-aid, if he’s not singing a hymn or quoting John 3:16, no one tells him he’s a bad Christian. They tell him thanks, he’s been a blessing. Isn’t it cool that we each have different gifts?

When we get to Heaven we’ll be talking about our Creator, praising Him, speaking of the beauty of His creation, the lilies, the pine, not about redemption because that will be behind us. Some people think that sounds boring—to worship God for eternity, but it won’t be. We’ll be appreciating beauty for beauty’s sake.

I think any story that doesn’t mock God, glorifies Him. An artist who paints a flower is honoring the Creator because God created that flower.

I don’t buy Christian gas, shop at a Christian grocery store, smell Christian flowers, and I don’t feel I need to write Christian fiction. I want to write a great story that will entertain and bless someone.

We have authors out there who write about huge battles between good and evil, King, Koontz, and others. I think the best person to be telling these stories is someone who understands what it’s really all about.

So what should we, as readers and writers and believers, do about the question of how we treat magic? The answer to this could color many things, from what we write, to what we read, to what we publish.

Josh Ellis penned the following on the Christian Realists list in response to this question:

Ahhh… this is an excellent question, and is part of the essay I’ve been researching — but have been too lazy to write — for a couple of
years now. Setting aside the question of “what do you mean by /Christian/ fantasy,” I think the short answer is yes, there is a place, but it depends on how it is used. One metaphor I’m slightly enamoured with is that of Egyptian gold: the same gold carried out of Egypt was used to construct the golden calf (that looked like Robert Tilton, without the horns) and to build the tabernacle. And in the realm of fantasy, which by definition is an invocation of the unreal, there is plenty of room of build tabernacles.

I wrote this on December 6th, my Dad’s 65th birthday. I thought I’d share that post here on the site.

December 6 (The Greatest Man I Know)

When you think of great men, the same basic names rise to the surface
if you’re an American living in a certain time. You’ve got your
George Washington, your Abe Lincoln, your Roosevelts and Eisenhower
and Billy Graham.

I don’t know any of them, but I do know one great man, and am
privileged to call him Dad.

John W. Cook is the patriarch of the Cook family, and today is his
65th birthday.

There was a time when that would have been one’s callow youth. There
was another time when that would have been a record for longevity.
Now, it seems like it’s no big deal. Many people live much longer.

I can’t imagine that many will have lived much better.

Dad has always been bright and determined, but he distinguished
himself early on in a number of radical ways:

1 – He made a vow to an attractive young woman, and he kept it. You’d
think that would be something normal, but it’s not these days. How
many families can relax in the safety and confidence of a long-term,
committed relationship any more? Dad made that gift of fidelity and
presented it to Mom, not knowing the impact it would have on kids,
neighbors, people at church, people in the community.

2 – He made a vow to God, and he’s kept that, too. Dad did not grow
up in a classically Christian household as we did. He and Mom had to
break the mold and remake something that worked, even though they had
no experience doing that. He simply took it on faith, and God has
blessed a thousand times over.

3 – He had his own passions but always put the rest of us first. In
return, some of my favorite memories are of Dad actually relaxing in
his chair on the deck, reading. In fact, Dad’s library has made a
profound impact on my life, and I can never repay that debt. I
recently downloaded the collection of out-of-print Doc Smith Lensman
novels as e-books, and have started to re-read them again, just for
old times’ sake. I remember any number of casual conversations in the
kitchen in the house on the hill. I remember watching “The Avengers”
in black and white in the Living Room (before we used the family room
for TV).

4 – Life can be frightening, no matter who you are, and Dad taught me
that it’s ok to cry, ok to be afraid, ok not to know what to do next.
The trick is to ride out the moment and then get back up, dust
yourself off, and hit it again as hard as you can.

I remember when we were preparing to move to the horse pasture out in
the country. We let go of the duplex and rented a house and were
preparing to stay there until the house was built. That looked good
on paper except that the woman who rented us the house didn’t actually
own it, and it seemed that we’d just moved in when we were notified
that the house had been sold and we needed to leave. When all seemed
to be chaos and fear, I remember Dad calmly and methodically making
other plans. I’m sure (now) that he was feeling the injustice of the
moment, and yet all I knew was that we were going to be camping for
awhile on the property, and it was fun.

I remember the night that we had some much rain and so much lightning
that the house was lit up every second by either a flash or a boom. I
was nervous, and so was Dad, but we somehow enjoyed that storm
together, and I’ve always felt that nervous excitement about storms
ever since.

Dad has always been good with his hands, and taught me the importance
of having a healthy respect for things that could bite you. I’ve
never forgotten that, and it those little life lessons have literally
saved me from calamity so many times, whether working with tools,
driving, or handling myself in tense situations.

5 – Caring for family. Going to work five days a week year after year
and taking the primary responsibility for the family’s financial
survival has broken lesser men. The routine of climbing out of bed,
dragging yourself to work, and doing something that sometimes feels
thankless can dim the dreams in men’s eyes, but Dad has fought that
fight, and has won out against that one as well. He remains
invigorated by new possibilities, capable of measuring his own
abilities and worth, and able to go with the flow, following the
leading of the Lord, even when that means leaving yet another home for
the great unknown. And yet he has never complained but rather
reconciled his wishes and dreams to the Lords and has remained
faithful, “here I am, Lord, send me”.

I remember family vacations to every part of the country, canoe trips
down streams and raging rivers, camping and hiking and board games and
new sites. I look back fondly at those trips and those times, and
Dad and Mom made those memories possible.

Dad has been to us the rock that he never had, the wise representation
of God that he had little experience with in his own upbringing. I
remember snowball fights in the backyard, cross-country skiing in the
front, and gardens on all sides. I remember going to town to see
movies like _Star Wars_ and _Raiders of the Lost Ark_ together. I
remember learning how to drive the Toy and the Tank. I remember
grappling with math and science and school in general, and Dad always
knew the answer or how to find it.

Most of all, he knew how to inspire confidence when he, himself,
didn’t feel it. He inspired faith he, himself, struggled with deeper
questions. He demonstrated cool and calm when he, himself, wasn’t so
sure. But most of all, he was a man of one woman, one family, one
God, and quietly but firmly did it the right way.

And he continues to be that way, today.

Dad, you are a mentor, a friend, and an walking, talking inspiration.
I’m saying these things because you’ve earned them. There are so many
disappointments in the lives of people that I feel I should respect,
and yet at the end of the day, I can look to your example and see one
man who still does it the right way, simply because God asked you to.

John W. Cook, you serve a great God, and have, because of your
dedicated service, become a great man, and you have touched more lives
than you’ll ever know with your quiet, determined service.

We all owe our lives to you, and we love you.

Happy Birthday, Dad.

It’s been a long time coming, but I /finally/ figured out why Comments suddenly stopped working. Ironically, it had to do with an anti-comment spam plugin that I was using, and had been using successfully for a long time. Weird.

So feel free to comment away.

Craig, this one’s for you.

First, thanks to everyone who supports me with their thoughts, prayers, and simple interest. This means more to me than I can articulate without getting sappy.

Second, while the “Four for NaNo” thing was ambitious (and while I thought it was what I was supposed to attempt), it was an example of me biting off more than I could chew. I looked at what happened last year, and I thought that chutzpah was its own reward.

This is known as outdriving your headlights (“if you are travelling so fast that you are not able to stop within the distance illuminated by your headlights, it is called ‘outdriving your headlights’ “).

See, I have a semi-regular column writing for The Sword Review called WI-Phy, I’m managing editor for Rebecca Shelley’s classic Dragons, Knights, and Angels e-zine, and I’ve started a new daytime tech writing gig at a prestigious location in Madison, WI. In addition, I do husband stuff, dad stuff, cooking and cleaning and family taxi stuff (not to mention, a healthy bit of gaming stuff).

Any rational person would have seen that I have a fairly full plate at present, however, the clarion call of NaNoWriMo and the memory of last year’s rush upon “winning” got the better of my common sense. (This actually isn’t remotely hard to do, as it turns out.)

So I didn’t get anything accomplished that I was hoping to; I’m still 3/4s of the way through my first story, which I can now reveal is called “The Speculum Convergence”, and which you can read the first part of here (password “b”). I think it’s important to finish the story, and I continue to tinker with it as time permits. It has a hook that I’m fond of, and says something that I want to say.

I’ve been thinking quite a bit the past couple of days about what we accomplish in life, and a dear friend just had a huge, life-altering answer to prayer (that I can’t talk about, but can certainly smile about secretly on their behalf). My dad’s 65th birthday is coming up this week, and Linda and I will be celebrating our 20th wedding anniversary later this month. Time passes so fast. These are things that I’ve been thinking about while reading sci-fi and fantasy, working hard on documentation at work, and watching the kids grow. I feel there’s something there worth writing about but it’s still percolating in my head.

That’s how these things work.

Anyway, thanks for visiting the site, stay tuned for news about “The Speculum Convergence”, and I’ll start to fold in posts from the Wi-Phy column as time permits to give you something to hold you over.

Johne (Phy) Cook
Breezeway, WI
December, 2005