Writing (General)

I am sometimes asked what it’s like to be a relatively conservative (I’d say moderate or “progressive”) Evangelical Christian living in the “liberal bastion” of Vermont. Well, to be honest, I’ve really grown to appreciate Vermont. In fact I’m thankful for a few things in particular that I’ve picked up from Vermont:

• Stewardship of the environment: Vermonters are very connected with the land, working hard to protect their streams, rivers, forests, and mountains. We depend on these resources for our economy, but it also just makes sense to make sure we’re preserving the land for future generations.
• Buy local. Vermont has been leading the charge in building local economies, revitalizing down towns (see Bellows Falls for one example), and teaching lessons about the importance of investing our consumer spending locally. When we look at spending as a community investment, we learn it’s not about just buying something. We are building a community, supporting our neighbors, making our towns more vibrant, allowing local businesses to support local charities, and can know exactly where our gifts are coming from.
• Eat local and organic. Vermont’s local farms, CSA’s, and farmers markets have raised the value of eating seasonal, local, and organic food. It’s great when you know exactly where your food is coming from and just how safe it truly is. We like to think we’re saving fossil fuels by eating locally, not to mention the benefits of supporting our local economy.
• If you want good services, you’ll need high taxes. Vermont’s taxes are on the high end, which is exacerbated by wealthy folks moving up from NY city and inflating real estate prices. However, even with this high cost of living in a state that doesn’t have the job market to make it work, Vermont offers great schools and some decent services for such a small state. I bear no grudge toward my state taxes because I see them at work and appreciate what I get for them.

I could go on, but these are a few of the most important lessons I’ve learned while living in Vermont, many of which the people themselves have taught me in one way or another. Thanks Vermont.

It’s not every day that you get to walk amongst arctic tundra, but in September my wife and I took a trip up to Underhill, Vermont to hike Mount Mansfield. We planned on hiking the mountain and then staying overnight at a camp site in Underhill State Park, located at the mountain’s base.

Fun Fact #1 about Mount Mansfield: Mount Mansfield is one of the most popular mountains to hike in Vermont—for good reason—and the parking overflowed way down the access road leading to the trail head. We pulled up behind a long line of cars on a steep hill. We looked at each other with a hint of panic. Would there be a camp site left?

Luckily there was a park ranger there with a walkie talkie who contacted the front office. They had one camp site left. “We’ll take it!” I said.

“You need to go up to the office to reserve it,” he replied

With a large crowd walking up the hill ahead of us, we yanked our pack out of the car and hustled to the modest log cabin full of chipper high school aged interns. We were cutting things close to sunset on our descent as it was, so when the guy in charge of check-in began going over the rules, we started inching toward the door. I think we waited until he was done before leaving—I just can’t remember.

As we set off on the steep Sunset Ridge trail on the West side of the mountain, we learned another fun fact about Mount Mansfield

Fun Fact #2 about Mount Mansfield: Almost everyone takes the Sunset Ridge Trail, which means the trail is every bit as crowded as the parking lot suggests. We continued to hustle past French Canadian tourists and young couples plodding along the trail. I looked on with envy as scores of hikers descended past us with a full head of steam, having passed through the tough part we were just beginning. I did my best to ignore them, hiking faster than normal for a person in my kind of shape.

Fun Fact #1 about Me: I don’t like hiking up mountains that much. Having said that, I really do enjoy the view, how I feel after I’m done, and going down. Overall, it’s a ton of fun, but the beginning of a hike up a mountain is extremely difficult for me. Recognizing this on the steep trek up Mansfield, I devised a strategy to ensure I made the most of things.

My strategy revolved around getting above tree line as fast as possible. My logic followed these lines: once we were above tree line we’d have excellent views and could stop as often as we like in order to enjoy the Champlain Valley and Adirondacks stretching out to the west. This meant I had to push myself extremely hard for the first half of the hike. As long as trees covered our view, I was scrambling over boulders, puffing up steps, and crawling over the steep, slick bedrock. My wife never saw me hike with such determination. Things changed once we hit tree line.

Fun Fact #2 about Me: I’m afraid of heights. As we approached Mansfield from the road I saw the exposed rock of the Sunset Ridge Trail from the road and thought to myself, “It looks like someone could fall off the mountain.” That thought stayed with me for the entire hike, even if it was devoid of logic. There was really only one place where falling off the mountain was even remotely possible. Being that I’ve never heard of anyone dying from a hike on Mansfield, I kept telling myself that I would have to try really hard to kill myself if it was going to happen. All the same, my first half hour above tree line was pretty nerve-racking.

We took more breaks, walked up the exposed rocks, and enjoyed the view. I eventually settled down, and even began paying more attention to my fellow hikers. Three young college guys casually gulped down beers as they meandered up the mountain. Two ladies stopped to admire them.

“Wow, you’re really adventurous—bringing beer onto Mansfield!”

“Yeah, we’ve been hiking up on our own trail.”

I didn’t see the connection between the two statements, but the guys didn’t want to miss a chance to impress someone.

“Where did you come from?” she asked.

“Like, somewhere off to the right, down in those trees. We just stumbled onto this trail. It was pretty awesome.”

“Wow, that’s amazing!”

I didn’t feel a need to stick around to hear this. We packed up our water and pushed on to the summit.

Fun Facts #3 about Mount Mansfield and me: I love the summit of Mount Mansfield. Thinking I was near the summit, I charged up a slick rock slope, while my wife, who is always in incredible shape, followed without missing a beat. As I reached the “top” I saw the ridgeline stretch on for another 300 feet or so. Deflated a bit, I trudged along until I was pretty darn sure I was at the real summit—the place where all of the people were standing around and enjoying the view—and kicked on the afterburners again.

The summit of Mansfield is one of the most exhilarating places I’ve ever been. Pike’s Peak would have been better, except I was dehydrated and passing out at the summit. Needless to say I didn’t enjoy the view back then. Mansfield was a different story. I could see endless, majestic mountains to the south, beautiful peaks immediately to the east, and a stunning view of Lake Champlain to the west with the Adirondacks barely visible in the background.

We enjoyed our late lunch, warmed by the sun while wind whipped through from every direction. A Green Mountain Club caretaker was ignored by a band of French Canadian children who would not be moved from their unauthorized location on the artic tundra, Julie took a little nap, and I hopped from rock to rock taking pictures. It was a wonderful time. I can’t remember having a better time on a mountain’s summit.

Fun Fact #4 about Mount Mansfield: The Laura Cowles Trail is pure evil.

Fun Fact #4 about me: I hate the Laura Cowles Trail.

Imagine an elevator shaft. Now imagine an elevator shaft at a 30 degree angle with steep, wet rocks. That is the Laura Cowles Trail. When you’re practically sliding down this hazardous trail you can’t help but think mean thoughts toward Laura Cowles. As my knees shook uncontrollably, I imagined Cowles was some kind of local killer who attacked people’s knees.

Well of course she’s probably some legendary hiker who could chug up her own trail with hardly a care in the world. She probably donated all kinds of money to the Green Mountain club, making it possible to preserve Mount Mansfield for us to enjoy. She probably paid to set up the camp site we were going to use that evening. She was probably one of the greatest hikers Vermont has ever seen.

What was her reward from the Green Mountain Club?

Having an inhumanely steep trail named after her. If I was her relative, I’d look into changing that.

As we began our knee-quaking descent, we ran into a crowd of college guys who were hot, sweaty, and a bit on the grumpy side. Actually, the first guy in line just seemed happy to see someone else on the trail. I encouraged them the best I could, “You’re almost at the top.”

“That’s the best news I’ve heard all day,” one of them quipped.

“You can go down a different way if you’re tired of this trail,” I added.

“I don’t ever want to see this trail again,” another guy replied under his breath.

Apparently my feelings toward the Laura Cowles Trail were shared by many.

Shaking knees aside, we made it down Mansfield in good shape and set up camp. I was on cloud nine for the rest of the evening as we huddled around our camp fire. It felt like we’d done something significant. Even if thousands of people summit Mansfield every year, I was still encouraged to have completed the hike. I began with a lot of fear and doubt, wondering how hard it would be for me, and then I set up Operation Tree Line, pacing myself all of the way to the summit.

Using that kind of planning to overcome doubt is a bit like starting with a writing project. Ther
e’s this steep, insurmountable blank page. Then I begin with a plan, dropping in a simple outline of ideas. Step by step, I fill it in. Before I realize it, I’m at the end.

Have you ever been completely stumped by a piece of technology? I’m not talking about being held up for a minute, but rather a deep despair that reaches into your gut—a wall that separates you from any hope of successfully completing your task. You feel inadequate and incapable, wondering how this could have happened to you.

The other day we purchased a Mac for my wife. On the following day I wanted to listen to some music, so I hit the eject button for the CD/DVD drive. A sharp little white icon appeared on the screen, but nothing else happened. I visited the “Applications” window, clicked on the eject button for the drive, and this time a dialogue box told me “Thanks for playing, but the CD drive is busy and cannot be stopped.”

So my wife’s Mac was too busy to eject a CD for me. I should have stopped there.

Of course I could not lose to the Mac, I wanted music. It’s not much to ask of a computer, but our Mac just couldn’t stop its important work to help me out.

Things escalated. While fearing that I would irretrievably ruin the computer, I tapped, deleted, and pushed everything that seemed like it could help. Squinting hard and looming large over the Mac, I tapped and clicked, tapped and clicked. If it wasn’t my wife’s computer I probably would have jabbed those keys a bit more.

My mind raced and my stomached tightened as I scrutinized the Mac and repeated my attacks, pleas, and scowls. I couldn’t believe this was happening to me. It seemed like a referendum on my youthfulness, on my technological aptitude, and overall claim to being a young adult in our technologically advanced world. I had to win, but despair flashed on the screen over and over.

And then I remembered the simple mantra of all IT support wizards, “Reboot” “Reboot” “Reboot.” The simplest solution is always the last one you try.

I rebooted. I hit the eject button. The CD jumped out of the slot as if to say, “Ta da!” I won without having to call a more knowledgeable friend, and so it was a victory by the narrowest of margins, but a victory nonetheless.

All 3 of my theology books are now listed with Amazon.com. However, take care to note that Coffeehouse is spelled “Coffehouse” on two of the pages. Oh well, it’s not like the book’s going to be released tomorrow.

It’s raining today, but I’m not as bummed out as usual. I can’t explain how it happened, but I’ve experienced a budding interest in plants, flowers, and, to be frank, dirt in general. I have somehow learned to love plants, growing things that are either edible or nice to look at, and enriching my soil—of all things. When I want to make my wife Julie nervous, I call them my plants “crops.”

“Crops” just sounds more serious, more permanent. But don’t take me wrong; I’d make a lousy farmer, the chief reason being I hate working on engines and just about anything mechanical. I still don’t know how our lawn mower will respond this spring after I did zip to prepare it for the winter.

Can you imagine if my livelihood depended on maintaining a large John Deer tractor?

My recent infatuation with dirt and planting stuff is most likely a mix of two things. The first is Barbara’s Kingsolver’s book Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, which documented her family’s heroic struggle to eat locally, and primarily home-grown food for an entire year. To be frank, I never gave much thought to where my food came from, so long as I could find a grocery store.

Thanks to Barbara I learned about the meat industry, the benefits of organic food, and the energy required to support our current food infrastructure. Of course it’s not as simple as “Eat local and you’ll save the world,” but in many circumstances it sure helps. If anything, I’ve learned to only buy certain foods if they are grown organically. For example, apples suck up the pesticides. Imagine drinking a shot glass of pesticides with that apple each day.

And then Barbara drove me to start shopping at local farm stands and farmers markets. While these aren’t the places to save a buck, I learned to pick up select items at these markets. Of course when you spend some time hanging around farmers and finding out how your food is grown, you start wondering if you should give it a try.

But really, why stop at growing a few crops such as tomatoes and lettuce? Having just purchased a plain ranch house surrounded by a sea of grass and two meager bushes, I decided it was time to start investing in some flowers. It began ever so modestly with a few pansies who sweltered in the summer heat. However, a few elderly women caught wind of my new home and started dropping off bags and bags of perennial flowers they had removed from their own gardens. Unfortunately I had no place for these offerings, and so the digging began.

It started with two flower beds in the back yard and one on the side of the house last year. The flowers thrived and are now springing up. Of course that spurred some further ambition that has now extended to the sparse front of our house. On a warm spring day I dug out a 20 foot by 3 foot flower bed, peeling back the grass and laying down some fresh top soil. I followed with the signature pansy mix. Under a fluorescent light in the guest room we have some cosmos, flocks, and bunny tails—yes, flowers called bunny tails—waiting to be added. It should be a very full flower bed by the time we’re done with it.

But why stop with a massive flower bed out front? We’re also working on tomatoes, cucumbers, basil, peppers, and lettuce for a brand new garden out back right next to the blueberry bushes we planted last year.

I think I have a problem.

I should be clear about this: I really never cared all that much about growing my own flowers or “crops” until last summer. Now I’m spending entire Sundays tearing away grass, dumping in dirt and mulch, and sticking a divider around the flower beds. What happened to me?

In my more romantic moments I tell myself that I’m reconnecting with the earth, with the way things have been until the industrial revolution or perhaps the interstate system forever changed the way we transport food. I feel like I’m not really doing anything all that novel or new, something that thousands of people do and have been doing, but somehow I’ve been missing. And perhaps this “missing out” is what drives me. I’ve been missing out on something so normal, so natural for a human being: working the earth, growing flowers, and tending his own food.

I can’t imagine what I used to do two springs ago.

Technorati Tags: Vermont – writing – writer – kingsolver – garden – flowers – plants

The more I reread my own writing during the editing process of my book, the more I’ve noticed just how combative and preachy I can sound. In fact, the more I read blogs in general I notice that many are written with a sharper tone: preaching, ranting, provoking. That’s kind of the blog style I suppose.

After making the major changes to the content and structure of my book, the majority of my time is now spent rewriting the parts that come off as condescending or combative. Part of the problem is I’ve been blogging for three years now and each blog post is a brief article on a particular topic, a drive-by of sorts that engages with a particular point and then runs off to the next topic. I can hit hard, soften my tone in the comments, and generally assume that most of my readers have a certain level of familiarity with who I am and won’t get too worked up. Even if I don’t say it well, I think readers are more likely to give bloggers the benefit of a doubt.

A book is a different animal. It’s kind of assumed that if you’re writing a book, you have to know something about your topic, and so writers face the challenge of using their expertise and perspective, but not flaunting it, rubbing the readers nose into it. Books are the focused development of very specific ideas, not the topical grab bag of a blog, no matter have niche-focused it may be.

Continue reading From Blog to Book: Finding A Friendlier Tone

Writing revolves around meeting deadlines. This means that work sometimes piles up and one project in particular can demand all of your attention for a brief period of time. When a deadline for a major project looms, all lesser works are often forgotten, if perhaps worked on sparingly.

Pacing and planning are the keys here.

We cannot always control our deadlines or the sudden demand of a project, and that is why journaling, jotting down ideas, and keeping a running list of projects is a huge help. Think of this as a savings account of writing ideas for those extra busy seasons. When the rush hits for a deadline, but you still want to send out a short article, post something on your blog, or send out a newsletter, it really helps to have a reservoir of ideas and topics.

I did not adequately prepare myself for the crunch of revising my book Coffeehouse Theology, and so my "monthly" newsletter dropped off the face of the earth for a period of time. I managed to keep up some bare bones blogging, but any extra work on articles simply fizzled. At this point I’m filling my writing journal with ideas, filling up the dry erase board in my office, and saving some blog post drafts in my blog writer just to be safe when the big crunch comes next week.