Reyna Favis's Blog, page 9

The Krampus and the Introvert

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Seasons Greetings to all! Just as the haka called to my Pacific Islander blood, now the Krampus is speaking to my German heritage. What, you expected a post about Santa and his twee elves from a writer of the supernatural? The Krampus is a perfect antidote to the forced holiday cheer that sends many an introvert scurrying into the dark recesses of – well, anywhere where we can avoid crowds and the seizure-inducing flashing of Christmas lights and advertising.

The Krampus is a dark, shaggy, half-goat, horned figure with fangs resembling the Christian Satan. Dragging chains and cowbells, he is the yin to Santa Claus’ yang. In Alpine regions including Austria, Bavaria, Croatia, Czech Republic, Hungary, Slovenia and Northern Italy, the Krampus accompanies Saint Nicholas to visit children during the Yule season. While Santa rewards well-behaved children with gifts, the Krampus seeks out and punishes the naughty children. The best thing these miscreants can hope for is to be beaten into submission with birch branches. The Krampus has also been known to stuff young hooligans into his sack and haul them off to his lair to be either tortured or eaten.

Dating back to pre-Christian paganism, the name originates from the German krampen, which means “claw.” It is believed that the Krampus is derived from the son of the Norse god of the underworld, Hel. Some origin stories relate the Krampus to the Horned God of the witches. In addition to its phallic significance, the birch may harken back to initiation rites of certain covens, where novices would undergo a mock death ritual that involved binding with chains and scourging. (I’m not entirely sure where the cowbells come into this, but I have not yet read Fifty Shades of Grey.) It is also possible that the chains are a Christian attempt to “bind the Devil,” since the Catholic church has a long history of trying to ban the Krampus and associated celebrations.

Some teachers in Austria have said the Krampus should not visit schools because he is too scary. In Hungary, a Krampus-lite is brought to the schools with St. Nick. Instead of applying the birch as tradition mandates, this kinder, gentler version of Krampus delivers presents with Santa. This is perhaps evidence that kids today aren’t what they used to be. If the postcard below is any indication, Edwardian children had little problem with Krampus. These kids were made of stearner stuff that helped many of them to survive the Great War.

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To survive the crass commercialism that is part and parcel of the American holiday season (did you know you could send eBook copies of Soul Search to your friends and family through Amazon?), Krampus festivals have sprung up across the US. Unfortunately, there are already complaints that Krampus is becoming too commercialized. Austria sells chocolates, figurines, and collectible horns, while the US has a website where you can purchase Krampus schwag. Austrian tourism is bolstered by well-attended Krampuslauf—a Krampus Run that might rival the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona. Instead of bulls, people are chased through the streets by the “devils.” Perhaps Festivus, with its metal pole, minor miracles and feats of strength, remains the only alternative holiday celebration with a built-in process to remain free of commercialism. Who would want to gift anyone with anything after the airing of the grievances?

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If you would like to comment on anything in these posts, I would be delighted to hear from you. Please also visit my author’s website at http://www.reynafavis.com.

SoulSearch is available for purchase on Amazon.

If you would like to subscribe to this blog, click on the three bars at the upper right. The next post will be available on or before Januay 31st.

Introvert Wants a Haka

Bucket lists can achieve grand proportions for introverts who live rich inner lives. Before completing Soul Search, I used to think that the pinnacle of success would be an invitation to appear at a Comicon. After some time to think  about this, I have now come to the conclusion that Soul Search needs to hit it big in New Zealand. I desperately want a haka performed in my honor.

The haka is a traditional ancestral ritual from the Maori of New Zealand. War haka (peruperu) were performed for the purposes of intimidation before battle. Warriors would proclaim their strength and prowess through highly synchronized and stylized actions, facial contortions and chants. When performed as the ancestors intended, this display is a thing of beauty and raw power. The haka was popularized by New Zealand’s rugby team, the All Blacks, starting in 1888 when the New Zealand Native team first toured the home nations of the United Kingdom and the Haka was introduced as a pre-game tradition. This tradition persists and the All Blacks have an impressive repertoire of hakas documented. Seriously, click the link and watch the video before continuing to read. I’ve developed a mild haka obsession and I have a growing collection of videos from the internet that I will share with you below, so now is a good time to acclimate.

In modern times, the haka ritual is performed for various reasons, including welcoming distinguished guests, acknowledging great achievements, or celebrating and marking occasions like weddings, funerals and homecomings. The haka is a way to express collective emotions. In 2016, New Zealand firefighters honored the victims of 9/11 with a powerful haka. When three New Zealand soldiers fell during battle in Afghanistan, the 2nd and 1st Battalion Royal New Zealand Infantry Regiment performed a haka during the funeral procession as a moving tribute to their fallen comrades.

Most haka are performed by men, but there exist some that are performed predominantly by women. After viewing many, many hakas, I have come to the realization that I am not cut out to contribute to a performance. Aside from the introvert’s limited ability to join group participation events, history has taught me that I simply lack the coordination to pull this off. Properly executed, the haka harmonizes the mental, physical and emotional states of individuals and contributes to the shifting of the tectonic plates underlying New Zealand. I hypothesize that hakas may induce seismic disruptions.

I will reiterate that my most fervent wish is to have a haka performed in my honor due to the crazy success of Soul Search in New Zealand. To make this dream come true, I would like to start the process of overwhelming the descendents of the Maori with my literary skill by offering a free eBook to the first ten readers from New Zealand. If any readers of this blog are from New Zealand or if you know anyone from this country, please have them contact me for their free book at reynafavis@gmail.com. If you can, please share this post, so it can maybe make it to New Zealand. Gotta start somewhere…

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If you would like to comment on anything in these posts, I would be delighted to hear from you. Please also visit my author’s website at www.reynafavis.com to find out about upcoming personal appearances and works in progress.

Soul Search is available for purchase on Amazon.

If you would like to subscribe to this blog, click on the three bars at the upper right. The next post will be available on December 31st.

Introvert Hits the Airwaves

I had a great interview with Morning Mike of WRNJ radio yesterday to publicize Soul Search. You can listen to the interview here.

Challenging the Introvert: Upcoming Book Promotion Events

Thursday, November 10 at 9:30 PM – 9:45 PM

Live interview with WRNJ’s Morning Program host, Mike Galley, to talk about Soul Search

 

SOUL SEARCH BOOK SIGNING

Saturday December 3

Warren County Library – Catherine Dickson Hofman Branch

4 Lambert Rd, Blairstown, NJ 07825

 

AUTHOR INTERVIEW

Monday January 2

Interview by Sonnett O’Dell on Dusty Pages Blog

http://sonnetodelldustypages.blogspot.com

Introvert Through the Cemetery Gates

A turning point in the plot of Soul Search takes place in a pre-Revolutionary War Moravian cemetery located in Warren County New Jersey. Fia, the main character, must confront her fears and the dangers inherent in helping her first spirit pass on to the next life. The setting is defined by the entrance to this burial ground, an intricately fashioned, black wrought iron gate that bears the name of the cemetery. Right next door in Pennsylvania, another historic cemetery exists that recalls a different era. To enter this cemetery, one must pass through the formidable Gothic Revival Gatehouse replete with four turrets separated by a large central arch that is balanced on either side by smaller arches. More than anything else, the gates define these sites as liminal spaces, occupying a position on both sides of the disparate states of life and death.

Easton Cemetery was established in 1849 and strongly reflects the Victorian sentiments towards death and dying. It’s a peaceful place of gentle rolling hills adorned with fine, old trees and heirloom roses. Unlike modern cemeteries where gravestones are organized in regimented row by column grids to facilitate lawn mowing and to maximize burial space, the gravestones in the Easton Cemetery are spread in graceful patterns inspired more by family ties than utilitarian purpose. The cemetery extends over 87 acres and is the final resting place of more than 29,000 people – and growing. Plots are still available.

Prior to 1831, American dead were buried in family plots or in churchyards. Because of the crowded nature of burials in these limited areas, these sites were viewed as disease incubators during the epidemics of yellow fever and cholera that swept through the cities. After the inevitable urban expansion, land became more valuable and the practice of burying the dead in close proximity to the living was no longer a practical solution. Increasingly, this practice was viewed as unhygienic. Rural cemeteries became the norm and the Victorians designed the space to be park-like and harmonious, but not necessarily sacred ground. At a time when there were no public parks or tamed areas of nature near urban centers, these were places where the living could indulge in picnics, hunting and shooting and carriage racing, in addition to paying respects to the dearly departed as you flew by while chasing game or attempting a new land speed record. Such was the popularity of cemeteries as weekend getaways that Easton Cemetery required a special ticket for admission in order not to over-crowd the site and scare the horses. (Presumably, you wanted calm horses in order to do well at the races.)

There are many notable people occupying the graves in Easton Cemetery. George Taylor (1716-1781) was a signer of the Declaration of Independence. Originally interred in Saint John’s Lutheran Church Cemetery in Easton, his remains were moved to Easton Cemetery in 1870 and given an impressive monument topped with an eagle and cloth drape. Perhaps thanks to the presence of Mr. Taylor, Easton Cemetery was added to the National Register of Historic Places in 1990.

A favorite of many visitors, the grave of little Lucy Minturn Barnet (1851-1853) is marked by a concrete canopy supported by four columns that surround a stone child lying in a bed. Gone for more than 160 years, this child is not forgotten. An anonymous donor leaves small trinkets like toys and a bouquet of plastic roses on the child’s monument as frequently as once a month.

Belle Mingle Archer (1858-1900) was a nationally renowned stage actress and the most photographed woman of her time. During her acting career, she was as well-known and respected as any actress today. Ms. Archer was cut down in her prime due to a freak accident. While waiting to change trains at the station in Jamestown, New York, Belle Archer fell head first onto the railroad tracks due to a broken board on the platform. Suffering a serious head injury, she nonetheless boarded a train, and by the next morning she seemed to be recovering. Unfortunately, by the second morning, she had become completely paralyzed on her right side and lost consciousness. She was taken to an emergency hospital in the tiny town of Warren, PA, where she died due to a brain clot. Her memorial stone bears a bronze silhouette of the actress and the epitaph reads, “By her brilliant accomplishments and rare graces of mind and person she gave distinction to the historic arts. To the name Belle Archer, the master leaning reached a hand and whispered “It is finished.””

Frederic Osterstock (1884-1957) managed the company that owned the State Theater in Easton from 1936 until his death. As with any theater worth its salt, the State Theater is said to be haunted. Several sightings in the 1970’s were reported, but it was not until an historian saw someone walk off the empty stage while closing for the evening that an identification was made. After the historian matched the likeness of the spirit with a photograph of Mr. Osterstock, theater staff came to believe that the former manager was the source of the house ghost. The annual “Freddy Awards” are named for Mr. Osterstock.

My only potential interactive experience with a ghost occurred while I was working in corporate America. You know from a previous post that strange things can happen when you mix a subversive introvert with the corporate environment. In this particular case, I was attending a scientific meeting in New York City and found a room not far from the conference site in an ancient brownstone. If you’ve ever seen the horror movie The Sentinel, the brownstone I stayed in strongly resembled the movie set. The interior was pure Victorian Gothic with dark woods used for the floors, paneling and trim, and dim lighting that made shadows dance in every corner. The event occurred when I was at that other liminal place, between sleep and wakefulness. I had left a pocketful of change on a (of course) darkly wooded, heavy table in the center of the room. I heard coins being picked up and dropped from a height on to the table. It went on and on, despite my best efforts to sleep through the noise. Rather than do the natural thing and become frightened, I felt groggy and irritable at the same time and finally yelled, “Cut it out!” in my best K9 handler growl. Being half asleep makes you believe that reprimanding whoever was responsible for the disturbance would bring an end to it. Since belief is half the battle in this game of the mind, the noise stopped immediately, and I rolled over with a smug smile and went back to sleep. Game, set and match to the Introvert.

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If you would like to comment on anything in these posts, I would be delighted to hear from you. Please also visit my author’s website at www.reynafavis.com.

SoulSearch is available for purchase on Amazon.

If you would like to subscribe to this blog, click on the three bars at the upper right. The next post will be available on November 30th.

Special Update – link correction

Sorry to post so soon again, but there was an error in one of the links in yesterday’s post. Amazing how important a backslash can be… The revised post is below with full corrections.

REJOICE! REJOICE!
SOUL SEARCH IS NOW AVAILABLE FOR PURCHASE IN EBOOK AND SOFTCOVERFORMATS

Reviews posted on Amazon and/or Goodreads are GREATLY appreciated

Special Update

Rejoice! Rejoice!
Soul Search is now available for purchase in eBook and softcover formats

Reviews posted on Amazon and/or Goodreads are GREATLY appreciated

The Haunted Introvert

But is it haunted? This is the question most people ask about the Roseberry House. Located in Phillipsburg, New Jersey, this house stood as a silent witness during the birth pains of a new nation, as horses gave way to automobiles and when the first light bulb pushed back the night.  If Frank Greenagel and the rest of the Phillipsburg Area Historical Society (PAHS) have anything to say about it, the Roseberry House will be standing strong and serving as a community hub when the OSIRIS-REx returns to Earth in 2023, laden with surface samples from the asteroid Bennu.

***In order to accomplish the goal of restoring the Roseberry House for use by the community, PAHS is applying for a grant from the Warren County Municipal, Charitable Conservancy Trust Fund. Please, please drop an e-mail of support for this project to Executive Director Corey Tierney at ctierney@co.warren.nj.us. You do not have to be a local to support this historical preservation project, in fact, e-mail from non-locals would show that this project has broad appeal. You can even do a copy and paste with text that can be found here.***

As a new member of PAHS, I was desperately curious about the Roseberry House and its history. After reading everything I could lay my hands on, I was surprised to discover how much is known and how deeply the roots of this structure penetrate into the historical fabric of Colonial era New Jersey. I was even more startled to learn that basic information about the origins of the Roseberry House remains shrouded in the mists of time.

The land where the old house sits was first purchased by Colonel Daniel Coxe in 1714 from a Native American tribe, the Lenni Lenape. One of the original One Percenters, Colonel Coxe was the son of the physician to the English king. Coxe gave a portion of the 1250-acre tract of land to his granddaughter and her husband and subsequently, the property was broken into smaller parcels. Sometime between 1765 and 1769, land was sold to Peter Kinney, who would later be commissioned as an Ensign in the First Regiment of the Sussex Militia during the Revolutionary War. In the economic chaos following the war, Kinney found himself unable to pay his debts, so in 1787, the 152-acre farm was sold at a sheriff’s sale. The property was purchased by John Roseberry, a German immigrant originally known as Johannes Rosenberger before anglicizing his name. John and his wife Maria had seven children and the Roseberry House became a legacy to three generations of the family. After 1886, the house changed hands a few more times before ultimately being leased by the Town of Phillipsburg to PAHS, who acts as administrator of the property and is actively preserving and restoring the historic home.

Exactly when the house was constructed remains a deep mystery. Based on the size and shape of nails found in the structure, the house was most likely built sometime between 1780 and 1790. Like many historic homes in Warren County, the Roseberry House is built of hardy limestone. Constructed in the Georgian architectural style, the house has a fearsome symmetry with four, equal-sized rooms bisected by a center hall on each of the first and second floors. The strict layout of the architectural elements had been softened by decorative stenciling of a multicolored floral pattern that one time graced the walls of both front rooms and the hallway. The stenciling miraculously still survives on the walls of the formal parlor, the front left room where visitors during the eighteenth century would have been entertained. The front right room would have been used as a dining room, while the left back room served as the Colonial version of a man-cave. The right back room was reserved for the lady of the house as a place where she might have enjoyed the company of friends. Joined to the house on the northeast side is the beating heart of the home, a kitchen with a monstrous fireplace that occupies almost an entire wall. To the right of this inferno, a door unexpectedly opens to a winder staircase that leads to a low-ceilinged loft. This was very likely the warmest room on a cold night, given its proximity to the kitchen fire and perhaps designated for the children of the house or a favored servant. With an attic above the main house and a full cellar below, the house is larger than many contemporary structures and gives us insight into the lifestyle of a well-to-do farmer during the late 1700s.

I have explored the old house on several occasions, each time imagining what the house must have looked like in its heyday and the bustle of a large family striving to make a go of it in the uncertain years following the Revolution. Experiencing the character of the Roseberry House so intimately has led me to weave it into a tale of haunting in the upcoming sequel to Soul Search, currently a work in progress. Each visit to the old homestead informs my senses anew and leaves me with a deeper appreciation for what life was like in the past.

My obsession with the Roseberry House stems from a lifelong fascination with history and archaeology. Driven by this fangirl ideology, I have had the privilege to experience several ancient and historical sites up close and personal. My husband Rich and I have a preference for hiking holidays that go off-road and lead to areas less frequented by other tourists. Aside from being an ideal holiday for an introvert, this mode of travel also makes ruins accessible that are difficult if not impossible to reach by car. (I have frequently threatened to create a website with pictures of cows from around the world that I have petted during our hikes. This hobby is perhaps only understood by other introverts.) If you have an interest in taking a hiking holiday and you are not in ideal shape, I’d recommend reading a previous post on pickle juice to help you through the rough parts of your trail. While the Scottish Highlands may not be the best choice for beginner hikers, they are a beautiful destination and something to aspire to, owing to the dramatic scenery and abundant historical sites.

During one hiking holiday in the Highlands of Scotland, Rich volunteered to fix the website of a bed and breakfast where we were staying.  Delighted with the free help, the innkeeper took us on a backstage tour of Loch Ness and obtained permission from a local farmer to see a ring of Neolithic standing stones on his property. I love artifacts from the Bronze Age and was in heaven dodging the sheep dip and exploring the stones for any signs of cup marks and other carvings. Later on this trip, we investigated a more tourist-friendly area near Culloden Battlefield called Clava Cairn, a collection of Neolithic circular chamber tombs. You know from a previous post that I am a Curious Introvert and therefore you would not be surprised to learn that I crept into a tomb in an attempt to gain the ancestral perspective on death, burial and rebirth. Aside from royally abusing my knees as I cautiously crawled along the stony passageway leading to the tomb, the sensory experience in the burial chamber was disappointingly cold and sterile. I found out later that after the tombs had been picked clean by archaeologists, they were dismantled and reassembled. In making the tombs safe as a tourist attraction, something of the atmosphere had been irrevocably lost.

In stark contrast, the Colonial Yule Celebration at the Roseberry House is redolent with impressions from the past. The night of the celebration is cold and dark and a chill pervades the house. Like many old structures, the air has a slightly peppery scent and odd currents and eddies manifest to produce unexpected cold spots. The glow of candlelight offers no real warmth, but illuminates a mantel festooned with red ribbons and white popcorn strung in long chains. A garland of fresh pine boughs draped on the mantel lends its spicy scent to the rich, sweet smell of chestnuts roasting in the kitchen hearth. In the formal parlor, lively period music played by a lone fiddler invites us to partake in the festivities, but sound is deceptive. There is almost an echo of something held in the walls, reverberating just under the sounds of the present. The harder you listen for it, the fainter the strains of that something becomes until the echo can be felt more easily than heard. When the house is lit only by fire, the sense of time having passed is suspended in the flickering flames and you are back in the eighteenth century. If you close your eyes, you can feel a rougher fabric on your skin and a contented weariness born of working the land with calloused hands, sunrise to sunset, planting to harvest, season to season.

To answer the original question, yes, in a sense the Roseberry House is haunted. The past lives on inside these walls.

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If you would like to comment on anything in these posts, I would be delighted to hear from you. Please also visit my author’s website at www.reynafavis.com and SoulSearch on Pinterest.

If you would like to subscribe to this blog, click on the three bars at the upper right. The next post will be available on October 31st.

 

Introverts of the Round Table

When I was eight years old, I read a modern translation of Le Morte d’Arthur and it profoundly influenced my life. I was drawn in by the egalitarian concept of the Round Table, where everyone seated had equal status. Even more enlightening was the concept of a warrior ethos:

Thou shalt respect all weaknesses, and shalt constitute thyself the defender of them.
Thou shalt not recoil before thine enemy.
Thou shalt never lie, and shalt remain faithful to thy pledged word.
Thou shalt be generous, and give largesse to everyone.
Thou shalt be everywhere and always the champion of the Right and the Good against Injustice and Evil.

Honor was achieved by living up to these ideals and losing one’s honor was the worst thing that could happen to a knight.

I see glimpses of these ideals every now and again in the modern world, but I see much more of the polar opposite behavior. Too frequently, when someone has managed to do something that briefly achieves a single aspect of this ethos, they ruin the effect by bragging about it on Twitter. Most likely, these ideals were never achieved in the ancient world either, but someone decided it would be a good idea to market the concept through the bardic tradition in the hopes that it would catch on. Nice try, but no dice.

So, do we need to wait for a hero to make the world a better place? The Arthurian Legends hold that Arthur and Merlin did not die, they merely sleep, awaiting a time of great peril for the realm. Once awakened, they will do what heroes do to save the day. The tapping sound you hear is my foot as I glance at my watch and mumble, “Any time now, guys.”

As with most things, I have no patience for waiting. Patience is a virtue that I’m probably meant to learn and exercise in this life, but it appears to be incompatible with my basic nature. If I see something  that ought to be done and I am capable of doing it, I will do it my damn self. If a hero wants to show up at some point and shore up my efforts, I am more than happy to share the burden.

In this spirit of finding a self-reliant way to improve the world we live in, I have decided to donate half of my author’s earnings for Soul Search to charity. Based on current publishing trajectory timelines, it may take a little while to make this happen, so I was delighted to discover that author friends I made through Twitter were already donating proceeds from their books to support charities. And they never bragged about it on Twitter. I discovered their generosity while exploring the websites for Kim English and Simon Williams and immediately sent them congratulatory messages. I was deeply impressed by these folks.

So, let me tell you a little about these authors and their charities. If you are moved to donate, clicking on a charity’s icon or hyperlink in the text will bring you to their website where you will be provided with instructions on how to give. If you are looking for a good read, links to the authors’ books are also provided below.

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Simon Williams is the author of the Aona dark fantasy series, which is garnering attention for its fusion of different genres and atmospheric, character-driven narrative. A recent interview with the author can be found on Michael Baker’s Thousandscarsblog.

Simon has also written Summer’s Dark Waters, a sci-fi / fantasy /supernatural novel for all ages 10+ and aimed more at the younger market. A sequel is already underway.

All the royalties from Summer’s Dark Waters (both paperback and electronic) are being donated to TACT (The Adolescent and Children’s Trust), the UK’s largest fostering and adoption charity and voluntary agency. Established for 24 years, TACT currently has over 500 foster carers providing loving homes for over 600 children and young people. In addition to working for  the benefit of children in care and on the fringes of care, TACT also regularly campaigns on behalf of vulnerable children, seeking to influence public policy and argue for positive changes.

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Kim English writes children’s and Young Adult books and is the author of the Coriander Jones series. In collaboration with illustrator Yis Vang, Kim has also written A Home for Kayla, a picture book about a little brown dog with no name and no pedigree who navigates life at the pound as she waits for a forever home. The book is based on her real-life rescue dog and is a 2016 Indie Book Awards Winner, a Mom’s Choice Gold Award Recipient and a finalist in 2016 Royal Palm Literary Award Competition. Author’s proceeds from this book will go to the Sarasota County Sheriff’s Office Animal Services and the Cat Depot.

 

The Sarasota County Sheriff’s Office Animal Services runs an adoption program that strives to place stray and unwanted pets into forever homes. While housed in the shelter, each dog or cat is given an overall health exam by an Animal Care Technicians and is neutered or spayed, provided with a rabies vaccination and a county license for the first year, and dogs are AVID micro chipped for identification. Animal Services has no maximum holding period for an adoptable animal.

 

Cat Depot is a nonprofit, no-kill, free-roaming center that has been recognized for its progressive design and commitment to helping homeless, abandoned, and injured cats and kittens. Their mission is to save lives, find loving homes, and provide the resources and education to improve the destiny of homeless cats. This organization works daily to rescue abandoned, abused, injured, relinquished, and free roaming community/feral cats and kittens. In 2015, Cat Depot rescued 1,430 felines and assisted with local and national rescues.

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50% of any earnings I make for Soul Search will be split equally between the Search and Rescue Teams of Warren County and Wayward Plotts.

Search and Rescue Teams of Warren County (SARTWC) is a 501(c)(3) non-profit organization dedicated to aiding those who are lost or missing. SARTWC assists other departments such as police, fire, and EMS in a search and provides mutual aid assistance to other Search and Rescue agencies upon request. Members of this organization are professionally trained volunteers commited to responding to search emergencies. SARTWC does not bill for its services.

Wayward Plotts is an advocacy and rescue effort for displaced Plott hounds in Southern Appalachia. Their goal is to pull and appropriately place Plotts in homes where they will be valued, whether as hunters or house hounds. Additionally, Wayward Plotts seeks to educate the public about the Plott hound, its history and heritage, and the many benefits of owning and hunting with this truly exceptional breed. This organization is always looking for fosters, fundraisers, and anyone else who would like to volunteer services, knowledge, or time.

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If you would like to comment on anything in these posts, I would be delighted to hear from you. Please also visit my author’s website at www.reynafavis.com and SoulSearch on Pinterest.

If you would like to subscribe to this blog, click on the three bars at the upper right. The next post will be available on September 30th.

Witchcraft, Corporate America and the Subverting Introvert

What do you call a group of introverts? A gaggle? A clutch? See, you can’t do it. It’s a trick question – there is no such word. Introverts are independent sorts who go their own way and rarely feel the need to form large aggregates. While we are capable of playing nicely with others for limited periods of time, spending every hour of the day with a group of excessively enthusiastic people is impossible. Even people of moderate temperament need to go home eventually, so that we can relax and recharge in glorious solitude. This nuance of introvert behavior makes us extremely poor cult members. I was reminded of this trait as I sat squirming while reading Alex Mar’s Witches of America.

To be a writer means accessing stuff on the internet that may put a person at the top of some government list. Reading books or articles that describe either bizarre practices from distant (or recent) historical periods or people who are verifiably unusual is a requirement to feed one’s imagination and sometimes fuel nightmares. Every especially cringe-worthy life experience also gets added to the pile of things that can be used to enrich stories. Writing Soul Search required me to delve into the exact features of a moderately decomposed human hand and also to query information on sin eaters in Appalachia. In the spirit of discovery (described earlier in the Curious Introvert post), I decided to read Witches of America.

This book is a memoir of one woman’s journey into the modern day witchcraft community. Like any community, there are practices, attitudes, and a certain vocabulary specific to the in-group that an outsider must master in order to be accepted. In general, students of the craft tend to work in groups, with more senior members of the coven training and initiating new members into the mysteries of their particular tradition. Based on this book, I believe that witches have a tendency towards extroversion, with a strong affinity for flamboyant appearance and a need to be noticed.  The rare witches who are solitary practitioners are most likely to be the introverts in this subculture. They are derisively referred to by the mainstream witches as “still being in the broom closet,” as if they lack conviction and courage. Sound familiar? Ironically, even in the most esoteric of subcultures where individuality is a tenet of the religion, there exists a fundamental prejudice against introversion.  “An’ it harm none, do what ye will” is the Wiccan Rede, the key moral system guiding correct behavior under this religious system. Perhaps an additional line should be added to remind practitioners that this is all well and good as long ye do what ye will under the auspices of a group structure.

In order to exert one’s will in an indifferent universe, practitioners of the craft believe that it is necessary to curry favor with more powerful beings through devotion and ritual. Alex Mar was convinced that there was secret knowledge she could access by demonstrating the right state of mind or set of behaviors and so, the author swallowed her skepticism and pursued initiation into a mystery cult that followed an ecstatic tradition. Ms. Mar’s intention was to harness some kind of arcane power to prove that magical forces governed our existence. Her assumption was that our boring, work-a-day lives could be transformed into something extraordinary by acknowledging this power and, as a consequence, life would become endowed with meaning.

While I understand the desire to have a meaningful life and to show the universe that we are somehow special, I think the talents we possess in reality are far more homespun than the ones Ms. Mar imagines. According to my mother, my brother’s super power is the ability to eat a mango without the dripping mess that ensues when lesser mortals consume the fruit. I have recently demonstrated an uncanny ability to fix toilets. I am sorry to say that this is probably my super power. (If you want to read more about super powers and super heroes, J. Edward Ritchie’s blog has beautifully written posts on these topics, described from a novelist’s and screenwriter’s perspective.)

For Alex Mar, her mission to acquire a super power consisted of engaging in a series of exercises designed to exorcise “the shapeless disappointments of pedestrian life” and to attribute a “heft and meaning” to one’s actions before ultimately confronting death. While the author wrote artfully and truthfully about her experiences, fearlessly exposing her self-doubts and vulnerabilities, at the end of the day, the journey was repetitious in the details of her attempts to exit the mundane in an attempt to commune with the sublime. I felt no trajectory or forward motion and my sense of the author was that she was willingly suggestible.

Others have been even less charitable and described Ms. Mar’s efforts as spiritual tourism.  Some have called her out as being exploitative. My reading of her experiences paints her in a more positive light. I believe Ms. Mar portrayed her subjects sympathetically, emphasizing their dedication to their deities and their craft. These folks were sincere in what they did. Ms. Mar made a genuine effort to become a student of the craft and it was in reading these passages that I felt myself cringe. You did that just because everyone else was doing that? How can you give over your will so easily to a group? In a similar situation, my personal response would follow a quote from Green Day: Dude, I walk alone. Not doing that. Can’t make me. Won’t drink the Kool-Aid.

This form of stubborn introversion became especially apparent during the time I spent working in corporate America. When I interviewed for a job in big pharma, I was promised continued learning and lots of training to help me to maintain my professional growth as a scientist. What I got instead was a series of online and in-person trainings that ranged from deadly dull, practical (e.g. how long to keep various types of records) to touchy-feely corporate culture propagation. The latter type of training relied heavily on role playing and, not being one of the theater kids in high school, I found these sessions to be excruciatingly uncomfortable.

I felt a need to transform these role playing experiences into something more tolerable and so, I went to my fall-back position, bleeding these events for any trace of humor. I soon became a master of inserting the ridiculous extreme into the dialog of the characters I portrayed. Instead of merely being a slightly disgruntled worker, I became a union organizer, hell-bent on salting the earth and urging my fellow workers to walk the picket line. My partner for that training session came from a different department and did not know me. She became increasingly frightened, not because she was truly entering into the spirit of the role playing assignment, but because she was acutely aware that upper management might be present and watching. We were going off-script and there would be hell to pay. Of course, nothing of the sort happened, but we did amuse the person running the training session.

A different role playing session partnered me with my friend, Stephan. This time, my role was an under-performing worker who was trying to explain herself. My back story was that I was unable to focus on my job because my little brother had been abducted by aliens and I was exhausted from using my off-hours to get him back. Without missing a beat, Stephan told me that our company made drugs for this and that I needed to improve my performance. All hail Stephan. Perhaps role playing in corporate America is his super power.

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