Naomi Jackson's Blog, page 5
July 2, 2017
The Green Smell of Florida
I miss the smell of Florida whenever I’m gone. That is where I was born and raised. Not the plastic flamingo Florida of uber tourists, but the Florida of cabbage palms and sandhill cranes wading in the waist high marsh grass.
It has a wonderful smell. A green smell. A rich wet smell—especially when a storm is blowing in from the unseen oceans that define my state. A salty smell that is as hard to describe to someone as the lacy shadows of live oaks and Spanish moss.
What does your home state smell like? Or am I the only one who notices these things?
It has a wonderful smell. A green smell. A rich wet smell—especially when a storm is blowing in from the unseen oceans that define my state. A salty smell that is as hard to describe to someone as the lacy shadows of live oaks and Spanish moss.
What does your home state smell like? Or am I the only one who notices these things?
Why? (The Question I Always Ask)
Why? Why does the earth circle the sun? Why are all polar bears left pawed? Why did Hitler fail art school? Why did Jane Austen never get married? Why do some people use the left sink, and other people always use the right? Why?
I knew a girl once who did not always ask why. She didn’t know why we call “shotgun” to claim the front seat of the car—and, what is worse, she didn’t care to learn. I guess that she must be “normal.” But I think that her brain must be a boring place.
I knew a girl once who did not always ask why. She didn’t know why we call “shotgun” to claim the front seat of the car—and, what is worse, she didn’t care to learn. I guess that she must be “normal.” But I think that her brain must be a boring place.
Stories in the Clouds
There are rain clouds today! Great fluffy cotton balls that meander across the sky. I am fascinated by the patterns their shadows make. I am mesmerized by the way the sun goes into every nook and cranny, illuminating here and concealing there. I follow their paths with my eyes, awed by their unseen channels that guide them in their journey across the endless blue.
My cousin Dewayne and I used to find things in the clouds; I found faces and he found animals. And then we told their story. It was always a short story; we never went longer than a sentence or two. Because in the brief seconds it took us to tell it, the clouds would change.
Today as I look at the clouds, I see a dwarf and a bear and I wonder what story Dewayne and I could tell.
Have you ever made up stories about the characters in the clouds?
My cousin Dewayne and I used to find things in the clouds; I found faces and he found animals. And then we told their story. It was always a short story; we never went longer than a sentence or two. Because in the brief seconds it took us to tell it, the clouds would change.
Today as I look at the clouds, I see a dwarf and a bear and I wonder what story Dewayne and I could tell.
Have you ever made up stories about the characters in the clouds?
Reading to Live
I was that sickly child. The one in books who has glasses from reading too much. I read to live.
And, because my mom was super picky about what I read, I lived well. When “real” life seemed too hard to bear, well, I’d go somewhere else. My favorite places to go were the Seven Enchanted Isles with Prince Caspian. Or the highlands with David Balfour and the incorrigible Alan Breck.
When I was about thirteen I discovered the beauties of Pemberley and sighed with contentment when Lizzie was able to live there, after all. And to this day, whenever I need to, I open the worn blue cover of a favorite, and run out into the Hundred Acre Wood with Pooh.
And, because my mom was super picky about what I read, I lived well. When “real” life seemed too hard to bear, well, I’d go somewhere else. My favorite places to go were the Seven Enchanted Isles with Prince Caspian. Or the highlands with David Balfour and the incorrigible Alan Breck.
When I was about thirteen I discovered the beauties of Pemberley and sighed with contentment when Lizzie was able to live there, after all. And to this day, whenever I need to, I open the worn blue cover of a favorite, and run out into the Hundred Acre Wood with Pooh.
Rain Song
Rain! How I had missed the thunderstorms back home in Florida. Maybe it’s just the way I was raised, but an endless blue sky became endlessly boring to me.
I missed the color, the clash, the high drama. The pressure of a storm as it builds builds builds to a bursting point; the wild abandon when the rain falls in torrents.
Of course, it does not rain like that here in Tennessee. I don’t think they would permit my melodramatic tropical rains. Their rain is very polite, tapping me gently on the shoulder as if to say “Excuse me, you might want to go inside.” All in all a much milder cousin of the tempests back home.
What is your favorite thing to do on a rainy day? I'd love to hear about it!
I missed the color, the clash, the high drama. The pressure of a storm as it builds builds builds to a bursting point; the wild abandon when the rain falls in torrents.
Of course, it does not rain like that here in Tennessee. I don’t think they would permit my melodramatic tropical rains. Their rain is very polite, tapping me gently on the shoulder as if to say “Excuse me, you might want to go inside.” All in all a much milder cousin of the tempests back home.
What is your favorite thing to do on a rainy day? I'd love to hear about it!
May 30, 2017
The Subtle Art of People Watching
When was the last time you simply sat somewhere, and people watched? I have to confess, for me it was only a matter of hours ago. Let’s just say that watching people as they go about their day to day lives is a favorite hobby of mine.
There is more to it than just gazing casually at people who walk past, bored at whatever doctor’s office you happen to be sitting in. True people watching is an art, and it is definitely not passive. You have to select a seat where you can see and hear what is going on around you, you have to have something in your hands or something in your ears so that it looks like you are a normal bored person. Getting caught starring means that you’ve failed; making eye contact is taboo.
Focus on a place. Every place and every crowd has its own feeling, its own presence. Listen to the murmur—is it happy or sad? Listen to the lit of the voices, some of them rising to an excited descant and some of them whispering the lowest base. Look at the sea of black suits punctuated by an exclamation point of sportswear, or a sea of sportswear contrasting with a lone suit. Is this a place of business or pleasure—of beginning or ending?
Focus on an individual. What are they wearing? Do they match the crowd around them (and yes, five people in a doctors office is a crowd)? Maybe they are perched on the edge of their chair, pink with excitement. Maybe they are sitting slouched and sullen, a teenager who refuses to enjoy their afternoon. And maybe they are not sitting at all, but are pacing and pacing and pacing, endlessly checking their phone. What story does their face tell? Decided dedication to the task at hand or emotional distance from all who are present? Boredom? Fury? Years of ups and downs, experiences and memories—or hours of cosmetic surgery? Who do they belong with out of all the people—or do they belong with no one at all? Why are they here, joining you in this moment in time? You will be surprised how much you can enjoy someone by watching them and learning about them. It causes you to marvel at the uniqueness of the people God created. Do you like to people watch? What are some of the funniest things that you've seen?
There is more to it than just gazing casually at people who walk past, bored at whatever doctor’s office you happen to be sitting in. True people watching is an art, and it is definitely not passive. You have to select a seat where you can see and hear what is going on around you, you have to have something in your hands or something in your ears so that it looks like you are a normal bored person. Getting caught starring means that you’ve failed; making eye contact is taboo.
Focus on a place. Every place and every crowd has its own feeling, its own presence. Listen to the murmur—is it happy or sad? Listen to the lit of the voices, some of them rising to an excited descant and some of them whispering the lowest base. Look at the sea of black suits punctuated by an exclamation point of sportswear, or a sea of sportswear contrasting with a lone suit. Is this a place of business or pleasure—of beginning or ending?Focus on an individual. What are they wearing? Do they match the crowd around them (and yes, five people in a doctors office is a crowd)? Maybe they are perched on the edge of their chair, pink with excitement. Maybe they are sitting slouched and sullen, a teenager who refuses to enjoy their afternoon. And maybe they are not sitting at all, but are pacing and pacing and pacing, endlessly checking their phone. What story does their face tell? Decided dedication to the task at hand or emotional distance from all who are present? Boredom? Fury? Years of ups and downs, experiences and memories—or hours of cosmetic surgery? Who do they belong with out of all the people—or do they belong with no one at all? Why are they here, joining you in this moment in time? You will be surprised how much you can enjoy someone by watching them and learning about them. It causes you to marvel at the uniqueness of the people God created. Do you like to people watch? What are some of the funniest things that you've seen?
May 22, 2017
What Your Favorite Character Says About You
We’ve all done it. We’ve started a book, and a few chapters in we are already totally rooting for one character above all the others. And it’s not always the main character, either. In fact, secondary character love can be more fierce and protective, because they’re not usually guaranteed a happy ending—or even survival. (I’m as guilty of this as the next author. I ended up killing my favorite non-main character in Hobo Stew. I won’t say names, because, spoilers.
May 16, 2017
What is Your Favorite Book?
Don’t you hate that question? Every book worm who has been pulled back from a magical world to the reality of small talk dreads hearing those five words. Because how can you possibly answer that question politely for the uninitiated? There is no way to choose just one favorite, and even a top ten list would take far too long. And then you would have to explain your reasons for including some titles…and not others.
As much as I hate that question when it is brought up in casual conversation, I don’t mind it when a book nerd asks me. Then at least I can break it down into categories—favorite fantasy, favorite nonfiction, favorite biography—and will also seemingly automatically understand that this is a favorite list that is temporary. Usually the book nerd responds in kind. And proceeds to list five or six books that I love, and am utterly ashamed at having forgotten, and that I vow to remember next time.
But next time the list is almost entirely new. I do have favorites when it comes to books—I really do. It’s just that they don’t stay favorites for long. It is like brief but intense summer friendships (I was a counsellor at a children’s camp last summer. Trust me, they are very brief but very intense). As soon as you think that you’ve got a handle on the top five, there is a new face and a new entry. And yet…there are a few books that I come back to time and time again. It’s a miscellaneous list, a hodgepodge of genres and authors. But somehow, no matter what I am reading and enjoying, at least one of these titles makes it onto my list.
The Chronicles of Narnia, by CS Lewis. This shouldn’t be a surprise, if you’ve been reading the blog for very long at all. Narnia for me is a wonderful place where young people get old responsibilities and magic is always around the corner. Whichever book I have read most recently is the one I mention by name, recently that’s been mainly The Magician’s Nephew or The Voyage of the Dawn Treader.
Winnie the Pooh, by AA Milne. These books have taught me more about human nature than most of the phycology books that I have picked up. It’s amazing how deeply drawn a boy’s collection of stuffed animals can be.
Kidnapped, by Robert Luis Stevenson. Something about the wild highlands and the fierce loyalty of Alan Breck made a mark on me that I can never remove.
Emma, by Jane Austen. Yes, Emma is spoiled. Yes, I sometimes want to scream when she tells other people how to feel. But Mr. Knightly makes it all worth it.
Start, by Jon Acuff. Hands down one of the best business books ever written. It’s also really funny, which is probably one of the reasons that it is such a favorite.
Love Does, by Bob Goff. Part memoir, part encouragement, totally awesome. The fearless love that Bob Goff lives his life with will change yours. I can't help but ask you: What are some of your favorite books?
As much as I hate that question when it is brought up in casual conversation, I don’t mind it when a book nerd asks me. Then at least I can break it down into categories—favorite fantasy, favorite nonfiction, favorite biography—and will also seemingly automatically understand that this is a favorite list that is temporary. Usually the book nerd responds in kind. And proceeds to list five or six books that I love, and am utterly ashamed at having forgotten, and that I vow to remember next time.
But next time the list is almost entirely new. I do have favorites when it comes to books—I really do. It’s just that they don’t stay favorites for long. It is like brief but intense summer friendships (I was a counsellor at a children’s camp last summer. Trust me, they are very brief but very intense). As soon as you think that you’ve got a handle on the top five, there is a new face and a new entry. And yet…there are a few books that I come back to time and time again. It’s a miscellaneous list, a hodgepodge of genres and authors. But somehow, no matter what I am reading and enjoying, at least one of these titles makes it onto my list.The Chronicles of Narnia, by CS Lewis. This shouldn’t be a surprise, if you’ve been reading the blog for very long at all. Narnia for me is a wonderful place where young people get old responsibilities and magic is always around the corner. Whichever book I have read most recently is the one I mention by name, recently that’s been mainly The Magician’s Nephew or The Voyage of the Dawn Treader.
Winnie the Pooh, by AA Milne. These books have taught me more about human nature than most of the phycology books that I have picked up. It’s amazing how deeply drawn a boy’s collection of stuffed animals can be.
Kidnapped, by Robert Luis Stevenson. Something about the wild highlands and the fierce loyalty of Alan Breck made a mark on me that I can never remove.
Emma, by Jane Austen. Yes, Emma is spoiled. Yes, I sometimes want to scream when she tells other people how to feel. But Mr. Knightly makes it all worth it.
Start, by Jon Acuff. Hands down one of the best business books ever written. It’s also really funny, which is probably one of the reasons that it is such a favorite.
Love Does, by Bob Goff. Part memoir, part encouragement, totally awesome. The fearless love that Bob Goff lives his life with will change yours. I can't help but ask you: What are some of your favorite books?
May 8, 2017
Ode to Readers
I started writing books when I was seven.
But when did I become an author?
Well, the short answer is that I became an author when you started reading these words. Almost a decade after I began putting pencil to legal-pad-yellow paper, I started sharing my writing with you, the reader. It was a frightening thing for me to do, especially at the beginning, but it changed how I viewed being an author completely.
What really has started me thinking about this is the recent publication of my first children’s novel. Hobo Stew has been out for three weeks now, and it’s amazing—just not in the way that I thought it would be. Sure, it’s amazing that people are buying my book (having money is nice). Sure, it’s amazing that I’ve surpassed my initial launch goals (I’m totally a goal oriented person).
And sure, it’s amazing that all of the feedback that I’ve gotten so far has been positive (it’s actually beyond amazing. It’s an utter indescribable relief!)
But all of those things don’t compare to a fact that I somehow forgot to prepare for. In the face of all of the technical and PR related tasks leading up to launching Hobo Stew, somehow I forgot if you publish your book and people buy it, they are going to read it. People are reading my book! My book, see how I just typed that out there without even thinking about it? Because if you’re reading Hobo Stew, it’s not my book anymore. It’s ours.
I was talking to a reader who mentioned that they wanted a sequel. I was talking to a reader who thought certain characters should have married each other (characters that I DO NOT ship! At all!). There’s even been a tad bit of fan art…and it’s not exactly how I pictured it. It’s close…but not exact. At first it felt really, really weird to hear anyone but me say the characters names, or realize that other people have opinions about the plot line, or that there are even going to be people who go rouge and ship whoever they want.
See, for over a decade, it was me. The book existed in my imagination, and my imagination only. The characters did what I wanted them to, looked like I wanted them to, thought like I wanted them to. In some ways, it was incredibly safe. Hobo Stew was my own personal little world. It wasn’t a static world; things changed drastically as I matured (eleven year old me was fairly melodramatic) and with each editing phase there was something new and something exciting added to Hobo Stew. Through it all, though, I was in control. But I was also alone. Then you were added to the mix, and something incredible happened. There are two Hobo Stews now. There is the one that exists in my imagination…and the one that exists in yours. Parallel universes. Sisters, twins even, but not exactly the same.
Somehow, despite the constrains of time and space, the written word finds a way for reader and author to share a combined experience that is greater than the sum of its parts.
That’s why my view of an author has changed. It used to be very narrow—an author writes books, publishes them, promotes them, goes on social media regularly to look at pictures of them, blah blah blah. Now I see that an author is someone who has you. Without a reader, an author is only achieving half of what is possible. Writing and creating a book is an amazing accomplishment. But it will never reach what it could become without you. By reading the book, or blog post, or email, you are providing the other half of the equation.
Together, reader and author, you and me, we make magic. Because ultimately, a story is meant to be shared.
Do you have a favorite author to share a book with? I'd love to hear about them in the comments below.
But when did I become an author?
Well, the short answer is that I became an author when you started reading these words. Almost a decade after I began putting pencil to legal-pad-yellow paper, I started sharing my writing with you, the reader. It was a frightening thing for me to do, especially at the beginning, but it changed how I viewed being an author completely.
What really has started me thinking about this is the recent publication of my first children’s novel. Hobo Stew has been out for three weeks now, and it’s amazing—just not in the way that I thought it would be. Sure, it’s amazing that people are buying my book (having money is nice). Sure, it’s amazing that I’ve surpassed my initial launch goals (I’m totally a goal oriented person).
And sure, it’s amazing that all of the feedback that I’ve gotten so far has been positive (it’s actually beyond amazing. It’s an utter indescribable relief!)But all of those things don’t compare to a fact that I somehow forgot to prepare for. In the face of all of the technical and PR related tasks leading up to launching Hobo Stew, somehow I forgot if you publish your book and people buy it, they are going to read it. People are reading my book! My book, see how I just typed that out there without even thinking about it? Because if you’re reading Hobo Stew, it’s not my book anymore. It’s ours.
I was talking to a reader who mentioned that they wanted a sequel. I was talking to a reader who thought certain characters should have married each other (characters that I DO NOT ship! At all!). There’s even been a tad bit of fan art…and it’s not exactly how I pictured it. It’s close…but not exact. At first it felt really, really weird to hear anyone but me say the characters names, or realize that other people have opinions about the plot line, or that there are even going to be people who go rouge and ship whoever they want.
See, for over a decade, it was me. The book existed in my imagination, and my imagination only. The characters did what I wanted them to, looked like I wanted them to, thought like I wanted them to. In some ways, it was incredibly safe. Hobo Stew was my own personal little world. It wasn’t a static world; things changed drastically as I matured (eleven year old me was fairly melodramatic) and with each editing phase there was something new and something exciting added to Hobo Stew. Through it all, though, I was in control. But I was also alone. Then you were added to the mix, and something incredible happened. There are two Hobo Stews now. There is the one that exists in my imagination…and the one that exists in yours. Parallel universes. Sisters, twins even, but not exactly the same.
Somehow, despite the constrains of time and space, the written word finds a way for reader and author to share a combined experience that is greater than the sum of its parts.
That’s why my view of an author has changed. It used to be very narrow—an author writes books, publishes them, promotes them, goes on social media regularly to look at pictures of them, blah blah blah. Now I see that an author is someone who has you. Without a reader, an author is only achieving half of what is possible. Writing and creating a book is an amazing accomplishment. But it will never reach what it could become without you. By reading the book, or blog post, or email, you are providing the other half of the equation.
Together, reader and author, you and me, we make magic. Because ultimately, a story is meant to be shared.
Do you have a favorite author to share a book with? I'd love to hear about them in the comments below.
April 10, 2017
In Defense of Happy Endings
I remember a simpler time. A time where the prince always got the princess, the villain always got his just rewards, and the common folk got their happily ever after. That was before "realistic" endings.
Of course, always having a happy ending for everyone is totally unrealistic. There are scars, there are deaths, there is a great amount of tragedy. Frodo may have rid Middle Earth of the ring, but he gave up a great deal to do it. That is realistic—great heroes of history have always had to sacrifice in order to achieve that greatness. But a modern retelling of Frodo’s story might very well end with him succumbing to the ring. With Middle Earth enslaved. With the Shire broken and barren.
Why is there this obsession with…sadness?
The short answer is that sadness sells. It is easier to be shocking and suddenly destructive than it is to be complex and subtle. Think of the newspapers and how they use headlines. “Frodo Dooms Middle Earth” would sell many more copies than “Frodo Struggles to Return to Normalcy in the Shire.” It’s human nature to look at the car wreck as you drive by. To talk about the scandal, the murder, the mass mayhem. Using tragedy to sell books and make money is not new.
But there is also a deeper shift. I think that most authors have quit believing in happy endings. They look at history and see an endless chain of incomprehensible events. They look at their friends and family and see them succumbing to disease, divorce, death. They think about life as the here and now, and say “There are no happy endings.” Maybe they don’t say it out loud. And not everyone who writes a sad ending believes that a happy ending was impossible. Maybe they just believe it to be improbable. Besides, who wants a happy ending, anyway? Don’t people want realism? Isn’t escapism dead?
I believe in happy endings. Not everyone has to survive. Not everyone has to get the girl. But I believe in happy endings nonetheless. I’ve had enough of reality, and all of its stark and deadening tragedy. I see a book as a wonderful place where an author can share something of immense value: hope. The villain will (eventually) be vanquished. The heroes will (eventually) be rewarded. Maybe they will never be the same. Maybe that is a good thing; to learn from your hardships and grow as a person is one of the makings of greatness.
Bad things are going to happen. That is a realistic expectation. But I would warn you against deciding that the bad is your ending. Being bedridden and facing death could have been a very sad ending for me. But I decided to look to God, and trust that there was more after. Bad things always happen in the climax. The happy ending comes after, when the hero has pushed through.
I am living the happily ever after part of that chapter of my life. I’m publishing Hobo Stew and inspiring others to tell their stories. But I wrote the happy ending of Hobo Stew long ago, because even then I believed that happy endings weren’t just possible. In the hands of my good God, happy endings were probable. What are some of your favorite happy endings in literature? Is there a book that is tied to one of your happy endings in real life?
Of course, always having a happy ending for everyone is totally unrealistic. There are scars, there are deaths, there is a great amount of tragedy. Frodo may have rid Middle Earth of the ring, but he gave up a great deal to do it. That is realistic—great heroes of history have always had to sacrifice in order to achieve that greatness. But a modern retelling of Frodo’s story might very well end with him succumbing to the ring. With Middle Earth enslaved. With the Shire broken and barren.
Why is there this obsession with…sadness?
The short answer is that sadness sells. It is easier to be shocking and suddenly destructive than it is to be complex and subtle. Think of the newspapers and how they use headlines. “Frodo Dooms Middle Earth” would sell many more copies than “Frodo Struggles to Return to Normalcy in the Shire.” It’s human nature to look at the car wreck as you drive by. To talk about the scandal, the murder, the mass mayhem. Using tragedy to sell books and make money is not new.But there is also a deeper shift. I think that most authors have quit believing in happy endings. They look at history and see an endless chain of incomprehensible events. They look at their friends and family and see them succumbing to disease, divorce, death. They think about life as the here and now, and say “There are no happy endings.” Maybe they don’t say it out loud. And not everyone who writes a sad ending believes that a happy ending was impossible. Maybe they just believe it to be improbable. Besides, who wants a happy ending, anyway? Don’t people want realism? Isn’t escapism dead?
I believe in happy endings. Not everyone has to survive. Not everyone has to get the girl. But I believe in happy endings nonetheless. I’ve had enough of reality, and all of its stark and deadening tragedy. I see a book as a wonderful place where an author can share something of immense value: hope. The villain will (eventually) be vanquished. The heroes will (eventually) be rewarded. Maybe they will never be the same. Maybe that is a good thing; to learn from your hardships and grow as a person is one of the makings of greatness.
Bad things are going to happen. That is a realistic expectation. But I would warn you against deciding that the bad is your ending. Being bedridden and facing death could have been a very sad ending for me. But I decided to look to God, and trust that there was more after. Bad things always happen in the climax. The happy ending comes after, when the hero has pushed through.
I am living the happily ever after part of that chapter of my life. I’m publishing Hobo Stew and inspiring others to tell their stories. But I wrote the happy ending of Hobo Stew long ago, because even then I believed that happy endings weren’t just possible. In the hands of my good God, happy endings were probable. What are some of your favorite happy endings in literature? Is there a book that is tied to one of your happy endings in real life?
