July 19: Turning Over Rocks, Soft Core Porn, Dung Beetles

If you want to find a species wholly new to science and have your name inscribed Latinly in some secular version of an eternal rollbook, then your best bet is to come to the southern Appalachians, climb some obscure and snakey mountain where, as the saying goes, "the hand of man has never set foot," and start turning over rocks.

Dillard is making fun of humankind's need to use things.  Here, she's talking about discovering something "new" in the natural world (although, really, whatever is discovered is probably pretty old--that's the way the world works).  Humans want to overturn a rock, find some heretofore unknown creature or plant, and claim it as their own.  It's all about fame and glory, being able to name something like an erstwhile Adam in the Garden of Eden.  Knowledge and understanding are secondary to the human impulse for recognition.

I certainly agree with Dillard, and I will admit that I am guilty of this character trait.  I have a blog.  Every time I sit down with my laptop to pound out a post, I would be lying if I didn't have some strange fantasy about the post going viral across the globe, waking up tomorrow morning to Matt Lauer on my doorstop, begging me for an interview.  Then the agents and publishers start calling.  Book deals.  Movie deals.  By this time on Friday, I'll be sipping champagne with Oprah Winfrey.

See what I mean?  As a writer, I want to be read.  By a lot of people.  Of course, I worry about the quality of my work.  I don't want to be the next E. L. James (although she does have enough money to buy a small African nation).  And, now that I've written the above paragraphs, it strikes me that perhaps I've approached writing the wrong way.

I want a wide readership, that's true.  But I don't want to write soft-core porn or novels about sexy vampires in order to achieve this goal.  Maybe, instead, I should simply write a book that I would want to read.  A book that excites me.  Then I wouldn't care whether it sells a million copies and get adapted into a film starring Tom Hanks.

Glory and fame would be great.  But how many people actually remember who helped the world understand the habits of the dung beetle (Jean Henri Fabre, in care you wanted to know)?  Glory isn't something to search for.  Fame can't be captured like a stray dog.  Instead, I should do work that fascinates me, makes me happy.

I know that this revelation may seem a little elemental to most people.  However, it's very easy for me to get distracted as a writer and person.  Worry about what other people think.  Get angry when "undeserving" writers receive attention.  Jealousy is one of my character flaws.  I recognize it, and I own it.

So, to sum up, glory and fame don't necessarily translate into peace and happiness.

Now, Saint Marty requests that you send this post to all the friends you have on Facebook, and ask them to send it to their friends.  By tomorrow morning, Saint Marty will have a million page views and be on a plane to New York.

January 8: Epiphany Sunday, Revelation, New Cartoon

"What place is this?" asked Scrooge.

"A place where Miners live, who labour in the bowels of the earth," returned the Spirit.  "But they know me.  See!"

This little exchange is between Scrooge and the Ghost of Christmas Present.  The Spirit and Scrooge are traveling around the world, visiting different groups of people celebrating the Yuletide.  Ebenezer is constantly surprised that people in desperate circumstances are able to summon up Christmas cheer.  It's a revelation to him, happiness in the face of poverty.

Today is Epiphany Sunday, the day that commemorates the arrival of the magi to worship the Christ child.  The magi show up with their birthday presents and find themselves in the presence of God Made Flesh.  That's a pretty huge revelation.  Most of the revelations I encounter are less earth-shattering (although the one about Jamie Lee Curtis being a hermaphrodite blew my mind, until I discovered it was just an urban legend).

Of course, nothing's going to beat the magi's epiphany.  Not too many of us can brag that we've met the Son of God.  However, I know that each day, in some way, can be an epiphany.  I've been struggling the last few days with worries about money.  That's nothing new for me.  In fact, a day without worrying about money would be an epiphany at the moment.

I think I labor under the false expectation that if I can make more money, or my wife can get a job, or I win the lottery, or I win the Nobel Prize in Literature, suddenly my life will be happier.  I will be content each and every waking moment, and life will be an endless array of pleasures.  Trips and iPads and publications and hot tubs.  Sounds wonderful.

However, that's not quite the way it works.  Scrooge labors his whole life to make more and more money.  He pinches pennies (or tuppence or whatever) until the coins cry. Yet, he's miserable.  Bob Cratchit, with his shabby house and pigeon-sized goose and sickly son, is happier than Scrooge, who, by all indication, is a Victorian version of Donald Trump, less the bad hair.

Maybe that's the epiphany I'm looking for this Sunday:  money won't buy happiness.  Pretty lame, I know.  It was a pretty earth-shattering realization for Scrooge, though.  Along with that epiphany, I will add an addendum:  trust in God.  I need to get that second part tattooed across my forehead.

This weekend has been a struggle for me.  The bills keep coming, but the cash is in short supply.  (If you're getting tired of me whining about my money situation, I extend my apologies.  It's sort of consuming me at the moment.)  I'm still having Scrooge moments.  I'm having one right now.

Saint Marty needs to have a magi moment:  he needs to trust in the goodness of God.

Confessions of Saint Marty

August 16: Can't...Wake...Up

I'm back at work, and already I want to go home.  I'm tired, don't want to be here, miss my wife  and son and daughter already.  I had a small revelation driving to work this morning:  I don't want to do this for the rest of my life.  I don't want to get up at 4:15 a.m. for the rest of my life.  I don't want to be away from my family for 14 or 15 hours every day for the rest of my life.  I don't want to see people who are less qualified than me getting full-time university teaching jobs for the rest of my life.  I don't want to feel this tired for the rest of my life.

Now that I've had that revelation, I need to make a concerted effort to publish a LOT more, which I have been doing.  And I need to apply for the next full-time adjunct position in the English Department that becomes available, which could be a looonnnnng time in coming.

In the meantime, I just have to suck it up. 

Pretty much, this morning, Saint Marty feels like this: 

This says it all...