(you might actually have spotted this one in my header on WordPress once or twice; I added it to the random assortment of header images some time back)

I still have all those empty capsules, actually; I keep trying to think of something I could make and stick in them, to leave somewhere random in my neighborhood. I’ve done the same thing before with bookmarks and origami stars, quarter machine capsules seem like the logical next step. Any brilliant ideas, O many-splendored readers?

Apropos of nothing except that I now have reading time, I’ve been rereading John Bunyan’s The Pilgrim’s Progress from This World to That Which Is to Come, better known as Pilgrim’s Progress. I read this book many, many times over when I was a kid. I can’t even try to rank it among influential books of my childhood, because I read so many books as a kid and so many of them left fingerprints on my soul that ordering seems impossible (seriously, though, how did I read so much? I wish I had that kind of drive now). So let’s just say that I really, really liked it.

I was a little nervous rereading it, actually, because I was afraid it wouldn’t stand up. I’ve heard some fairly disparaging comments about it over the years; allegory is not a super-popular genre these days. I’ve only gotten through Part I, so I’m not sure how I’ll feel about the handling of women in Part II (however, I’m inclined to be generous because gender is hard and I’m not sure I’ve got such a great handle on it myself). Nevertheless, I was really pleased to find that so far it more than holds up over time. My appreciation of the book has actually deepened in a few specific ways.

First, as a reader, I’ve found that I’m better able to understand the ideas he’s working with. When I was a kid, I often struggled with the long theological conversations (not surprising) and found myself confused by certain things. As an adult, able to critically examine ideas with a little more intentionality, I can step back and see what Bunyan’s trying to accomplish. As a kid I had no idea Bunyan was a Baptist; as an adult I can see how his Baptist perspective informs the work and explains things that confused me as a Presbyterian kid. With a little more historical context under my belt I can also see how the book is a product of its period; I can see how the politics of the period shape the work (for instance, did you know that most of the bad guys are described as gentry? Not my own observation–I think I read it in something by Carl Trueman, quoting someone else I can’t recall–but I’ve had it in mind as I read and it largely checks out).

Second, as a writer, there’s a lot to be learned from Bunyan’s approach to allegory. He wears the allegory very loosely, which is interesting because I think the instinct in modern allegory (such as it is) is to bury one’s ideas beneath layers and layers of symbolism. When I veer in the direction of allegory I’m usually very cagey about it. I don’t think one way is right or one is wrong. Certainly very few modern readers enjoy Bunyan’s approach, but honestly I think there’s a lot to be said for it–sitting on the fence between storytelling and didactic writing is not inherently bad. I still find Christian’s pilgrimage fairly compelling, and I’m prodded to contemplate Bunyan’s ideas at length. He’s doing something right, even if it’s not something we’re comfortable with. This gives me a fresh perspective on how I handle allegorical elements, which tend to creep into my stories when I’m not looking. I may not change what I’m doing, but I’m not so locked into the habits and norms of contemporary literature (always a good thing; I often find myself and others prey to the tempting idea that the last generation is the only one that recognizes good literature).

Third, as a practicing Christian for an undetermined but significant number of years (I was raised in it, okay, I don’t have a conversion to date from), Pilgrim’s Progress takes on a whole new dimension. I don’t think, as a kid, I really understood what some of the mishaps Christian gets into stood for. Now, however, they remind me of things in my own life–the sojourn in Giant Despair’s Doubting Castle, for instance, is all too familiar. I’m struck by how sensitively Bunyan handles some of these topics, and how his word-pictures match up with my own experience centuries later.

From all this I conclude that Pilgrim’s Progress is still a book worth reading (I’m sure Bunyan is relieved). Perhaps precisely because it doesn’t fit comfortably with our ideas of what a good story, or a good allegory, should look like. It’s good to shake ourselves up sometimes by visiting dead people’s opinions and tastes. If you can read it in that spirit, I think it will well reward your efforts.

Welp, Scribefire has officially stopped being my go-to for crossposting between WordPress/LJ/Dreamwidth. It keeps giving me an error when I try to post to LJ, and my searches turn up no reliable fixes. I did try uninstalling and reinstalling, but all that did was remove all my blogs, and now I can’t add my WordPress, either.

Scribefire’s failure at all the tasks for which I initially installed it makes more urgent my desire to move to a self-hosted WordPress, which will allow me to crosspost via cunning plugins (I hope? This is what they tell me). Which leads to the big question: HOSTING.

SO!

Peoples of the Internet, I am in need of good, cheap hosting that will support WordPress at the very least (expansion is a distant possibility). If you can recommend anything along those lines, I would very much appreciate it. I know a few of you have mentioned hosts in the past, but I can’t recall where or when.

Any tips you have for migrating to a self-hosted blog would be nice, too.

Nabyn

I was super busy when this was a thing, but I noticed a bunch of people talking up Nabyn a while back, and it looks like an interesting gallery site. I’m curious, though, any users have fresh opinions at this point? Is it a good place to post/see art? How’s the interface? Is the community healthy? What kind of art/people make up most of the population?

…Also, would anyone be willing to hook me up with an invite if I were to want one?

A wee mooncat! I seem to draw them all as kittens; I am not sure if this is just coincidence, or whether the adult form is significantly different and I need to design that. Hmmm! There are a lot of interesting creatures on the Menagerie moon, just starting with the Man in the Moon and his mooncats. Possibly I should do something creatively about that…

Last May (yes, that long ago!) I was working on an idea for a zombie comic. I did some concept sketches and started writing a script, but thesis immediately co-opted all my energy and I’ve done little with it since. I think I need to do more genre research before I go any further. Anyway this is an initial concept for one of the major players. Not sure about his name.

More zombie concepts.

Yes, this is definitely a comedic take on the zombie apocalypse scenario.

Annnd the last of the concepts. I hope to revisit this eventually, pending research and time and other variables. Because, well, I like zombies for some reason. There are a few things that bug me about zombie stories that I hope maybe to address, too. Like I said, pending research and all that.

A quick reminder, filed under notes to self.

After I read MCA Hogarth’s story Family, I had to draw one of the protagonists, Vasiht’h. Because he is AWESOME, and his anatomy posed an interesting challenge. But mostly because he’s awesome.

My lovely pumpernickel loaves, this last semester of college has ended! I wrote a 103-page senior thesis (not counting front and back matter) called “The Arbiters of Childhood,” about how American adults viewed children and childhood in the 1950s. It covered topics from the juvenile delinquency panic to Brown v. Board of Education, mostly focusing on what the experts said with occasional excursions into how that filtered down to the average American. In my last chapter, I spent a little time discussing how the dominant 1950s model of the child is still with us today. As difficult and stressful as the process occasionally became, I’m really glad I wrote this thesis–both as a historian and as a person. It’s enabled me to do interesting scholarship in an area that fascinates me, to better understand my parents’ and grandparents’ generations, to think differently about childhood as a category, and to get hands-on experience of historical problems and processes. In some ways, I’m sad it’s over, but I don’t think my study of 1950s childhood, family life, and just life in general is done with. 1950s family history is a topic that, despite enjoying a great deal of fascinating scholarship already, still abounds with vast tracts of unexplored territory.

For now, though, I’ve done with my thesis and my classes (including piano lessons, which is kinda sad), and to my intense surprise they gave me a diploma. What were they thinking? NO ONE KNOWS. But I am apparently officially a Bachelor of Arts in History. This unexpected turn of events is so overwhelming that I need to take a week or two to recover from the shock. What I’m saying is, hiatus will continue for a little while longer, but I AM done with college and I DO plan to get back to blogging in the not-too-distant future!

Or, to put it another way:

Timeo Danaos indeed, for are not most of the dead the dead the dead from Greece? Socrates is a sharp-clawed manticore, and Plato a gargantuan water-bear too far-sighted for spectacles. Odysseus is a jackal, Helen the butcher-bird, and Athena grey-eyed goddess has more blood in her chamber than Bluebeard. Those who love them become like them, and their teeth are admirably strong. What big, bright, white, wet, shining, solid, well-rooted cuspids and bicuspids and cusps of all kinds! They grow fat and flourishing.

Out here in the desert the winds blow through my eye-sockets. Out here the vulture and I discuss the words of the abbas in measured tones, with long pauses that the sunlight fills. Out here the bones in my hands hum but gently.

The prophet and the Marigold Woman hesitate still on the verge of the swamp. The elephants have one last chance to achieve their pirouettes. The morning-doves mutter amongst themselves, watching the king of jacks with suspicious eyes. The clouds sit low and weep occasional tears in an occasional eulogy.

Out here in the desert the sun tries to find a finger-hold in the shade of the cells. Out here I know two things, two things and a third. Out here the dust is warm.

Out here, I wait.

Prophet: We can’t stay there.

Marigold Woman: Why not?

Prophet: I don’t know. They won’t let us. The witch is still out there, and the bees, and the robots, and–oh!–a million and one things. The elephants–

Marigold Woman: The elephants are leaving.

Prophet: I guess. For now. I don’t trust those elephants.

Marigold Woman: scowling I will never go back to the witch’s kingdom.

Prophet: Oh, you will. You will. You’ll do it every day. You’ve closed the doors nice and tight but you know what? I think you just wove yourself another cocoon.

Marigold Woman: What if I did? What’s it to you?

Prophet: I wish I knew. I only wish I knew. removes cap, scratching head Got a light?

Marigold Woman: No.

3.3.3

SCENE: The elephants are here! The elephants continue to shuffle about in the moonlight, but they still have not got the beat. The Cheshire watches them from the spot where the garden gnome used to stand, in the tall grass.

Cheshire: Look, the king of jacks is in the window again. this to the boy with the angel face

Boy: Oh, let him stay.

Cheshire: looks at him sharply Oh?

Boy: Yeah, maybe–maybe I like him. Maybe we need him around here. I mean, where would I be if I wasn’t needed? Maybe if he left–maybe I– he half-raises his hands, a helpless expression making his eyebrows slip

Cheshire: You’re afraid, my precious foxling.

Boy: N… nobody needs me any more. he shoves his hands in his pockets, glancing away from the dancing-lawn and down along the path, all edged with monarch butterflies and white wire, that leads to the pool. The sound of scorpions and blacksnakes drifts through the cool air.

Cheshire: What is it you think makes you so necessary, foxling?

Boy: kicks at the ground and frowns more deeply, but does not respond

Cheshire: Bless you.

Boy: I didn’t sneeze.

Cheshire: Who said anything about sneezes?

The elephants continue to shuffle about.