To the Unseen Judge of Sexuality
For those of you who don't know (or haven't seen any of my cryptic Facebook posts about it), I have been working on one of my creative babies, in this case being a Civil War novel involving the torture of memory, the bitterness of regret, new loves and old ones, mixing into all of it a love triangle that I neither intended when I first started and which I want out of desperately. Oh well. You've got to at least see where it goes before scrapping it, right?
A newfound love between two of my characters has cropped up in my most recent draft that I was not expecting, and which I instantly fell madly and desperately in love with. For the sake of spoilers (and because I am planning on getting this published someday, and I hate spoilers more than most people know), I will not reveal who they are or how they have fallen in love, but I wanted to explore some ideas that have terrified me the entirety of my life as an author. Granted, most of these realities--love, life, death, memory, abuse, regret, unrequited love, hope unfulfilled were not understood by me as a child when I first started writing, but I have at least a taste of them now. And writing as an adult and not a juvenile who is just beginning to grasp basic emotion, let alone the biggies like lust, suicide, despair, and the ever-burning and forever nuisance flame of hope, has dramatically changed so much of what I was already wrangling with in this novel. Yes, I am only 25. And to all you older naysayers, I quote the eternal Charlotte Brontë in Jane Eyre:
"I do not think, sir, you have any right to command me, merely because you are older
than I, or because you have seen more of the world than I have; your claim to superiority
depends on the use you have made of your time and experience."
I will not claim to be an expert in these fields (although if you go around claiming that you are an expert in emotion, I would highly doubt your claim). But my point remains: such themes are timeless in human life, no matter the age.
Now that that objection is temporarily out of the way, back to my line of thought. I was sitting here earlier today, writing on my novel and trying to sift through all the varied emotions and these characters are facing in the midst of an event that should be joyous and miraculous but actually brings terrible regret and pain. And these two characters who are now drawn to each other are struggling with the past in conjunction with the present and the possibility that their love could be real. Yes, I know. This is awfully cryptic, but I am writing this post for me as much as anything, and my thoughts spill out of my fingers faster than I realize. Ultimately what I came to realize was a scenario I haven't had to prepare myself for yet because of the various other storylines I have been in. My two characters, falling madly in love, may very well come together very intimately outside of the marriage bed. Now, I know this may sound ridiculous. I am not a prude, nor do I avoid sexual intimacy in my novels. (You should see half the scenarios in my dystopian novel). The biggest difference being, the majority of the intimate moments that I reference in my other works are either grotesque, obviously obscene or perverted (which I try to make a point of without making it graphic), and the loving intimate moments are shown to be under some sort of civil union or vow, so although it may not be called a marriage bed, that's what it is. But this scenario between my two Civil War characters is love for the sake of love, marriage or not.
I am realizing that as an adult and as an author, I am reaching a threshold, and a point of much-needed transition. Here is where I want to break away from the incoherent fear that has been associate with the female body, sexual desire, sexual intimacy, and love in a physical form that has been fed to me through various forms, media, and doctrine for so many years that often I have a hard time differentiating between what I have been told and what I actually believe in my heart of hearts and know to be true. No, I am not saying that I am going to start bed-hopping and throw my civility or morality out of the window. But coming to a realistic place in the scenario of two people in love, torn by awful circumstances and looking for comfort is a very real situation that we all witness or participate in, whether intimately or not. As an author, I want to capture that desperation and that grasping for love, as well as the idea that love is genuinely there, even if it isn't bound by vows. Now, I do have characters in another novel who say no to being intimate based solely on the fact that they couldn't handle losing their significant other after such a moment of togetherness. And these two present characters, if such a scenario arises, after being together would be tortured by guilt because of their own Catholic upbringing, even if they did come together out of love in the mistaken moment of the heat of a real passion. Or would they? And there I am, back to my dilemma.
I guess this is an open letter to myself, saying that I'm tired of sex being preached as evil, when it is all too often discussed, on both sides of the pendulum, in such crass and derogatory language that we are made to be either heinous, hedonistic animals completely controlled by lust that we must give in to, or automaton robots who must deny that that desire even exists, that we must judge ourselves when it manifests, and punish ourselves when we are "allowed" to give into it because we do not understand and are terrified by it even when given permission.
There is a middle ground, and what I want to achieve as a woman and as an author is an understanding of what the study of the Theology of the Body is only starting to grasp: the idea that sexual desire is beautiful, and should live, and even if slip-ups are made, we are loved by an all-loving and forgiving God. He is not a cruel taskmaster, giving us often overwhelming desires and then punishing us when we fall. That is what He died for, and that is why we confess our sins to Him--to receive His forgiveness. True desire--physical, sexual, spiritual desire is not evil. I am so tired of that incessant voice in the back of my mind that keeps me from exploring such themes as struggle, love, passion, and intimacy in my work, and in my life, because I am so terrified of venturing into "evil" territory. Why are we so terrified of ourselves? We are human. We are not perfect, and we never will be. There shouldn't be a free-for-all in order to sin and treat others like rubbish, and ruin ourselves, inside and out, but isn't there a place where we are able to grow and live and love, free from fear and confident in love, unsought and underserved, coming from our Heavenly Father who sees us, knows us, and loves us despite everything? Can't we know ourselves as truly human? I want to feel human. I no longer want to hold myself to a checklist of absolutely impossible standards that are hindering me now, and which will certainly hinder me later if wedding bells ever do ring. And I want my characters, in all my present novels and in all the novels to come, to know that freedom as well. Aren't the best stories of conversion and redemption filled with sex, drugs, and rock & roll? Aren't they filled with blood, death, pain, regret, and sorrow? Aren't those the ones that move us the most because of how greatly the Light shone in their lives? How are our lives any different?
I want to look real life and real angst in the face and work it out head on, not playing around it in the shadows or behind false pretenses of civility or morality. Show me morality that climbs into the trenches of the battle with you, covered in the same blood, the same dirt, wearing a Crown of Thorns and a purple cloak about His shoulders. And here again, I must quote Brontë's Jane Eyre:
"Conventionality is not morality. Self-righteousness is not religion. To attack the first
is not to assail the last. To pluck the mask from the face of the Pharisee, is not to lift
an impious hand to the Crown of Thorns."
I want my life, and my written works, to be a testament to real life and the desires and struggles within, to how they are revealed through actions, intimacies, and fights for hope and light and life beyond the material world that so easily clouds our vision for something better. I want no longer to be afraid of the invisible judge over my shoulder, spouting decrees that neither look like God's Law nor sound like it. I want to jump off the deep end and explore. I want to live, and I want my characters to live, too, no matter the end.
A newfound love between two of my characters has cropped up in my most recent draft that I was not expecting, and which I instantly fell madly and desperately in love with. For the sake of spoilers (and because I am planning on getting this published someday, and I hate spoilers more than most people know), I will not reveal who they are or how they have fallen in love, but I wanted to explore some ideas that have terrified me the entirety of my life as an author. Granted, most of these realities--love, life, death, memory, abuse, regret, unrequited love, hope unfulfilled were not understood by me as a child when I first started writing, but I have at least a taste of them now. And writing as an adult and not a juvenile who is just beginning to grasp basic emotion, let alone the biggies like lust, suicide, despair, and the ever-burning and forever nuisance flame of hope, has dramatically changed so much of what I was already wrangling with in this novel. Yes, I am only 25. And to all you older naysayers, I quote the eternal Charlotte Brontë in Jane Eyre:
"I do not think, sir, you have any right to command me, merely because you are older
than I, or because you have seen more of the world than I have; your claim to superiority
depends on the use you have made of your time and experience."
I will not claim to be an expert in these fields (although if you go around claiming that you are an expert in emotion, I would highly doubt your claim). But my point remains: such themes are timeless in human life, no matter the age.
Now that that objection is temporarily out of the way, back to my line of thought. I was sitting here earlier today, writing on my novel and trying to sift through all the varied emotions and these characters are facing in the midst of an event that should be joyous and miraculous but actually brings terrible regret and pain. And these two characters who are now drawn to each other are struggling with the past in conjunction with the present and the possibility that their love could be real. Yes, I know. This is awfully cryptic, but I am writing this post for me as much as anything, and my thoughts spill out of my fingers faster than I realize. Ultimately what I came to realize was a scenario I haven't had to prepare myself for yet because of the various other storylines I have been in. My two characters, falling madly in love, may very well come together very intimately outside of the marriage bed. Now, I know this may sound ridiculous. I am not a prude, nor do I avoid sexual intimacy in my novels. (You should see half the scenarios in my dystopian novel). The biggest difference being, the majority of the intimate moments that I reference in my other works are either grotesque, obviously obscene or perverted (which I try to make a point of without making it graphic), and the loving intimate moments are shown to be under some sort of civil union or vow, so although it may not be called a marriage bed, that's what it is. But this scenario between my two Civil War characters is love for the sake of love, marriage or not.
I am realizing that as an adult and as an author, I am reaching a threshold, and a point of much-needed transition. Here is where I want to break away from the incoherent fear that has been associate with the female body, sexual desire, sexual intimacy, and love in a physical form that has been fed to me through various forms, media, and doctrine for so many years that often I have a hard time differentiating between what I have been told and what I actually believe in my heart of hearts and know to be true. No, I am not saying that I am going to start bed-hopping and throw my civility or morality out of the window. But coming to a realistic place in the scenario of two people in love, torn by awful circumstances and looking for comfort is a very real situation that we all witness or participate in, whether intimately or not. As an author, I want to capture that desperation and that grasping for love, as well as the idea that love is genuinely there, even if it isn't bound by vows. Now, I do have characters in another novel who say no to being intimate based solely on the fact that they couldn't handle losing their significant other after such a moment of togetherness. And these two present characters, if such a scenario arises, after being together would be tortured by guilt because of their own Catholic upbringing, even if they did come together out of love in the mistaken moment of the heat of a real passion. Or would they? And there I am, back to my dilemma.
I guess this is an open letter to myself, saying that I'm tired of sex being preached as evil, when it is all too often discussed, on both sides of the pendulum, in such crass and derogatory language that we are made to be either heinous, hedonistic animals completely controlled by lust that we must give in to, or automaton robots who must deny that that desire even exists, that we must judge ourselves when it manifests, and punish ourselves when we are "allowed" to give into it because we do not understand and are terrified by it even when given permission.
There is a middle ground, and what I want to achieve as a woman and as an author is an understanding of what the study of the Theology of the Body is only starting to grasp: the idea that sexual desire is beautiful, and should live, and even if slip-ups are made, we are loved by an all-loving and forgiving God. He is not a cruel taskmaster, giving us often overwhelming desires and then punishing us when we fall. That is what He died for, and that is why we confess our sins to Him--to receive His forgiveness. True desire--physical, sexual, spiritual desire is not evil. I am so tired of that incessant voice in the back of my mind that keeps me from exploring such themes as struggle, love, passion, and intimacy in my work, and in my life, because I am so terrified of venturing into "evil" territory. Why are we so terrified of ourselves? We are human. We are not perfect, and we never will be. There shouldn't be a free-for-all in order to sin and treat others like rubbish, and ruin ourselves, inside and out, but isn't there a place where we are able to grow and live and love, free from fear and confident in love, unsought and underserved, coming from our Heavenly Father who sees us, knows us, and loves us despite everything? Can't we know ourselves as truly human? I want to feel human. I no longer want to hold myself to a checklist of absolutely impossible standards that are hindering me now, and which will certainly hinder me later if wedding bells ever do ring. And I want my characters, in all my present novels and in all the novels to come, to know that freedom as well. Aren't the best stories of conversion and redemption filled with sex, drugs, and rock & roll? Aren't they filled with blood, death, pain, regret, and sorrow? Aren't those the ones that move us the most because of how greatly the Light shone in their lives? How are our lives any different?
I want to look real life and real angst in the face and work it out head on, not playing around it in the shadows or behind false pretenses of civility or morality. Show me morality that climbs into the trenches of the battle with you, covered in the same blood, the same dirt, wearing a Crown of Thorns and a purple cloak about His shoulders. And here again, I must quote Brontë's Jane Eyre:
"Conventionality is not morality. Self-righteousness is not religion. To attack the first
is not to assail the last. To pluck the mask from the face of the Pharisee, is not to lift
an impious hand to the Crown of Thorns."
I want my life, and my written works, to be a testament to real life and the desires and struggles within, to how they are revealed through actions, intimacies, and fights for hope and light and life beyond the material world that so easily clouds our vision for something better. I want no longer to be afraid of the invisible judge over my shoulder, spouting decrees that neither look like God's Law nor sound like it. I want to jump off the deep end and explore. I want to live, and I want my characters to live, too, no matter the end.
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