At this moment, I am having an affair. My husband is well aware of it. I'm pretty sure my son is too. No friendship has ever felt as natural as this one. We were meant to be together. My heart aches because of our physical distance. Why did she have to pass? I know she would accept me as her friend, how could she not?
A few years back I took a class at John C. Campbell Folk School. I highly recommend every person on the planet to go and take one class. Just one. While I was there I purchased a writing book written by one of the teachers there. It is the course book, if I were to take the class, but outside of the class it has a great deal of information, guidance, and writing starters. The author also presents a list of books that writers need to read. So, a good student of my craft, I placed these books in my Amazon cart and held them to the "save for later" area. Eventually I was able to purchase most of them, if I didn't already own them or easily found them at the library. One of the books was "A Wrinkle in Time," by Madeleine L'engle. Yes, I got to read it before this Disney-fied mass marketed craze occurred. I was hooked. The mix of science and faith. The use of complicated words for a book marketed to children. (I later learned it was never her intention to market the book to children.) Yes, that book created my love affair with Madeleine. I believe we could be on a first name basis. As I said, she is no longer present to be offended. Also, if a member of her family or inner circle were to comment on my blog for calling her by such familiarity, I would be honored, whether good, bad, or ugly. Since reading "Wrinkle" I moved on to "A Wind in the Door," the sequel to wrinkle. I even rented the old movie from the library. Oh, how they butchered it. I understand we don't have time to get every detail, but it was lack-luster at best. I own the quintuplet, as well as some other fictional works from her that I have yet to dive into. At a time in my writing struggles, I found a book she had written called "Walking on Water: Reflections on Faith & Art." It was the answer I was looking for. How does a Christian writer continue to write fiction while wanted to serve the Lord in the craft? Must we always place the thread of our religion into the works, or do we need to create specifically seen Christian work for it to be credited to us as a work for God? It was something I was struggling with. As I read "Walking on Water," I realized just how similar Madeleine and I are. I saw the same struggles, desires, questions. It made me immediately regret that I came into the literature world too late. She passed away in 2007, I was just leaving college. My path was far away from where I am now. Yet, where I am now wouldn't be if it weren't for the path I took. Oh the tragedy. I can sit around and play the "Oh me, oh my, why couldn't it be?" game all day long, but that will not solve anything in life. At this point, I would just like to say thank you to Madeleine for writing what I needed. The fiction, the essays - her journals give my heart peace. She has inspired me a decade after her passing. If her family were to come across this blog, I hope that they know just how important she has been to American literature, and writers across the world. I hope that I will be able to put words to paper in a way that creates a little twinge of hope the way she has for me. Whether I do or do not, rest assured, I think I will always carry this love of Madeleine, my one day when we meet in heaven friend. "My husband is my moth ruthless critic. Tallis runs him a close second. Sometimes he will say, 'It's been said better before.' Of course. It's all been said better before. If I thought i had to say it better than anybody else, I'd never start. Better or worse is immaterial. The thing is that it has to be said; by me; ontologically. We each have to say it, to say it our own way. Not of our own will, but as it comes out through us. Good or bad, great or little: that isn't what human creation is about. It is that we have to try; to put it down in pigment, or words, or musical notations, or we die." Madeleine L'Engle - A Circle of Quiet
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