Queen Kelley

Tonight, for the first time in many months, I had the opportunity to talk with fellow writers about the writing process. We lounged on couches in my den and, in between my rushing to care for children, we bounced ideas around, questioned each other’s theme choices, posed possible plots and scenes, and generally laid the groundwork of thought required for all good writing. Now that we’ve explored avenues I might take with my young adult novel, the random ten minutes I can grab to write will be productive minutes. Thanks, Kevin, Karen, and Jeremy, for stopping by this evening for a four-hour chat about one of my favorite topics–writing. And thanks, my sweet King, for working so hard to set aside an environment in which we writers could talk. I promise I’ll get that best-seller written one of these days….

Yesterday, the King and I celebrated six years of marriage. In a lifespan, it’s not an especially significant chunk of time, and yet when I think of everything that’s happened between us in those years, it seems like ages. I look at wedding pictures and can barely remember what it was like to be the girl in the white dress. She seems hopeful, perhaps a bit naive, a little anxious, and definitely thinner around her middle (Did I really fit into that skinny, pearly dress?). I’m sure all these things were true then, and some of them still hold. I’m certainly hopeful, still naive in some ways, often anxious. We won’t discuss the physical changes brought on by children and age.

There’s something built into most girls I know that makes us conceive of marriage as a fairy tale. We fantasize about our weddings, long for the days when we always have someone to come home to (or to come home to us), dream about the children we’ll take part in creating, revel in the idea of daily romance and excitement, and rarely think about the immense amount of WORK that goes into sustaining such a relationship. Sometimes, when those first difficulties come–and they come early–we fear that all is lost. The fortunate among us learn soon enough, though, that each difficulty faced and conquered (or at least compromised) is a step to a stronger, healthier, hardier relationship that’s actually capable of lasting a lifetime.

I’m fairly certain the guys don’t have such lavish dreams. For the King, anyway, it’s more about friendship, food, and fun. About companionship, whether he’s actually spending quality one-on-one time with me or merely in the same vicinity. About humor and finding the funny side of any circumstance. About solving problems efficiently and effectively.

As different as I am from the King and he from me, we’ve managed to find a balance that reveals the beauty of a man and woman in the most committed of all relationships. I, of course, look forward to many more dozens of years with him.

SPOILERS! SPOILERS! SPOILERS!

So. Wow. After way too much stopping and starting for my liking, I finally secured a kid-free allotment of time in which to devour the remaining few hundred pages of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. I made it to bed at 11:00 and was unable to sleep unfitfully for hours afterward. There is much to process, but I wanted to record my initial reactions before I move to deeper posts later.

(1) I’ve talked with others about how Jo Rowling may not be the most poetic writer. Her adeptness lies not in meticulous word selection but in masterful plot construction and character development. As the incredible expanse of her world and her intricate story unfolded in Book 7–I experienced many “a-ha” and “oh!” moments–I was totally awed by her talent. The dozens of connections she wove through all 7 books, which came to light so beautifully in this final volume, make me nothing but respectful of a mind that is able to see such a big picture and yet reveal it so slowly, piece by piece, without ruining the satisfaction of viewing the whole.

(2) I have loved these characters–Harry, Hermione, Ron, Hagrid, Dumbledore, the Weasleys, Lupin, Sirius, Luna, Neville, even Snape. Rowling made them so real, so dynamic, and so human. I felt their pain, embarrassment, amusement, love, hope, struggles. It is a credit to Jo that she hasn’t seemed to let all the Potter hype (movies, toys, clothes, web sites, etc.) deviate from her goal to stay true to the characters born from her mind.

(3) Nonstop action! This is why constant interruptions were so annoying as I read this book. The action began with a bang and hardly let up until the last page. Battles, arguments, deaths, revelations, new puzzles came one after the other. I can’t even begin to conceive of this in film format.

(4) Snape and Dumbledore. After reading the chapter in which Voldemort kills Snape, I felt disappointed that the despicable professor wasn’t, after all, fighting for the good side. What a beautiful death scene, though (”Look…at…me.”). Then the next chapter, in which Harry dives into Snape’s memories, vindicated Severus Snape at long last, and I have never been so grateful to an author. Snape was probably her most clever creation because he kept us wondering for so long. I also thought knocking Dumbledore off his pedestal was clever and REAL. In all previous books, we’d seen few weaknesses in the wizard, but this book showed that he, too, lived through serious character faults and mistakes. I think this was probably the greatest lesson for Harry. After all, Dumbledore has told him all along that the choices make the person.

(5) Death. I think Rowling treated death in a beautifully spiritual way. The chapter where Harry knowingly walks to his death in the forest is poignant, heartbreaking, and revealing. I marveled at the way she described his sudden realization of what it means to live in a body–to see, to breathe, to be. I also love the way she showed her belief that we keep going after that body is gone. Just beautiful.

These are my initial reactions. I will write more and use specific quotes later. Well done, Jo! I couldn’t have asked for better.

I just put Ladybug to bed…finally. And once again the nebulous “they” intruded on the nighttime ritual. “They” say not to let the baby get dependent on a certain action–nursing, listening to music, being rocked–to fall asleep. Even though it had not yet been two hours since her last meal, I let Ladybug suck herself into a sleep-inducing state of calm cuddled up to my chest. As soon as she let go, I stuck the pacifier in her mouth and rocked her until her little body relaxed. “They” say put the baby down drowsy but awake. Ladybug was sound asleep in my arms as I stepped softly to her crib, stood for a few quiet moments hardly daring to breathe, and then, ever so smoothly, laid her on the mattress, praying “Please stay asleep, please stay asleep.” “They” say put the baby to sleep on her back. As I stood close to Ladybug’s crib, I carefully got my arms into position, feeling frustrated as always with the difficulty of setting her down and ensuring she stays asleep, counted to three silently, and put her on her belly. For now, she’s snoozing peacefully. But I’ll still let “they” make me feel guilty for not doing things the right way, even though my own experience and that of many others discounts the right way in favor of the better way.

Ladybug had her four-month-old appointment this morning, and Butterfly came along for support. This was probably not the best of planning on my part, but we made it. We waited the required forty-five minutes to get into an exam room. During this time, Ladybug’s pleasant smiles and coos transformed into high-pitched squeals and wails. The two little boys waiting for their sister and mother looked from my baby to each other with raised eyebrows. Butterfly tinkered with one of those contraptions of thin, twisty metal bars threaded through wooden vehicles that kids can slide around. Then she wanted me to read her a book at the same time that Ladybug’s crying hit maximum volume. Against my better judgment, I was forced to turn a chair away from the boys to nurse the baby, telling Butterfly a story to keep her satisfied. As soon as Ladybug began to eat in earnest, we got called into the exam room. The interrupted meal made her newly upset, but being forced to lie naked on a cold plastic measuring sheet sent her into hysterics. Frantically, I began singing the magic song, “Itsy Bitsy Spider,” and the nurses marveled at the way it instantly calmed the baby. Sweet Butterfly helped me sing it, and soon Ladybug was much more relaxed. She sailed through the exam and even offered the doctor a few smiles.

All the while, Butterfly was climbing from one chair to the other, saying, “Mommy, watch me. I’m doing my exercises!” “We don’t stand on chairs at home, and we don’t stand on them at the doctor’s office, either,” I retorted. Then I added, “But you are doing some nice exercises.” I had to give her that. We were doing well, getting ready to leave, and then the nurse returned and ruined Ladybug’s contentment with two shots in each leg. After an hour and a half, the three of us couldn’t get out of there fast enough. And I don’t think anyone was sorry to see us go.

After a morning like this, I suppose Ladybug was justified in resisting bedtime. At least this night. And “they” can go kiss a toad.

Now back to Harry.

To fill space until I have the time and thought processes for a fresh entry (basically, until I finish reading Book 7), here’s a journal entry I wrote when my older princess (”Butterfly”) was about 3 1/2 months old. I’m already thinking the same thing about my younger princess (”Ladybug”). Those sweet baby feet change all too quickly.

3-24-05 Feet, Feet, Feet
The other day, it hit me. For some reason, I was studying my foot—maybe noticing how long my toenails are and thinking I need to trim them. But as I looked at my foot, I pictured Butterfly’s little foot (she was napping at the time). My fingertips brushed across my toes, and I thought of the way I kiss Butterfly’s, the way I rub the perfect contours of her heels and wonder at the tiny nails and her two funny toes—the next to last on each foot—that are raised slightly above the others. I marveled at the innocence of her feet, soft and smooth, that have yet to walk over harsh ground or be crammed into shoes. And it hit me, as I looked at my own foot—with the dirty long nails, the thickened dry skin, the slightly misshapen bone due to years of shoes—that once, going on twenty-eight years ago, my mother kissed it, touched it, rubbed it, tickled it, and marveled at it. Finally understanding what it is to love and wonder about and marvel at a child, I am moved beyond words by what my parents must feel for me, even now.

It’s hard to fathom that one day, Butterfly’s tiny feet will be worn from the miles she will walk. That one day, she’ll paint her toenails and rub lotion over the calluses. That one day, those feet will carry her far from home. For now, I’ll treasure each time I’m able to cradle them in the palm of my hand—because they’re that small. I’ll cherish games of “This Little Piggy,” thrilling at her newly discovered ability to giggle at my silliness while I count her toes and tickle her feet. I’ll lay her on her back and pull her feet into the air, helping her learn that they are hers. She’s already begun to notice them. She’s long been standing on them. Before I know it, she’ll be moving on them…away from me. And hopefully, they’ll carry her right back again.

I will of course comment on Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows when I finish it, but for right now, let me say that it’s completely engrossing from the first page. Now that the princesses are in bed, I will hide away in my quarters and read until I fall asleep…if I can fall asleep. As an amusing side note, the King, who is not a reader, just returned from Wal-Mart where he purchased his own copy so we won’t argue over who gets to read when. Happy reading, Potter fans!

I apologize to readers who aren’t Potter fans, but this is a Potter week, after all. In less than 10 hours, the last book of the series will be available, though I imagine I’ll wait and get it in the morning (first thing, of course).

I was as excited as any young teen on my way to the movie Saturday. Whether that was due mostly to my love of the story or to the fact that my inlaws and the King offered to stay home with the princesses is up for debate. Regardless, the film met and even sometimes exeeded my expectations. I’m not a purist. Films need not duplicate books exactly to satisfy me. I enjoy books on one level and movies on another, though I feel the movies should stay faithful to the heart of the story. In my opinion, the Potter films have done that.

SPOILERS BELOW

Here’s what thrilled me about this film:
-Harry’s building anger and sense of isolation
-Dumbledore’s struggle between helping Harry and avoiding him in order to avoid Voldemort
-Luna Lovegood! Evanna Lynch was spot-on for me. She’s exactly the way I viewed the character–breathy, eyebrows raised, constant look of either being pensive or dopey.
-Pacing, for the most part. It can be no small task to condense a 900-page book into a movie slightly longer than 2 hours. My kudos to the screenwriter, Michael Goldenberg. He kept the essential moments and added fun touches.
-Dolores Umbridge (played terrifically by Imelda Staunton), who was horribly wicked and sickeningly sweet. I laughed with delight the first time she cleared her throat in the Great Hall (hem-hem).
-The obvious chemistry between Ron and Hermione. Rupert Grint and Emma Watson played this well. Though Ron will get a girlfriend in the next film, he and Hermione are destined for each other, and their interaction in this film sets the stage for that.
-On the same track, I liked the shots of Ginny. Though not frequent enough, it is clear that she and Harry have some chemistry too.
-Fred and George’s fireworks display as they leave Hogwarts. Great fun!
-Alan Rickman, Alan Rickman, Alan Rickman. He is the absolute perfect Snape. Can’t wait to see what’s in store for this dynamic character.
-The soundtrack. Mostly dark and brooding, it also catered to the lighter moments of the film, such as Fred and George’s exit.
-Gary Oldman as Sirius Black. His subtle expressions communicated so much and were a riot.
-The patronus scene in the Room of Requirement, where Harry is teaching the students how to perform their own. Delightful!

Here are the few things that disappointed me:
-The length. Yes, the condensed version is impressive, but with such a long and intricate book, I felt that perhaps some parts were deleted unnecessarily.
-The scenes at the Ministry of Magic. The sets were all spectacular, but I missed some of the fabulous rooms at the ministry as described by Jo. The scene with Sirius’s death in particular seemed somewhat rushed.
-(added July 21)In light of the early pages of book 7, I must mention something I forgot when writing this earlier. Sirius did not give Harry the two-way mirror in the movie. I missed it when I watched, and now it seems that it may be important in the end. And that’s all I’ll say about that.

If you like the Potter world, I think you’ll enjoy the film, even though you may have a few beefs about what was changed/deleted. All in all, I think it was skillfully made and entertaining.

Those who know me well know what I was doing last Saturday–watching the fifth Harry Potter film on IMAX, my 3-D glasses hanging around my neck in anticipation of the wand battle within the Ministry of Magic. Those who know me also know to give me a wide berth this Saturday because, even if I must wait for the princesses to go to sleep, I will at least get started on Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. It is, after all, the final entry in a world-renowned series 17 years in the making. There are plenty who think someone like me should make a statement by avoiding anything related to the boy wizard, but I’ve been a fan(atic) since book 3 debuted. The books certainly have faults, but I disagree that the story is a dud or inherently evil. Something good has kept me reading (and watching) these several years.

I see these works as some of the latest contributions to stories about the perpetual battle between good and evil. Greek mythology, The Pilgrim’s Progress, Dante’s Inferno, the Lord of the Rings trilogy, The Chronicles of Narnia, the Star Wars films. Some are much more intentional and allegorical, but at it’s simplest, it’s as basic as that…at least to me. I respect that many people would disagree on several levels, and they should feel free to comment.

As for God and Harry Potter, a friend forwarded an article whose author (whom I just happen to know) identifies three foundational lessons reinforced by the Potter books. Find it here.

With so many different opinions of this particular series of books, in the end I believe some of us must agree to disagree. I’ll keep enjoying the books and films for what they are to me–parts of a fantastic story about characters I’ve grown to love. (Please don’t kill Harry, Jo, even though I know it would make the most literary sense.)

At long last, Queen Kelley joins the blogging world. I chose the feather theme because it reminds me of a quill, a writing tool far removed from this keyboard my fingers dance on now. I’ve wondered if taking the time to dip a feather tip in an ink bottle and carefully form letters made the writer more thoughtful or more frustrated. I for one am grateful for the most useful class I took in high school–typing. Writing as fast as I think is essential when I don’t have much time to write.

By way of introduction, I share a home with my handsome king and our two little princesses, ages 2 1/2 (the 1/2 is extremely important) and 4 months. We also own two noble steeds better known as border collies (or some combination of that breed and others). I spend my days caring for the princesses, editing manuscripts and Bible study lessons from home, and dreaming of the day when I’ll have time to write my first best-seller. In my bedroom closet is a storage box filled with hardbound journals–13 of them full of writing from the time I was 8 until I moved to more modern journaling methods at age 22. Most entries are laughable, full of teenage angst and hyperdrama, but they’re a telling record of my life. Now, for the first time ever, folks will be able to read my journal, see into my thoughts, crack open the mystery that is me. At least as much as I’ll let them.

So welcome. Read what you like, comment, and please don’t judge too harshly. After all, we’re beautifully different, aren’t we?