Recent Reads: The Rite

They say to be a great writer, you must also be a voracious reader. I know I am. I love to read and though I am often guilty of judging a book by its cover, I've never met a genre I didn't like. I will read almost anything if it's well written.

The problem I find, however, is that a lot of the stuff out there (especially the inexpensive/self-published books I can download on my Nook), just aren't.

In an effort to save you the trouble and perhaps some money, as I am quickly driving myself into debt with the "quick buy" feature on my Nook, I've decided to post my brief reviews of the books I've read.


The Rite: The Making of a Modern Exorcist, by Matt Baglio

Genre:  Non-Fiction

Why I Chose It:   The fact that I purchased a book about demonic possession and exorcism should come as no surprise to anyone who knows me. I'm fully prepared, however, to admit that I purchased it simply because it was adapted into a film starring Anthony Hopkins. What can I say? I'm just one of those people who has to read the book before I can see the movie.

Overview:  In 2005, in an effort to combat the growing threat of the Devil, the Pope decreed that every bishop must appoint an exorcist for each parish. In America, where most priests view exorcism as antiquated and superstitious, where even a belief in the Devil as anything more than a metaphor is frowned upon, it is not surprising that there were very few takers.

Father Gary Thomas however volunteers for the job and travels to a Vatican sponsored course on exorcism in Rome. It soon becomes clear that in order for him to fully grasp the concept of exorcisms, he must see one performed. Thus begins Father Gary's search for and eventual apprenticeship with one of the Church's premier exorcists.

My Take: Be warned, this is not a novelization of the movie.

I'll admit I was expecting something different. I knew going into it that this was a non-fiction book, but I was still expecting to read things reminiscent of Linda Blair in The Exorcist. While there are a few scenes that made my hair stand on end, if these are the thrills you seek, look elsewhere.

If, instead, you want a compelling, hard to put down story that explains what the Church really teaches about demonic possession, what the priest and the victim experience, and the critical role of an exorcist in today's society, you've found it.

I Write Therefore I Am

...a writer. I think.

So often I read interviews with published authors who claim that we writers write simply because we need to. That there is a hunger deep within us that can only be satisfied when we put pen to paper, or nowadays, fingers to keyboard. And - though I'm certain they didn't feel this way when they were struggling with query letters and rejections - that it matters not whether we ever see our work in print.

We write for ourselves. Because we have something to say. Or in my case, because it's the only way to get the voices in my head to stop bugging me.

But which comes first, the author or his published work?

Are we an author merely because we've finished a piece of work? Or must we wait until our baby is deemed worthy by an agent and a publisher before we can call ourselves writers?

Is not an actor an actor, with no credits to his name? Is not an artist an artist even when only appreciated posthumously?

If You Can't Say Something Mean...

We all remember the line from Bambi when Thumper, while being chastised by his mother for his rude behavoir, repeats, at her urging, one of his family's Golden Rules: If you can't say something nice, don't say nothing at all.

In general, I think we're a species that is programmed to be critical. Of ourselves and of others. Writer's, for the most part, are the worst of the lot. We agonize over every tiny detail in our own work, and when asked to review another's we give it the same kind of painstaking perusal we would our own.  At least I thought we did.

I've been writing since I discovered I could string words together and form coherent sentences, but sharing my work is uncharted territory that I'm just now exploring.

My first step was allowing my family to read my manuscript. However, after hearing from each of them that they found my story to be well-written and thoroughly entertaining (or in my brother Joey's case "good", as this seems to be the only adjective he is ever comfortable using), I was convinced that they must all be lying.

It couldn't possibly be good. Let alone flawless.

I found myself wondering if maybe, out of affection for me, they had chosen to heed Thumper's words of wisdom. And so I took the next step: I joined a writer's critique group. Then after months of excruciating arguments with myself over the worthiness of my draft and even the validity of my belonging to a group of writers in the first place, I posted a snippet of my manuscript.

Now, I am hard-wired to go into everything assuming the worst. This way when things turn out better than I expect, I find myself pleasantly surprised. In this case, however, my negative outlook proved correct. Some of my reviews were not favorable.

While at first there were cheers of "well done" and words like "intriguing" and "captivating" were used, the instant a negative comment was posted, the dam broke and the flood waters came rushing in.

It seems these groups may have a bit of a 'mob mentality', as reviewers following this negative post latched on, almost as if they were now compelled to judge my work in the same exact manner as the one before them.

"OMG. Someone said this is wrong, so it must be", seems to be a common thought amongst critiquers. We go into it expecting to find something wrong, and if we miss this something and someone else catches it, well then we're not very good writers, are we?

There I was, near to tears, knowing that as a writer I must face it. I must take it on the chin, shake it off, and come back for more (we are a truly self-loathing, masochistic bunch). So I decided to take thier criticism and try to implement changes to my story, but try as I may, I couldn't find the flaw the naysayers had pointed out to me.

Then days later, when my head swirled with thoughts like "if I can't recognize it, they must be better writers than I am" and "they know more than I do", a stranger went out of his way to be kind and told me what I'd wanted to hear all along: that my story was fantastic and that the others were merely being critical for criticism's sake.

I won't go into details about what he said, but to say I was shocked would be an egregious understatement. I'm from Philly. This is not behavior we're accustomed to.

I've decided to take his words at face value, if for no other reason than because he didn't have to write them. Days had passed, presumably I'd either taken the others' advice and moved on, or cried myself to sleep and declared I would never write again.

I think too often we writers think constructive criticism must be just that - criticism. We can't simply tell someone that what they've written is good. There must be a flaw. We know it. We just have to find it.

We adhere to our own adage - If you can't say something mean, you're not helping anybody. But, really, if we're being negative just to be negative, what good is that?

My Murtaugh List

This is a big year for me. It marks the official end of my youth. On November 20th, 2011, I will turn 30. I know, I know, there are people out there in thier forties, fifties, etc. that will groan and say they wish they could be thirty again. But if they think back, they will realize that they once felt the same mixture of panic and resentment that I am feeling towards an otherwise innocuous day.

30 is a big deal. It's the age when the other grown-ups around you start expecting you to act like one. In my family however, it has traditionally been met with a certain amount of regression, most of us preferring to continue living in a Neverland of partying, alcohol, and age inappropriate clothing.

The youngest of the four girls in my family, I will be the last to hit this major milestone - my sisters having already crashed into it with varying velocity - and I am determined to meet my birthday with grace and maturity. Thus, while watching a rerun of one of my favorite sitcoms, How I Met Your Mother, it occurred to me that I would need my own Murtaugh List to ensure success. So, below is a list of 10 things I vow never to do once I hit 30:

1) Kiss a Girl in Public - Really, at this point we should all be past our "bi-curious" stage and be either decidely straight, gay, or bi-sexual. And if we're just doing it for attention or to impress some guy, well, that's just pathetic.

2) Purchase Clothes form the Junior Section - There are plenty of beautiful items to be found in stores that don't specialize in cheap $5 T-shirts that express a desire to steal another girl's boyfriend and pants with words printed on the ass.

3) Wear Shimmery Pink Lipstick - Okay, so I've never looked good in pink and perhaps this is why I'm so quick to write this one off without remorse, but seriously, unless you look like Malibu Barbie, it's not working for you.

4) Develop a Crush on Justin Bieber - I will confess to currently having a huge crush on several of the boys from Twilight and Big Time Rush and even a small one on Freddy from i-Carly, but at 30 it borders on lecherous and may be just plain creepy to like a 16 year old.

5) Sleep with a Stuffed Animal - This one will be a tough one for me. My bed is currently occupied by a stuffed, wrinkly dog that's been with me since I was 3. It's going to be rough, but I think I can convince myself to at least hide him when I have company.

6) Sleep with Someone Whose Name I Can't Remember (or don't care to remember) - I was drunk. I was young. I was stupid. These are no longer acceptable excuses for poor and oftentimes dangerous decision making.

7) Drink Too Much at an Office Party - Trust me nobody wants to be that girl, and at this point your career should be far too important to jeopardize it with a reputation as a party girl or someone who's sleeping her way to the top.

8) Do Body Shots - Even if you're hot, this is just wrong. Leave this to the 20-somethings that can still blame the youth, the alcohol or the stupidity.

9) Dance on the Bar - See above.

10) Drink Cheap Alcohol - Life's just too short and the headaches are horrendous. My days of embracing a willingness to drink battery acid if it gets me buzzed are numbered.