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D.R. Ranshaw

D.R. RANSHAW

Be It Resolved That...

12/31/2018

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Psst! Hey, kid. Wanna make some New Year’s Resolutions?
 
Arghh. Is it really that time AGAIN? When we do this incredibly arbitrary thing as December 31 simultaneously slips into history --- and the past year with it, good riddance (what many people mutter under their breath, I think) --- and January 1 and a new year arrives?
 
And then… even though January 1 looks, sounds, feels, tastes and smells remarkably like December 31 in pretty much most respects (ones that matter, at any rate), we delude ourselves into thinking this is a *Brand New Beginning.* And then we compound the folly by saying it’s time to make a whole list of Things We’re Going To Do This Time, Gosh Darn It.
 
(Augh! Run for the hills! Barricade your homes! Hide your women and children!)
 
Frankly, I think the whole thing is rather reminiscent of Daylight Saving Time: there’s a whole raft of wildly conflicting stories as to how it originated; it’s totally useless --- in fact, in some cases, actually perilous to life and limb; and nobody really knows why we continue to observe it. But we keep on doing it anyway. Maybe from sheer cussedness. Or inertia. Or both. Frailty, thy name is humankind.
 
(Yes, yes, I know the earth has completed yet another revolution around the Sun. Speaking cosmologically, we’re back at the same point, more or less, as we were last January 1. Big whup. I’m sure the entire cosmos is agog at this stupendous achievement. And all we had to do to achieve it was stand on our beloved little rock as it silently hurtled through the inky vastness of space. Talk about minimal expectations.)
 
So let’s return to this business of resolutions. I understand that humans like to be able to turn the page on a block of time… to close a chapter… to put the past behind and begin anew. I’ll confess I’m a wee bit susceptible to it myself. We love closure --- in fact, most of us spend a great deal of time attempting to achieve it, one way or another, with varying degrees of desperation. New beginnings are like a spring day just after gentle rain has finished washing away the dust, grit and snow mould of winter past; everything smells clean and fresh, and there’s the sense of new life, new beginnings and…
 
…and then we go and saddle ourselves with a raft of often very ambitious goals for this new beginning, goals that, when studied in the cold light of rationality much later on, seem predestined for failure because they’re so ambitious.
 
Part of the problem, I think --- actually, a very BIG part of the problem --- is a perennial difficulty it seems every human on the planet experiences… and has since the dawn of time. I think it was best expressed by a man named Paul, writing a letter to folks in Rome a couple of thousand years or so ago. “I don’t get it,” he lamented. “I do the things I don’t want to do, and don’t do the things I want to do.”
 
Sure seems that way, Paul. For all of us. And notice he didn’t add, “What the hell is wrong with me?” Because, I suspect, he knew the answer all too well. As do most of us. And he didn’t have the voracious time-sucker known as social media to contend with, either.
 
So here’s my advice to you: if you really feel you must indulge in this insanely idealistic, naïve, time-honoured practice of generating a passle of New Year’s resolutions, be gentle with yourself. In fact, to contradict Dylan Thomas, go gently into that good night. For some people, I know it helps to have a concrete goal to look at, but you don’t have to resolve to bring about world peace; perhaps just peace in your own little corner of it would suffice… and could be a monumental challenge all on its own.
 
Maybe we should end with my Obligatory Tolkien Reference of the day: as the Fellowship is heading out from the cozy confines of Rivendell to begin the long trek to Mordor to see about destroying the Ring…
 
At that moment Elrond came out with Gandalf, and he called the Company to him. 'This is my last word,' he said in a low voice. “The Ring-bearer is setting out on the Quest of Mount Doom. On him alone is any charge laid: neither to cast away the Ring, nor to deliver it to any servant of the Enemy nor indeed to let any handle it, save members of the Company and the Council, and only then in gravest need. The others go with him as free companions, to help him on his way. You may tarry, or come back, or turn aside into other paths, as chance allows. The further you go, the less easy will it be to withdraw; yet no oath or bond is laid on you to go further than you will. For you do not yet know the strength of your hearts, and you cannot foresee what each may meet upon the road.”
“Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens,” said Gimli.
“Maybe,” said Elrond, “but let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.”
“Yet sworn word may strengthen quaking heart,” said Gimli. 
“Or break it,” said Elrond.
 
Elrond’s last word, indeed! You certainly get the feeling, from that zippy back-and-forth, that he’s determined to have the last word, and maybe the dwarf should just give up and shut up. Anyway, the point of the quote in relation to today’s epistle is, as I said, some may find New Year’s resolutions helpful… and some may not. For as Professor T says, we don’t always know the strength of our hearts, and can’t foresee what each may meet on the road.
 
Will I make any New Year’s resolutions?
 
Well… we neither confirm nor deny. But as always, we maintain plausible deniability.
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Is It A Wonderful Life?

12/24/2018

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‘Twas the week before Christmas, and all through the school… well, in my classroom, anyway, I was showing films by Wednesday, because my grade 12s, in particular, were just done. Done like dinner, as they say, and while I do tend to push my scholars fairly hard throughout the semester, bless their angsty little hormonal hearts, there comes a point where any good teacher knows it’s time to ease off the accelerator a bit. So I had a film or two ready.
 
Not just any films, of course. I have standards, I do. So I’m afraid Alvin and the Chipmunks fare is out, as is much other drivel that inexplicably passes as Christmas entertainment. If we’re viewing Christmas films in my class, we’re watching stuff a little more deserving (sorry, Alvin and Chipmunks devotees), and something I can use as for teachable moments. Which I did --- and is the point of today’s literary epistle. What’s in, then? you ask, rolling your eyes. Well, two of my favourite Christmas films are: Scrooge, the 1970 musical starring Albert Finney (I’m not usually a huge fan of musicals, but Scrooge is extremely cleverly done, and well worth your time); and It’s a Wonderful Life, the 1946 classic starring Jimmy Stewart. Scrooge we can talk about another time; today I want to discuss something that arose watching It’s a Wonderful Life (IAWL).
 
First, a word or six about the film. The amusing thing about IAWL is it really wasn’t originally a Christmas classic at all. Sure, its climactic events are set at Christmas, and it premiered in December 1946, but it was initially a financial disappointment no one expected would become an enduring classic. The film’s protagonist, George Bailey, is a decent man who’s discarded his own ambitions --- travelling the world and working in architecture --- in order to run a decrepit building and loan firm following his father’s death. Bailey Building and Loan is the only bulwark of compassionate humanity standing against the town’s evil bully, the wealthy Henry Potter, whose twisted bitterness would, if he had his way, see the community of Bedford Falls reduced to little more than a slave camp, with the inhabitants its inmates.
 
And he almost succeeds. When George’s partner, the inept Uncle Billy, misplaces $8000 of the Building and Loan’s money --- a princely sum in 1946 --- it looks like financial ruin, criminal charges and prison for George. Uncle Billy has, in fact, unwittingly/accidentally given the money to Henry Potter, who discovers the mistake but, in true villainous fashion, says nothing about it. This triggers the film’s climactic sequence: George running into the night, crashing his car, then pausing on a bridge, ready to commit suicide by hurling himself from it.
 
At this juncture, God intervenes (quite literally) by sending an angel-in-training named Clarence to save George. (We’re given the impression Clarence isn’t exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer, so God must obviously have great faith in him to get the job done.) Clarence seizes on an offhand remark George makes about being worth more dead than alive (with his $15000 life insurance policy) and decides to show George what Bedford Falls would be like had George never existed. (Notwithstanding the fact that this plot device, or variations of it, has since been employed many times in many different films and books, it’s a clever idea.)
 
Turns out that, without George’s compassionate presence, Bedford Falls --- now named Pottersville --- is kind of a neon, amoral, secular hell on earth (kind of like--- no, no, never mind, it’s supposed to be the season of peace on earth and goodwill to all). Given free rein to do as he likes, Potter has made it that way. One of the main points of the film is that each of us can positively influence all kinds of people in our life journeys, and without George there to do that, Bedford Falls has gone to hell in a handbasket. Once George has graphically witnessed the Dante-esque landscape of Pottersville, he’s more than ready to go back to the ‘real’ world and face prison, as long as it means he’s back among those whom he loves.
 
Of course, the film ends happily, with the grateful citizens of Bedford Falls coughing up the missing cash and then some. The curtain falls as George basks in the love and admiration of everyone in the community …except a single person…
 
And it was this which sparked one of my classes. Sure, they said, the missing cash is replaced by the people of Bedford Falls, and sure, things end well for George, but… what about Henry Potter? He hasn’t ‘fessed up, still has the missing cash, and remains as odious as ever. Where the hell is the justice in that? they wanted to know.
 
What I told them --- and it’s equally applicable in both stories and real life --- was this: justice doesn’t always necessarily look like what we want it to, or think it should. Frequently, it doesn’t even occur in the time scale we want, either. But George does get justice: he receives very tangible love and support from the people he has loved and supported. And Potter gets justice too, as evil does when it is forced to confront the unpalatable truth that the forces of Light are stronger than the forces of Darkness: despite all his petty, evil machinations, Potter is thwarted by the puny forces he has tried so hard to steamroller. If you seek a deeper theological explanation for this very situation, I heartily recommend C.S. Lewis’ terrific work The Screwtape Letters.
 
And ultimately, if you believe in those forces of Light, Potter will face judgement of a much more exacting sort. That can be cold comfort to some who want hellfire and damnation to rain down on the forces of Darkness right now, but it is a far more final judgement than anything humans can deliver.
 
And ultimately, that’s good enough for me.

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Dear Santa...

12/17/2018

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Dear Santa,
 
I hope this finds you well. It’s been quite a while since last I wrote you --- several decades, actually, I guess, if we’re being honest --- helluva lot of water under the dam, as the saying goes. (More decades than I care to admit, frankly.) But I figure there’s no harm in renewing our acquaintance, is there? After all, one of my favourite writers, C.S. Lewis, once said to someone that “some day, you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again,” and I believe this falls under the same general category. Jack was, I think, referring to regaining the sense of childlike wonder so many adults tragically allow to wither and die as they leave their childhood behind, and I’d like to reassure you that, while my sense of childlike wonder has gotten somewhat battered and frayed over the years from, as Will says, the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, it’s still there. A little submerged by the cares of adulthood, true, but always ready to spring forth again, carefully nurtured in my heart like a glowing ember prevented from growing cold and extinguishing, ready to burst into flame at the slightest encouragement. Anyway, enough of all that… I know you’re really busy, especially at this time of year, and you don’t need chapter and verse regarding the ups and downs of my life. I merely wanted to reassure you of my bona fides in reaching out to you again.
 
Speaking of this time of year… I was just hoping it’s not too late to submit a few small requests for Christmas. I realize world peace is a little beyond your purview, and I should make that kind of request to a different and altogether higher Power --- not to denigrate your awesome abilities in the slightest --- so I’ll content myself by notching down the scope of my requests to you accordingly. The things on my list are a little more esoteric/abstract than those you customarily receive, I imagine, but I have every confidence they’re within your skillset.
 
You may recall I fancy myself something of a writer --- always have, come to that, as I know you’re aware from reading my recent blog posts --- and it’s one of the things close to my heart in terms of defining myself. So my Christmas requests this year relate to that aspect of my life.
 
Now, to be clear, there’s really not much I need in the way of material objects related to writing: I don’t require more notebooks for ideas, fancy stationery to write on, or pens to record things. Even though I use all those things --- well, maybe not the fancy stationery, but I do write ideas, plot sequences and such down on paper, even though I love that brand-spanking-new laptop you brought last year. It works just fine, thanks very much, once we got that heart-stopping little hiccup with the BIOS update sorted out. (I’m not necessarily in love with all the things Dell and Microsoft try to get me to do with my laptop --- some of what they want is pretty damned intrusive, truth be told, and I’m very sceptical/wary about this thing they call the Cloud --- but that’s beside the point right now. I guess I could ask you for the gift of what they call The Right To Be Forgotten, which I should clarify is actually something relating to the digital world Leaving You The Hell Alone, but I’m guessing that falls into the same category as world peace, so… yeah… never mind.)
 
That said, then, I have four Writer’s Requests on my Christmas list this year:
 
First, the gift of Time. Time to write, time to think, time to reflect. Damn, but it’s a busy, frantic world out there these days, Santa, and you know, the odd thing I find about this time of year in particular is that there are so many angry people in a hurry out there. I know, I know: it really goes against the spirit of the season, doesn’t it? So, time to write would be a treasured gift.
 
Second, the gift of Energy. Man, but it would be nice to have the energy after a long day at work to feel creatively energized. Writing is horrendously difficult when you’re mentally exhausted. And I don’t think it has anything to do with physical age, either --- I have colleagues thirty years younger than me who are every bit as tired. So, a little more creative and physical energy would be most welcome.
 
Third, the gift of Inspiration. Do you know the Muse? She’s a classically attractive woman dressed in white robes… speaks with a slight but charming Greek accent… often shows up late at night, whispering unobtrusively in writers’ ears. Yeah, that’s her. She doesn’t always arrive when you need her --- to paraphrase Bob Heinlein, it sometimes seems she’s an elderly GS-5 clerk often out on sick leave --- but when she does take the time to drop by, she plants the most amazing ideas in a writer’s head. If you could have her stop by more often when I’m writing, that’d be terrific.
 
Finally, Santa, the gift of Recognition. Yes, yes, I know, on one level, all writers write for themselves --- although I sometimes wonder if that’s easier for mega-famous/wealthy authors like J.K. Rowling and Stephen King to say. But I think it’s also fair to say no writer composes stuff and then doesn’t want an audience. (Okay, okay, possibly J.D. Salinger was like that… but there’s always an exception to the rule.) We want people to read and appreciate what we write; writers don’t exist in a vacuum. So, yeah, some recognition would be the (marzipan) icing on the (Christmas) cake. (Love Christmas cake, by the way, but I’ve already made mine for this year, thanks, complete with generous quantities of spirits in it, gurgle, gurgle.)
 
Thanks, Santa. You’re the best! See ya soon!

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    D.R. Ranshaw's Blog

    Author of The Annals of Arrinor series.  Lover of great literature, fine wine, and chocolate. Not necessarily in that order.

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