What I’m about to say is probably a sign that I’m neurotic or just crazy, but I’ll say it anyway: I actually enjoyed the short selection of Malory’s Morte D’Arthure that I just finished reading.  No, seriously–I needed the footnotes to understand some of it, but I did enjoy it.  I like Arthurian legend in general because it offers an interesting mix of Catholic  Christianity and English mythology–it shows how theology and mythology intersect and confound one another.  Yes, it has backward attitudes toward women, the poor, and the non-English–but despite all that, it’s intensely fascinating.

I think the reason I liked the Malory selection in particular, however, is the self-conscious aspect of it.  If I were to pick one general scholarly interest, it would probably be "the author."  Though I’m not well-versed in theory of the author (I know that Barthes eulogized the author, but I haven’t read the essay in question), I’m fascinated with how the author–whether intentionally or unintentionally–treads on the plot.  As such, I’m especially fascinated by self-conscious manuscripts.

Malory, as is obvious by his numerous asides and intrusions, presents the Arthur myth as an antidote for the decline in chivalry during his life.  Of course, his sense of chivalry is largely gleaned from fictitious and mythological texts that may or may not (more may not than may) have been accurate portrayals.  Malory is, therefore, analogous to some conservatives today who proclaim that if we only went back to the 1950’s, everyone would be better off.  Similar to those who long for the current cult of nostalgia around the 1950’s–Maybury, Norman Rockwell, and the like–Malory longs for an ideal that was not nearly as idyllic as he thinks.  Just as the aforementioned conservatives gloss over the societal problems in the 1950’s, Malory naively glosses over the social inequities of the time period he idolizes.  Thus, every line in the Morte D’Arthure is self-consciously trying to convince the reader that Arthurian legend is a call for England to return to its former ways–even if those ways are largely made up.

I had a weird moment today when I realized that my faculty mailbox at Texas State is about three feet from Tim O’Brien’s mailbox. That is all.

Eva of Podiobooks.com wrote in response to my post about my first draft:

Best of luck to you as you move from first draft to final product. It’s an iterative process and one that, in my opinion, cannot be rushed. Do everything you can to find yourself a top-notch editor.

Too many folks rush into "alternative" (gods I hate that word) publishing methods, thinking it gives them a pass to avoid the pain and suffering that comes with polishing a book. It does not. Make the book as good as it can be and then decide the best way to distribute the material.

If you think a free serialized audio version is a good way for you to gain exposure for your book and build your chops as a writer, I’m all for it.

Eva makes a point that seems very obvious but, unfortunately, must be expressed by more people.  As "alternative" publishing increases–especially in online formats–people rush their works to press earlier and earlier.  Some works, of course, simply do not belong in press because they are not good enough.  It is up to the author to have humility enough to distinguish which books belong and which books do not belong in the hands of ordinary readers.

I once attended a reading in which Anne Patchett, author of Bel Canto and The Magician’s Assistant, exorted the audience to put works not worthy of publication in a drawer.  She told the story of a friend who just finished his sixth (!) novel and finally felt he was ready to publish.  She said that her friend will have much greater success now than if he published any of his previous novels.  Indeed, Patchett noted that she was offered publication of a short story collection early in her career (at age 19), but decided against it to her advantage.

Should authors use "alternative" (sorry, Eva) publication methods, then?  I think they can be valuable, depending on the work.  Sometimes market glut does not allow a worthy work to be published.  Sometimes the author doesn’t want to deal with contracts or just wants a limited audience.  These are worthy reasons to go outside the traditional publishing methods.  Another reason–and one I will probably exploit–is for revision purposes.  In recording a work, the author will quickly find if the characters have unique voices or not.  If a great deal of vocal trickery is required to distinguish characters, then the author needs to revise.  If they sound fine without such trickery, then the author has achieved uniqueness.  Whether or not I distribute my book as a podiobook (or at all), I’ll probably record it first. 

We’ve finally moved into Austin, and I’ve been enjoying it so far.  We’re at Austin’s Pizza, just across the street from the University of Texas (the famous tower is within view).  I’m enjoying the weirdness of the city and the gaps between cars–a phenomenon not found in Houston.  I’ll blog more later, as I’m against a hard work deadline.

The Little Professor, in the middle of an extremely interesting and reasonable post* about Christian historiography, makes the following statement:

Equally striking is how completely and utterly "enlightened" Christian historical thinkers were unable to grasp the concept that Jews might seriously think that Christianity was not true. Protestant writers often represented Jewish responses to Christianity and Catholic responses to Protestantism as reactionary gestures against what was unwillingly acknowledged to be true; few were willing to concede that Jews and Catholics were sincere believers in their own right.

This isolationism is interesting to me because I think it happens in nearly all spheres today.  In politics, many people–both liberals and conservatives–think the other side just uses ideals to jockey for power.  In science, people–both evolutionists and intelligent design proponents–think the other side is hopelessly misinformed and is trying to entrench itself in the establishment, whatever the means. 

The most egrarious example I’ve seen, though, is in Catholic apologetics.**  I can’t count the number of apologists who’ve said that Protestants "gloss over" the second half of John 6 or the entire book of James.  Listening to these apologists, one gets the impression that Protestants simply do not acknowledge the existence or relevance of "Truly, truly, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of man and drink his blood, you have no life in you" or "Faith without works is dead."  I will admit that uninformed Protestants may lack a response to such verses, but informed Protestants will have a thoughtful interpretation.  But their interpretations are far too often suppressed in favor of a straw man argument by Catholic apologists.

The problem with such an attitude–in general, not just in Catholic apologetics–is that it is insulting and squelches dialogue.  It’s insulting because it blatantly proclaims that the one side’s beliefs are dishonest and therefore invalid.  It naturally squelches dialogue because people want and need to be taken seriously.  The end result, as we can all tell by looking at the political, scientific, and religious spheres, is a standoff between two sides spouting their beliefs and rarely talking directly to each other.

*It’s an old post, but it was listed on her "personal favorites," and I just discovered it.

 **I’m sure it’s there in Protestant apologetics, but I have no experience in that field.

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A recent CNN article about nutty 9/11 conspiracy theorists provoked some more thoughts on academic freedom and academic responsibility.  The article in question is not well-written, nor is it terribly objective–while the author notes the organization "Scholars for 9/11 Truth" is small and "[m]ost aren’t experts in relevant fields," the article is quick to note that "some are well educated, with degrees from elite universities such as Princeton and Stanford and jobs at schools including Rice, Indiana and the University of Texas."  A reasonable person’s teeth will grate as the author practically opines, "Members of the group don’t consider themselves extremists. They simply believe the government’s investigation was inadequate, and maintain that questioning widely held assumptions has been part of the job of scholars for centuries."  Bias aside, though, the article brings up some interesting points, mainly from people opposing the conspiracy theorists.

Roger Bowen, general secretary of the American Association of University Professors, notes in the article that while faculty can express opinions hors classe, "[academic responsibility]  requires them to teach the truth of their discipline, and the truth does not include conspiracy theories, or flat Earth theories, or Holocaust denial theories."  I like Bowen’s distinction between in-class teaching and out-of-class theorizing.  I consider it the difference between someone’s job and someone’s spare time.*  Certainly, there are limits–we would not want a Holocaust denier or a KKK member on a university faculty.  Compared to such socially detrimental activities, spouting 9/11 conspiracies is rather benign.  In other words, these controversies need to be examined for their damage to students and to institutions

An illustration of what I mean may help.  Let’s assume that everyone’s favorite geocentrist, Robert Sungenis, got a job in a theology department at a mainstream Catholic university.**  Let’s also assume that he taught plain vanilla theology (I can feel the illustration stretching beyond reality, but I’ll stick with it) in class, but continued his pursuit of crackpot science outside of class–after all, his distance-ed PhD is in theology, not astronomy.  He would have the right, I think, to publish his geocentrism nonsense in his spare time, apart from and after he has published his theological research.  After all, geocentrism is crazy, but it’s relatively harmless.  The moment he teaches geocentrism in class, whether it’s a theology or science class, he should be reprimanded.

I understand that some scholars are antsy about this idea because it seems like splitting hairs.  The key is that each case must be judged individually.  Faculty members do have the right to have and express ideas outside the mainstream.  Ideas that are outside the mainstream, however, should not be promoted in classes that are meant to teach the mainstream.  In some select cases, classes can be formulated to express and discuss departures from  mainstream thought.  A class on 9/11 conspiracy theorists would be a waste of time and money, but a class examining the evolution/intelligent design debate would be helpful for students.  The difference lies in the quality of debate: 9/11 conspiracy theorists are a small, isolated group of half-crazy academics, while intelligent design proponents–whether or not they are correct–at least represent a broad base of support from both academe and the public. 

Broad policies mean little except in extreme cases; I say, let the nuts argue, so long as they don’t use a publicly-funded classroom to do it.

*It’s worth  pointing out that I’m speaking exclusively of public institutions.  I believe that private institutions, given their independence  from government dollars, should be able to restrict their hiring to scholars who represent their values in both their public and private lives.

**We are also assuming, though one can never be sure with radical traditionalists, that Sungenis has dropped his anti-Semitic rhetoric.

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Over the past few months, I’ve been writing a novel, and I finished the first draft yesterday.  It’s about 42,000 words at  present, though I suspect it will be about 50,000 after revision (I have much more to add than to cut).  I won’t go into specifics here just yet, but it is titled "Montrose & Westheimer."  I’m sure that some readers of this blog will be able to figure out its subject; if so, please do not out it in the comments–send me an e-mail instead.  I hope to have it revised by the end of the year, at which point I’ll start sending it to agents and publishers.  I’m considering releasing it as a podiobook, as well.  We’ll see.

I learned a lot from this draft–so much  so that it will have been valuable even if the book never sells.   First and foremost, I learned to perservere.  Several times during the writing process, the weight of finishing the damn thing (as it came to be known in such moments) seemed too much to bear.  Somehow, though, I always convinced myself to press forward and found, to my amazement, a solution to the problem that had frustrated me.  I also learned the value of discussion.  The book came out of a discussion with my wife and the book’s ending came out of a similar discussion.  Many authors say they would not succeed without their spouses, and I can truly affirm that statement.  Finally,* I learned the value of both trying outrageous ideas and cutting them when they don’t work.  I tried an alternate voice in the footnotes, similar** to the authorial voice in Tim O’Brien’s The Lake of the Woods.  Although I produced some nice passages–the kind that I glanced at again, as if to say, "I wrote that?"–the second voice was too gimicky in the story I was writing.  I realized that agents, editors, and readers would just find my second voice showy.  My  realization came about because I could not justify its place in the story; maybe the  second voice belongs in another story.  I do not know, but I know it did not belong in "Montrose & Westheimer."

I will, of course, keep updates on "Refuge" as I revise and (cross your fingers, bow your heads) send it away to agents and publishers. 

*I learned more, but I want to cut this post short. 

**Who am I kidding?  I lifted the idea directly from O’Brien.  Great poets steal, though…