Guest Blogger: Donie O'Connor--"There's Always Something"

Note: I am delighted to welcome to this blog my good friend, Fr. Donie O'Connor. Donie is a Mill Hill missionary priest, who has served the poor in Africa. For the past two years he has served the congregation of Christ the King Church, Pleasant Hill, California, and done so with great generosity of presence and  wisdom.

I ran excitedly into the kitchen, tripped and broke my nose. I can still hear my mother’s words: ‘There’s always something.’ Yes with eight children there was never an empty moment in our home. My mom died peacefully at home at the age of ninety, six years ago. I remember sitting on her bed and joking with her about this incident and what she said. With a gentle laugh she sighed: “When I pass on, put that epitaph on my gravestone: ‘There’s always something.’ ” 

And there always is. All of us identify with my mom. All of us recognize her frustration. All our moments are crowded with uninvited guests and unsummoned grief. There are voices everywhere commanding our attention inside and outside.

There is always something big or small that steals the substance of ‘the now.’ Something casts its slanting shadow that prevents us from entering into the richness of the present moment. An anxiety, a lingering regret, something that should be done or something I should be doing. A lingering headache or heartache, an unpaid bill, a bitterness or a jealousy. Yes, something lurks around the corner ready to rob the present moment of its joy.

The late Dutch spiritual writer, Henri Nouwen in his little gem, Reaching Out: The Three Movements of the Spiritual Life, documents this. “Our life,” he wrote, “is a story where sadness and joy kiss each other at every moment.” And they can co-exist.

There is a tinge of poignancy that invades every moment of our daily lives. It seems there is never a clear-cut pure joy or a clear-cut pure motive. Even in love’s passionate rapture, there is the reflection of sadness. In every satisfaction, there is the awareness of limitation. In every risk, there is the element of danger. In every love, the fear of hurt. In every success, the dread of jealousy. Behind every smile, there is a teardrop. In every friendship, a distance. In every freedom, there are consequences; and in every embrace, there is loneliness. In every dawn, there is twilight.

There’s always something!

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Alfred J. Garrotto is the author of The Saint of Florenville: A Love Story

(c) 2012 by Alfred J. Garrotto

The (Dubious) Wisdom of Work

I'm still feeling disturbed after reading M. Allen Cunningham's fictional biography, Lost Son, based on the life of Austrian poet Rainer Maria Rilke. First, let me say that Cunningham has to be one of our most gifted modern American writers. Rarely has an author chosen such an unappealing protagonist, yet pulled me through his book on the strength of sensitive, mesmerizing--and poetic--prose. In an Amazon review, I gave the author five stars, while mentally assigning but one to Rilke himself.

M. Allen Cunningham

But why this pervading discomfort that refuses to fade days after closing the book? I believe it arises--or descends--from Rilke's personal mission statement: work is everything . . . all else comes second, a far and distant runner-up. The poet abandoned his only child, Ruth, for most of her life, seemingly for no other reason that he saw her as an innocent impediment to his life's work. Though married to the sculptress, Clara, whom he loved, he designed their marriage to be a celibate existence, even during those rare periods when they happened to be in the same European city at the same time. (Clara later filed for divorce.) 

But why does Rilke's strange way of being bother me so much that I want to ring his neck and tell him a thing or two. About what, though? Cunningham's portrayal of the famous poet picks at scabs in my own life, past and present. Early in my adulthood, I bought into a similar "work is everything" philosophy. And I was miserable. I have learned that old ways die hard. After marrying and knowing the joy of children, and now an adored grandchild, I still struggle to fend off the beast of 'work-first.'

Cunningham has given a wonderful portrayal of a flawed literary genius. In doing so, his novel will continue to haunt me for the rest of this summer, at least, and perhaps beyond.
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Alfred J. Garrotto is the author of the novel, The Saint of Florenville: A Love Story

alfredjgarrotto.com

saintoflorenville.com

What ever happened to radical feminism? I think I know.

Truth in writing requires me to preface my reflection on writer-director Lynn Shelton's Your Sister's Sister with a disclaimer. I am 1.5 generations removed from the film's protagonists. My right to an opinion on these Gen Y'ers derives from my having gotten a late start on parenting and, therefore, my two daughters are still in their late twenties--as are most of their friends, both male and female.

Halfway through the film, breathtakingly filmed in Washington State's San Juan Islands, I gave up trying to like what I was seeing. I opted instead to study the film as a sociological commentary. The question that kept nagging at me was, "Fifty-plus years after the rise of radical feminism (so-called "women's lib") in the United States, how is it possible that educated professional women still expect and accept so little of the men they partner with?"  

Iris (Emily Blunt) is madly in love with an immature and  self-confessed loser named Jack (Mark Duplass). In a key scene, Jack admits to Iris that he is nothing but a waste of any woman's time. That's just who he is and that's all Iris is ever going to get from him. Instead of fleeing to catch the next ferry back to Seattle, Iris melts and accepts his non-offer. What she is really saying yes to is being little-boy Jack's mother for the rest of his life. 

Oh, yes, there a bit more to the story, but that's the bottom
line--literally, the bottom.

I left the theater shaking my head. My main worry is that this film might represent the true state of single young women in America today. Has women's lib failed so miserably? Have women given up demanding equal status with their men? Have they given up on finding truly co-responsible life partners? 

What is correspondingly fascinating about all this is that this film arrives amid the Vatican's current inquisition against Catholic religious women (sisters/nuns) in the U.S. At the heart of the churchmen's fear is that these brave women have become "radical feminists" (read 'uppity,' demanding that the "boys" in their faith community grow up and be men!). I can only conclude from my viewing of Your Sister's Sister and the hierarchy's desire to purge strong women from spiritual leadership, that Roman Catholic nuns are America's last-standing daughters of Betty Friedan and Gloria Steinem. God, bless them!

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Alfred J. Garrotto's most recent novel is The Saint of Florenville: A Love Story.

Where Has All the Wisdom Gone?

The whole month of May has gone by since my last post. I've tried, but finding big-stage wisdom on the edge of summer during a presidential campaign is nearly impossible. Normally, I can turn to people of faith for wisdom, especially within my own tradition. Not this time. Wisdom is not strident, yet "loud and louder" is all we too often get from religious leaders in the U.S.


So where does sanity reside in the late spring of 2012? Let me toss out a few rays of hope I cling to on these overcast days: Stephen Colbert, the American women religious, National Catholic Reporter, US Catholic Magazine (print and online), Fr. Richard Rohr, Sr. Joan Chittister, Fr. Brian Joyce and the people of Christ the King Parish, Jean Valjean and Bishop Charles Myriel inVictor Hugo's Les Miserables, and--of course--my wife Esther, a truly wise woman.


I invite the readers of this blog post to add their own wisdom sources to mine.

The Circle of Life

I'm the "little Italian kid" on the steps
in Butch Minds the Baby  (1942),
co-starring Virginia Bruce.

My first paid job was was as a movie extra in 1942. I was seven years old. Whenever Central Casting needed  Italian-looking kids, my dad got a call. Either my sister Natalie or I were in demand. The photos to the left are proof (unless you can't believe I was ever that cute).  World War II gas rationing destroyed my film career, so I'll never know what might have been. 

Yes, that's little Al at the extreme lower-
right edge of the frame. Co-starring  (with me)
were, left to right, Fuzzy Knight. Broderick
Crawford, and Dick Foran.

Long past fitting the description of "little Italian kid," I treasured my  Central Casting card. Life has taken me on a winding journey, since those bright-light and good pay days ($25 per diem in post-Great Depression dollars). I went from sound stage to  peddling peanuts on Santa Monica beach. From there to the Catholic priesthood, followed by marriage and parenthood. In my forties, I launched a career as a professional writer/editor, beginning with features for periodicals. I then got more ambitious, moving to book-length fiction and nonfiction. Not until my tenth book and most recent  novel (my sixth), The Saint of Florenville: A Love Story, did my work attract any broad-based attention.

Looking back, 7 must be my lucky number, indeed. Having retired from acting at that age, I find myself--in my 70s--I am currently in discussions that I hope will lead to optioning SOF, for production as a feature film. What Elton John wrote about the circle of life in The Lion King is really true. Life journeys often end where they began. 

Easter: Life in the Silence

[Disclaimer: I am not a pet person, so the following won't contain much scientific data or insight.]

Two weeks ago, five caterpillars moved into my office--rent free. They're part of a mail-order nature project my wife put together for our 4-1/2 year-old grandson Dominic. As soon as those little guys greeted the sunny  kitchen light streaming into their plastic container, they received new names. Dominic identified them as Nikki, Dom, Dominique, Penny, and Caleb. And I really think that he alone could tell who was who, as the days progressed. We chose my office for their greater habitat, because my computers are on all night and generate some warmth on chilled Northern California nights.

The caterpillars arrived tiny and skinny. The three of us  watched in awe as they practically doubled in size every day, consuming chunks of poop-like 'food' from the floor of their container. A week later, we had five long, fat caterpillars who each could stretched from the bottom of the cup to the lid (their evolutionary destination). After a lot of up-and-down trips to check out the best locations for their crusted, enclosed chrysalises, the day came to attach. That was our signal to make the transfer to their mesh habitat.

So, here we are on the Vigil of Easter, watching the 'lifeless' chrysalises, waiting, knowing that behind those little  hardened cases, an amazing transformation is occurring. Five fuzzy caterpillar bodies are growing wings that, when strong enough, will burst the walls of  their tombs and fly into a new and world-brightening stage of existence as Painted Lady butterflies (even the guys among them). 

What a wonderful reminder of the meaning and joy of Easter!


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Alfred J. Garrotto is the author of The Saint of Florenville: A Love Story.

Writing in the House of Dreams

British author Jenny Alexander has posted the story of how 

my novel, The Saint of Florenville: A Love Story, was 


'conceived.' Read it now at her blog, "Writing in the House 

of  Dreams." And tell me what you think. I've invited Ms.

Alexander to be my guest on this site and she has graciously

accepted the invitation. I'm looking forward to having her 

share about the wisdom of dreams and their importance in 

our lives. 



(c) 2012 by Alfred J. Garrotto

Inviting Readers to Rewrite My Stories

This post first appeared as a guest blog on the site of mystery writer, Camille Minichino, "The Real Me."  I am happy now to bring it home for my readers here to share.

As an author of fiction who writes for publication, I hold my stories lightly when I share them with my readers. I try not to be too possessive or caught up in “will they get it?” It has taken time, but I have come to understand that no two persons reading the same book will read it the same way, let alone imbibe the author’s precise intent. The same is true of film and the performing arts. No two movie goers interpret the same film in exactly the same way.

I’ve known this all my life as a reader and film lover. Now that I am on the other side of the artistic process, I am aware that I must let readers ‘rewrite’ my novels, find their own interpretation, and apply them to their own lives. I am no longer caught up in whether they “get” my story. Once out of my hands, it becomes their story.

The following “Aha!” passage in Misquoting Jesus by Bart D. Ehrman made this insight click for me: “Once readers put a text in other words, they have changed the words. This is not optional when reading; it is not something you can choose not to do when you peruse a text. The only way to make sense of a text is to read it, and the only way to read it is by putting it in other words, and the only way to put it in other words is by having words to put it into, and the only way you have other words to put it into is to have a life, and the only way to have a life is by being filled with desires, longings, needs, wants, beliefs, perspectives, worldviews, opinions, likes, dislikes—and all the other things that make humans human. And so to read a text is, necessarily, to change a text”(the underline is mine).

Now, I look forward to readers’ interpretations of my stories. I  especially enjoy having someone discover a level of meaning beyond my conscious intent. Recently, I received this message in an e-mail from a reader: “The value of The Saint of Florenville: A Love Story is in it’s real life application to modern-day sainthood. In their day, all of our martyred saints’ lives (and deaths) would have been every bit as gruesome. In a sense, not to die and to live through it, may be even more brutal to the human spirit. Yet these two saints do survive.” That’s more than I had in mind when I wrote the book, and I am grateful to this reader—and others—for helping me to better understand my own stories.

(c) 2012 by Alfred J. Garrotto

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The Saint of Florenville: A Love Story is available in paperback and all e-book formats.

Guest Blogging at "Camille Minichino--The Real Me"

Today I have the privilege of guest blogging at "Camille Minichino--The Real Me." I hope you'll visit as I muse about the need for authors to let go of their stories once they share their creations with the universe. My understanding is that every reader becomes a co-author with the original writer. I hope you'll take a moment to read my short reflection and comment with how you see this process working--as a writer and/or reader.

Alfred J. Garrotto

The Saint of Florenville: A Love Story

Guest Blogger: Mystery Writer Camille Minichino

I am pleased to welcome my friend, colleague, and renowned mystery writer Camille Minichino, who today launches her third series with, The Probability of Murder. Writing as Ada Madison, she introduces her latest sleuth, college professor Sophie Knowles. 


It's an honor to have Ada Madison stop by at "The Wisdom of Les Miserables" as she continues her whirlwind launch-day blog tour. Get the full scoop about Camille/Ada, her noms de plume, and her crime solving protagonists on her website.

Small Truths, Great Truths

Where do you go when you need wisdom and a good quote? To a Nobel physicist, of course. Niels Bohr, born the year Victor Hugo died, and a pioneer in atomic structure, kept me up all night wondering about this observation. 

I thought blogging about it might help, or at least spark a good debate:

“There are two kinds of truth, small truth and great truth. You can recognize a small truth because its opposite is a falsehood. The opposite of a great truth is another truth.”

 It's clear how this works for a small truth. It's Monday, March 12, 2012 is a small truth. "It's not Monday, March 12, 2012," is clearly false, at least for a day. Small truths are simple, and often temporary, it seems: He's tall. I'm hungry. It's freezing outside.

What about the great truths? Say, one of the great truths of the Bible? In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.

What would be its opposite? That the heaven and the earth created God, for example?

Now I get it. This fits in with my understanding of Alfred North Whitehead (Process and Reality, 1929): "It is as true to say that God is permanent and the World fluent, as that the World is permanent and God is fluent."

Who's to say which of these statements is the truer? They're both great truths. We can live wisely by either one.

 I'm reminded of an old cartoon where the dialogue goes like this:

Character 1: "Do you think humans on earth are the only intelligent life in the universe?"

Character 2: "Either way, it's a sobering thought."

I'll have to admit, for words of wisdom, cartoons are a close second to physics.

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Alfred J. Garrotto is the author of the suspense novel, The Saint of Florenville: A Love Story.