Other people are into NASCAR, or “American Idol,” or improving their golf game. But me? I’m fascinated with something that makes me a really big nerd: writers’ schedules. For years and years I’ve read interviews with various writers and paid particular attention to when (and how) they actually sit down and write. J.K. Rowling came up with the Harry Potter story on a train, then wrote the first book in a café while her infant daughter slept beside her. John Grisham got up at 5 am every day for three years to write A Time to Kill. There are tons of stories like this about people finding the time — making the time — to get words on paper. It’s always inspiring.

So I get asked by a lot of people where I find the time to write. After all, I have a full-time job and a young family and do some freelance writing on the side. When do I write the books? Am I magic? Am I somehow privy to time-shifting technology?

Untrue answer: Yes. I have invented time travel. It involves an old telephone booth and the unaccountable presence of George Carlin.

Short true answer: I write at pretty much the same time every morning and every night. This involves being disciplined. I plod through it. I give up stuff like watching TV when I get home from work. It’s a trade-off. But it’s worth it.

Detailed true answer: Here’s my weekday schedule…

6:00 am — Get up, pour coffee, and start writing

6:45 – Shower, get dressed (I only shave on Saturdays. Yes, I am a lush.)

7:00 — Breakfast and hang out with Ellie and Owen

7:45 – Take Ellie to school

8:00 to noonish — Work

Lunch — with Owen (Monday), Aimee (Tuesday to Thursday), Ellie (Friday)

1 to 5:00 — Work

5 to 8:00 — Dinner and play with the kids (until they go to bed at 8 on school nights)

8 to 9:00 — Exercise (usually weights on M/W, swimming on T/Th)

9 to midnight — Write write write write write write

On Thursday nights I take a little time off to watch a few of our Thursday evening shows (“Lost,” “The Office,” “30 Rock”) on the DVR with Aimee after the kids are asleep. Fridays, I work at home and devote most of the day to my current book manuscript. I don’t write on Friday evenings. On Saturdays, I get up at 6 am and write until the kids wake up around 7:45 or so. No writing at all on Saturday night or Sunday morning. That’s my day to sleep in.

I probably carve out a total of 18-20 hours a week to write and research.

Which means there’s not a lot of downtime, although my evenings with Aimee and the kids usually involve a lot of fun activities like jumping on the trampoline or playing in the front yard or constructing Lego spaceships. It’s a good enough balance, so far, to keep me sane. (And unlike some people, I’m able to function on six hours of sleep.) But I can’t sustain it indefinitely. So I’m working hard now to get the books done ahead of deadline, which will allow me to relax without any contractual obligations hanging over my head. It’s hard for me to vegetate when I know there’s work to be done.

I know there are a few other writers who read this. What about you? How do you fit in the writing time?

If you haven’t read the full “denominations” article yet, it’s now posted in its entirety at RELEVANTmagazine.com. Go read it. Comment if you’d like. Interact here or there.


6 Denominations in 6 Weeks

Here’s another dose of advance content from Pocket Guide to Sainthood (Jossey-Bass, 2009). There were lots of really interesting ways to be super spiritual back in the medieval days, from sitting on a pole your whole life (St. Simeon Stylites the Elder) to a lifetime of stumbling around starkers in the wilderness (St. Mary of Egypt), but none may have been more radical than becoming an anchorite. Here’s the entry on “Anchorites” from the glossary chapter.

Anchorite
A special kind of hermit who dedicated himself or herself (in which case she was called an anchoress) to a life of solitude, prayer, and asceticism. But instead of living in caves or the desert, anchorites preferred cozier confines: they walled themselves into a wee little room attached to a local church. Once the cell was ready, the anchorite would enter it in a somber ceremony — somber does seem like an accurate way to describe it — and the local bishop would then permanently brick up the door, sealing the man or woman inside. Afterwards, the anchorite’s only exposure to the outside world would be through a small window for the passage of food and water.

The renowned 14th-century devotional writer, Julian of Norwich, was an anchoress. She was also quite pasty.

Please use it in a sentence or two: Known for their great spirituality and wisdom, anchorites often dispensed advice through their tiny windows. Because if there’s anyone who ought to be telling you how to get along in the world, it’s someone who has willingly reduced their world to a closet.

Not to be confused with: Hermits, otherwise known as free-range anchorites.

Fun related fact: The Ancren Riwle, a 13th century manual for anchoresses, lists eight reasons to retire from the world. These include everything from security issues (“If a raging lion were running along the street, would not a wise person shut herself in?”) to protecting one’s virginity (“…this precious balsam in this brittle vessel is virginity…more brittle than any glass; which, if ye were in the world’s crowd, ye might…lose entirely”). It’s quite convincing.

I was never a big comic books guy, but I watched a lot of “SuperFriends” as a kid and always thought Green Lantern was the coolest superhero. Not sure why. Maybe because Superman and Batman always were hogging the spotlight? Because he had a cool ring? Because of the time travel?

Then I got into “Fat Albert” during high school (ironically, of course) and would have told you as a 17-year-old that The Brown Hornet was my favorite superhero.

But Superman? Nah. He was boring. Never got much into him.

Which is why I’m a little disappointed to find out, via the SuperHero Quiz, that the superhero I am most like is the pasty-dull Man of Steel himself. Come on. He doesn’t even wear a mask! He’s got that dorky little hair curl plastered against his forehead! But that’s not all, because you know what’s also pretty disappointing? I match up with Supergirl as much as I do with Superman. Supergirl. Wow. That’s just…wow.

I guess if Gene Hackman ever bothers you, you can call me. After all, I love to help others.

Take the quiz yourself here. My results are below…

—————

You are Superman
You are mild-mannered, good, strong, and you love to help others.

Superman: 80%
Supergirl: 80%
Hulk: 70%
Robin: 70%
Spider-Man: 65%
The Flash: 65%
Green Lantern: 55%
Iron Man: 55%
Wonder Woman: 50%
Catwoman: 30%
Batman: 35%


(H/T: Mike at Deadly Viper)

Welcome to jasonboyett.com. Due to recent linkage from Church Marketing Sucks and a few other places, we’ve had quite a few new readers stop by over the last few days. Thanks to Feedburner, I know how many people visit this blog each day, and from what city, and via which browser, but I don’t actually know who you are. There are no names (unless you comment). And definitely no faces (unless you comment with an avatar).

Only disembodied cities: Philadelphia, Colorado Springs, Los Angeles, Narberth (!)

So…let’s get to know one another. If you are so inclined, leave a comment with your name and your location and any other information you think we should know.

(If you’ve never commented before, it’s pretty easy. You can sign in with OpenID, which means if you have a Blogger, WordPress, LiveJournal, or AIM identity you can use that. Or you can sign in quick and easy with the “anonymous” option. All you have to do is type in the occasionally tricky word verification thing. This keeps the riff-raff out.)

Today is Earth Day. It’s been around, in an official capacity, since the late 60s. The earliest I can recall hearing about it is during my freshman year in high school, which was 1988. We talked it up a lot at school that year, and the student council was selling Earth Day t-shirts with something about saving the earth and recycling on the front. Green silkscreen. The shirts were cool. I bought one and wore it proudly on Earth Day.

I’m not sure of the chronology, but I ran into my 9th grade Sunday School teacher while I was wearing the shirt. I liked the guy. He was nice and fairly young. He was big-time into Young Earth Creationism (the literal 7-day variety), so almost all of our Sunday School lessons turned into discussions about where the dinosaurs came in and how Noah could have fit some baby dinosaurs on the ark and whether or not “leviathan” in Job was a dinosaur reference. He was super-knowledgeable about that stuff and we ate it up.

This is the first thing he said when he saw me wearing my Earth Day shirt: “Why are you wearing that? You don’t believe that junk, do you?” He was not kidding at all. In fact, he was a little angry. I mumbled an answer about how they were selling them at school. His implied message — that there was something unchristian about Earth Day — was news to me. I was devastated. I don’t remember ever wearing that shirt again. I never talked to him about it, but I definitely looked at Earth Day differently for the next few years. I didn’t buy any more shirts.

It was another few years before I decided that my dinosaur-loving Creationist teacher was flat-out wrong (about a lot of things) but especially for being so jerky about my shirt. I still see him every once in awhile. Not sure if he’s come around or not.

But I have.

And I’m not gonna soft-shoe it, either. Christians need to repent for having gotten in the way of the last few decades of environmental initiatives — for treating any environmental talk with knee-jerk suspicion, for acting like it’s all some sort of pagan/liberal mumbo-jumbo, for forgetting that creation care is a spiritual issue and a poverty issue and a human rights issue and not just a corporate or political one. It is not an anti-Christian thing at all…despite what our 9th-grade Sunday School teachers may have said.

I’ll end the rant and try not to get too preachy about it. But here are some resources to consider on this Earth Day:

Read this: One of the best faith & environmentalism books I’ve read is Tri Robinson’s Saving God’s Green Earth. Tri is a pastor whose Boise church is doing some groundbreaking things when it comes to the intersection of religion and conservation. Some great articles at their website.

Another great book? Serve God, Save the Planet, by Matthew Sleeth.

Watch this: We have a big honking consumerism problem. I have a big honking consumerism problem. And it’s good to recycle stuff and walk instead of drive and try to turn off the lights when you leave the room. But those are tiny actions around the edge of the problem. They won’t fix the environmental crisis. Instead we need to get to the heart of the problem, and its heart is consumerism. We buy too much stuff we don’t need. That’s why I think the Junky Car Club is a great idea. That’s why I also want to recommend this short film by Annie Leonard. It’s 20 minutes long, but it’s a fast-paced, funny, eye-opening 20 minutes. You want to participate in Earth Day? The best place to start is by watching “The Story of Stuff.”

Here’s a teaser.

Watch the whole film at www.storyofstuff.com.

Try this: If a young person gets excited about something good — something that’s beneficial to someone else, even if you think it might be somehow misguided — do not discourage him or her from pursuing it. To do so is mean, selfish, and a crappy way to be human.

On a Saturday morning a few weeks ago, my 7-year-old daughter, Ellie, was riding her scooter down the block. She came back in a hurry, a little frantic because, four houses away, one of our neighbor’s sprinkler heads had come off and water was gushing down their driveway. Ellie had learned at school that week about not wasting water. She was upset about the lawn geyser, “because we might run out of water someday.” She wanted me to go fix it. Or go turn off their sprinkler. My first response was to tell her it wasn’t our yard and we couldn’t really do much about it. And that their broken sprinkler was not going to drain our water supply. Then I thought about my Earth Day shirt, and my Sunday School teacher. And about Ellie’s out-of-nowhere passion for water conservation. So I walked down to that house and — despite getting soaked and muddy — screwed that sprinkler head back into place. Water crisis solved. Ellie was happy. In a small way, we saved the environment that morning.

Baby steps.

What does your Jesus look like? I’ve been interested in portrayals of Jesus since I was assigned a 2005 article for Relevant about how everyone, from hippies to capitalist republicans to urban hipsters, seems to want to claim Jesus for themselves. Jesus is the most accessible personality in human history — because he has something to offer everyone, and everyone focuses on the aspect of his life and teachings that fit them best. Hippies like his peace, love, and tolerance for outsiders. Preschool teachers like that he seemed to love and respect children. Conservatives like his emphasis on personal holiness and attachment to traditional values. Democrats like his concern for the poor. And all of us could make a bunch of other random generalizations along those lines.

And just as we all tend to emphasize a different facet of who Jesus was, we also think of him a certain way when it comes to his appearance. How do you picture Jesus? As the solemn, big-eyed, Byzantine figure in one of the Christ Pantocrator icons? As a tragic, emaciated figure on the cross? As a gentle shepherd holding a fluffy baby lamb? As the soft-lit, shiny-haired Jesus of Warner Sallman’s painting “Head of Christ”? (The familiar one from your Sunday School classroom, where Jesus had a nicely trimmed beard and plucked eyebrows and caucasian skin and may or may not have been a woman.)

Do you think of Jim Caveizel or 2004-era Johnny Damon?

Visually, most of us have a certain image of Jesus that comes to mind. Here’s the question, though: Do you ever think of Jesus with a smile?

I don’t. Probably because it’s so rare that you see images of smiley Jesus. Why is that?

A few years ago, an Australian group commissioned pieces from several artists around the world — all of whom live in struggling communities, from Mongolia to New Guinea — to create an image of a happy Jesus, which the world of religious imagery sorely needs. The Jesus Laughing Exhibition is traveling around to very positive reviews. Next stop, I believe, is a United Methodist church in Leeds, UK. It’s worth a visit to the collection’s website, just to see the paintings. They’re…different. Gone is the serious, drab Jesus. In his place is a Jesus who juggles. And tells jokes. And plays a ukelele. (That last one? Probably not historically accurate.) Visit the Jesus Laughing exhibition here, where you can download all the images.

Want more fun images of Jesus? You can’t beat “Jesus of the Week,” a snarky Village Voice-produced project that collects depictions of Jesii (including the grinning Jesus above).

And for a more serious take — and by “serious” I’m referring to both the commentary and the non-smilingness of the images — visit Beliefnet’s Jesus in Art Through the Centuries project.

So…what does your Jesus look like?

Experiment time. I want to let you in on a fun little opportunity that involves small acts of kindness, teensy sacrifices, and the potentially big power of viral web-based fun. Some friends of an online friend of mine in Delaware have the crazy habit of taking a homeless person out to lunch every Wednesday. One of these homeless people they’ve really grown to admire is a guy named Herman. Herman is a fantastic chess player, a community leader (among others of his social status), and the kind of guy most of us totally ignore.

So these guys, Terry Foester and Ben Cooper, want to do something nice for Herman. But they want to do it in the smallest way possible: they’re looking for 500 people to send $1 in the mail to the Herman Fund. Please understand…as far as I can tell, this isn’t George Costanza and “The Human Fund” (slogan: Money for People), though the names are way similar. It’s completely legit, but you’ll just have to trust these two guys with your dollar. And they don’t want anything more than a dollar, because they’re hoping — Shane Claiborne-style — that “a bunch of smalls come together to form a bigish small.”

If you’re interested in being part of something that could end up being really cool, go to the “bigish small news” post at Terry’s website, scroll down, and follow the instructions. If you decide to participate, make sure to comment on the post and tell where you’re from.

Give Herman a dollar.


(H/T: Ken Grant. Also posted at the Junky Car Club and my blog at Relevant.)

More Sainthood freebies! Here’s an appetizer from the next book in my religious-history-is-fun Pocket Guide series. It’s called Pocket Guide to Sainthood (Jossey-Bass, 2009). This is a selection from the last chapter, which is a grab-bag of listy goodness:

———–

Three Saints Whose Relics Ooze Oil (or So They Say)

1. St. Walburga, an Anglo-Saxon abbess from the 8th century, whose relics leak an oily substance from the stone slab they rest upon at a church in Bavaria. The Sisters of St. Benedict, who run the church, collect the oil in a silver cup and distribute it as a remedy against diseases. These days, everyone pretty much figures it’s just water, but it came into direct contact with saintly relics, so — who knows? — maybe it’s magic water. Or bacteria-enriched water.

2. St. Nicholas of Myra, the original Santa Claus, whose bones at the Basilica di San Nicola in Bari, Italy, allegedly leak a clear, oily substance — conveniently, this occurs every year on his feast day — known for having medicinal powers. Scientists believe this is what keeps Santa’s cheeks so rosy.

3. St. Menas, an Egyptian martyr from the third century. Back in the early part of the 20th century, an excavation in the Libyan desert uncovered thousands of flasks with the inscription Eulogia tou agiou mena (“In remembrance of St. Menas”). These flasks have been discovered all over Europe, too, thanks to the popularity of pilgrimages to St. Menas’ shrine. But they probably didn’t contain oil. Inscriptions on some flasks indicate it was special water from a well near the shrine of St. Menas. Nice try, Menas, but we know the difference between oil produced by relics and well water. Sheesh.

———–

In other saint-related news, Pope Benedict XVI is in the U.S. for the first time as the pontiff. He has presided over the canonizations of 14 saints up to this point, with four more scheduled for October 2008. Mark your calendars.

Back in 2005, my book Pocket Guide to the Apocalypse listed six possible ways the world might come to end via natural disaster. At the top of the list? Killer asteroid impact, which may or may not involve Bruce Willis and Ben Affleck and a weepy Aerosmith song. (Wow. Just linked to IMDB and discovered that movie came out in 1998. Ten years ago! Time flies, like Billy Bob Thornton in a space suit.)

Here’s what you should know. Most scientists now believe that the dinosaurs were wiped out 65 million years ago by the asteroid or comet that slammed into sea near the Yucatan Peninsula, leaving a 186-mile long hole. Mass extinction followed. Ninety percent of species vanished.

And in 1908, a comet fragment 130 feet wide dropped onto Tunguska, Siberia. It exploded in the air and flattened a thousand square miles of uninhabited forest. Its force of detonation would have been something like 10 megatons — 700 times the power of the Hiroshima bomb. Had it hit modern-day New York or a related metropolis? The city would have disappeared.


Which is why NASA’s always on the lookout for asteroids that have the potential to hit our planet. Because it could be bad. Return to the Ice Age bad (and not the kind of Ice Age that has funny talking mastodons). A piece of space debris with a six-mile diameter could pretty much cause global extinction. They seem to blast through our atmosphere every 50 to 100 million years, and more than a thousand of these monsters are thought to be floating around in Earth’s general vicinity. So far everything’s cool, but we’re paying attention.

Anyway, not long ago the brains at NASA fixed upon 99942 Apophis, a 1350-foot long asteroid with a goofy name. They didn’t fix upon it very long, though, because they concluded pretty quickly that, if Apophis hit the earth, it would happen in 2029, and there was only a 1 in 45,000 chance that would happen. Not too worrisome.

But wait. Some 13 year-old German kid named Nico Marquardt — getting by with only a telescope and a calculator and an even bigger brain than the NASA geniuses — took a look at Apophis on his own. He noticed that NASA apparently made a mistake in their calculations. Sure, Apophis could miss the Earth in 2029, but what if, in the process of not destroying us, it hit one of our thousands of communications satellites? And what if that strike knocked Apophis off-course? What then?

He concluded that if that were to occur, there was a 1 in 450 chance Apophis would strike the earth. Not in 2029, but in 2036.

There is a major difference between 1-in-45,000 odds and 1-in-450 odds. And NASA admitted that, yep, the boy was right. They hadn’t thought about that whole satellite thing.

So…what do you have planned for 2036? And what else do our 13-year-old astronomy geeks need to be looking for?

[Update: Wait! That kid made some miscalculations. Upon further review, NASA now says they are confident in their calculations and you don't have to cancel everything you have planned in 2036. I think we've all learned a valuable lesson here: you can't trust complicated logarithms in the hands of 13 year-olds. You can't always trust NASA, either.]