Fiction: to describe or not to describe is the question

Less than a week ago, I had a conversation with another author in which she asserted that she can always identify an amateur author by the fact that they describe their characters upon introduction. I didn't respond. I was a little shocked and I didn't know what to say. She explained that she could be friends with someone for years and never know what color their eyes are, so an eye color description in a book was a tell, practically a sign screaming amateur. She went on, saying that in her first book, she didn't describe any of her characters. At all.

"But do they need to be described?" asked a second author, who'd joined the conversation.

To answer that question, I have to pull out my favorite Jewish answer: it depends.

I've thought about this, worried about this, even obsessed about this a little (okay, maybe more than a little) since the conversation took place. I know that I'm sensitive to it because my first ever bad review (to which I did not respond, thank you very much) was about my character descriptions. This reader (not a professional reviewer) even used the same trigger word, saying that descriptions are the mark of an amateur writer.

I'm willing to take constructive criticism. Some of my beta readers actually wanted more description (body type, clothing, stature, facial features) because they couldn't picture the characters otherwise. Other beta readers took the opposite stance: "Why do I care what color her hair is? Get on with the story."

I was (and am) adamant that some descriptors are important, even essential, for the reader to know. It's important for the reader to know that David (my rabbi protagonist) is clean-shaven, because there's this assumption that all (male) rabbis have beards. It's important for the reader to know that Arik looks Middle-Eastern (and in book 3, that will cause him a lot of grief).

That said, I also have learned in my growth as a writer that the old instructions to writers, imparted in sage tones by prestigious-award-winning authors, no longer apply in today's reading climate. It used to be that description, whether of character or setting, was the place where an author's prose could have free rein to explore flowery language and poetic combinations of sounds when read aloud. But now? Now readers want action. They want dialog. They want, it seems to me, something more like a script.

There's no description on TV or in the movies. What a character wears, looks like, observes in their scenery is just there. We know which cops wear suits and ties and which ones somehow manage foot chases in low-cut silk blouses and high heels because we see it. But we don't really process what we're seeing. We're too engaged in the plot and the dialog.

Some readers (and some authors) think that not describing characters allows the reader to put him/herself into the story. If the protagonist is a redhead and the reader is a brunette, it's harder for the reader to imagine herself as the hero, is the argument. Lack of description allows the reader to fill in their own.

I disagree. It's the opposite for me. Lack of any description leads (for me) to a difficulty in seeing and therefore connecting with the characters. I don't want to have to do my own casting for the story. I want to know what the author pictured. I want to be invited in, to feel like I'm there, and that's hard when all I have are faceless names on a page.

But I'm also a visual person, and not all readers are. Perhaps, then, it's simply a matter of style, or taste. I like it when authors use some description, because that draws me in. I don't like long laundry lists of description for every character (age, height, weight, hair color, eye color, distinguishing marks, corrective lenses, clothing style/color, gender expression, organ donor: yes/no, ad nauseam). I don't like laundry lists so I don't write them either.

Part of what sticks in my craw is really the application of the word amateur. So I did a little digging (in my bookcase) for other mystery/suspense/thriller novels. This is by no means an exhaustive list. It is, however, a nice sampling, and I think it supports my point that the use of description is the author's style and may not be for everyone, but doesn't make that author any less talented or skilled or experienced. Here's what I found:

Agatha Christie, Evil Under the Sun (1940), "pocket book" edition, p. 16: "Young Mrs. Redfern had taken off her rubbery cap and was shaking out her hair. She was an ash blonde and her skin was of that dead fairness that goes with that colouring. Her legs and arms were very white. With a hoarse chuckle, Major Barry said: "Looks a bit uncooked among the others, doesn't she?"
     Wrapping herself in a long bath-robe, Christine Redfern came up the beach and mounted the steps towards them. She had a fair serious face, pretty in a negative way, and small dainty hands and feet."

Robert Ludlum, The Bourne Ultimatum (1990), mass market edition, p. 6: "...the driver a long-framed man, his sharp-featured face intense, the muscles of his jaw pulsating, his clear light-blue eyes furious. Beside him sat his strikingly attractive wife, the reddish glow of her auburn hair heightened by the dashboard lights. In her arms was an infant, a baby girl of eight months; in the first backseat was another child, a blond-haired boy of five..."

Note: This is a description of the protagonist, which could justify more description, and it's important to point out that the description here does not stand alone but also gives us mood and setting and the protagonist's feelings. So let's look at a non-protagonist character...

Robert Ludlum, The Bourne Ultimatum (1990), mass market edition, p. 13: "There was a brief knock on the door and the DCI called out for the visitor to enter. A medium-sized, slightly overweight man with wide eyes magnified behind steel-rimmed glasses walked into the room..."

Jonathan Kellerman, Therapy (2004), hardcover edition, p. 4: "He waited, green eyes dimmed to near brown in the miserly light of the restaurant. Under the spotted napkin was a baby blue polo shirt that really didn't work well with his pallid complexion. His acne pits were flagrant, his jowls gravid as freshly filled wineskins. Long white sideburns frizzed his big face, a pair of skunkish stripes that seemed to sprout artificially from his black hair. He's a gay policeman and my best friend."

Note: While not the protagonist, this is a major supporting character. This description does not overtly provide mood or feelings, but it does paint a clear picture, and gives us some insight into what the character thinks of himself and what others think of him, which come into play later in the book. Let's look at a minor character...

Jonathan Kellerman, Therapy (2004), hardcover edition, p. 9: "She was in her midforties, trim but wide in the hips, wore green velour sweats, glasses on a chain, and nothing on her feet. Ash-blond hair was texturized to faux carelessness. At least four shades of blond that I could make out in the light over the doorway, blended artfully. Her nails were painted silver. Her skin looked tired."

Lee Child, Bad Luck and Trouble (2007), hardcover edition, p. 16: "She hadn't changed much in the four years since had last seen her. She had to be nearer forty than thirty now, but it wasn't showing. Her hair was still long and dark and shiny. Her eyes were still dark and alive. She was still slim and lithe. Still spending serious time in the gym. That was clear. She was wearing a tight white T-shirt with tiny cap sleeves and it would have taken an electron microscope to find any body fat on her arms. Or anyplace else.
     She was a little tan, which looked good with her coloring. Her nails were done. Her T-shirt looked like a quality item. Overall she looked richer than he remembered her. Comfortable, at home in her world, successful, accustomed to civilian life. For a moment he felt awkward about his own cheap clothes and his scuffed shoes and his bad barbershop haircut."

John Sandford, Gathering Prey (2015), hardcover edition, p. 32 (protagonist description): "Lucas was a tall man, dark-haired except for a streak of white threading across his temples and over his ears, dark-complected, heavy at the shoulders. He had blue eyes, a nose that had been broken a couple of times, and a scar that reached from his hairline down over one eye, not from some back-alley fight, but from a simple fishing accident. He had another scar high on his throat, where a young girl had once shot him with a piece-of-crap street gun. So his body was well lived in, and he'd just turned fifty, and didn't like it."

John Sandford, Gathering Prey (2015), hardcover edition, p. 77 (minor-character description): "Chet got out of the car and an old man came to the front door of the house, pushed the screen door open, and stepped out. He had a mustache over a three-day beard, watery blue eyes behind plastic-rimmed glasses. He was wearing overalls and rubber boots, and carrying a pump shotgun, a 12-gauge."

None of these samples are from first books for these authors, so we can't say that it was a newbie mistake and they're better now. All of these authors are award-winners. All are or have been bestsellers. All have sold a freaking lot of books and have huge fan bases.

I had to look a little harder for a book with little or no description, but I did find one...

Erin Hart, The Book of Killowen (2013), hardcover edition, p. 20 (non-protagonist description): "For three days and three nights, she had studied his face against her pillow—dark hair and eyes, flawless pale skin that had somehow retained the high color of youth, though he was probably at least forty."

Erin Hart, The Book of Killowen (2013), hardcover edition, p. 29 (protagonist description): "She let her gaze caress the back of Cormac's head, admiring, as she so often did, the curve of his skull, how pleasingly it intersected with the angle of his jaw. Whenever he turned to speak she once again remembered the meandering path those same lips had traced across her bare skin only a few short hours ago."

There is a great deal of description of setting (Ireland) and scenes ("The cottage roof was stoved in and the windows were broken, the frames peeling paint; every wall seemed invaded by damp and mold."), but almost nothing of characters.

I'm not willing to say that Erin Hart is the only professional, experienced author in the group I've just surveyed, nor am I willing to say that her books suffer from the lack of character description. (In fact, I could argue that with the detailed descriptions of scene and setting, adding descriptions of characters might be too much description, and perhaps the author was well aware of that. Or maybe her editor hated character descriptions and cut them all out. I'd have to ask.)

What I am willing, even eager to say—and say loudly—is that character description is part of the author's style and what the author wants to convey to readers. Every traditionally published book (and these all are) goes through at least one editor's hands many, many times over. If it makes it into print, it was okayed by the editor(s). If character description was a bad thing, it would be edited out by all editors, not just the ones who don't care for it.

And that's ultimately what this all comes down to: preference. Some authors use a lot of description while others don't feel they need to use any. Some readers prefer description, others can't stand it. Most readers have learned that if they dislike description, they can skim over it and quickly get back to the dialog.

But description or not, it doesn't mean the author is an amateur, it doesn't mean the book is bad, and it shouldn't be used as a weapon to beat up either author or book.

One last note: self-published books and books published through publishing services (like CreateSpace) are a mixed bag. Some are extensively edited by professional book editors, and in such cases, the use of description is the same as with a traditionally published book—author style. Others are barely edited, or edited by an English major, or not edited at all, and these may be a little more suspect, simply because they haven't been as thoroughly vetted. A professional editor might leave the character description alone, or trim it down, or remove it all together.

What's your preference on description? Do you like it or hate it or don't care either way? What do you do when you encounter character description in a book?

Destined to Choose named award finalist!

I'm super-thrilled to share that my first book, Destined to Choose, has been named a 2015 National Indie Excellence Award finalist!

Here's two things I've learned from this:

1. CELEBRATE! To celebrate this win, Destined to Choose is being offered for FREE as an ebook from Tuesday 5/19/15 through Saturday 5/23/15, and the paperback is 36% off at the publisher's website (https://yotzeretpublishing.com/blog/celebrate-with-us-free-ebook-or-36-off-paperback-of-destined-to-choose/). For those who don't know why it's 36% off and not some more "normal" number, it's a Hebrew language thing. In Hebrew, numbers are written with Hebrew letters. The number 18 is written as חי (chai), which means "life." The number 36, as a multiple of 18, becomes "double life."

2. STAY IN THE GAME! Destined to Choose was first published twelve years ago. Yotzeret Publishing re-released it in 2013 as a new edition with a 10-year-anniversary update to the Author's Note, a few error corrections, an updated interior design, and a new cover (which I LOVE!). That re-release made it eligible for the National Indie Excellence Awards.

I could have said, "You know, it's had a good run. Why invest the extra money to submit it for an award? After all, it hasn't won any awards yet." Reminder to self: it didn't win any awards because it was never submitted for any awards when it came out! Instead, I said to myself, "Self, submit this book! It has a shot at winning. It's a beautiful book, readers love it, and it meets all the eligibility requirements. And, there's still time before the submission deadline. You read about this award for a reason, so submit it already!"

And now here I am, eagerly awaiting the opportunity to put FINALIST stickers on my books. It's exciting. It's something I've wanted for a very long time. And I'm really pleased that I—and others—still believe in this book, because that paid off this week.

And just think: it's less than four months until Strength to Stand comes out!

Finding the Good: Parshat Vayechi

Today is my oldest son's birthday. This week's parsha (also spelled parasha) — Vayechi (Genesis 47:28 - 50:26) — was his Torah portion for his bar mitzvah, and he and I spent months examining and re-examining it, talking about it, occasionally arguing about it. He chose to speak about whether or not Yaakov was blessing his sons or rebuking them, and what exactly constituted a rebuke. He also chose to avoid speaking about how the legacy continues of the younger son receiving the older son's blessing (much to my younger son's consternation). You can read the full text of his d'var Torah here.

Last year, the part that stood out for me was the passing on of one's legacy — knowledge, wisdom, beliefs, hopes, and dreams — from one generation to the next. Of course that made sense: my eldest was claiming his place in our community, accepting the legacy I and others were handing down to him.

And this year? This year a different part spoke to me. That's as it should be. That's why we read it again and again, year after year. The text doesn't change, but we do. Where we are in our lives a year later allows us to see messages that we weren't ready to hear a year earlier.

This year's gem is a short phrase that Joseph utters when his brothers beg his forgiveness after their father, Yaakov, has been buried. The brothers are worried that Joseph might still hold a grudge against them, and they send Joseph a message saying that their father (allegedly) instructed Joseph to forgive his brothers. And Joseph responds by claiming that he is no substitute for G-d, and further, in part:

וְאַתֶּם חֲשַׁבְתֶּם עָלַי רָעָה השם חֲשָׁבָהּ לְטֹבָה

And you intended evil upon me but G-d intended it for good...

For many of us, our lives are filled with a succession of adversaries. Some are small and easily overcome. Some are lifelong struggles that, G-d willing, when we look back in our final days, we'll see that we finally triumphed against. Overcoming the messages from my childhood (particularly the notion that no matter what I did, or who I became, I'd never be good enough) was a big one. Dealing with my depression, which I did actually liken to the yetser hara — the evil inclination as an adversary — here, was another. Coming to terms with having chronic physical illnesses is yet a third.

It's so easy to cry out, "Why me? It's not fair! Haven't I had enough?" It's even easy to look at others who have battled (or are still battling) cancer, loss of limbs, loss of their entire family in a tragedy, or other horrendous experiences and write off our own as not worthy in comparison. But pain is pain. Loss is loss. We're not in a competition. And I'm wondering if there's more to be learned from the adversaries I now face.

Somehow, I drew the genetic straw that gave me physical limitations that are sometimes severe, and a few even life-threatening. I can imagine speaking to them, to the genetic code, to the physical health legacy passed down through my biological ancestors, and saying to them, v'atem chashavtem alai ra'a, Hashem chashabah l'tovah. You intended me harm, but G-d has intended it for good.

And some day I will look back and see, clear as day, what the good was, and why this obstacle is so necessary to my growth.

Shabbat shalom!

Counting What Counts

Image: Flickr/Christine Urias

Last night, while at a small and lovely New Year's Eve party with friends, we counted down to 2015 three times. Once, at about 10:30pm, to King Julien's (Madagascar movies) New Year's Countdown on Netflix. Once, at 11:00pm, to one of the local news stations that airs the New York countdown in real time. And once at midnight, local time. At the first two, I felt a bit like I was playacting. At the third, I had to blink back a few tears.

"You can never have too many countdowns," said Sharon, one of the hosts of the party.

She's right.

What made the first two countdowns seem insignificant had nothing to do with the discrepancy with local time. They seemed insignificant because I didn't allow them to have meaning. Only the third met my criteria for being "real." Which means I'm missing out on a lot of potentially meaningful moments. It's time to change my criteria.

We celebrate a lot of transitions in Judaism. Marking time with lit candles, with specific prayers and blessings, we don't just wait for meaning to hit us; we carve meaning into the fabric of our reality. And sometimes it feels like playacting, and sometimes it's a deep, heart-wrenching shift from what was to what can be.

We're not wired this way. Left to our own devices, the days blur into one another, weeks into months into years, with the occasional lit countdown ball or birthday greetings to remind us that another year as passed, another year we've walked the earth, another year gone that we could have made holy.

As it says in Tehillim (Psalms): "Let us then know how to number our days, that we may obtain a heart endowed with wisdom. [...] Oh satisfy us in the morning with your kindness, that we may be glad and rejoice throughout all our days. Cause us to rejoice as many days as those wherein you have afflicted us, the years wherein we have seen unhappiness." (Ps. 90:12, 14-15).

It's a mindful act, to attend to each day. It requires thought, focus, intention. Each evening deserves its own countdown, that "there was evening, and there was morning" — a new day, a new chance to start over, a new opportunity to be the person we are each intended to be.

We don't just wait for meaning to hit us; we carve meaning into the fabric of our reality.

My days used to be ruled by to-do lists, responsibilities and obligations to others, a never-ending litany of tasks like laundry and dishes, tasks that seemed to benefit no one in the long term, yet still needed to be done. Work was predominant in my life, and the fact that others were waiting, counting on me, was the only taskmaster I could hear, driving me on to the detriment of all else.

This year — this day — is an opportunity to change that, to attend not only to my work, but to the rest of my self: my physical, emotional, intellectual, social, and spiritual needs. It's a new year. It's a new day. It's a new now.

Let the countdown begin again.

Mystical Judaism

This past weekend, Beth Jacob Congregation in Mendota Heights, MN hosted Rabbi Art Green as their scholar in residence, to teach about Jewish mysticism and Neo-Hasidism. Jewish mysticism is enjoying a resurgence in interest, due in part to the Jewish Renewal movement, as well as the yearning of younger, often unaffiliated Jews who see contemporary synagogues as legacies of their grandparents and want to know if that's all there is.

My personal interest in Jewish mysticism goes way back. There were definitely signs of my interest when I was a young child, and by my high school years, I was meditating daily, asking Big Questions, and searching for signs beyond Uri Geller's spoon bending.

Add to this the fact that I've interviewed my characters, some more than once. These interviews would be part of what I've always thought of as the "bonus material" on a DVD—the deleted scenes, interviews with the director and actors, and how-it-was-made videos. So it should come as no surprise that I have an interview (albeit brief) with my rabbi character David about mystical experiences.

When I attended Rabbi Green's talk Friday night about how he came to be a scholar on Jewish mysticism, during the Q&A I asked him the same question that I'd posed (fictionally) to David. What I found most intriguing is that Rabbi Green's answer was, in its essence, the same response.

Here's the fictional interview, from April 2006:

I knocked softly on the mostly closed door, feeling a little hesitant.

“Come in,” came the response.

I entered the small study and saw him behind his desk, a legal pad full of doodles in front of him, along with the stubby end of a roll of Tums and enough other books and papers that I feared they’d tumble down onto the floor. An immediate grin brightened his face.

“Sheyna! What a pleasant surprise! What brings you here?”

“I was wondering if you had a few minutes.”

“For you? Of course. Is this business or pleasure?”

I considered the question. “Depends on how you define them. But I suppose the short answer is a bit of business and a bit of personal.”

He set down his pen and stood up, and I was suddenly aware of how much taller than me he was. When I write, I’m seldom in the same room, and observers aren't nearly as cognizant of height. “Let’s sit down,” he said, his arm indicating the chairs across from his desk.

We sat and I knew the ball was in my court. “I’m sorry for the unexpectedness, David. Let me do some explaining. Or at least try.”

David cast a curious look at me but remained quiet.

“First of all, I have some questions for you regarding the next book. That’s simple enough. Second, I have some personal questions for you. And third, I have a confession to make.”

David raised his eyebrows. “You realize you’re in the wrong religious building for confessions?”

I smiled. “My confession is directly related to the personal questions I have for you.”

“Where do you want to start?”

“How do you feel about Jewish mysticism?”

Surprise was evident on David’s face. “That’s a question I wasn’t expecting. How do I feel about it? Well, I haven’t had much personal experience with it. But my own psychology training leaves me open to it. There’s so much we don’t know about the human brain, about the development of the personality, about where body ends and soul begins. So, do I think it’s possible to have spiritual experiences? Absolutely. Do I believe in reincarnation? I don’t know, but there’s a precedent for it, and I’m comfortable leaving it as a possibility. Do I believe in alternate realms and journeys to Pardes and conversations with Elijah?”

He let out a long breath. “I believe strongly in God – obviously, or we wouldn't be sitting here. As far as I’m concerned, alternate realms and the existence of Pardes in some form comes with the territory. As for the rest, I believe that people have encounters with the Divine all the time, usually without knowing it. And I’m sure sometimes people are quite conscious of it, though I think it takes a certain level of spiritual understanding to not just be aware but interact with what’s going on and not be psychologically injured by it.”

I nodded. “I figured you were pretty open-minded. What do you think about angels and other messengers of God?”

“I've never met one to my knowledge. But to deny their existence is to deny part of God, don’t you think? I don’t take the Torah literally; you know that. But angels and other divine messengers and helpers are so central to religious Judaism that I have to accept the possibility, if not the probability. Where are you going with this, Sheyna?”

“I’ll get there, David. I promise. If a congregant came to you and said they'd had a mystical, spiritual experience—been visited by an angel or had some encounter with God’s presence or had a conversation with an ancient Tzaddik—what would you tell them?”

“Not a congregant scenario I've anticipated, but on the spot, I’d have to evaluate it in context. I’d be very concerned, and very doubtful, if this hypothetical congregant’s life was in chaos, if there were other red flags: difficulties at work, in relationships, legal troubles, isolation, self-harm or threats to others. But if this experience somehow enriched the person’s life, led them to greater self awareness or connection with God, brought them closer to community in a healthy way, I’d take them at their word. It’s not my place to judge someone else’s experience. I've heard stories of people who, after having a profound religious experience, suddenly also experienced a resurgence in their business and a new commitment to religious observance and the needs of their community. I can’t in any way consider that a bad thing. And to reduce their experience to a skeptic’s scientific explanation might somehow take away from the good it did in their lives.

“The bottom line, if I may, is that when your life’s work centers around religion, you have to be open to all the ways in which people experience that religion, and when your primary goal is to bring people closer to God, you have to be open to all the possible ways that God might also approach those very same people. If I wasn't open, I couldn't believe that we have a covenant with God, that Torah is somehow God speaking to us, that our prayers mean something to someone other than ourselves.”

“But you have colleagues who would disagree,” I prompted.

“Of course. There are rabbis who got into the business in spite of the spiritual aspects. I personally don’t think you get to pick the pieces you like about Judaism and reject or label the rest as impossibility. Becoming a rabbi, in my opinion, means accepting the gift handed down through centuries, even if you don’t understand it all, even if you have doubts. It means committing to a lifetime of learning, and being willing—even eager—to say that God is so far beyond our understanding that we can’t possibly say that an experience of God’s presence is out of the question. We should be seeking them, not trying to explain them away.”

---

Hopefully, as a result of Rabbi Green's visit, and an openness to those Big Questions, we will be doing more seeking. I know I will.

BUT

Buffy: [to Giles] Uh-oh, you have but-face.
[Giles looks confused]
Buffy: You look like you're gonna say 'but'.

—Buffy the Vampire Slayer, "A New Man" (2000) 

Words are important to me. I'm a writer; words are my life. As far back as I can remember I've enjoyed some word games (puns, limericks) and detested others (guilt trips, shaming statements). I'm a card-carrying member of the Say What You Mean and Mean What You Say Club.

Which brings me to but. This has come up countless times, often as I'm parenting. I've made a point of being very mindful in my parenting, which includes being very careful about what I say and how I say it. Dozens (!) of people have asked me to write more about parenting (though I can assure you this will not turn into a mommy blog!) and my philosophy on it, especially after they meet my kids. It is very nice to know that when people meet my kids, they immediately want to know what I did—or didn't do—as a parent. And one of those things is the use of but.

But is a course correction, a turn in the road, a change in the meaning of what preceded it or in what we expect to come after it. 

• He was going to answer the phone but then thought better of it. (He didn't answer the phone.)
• She went with her friend to the restaurant but didn't order anything. (She didn't do what one normally does in a restaurant.)
• Pilots thought they spotted debris on the water, but it turned out to be fishing equipment. (The objects were not what they thought they were.)
• I wanted to go out with you, but I was busy. (I didn't want to go out with you at that time.)

What does this have to do with parenting? These:

• I know you want your toy, but we didn't bring it with us. (You can't have your toy.)
• You may say you're warm now, but it's cold outside and you'll need your jacket. (I know better than you.)
• I'm sorry I hurt you, but you shouldn't have made me angry. (It's your fault.)

It's that last one that I promised myself I'd never do. Because if you say you're sorry and then follow it with but, no matter what reason you have, you're really saying you're not sorry.

Instead, replace but with and. It changes everything.

• I know you want your toy, and I forgot to bring it with us. (I empathize.)
• You're warm now, and I know it's cold outside so we'll bring your jacket just in case. (You are warm now, and I could be wrong about how the cold will affect you. Just in case, we'll have the jacket.)
• I'm sorry I hurt you, and I felt really angry. (I'm taking responsibility and apologizing, though there should be more to the apology than this.)

I'm not the only one who has this problem with but:

Sorry, but I'm not really sorry

I'm Sorry, but "I'm Sorry" Isn't an Apology

"I'm Sorry, But . . ."

Try and next time. Just try it and see what a difference it makes. 

Purim: Legislating Joy?

It's almost Purim.

I've been invited to costume parties, drinking parties, dancing parties, book parties, and one Lent observance. All I really want to do is burrow under the bedcovers with a pint of Ben & Jerry's New York Super Fudge Chunk ice cream and not think. Or feel.

I started to feel better on Monday, to the point of being able to go to an afternoon meeting at school, despite trembling and perspiring from the sheer effort of being in public. Tuesday I felt well enough to take my older son to the regional competition for History Day, where he competed for a spot at the state competition. (His website, Disney and the Responsibility to Oppose Racism/Sexism, did not move on, but several of his classmates are going to state.)

Today I'm back to dealing with fatigue, anxiety, physical pain, and a talkative negative inner critic. Two steps forward, one step back. Overall it's improvement.

And Purim is still coming.

Online and on the doors of Jewish organizations around town are the signs ubiquitous at this time of year: Be Happy — It's Adar! I blogged about this seven years ago, writing, in part, "some people have really good reasons for being unable to be happy and are not necessarily in control of whether they are happy or not. When I'm in the midst of a depression, I simply cannot just be happy."

Yet Jewish practice places a great emphasis on happiness. Rebbe Nachman said,

מצוה גדולה להיות בשמחה תמיד

"It's a great mitzvah to be happy always!"

If you accept that a mitzvah is a commandment from G-d, then G-d wants us to be happy, which I'm totally down with, but if G-d wants me to be happy always, then why do I have depression? If we were happy always, happiness would become the norm, and there would be nothing to which to compare it. It would cease to be happiness. So perhaps depression is a way of savoring happiness, when it favors me with its caress, far more than if I didn't experience depression.

Image: Flickr/Brian Snelson: exfordy

But before we get comfortable with that, a couple of years ago, fellow author Amy Ariel wrote about how Purim is not just about how we Jews survived, or the piety of Esther, or the eventual triumph over the evil Haman, but that it's also a very serious story about sex trafficking. Francesca Littmann on Orthodox Social Justice writes,

"A closer look at the texts shows that the search for the new queen is far from the innocuous beauty pageant that was told to us in Hebrew school. Women are captured from their homes, rounded up into a harem, and given one by one to be raped by the king. After that one night, they are imprisoned as concubines, their freedom and dignity stolen from them. This part of the Purim story mirrors the cruel reality of human trafficking today."

If it was hard to be jovial during the reading of the megillah before, it's really hard now. And with this year's neverending winter, cabin fever and SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder—a form of depression), it's unclear if Purim is coming at just the right time or at the worst time of year.

But perhaps I'm just taking Purim too seriously. Or perhaps this is the real reason alcohol goes hand in hand with Purim. Drink until you do "not know the difference between 'cursed be Haman' and 'blessed be Mordechai.'" (BT Megillah 7b) Drink until you do not know the difference between a beauty pageant and sex trafficking. Drink until you do not know the difference between depression and ecstacy.

And don't give up drinking just yet; the four cups of wine at Pesach are just around the corner. It's really too bad that Jewish Disability Month was back in February, because I would imagine that Purim and Pesach are landmines every year for anyone who must avoid alcohol due to an addiction.

Maybe I can fulfill the mitzvah of not knowing the difference between "cursed be Haman" and "blessed be Mordechai" by curling up under the bedcovers with a pint of Ben & Jerry's New York Super Fudge Chunk ice cream. And not thinking.