Talking to Boys 1

In all fairness, I should confess that I spent much of Sunday Lunch asleep in front of the fire. There were men all around, all talking non-stop, but I completely zoned out and before I knew it--zzzzz. This was due in part to the exceedingly comfortable bean-bag in which I was reposing. Meanwhile, the hostess is a very kindly and broadminded woman, so eventually she brought me a pillow, two more large bean-bags, a quilt and a glass of cherry brandy. My goodness, I have rarely been so happy. It was like being six and grown-up all at once. I drank the brandy in perfect earthly bliss and then--zzzzzz.

Now this is considered VERY BAD MANNERS in most social circles, and the reason why I got away with it is that, ripped from the tender bosom of my birth family, I have made my parish friends my marriage family, and if you can't fall asleep in front of the fire surrounded by your marriage family, what did we fight the war for, eh?

Meanwhile the men were having their usual conversations, which go like this:

CONVERSATION A

"...and you can tell he is Catholic from the themes of the novel although not so clearly as in Vinland. Have you got a copy of Vinland?"

"I have a first edition of Vinland that I got from Armchair Books that day I saw Richard Holloway in the Grassmarket. It cost £7"

"With the dust jacket?"

"Of course--although it is a little frayed I'm afraid." (He adopts Dame Clara Butt voice.) "I'm afffrrrrraid it's frrrrrayed, dear boy. I'm afffrrrrraid it's frrrrrayed."

"Ha ha ha ha ha! Ha ha ha ha ha! We should sing."

CONVERSATION B

"...and he reminded me of Martin McCorquedale. What a nightmare he was. RUAIRIDH!"

"Yes, what?"

"What was it that Martin said about whadeyecallim at Saint Salvador's?"

"Oh no. Don't tell them that story. What rubbish."

"It's no'. It's interestin'. Anywee, ah said to him, ah said 'If yer that bothered about attractin' wifies to the choir you should go down to Tollcross.' And Richard said to me, he said, 'Young man, this is the bishop of Brechin.' And ah said, 'Then ah suppose he'll be needin' a map.'"

"Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!"

"Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!"

"Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!"

"AODH!"

"What?"

"Drink up. We should sing."


CONVERSATION C

"And I said, 'Look, old boy, I am in complete sympathy with you and Cordelia but the fact remains that your wife is the innocent party. And he said, 'But Woggle, isn't there anything you can do?' And I said, 'Well, look, I'll call up Roger and maybe we can sort something out between us." So I called Roger--I had a bl**dy time getting past his secretary, too, the old bat--and I said, "Roger, if it's a question of the maintenance, my client is willing to pay. And Roger said, "Woggle, old chap, I am in complete sympathy with your client, but my client simply doesn't want to be divorced.' And I said, "Well, bl**dy hell, Roger, whether she wants to be divorced or not, she's going to be divorced, and to be frank with you I am as happy as the next chap to tot up the hours, but my client is not made of money, and I feel for the poor b*stard--pardon my French, Seraphic. What the devil are you doing at the piano there, Aodh? Oh, you're going to sing. Jolly good."

Unfortunately the purveyors of Conversation D ("The Latest Thing I Bought On E-Bay") and Conversation E ("Women are Evil") are currently in England. This makes me very sad, especially as "Women are Evil" likes to collect evidence for his worldview by asking me my thoughts on such sin-stained topics as the early films of Roman Polanski. And thus sometimes someone actually wants me to speak.

Anyway, as you can see, trying to get men to talk is not really a problem that I have. This has made me a trifle LAZY about jollying along shy boys to flights of eloquence. However, when you have a shy boy at your elbow, it is very rude not to say anything, especially if he looks terribly nervous, as young men sometimes do around me, and no wonder.

So what do you do? Well, first you must determine if he is the sort of man who likes to talk or the sort of man who likes to listen to women witter. You can do this by asking the shy boy the following question,

"Are you the sort of man who likes to talk or the sort who likes to listen to women witter?"

The great thing about this question is that it actively seeks information, which is what I am told men use talking for and completely believed before I moved to Scotland. I think perhaps it might be true of American men. That reminds me, "witter" is a very local expression meaning, in American "gas on", or in Canadian "chat about their day."

The other great thing is that it will reveal whether or not the shy boy has a sense of humour--for if so, he will smile--or is even shyer than you imagined, for if so, he will look terrified. But most of the time, by saying something vaguely self-deprecatory, you will disarm him. And if he actually says, "I like to listen to women witter", you can say your version of: "Good! Because I need a guys-eye view on something. I was in the MALL with my FRIEND JANICE and we saw this SKIRT and I said 'I like that skirt' but JANICE said 'Only a HO would wear that skirt' and I said 'Excuse me, we say HO now?' Do you think the word 'ho' is okay?"

Shy Boy (thinks very hard): There are nicer words.

You: That's so true.(If he's cute and you can see yourself having coffee with him one day, touch his arm at the word 'true'.) Well, I tried on the skirt, and Janet said it's too short, but I said, 'Brevity is the soul of wit and skirts.' Do you like Shakespeare?

Shy Boy: Sometimes.

You: I wonder what Shakespeare would make of modern fashions. Anyway...

Now that I think about it, though, you need almost an insane level of confidence to ask men what they think of women, so if you don't have it, I recommend asking him some other open-ended question that he absolutely must have an opinion on. Pick the most recent scandal that nobody can get enough of. "What do you make of this fuss about Miley Cyrus?" was good for at least three weeks, and gave the questioned the opportunity to denounce either the fuss or Miley Cyrus, as he chose. Do not silently despise the man for not knowing what you are talking about. Instead, praise him at once: "You are lucky not to know! Are you a television fan or have you slung yours out the window?"

As discussed yesterday's combox, "So what do you do?" is not an ideal question in this terrible economy. Also, as mentioned, it can be answered in one word. Never try to get a conversation started with questions that can be answered with one word.

We moan about boring men, but as a matter of fact, no man or woman can be truly boring because each one is a little universe of memories, feelings and facts. The Blessed Trinity willed him or her into being, and the Second Person took on flesh just like his or hers (and more like his, let's face it) and actually died for him or her. If you were shipwrecked on an island with a boring-seeming man and flock of baby kittens, it would be your job to help the boring-seeming man, not the baby kittens, stay alive, and probably by cooking the baby kittens for him to eat. Incidentally, that would be an entertaining thought to have the next time you are trying to talk to a boring-seeming man. Instead of laughing, though, ask him what he would do if he were stranded on a desert island with a flock of baby kittens; would he eat them or what? If he asks what prompted this strange thought, make up something about the meat dish on offer or the kebab shop you passed on the way and how cows get less sympathy than baby seals.

I hope this is helpful. I will think up more suggestions for tomorrow. My final thought for today is that men's minds sometimes actually go blank when they have to talk to women. Actually blank, like mine when I have to speak Polish to a Polish stranger. So you must help them out, the way the nice Polish strangers help me out, and feel flattered, as do the kindly Poles, that they are trying to speak your language at all.

McLean Gets Political

Here is my Ignatius Press interview.

You'll notice that, when asked where I write online, I didn't mention this blog. That's because my novel is controversial on several levels, and I don't want men, either love-struck or enraged, marching over here to emote, leaving big black boot prints on the snowy carpets of the combox. So I am getting my own LITER'CHUR blog at Ignatius, which is very cool, and of course men will be welcome there to tell me that I am amazingly bright or simply wrong, depending on their point of view.

For the time being, you can respond to things I say in my interview in its combox. I'm sure the boys who run it would be thrilled. And of course the Eavesdroppers can respond, too, as over there they wouldn't be Eavesdroppers anymore, but Target Audience along with all other lovers of A) thrillers or B) my deathless prose.

Amusingly, the book designer has solved the whole married lady name problem for me by boldly writing MCLEAN on the spine. Henceforth I shall be shelved under M or MC, cheek-by-jowl with a lot of mad Highlanders and Irishmen.

Auntier Seraphic & Fair Chance

Dear Auntie Seraphic,

First of all, thank you so much for your blog! Love it! It's a breath of fresh air sometimes.

So here's the deal:

Small school, Christian student body. Most students take dating fairly seriously- as something that should lead to marriage. (Hence- "ring by spring") While this is quite an appropriate outlook, it seriously hampers the dating scene here. Making it pretty much non-existent. Guys don't ask girls out, even for a "you're kinda cool, let's get to know each other over coffee" kind of date. It's as if going on a date meant you were getting married (since many couples tend to date very seriously and are engaged by graduation). My friend at another university was very surprised to hear that I had not gone on any dates at school. It just doesn't happen here. To be fair, we end up with some great guys friends (who are definitely friend-zoned), and most of our serious couples started off by being friends.

Given all that, I [recently] had a conversation with a male acquaintance at a school function [...] [My] radar started going off as the conversation progressed- mostly small talk, but still. We have some [...] interests in common, but I'm just not interested if he tries to pursue. (Though I do give him credit for picking up a conversation. I am told I can be somewhat intimidating, or at least appear very poised and confident- just so you know what the guys have to deal with. "Approach with caution or a lot of confidence.")

Anyway, this got me thinking: how do you navigate these types of situations if they arise in college or later in life? On one hand, you don't want to shut guys down right away because they had the guts to ask a girl out or talk to her, which is what we'd really want happening on campus. I figured that, unless they're obviously on a "wife hunt" or total creepers, it wouldn't hurt to go on a date, give the guy a shot, and enjoy it. But on the other hand, if you're not really interested, would that just be leading them on? It's just really confusing, especially in this super serious dating environment.

Sorry if you've already covered this on your blog- you could just send me some links.

God Bless!
Fair Chance


Dear Fair Chance,

I stand by my "It's just coffee" position. Whatever the courtship culture looks like at your college, the experience of every girl and guy there is going to be unique. And I don't like this "ring by spring" attitude because it suggest couples feel pressured to get engaged and marry. Disillusionment will bring divorce, and I am all about preventing disillusionment and divorce.

I have written many times that the most attractive qualities are joy and confidence. Well, part of confidence is saying "Yes" to what you want and "No" to what you don't want. Therefore, if a man asks you out for coffee, and you want to have coffee with him--for ANY reason (you're cold, you need a coffee, he's funny and you could use a laugh)--then have the coffee. If the same man wants to hold your hand, but you don't want to hold his hand, give his hand a friendly squeeze and let go.

I do not think there is anything wrong with spending time with men you like because they are friendly and nice to talk to, as long as you do not feel this means you HAVE to do something else. You don't. You should, however, make a mild protest when they offer to pay, and insist on paying sometimes, especially when you intuit that a guy has a crush on you. That way he won't feel used when he gets over it.

Above all, you are not a failure if you don't get "a ring by spring". Sorry to diss your college culture, but what nonsense! That kind of attitude can ruin lives. Some people just aren't ready or called to be married right out of college.

I hope this is helpful!

Grace and peace,
Seraphic


Now that I'm 39+, my brain synapses are totally done joining up, I went to therapy for five years and I have a diploma in Lonergan Studies, it is all too easy to wonder why 20-something girls jump from "we had a conversation" to "he'll ask me out" and from "he asked me out" to "he'll force me at gunpoint to marry him." When I was 20-something, my brain zipped from A to Z too.

Too many young women make up their minds about their future with a man in fifteen seconds. Either he's cute, so they're getting married one day, or he's not so cute, so they aren't. It's like shoe shopping or, worse, skimming through faces on a dating website. I am personally a big fan of cute, but let's get real. Not all good guys resemble actors and not all cute guys are good.

In my experience, guys think girls are pretty or they don't, whereas girls either think a guy is cute, come to think of a guy as cute, or stop thinking of a cute guy as cute when it turns out he has the personality of either a dust-mop or a hyena. And this is why I think women should go out with a guy for coffee before dismissing him as "Meh. Not interested." Nice boys are usually uncomplicated and ask girls out for coffee just because they think the girls are attractive and kind. (Bad men are often complicated, too complicated for this post.) Being thought attractive and kind is flattering. Personally, I like best those men who think I am attractive and kind. Men of such sophisticated and discerning tastes are rare. Their value is beyond that of rubies. Did I mention the young Bangladeshi chef who tried to chat me up on the bus that Sunday? Oh, I think I did.

At the same time, of course, I am for women doing exactly what they want to do, as long as it is not against God's laws. There is no divine law saying "You should not have coffee with a near-stranger you're not prepared to marry." If a man seriously thinks a woman has agreed to marry him because he bought her a coffee, he's either insane or doing that girl thing of going straight from A to Z instead of, like most men, just plodding along from A to B to C to D.

Men don't like being "led on"--that's true. But on the other hand, they want to be given a chance. So for heaven's sake give the ones who have the good taste and the manly courage to actually ask you out a chance. It's just coffee.

Available for Kindle

Although some of you have your copies already, today is the official release date of Ceremony of Innocence. Celebrate by buying a copy of my book! Or, if you are more of a Kindle kind of gal, you can get the electronic version here!

Of course I am terribly interested in what y'all think, so please feel free to email me what you think of the book. If you send me illustrations, I'll post them.

Meanwhile, there's a great review on Goodreads. And, very excitingly for me, I met with
one of your fellow readers yesterday, who read CoI on the plane over to Scotland. She told me the characters were like real people, which is really one of the best things you can say to an author.

Coping with Jealousy: What I Think

Once upon a time, I dated a Really Troubled Guy. And the Really Troubled Guy did a Very Bad Thing and then told me all about it. I went just about crazy with grief. I went so crazy with grief that I called up my dad to tell him all about it, and my dad's first response was not "Oh, what a Bad Thing!" but "And he TOLD you?"

This reminds me of the time my mentor told me about this Really Bad Thing she was doing. I went straight from her office to a pub, got drunk, and went to my then-boyfriend's apartment to cry. I had a key, and he found me on the bathroom floor crying and repeating "Why did she TELL me? Why did she TELL me?"

What a dramatic life I have had.

Anyway, the point is that people do a lot of Bad Things, and the world would be a better place if we all stopped telling the wrong people about the Bad Things that we do. Of course, it would be great if we didn't do the Bad Things at all, but once they're done, they're done. The only things we can do are make amends to the people hurt, if applicable, and to go to confession to a priest or, if not Catholic, to hired psychiatric help. The psychiatric help can at least help you to forgive yourself.

Of course, it's tricky when the person talking to the wrong people about the Bad Things doesn't perceive that these were Bad Things at all. For example, if you are dating a badly catechized cultural Catholic, he may let drop that he lost his virginity in high school to the blonde champion figure skater he'd loved all his life, and then moved in with his college girlfriend who wrote her Women's Studies thesis on Eastern sex manuals, but then they broke up, so he just played the field until he got tired of the drama, and now he's met you, and maybe it's time you took the relationship to the "next level".

By the way, whenever anyone talks to you about taking your relationship to "the next level", even if your heart is breaking, you must open your eyes very wide and ask, "Are you asking me to marry you?" This way the men of the world will stop with the "next level" nonsense. The human heart is not a video game.

Of course, another and wiser man will know that it is a bad idea to tell the new girl all about the old girls, especially if and when he very much wants to impress the new girl and not give her any excuse to dump him flat. In this situation, you should not ask him point blank about his other relationships. Well, obviously you need to know if he has ever been married, but intrusive questions about how many girls he has dated and what sexual things he has done are not wise. If this guy is a good guy and a committed Christian (or Jew or Muslim) who believes firmly in fidelity, the less you know about the details of his relationships with other women, the better. That he had them, okay. What they did, not so okay. Think of the poor women, their private lives now revealed to you.

The one exception to this rule is whether or not he has an internet porn addiction. A guy with an internet p*rn addiction, like the guy addicted to drink or drugs (and still using), is not eligible. It is easier to tell if a guy is an alcoholic than a compulsive user of p*rn, and how you can find out a guy is a compulsive user of p*rn without asking or snooping on his computer is a mystery to me. I suppose the best thing to do is engineer a conversation about p*rn, especially if there is a p*rn scandal in the news. And then, if he gets all self-righteous and excited about the subject and tells you there is no such thing as p*rn addiction and there is actually nothing wrong with p*rn using consenting adult actors, face the painful reality that Mr Perfect Until He Said That is a p*rn user.

I think the way I dealt with that was to say, "So, B.A., do you ever look at internet p*rn?" And B.A. said "No." End of story.

A more dramatic and amusing story is when some ex-flame of B.A.'s came by the Historical House for some outdoor Historical House event, and I scooted back into the Historical House like she was a rat infected with the bubonic plague. I stared out the window hissing and meowing to myself until I couldn't stand it anymore and called my friend Lily in Canada. We meowed and hissed together. And I learned from that event that although I don't mind that B.A. has ex-girlfriends (and even tried to get engaged to one once), I don't want to see them.

Lucky me, I don't have to see them. And every year they are more in the past anyway. And since everyone helps shape everyone else, I suppose I have a sort of grudging appreciation that, in ways either good or bad, they helped B.A. learn lessons about women, relationships and life, so that he is the great guy I met in 2008. I don't know the details, and I don't want to know, in part because it's not really any of my business. B.A.'s life was none of my business, and my life was none of his business, until October 2008. And my principal business, as his wife, is making sure that he is happy, healthy, well-fed and practicing his religion. If he does bad stuff, his confessors can sort him out.

Coping with Jealousy

Today I am running around like mad, so I thought I would just let you girls talk. Today's topic is for the girlfriends, fiancees and wives among the readers. (By the way, married women are not Eavesdroppers. Only men are Eavesdroppers. Married women have full Seraphic Singles privileges as long as you behave and don't sound smug. Sheila is ideal because she says it like it is, apple sauce in her hair and all.)

The topic is, "How can a gal cope with the grief that her boyfriend, fiance or husband was not as super-chaste as her (or if she weren't super-chaste, that she was not his one-and-only love}?"

Some women chew their livers because of this. No matter how badly they want to let go, they can't. So what can they do? What do you think?

Obviously you will all want to be Anonymous today. I recommend signing on as "Married Lady 1" and "Fiancee 3", etc.

This is not a very Single-y question, I realize. But Singles keep on getting boyfriends and fiances and then writing to me. Here are the five stages of readership:

Super-Single: I'm lonely.
In love: I'm almost overwhelmed by sexual temptation!
Engaged: The stress is killing me!
Married: Ooh. So glad I didn't settle.
Married with Kids: There is apple-sauce in my hair and I don't have time to get it out.

My Novel Has Arrived

Oh dear. It is alarming to be the mother of fictional character, especially when she is Catriona (pronounced Katreena, as you can tell people at Book Club). Catriona is much taller than me, and leaner, and has green eyes and a DPhil from Cambridge and is fluent in German and horribly sardonic and insists on speaking English as if she grew up in some Edinburgh slum. But here she is, and she's mine, and what can I do?

Me: Well, Catriona, it took forever and I thought I would die, but you're born.

Catriona: Thank you, mother.

Me: Did you, um, bring Denis with you?

Catriona (sardonic smile): Why ever do you ask?

Me: I think I'll put the kettle on.