My Grandmother and the Foul-Mouthed Dwarves

Write Answers Only - Part 1

This is part 1 of a limited series I’m running called “Write Answers Only” in which I reflect on hinge moments in my vocation as a writer—and offer them to you for your own vocational journey.

Please enjoy this AI generated (obviously) image of Dwarves holding red pens. It captures the spirit of the piece. Maybe.

“It’s not the language,” my grandmother insisted. “I don’t have a problem with foul language. It’s—” She paused to consider the red mark she’d left on my manuscript. “Is this something this character would actually say? In this particular world?”

I believed her when she said she had no problem with so-called foul language; my grandmother was as inclusive and open-minded as they came.

And to be clear, it wasn’t, like, the worst of the curse words. We’re talking mild-mannered cursing here. If memory serves, the offending text was, “Damnit.”

Still. My grandmother sat there on the blue couch in my parents’ living room pouring over the binder she’d assembled to hold the draft of my fantasy novel, its pages bubbling over with Dwarves and Centaurs and the like. To be honest, it may have been the very first bit of high fantasy my grandmother had ever read.

But that didn’t keep her from sharing her opinions.

And that was fine. She was my only beta reader. And she was thorough; she’d left the other binder—the one that held every single article, school essay or bit of prose I’d ever written—at home.

She was familiar with my work. And supportive.

“I think so,” I replied. “The Dwarves are supposed to be kind of grouchy. Like, tough or whatever. I think we should keep it.”

I remember my grandmother not being convinced. “You don’t have any other language like this in the story, though,” she said.

I shrugged—probably. I was fifteen. What did I know about anything? We turned the page; we moved on.

*

My grandmother read my writing for years—right up until the moment it became impossible for her to do so. I have those binders now in my office: pages and pages of my words with her handwritten annotations. She was an author herself. In another corner of my office, I have her collection of books on exploring coastal New England. There was no shortage of conversations shared between us about the writing life.

But this scene, the one where my grandmother stares down a couple of foul-mouthed Dwarves, is what comes to mind when I think of our writing relationship. I’m not sure why. It’s funny, of course; it showcases her unflagging willingness to offer suggestions, edits and input—and her resolute desire to be part of my process.

Maybe I’m just enchanted by this image of an old lady (don’t call her that!) so confidently stepping into the unknown to offer what she could—even if she didn’t fully grasp it all—simply so she could continue walking alongside me.

It wasn’t about correcting foul language; it was about reminding me that she really did read each word.

I wonder: Whose vocation do we accompany in such a way? Who accompanies us? We don’t all share the same vocational call; we don’t all see the world through the same lens. As such, we, too, must step out into something of the unknown just to let another person know that we see them, that we want to walk that road alongside them.

The stakes might be low—the sloppy dialogue of a fictional Dwarf. And yet, those stakes matter all the same: simple little nods to encourage steady forward motion. And a little wink to say, “I’m here right behind you—damnit.”

And another thing:

• Wanna know what I thought about the latest Star Wars TV show, “Skeleton Crew?” I loved it. Wanna know why? Then you have to read my essay over at America Media. Check it out.

• My friend

  Christine Marie Eberle
  ’s latest book, “Finding God Along the Way: Wisdom from the Ignatian Camino for Life at Home” was published this week from Paraclete Press. It’s awesome—and you’re going to want a copy. Go get it.

• If you’re in the Baltimore/DC/Northern Virginia area and want to come hang out with me, check out this retreat I’m leading at Loyola on the Potomac all about praying with pop culture. It’s going to be fun! Learn more.