I volunteered to be a first reader for author Joseph Carrabis for his upcoming nonfiction book on romance and relationships, That Th!nk That You Do, vol. 2. I reviewed the first book of this title and you can read that here: https://writingtoberead.com/2023/05/15/review-in-practice-that-thnk-you-do/. While that first book deals with human thought processes and behaviors in general, volume 2 deals with romance and relationships, and the differences between the sexes. His premises are based on solid research and contemporary studies, and may be pretty accurate, unless you are weird, like me.
How age affects perspective, and my reviews.
In the section titled “Romancing Real Women”, Carrabis offers us two different versions of a passage from a hypothetical romance story. The first is what I would call romance adventure, where the dashing hero saves the damsel in distress, with a big, muscular male playing the part of hero. The second offers up a loving, playful, sensitive male character, who puts his heroine up on a pedestal. Then he asks which you think will catch a woman’s attention, and goes on to explain why they are both very age demographic:
“the former is designed to attract younger women more so than older women. Mature women will appreciate the former but the latter fantasy will stay with them.”
This is not surprising, as I would have guessed that the first would appeal to the younger, more hormonal group of females. And of course, as an older woman, I can see why the second version would stay with more mature women, who value stability in their lives.
I’ve never been one to go in for sappy, feel-good writing, which many romances are, and why I read so few of them and why I don’t write them. I can’t make myself do it, although I know I could if I wanted to. I even have outlines and beginnings for a few stored away with my trunk novels.
But I’m not heartless and I am female, so I do read romance occasionally. But, I don’t think I’m looking for a hero. In fact, I don’t think I ever was. I’m not a fan of Scarlet O’hara being swept off her feet by Rhett Butler, but if an author can keep it realistic, I can make it through the story and often, enjoy it.
But here’s the thing. After reading this, I had to wonder if the same factors Carrabis shows us might not also affect the way that I review a romance, especially since neither of the examples used appealed to me in a big way. Upon first thought, I would have said that it’s always been that way for me, but I had to wonder if my romance reviews have changed over the years without my noticing. And I don’t think it has.
When I was a judge for the Western Writers of America’s Spur Awards, back in 2018, they gave me the western romance category. Although I cringed when they gave me my category, I found that for me, as long as a tale carries a good, strong, storyline to hold my interest, I can tolerate the romance, even if it is a little sappy. And to be honest, I was mostly through that hormonal stage before I started doing my blog and/or book reviews, so perhaps this line of thinking doesn’t prove or disprove anything, but it is an interesting premise to explore.
Carrabis emphasizes how much you can learn about your partner from meeting his/her family. Interactions within the family can be indications of how your partner may prefer to communicate their needs and desires, as well as their attitudes toward others, giving you an idea of what type of life-partner they might be. And it does make sense.
Thinking back to when I met my second husband’s family, I think I should have run like hell. If I had, it would have saved a lot of greed later, because the dysfunctional traits and behavior never went away and came back repeatedly to bite me in the butt. But if I had, I also wouldn’t have spent most of my adult life with a man that I truly love, and frankly, I can’t imagine what life without him would have been like, so I’m glad that I didn’t.
Other Interesting Points Made
Another interesting claim Carrabis makes, is the importance of voice in relationships, from harmonic voices tending to form a closer bond, to holding on to the partner whose voice you enjoy hearing, and the benefits of a partner who sings. Also, I loved the chapter titled, “Men Get Stupid Over Sex”, which talks about the different types of risk which sex poses for men vs. women, and men’s willingness to risk more. I would guess that the risks may seem greater for men in recent times because, as Carrabis points out, only in recent times, have men been forced to take responsibility for their actions and their offspring
Summary
A life-long student of the human condition, Carrabis shares some astute insights into the human condition and differences between the sexes based on solid research and personal observations. He offers these up with a pinch of humor, making reading this book feel like chatting with an old friend. I was able to relate his premises to relationships in my own life, and in many cases, they were spot on, with interesting ideas on some different ways to approach the search for a soulmate.
It began with an insight. I discovered a huge bank of fantasy within myself: fantasy about women, about meeting THE woman, a mythical anima character whom I summoned with all of my available emotions. I had been holding on to this fantasy for decades. It was the default position of my libido and my romantic longings. “Some day I’ll meet her,” I thought; and I thought and I thought, again and again this vision conquered me. There was nothing I could do but continue hoping. Never mind that I had a long standing partner. That relationship wasn’t meeting what I perceived as my “needs”.
Then, an understanding came: you’re seventy six years old, I told myself. Maybe you’re never going to meet her. Use your future wisely. Maybe your needs aren’t so important as you think.
When I let that thought come into focus, I felt as if a huge bag of cement was pouring from my chest. As it descended into nowhere. I felt grief and sadness, a truly visceral chest-hugging loss. I had depended upon that thought structure to keep me going; it was a motivator. It caused me to flirt endlessly, if futilely, and to keep my gaze swiveling from one woman to the next. I didn’t know how to behave without this internal force, without this lodestar of romantic dreaming.
Okay. Life. Without that fantasy. Whoosh! Begin the emotional tornado.
I have a partner. I’ve been with her for twenty five years. She’s quite disabled, but we do well together. There’s no erotic energy between us. I miss it, but she’s way more important than Eros. We help one another age and survive. I find great justice in the fact that I am a caregiver. In my earlier life I couldn’t even take care of myself. That situation left me homeless, alone and completely isolated.
I’m exploring aspects of my nature that I haven’t understood. It’s strange to encounter parts of myself that remain immature. “Really?” I ask myself. “You’re still thinking that, still DOING that?” It’s easy to hear the formula: grow up! It’s another thing to actually GROW UP and change one’s self. It’s difficult and it has taken guts I didn’t know I had.
Of course, my partner will always let me know when I fuck up.
I still doubt my courage and I pray for more.
I could say that it’s about Change, but It’s really about Connection and my desire to love and be loved more intimately, to forge deeper bonds with the people in my life. I don’t know how much time I have with these people. I don’t know if I can achieve that love with anyone, but I’m starting with myself. If I have any bits of character strength in my nature, they have been acquired through a lot of effort. I’m proud of that effort, proud of that achievement. I am also capable of viewing myself with contempt. There have been times when I have completely fallen apart. I have learned gto live in reasonable balance with my self-destructiveness. I think it takes this kind of polarity to make a rounded person. In other words, if you knew half the shit that goes on inside me, you’d run. But then you would come back and ask me to tell a story.
I admit to living deep inside my narcissistic enclosure. I can’t get out of my own way. At least I know that about myself.
My emotional palette has expanded so that I am feeling new things that I had not previously dreamed of feeling. My former therapist would be ecstatic, as this seems to be a culmination of much of the work we did together. Almost all of this is love-feeling coming through my soul in many textures and colors. It is something like the docking of an immense ocean liner that carries feelings as its cargo. As an artist these feelings resonate so deeply inside me that I am moved into a new sphere of art; music, words, visions, images. My inner life has lit up like a cosmic dawn.
I am immensely grateful for the gift of humanity, empathy and self-knowledge.
I have faith (and that’s what it is. I don’t Know anything) in a Higher Intelligence. I feel a resonance with Sufi poets like Rumi and Kabir and musical mystics like John Coltrane. I am a person who prays. I pray almost constantly. It’s as if I have a God-Hatch in my head and it’s always emitting fiery sparks like a volcano.
I am aware of a human tendency towards self-delusion. Since I am a human being, I, too, am capable of fooling myself in ridiculous style. I hope to free myself from such errors in this life or the next, or the one after that. Or…maybe the one after that. Everything comes in its time. My spirit sits like a melon on the kitchen table, slowly ripening until its moment of maximum sweetness.
Postscript:
One of the most significant changes has been in the diminution of my personal compulsiveness. I’ve long known myself to be a compulsive or addictive personality. I endured severe food compulsions in my teen years and have long struggled with both bulimia and anorexia. In late life this morphed into bed time snacking that could get out of hand. It is with a degree of amazement that I find myself not interested in such activity. I don’t even have the munchies when I’m stoned. My body is changing along with the interior shifting of my thought processes. My tummy fat is disappearing. I’m not unhappy about this. It feeds my vanity, of which I am a proud owner of significant “amor propre” or self regard.
I am amazed. This is healing. I know the source of my addictions to be underlying depression, despair, loneliness and confusion. I’ve been working at THAT my whole life.
I seem to be getting somewhere. It’s about fucking time.
__________________________________________
About the Author
Arthur Rosch is a novelist, musician, photographer and poet. His works are funny, memorable and often compelling. One reviewer said “He’s wicked and feisty, but when he gets you by the guts, he never lets go.” Listeners to his music have compared him to Frank Zappa, Tom Waits, Randy Newman or Mose Allison. These comparisons are flattering but deceptive. Rosch is a stylist, a complete original. His material ranges from sly wit to gripping political commentary.
Arthur was born in the heart of Illinois and grew up in the western suburbs of St. Louis. In his teens he discovered his creative potential while hoping to please a girl. Though she left the scene, Arthur’s creativity stayed behind. In his early twenties he moved to San Francisco and took part in the thriving arts scene. His first literary sale was to Playboy Magazine. The piece went on to receive Playboy’s “Best Story of the Year” award. Arthur also has writing credits in Exquisite Corpse, Shutterbug, eDigital, and Cat Fancy Magazine. He has written five novels, a memoir and a large collection of poetry. His autobiographical novel, Confessions Of An Honest Man won the Honorable Mention award from Writer’s Digest in 2016.
This segment of “Mind Fields” is sponsored by the Roberta Writes blog site, where you can find the poetry, photos, videos, and book reviews by Robbie Cheadleand so much more.
Mind Fields: An Insight Changed My Behavior
Posted: September 27, 2024 | Author: artrosch | Filed under: Commentary, essays, Mind Fields, Relationships, Self-Discovery | Tags: Arthur Rosch, Mind Fields, Relationships, Relection, Self-Discovery, Writing to be Read | 1 CommentIt began with an insight. I discovered a huge bank of fantasy within myself: fantasy about women, about meeting THE woman, a mythical anima character whom I summoned with all of my available emotions. I had been holding on to this fantasy for decades. It was the default position of my libido and my romantic longings. “Some day I’ll meet her,” I thought; and I thought and I thought, again and again this vision conquered me. There was nothing I could do but continue hoping. Never mind that I had a long standing partner. That relationship wasn’t meeting what I perceived as my “needs”.
Then, an understanding came: you’re seventy six years old, I told myself. Maybe you’re never going to meet her. Use your future wisely. Maybe your needs aren’t so important as you think.
When I let that thought come into focus, I felt as if a huge bag of cement was pouring from my chest. As it descended into nowhere. I felt grief and sadness, a truly visceral chest-hugging loss. I had depended upon that thought structure to keep me going; it was a motivator. It caused me to flirt endlessly, if futilely, and to keep my gaze swiveling from one woman to the next. I didn’t know how to behave without this internal force, without this lodestar of romantic dreaming.
Okay. Life. Without that fantasy. Whoosh! Begin the emotional tornado.
I have a partner. I’ve been with her for twenty five years. She’s quite disabled, but we do well together. There’s no erotic energy between us. I miss it, but she’s way more important than Eros. We help one another age and survive. I find great justice in the fact that I am a caregiver. In my earlier life I couldn’t even take care of myself. That situation left me homeless, alone and completely isolated.
I’m exploring aspects of my nature that I haven’t understood. It’s strange to encounter parts of myself that remain immature. “Really?” I ask myself. “You’re still thinking that, still DOING that?” It’s easy to hear the formula: grow up! It’s another thing to actually GROW UP and change one’s self. It’s difficult and it has taken guts I didn’t know I had.
Of course, my partner will always let me know when I fuck up.
I still doubt my courage and I pray for more.
I could say that it’s about Change, but It’s really about Connection and my desire to love and be loved more intimately, to forge deeper bonds with the people in my life. I don’t know how much time I have with these people. I don’t know if I can achieve that love with anyone, but I’m starting with myself. If I have any bits of character strength in my nature, they have been acquired through a lot of effort. I’m proud of that effort, proud of that achievement. I am also capable of viewing myself with contempt. There have been times when I have completely fallen apart. I have learned gto live in reasonable balance with my self-destructiveness. I think it takes this kind of polarity to make a rounded person. In other words, if you knew half the shit that goes on inside me, you’d run. But then you would come back and ask me to tell a story.
I admit to living deep inside my narcissistic enclosure. I can’t get out of my own way. At least I know that about myself.
My emotional palette has expanded so that I am feeling new things that I had not previously dreamed of feeling. My former therapist would be ecstatic, as this seems to be a culmination of much of the work we did together. Almost all of this is love-feeling coming through my soul in many textures and colors. It is something like the docking of an immense ocean liner that carries feelings as its cargo. As an artist these feelings resonate so deeply inside me that I am moved into a new sphere of art; music, words, visions, images. My inner life has lit up like a cosmic dawn.
I am immensely grateful for the gift of humanity, empathy and self-knowledge.
I have faith (and that’s what it is. I don’t Know anything) in a Higher Intelligence. I feel a resonance with Sufi poets like Rumi and Kabir and musical mystics like John Coltrane. I am a person who prays. I pray almost constantly. It’s as if I have a God-Hatch in my head and it’s always emitting fiery sparks like a volcano.
I am aware of a human tendency towards self-delusion. Since I am a human being, I, too, am capable of fooling myself in ridiculous style. I hope to free myself from such errors in this life or the next, or the one after that. Or…maybe the one after that. Everything comes in its time. My spirit sits like a melon on the kitchen table, slowly ripening until its moment of maximum sweetness.
Postscript:
One of the most significant changes has been in the diminution of my personal compulsiveness. I’ve long known myself to be a compulsive or addictive personality. I endured severe food compulsions in my teen years and have long struggled with both bulimia and anorexia. In late life this morphed into bed time snacking that could get out of hand. It is with a degree of amazement that I find myself not interested in such activity. I don’t even have the munchies when I’m stoned. My body is changing along with the interior shifting of my thought processes. My tummy fat is disappearing. I’m not unhappy about this. It feeds my vanity, of which I am a proud owner of significant “amor propre” or self regard.
I am amazed. This is healing. I know the source of my addictions to be underlying depression, despair, loneliness and confusion. I’ve been working at THAT my whole life.
I seem to be getting somewhere. It’s about fucking time.
__________________________________________
About the Author
Arthur Rosch is a novelist, musician, photographer and poet. His works are funny, memorable and often compelling. One reviewer said “He’s wicked and feisty, but when he gets you by the guts, he never lets go.” Listeners to his music have compared him to Frank Zappa, Tom Waits, Randy Newman or Mose Allison. These comparisons are flattering but deceptive. Rosch is a stylist, a complete original. His material ranges from sly wit to gripping political commentary.
Arthur was born in the heart of Illinois and grew up in the western suburbs of St. Louis. In his teens he discovered his creative potential while hoping to please a girl. Though she left the scene, Arthur’s creativity stayed behind. In his early twenties he moved to San Francisco and took part in the thriving arts scene. His first literary sale was to Playboy Magazine. The piece went on to receive Playboy’s “Best Story of the Year” award. Arthur also has writing credits in Exquisite Corpse, Shutterbug, eDigital, and Cat Fancy Magazine. He has written five novels, a memoir and a large collection of poetry. His autobiographical novel, Confessions Of An Honest Man won the Honorable Mention award from Writer’s Digest in 2016.
More of his work can be found at www.artrosch.com
Photos at https://500px.com/p/artsdigiphoto?view=photos
____________________________________________
This segment of “Mind Fields” is sponsored by the Roberta Writes blog site, where you can find the poetry, photos, videos, and book reviews by Robbie Cheadle and so much more.
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