Why does it have to be "Secular"?

I have a lot of articles to edit, and almost as many to write.  The laundry is piled up, and my lovely new floors (they are lovely, and sometimes they're even clean) need a sweep and a swiffer. I have to exercise, because I've been letting it go lately and my back is really complaining. And I'm way behind on a book I'm working on.

It's the worst time to be writing here, but all those other things just aren't going to get done with this entry jittering at my fingers and messing with my head.

I hope that it will be possible to distinguish here between being angry at someone who wrote something (which I'm not) and being rattled by something that was written. I have relied on and valued the feedback here so much; the last thing I want to do is slap a mute on it.  

But I am rattled, and it is something that really ought to be talked about, so here goes.

Words are not their dictionary definitions. Connotations are more important than what the so-called "real" meaning of any word is.

"Secular" means non-religious. To me, non- means simply that. Non- is not, to me, the same as anti-.

There are many who don't feel that way at all about this word. Their opinions are just as valid as mine, because a language reflects its users. I can (and do) argue that secular ought to be a neutral word, but I can't make that true. So it's not a word to be thrown around lightly in a largely religious society.

Bon Appetit magazine is a secular magazine, because religion is a non-issue for it. It can have a whole section devoted to bread recipes without once mentioning that bread played a hugely significant role in Jesus' last supper, and no one turns a hair. Plenty of perfectly religious people buy and enjoy this magazine, because even if their spiritual beliefs permeate every aspect of their lives right down to preparing meals -- and many people's beliefs do just that -- these people also believe that they can take care of the sacred aspect of dinner, but they could use a little help in the recipe department.

But if the magazine called itself "Secular Food Preparation," there would be an uproar. Or at least a pained and baffled silence. Why on earth would a publication call itself that?

There would be no reason to, because cooking magazines are understood to be sitting on the sidelines, morally speaking.

All this is leading up to the fact that I was asked why exactly I have to call my magazine Secular Homeschooling. The first word is deeply disturbing to many people who might otherwise enjoy what the magazine has to offer.

There are some people who might think that my answer to that would be, "Good! Anyone who'd be disturbed by the name shouldn't be reading it."

That's not true. If I didn't think this magazine has a great deal to offer to all homeschoolers, whatever their beliefs or lack thereof, I wouldn't have started it.

So why not, as this person suggested, up my circulation just by changing one word?

First of all, it wouldn't work that way. The people who subscribed exactly because it was called Secular Homeschooling would rightly feel betrayed. And I can't imagine that those who didn't subscribe for the same reasons would think that I'd had some kind of change of heart unless I put the word out that I'd had some kind of road to Damascus conversion.

There's no changing now. The real issue is why I called it what I did in the first place.

The person who wrote to me and brought all these issues to mind suggested several perfectly neutral names for a general homeschooling magazine. What she didn't mention is that there are already quite a few homeschooling magazines with plain, ordinary names whose content is far from neutral, or even inclusive, religiously speaking.

The Old Schoolhouse is not a name that makes me assume it's a specifically and deeply Christian publication. A friend of mine argued about this when I brought it up; she said that with a name like that, she wouldn't be surprised to hear that they were Christian. All right. But having a title that isn't not Christian isn't the same thing as calling yourself Above Rubies or Unless The Lord, as do two Christian homeschooling publications who want there to be no mistake made about their viewpoint and goals.

TOS says on the front page of its site that it's "for homeschooling families everywhere." Only when you click to read its mission statement do the editors state that their goal is "to produce a high quality biblically-based magazine."

Homeschooling Today has as its motto, "Learning from the Past with a Vision for the Future." Neither of those say "obviously Christian" to me. On their "About Us" page, however, they state that their work is "focused and specific. Our commitment to bring the homeschool community useful information and resources is supported by a Biblical conviction that God used families to change the world."

On Practical Homeschooling's site, you can read many articles that have appeared in past issues, including one about how to put Christ back into Christmas, another called "Soul Power" that outlines "a Bible reading plan that works," and "Hanging out with God." (I really wanted to stop and read that last one. Maybe after this next issue is finally put together.)

I am not saying that the people who give religious publications neutral names are attempting to be deceptive, or that they're doing anything wrong by calling themselves whatever they please. What I am saying is that for whatever reason, a homeschooling magazine that is specifically non-religious has to say so, or the point won't be taken.

Well, why say so, anyway? Why have it be such a point? Just be neutral religiously. As the writer pointed out, I could simply turn away anything with religious content.

How?

I have already had the unpleasant task of rejecting some of the writing that came my way. Not a lot, but some.

Because I'm upfront and honest about exactly what kind of magazine this is, I generally get exactly the kind of articles I want and need. That's nice for everyone involved.

If I put out a homeschooling magazine that didn't specifically state that the editorial slant was non-religious, I'd have a slew of inappropriate material coming my way.

What would I say when I rejected it?

Would I simply send the writer a blank rejection form? "Thank you for allowing us to read this article. We regret that it does not meet our present needs."

I've been on both sides of the editor's desk. I do my best to only send materials to other editors that I genuinely wouldn't be surprised to see in their publications.

How incredibly unkind would it be to perfectly well-meaning and talented writers if I told them that their work wasn't good enough when what I meant was that I had very specific ideas about what kind of writing I wanted to see -- but I wasn't going to share them?

Oh -- I could just trim any unwanted religious content.

Right. Except that anyone who was devout enough to be making references to their deity in an article was sure going to notice that I'd quietly taken them out. She'd be indignant, and rightly so. She'd want to know why. She'd probably rather not have the article published at all than have it chopped up in such a fashion.

Well, I could just turn away such an article, then, and say in my rejection that I don't accept materials with a religious slant or containing religious references.

In reply, the writer would ask indignantly why I hadn't had the decency to mention that on my "materials wanted" page.

Um -- it's a secret?

I don't want to upset anybody, so I just thought I wouldn't say it upfront?

I have a hidden agenda, and you stumbled on it? Please don't tell, because I don't want to lose readers?

And if rejecting writers isn't fun enough, telling advertisers that I can't take their money is a really good time. The only way I've been able to manage it is by explaining that SECULAR Homeschooling Magazine doesn't accept religious or anti-religious content.

I'm already getting inappropriate ads, and I'm being as upfront as it's possible to be. How's my day going to look when I start hiding behind some safely non-descript name?

Secular Homeschooling Magazine is going to alienate a hefty segment of the homeschooling population by its name alone. All the bitter wish lists and other popular content in the world won't change that. I don't like that, but I'm realistic enough to acknowledge that it's so.

I hadn't entirely realized what a dagger the word "secular" was when I decided on the name for the magazine, but I had an idea. I know that, because I know how I feel in that tiny pause after someone asks me, "So, what's the name of your magazine?"

There's nothing I want more than to just be left alone to mind my own business while others mind theirs. My comfort zone has harsh words to say to me pretty much every day regarding my choice of title.

But I'm also ferociously straightforward. I can't play this both ways. Any Christians reading this probably know a wonderfully apt quotation about trying to serve two masters at the same time.

I can't publish the magazine for people who want a religiously-neutral publication and also please those who think that in terms of Christianity, if you're not for it you're against it.

The latter have plenty of publications already.  Now the former have one, too.
 

Another shameless plea

You know the drill: I find your feedback invaluable. I'd love to hear what you think of this.

I have an offer for an advertisement. The ad would be for an atheist discussion board.

So far, I have turned away one advertisement for a site that is specifically anti-religious. And I've turned away a few for products or services that were extremely religious.

I have to say that it wasn't just the money that made me feel bad about turning away one of them. I won't name any names, but one very nice guy sent me an email about placing an ad for his educational science products in SHM. The word "apologia" appeared prominently in the company's name, and he signed off with an apparently sincere blessing in my direction.

I spent several days pondering as to whether he assumed that we were inclusive rather than non-religious, or whether he took a cheeky delight in marching right up to the devil's door, as it were, and asking if we'd like to buy some cookies. Neither would have bothered me (I quite approve of cheekiness, so long as it isn't being practiced by my son when Mommy is desperately trying to work, sleep, or think). But I never could come up with a tactful way of asking a man possessed of several advanced degrees, "So, do you, um, know exactly what secular means?"

(I did of course write back to him, thanking him profusely for his good wishes and regretting that I couldn't accept them in the tangible form he was offering.)

To all of the advertisers I've had to turn away, I had a quick, simple reply:  Thank you, but we are unable to accept material of a religious or anti-religious nature.

Does the discussion board I mentioned above qualify under either heading?

I've never liked the idea that atheism is a religion, since I only ever seem to hear it from people who insist that there's no such thing as a non-religious human being and therefore atheists should stop fooling themselves and just come to church, already.

On the other hand, atheism does occupy much the same space in a philosophical, intellectual, and even emotional sense that religion does.

But atheism isn't religion. It's the lack of religion. And non-religious does not mean anti-religious -- that's the whole point of my magazine.

But opposites do imply one another. Atheism as a concept isn't non-religious in the same sense that hand-crafted wooden toys are.

And I have (and want) readers who are religious, but are nevertheless secular homeschoolers. How would an advertisement like this speak to them?

I don't mean that I'm worried about flack. I'm ruffling feathers just by having a magazine called Secular Homeschooling. Only yesterday I saw a blog that reproduced the Wish List in its entirety. The blogger said she hoped her readers would enjoy the list and get a good laugh out of it, as she did. She added that, for the record, she never has and never will buy or read SHM. I guess it's okay to steal from godless heathens, and use their work to try to ramp up traffic to your own site, as long as you scrape your shoes thoroughly afterwards.

I've already offended her, and she even likes my writing. There are plenty of readers I will never win over. I'm resigned to that.

But I'm interested in what the readers I have, or might have someday, think of all this.

Your thoughts?

Catching up with Bigfoot

Recently read an article in the L.A. Times about the guy who edits the official Bigfoot magazine. Said magazine's circulation is 760.

I think it's kind of cool that everyone has heard of Bigfoot (who doesn't exist) and nobody's heard of secular homeschoolers (who do. really. no, really) and yet, in terms of readers, SHM's numbers are edging up to Bigfoot's.

Okay, I can die happy now

Just wrote to a fellow secular homeschooler asking if I could please quote something she'd written for an upcoming SHM column. Seemed like a good idea until I hit "send," at which point I realized that of course she's going to think I'm a total stalker and possibly report me to the authorities.

She wrote back granting gracious permission to quote. That makes me happy. I wanted the quote for the upcoming "Here We Go Again" column. Which also seemed like a good idea when I came up with it, but now just seems icky and way too much work in the sense that I have to behave like an actual journalist and do tons of research and stuff when I was hoping to just lie back in the manner of a Roman empress and let the writing come to me.

What makes me happiest, though, is how this lovely lady greeted me in her letter of reply. She really, really actually said, "Aah, the writer of the infamous wish list!"

That is just so cool for so many reasons. First off, I feel like a character from a homeschooling version of a James Bond movie or something. I've never met this woman, but for me, she has an Eastern European accent and maybe a pristinely white cat. I don't care if that isn't true. It's true for me.

Then there's the whole she-knew-who-I-was-without-my-even-mentioning-it thing. I am so famous. I am. Don't ruin it for me.

Plus I now know exactly what to have them carve on my tombstone. It's going to be awesome. It'll have this black marble angel -- not a cute Victorian angel, but a more medieval, kick-booty one. And he/she (it's an angel, okay?) will be holding this gorgeous scroll, and on it will say --

You know what? I'm going to have them start making it before I die, so I can actually see it and enjoy it. You know, while I can still see. You know how the pharaohs would start construction on their tombs way before they actually needed them? I'm just trying to be practical, okay?

I Love My Stalkers

Okay, you're not actually stalkers. I use that word because a very nice lady took a shine to the writing here very early on and would leave funny, cheering little notes whenever I posted something new. So she decided that she was my states-distant stalker, and I decided that a straight, same-gender stalker who lived across the country and expressed her obsession with go-get-'em-tiger-type notes was exactly what I'd always wanted.

I can't tell you what it means to me that so many kind, funny people have taken the time to leave their thoughts here. I now know why one of my favorite cartoonists (Stephan Pastis, of Pearls Before Swine fame) took a long time to write back to a flat-out fan letter I sent him. Yes, he's busy, but it's not just that. It's one thing to hope that you're good enough at your art that people will voluntarily sit down and enjoy it; it's another to gain confidence that you have a certain facility; and it's something else altogether to have a total stranger tell you that she thinks what you're doing is fabulous and boy does she hope you keep doing it.

This past day or two have been more stressful than I've ever imagined a day (or two) could be -- and I can imagine a lot. My life decided that homeschooling, homemaking, holidaying, and putting together a magazine wasn't nearly enough to work my emotional muscles to the screaming point. There've been no deaths or disasters, and it's nothing I can discuss in very specific terms, but health and personal affairs decided to shriek for attention. Today's was the kind of morning where I decided that it was important to spend that extra hour in bed, partly because I was more than half-convinced that it was now where I lived and no one was going to get me out of it with anything short of a cannon, and partly because I needed the time to make sure I hadn't missed any ideas on the always-compelling subject of how to make my own suicide look like accidental death, so my family could just be left in misery instead of misery and guilt. I mean no disrespect to anyone who's suffered from the very real upshot of such a subject. That really was where I was living about twelve hours ago.

What got me up -- and I know this is getting maudlin so I'll make it quick -- was the thought of someone who left me not one but three affectionate and completely anonymous notes just the other day. If she's here and liking the magazine, she's probably a homeschooler, which means that she's way busy enough, especially at this time of year. She didn't have to stop by and say "Hey, nice work." She had every excuse not to. But she did, as have a lot of other people.

Here's how stupid I am:  my computer's set up so that I get an email copy of notes that are left on this site. When I get these in my mail, I know for an absolute fact that I'm just getting the electronic equivalent of carbon copies. I can drop by the site, which happens to be mine so no one's going to mess with it, and visit said notes any time I want. My pile o' email, though it's subsiding thanks to recent vigorous macheteing on my part, is still in the high three digits. I need to eject all the ballast I possibly can. And yet I will often hang on to the email copies of the notes I get, just to have them around.

Here's why I don't usually answer the notes. First, it's not obvious to me how I could, or should. I mean, I could post stuff here, but I have no idea what the etiquette of this kind of thing is and for all I know it would look extremely stupid and/or egotistical to do that. And maybe very boring to readers who aren't the ones being addressed. And a lot of the time, the person who left a note doesn't leave email information. I can sometimes get it by doing a little hunting around, but then I'm worried that I'll look like a stalker.

Also, the notes that mean the most to me generally leave me speechless. I sit there and think about how nice that little letter was, and then I think about something clever I could say, and then I remember that I don't have cleverness on tap nearly as often as I wish I did (that's why I'm a writer, where you get to write and delete and stare into space until everything's just how you want it, as opposed to, say, a stand-up comedian, where your wit is constantly taking a pass-or-fail exam); and then I get an email about something weird, or something that needs my attention right away, and I focus on that for a while; and then it's feeding time at this funny farm I call home; and then one of the homeschooling loops I'm on goes into a flurry about something ("my husband just quit his job because his boss reported us to CPS because he doesn't think homeschooling is a good idea" -- yep, that one really happened, and it wasn't even me or anyone I've met and it was weeks ago and I'm still really ticked); and then somehow it's the next day -- sometimes even the day after that! -- and I feel like a doofus. And so I tell myself that at some point I actually made a conscious decision to maintain a lofty silence on the whole subject.

So let me just say right now:  when you leave a message here, I read it and boy, do I appreciate it. It's like opening the door to get the paper and finding a little bundle of marigolds.

Consider this a big love letter back to all the terrific people who really deserve one.