S e g u l l a h
Writing Chocolate
Introducing Segullah, Part II
Here's a true story: Two summers ago I was invited to go to lunch with a female professor who was visiting BYU. Though not LDS, she studies nineteenth-century Mormon women's poetry, so she was here to give a lecture. Four of us ended up eating at the Museum of Art Café (you should try those scrumptious salads and wraps). We discussed the professor's research, how it tied into other aspects of LDS history, her plans for her future and a bit about ourselves. At the end of an hour—long lunch, all four of us women needed just a “bite” of dessert. So we ordered a brick-heavy, chocolate cake-brownie thing, put it in the middle of the table, and dug in. As we each pushed the last bite toward someone else, it occurred to me how the whole scene was really normal . . . and really bizarre. What could be more normal than a group of women sharing a dessert-chocolate, of course-and chit-chatting away at 500 miles per hour on some random topic? I'm sure anyone who glanced our way saw something that happens every second of the day all over the world. But, when I stop and think about it, I ask: what could be more bizarre than inviting a PhD—who you met an hour ago and who is about to give a scholarly lecture to a professional audience—to grab a fork and stab into a joint dessert in the middle of a university café? What we were thinking? All of those talented and erudite university professors must have thought we were absolutely crazy!
I have no justification for my lack of professionalism, and I'll be a bit mortified if my department hears about it. But it worked. I did not feel uncomfortable at the time, and I have no reason to think anyone else at the table felt awkward, either. It was . . . liminal, not that I really know the meaning of that word. There was a weird crossing of worlds, a merging and stretching that opened a new space. We found ourselves somewhere between the rules of academic protocol and an intuitive female friendship, not rejecting either while following neither precisely. That middle space was a new space, and it was good. The subsequent poetry lecture was rigorous; the visiting professor was eloquent. I listened carefully to her lecture and admired her analytic depth, probably more so since we shared a fudge dessert. Go figure. Somewhere in losing the trappings of expert authority, she gained it. I respected her more, and I liked her more. Can we find a similar boundary place for faith and literature? A place where women's voices weave good writing and religion, stretching both and blending them into something new? I say we can.
Of course there are already other publications committed to similar tasks—Irreantum, Dialogue, Sunstone, BYU Studies, Meridian, the Ensign and Exponent II, to name a few. So what makes Segullah unique? It's a combination of things. For one, we're all about the gospel. As far as doctrine goes, you may rest assured that the conclusion of whatever you are reading will be faithful. We believe in the gospel, and we sustain the authorities. On the other hand, we are not looking for glossy glamour shots from your local mall—the Monday morning scramble is more our style. You may encounter interpretations, perspectives, and experiences different than your own in Segullah. You will find real women with real struggles that may not always be resolved, contained and tied up in a tidy package with a red satin bow. Segullah is a place where believing women bump into real life with all its carpool-migraine-budget issues, its miscarriage-death-divorce disasters, and its true-love, answers-to-prayers, blessed-by-charity moments of sheer joy. It's a place where we admire your faith all the more because we have learned who you are and the price you paid to get there.
Segullah is also all about women and the female experience. "The Family: A Proclamation" states that “Gender is an essential characteristic of individual premortal, mortal and eternal identity and purpose.” Such being the case, we want to hear about your female experience, about how being a faithful woman influences your life, your decisions and your actions. Not that we are against hearing from men about men. We may even have a few things to say about men, ourselves. Me, for instance. I may want to write about the time a few years ago when I was grouching around in a PMS snit, totally destroying the Sabbath for me and my entire family. As I sat on the stairs, quietly raging and sobbing after ruining dinner, yelling at my kids, and picking a fight with my husband (and genuinely believing that it was all their fault), I told God that I hated PMS and that I couldn't take feeling like this for one more second. I cannot explain the physical sensation of my anger being lifted and calm pouring down. Every so often I take out that stunning moment and look at it in awe: there is a male God who understands my body, my emotions—me, even when I'm not acting like myself. When I write about that day, I'll want to write it in Segullah, a good place where people I have never met can come to talk about women and God, about being female and being faithful. Some might come to the table expecting an extreme: either a gossipy emotional muddle or a polite intellectual foray. They will find instead a feast of intellect and emotion. This is not an exclusive feast for females, though I have to admit that women may find it easier to join in and share a bite or two. No matter—we welcome everyone to the banquet of heart and mind, and we hope most will contribute to our dessert buffet (green Jell-o excluded, unless you have some fabulous new recipe).
Lastly, we are all about good writing. This journal will not be a free-for-all, anything-goes, call-yourself-published type of online posting. We're serious about editorial review. Back in 1888, Orson F. Whitney prophesied that the LDS people will yet have Miltons and Shakespeares of our own. “Ort,” as he was called, probably would feel fine about expanding that prophecy for a few Jane Austens, George Elliotts, and Charlotte Brontes. I am not so naive as to claim that such a task is easy. We've had 117 years to fulfill the prophecy, and we have not produced much that can stand the test of 40 minutes of critical reading, much less 400 years. But I am scaring would-be writers unnecessarily. We would love to discover (or be) Shakespeare's contemporary sister, but we're more middle-brow than we are Milton and decidedly undignified compared to Dostoyevsky. Case in point: this essay. We won't publish poor writing, but the informal style of a good personal essay works for us and our real lives. Perhaps years of journaling have taught the LDS people to write their own experiences better than they realize. We may find that we write best when we drop pedantic facades and be ourselves, when we write like we chit-chat—sitting around the table with our friends and sisters, eating dessert and sharing our daily struggles. The talk is open, honest, intimate and insightful. That is the kind of woman-talk Segullah wants written down.
President Kimball said that the growth of the church during the last days would be predicated on the “articulateness” and “righteousness” of Mormon women.(1) He also said we should be as concerned about our “capacity to communicate” as we are about sewing, food preservation or any other homemaking skills.(2) I think writing personal essays, poetry and fiction is one way we can articulate how the gospel seeps into the nooks and crannies of our everyday lives and makes us who we are. I think we can tell what we believe, why we struggle, how we find the strength to press on and where we think all of it is taking us. And I think we can do it without being didactic or preachy. I think we can write with the inspiration of God and the perspiration that all gut-wrenching hard work requires. After all, we are not on our own in the world of language and art. Who could be more creative than the Creator? Who can find the right word better than the Word? He who created sunsets and babies, He who speaks to each of us in our own language, and He who knows, “according to the flesh,” the very depths of our most deeply felt female pains—He is right here with us. Gospel-grounded. Woman-centered. Well-written. That combination is what Segullah wants to voice. Is it something you want to hear and talk about? Come read, write and talk with us. We invite you to pull up a chair, grab a fork, and dig in . . . this dessert is chocolate.
(1) Kimball, Spencer W. "The Role of Righteous Women," Ensign, November 1979, 102.
(2) Kimball, Spencer W. "Privileges and Responsibilities of Sisters," Ensign, November 1978, 102.
KYLIE TURLEY grew up in Cody, Wyoming and can't quite admit that she's from Utah, even though she's lived there since her BYU days. She has one BA (political science), one MA (American studies), four kids, one husband, no pets, one house to clean, one garden to grow, and hundreds of unfinished projects to do. In all her spare time she teaches honors writing at BYU and researches Mormon women's history.
