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<\/a>The arts, I think, define our humanity. They make us use both sides of our brains, philosophize while expressing emotion, emote while philosophizing, see connections where we used to see divisions, help us understand other ways of seeing and experiencing and enjoying the world. They make us understand how body movement expresses thought, how language conjures up the deep recesses of our imaginations, how musical sound and visual imagery taps parts of our consciousness we never knew existed. We all have an artist somewhere within us. Some of us just try harder, invest more effort, to tap that part of our soul and motivate it to produce something we can share with others. But who does not at least respond to art in some form?<\/span><\/span>
<\/span>I must have known very early on that language was to be my primary vehicle of expression. In the third grade, I was trying to write a science fiction novel. I might cringe if I saw it today (it is lost to the ages), but the important thing, as it is for all third-graders, is that it was a beginning. It put incipient language skills to work, and they grew. In high school, I took elective classes in both journalism and creative writing. I founded the high school\u2019s Writers Club, which then published an annual literary journal,\u00a0<\/span>The Tenth Muse.<\/span><\/i>\u00a0It was my outlet.<\/span>
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<\/span>I began my collegiate career as an English major, in an honors program, indulging in subjects like 17th-century English literature. I wrote for the university newspaper and other publications, but it was the Sixties, the end of them anyway, and eventually the issues of the day turned me into a political science major. But eventually that and my community involvement just gave me subjects to write about, and I returned, over and over, to the need to say something in print. Five op-ed pieces in\u00a0<\/span>The Plain Dealer<\/span><\/i>\u00a0had my by-line by the time I left for Iowa, where I acquired a master\u2019s degree in Journalism as well as Urban and Regional Planning. By the time I moved to Chicago, I was regularly publishing free-lance articles in a wide variety of magazines, including\u00a0<\/span>The Nation<\/span><\/i>,\u00a0<\/span>The Progressive<\/span><\/i>, various denominational magazines,\u00a0<\/span>Historic Preservation<\/span><\/i>,\u00a0<\/span>Country Journal<\/span><\/i>, and other outlets. I moved to Chicago to become assistant editor of\u00a0<\/span>Planning<\/span><\/i>, a monthly magazine at the American Planning Association, thus marrying some of the diverse skills and knowledge I had acquired.\u00a0 Over the next ten years, I poured considerable energy into two lengthy book projects:\u00a0<\/span>Raising Less Corn and More Hell<\/span><\/i>, an oral history of the Midwest farm crisis in the 1980s, and\u00a0<\/span>Deeper Shades of Green<\/span><\/i>, which profiled the then-emerging environmental justice movement.<\/span>
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During all this, it was important to me to connect with a community of other writers. And not just journalists, though I became a charter member of the\u00a0<\/span>Society of Environmental Journalists<\/span><\/a>, and joined other journalistic professional organizations like the\u00a0<\/span>Society of Professional Journalists<\/span><\/a>\u00a0and\u00a0<\/span>Investigative Reporters and Editors<\/span><\/a>. I quickly found and was invited to join the storied\u00a0<\/span>Society of Midland Authors<\/span><\/a>, attending its programs, making new friends, and in the early 1990s, taking over the editorship of its newsletter, which we then renamed\u00a0<\/span>Literary License<\/span><\/i>, a perky title that has stuck for more than three decades. One job led to another, and I became the membership secretary, then vice president, then president from 1997-1999, helping usher in the society\u2019s website, which has become a mainstay of its existence over the past decade, allowing easy connection for members spread across twelve Midwestern states. Having not done quite enough yet, I found myself drafted into serving as treasurer for two years after stepping down as president, and have been a board member ever since, in addition to serving for many years as a judge in either nonfiction or biography<\/span>.<\/span><\/i> Never quite satisfied that I have spread my wings quite widely enough, I have made other fruitful literary connections that I have enjoyed immensely. One occurred over 11 days in the summer of 1997, when I attended the\u00a0<\/span>Bread Loaf Writers Conference<\/span><\/a>\u00a0in Vermont. All that precious time attending workshops, having my own as yet stillborn novel critiqued, getting feedback from the likes of Thomas Mallon, listening to readings day and night from authors like Julia Alvarez, Barry Lopez, and Madison Smartt Bell, in essence, learning from the best in a bewitching setting atop the Green Mountains, was as much as any aspiring author could ask from life.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n One experience begets another, and less than six years later, I was accepted for a four-week residency at the\u00a0<\/span>Ragdale Foundation<\/span><\/a>, in Lake Forest, Illinois, 45 minutes north of Chicago. There, amid the company of a dozen writers, poets, and visual artists, I worked hard on a promising memoir about our experiences as adoptive parents. I put a sizeable dent in the project in that short time, more than 100 pages of reasonably polished prose, but real life has stalled the completion of this book. I learned that the toughest writing of all may be that which deals with real life as it is still happening. It is hard to gain the necessary perspective, but sometimes it is also hard to know where the story ends, or will end, or should. I am still struggling with that one. But I will treasure the experience of Ragdale for a long time to come, and hope to return some day, when time and circumstances allow. In the meantime, it shall serve, like Bread Loaf, as an artist\u2019s inspiration.<\/span><\/p>\n Still, other opportunities arose. Following the creation of this website, in 2012 I launched the \u201cHome of the Brave\u201d blog that now lives here. I did not really get serious about it until a year later. I started with the mistaken impression that a blog needed to be \u201cabout something,\u201d and debated what the focus would be\u2014book reviews, current events, my career, what? One morning, I woke up with a simple thought: The blog is about \u201cwhatever I damn well decided to write about today.\u201d In other words, it would simply reflect my voice, my values, and my priorities. It took a while after that to realize that what really drew people to the blog was the quality and creativity of the writing, not just the topics I discussed. Twelve years (as of 2024) and more than 300 blog posts later, I realize that it has become a creative outlet in which I don\u2019t worry about making money but focus on saying something of value to whoever reads it\u2014and thousands have done so.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n A more quirky and idiosyncratic form of expression emerged during the COVID-19 pandemic. Our church, trying to maintain connection during this difficult time, decided to \u201cstage\u201d a Zoom-based presentation of the Douglas Anderson play, <\/span>The Beams Are Creaking<\/span><\/i><\/a>, which focuses on the life of <\/span>Dietrich Bonhoeffer<\/span><\/a>, the dissident Luther pastor who was eventually hanged by the Nazis for his opposition to Hitler, especially his involvement in a plot to assassinate Hitler late in the war. They needed volunteers for numerous parts, the most challenging being the character of Bonhoeffer himself. In an intrepid moment, I offered to do exactly that. During our rehearsals and planning, I learned a great deal about this martyr and considered how to enter his mindset so as to do justice in portraying him in a two-hour play. I may never perform dramatically again, but it was an extraordinary and humbling experience, particularly during the final scenes when Bonhoeffer\u2019s fate had been sealed.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Since then, I have also teamed with Brecksville (Ohio) high school classmate David Taylor, who became a film maker, to hatch the idea of a documentary film about the role of planning in helping communities become more resilient in the face of natural disasters and climate change. The APA Hazard Mitigation and Disaster Recovery Planning Division, which I was chairing from 2020-2022, chose to sponsor the project, which has tested my skills in overall coordination, cinematic vision, fundraising, and interviewing over more than two years so far (as of June 2024), but our growing team of volunteers and Dave have stuck with the task. We are aiming to complete <\/span>Planning to Turn the Tide: Creating Resilient Communities<\/span><\/i><\/a> in 2025. I am also beginning plans for a new book related to the film topic, but with more exploration of planning history. Watch my blog and the News on this website for announcements when the release of the film or book is imminent.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.16″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.16″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_button button_url=”https:\/\/www.jimschwab.com\/Hablarbooks\/reflections-community\/” button_text=”Community” button_alignment=”left” _builder_version=”4.26.0″ _module_preset=”default” custom_button=”on” button_text_color=”#ffffff” button_bg_color=”#4271af” button_border_width=”0px” button_border_radius=”4px” button_font=”|600|||||||” custom_margin=”||||false|false” custom_padding=”||||false|false” hover_enabled=”0″ box_shadow_style=”preset2″ box_shadow_horizontal=”3px” box_shadow_vertical=”3px” box_shadow_blur=”12px” box_shadow_color=”rgba(0,0,0,0.2)” global_colors_info=”{}” sticky_enabled=”0″][\/et_pb_button][et_pb_button button_url=”https:\/\/www.jimschwab.com\/Hablarbooks\/community\/reflections-children\/” button_text=”Children and the Future” button_alignment=”left” _builder_version=”4.26.0″ _module_preset=”default” custom_button=”on” button_text_color=”#ffffff” button_bg_color=”#4271af” button_border_width=”0px” button_border_radius=”4px” button_font=”|600|||||||” hover_enabled=”0″ box_shadow_style=”preset2″ box_shadow_horizontal=”3px” box_shadow_vertical=”3px” box_shadow_blur=”12px” box_shadow_color=”rgba(0,0,0,0.2)” global_colors_info=”{}” sticky_enabled=”0″][\/et_pb_button][et_pb_button button_url=”https:\/\/www.jimschwab.com\/Hablarbooks\/reflections-environment\/” button_text=”Environment” button_alignment=”left” _builder_version=”4.26.0″ _module_preset=”default” custom_button=”on” button_text_color=”#ffffff” button_bg_color=”#4271af” button_border_width=”0px” button_border_radius=”4px” button_font=”|600|||||||” hover_enabled=”0″ box_shadow_style=”preset2″ box_shadow_horizontal=”3px” box_shadow_vertical=”3px” box_shadow_blur=”12px” box_shadow_color=”rgba(0,0,0,0.2)” global_colors_info=”{}” sticky_enabled=”0″][\/et_pb_button][et_pb_button button_url=”https:\/\/www.jimschwab.com\/Hablarbooks\/reflections-arts\/” button_text=”The Arts” button_alignment=”left” _builder_version=”4.26.0″ _module_preset=”default” custom_button=”on” button_text_color=”#ffffff” button_bg_color=”#4271af” button_border_width=”0px” button_border_radius=”4px” button_font=”|600|||||||” hover_enabled=”0″ box_shadow_style=”preset2″ box_shadow_horizontal=”3px” box_shadow_vertical=”3px” box_shadow_blur=”12px” box_shadow_color=”rgba(0,0,0,0.2)” global_colors_info=”{}” sticky_enabled=”0″][\/et_pb_button][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][\/et_pb_section]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" ReflectionsReflections – The Arts The arts, I think, define our humanity. They make us use both sides of our brains, philosophize while expressing emotion, emote while philosophizing, see connections where we used to see divisions, help us understand other ways of seeing and experiencing and enjoying the world. 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