The Moon Ticking Down

I've been incommunicado with a lot of people for the past month or so, especially all of you wonderful people down in Arkansas. Truly sorry about that; I'm in a strange headspace right now, and I'm struggling through it without getting more folks involved than is absolutely necessary. :)

It's an omen, to me at least, that my final days at work coincide with the waning phases of the moon. In fact, the one vacation day I get between jobs on Thursday is the day of the new moon exactly. I'll end one livelihood when the moon shrinks down to nothing behind Earth's shadow and begin another when it starts to rebuild itself again.

I am probably making this out to be more momentous than it really is. People change jobs all the time, after all, for a whole host of reasons. However, this is...well, a pretty big career changer for me. It's a long way to Adobe offices from the hallowed halls of used bookstores. I'm wondering what parts of me will be called up in this new environment, what parts of me will be quietly (or violently) forced down. More than anything I'm wondering how well I can keep a fairly compassionate and mindful disposition when I'm wearing new oxfords that have yet to break in and a button-down shirt that makes me feel like I'm slowly being suffocated, and will run out of air by the time I'm 65. We'll see, I suppose. The whole reason I'm doing this in the first place is to try something new.

Writing is creeping along. I'm getting more relaxed about it all the time, and I'm learning to view the process of shitty first drafts as a joy rather than a terrifying thing. Deep in the darkest corners of my most reptilian brain is the idea that once I write a story, it's carved in stone. Once a character does something, it can't be taken back. That's the way it shall be forever, and I'm powerless to change that. This might have something to do with the rather moonbat theory that when I'm really into a story, when it 'grows legs,' as it were, I'm not so much writing as channeling something that's happening. I look for the moment when I'm no longer in control of it, and characters and plots and entire worlds just roll on without my input. Writing becomes, at that point, not a conscious exercise of the imagination, but merely looking through a window and reporting what I see.

The trouble is, it's been a very long time since any story of mine has grown any sort of legs. I'm just too uptight.

I've taken to writing little snippets of flash fiction here or there, and they probably won't see the light of day beyond certain circles. It's mostly for getting myself comfortable with writing again, and it's working, slowly but surely. I'm also beginning to see the importance of a quiet, comfortable space to work in.

Ah well, all things told things are pretty good. Since no post would be complete without a meme, here it is: 5 questions from new LJ friend dethstryke

In the interest of getting to know folks better, just respond to this post with something obvious like, "Ask me 5 questions." and I'll do so. Post the answers in your own journal and do the same for others if asked. There we go!

( My five questions. )

Next: a big long introspective post on how I came to Zen Buddhism, since someone asked.