Wednesday, January 31, 2018

My Full Moon: the Blue Sorting Moon

I've been outside periodically to see the full moon. It's beautiful, even before the eclipse begins at 5:51 EST. It's breezy, so the clouds scud by and the clouds change colors, from white to blue to violet to purple. At other times, I step outside to a bright, white moon shining like a beacon.

I don't always wish I had a better camera, but I know better than to try to capture a night event with the cameras I have. I know to stand in the back yard, sip my coffee mocha drink, and enjoy the celestial show.

The talk today will be of last night's State of the Union address.  I never watch them, and last night was no exception.  I don't see it as part of my citizenship duties:  I'll listen to the analysis, and thus, I'll learn what our political leaders see as important.

Of course, I already know.  The older I get, the less I listen to the words of leaders.  I watch actions.  I wish I could go to lunch with them all.  I can tell a lot about character by how one treats the waitstaff.  I am fairly sure that the political leadership of the U.S. would not leave big tips.

Last night, I sorted through another 2 boxes.  One was straight forward:  various notebooks of writing that I did as a child.  I just moved those from one cardboard box to the plastic box.  Then I got to the box of novels written between 1992 and 2002.

I say novels, but most of them were 150 pages or less.  Some of them I envisioned as young adult novels.  I had a few unfinished starts, which I kept, even though I don't intend to return to them.  For a few of the novels, I had multiple copies, all of them the same.  Was I planning on mailing them at some point?  I only kept one copy.  I also had copies with friends' comments written on them.  Those went to recycling too.

It's a strange process.  I'm making lots of progress, but it's not as visible as the kind of progress that comes when I sort through my clothes or books or kitchenware.

I also see sorting as a time of mourning, especially when I sort through my old notes, manuscripts, and papers.  I remember the hopes that I had for manuscripts.  I feel the sorrow of the manuscripts, left in their boxes as I have moved on to other projects.

Let me also note that I feel the satisfaction of seeing how far I have come as a writer.  I am much more skilled at all aspects of storytelling than I was when I wrote my first post-grad school novel in 1992.

I've been writing novels longer than that.  I remember writing novels in high school.  And even when I wasn't writing them down, I was spinning stories in my head. 

I still see ways I can improve; I suspect I always will. 

Speaking of improvement, time to head to spin class.  I'll watch the eclipse as I make my way to Ft. Lauderdale.

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