Choking on Steak
As a writer, I struggle with longer pieces. I'm not as much a storyteller as a photographer. My plot lines become contrived about one 1/2 to 2/3 of the way in, even if I'm writing from life.
I've noticed a parallel between my writing and my life. Life is an epic novel, at least, and I am forever trying to capture it in a short essay. It is as painful a process to read aloud a hideously malformed attempt at a short story as it is for me to explain myself to another human being. Maybe as a society we value the short personal statement above the artfully lived life.
To add to my frustration, I am trying to explore several subjects at once so to speak. I don't know where I live, what I do, or what's coming next. These are all complex themes and probably deserve separate epics! In the early spring, when I was trying to decide how the change in my life would take shape, I struggled with the combination of work and address. I could look for a job somewhere new doing the same thing, I could stay put and look for new work, or I could uproot entirely. I chose the third and most difficult.
Now comes the new question: when you are at a dinner party and accidentally take a huge bite of tough, chewy steak, do you a) smile and chew even though the meat is making you gag b) somehow extract part and work on the more manageable portion, or c) spit the whole thing out right on your plate to the awe and disgust of your fellow guests? I am currently chewing on that too large bite. If I continue to chew, it will not kill me, but I will be exceedingly uncomfortable. If I remove part, I might be embarrassed because the person sitting across from me will see my foolishness. If I spit it out, I will go hungry. There is no perfect way to deal with biting off more than you can chew.
However this is a lovely dinner party! (Alright, the metaphor is over now.) I have left noisy Sacramento for Grass Valley. My landlords/employers, are lovely, calm, friendly, and wise. Their daughter, 3, is a character in the best sense of the word! Their house is called the Tree House and my little cottage is the Nest. It is quiet and peaceful. I the windows that span a whole wall of my bedroom look out on a lake. Directly behind the cottage is the swimming pool. I will be helping in the garden, helping take care of the llamas, chickens and cow, and watching their little girl sometimes. I also need some supplemental income, for which I had pictured working in a cafe, but I might just do what I know best and babysit my way around town.
I've noticed a parallel between my writing and my life. Life is an epic novel, at least, and I am forever trying to capture it in a short essay. It is as painful a process to read aloud a hideously malformed attempt at a short story as it is for me to explain myself to another human being. Maybe as a society we value the short personal statement above the artfully lived life.
To add to my frustration, I am trying to explore several subjects at once so to speak. I don't know where I live, what I do, or what's coming next. These are all complex themes and probably deserve separate epics! In the early spring, when I was trying to decide how the change in my life would take shape, I struggled with the combination of work and address. I could look for a job somewhere new doing the same thing, I could stay put and look for new work, or I could uproot entirely. I chose the third and most difficult.
Now comes the new question: when you are at a dinner party and accidentally take a huge bite of tough, chewy steak, do you a) smile and chew even though the meat is making you gag b) somehow extract part and work on the more manageable portion, or c) spit the whole thing out right on your plate to the awe and disgust of your fellow guests? I am currently chewing on that too large bite. If I continue to chew, it will not kill me, but I will be exceedingly uncomfortable. If I remove part, I might be embarrassed because the person sitting across from me will see my foolishness. If I spit it out, I will go hungry. There is no perfect way to deal with biting off more than you can chew.
However this is a lovely dinner party! (Alright, the metaphor is over now.) I have left noisy Sacramento for Grass Valley. My landlords/employers, are lovely, calm, friendly, and wise. Their daughter, 3, is a character in the best sense of the word! Their house is called the Tree House and my little cottage is the Nest. It is quiet and peaceful. I the windows that span a whole wall of my bedroom look out on a lake. Directly behind the cottage is the swimming pool. I will be helping in the garden, helping take care of the llamas, chickens and cow, and watching their little girl sometimes. I also need some supplemental income, for which I had pictured working in a cafe, but I might just do what I know best and babysit my way around town.
posted by Eiren at 2:52 PM
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