So, me being female, it is time for my monthly crazies (like a werewolf, but with less slaughtering sheep and running around in woods, mostly). This on top of the already ubiquitous emotional instability I've been rocking lately, combined with a much larger cup of coffee than I should have had, means that I want to read poetry and burst into tears and shout at someone and write an entire novel, and I want to do all of it right now
, while at the same time running down the street as fast as I possibly can.
I had a job interview on Monday. The position was posted on Thursday morning, I applied that afternoon, they called me Friday. The interview was the first one I've ever had where I didn't come out and go 'well I completely fucked that
up.' (Let's be honest: in my entire life
I have had a grand total of three actual
interviews for employment, including this one.) I was a bit concerned, because it is a part-time minimum wage book-sorting position, and the people I spoke to in the office were like 'Youuuuuuuu have a Bachelor's degree? And, um, you're here.' Yes, vocational school library. yes I am.
But, the next morning I woke up to a call offering me the position. Hooray. So then I've been submitting tons of paperwork, and once that all gets processed (a week minimum, at the blazing speed of academic administration) I can start working.
So, things are on an upswing, I guess? But this isn't progress
, or anything. It's not an improvement. I could have dropped all my classes at Athens tech and gone back to grading high school writing exams. The money would certainly be better. This is just a thing. Resume fodder. Experience so that later on I'll be more marketable for other jobs that I don't really care about.
I was sitting around reading the other day, and I had a notebook on hand to keep all the characters straight, and I realized I had written down a note on another page. "this all just feels so fucking futile"
Nothing to do with what I was reading, just how I feel about what I'm doing right now. I'm finishing the second course of anatomy and physiology, because I did the first half, but I really don't care at all. Getting this job? I mean, on some logical level I suppose I should be happy, but I don't really care about that either. It's just not registering. Or rather, my relevance scale is all screwy these days.( Collapse )
While thinking about writing quite a bit, I realized that I do
like first person narration, because it forces the writer to take on the persona of the character, and find that character's true voice. However, I find that this means that the manipulation of prose is not limited to the author's creativity and skill, but rather to the poetic inclinations of that character
. In fact, understanding
is limited to the character's capabilities, description limited to their vocabulary. While writing as someone who is distinct from yourself may be quite a challenge, and may provide a more consistent absorption into the narration, it also makes it very hard to justify the beautiful wordcraft that the third person can be so inclined to.
"Giving her some small, orphaned kisses in the hollow of her wounded hand, he opened up the most hidden passageways of his heart and drew out an interminable and lacerated intestine, the terrible parasitic animal that had incubated in his martyrdom."
(One Hundred Years of Solitude
, Gabriel Garcia Marquez)
The only reason I am even writing this entry is
that otherwise I would just be pacing and pacing and pacing and pacing.