This is just a personal update for those who want it:
I officially have my Bachelor's degree in English. Plans for the future include applying to the JET program and writing as much as possible. For those who don't know, the JET (Japanese Exchange and Teaching) program sends those accepted over to Japan for a year to help with ESL (English as a Second Language) work and generally foster good relations between Japanese youth and youths from other countries (such as, in my case, the USA). The application process is almost a year long, starting this September, and if I am accepted I will be in Japan for a year starting around Aug 2009. Needless to say, I'm extremely excited about the prospect. I've visited Japan once and absolutely loved the place. In addition, I'm currently doing ESL teaching independently and it has to be one of the most rewarding and interesting types of teaching I've ever been exposed to.
As for the writing, all I can do is keep at it. I'm working on a good amount of personal work that I hope to submit to various places - so if the posts are lacking, that's why. However, that said, I enjoy the blogging as well and it keeps me in form so I will attempt to keep updates regular. Writing is lifeblood to me. Even when I'm not writing, I'm writing - turning ideas over in my head, developing characters/plots/etc, nearly dying in car accidents as I try to scribble down that really interesting thought...
On an even more personal note, Andy and I are doing well and will be celebrating our 5 year anniversary this Samhain (Halloween). For graduation my parents gave us a cruise (fun!) and so we'll probably take it around either then or my birthday in November.
If anyone has any other questions as to what is going on, just post in the comments.
Ja Ne!
-Melissa Rhys-
Monday, August 18, 2008
Monday, August 11, 2008
The nature of writing - part one of gajillion
My old fiction writing professor (Judy Troy) once told me that most of writing consists of long showers and walking the dog. She was right.
I have long had a love/hate relationship with writing on demand. There are times it is a boon - creating enough tension to cattle-prod inspiration into striking. There are also times it causes the viscosity of the creative juices to increase proportional to the deadline. Recently, I have discovered another aspect to writing on demand: the properties of it remain the same no matter the "demander" - for as of late I am both demanding and the demandee.
In front of me, in its nice tidy frame, sits my newly-minted diploma, proclaiming my prowess through the achievement of a "Bachelor of Arts (English)." On top of and hanging off of the frame are invisible goblins making faces at me every time I sit down at this computer and don't write. Some are goblins of expectations questioning why I am not midway through a major work. Some are goblins of creativity (3rd cousins to the Muses) who alternately sprinkle my fingers with magic dust of genius and magic dust of dumb. It's impossible to tell the bags apart until I'm settled in and have been sprinkled for the session. Some are goblins of guilt, some goblins of doubt - both closely related to the goblins of expectations. These are the worst, but at least they are kept under control by the goblins of confidence and support.
Credibility - you have to live up to it in order to keep it. Thus the goblins and the goal-setting. I would be writing anyway - I cannot NOT write - but in some ways I feel that my graduation has raised my standards for myself. Not low to begin with, my expectations of myself are now such that it's slightly intimidating. I'm sure other writers have experienced this; if not after getting a degree, then perhaps after their first publication or such. I'll balance out I'm sure - as long as I remember to feed the goblins.
I have long had a love/hate relationship with writing on demand. There are times it is a boon - creating enough tension to cattle-prod inspiration into striking. There are also times it causes the viscosity of the creative juices to increase proportional to the deadline. Recently, I have discovered another aspect to writing on demand: the properties of it remain the same no matter the "demander" - for as of late I am both demanding and the demandee.
In front of me, in its nice tidy frame, sits my newly-minted diploma, proclaiming my prowess through the achievement of a "Bachelor of Arts (English)." On top of and hanging off of the frame are invisible goblins making faces at me every time I sit down at this computer and don't write. Some are goblins of expectations questioning why I am not midway through a major work. Some are goblins of creativity (3rd cousins to the Muses) who alternately sprinkle my fingers with magic dust of genius and magic dust of dumb. It's impossible to tell the bags apart until I'm settled in and have been sprinkled for the session. Some are goblins of guilt, some goblins of doubt - both closely related to the goblins of expectations. These are the worst, but at least they are kept under control by the goblins of confidence and support.
Credibility - you have to live up to it in order to keep it. Thus the goblins and the goal-setting. I would be writing anyway - I cannot NOT write - but in some ways I feel that my graduation has raised my standards for myself. Not low to begin with, my expectations of myself are now such that it's slightly intimidating. I'm sure other writers have experienced this; if not after getting a degree, then perhaps after their first publication or such. I'll balance out I'm sure - as long as I remember to feed the goblins.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Faces and Feelings
Most have heard some version of the phrase "Hiding one's feelings behind one's face" - meaning to hide what is truly being felt behind a facade, a (usually) fake exterior. I am more interested in the reverse of this idea - that of hiding one's face behind one's feelings.
One's face is more than what one presents to the world. You can, as said in Bye, Bye Birdie, "put on a happy face" but our culture recognizes that a face put on is not the real person. There are phrases such as "he showed his true face" or the obvious "two-faced" insult that implies that neither face is real. One's face, one's true face, is, simply, who one is.
In this era of personal webpages, instant fame with youtube, and, of course, Facebook, there are snippets of identity available at every click. (On a side note, don't ask if I'm on Facebook - I'm not. This is as close as I get.) Employers, co-workers, that blind date on Saturday night - people are using these technological resources to, in theory, find out who the person they are interested in 'really' is. The frightful aspect of all this is the idea that one's "face-value," that is, the face presented online, is becoming the basis for judgements made about the reality and identity of one's self by others. The false or incomplete face is being seen as real.
So, there's the scary set-up. Now, how does this relate to hiding one's face behind one's feelings? (For that matter, what exactly do I mean by that phrase?)
Who one is, the core self, is a deeper thing than can be explored in one entry. However, I will say this - I do not think that we are defined by our feelings. Not our emotions, not our passions, not our regrets. Our experiences, yes, our reactions, yes, our self-spirit, yes but there is a difference between these things and our feelings. For example, I have a passion for writing. I love it, I love every aspect of it - even the hair-pulling, banging-head-on-desk ones. But, does this passion define me? No, or at least, only on the surface. Deeper than, and driving, the passion for writing is the need to express myself, to create and react to all that is around me. This need does not have the burning of a passion or the fluidity of a feeling - it is simply a part of me, like the need to breathe or the ability to think. However, this core part of my self is in a way hidden by my passion for writing - in this way, I am hiding my face behind my feelings. In this same manner we cannot define others simply by what we see - and thusly may never be able to define another person. The person who gets angry at a mess left for them to clean up is not defined by that anger (even if it happens constantly.) Rather, perhaps hir is defined by the deeper sense of a need for order and organization. The way the mind works, the structured or chaotic or twisted thinking within it, seems to be what defines a person far more than feelings. People who feel the need for order will show that in more than just anger or exasperation at a mess. It will come through in their habits, their hobbies, their work choice, and so forth. In this way, their "tidiness" etc cannot define them because the root of that tidiness (or anger or whatever) is something else entirely.
In this, we find that we can only judge or know people empirically, by the symptoms they show of who they are.
One's face is more than what one presents to the world. You can, as said in Bye, Bye Birdie, "put on a happy face" but our culture recognizes that a face put on is not the real person. There are phrases such as "he showed his true face" or the obvious "two-faced" insult that implies that neither face is real. One's face, one's true face, is, simply, who one is.
In this era of personal webpages, instant fame with youtube, and, of course, Facebook, there are snippets of identity available at every click. (On a side note, don't ask if I'm on Facebook - I'm not. This is as close as I get.) Employers, co-workers, that blind date on Saturday night - people are using these technological resources to, in theory, find out who the person they are interested in 'really' is. The frightful aspect of all this is the idea that one's "face-value," that is, the face presented online, is becoming the basis for judgements made about the reality and identity of one's self by others. The false or incomplete face is being seen as real.
So, there's the scary set-up. Now, how does this relate to hiding one's face behind one's feelings? (For that matter, what exactly do I mean by that phrase?)
Who one is, the core self, is a deeper thing than can be explored in one entry. However, I will say this - I do not think that we are defined by our feelings. Not our emotions, not our passions, not our regrets. Our experiences, yes, our reactions, yes, our self-spirit, yes but there is a difference between these things and our feelings. For example, I have a passion for writing. I love it, I love every aspect of it - even the hair-pulling, banging-head-on-desk ones. But, does this passion define me? No, or at least, only on the surface. Deeper than, and driving, the passion for writing is the need to express myself, to create and react to all that is around me. This need does not have the burning of a passion or the fluidity of a feeling - it is simply a part of me, like the need to breathe or the ability to think. However, this core part of my self is in a way hidden by my passion for writing - in this way, I am hiding my face behind my feelings. In this same manner we cannot define others simply by what we see - and thusly may never be able to define another person. The person who gets angry at a mess left for them to clean up is not defined by that anger (even if it happens constantly.) Rather, perhaps hir is defined by the deeper sense of a need for order and organization. The way the mind works, the structured or chaotic or twisted thinking within it, seems to be what defines a person far more than feelings. People who feel the need for order will show that in more than just anger or exasperation at a mess. It will come through in their habits, their hobbies, their work choice, and so forth. In this way, their "tidiness" etc cannot define them because the root of that tidiness (or anger or whatever) is something else entirely.
In this, we find that we can only judge or know people empirically, by the symptoms they show of who they are.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Almost
Well, we've just about got everything moved - which means posts will be more regular soon - and of course, all this exertion has provoked a few thoughts. Some have already been jotted down as drafts and will be posted in time. In the meanwhile, here's some random musings.
What makes a place home? Is is the physical place? The memories created there? A combination? Or, rather, is it the manifestation of self and a sense of belonging? I'm inclined to believe the lattermost. We put into our homes - no matter how large or small - pieces of who we are. These pieces need not be material things. One can be as simple as that water stain that always looked like a face or the view from a particular window. By attaching emotions and thoughts to such things we make them ours. We may not in actuality own the things in that view but the view itself is ours.
Transitions - why are they so exciting and scary? The reason could be the same reason we fear death, that is, they are filled with the unknown. In every transition is potential for blessing and bane. Moreover, they are filled with the knowledge that things will never be this way again. Thus nostalgia is born, retrobias, and the sense that either moving forward towards "better" things or back to the "good ol' days" would increase the quality of our lives. In this, one never finds satisfaction in the present.
More to come but life intervenes.
What makes a place home? Is is the physical place? The memories created there? A combination? Or, rather, is it the manifestation of self and a sense of belonging? I'm inclined to believe the lattermost. We put into our homes - no matter how large or small - pieces of who we are. These pieces need not be material things. One can be as simple as that water stain that always looked like a face or the view from a particular window. By attaching emotions and thoughts to such things we make them ours. We may not in actuality own the things in that view but the view itself is ours.
Transitions - why are they so exciting and scary? The reason could be the same reason we fear death, that is, they are filled with the unknown. In every transition is potential for blessing and bane. Moreover, they are filled with the knowledge that things will never be this way again. Thus nostalgia is born, retrobias, and the sense that either moving forward towards "better" things or back to the "good ol' days" would increase the quality of our lives. In this, one never finds satisfaction in the present.
More to come but life intervenes.
Friday, July 4, 2008
Elusive and Lasting
It's July 4th and I cannot help but reflecting on life's elusivity and lastingness. As an American, I recognize the sacrifices that went into and still go into keeping the right of choice for citizens. Each human life - from those given in 1776 to those in 2008 both lost and still in the fight - is but cosmically inconsequential. Yet, to use a slightly cliched but ever-apt metaphor, we are all the cause of ripples in the pond.
The war in Iraq is a topic that is unique. It has been overly-discussed and yet still has the ability to generate discussion and strife. People are asking questions such as: "What are we really fighting for anyway?" "How did this happen?" and "What is this doing to us - as people, as a nation?" We are all too close to the situation and time to answer these questions. Perhaps one day, in my children's or my grandchildren's history books, the answers will emerge. Or maybe, more likely, there will be many answers - some conflicting - depending on who is writing the history books.
It is said that one person can make a difference in this world, despite being one of billions. Certainly there have been figures in history that seem to validate this idea - Socrates, Descartes, Einstein, Jefferson, Franklin, Tesla, and so on. Yet I have to wonder if, due to the sheer volume of minds that have existed, there is not a kind of inevitably to progress. Study the history of science or literature and you see that breakthroughs in thought and technology tend to come in waves, often with many reaching - individually - the same or similar conclusions around the same time period.
This is not to say that there is no point to individual human lives or to promote a sort of fatalism. We are all our own universes, each of us a unique culmination of our time and experiences that will never happen again. Every life is one of a kind - amusingly, it is difference that creates the only universal sameness across culture and time. We all influence each other - short and long term - and we all contribute to what will influence those that come after us. In this we are all both, invariably, immortal and brief.
The war in Iraq is a topic that is unique. It has been overly-discussed and yet still has the ability to generate discussion and strife. People are asking questions such as: "What are we really fighting for anyway?" "How did this happen?" and "What is this doing to us - as people, as a nation?" We are all too close to the situation and time to answer these questions. Perhaps one day, in my children's or my grandchildren's history books, the answers will emerge. Or maybe, more likely, there will be many answers - some conflicting - depending on who is writing the history books.
It is said that one person can make a difference in this world, despite being one of billions. Certainly there have been figures in history that seem to validate this idea - Socrates, Descartes, Einstein, Jefferson, Franklin, Tesla, and so on. Yet I have to wonder if, due to the sheer volume of minds that have existed, there is not a kind of inevitably to progress. Study the history of science or literature and you see that breakthroughs in thought and technology tend to come in waves, often with many reaching - individually - the same or similar conclusions around the same time period.
This is not to say that there is no point to individual human lives or to promote a sort of fatalism. We are all our own universes, each of us a unique culmination of our time and experiences that will never happen again. Every life is one of a kind - amusingly, it is difference that creates the only universal sameness across culture and time. We all influence each other - short and long term - and we all contribute to what will influence those that come after us. In this we are all both, invariably, immortal and brief.
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