Fallow Year

Well.  It has been almost a year since I visited this site.  Through most of this year, this place in my mind has lain fallow, undisturbed by any attempt at growing life.  This is good for a farmer’s field—is it as good for a creative activity?  Or is this rather like a muscle that will atrophy if not exercised?

I have to admit, I do not like to write about my life.  There is a reason that I am a science fiction and fantasy writer—or rather, there are many reasons, but the one that is most relevant here is that my own life often bores me.  I get up, I go to work, I come home, I read a book, I go to bed.  The next day I do it all over again.  Why would anyone have any interest in what I do, if I don’t?  And often I don’t.  Viewed from outside my own head, I am a very dull creature.

This is not to say that I am unhappy.  I like my job, and I do not regret the time I spend reading or writing.  I fill my days with thought and story and music, and I am content with that.  But that kind of thing is hard to put into essay form.  That is why this blog is filled with my reflections on my life, rather than reports on my activity.  And even that has fallen silent this year.

I think that is because I have become comfortable with being my own master.  I started this blog because I was advised to do so by a writer I interviewed in college, and I’ve kept it going out of a sense of obligation.  But why, I wonder, should I spend so much time chipping away at telling my own story when I am so eager to tell others?  My time and my creative energy are so precious, and I have learned by now that my writing is much better when I let it flow, rather than when I try to force it.  And so this year I have devoted my time to angels and to artificial intelligence, and occasionally to demons and magic mirrors and space pirates.  I have thrown myself into the joy of writing and tried not to guilt myself too much about what I "should" be doing.

I see the wisdom, of course, in working in several different styles of writing.  Variety is the spice of life.  And so I will try to keep posting here, though there will likely be long stretches in between updates.  But I am to the point that I know my craft, and more importantly, I know myself.  I will write what needs to be written and let the rest come as it may.

Chance of Showers

My sister is getting married this year.  This has resulted in a lot of planning and talking and arranging, as weddings usually do.  It seems to me—and I may be wrong, having never been married—that it is more like planning a military maneuver than preparing for a ceremony.  You have to position your troops carefully, arrange for sustenance, worry about the weather…it’s a lot to think about.  While I’m looking forward to being married, I don’t think I will like the wedding much—or at least, not until the day it actually arrives.

Another thing that weddings come along with is tradition.  We had her bridal shower last week, and one of the topics of conversation was where all the wedding traditions came from.  Why are there groomsmen and bridesmaids at all?  Why does the bride wear white?  Why should you save all the bows from the presents at the bridal shower?  And what about the shower itself?  Is it really just an excuse to get presents from people who may or may not be at the wedding?  I mean, nice work if you can get it, but there’s got to be a better reason.

I got a clue to that answer close to the end of the shower, when one of the women suggested the married guests (most of them) give a bit of advice on married life.  Their warm and loving suggestions held a lot of wisdom, and a lot more love for my sister and her future husband.  Where is a single woman supposed to learn how to be married, after all?  Part of it, I imagine, has to be learned on the fly, because every couple is different.  But the support and advice of older women is vital, and a community of women can be the most uplifting company one can find.  The shower, then, is a symbol of that support, the acceptance of a young woman into the next stage of her life.

What does this mean, then, for a woman like me, who is single and without likely prospect for a husband?  Am I excluded from that community?  The opposite was made clear to me at the shower—nearly every one of those women had a bit of advice for me as well.  They assured me that I had plenty of time and that they would put together a shower for me, too, when it was my turn.  One or two even told me that I didn’t need a man to be happy—shocking thought!  But however it was worded, I felt their support and love, and I was grateful for it.

I think a lot of women my age and in my situation are just waiting—for marriage, for children, or even just until they can afford a better way of life.  I know that I am waiting: I certainly don’t want to stay where I am forever.  I am trying, however, to live as much and as richly as I can while I’m waiting, and I am content to wait.  Every day I do a little something more to get to where I want to be, and eventually the right person will come along or an opportunity will appear or one of my plans will turn out the way I hope.  And I know that however and whenever I become ready to take the next big step, I will find the same wisdom and care that was “showered” on my sister.  As I’ve said, a community of loving women is a blessing, and I have no doubt that mine will be there for me when it’s time.