Outgrowth

Is it possible to outgrow people? Like you're in a position where you're in perfect sync in one moment and completely out of it the next. The idea brings a line from Alice Munro's short story ("Fiction") to mind: one day a box isn't tickmarked and the next it is. How does that even happen? It's like you've outgrown a place; what does that even mean in retrospect? I've been mulling it over in my mind, the concept of outgrowth and coming back to places that would be better left as good memories you keep at the bottom trunk of your mind, bringing them out now and again to feel happy over. But that's it--that's the extent of the relationship you should keep with them.

I like to think of myself as not being a people person, because it's easier that way isn't it? The truth of the matter is I enjoy the company of others as long as I am allowed moments on my own; I enjoy connecting people with other people, even if, as has happened on numerous occasions, they end up happier with those interconnections. Which brings me back to my original train of thought: I am not an easy person to get to know, especially if work is intermingled with social engagements. For months any personal relationship will be viewed as anathema, a danger to the workplace, and there is also an accompanying fear that people once let in will disappoint. History has the tendency to repeat itself, I argue. But I'm learning to make casual friends, to show only parts of myself instead of committing everything. In my work, there are no such limitations and observation through watching people's interactions in a variety of mediums, provides much fodder for it but it is true: I am not an easy person to get to know. I have my moments of absolute friendliness and moments of complete despondency. There are never any warning signs either except for the select few who know me reasonably well to tell one from the other, even before I quite realize it myself.

Writing about writing has had its consequences it seems, like it nearly always does. I got absolutely no writing  done yesterday, aside from mild rewriting and did not clock in my daily number of words which means I'm going to need to do twice as much today to compensate. It's 3.30 pm and I haven't gotten a move on that yet. Today is also the day when I should print out and read through the work of others, getting it done early so I've had time to process everything and really be a worthy critic.

Having had visits from literary agents in the last week, it's made me realize that I'm going to need to balance things out as much as humanely possible: especially if I intend to pursue work in the publication industry. There will be a time for writing every day and a time for working and those two will need to remain completely independent. If I can do that here with the demands of The Missing Slate, then I can do it anywhere else when the stakes are higher. I've been waiting for a Managing Editor and haven't allowed myself to completely disengage from TMS until I forced it upon myself and lo and behold, Gray took off. It's all in the mind: everything. Every writing problem, or so Erica Jong tells me (and by tells me, I mean I read it off a quote; I don't know her personally!) is pyschological. This is true too, because if I really stop to consider the impact of what a story like Gray with all the things I'm writing about within it, will have on my entire family: the complete Piracha clan, I'll never end up writing it at all. And that simply won't do. You can't write (or live life really) with the idea that someone's looking over your shoulder, so you're not doing what you want to do, you're constantly looking at the Other to see the reaction, response to your actions so there comes a point in your life when you really don't know what you think, or who "you" are. So that if you theoretically met yourself on the street, he/she would pass straight by you and you'd never know the difference. Self-knowledge is important, I think. Knowing who you are even if you're constantly evolving (and then being aware of your chameleon like qualities), is tantamount to your individualistic existence. Stop trying so hard and start being you. This is something that's on my mind because it's a strand that's in Gray. The novel is very much a socio-religious novel with focus on both of those elements, which is going to be important if I plan to show what a dangerous cocktail the combination of them can be.

This place gives me what real life can't: complete and absolute time to do what I have to do, without asking questions later. I could do two more years of this and not call it a compromise. It's a fantastic experience.

And it's only just begun to seep through.