The In Between Of Time
A
standstill is a kind of experience like a hiatus between social expectation and real possibilities. It also means an aesthetic strategy to instill a nonlinear time of resistance into a political protocol of progress. Further definitions include temporal fissures in the midst of the subject, or the lapse between the subject of the enunciation and the subject of statement. The limit that is the border between the inside and the outside - or the mode of potentiality, the moment of gesture, or the medium of the dialectical image. And finally the in-between of time.
The reason I've described these definitions is because I'm in a bit of a standstill myself with the release of my fourth book - Modified
. I submitted the manuscript a year ago, but due to circumstances my publisher is somewhat delayed.
So I sit here - and even sleep here - in the in-between of time. And as a matter of fact I do get an odd feeling about time when I write. It feels as if I capture the present which is odd considering my stories are a journey to another time and place other than the here and now. It's difficult to describe, but the act of writing seems to move hand in hand with time.
Modified will eventually hit the bookshelves, just not as soon as was expected. I was orbiting a planet, and then told I can't land - technical issues. I'm on an arriving flight, but not allowed to exit the plane. I'm sitting on the tarmac - trapped inside and airplane. Of course there are time limits and in this case - its twenty-four months and its only been twelve months thus far.
Its not a pleasant feeling to be here, but I can't exactly exit the plane. If I decide to "exit" the aircraft at this time, the aircraft could take off for its intended destination, and not let me back on the airplane - unless of course, I took another airline. In these circumstances, its not polite to make scenes, to shout profanities and lose your cool. I must bear this out in a healthy way. I simply cannot brood over this delay forever.
Essentially the only thing than can be done - is wait. So I've resigned myself to be patient and continue to write book five. A murder mystery this time, but its a little distracting to sit here and write on the tarmac.
In terms of how I feel as a writer, its challenging to describe, but the act of creation can be either pleasurable or painful, lifting me to the heights of self validation when successful, but cause despair when it misses the mark. The purpose of a work of art, or a book, is to communicate ideas, and to create a sense of beauty. To explore, or to generate emotions. The purpose of creation may also seem non-existent. Writer and artists strive to be understood in this role, but our impulse to do so, is also a form of power. It is a sharing of beauty, but art is not exactly a self sacrificing act. We are in competition with the gods. The artist creates as God created, since the unfolding of time - or so the philosophers have claimed.
The reason I've described these definitions is because I'm in a bit of a standstill myself with the release of my fourth book -
Modified
. I submitted the manuscript a year ago, but due to circumstances my publisher is somewhat delayed.the in-between of time. And as a matter of fact I do get an odd feeling about time when I write. It feels as if I capture the present which is odd considering my stories are a journey to another time and place other than the here and now. It's difficult to describe, but the act of writing seems to move hand in hand with time.
Modified will eventually hit the bookshelves, just not as soon as was expected. I was orbiting a planet, and then told I can't land - technical issues. I'm on an arriving flight, but not allowed to exit the plane. I'm sitting on the tarmac - trapped inside and airplane. Of course there are time limits and in this case - its twenty-four months and its only been twelve months thus far.
Its not a pleasant feeling to be here, but I can't exactly exit the plane. If I decide to "exit" the aircraft at this time, the aircraft could take off for its intended destination, and not let me back on the airplane - unless of course, I took another airline. In these circumstances, its not polite to make scenes, to shout profanities and lose your cool. I must bear this out in a healthy way. I simply cannot brood over this delay forever.
Essentially the only thing than can be done - is wait. So I've resigned myself to be patient and continue to write book five. A murder mystery this time, but its a little distracting to sit here and write on the tarmac.
In terms of how I feel as a writer, its challenging to describe, but the act of creation can be either pleasurable or painful, lifting me to the heights of self validation when successful, but cause despair when it misses the mark. The purpose of a work of art, or a book, is to communicate ideas, and to create a sense of beauty. To explore, or to generate emotions. The purpose of creation may also seem non-existent. Writer and artists strive to be understood in this role, but our impulse to do so, is also a form of power. It is a sharing of beauty, but art is not exactly a self sacrificing act. We are in competition with the gods. The artist creates as God created, since the unfolding of time - or so the philosophers have claimed.
Modified will eventually hit the bookshelves, just not as soon as was expected. I was orbiting a planet, and then told I can't land - technical issues. I'm on an arriving flight, but not allowed to exit the plane. I'm sitting on the tarmac - trapped inside and airplane. Of course there are time limits and in this case - its twenty-four months and its only been twelve months thus far.
Its not a pleasant feeling to be here, but I can't exactly exit the plane. If I decide to "exit" the aircraft at this time, the aircraft could take off for its intended destination, and not let me back on the airplane - unless of course, I took another airline. In these circumstances, its not polite to make scenes, to shout profanities and lose your cool. I must bear this out in a healthy way. I simply cannot brood over this delay forever.
Essentially the only thing than can be done - is wait. So I've resigned myself to be patient and continue to write book five. A murder mystery this time, but its a little distracting to sit here and write on the tarmac.
In terms of how I feel as a
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