Chapter Nine - Part Three - Moonlight

Moonlight is reflective, of course, and is not the source by which an orchard grows. Even so the ancients worshiped the moon's light on a dark night. I cannot imagine a more lovely vision than sitting in a mature peach orchard in the moonlight. And, as I contemplate this reflection of the sun, I happen upon a clue to my orchard's design. While I may be suffering from a lack of connection to my ultimate purpose, I can be reflective of the concepts I study and care about in the dark, even if I can't find the switch to that inner sun.

The senses play a different hierarchy in the dark. Sight turns inward, and smells and sounds take the lead. Tactile senses, touch and taste, can be challenging because using them at all requires trust in these new leaders. Confidence is shaken in darkness. Everything that once seemed one way no longer holds absolute. The dark night of the soul is something like this because the practices that were once filled with meaning seem to become irrelevant, and confidence in beliefs is shaken. It may be that all one has to rely on is reflective thinking rather than the bold initiatives of the active mind.

As I'm investigating the experiences of orchard growers near and far, and wondering how this metaphor can apply to the cerebral practices of a writer, I am struck that I am wandering around in the dark. Panic sets in when I realize after 27 entries of this blog series, I still am not certain about anything much. Could it be that my writing life died and I'm just now discovering the body? Who am I, if I'm not a writer? I have no replacement dreams waiting in the wings. (No, I can't actually imagine myself becoming a farmer.) I wait. I pray for a clue. Anything that might set me in some direction. I dreamt of this orchard and thought I had it in me, and though I've named them peaches, I don't actually know what that means.

I am looking for the ultimate writing prompt, and I look up and I see the sliver of moon peeking over the horizon. This sliver of moonlight is the hint I needed. The moon doesn't invent the light. It reflects with reverent beauty the light it dances with in the darkness. And as its wistful shimmering shines over the loamy earth, it creates stark shadows, and picks up the delicate dew upon the spider's new weaving. The fragile light is enough to make out the edges of an orchard that is coming...It isn't about me. It's a reflection.

Chapter Eight - Part Three - Waiting and Waiting

Today, my head is filled with statistics. I happened to hear on BBC radio Thursday night an interview about the economy of the movie industry these days. It's been chattering in my brain for a few days. It doesn't sound that much different from the rest of the economy, being that if you're a big studio, you can get financing for films because you're sharing the burden of the risk. If you're an independent studio it gets more problematic, and individuals hoping to make films are back-burnered for financing for the foreseeable future. I betcha orchard financing looks about the same.

What this means is that last year 600 films were made and released (multiply that by 3 and you know how many scripts were in various stages of development), and this year 200 films were made and released. For the 200 films released this was good news because they got the lion's share of the movie-goer's dollar. Being in a recession means that more people went to the movies, too, and so the studios are actually coming out of this economic downturn smelling like roses. I bet agribusiness looks about the same.

So, that leaves me feeling I have little option but to write towards the potential market that has money to burn -- the studio. Ack. I have to find a reason in my heart to believe that a studio will be taking risks on unproven writers in the coming roller coaster business cycles. It feels hard. It feels innately competitive. It feels like I would have to focus 100% on the goal of writing the seamless script.

Am I talking myself into it, or out of it? Obviously, if I knew it was wrong or right, that would help. How could I possibly know? Hmmmmmmm. How does this feeling compare to the feeling of sitting in an orchard on a summer's day? Hmmmmmmm. Quite different. This feels more like a high-rise in a smoggy city. This feels more like grit your teeth in a cubicle and figure out a strategy on the computer screen. Hmmmmmmm. This feels like self-imposed stress, and also like a success that would require repeating it infinitum.

Though I understand the necessity of pursuing writing in such a way for many very ambitious people, for me it delivers nothing for me to stand on, to believe in. Therefore, I'm sitting down on this rock of fear I've stumbled upon and thinking of how to use it as a landscape feature rather than counting on it for any kind of nutrition. This landscape feature in my orchard represents the facts I know that simply have little bearing on what I truly want to accomplish. I can look at this big boulder and say, "Look. See? I know."

Then I can wait for the soil test to come back.