The Missing Eye

I've been poking and prodding at iTunes today (as Mom and Dad gave me a pair of Sony earphones that are Good Enough and comfortable and discrete), and it's a bit like poking and prodding at the tooth I lost twenty-some-odd years ago. It doesn't hurt, and there's something there, but it's not alive. Music, as a whole, kind of died for me with the death of my relationship with M, along with the bulk of my fiction writing. Not his fault, per se, but the whole emotional burnout thing contributed to me simply not exploring music or cheerfully and carefully laying down the pretty, intricate constructs of words I used to do but now only do once in a while.

I hadn't really realized how deeply those two are tied, together, for me until I poked around today. I used to listen to all kinds of stuff while I was writing cyberpunk and fantasy and the moods of the music really gave texture to what it was I was describing. A push necessary for that kind of writing that I never have needed for the technical writing that I'm doing, and not only not needed but definitely didn't want. Emotionally neutral language is best for a lot of people getting the same kind of understanding from the writing at the same time, rather than invoking images and emotions that are different and key for each reader...

Gave me a little insight as to the neutrality I now bring here to my journal, too. More description than invocation, more dry facts and details of reality, emotional or not, than deliberately stirring response, which keys better to what I want out of this thing anyway. Just the history, without loading it up with that other dimension to storytelling.

But it feels like I'm opening a missing eye, a bit like when the optometrist corrected for my astigmatism in my left eye... oohhh... right... there's more to the world, all at once.

It does amuse me to find that the only type net station I can listen to consistently is the Blues stations, now, when I used to be able to listen anywhere and to anything. The classical and ambient get the same kind of blah, now, all the oldies stations make me cringe, the pop is okay for a while, but gets to be like candy fluff... And the blues are invoking all kinds of turns of phase, sparking off odd chunks of gleaming verbiage that I kind of blink at and erase from my requirements document while other constructs now please me and I'm getting through it much, much more quickly as I'm finding the words at a rate that I don't think I had before. It's interesting as a phenomenon. That music and my descriptive verbal skill are tied together this way intrigues me.

The Missing Eye

I've been poking and prodding at iTunes today (as Mom and Dad gave me a pair of Sony earphones that are Good Enough and comfortable and discrete), and it's a bit like poking and prodding at the tooth I lost twenty-some-odd years ago. It doesn't hurt, and there's something there, but it's not alive. Music, as a whole, kind of died for me with the death of my relationship with M, along with the bulk of my fiction writing. Not his fault, per se, but the whole emotional burnout thing contributed to me simply not exploring music or cheerfully and carefully laying down the pretty, intricate constructs of words I used to do but now only do once in a while.

I hadn't really realized how deeply those two are tied, together, for me until I poked around today. I used to listen to all kinds of stuff while I was writing cyberpunk and fantasy and the moods of the music really gave texture to what it was I was describing. A push necessary for that kind of writing that I never have needed for the technical writing that I'm doing, and not only not needed but definitely didn't want. Emotionally neutral language is best for a lot of people getting the same kind of understanding from the writing at the same time, rather than invoking images and emotions that are different and key for each reader...

Gave me a little insight as to the neutrality I now bring here to my journal, too. More description than invocation, more dry facts and details of reality, emotional or not, than deliberately stirring response, which keys better to what I want out of this thing anyway. Just the history, without loading it up with that other dimension to storytelling.

But it feels like I'm opening a missing eye, a bit like when the optometrist corrected for my astigmatism in my left eye... oohhh... right... there's more to the world, all at once.

It does amuse me to find that the only type net station I can listen to consistently is the Blues stations, now, when I used to be able to listen anywhere and to anything. The classical and ambient get the same kind of blah, now, all the oldies stations make me cringe, the pop is okay for a while, but gets to be like candy fluff... And the blues are invoking all kinds of turns of phase, sparking off odd chunks of gleaming verbiage that I kind of blink at and erase from my requirements document while other constructs now please me and I'm getting through it much, much more quickly as I'm finding the words at a rate that I don't think I had before. It's interesting as a phenomenon. That music and my descriptive verbal skill are tied together this way intrigues me.