2001-07-08
And hello again. It's evening now and I've been thinking about fiction, how really completely uninterested in it I have become. The writing of it, the reading of it--it all seems very remote and peculiar to me. I check novels out of the library--ones by writers I've enjoyed in the past--and find myself returning them unread. When the occasional work of fiction hooks me, literary merit seems to be the least of the reasons why.
I wonder how much of this is me, my own personal evolution, and how much is the world in general. I've read lots of articles about the demise of reading, the way that people now skim, or read reviews, but rarely have--or make--the time to actually read books. People cite shortening attention spans courtesy of overstimulation--you know, ten thousand TV channels, the World Wide Web, the whole bit. And there's truth in that, I don't doubt.
I also know that five years ago I was reading fiction as though my life depended on it, and maybe it did. I was struggling to figure out how to live, and the novels and stories I'd read gave me clues. As I've written here before, I'm no longer so desperate for these glimpses into the lives of others. When I was alone, I felt I was a bud of potential. Once I married, life become much less theoretical, much more actual. I can only imagine that this will intensify once junior arrives.
I do wonder what the next phase will be. I've had periods before where I've put aside writing fiction. Maybe something will happen to renew my interest. Maybe--though I can scarcely imagine it and it evokes eerie images of Nancy on Thirtysomething--I'll find myself writing books for children. Maybe I'll decide that non-fiction is my thing. Essays, maybe.
I don't know, but I'm not worried. I know that I can write well. My foray into the New York publishing world--lack of contract notwithstanding--confirmed my suspicions of that. So, I don't know. We'll see.
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I got a prenatal yoga video, the idea being that this would be a good way to augment the weekly sessions I've been attending. I'm surprised how much I like it, how much I look forward to doing it every other day or so. In the past I always felt impatient with yoga, my mind racing. I chose to spend any exercise hours actively burning fat or building muscle--I was never sure exactly what yoga was supposed to be doing for me. Flexibility, yeah, nice in theory, but would that make my clothes fit any better?
In my current condition, though, everything is different. The stretching has a purpose--it's said to help considerably during labor and equally importantly, it alleviates the aches I'm beginning to experience as my body changes. I'm even enjoying the spiritual/relaxation elements. Okay, admittedly, when I finished today I went up to B with palms together and said "Namaste" in a tone that made him say, "You know, if you're cynical it won't work." But I'm trying to keep an open mind.
And speaking of open minds, a woman in my pregnancy circle revealed last week that she intends to have her baby at home unassisted. As in, alone. (It doesn't loook as though the child's father will be in the picture.) She's had two children before, both at home. With the first, the midwife keep telling her what to do. With the second, she told the midwife to leave her alone, and she did. So this time she figures she'll dispense with the midwife altogether. Actually, what she said--partially tongue-in-cheek, I believe--was "The goddess will be my midwife." And the thing is, I think she'll be fine.
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