Mid-Fall Reflections

So I have a problem. It’s not a particularly big or important problem. It’s just a problem. But it’s affecting me in a pretty big way.

Today, Wednesday (or early Thursday morning, depending on how quickly I get this done…oops), is my posting day for arts, ink. I love this blog. I love it to death. I sometimes wonder how I got on the blog and how the idea to let me write about arts in whatever way I want is somewhat questionable, but overall, I think it’s great.

So all day, I’ve been thinking about this blog, thinking about what I want to write about. First, it was a conversation with a new co-worker of mine, and how it ties into how I experience art, specifically theatre. But then I read the news about A Series of Unfortunate Events, how Netflix is making it into an original TV series. I also read about the pervasiveness of sex on broadcast television, and how shows nowadays are pushing the boundaries. Last week was my first creative writing workshop, maybe I can talk about that?

You see, I have the opposite of writer’s block at the moment. There’s just so much to talk about and only one day a week to do it. News comes out every day about art, especially popular media like the TV shows we watch weekly. I can barely keep up. And that’s excluding the influence of my classes, how we talked about T.S. Eliot today and his poetry and how his later poems shifted into something that countered his earlier ideas and standards for poetry, and how no one who wasn’t already established as a brilliant poet (like T.S. Eliot) could ever publish the Four Quartets as their first poem.

All of this, everything combined, it makes me wonder…am I getting repetitive in my blogs? Lather, rinse, repeat. Movies, theatres, TV shows, writing.

I;m willing to chalk it up to the amazing experience I;m having at this University, how here I’m overexposed to art, and I can get my quick fix like a junkie looking for his next high as easily as I can walk down to the CC and get a passport. I’m just wondering if any of my fellow Inksters feel the same way, like they talk about the same things over and over again in a cycle, desperately trying to find artistic meaning in the forms available to us as burgeoning writers, engineers, business women, lawyers, nutritionists. Are there really no new stories to tell, in nonfiction as well as fiction?