In the beginning, there was nothing

"In the beginning, there was nothing.
Then God said 'Let there be light!'
And there was still nothing.
But everybody could see it."
--MutedFaith.com

I suppose I should open this with a little bit of information about myself, no? Or at least the self of whom you will see in this little blog.

I am a writer. At the time of this entry, I am 18 and a college sophomore, an English major with a double minor in business writing and journalism. That's all mostly fancy talk--I haven't done any of those things yet. I'm a recently-reformed ag major; the old passion of my life was animals, and veterinary medicine. I realized after years of striving after this goal that it was the wrong thing for me to be following, and finally parted with my life's dream. The idea was that I could use the natural talents I have to work toward my eventual goals and dreams, rather than work against the few natural abilities I have been gifted with to do a number of things I hate in hopes that I will someday come to love it. There is no shame in admitting that I cannot academically cut a preveterinary program; there is no arrogance in admitting that I have a natural talent with words. I speak only the truth of my situation.

I think I made the right choice, however painful it was to reach it. I felt liberated when I made the decision; everyone who knows or cares for me is happy that I changed. They see that it makes me happy, happier than I ever was. For once, I can finally claim to be on the right path.

So that circles back to the original question--who am I?

I've been writing fiction for roughly half of my life. It is a passion for me, and more than that, it is a way of life. I view the world through the eyes of one seeking to isolate and investigate experiences in order to reframe them and produce them in an orderly manner for metaphorical impact. My life is a recycling system--input, analyze, reorder, create. There is nothing I can come into contact with which I do not try to comprehend on a deeper level, take apart so that I may be able to recreate it for my own purposes. This way of looking at the world is both a delight and a curse; the stress it has caused me in some situations has been nearly unbearable. There is only so much in life that can withstand the harsh analysis of a writer's mind; sometimes I wonder if this is why so many authors in history seemed to be so very lonely.

It evens out, eventually, however. Analyzing the world not only provides me with endless opportunties and experiences to create upon, it has also sharpened my understanding of the world. To deeply comprehend fiction is to take a look at a part of life experience which nobody ever seems to understand. It reads almost like some sort of closed-circuit telepathy; you understand the mechanics of a situation so well that you know with a sort of dread certainty what the outcome will have to be. It's just something you have to come to understand and accept. Being a writer makes you realize that there is no experience without pain, and that if stretched far enough into the future all existance will come to a violent farewell--the great challenge is to accept this entropy and allow yourself just to feel, just to experience, to trust in the day by day and forsake the future, trusting only that you will survive the moment. That is all life requires of you.

Otherwise, I'm breaking into the freelance market. My theory is that if I can't survive vet school, I can still apply myself to helping animals through those markets; I will try to write for animal rights issues, and anything else that will take me. It's all about that closed circle of experience, writing, life, experience. I go out into the world and experience something, which I then write about, send it off, and gain new experience through the process. This new experience changes the way I act, which in turn changes the things I experience. It's such a beautiful system. I love it.

Is there more I can ramble about? most certainly; I have spent so much of my life in isolation that I could talk incessantly for years to catch up. This may be another reason I'm a writer. I'd like to think my life was relatively interesting; I'd like to think I had plenty to say. Yet when I find myself in a group, I tend to forfeit my microphone to the others, allow them time in the light to speak when I am aching to express myself. I do this from politeness, and also for that eternal ache to see and learn and understand and experience; my own life is not enough. I want to be able to understand, analyze, dissect and regurgitate the life experiences of everyone I come into contact with.

I suppose one is curious as to what, exactly, will go into this little journal. That's simple enough: the snippets of my writing life that I find particularly important but cannot share with another audience. I have a personal journal; this is not for that. Nor is this for the so-called "Rants", the philisophical jabber that occasionally comes from me in a metaphorical context, though some of these may find their way here. No, this is a place to follow my writing life, chronicle my stories and keep close tabs on what they're doing. This is where I'll give updates on what I've written, where I'm blocked, what I'll explore next. This is where I'll say who's looking at what manuscript, where I'll pour out my heart at rejection and rejoice with acceptance. And anything else that seems pertinent in the meanwhile.

Another thing that may prove important: I am obsessed with music and quotations. Indeed, much of my inspiration comes from lyrics, and I give credit where they are do. Most of these entries that deal with something nebulous and theoretical will open with some form of quote or one-liner. Deal with it.

In closing...an explanation of the username "Jaded Enlightenment". This is an important concept to me. As far as I know, it's a term I coined to explain a life experience we all go through. Jaded Enlightenment is the climax of a coming-of-age; it is that moment, that bitter moment in your life, where you lose enough of your childhood to realize there's no going back. Jaded Enlightenment is when you give up innocence and happiness for knowledge and responsibility. It's when you're forced to grow up, and no matter how hard you try to revert to your former status, you'll only be a shady imitation. It's sad, it's heartbreaking, but it's also liberating and a thing which we cannot live without; it is a rite of passage that we all will go through at some point, and will all survive, if in a different form than before. As a dear friend of mine says, "We will Phoenix from this." Jaded Enlightenment is the fire that will produce the ashes of your egg.

Now, my children--come with me, for I have things to show you.