I was struggling with a way to make a metaphor regarding overwhelming details when my husband suggested two photos--one of a pristine, snow-covered moutain coupled with a pithy phrase about the composite beauty of clarity and one of an avalanche with a pithy phrase about the weight of detail bringing the entire story down about your ears. Clever, clear, and much better than my own extended metaphor.
Details trip me up. I like sumptuous prose, well-imagined landscapes, and language that rings with the rhythm of poetry. In previous posts, I've maundered on about action and plot and how I'm not so hooked on them that I can't live without 'em; however, I've begun to realize that I'm not unaffected by the literature and movies around me. Pacing that used to move me at a steady pace now seems frozen. My writing seems to shifting into a different meter without necessarily getting any better.
I wonder if it's because I'm not walking as much or biking as much as I did when I was younger. Does a more sedentary lifestyle coupled with internet distractions, driving everywhere, and watching more TV change my perceptions enough to moderate the pacing I enjoy? Am I too tired to take things slowly or too hyped up on caffeine to wait?
Perhaps my imagination has become thickened with the junk food of entertainment and is no longer as agile as it has been in the past.
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