Man, I’ve got I’ve got to change my mindset about this blog, and make it less of a formal exercise. At the rate I’m going now it’s going to calcify into an abandoned monument of good intentions, or something just as useless.
So throwing out something I’ve been giving a lot of thought to lately: over the last month or so I’ve taken an unintentional sabbatical from writing film reviews (which is the nice way of putting it), and I’m having a hard time pulling myself out of it. But forcing myself to get that part of my brain going again, I’ve been finding a phrase constantly running through my head: “what’s my angle?”
And then this morning, on my way to work, another thought popped into my barely-functioning-on-caffeine brain: “is an angle really a good thing?” (Gotta love those early morning flashes of doubt.)
An angle, a theoretic framework was something that was burned into my head the last year of my undergraduate studies, the first time I was really submerged into literary theory. I really enjoyed theory (in a rather masochistic way, admittedly) and I really came to like the mental ride it could take you on. Writing papers with it could be quite fun, even amusing, as you could take A add it to B, and come out with C (and this whether you wanted to or not). The results were more or less preordained which was comforting, but it also gave enough room to breath some life and personality into whatever it was that was being written.
But I also liked that I was never forced to pin myself to any single theory (something which rather frightens me about graduate school), but was free to dabble in whatever it I was that struck my fancy, and I ended up writing papers using Reader-Response, Feminist, Queer Theory, whatever. But then there’s that tiny voice of contradiction which tells me by not aligning myself I’m doomed to just dabble in surfaces. And lack of depth is something that really frightens me (queue my oft-repeated Henry James quote).
Well, that’s what I’m thinking. I’m not sure where this was meant to go, and as such I’m rebelling against my instincts, which tell me that this has to end in an epiphany or an attempt at a crescendo. I guess that’s a step forward.
I’ve been having moments of intensely missing London lately. I can’t believe it’s coming up to a year now.