I am popping in briefly, post-revisions, to report on my activities and ramble a bit about thematic wonderings.
After struggling to stay motivated through the insanity of Christmas at the Dayjob (worst holiday special EVAR) and exorcizing myself of the flu, I've decided to just go, as Broseph says, balls to the walls to get my revisions done. One day I did the math and realized that, should I get at least 50 pages done every night, I could have the entire book gleaming and fresh-faced for New Years. Since I promised Pestritto on Rye that I would have it done last Tuesday, that seems like a decent goal.
Yesterday, I powered through about 75 pages. Tonight I got through about 65 pages. Dayjob's schedule is all jacked up (two people recovering from thumb surgeries, two people resigned, one person abandoned the job because screw the rest of us) so I don't have my normal 'weekend' of Sunday/Monday. But I'm going to keep going like a war horse seeking the last bale of carrots, all the same.
Do carrots come in bales? Sure. I ran a Google Image search on 'spider teeth' the other day, knowing full well that spiders don't have teeth, but also knowing that the talking spider in the story has to be enunciating with SOMEthing. So I'll be a bit liberal with my metaphors. Cripes, I'm tired.
Anyway, the thought that has been bopping around in my head:
In my book, a group of lost humans are traveling around in a fairy forest. It's not the sugarplum kind of forest. Things bite. Shadows creep. People die. But as the humans travel, the sun rises and falls and makes way for the moon the way it might anywhere else (except for in a cave, or in Alaska, I suppose).
During the day, the humans are exactly who they believe themselves to be. They speak properly. They maintain their facades. They can be snide and naive and timid like normal.
But at night time, all of their secrets come tumbling out. Many of them find themselves confessing terrible--or great--truths to their ghost girl of a guide (the narrator). Those who pretend to be cruel or powerful show their soft spots. Those who feign friendships reveal their true colors.
Neither way of being is decidedly better. Sure, it's easier dealing with a pack of frightened people when everyone's showing their cards, but what if their cards are just really, really bad? But then, in life or death situations, putting on airs only helps so much.
This is not a phenomenon that is outright stated. It's just one of those things that I know, that I did on purpose, and that you may pick up on if you're kinda looking for it. It's also somewhat true to life. Science people have stated, with beakers in hand, that odd behavior picks up around the full moon, or just at any mooney time at all.
Theories abound as to why this study that totally exists but which I don't feel like linking to yielded such results. Maybe it's because of evolution. Or lions attacking us in the night. Yogurt that was left in the fridge too long.
Anyway, what I had wondered was this:
Throughout all of our special history, how does the lunar scale look against the morality scale? Have there been more romantic gondola rides, or more literal games of 'Got Your Nose?' More starlit epiphanies, or more home burglaries?
And no matter which way the scale tips, does that say more about the power of the moon, or about us?