Sunrise is the epitome of a new beginning. The rising and setting of the sun is never the same, but the in-between can become monotonous, especially for those stuck indoors for most of the day. When most people picture a fresh start, a sunrise is the perfect example. However, I think the moon needs more appreciation. Each night, the moon appears a little bit different depending on its phase. There is more range for growth and setbacks, waxing and waning as the moon cycles through its phases. A day under the sun offers little to no change as the year passes. Much like the moon, new opportunities such as jobs, internships, or projects also cycle through phases. Within any new opportunity, there’s this same cyclical nature, in that a job is not complete in one day or even one year; instead, a new job goes through multiple cycles of creative flow.
The new moon phase is the beginning. Its darkness is complete - a blank canvas of exciting possibilities before light begins to break. This stage is when I have the biggest ideas. Whenever I’m planning out a new curriculum for the quarter, my ideas are audacious and not always feasible. My excitement is at an all-time high, thinking outside the box and dreaming of what might excite my students and engage them in learning. I remember the first time I was preparing to teach Fahrenheit 451 to my sophomores. I wanted to burn a book right in front of them. Just to be dramatic. I got a big NO from the fire marshal (as expected), and so I had to scale back. As the waxing light continues to the full moon, the ideas click into place and a clear plan comes forward, executed with (hopefully) some level of success.
Usually by about the halfway point through a unit, I start to look forward to the end. The honeymoon phase is over. Perhaps (definitely) students are complaining, or the unit has been interrupted by some inane standardized test that has thrown the plan out of alignment. The initial excitement and motivation have waned, and I’m already looking forward to doing something else. As much as I love teaching Macbeth every year, by the time it’s over, I am ready to put it aside in favor of something entirely different. In the beginning, I have so many ideas bouncing around my head while I’m creating a new project that uses my creative talents and allows students to showcase what they’ve learned. Then about halfway through the quarter, I’m done. I don’t want to do it anymore. And the cycle begins anew.
I have found in the few weeks since starting that my internship is following the same cyclical pattern. When I first started a few weeks ago, I was staring at the wide open canvas of a new moon. I was so excited to find that the skills I have been honing on social media over the last few years would actually be useful in this new position. And I have already experienced my first disappointment.
One of the projects I am currently working on is to create content to promote SFWP authors at AWP in March. The idea sparked that I might be able to go to the conference to assist with their booth. I love traveling, and the opportunity to meet up with long-time friends and bumping elbows within the publishing world seemed like the perfect opportunity to dive headfirst into the internship. However, I recently heard back from the boss that while the initial plan was to cover my registration, their budget will not allow for it. They are shipping 500 lbs of books across the country for the conference, and shipping costs have tripled since the pandemic. He did suggest asking if my university has any type of funding to help offset the cost, but I have not yet heard back from my professor if anything like that is in existence. At this point, I’m not expecting any last minute funding to become available, so my dream of traveling to Seattle for AWP is over for now.
I won’t say that I am through the first moon cycle of the new internship because it’s barely been three weeks. Instead, I feel like I’m still at the waxing gibbous, the thumbnail crescent of creativity. Initially, I pitched to myself to do whatever was needed. I’d been warned by my professor that as an intern, I would likely get the mundane jobs. I am grateful that I have transferable skills that I can use for my internship as I continue through the next few months. I am excited to pitch ideas for content and have them met with equal excitement, making adjustments and growing as I collaborate with my colleagues. I don’t know how many moon cycles will be involved from now until May when my internship concludes. But much like a moon cycle, there are unlimited opportunities in the natural progression of waxing and waning in the creative process.
