Partly sage, but nary the time.

I am holding this book, The I Ching for Writers, by Sarah Jane Sloane, which my friend Katherine gave me for Christmas. Now, it is normal, when I consult the regular i ching books, for the proffered advice to chide me for my need-to-know. The i ching does not care for neediness or clinginess, and when you ask a similar question too many times, it responds with the taoish equivalent of “because I said so.”

But the I Ching for writers...now this is a side door knob I haven’t yet jiggled, so just maybe I can--if not outsmart the Sage--at least take it a little by surprise, and shake out a more definitive answer. Confucius would probably say “impatient dweeb should fold laundry,” but there’s no harm in having a go at it, is there?

So, I’m going to open with a question: Is the story I’m ever-so-glacially crafting completely useless pixelation? And now to go pester the cosmos for either a) a nod, or b) a smackdown.

My coins are a mismatched set--two bronze, one silver--of hole-in-the-center, small bit pieces that came home in my father-in-law’s pocket, from China, roughly 22 years ago. They spend most of their time happily tarnished, in a small black jewelry pouch that something came in from Sundance catalog, and they’re always ready to come out and play their role in a reprimand from the Sage.

Six tosses. And it’s heaven over water (whatever that means): 6, with a changer on toss #4, making the future potential a 59. Don’t try to understand this. Just trust me. I’m sure I’m convincing. So, excuse me momentarily, as I read the interpretation...

...Ok. So, apparently, the Sage is advising me to burn something down in my story. As a means of risk-taking. Just let me say it now: If--upon its completion--you ever read this book, and think to yourself, not bad, except for the part where the city was consumed by flames,...you must blame it on the Sage, and not me.

On to 59, where the so-called moving lines have carried me: I see. Tie up the loose ends. So, first burn something down, then tidy up. It has just occurred to me that this advice may actually be intended for my fireplace, which is badly in need of a good sweeping out. But, for want of better inspiration, I will first squirt it, like powdered graphite, into the joints of my story...and just see...

One last, and not entirely welcome thought: What was my original question? Oh, right: Is the story I’m ever-so-glacially crafting completely useless pixelation? I don’t suppose the answer hits the question in a very direct way, now does it? Or does it? Fire and tidy up? Throw the whole thing into the virtual furnace? That could be what the i ching is saying, you know. But perhaps the text should reassure me. The consulted chapter advised “Writing Dangerously,” not packing it in irretrievably. So, tally ho....or FIRE! (as the case may be.) Onward.