Thud: Above

[leahbobet]

January 24, 2008 Progress Notes:

Above

Words today: 750.
Words total: 18,000 MS Word.
Reason for stopping: Quota. Well, quotaish. And a nice round number, and it's late.
Liquid Refreshment: Water.
Munchies: Clementines.
Exercise: Bellydance class! My first in a few months. I missed dancing with my belly so very bad.
Mail: Nomail.

Darling du Jour: Ariel's friend is named Beatrice. She tells me so once Ariel's asleep, curled up in her cocoon on a broken-backed old mattress under an emergency blanket that might not have started out grey. There's a pile of other kids in the bedroom. I can't count how many; they're all limbs.

Tyop du Jour: N/A
Words MS Word Doesn't Know: N/A

Mean Things: Reversals of authority and knowledge. Your girlfriend being called "baby" familiarly by someone who is not you.
Research Roundup: Histories of intersex surgery and social treatment of intersexed people. Rental prices by neighbourhood in Toronto, which has convinced me I'm probably paying too much for this apartment in the current market.
Books in progress: The Fagles translation of The Aeneid, in which he thankfully cuts out that shit with the contractions; Wallace Stevens, Collected Poems; textbooks.

The glamour: Reading for History of Medicine. Prepping a presentation on an article for History of Medicine, involving notes, an abstract, and discussion questions. Reading for Language & Gender. Reading for Phonology. A Phonology problem set that took much longer than it should have. Outlining a passage analysis essay on The Aeneid. Plus cooking and cleaning up after two meals, some light grocery shopping to fill gaps (I was out of bread), going to dance class, putting away some laundry, Ideomancer business, light around-the-house tidying, and time put in on OWW Support mail.

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That long, long glamour listing? This is the shape of my days now. You can probably understand why I'm blogging less. A lot of it is just nose-to-grindstone work, and isn't very interesting reading.

It also makes writing really, really attractive. I'm coming to understand how people can say they have more ideas than they'll ever be able to write. It's not a function of more ideas; it's a function of less time, or less functional brain time. There are stories pushing at the inside of my head. I'm pretty sure one of the contributing factors in my extreme snarliness last week was that it had been so long since I'd put down words. The poetry jag this weekend felt like venting chest pressure after a collapsed lung, just inside my head.

So I snuck off behind my classwork's back to spend some time with the novel tonight. And the novel's mad at me for being away long enough to have to reread to get back threads. But it still feels like a wild affair, rather than work. I'm going to be craving the shit out of this come tomorrow, when I'm at work and then have to work on that paper I ignored tonight in the evening.

Moral? Novel-writing: sexier when illicit. *g*

Comments

[monkeyman.livejournal.com]

Yeah, that's how I feel about the ideas-to-writing correlation. And it's why I always have to laugh a little when people say, "Oh, I have this idea you should help me write ..."

Well, usually I laugh. Sometimes I cry, deep inside. ;)

[leahbobet.livejournal.com]

I've never been one of those people who always has ideas. I run out on a fairly regular basis.

Until now. :p