For me, Monday nights are excruciatingly long and involve looooooooong hours of work at the library. Most nights, there's been at least a little bit of BP (that's library speak for checking all the books in--a painfully boring process which involves a lot of flipping through musty books to check if any idiots have written in the margins or highlighted the pages and the equally boring (and occasionally back breaking) process of sorting hundreds of books and shelving them in the back so the shelvers can shelve them in the library). So most nights, I have that to look forward to to break the monotony up a bit, but not tonight. (BP isn't usually as awful as I just made it sound--in fact, I usually enjoy it because I can rock out to my iPod in the back). So I've been sitting at the front desk for quite a few hours now and still have more to go.
I think I've been fairly productive. I mean, I've been doing my actual work, and then I've written 1,000 words of my latest fictional project (I am now back up to my self-imposed work count--over 21K-- HOORAY!).
I posted one thousand of those words for my creative writing class.
I sparknoted chapters 50 through 81 of Moby-Dick to facilitate my reading (ie so I can skim and still have a general knowledge of what's going on).
I microwaved and ate my dinner.
I checked my email, facebook, and siblings' blogs.
I've mistakenly asked at least three people if I could help them when really they were just standing about waiting for their friends.
Now really, if I had any sense, I would have wisely spent my time reading Moby-Dick, out of which I have some really intense reading assignments (intense as over 25 chapters per class). But here's the thing about Moby-Dick: it's kind of hard to get through. In fact, sometimes I'd much rather be eaten by the whale than slog through it. Honestly, Mr. Melville, I thought you did a great job with Bartleby the Scrivener, but did Ishmael really need to narrate an entire chapter on different types of whales? No, I don't think he did.
So here's the list of things I'd rather do than read Moby-Dick:
Write 1,000+ words for various creative writing projects that I'm feeling half-baked about.
Post my creative writing assignment and read the posts by the rest of my workshop group (we're up to a grand total of two out of six posts so far--one of which is mine)
Sparknote Moby-Dick.
Check my facebook and email.
Blog about what I'd rather do than read Moby-Dick.
Have an appendectomy.
Stand outside in the blustery darkness.
Check the weather and find out tomorrow has a low of NEGATIVE THREE!
Do a handstand.
Sleep.
Sleep some more.
Deep clean my apartment.
Pay my rent.
Pay someone else's rent. (Okay, that's a lie. If I had to choose between paying someone else's rent on top of mine or reading Moby-Dick, I'm going to chose Moby hands down).
And any number of things that would be more exciting, fulfilling, and enjoyable than reading Moby-Dick.
Alas, there's just not that much to do on a Monday night.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Monday, January 24, 2011
On Anxiety
So, remember that post from the beginning of the semester, in which I talked about how frustrating livejournal is and how NOT nervous I was about my creative writing class and have a NY Times bestselling author read parts of my first draft of a story? Do you remember that?
Because I find suddenly that my perspective on this is completely turned around. I've mastered LJ (as well as I need to, at least) but now, faced with the potential embarrassment of my life's work burning to pieces in front of my eyes while a crowd of people look on and laugh (that's only slightly hyperbolic, by the way) now I'm about lose my nerve completely and wish that I could disintegrate into the floor.
This brings to mind a dream a friend of mine once had. She had just emailed one of our professors a few poems she had been working on (in real life, not dream life) and she was feeling anxious. Her anxiety caused her to have a dream in which our professor tore up her poems, telling her they were worthless, and then began hiding the shredded pieces of poems about the room as a "finding game" for his young daughter--because that was all they were good for.
No joke. She really had this dream.
I've realized that I just need to stand as firm as a tree or mountain or some other time-tested firm thing and just own up to what I've written. Yes, it may be dreadful, but isn't that what a first draft is for? And yes, you may think it's silly but it's what I want to write...so I'm going to write it. So there.
Now, if I can somehow summon that attitude for Thursday evening, I might be in half-decent shape. Otherwise, I'll be known forever as "Sarah, the girl who disintegrated in to the floor."
Because I find suddenly that my perspective on this is completely turned around. I've mastered LJ (as well as I need to, at least) but now, faced with the potential embarrassment of my life's work burning to pieces in front of my eyes while a crowd of people look on and laugh (that's only slightly hyperbolic, by the way) now I'm about lose my nerve completely and wish that I could disintegrate into the floor.
This brings to mind a dream a friend of mine once had. She had just emailed one of our professors a few poems she had been working on (in real life, not dream life) and she was feeling anxious. Her anxiety caused her to have a dream in which our professor tore up her poems, telling her they were worthless, and then began hiding the shredded pieces of poems about the room as a "finding game" for his young daughter--because that was all they were good for.
No joke. She really had this dream.
I've realized that I just need to stand as firm as a tree or mountain or some other time-tested firm thing and just own up to what I've written. Yes, it may be dreadful, but isn't that what a first draft is for? And yes, you may think it's silly but it's what I want to write...so I'm going to write it. So there.
Now, if I can somehow summon that attitude for Thursday evening, I might be in half-decent shape. Otherwise, I'll be known forever as "Sarah, the girl who disintegrated in to the floor."
Thursday, January 13, 2011
What I've Learned
What I've learned from The Last of the Mohicans:
1. I can't read the word "wigwam" in a story and take it seriously. Same goes for "squaw."
2. If James Fenimore Cooper were trying to publish his Leatherstocking tales today, he'd be flat-out rejected by every publisher he contacted.
3. Dialogue tags are important, which is why they shouldn't say things like "said the now really anxious girl." (And yes, that is a direct quote).
4. For the sake of clarity for you reader, when you give a character a name, consistently refer to them by that name (and ONLY that name--with the exception of an easily discernable nickname). Having a half dozen epithets for each character is not endearing.
5. Mark Twain was right--see his list of literary offenses made by James Fenimore Cooper.
Update 6. Whenever I see the phrase "without arms" in The Last of the Mohicans, I first think first of a man without literal arms and then remember about a paragraph later that Cooper probably meant without weapons.
1. I can't read the word "wigwam" in a story and take it seriously. Same goes for "squaw."
2. If James Fenimore Cooper were trying to publish his Leatherstocking tales today, he'd be flat-out rejected by every publisher he contacted.
3. Dialogue tags are important, which is why they shouldn't say things like "said the now really anxious girl." (And yes, that is a direct quote).
4. For the sake of clarity for you reader, when you give a character a name, consistently refer to them by that name (and ONLY that name--with the exception of an easily discernable nickname). Having a half dozen epithets for each character is not endearing.
5. Mark Twain was right--see his list of literary offenses made by James Fenimore Cooper.
Update 6. Whenever I see the phrase "without arms" in The Last of the Mohicans, I first think first of a man without literal arms and then remember about a paragraph later that Cooper probably meant without weapons.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Samuel Johnson
Samuel Johnson is often recognized as writing the first English dictionary. I know this because I'm an English major. For an entertaining decpition of Samuel Johnson, you should watch the fourth season of Blackadder when they have to rewrite the dictionary.
That being established, here's the nub. Everytime I hear Samuel Johnson's name, I think he's a black man. And quite frankly, this is a little absurd. Not that I'm racist or anything, but let's face it, back in the days of the first dictionary, not many black men knew how to read. Today in one of my linguistic classes, my professor showed us a picture/drawing of Samuel Johnson.
He's definitely white.
And a little, shall we say, portly.
So why do I think he's black??? All the time??? Even now, when I'm picturing him in my head, he's still black.
According to the wise-woman-of-the-forest (id est Julie), it's because his name is similar to Samuel L Jackson. Probably.
Still, I'm most likely going to be talking about Samuel Johnson the black dictionary writer for the rest of my life.
The end.
That being established, here's the nub. Everytime I hear Samuel Johnson's name, I think he's a black man. And quite frankly, this is a little absurd. Not that I'm racist or anything, but let's face it, back in the days of the first dictionary, not many black men knew how to read. Today in one of my linguistic classes, my professor showed us a picture/drawing of Samuel Johnson.
He's definitely white.
And a little, shall we say, portly.
So why do I think he's black??? All the time??? Even now, when I'm picturing him in my head, he's still black.
According to the wise-woman-of-the-forest (id est Julie), it's because his name is similar to Samuel L Jackson. Probably.
Still, I'm most likely going to be talking about Samuel Johnson the black dictionary writer for the rest of my life.
The end.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Exit Strategy
I've (barely) survived the first week of classes, which has been rife with familiar faces and unfamiliar situations. I'm already behind on my readings (which is mainly to do with the fact that I missed my Tuesday class on account of being out of the state) but that little bit of pressure is healthy, right?
Or maybe not.
Honestly, though, right now my biggest stress is my new creative writing course, taught by one of the (if not the) most successful new sf/f writers in the last decade. And you want to know why it's the biggest stress? Not because I have to submit my own humble writings to a New York Times bestseller (although that certainly doesn't help), but because I have to figure out how to navigate LiveJournal.
And LiveJournal, I'm discovering, is rapidly becoming one of the most convoluted online anythings that currently exists. I have finally mastered the art of restricting my journal to friend-only viewing, and I'm starting to get the hang of adding friends (id est the other students in my weekly workshop group), but I can't even figure out how to check my LJ email. You'd think it'd be simple, but it's not. Facepalm.
But hey, at least I'm in the class. When I arrived last night, there was a crowd of people around the door and people sitting on the floor in all directions with every desk full. Becase I was actually in the class, some poor soul vacated his desk for me. All those milling around had to put their name in a hat and were selected at random for the chance to audit the class. Holy. Cow. Ten more awesome points for my kindly old (as in former, not as in aged) RA who signed up for the class for me.
And what, you may ask yourself at this point, does this have to do with the title of this post?
Absolutely nothing. I just thought Exit Strategy sounded good and wanted to use it.
Or maybe not.
Honestly, though, right now my biggest stress is my new creative writing course, taught by one of the (if not the) most successful new sf/f writers in the last decade. And you want to know why it's the biggest stress? Not because I have to submit my own humble writings to a New York Times bestseller (although that certainly doesn't help), but because I have to figure out how to navigate LiveJournal.
And LiveJournal, I'm discovering, is rapidly becoming one of the most convoluted online anythings that currently exists. I have finally mastered the art of restricting my journal to friend-only viewing, and I'm starting to get the hang of adding friends (id est the other students in my weekly workshop group), but I can't even figure out how to check my LJ email. You'd think it'd be simple, but it's not. Facepalm.
But hey, at least I'm in the class. When I arrived last night, there was a crowd of people around the door and people sitting on the floor in all directions with every desk full. Becase I was actually in the class, some poor soul vacated his desk for me. All those milling around had to put their name in a hat and were selected at random for the chance to audit the class. Holy. Cow. Ten more awesome points for my kindly old (as in former, not as in aged) RA who signed up for the class for me.
And what, you may ask yourself at this point, does this have to do with the title of this post?
Absolutely nothing. I just thought Exit Strategy sounded good and wanted to use it.
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