Gillian Polack's Blog, page 176
June 23, 2012
gillpolack @ 2012-06-23T17:41:00
I'm almost halfway through my panic-de-la-semaine (the last of the big outstanding panics left over from the difficult months) and I am being entertained by its most recent development. The issues that came up at Continuum where the publicity for a book merged with personal public reactions to books merged with functions of reviewers merged with functions of critics have come back to haunt me. I'm having to sort out what I think at a higher level than I had previously (and I can think of several people who will find this annoying!) simply because I have to write about it properly and thoughtfully and chronicle it in a specific instance.
It's very good for me. It may not be very good for people around me. I find myself clarifying the difference between a personal reaction to a book (whether the book has been provided by a publisher or not) and critical reaction to a book (whether a book has been provided by a publisher or not). It's not where you write, or how many people read you, or how noted you are: it's how you think about books and what you say about them.
Critical reading and critical writing really, really need to be qualified. Not all reviews are critical. In fact, most aren't, hence my continuing hassles.
There are layers and levels of criticism. Some reviews tell about audience and about narrative strengths and weaknesses and, when they do that in sufficient depth, they belong on the critical spectrum. When they don't, I'm afraid all they do for me is tell me how the book fares in relation to the writer of the reviews other likes and dislikes and in all but the rarest cases I have no intention in becoming a regular reader of their blogs just to determine if I might also like and dislike what they do. It's part of the current game, though. At its best it provides a really interesting insight into that specific reader's world. At its worst, it's a publicity outlet for publishers who have found a useful source of quotes for their publicity operations.
It's very good for me. It may not be very good for people around me. I find myself clarifying the difference between a personal reaction to a book (whether the book has been provided by a publisher or not) and critical reaction to a book (whether a book has been provided by a publisher or not). It's not where you write, or how many people read you, or how noted you are: it's how you think about books and what you say about them.
Critical reading and critical writing really, really need to be qualified. Not all reviews are critical. In fact, most aren't, hence my continuing hassles.
There are layers and levels of criticism. Some reviews tell about audience and about narrative strengths and weaknesses and, when they do that in sufficient depth, they belong on the critical spectrum. When they don't, I'm afraid all they do for me is tell me how the book fares in relation to the writer of the reviews other likes and dislikes and in all but the rarest cases I have no intention in becoming a regular reader of their blogs just to determine if I might also like and dislike what they do. It's part of the current game, though. At its best it provides a really interesting insight into that specific reader's world. At its worst, it's a publicity outlet for publishers who have found a useful source of quotes for their publicity operations.
June 22, 2012
gillpolack @ 2012-06-23T13:48:00
I'm busy doing trades with myself. If I don't do my messages (it's less than 9 degrees outside and a brisk walk doesn't appeal today) then I will do this number of words on one project and this number on another instead. I will finish these critical emails before dinner. If I do this amount of work then I get more coffee. I feel as if I'm marshalling a teenager into homework. The teenager would rather be chatting to friends or watching anime. She can't, though, not until those words are written and those emails sent.
gillpolack @ 2012-06-23T00:29:00
I've actually done today's work. Despite myself. Life is full of mysteries. It is now also full of outlines for what I need to write, nearly 2/3 of the articles I will need to reference and most of the thinking for the whole. I am one step closer to whatever I need to be one step closer to. I have a list somewhere, that tells me...
gillpolack @ 2012-06-22T19:21:00
The only work today has been the research and notes for one article and some rather important thinking for another. Mind you, if I can get the book read and notes taken for a second article, then they day won't be a waste and I will have to try very hard not to feel guilty about it. I'm doing guilt well at the moment. Every time someone scolds me, I take it to heart, even if they've said the same thing fifty thousand times before.
Tonight's dinner is leftovers. Chicken sofrito is so magic cold - I had forgotten. I should have served it cold last night, so that my guests got the magic. As it was, I suspect they thought "Not bad" and couldn't understand why I had been driven to make it. I've worked out a way of making it in the slow cooker, so I might eat it more often. The lemon and the cardamom and the turmeric and the chicken just work together.
My next book is pop science, so it may or may not produce an article. I have told the book already that if it puts Canberra on the coast, I won't review it. I hope it's taken that warning to heart.
Tonight's dinner is leftovers. Chicken sofrito is so magic cold - I had forgotten. I should have served it cold last night, so that my guests got the magic. As it was, I suspect they thought "Not bad" and couldn't understand why I had been driven to make it. I've worked out a way of making it in the slow cooker, so I might eat it more often. The lemon and the cardamom and the turmeric and the chicken just work together.
My next book is pop science, so it may or may not produce an article. I have told the book already that if it puts Canberra on the coast, I won't review it. I hope it's taken that warning to heart.
June 21, 2012
gillpolack @ 2012-06-22T14:25:00
Today has become a high pain day after all. I was fine, though, when I woke up, so the end of the cycle is approaching* (just not apace).
A wise friend has suggested I do something quite unusual and rest. I have until Tuesday to have finished all the things I must do. The housework is mostly done. I have chicken soup on the stove. Maybe an hour in bed isn't such a bad idea.
*For those who are worried, most of this stuff is now perimenopause interacting with my allergies and the PCOS. Perimenopause is an evil, but it will finish one day. All I have to do is get through it. Some months are worse than others, and this is the worst one in a year. hence the whingeing, but also hence the thinking "I'm fine now" when obviously I'm not. Normally by this stage I've been over it for two days. I'd take it to the doctor, but each and every day I get longer before it hits and symptoms diminish faster, so it is just the cycle. And yesterday I managed work, housework and a dinner party, so it's not as debilitating as it used to be.
A wise friend has suggested I do something quite unusual and rest. I have until Tuesday to have finished all the things I must do. The housework is mostly done. I have chicken soup on the stove. Maybe an hour in bed isn't such a bad idea.
*For those who are worried, most of this stuff is now perimenopause interacting with my allergies and the PCOS. Perimenopause is an evil, but it will finish one day. All I have to do is get through it. Some months are worse than others, and this is the worst one in a year. hence the whingeing, but also hence the thinking "I'm fine now" when obviously I'm not. Normally by this stage I've been over it for two days. I'd take it to the doctor, but each and every day I get longer before it hits and symptoms diminish faster, so it is just the cycle. And yesterday I managed work, housework and a dinner party, so it's not as debilitating as it used to be.
gillpolack @ 2012-06-22T13:10:00
The worst of these few days of high pain is entirely over. I know this because I slept all morning. It'll take a couple of days for my body to remember that it doesn't have to be so big and me to stop hurting, but I'm past the awful stage. My temperament will be more equable and I will be able to read lists and follow them through. My life will be quite magic for a little.
What's cool is that even though the pain these recent days was as high as it's ever been, I was able to do work throughout it. It wasn't as completely debilitating as it used to be. This is because the underlying body is getting better. In other words, all that effort to get better is finally paying off.
And my housework is already done for the week, thanks to the dinner party and Donna's help. Instead of spending the weekend trying to wade through mess and put things a bit to rights, I can spend it (mostly pain free) doing work. I have leftover food to see me through, too.
There's no teaching prep AT ALL for next week. I only have the one class, and we're going on an excursion and I did my teaching prep for *that* last Wednesday. Even my teaching pack (portable whiteboard and markers, spare paper and pens, baby whiteboard eraser) is already packed. Since there's no teaching on Tuesday, this means that I can get solid deadline-meeting done for days and days. Well, until Tuesday. There will be stuff that gets in the way, of course, but not as much as usual.
That's the good news. The bad news is that during the tidy, I found that books had gone walkabout. Not that many, and they're all herded into place again. I thought I'd found books that needed writing about, at first, and I couldn't remember reading any of them. Very fortunately, only one of them needs finishing and the others was a mising pile of books I had finished.
It was unfortunate that the books were so forgettable that I had to look to see if I'd done them. This is why those books weren't used in the first place. I may write about books I dislike (especially if there's a theme I'm discussing or an interesting analysis that can be done) but I don't really want to write about books that are entirely forgettable. Not many are, and these probably hit me at the wrong time, but still, I had to look twice to make sure, and that's a bad sign.
They'd moved because they'd got in someone's way (the price of working from home) and it doesn't matter how often I ask people not to change the piles of books, someone does it. It's not done with ill-intent, ever - and it's mostly not even done consciously. People look at books and put them down and most people don't think of where they were and how they were stacked as part of what those books are in that environment. Fewer people do this with paper, but occasionally someone passes through my place who does it with everything: books, paper, ornaments, things on cupboards, things in cupboards, things under cupboards.
Part of my normal cleaning up after dinner parties is to put the books back, because I do not expect invited guests to avoid looking at books and to remember where precisely they were obtained and to know that I work with systems. I mostly put my books back last night, so that today I didn't have to think "Did anyone look at that book? Where could it be?"
When I'm working on a lot of projects at once, and when even a paper moved will slow me down (for these stacks and piles of books and paper are my external brain at certain stages of work) I just won't let anyone visit.
I didn't get all my books finished by yesterday, but I made a valiant effort. I have four to go, and the actual deadline for them was Monday (Monday coming) so I should be fine. I only have 13,000 left of the words I need to write between now and the end of the month. Also, there are only eight more days until Ms Cellophane is let loose on the world.
What's cool is that even though the pain these recent days was as high as it's ever been, I was able to do work throughout it. It wasn't as completely debilitating as it used to be. This is because the underlying body is getting better. In other words, all that effort to get better is finally paying off.
And my housework is already done for the week, thanks to the dinner party and Donna's help. Instead of spending the weekend trying to wade through mess and put things a bit to rights, I can spend it (mostly pain free) doing work. I have leftover food to see me through, too.
There's no teaching prep AT ALL for next week. I only have the one class, and we're going on an excursion and I did my teaching prep for *that* last Wednesday. Even my teaching pack (portable whiteboard and markers, spare paper and pens, baby whiteboard eraser) is already packed. Since there's no teaching on Tuesday, this means that I can get solid deadline-meeting done for days and days. Well, until Tuesday. There will be stuff that gets in the way, of course, but not as much as usual.
That's the good news. The bad news is that during the tidy, I found that books had gone walkabout. Not that many, and they're all herded into place again. I thought I'd found books that needed writing about, at first, and I couldn't remember reading any of them. Very fortunately, only one of them needs finishing and the others was a mising pile of books I had finished.
It was unfortunate that the books were so forgettable that I had to look to see if I'd done them. This is why those books weren't used in the first place. I may write about books I dislike (especially if there's a theme I'm discussing or an interesting analysis that can be done) but I don't really want to write about books that are entirely forgettable. Not many are, and these probably hit me at the wrong time, but still, I had to look twice to make sure, and that's a bad sign.
They'd moved because they'd got in someone's way (the price of working from home) and it doesn't matter how often I ask people not to change the piles of books, someone does it. It's not done with ill-intent, ever - and it's mostly not even done consciously. People look at books and put them down and most people don't think of where they were and how they were stacked as part of what those books are in that environment. Fewer people do this with paper, but occasionally someone passes through my place who does it with everything: books, paper, ornaments, things on cupboards, things in cupboards, things under cupboards.
Part of my normal cleaning up after dinner parties is to put the books back, because I do not expect invited guests to avoid looking at books and to remember where precisely they were obtained and to know that I work with systems. I mostly put my books back last night, so that today I didn't have to think "Did anyone look at that book? Where could it be?"
When I'm working on a lot of projects at once, and when even a paper moved will slow me down (for these stacks and piles of books and paper are my external brain at certain stages of work) I just won't let anyone visit.
I didn't get all my books finished by yesterday, but I made a valiant effort. I have four to go, and the actual deadline for them was Monday (Monday coming) so I should be fine. I only have 13,000 left of the words I need to write between now and the end of the month. Also, there are only eight more days until Ms Cellophane is let loose on the world.
gillpolack @ 2012-06-21T22:03:00
I just had the loveliest dinner party. We all ate too much and I did something I seldom do and brought out my liqueurs. That's three times in a year - I am getting less precious about them. We tasted medlar and ginger, unbletted medlar, bullace and dark cherry. None of them were half bad. I might have to drink my own productions more often.
June 20, 2012
gillpolack @ 2012-06-21T13:27:00
This is one of those it-doesn't-matter-how-much-I-do-nothing-is-achieved days. All I've managed to complete is most of the cooking for tonight. The cleaning is yet to happen and it can't happen until I finish some of the work-tasks that must be done today. I only have one book that I must read, and then I have follow-up to do on it. Not a lot of work. A few hours at most. And yet it stubbornly refuses to get done. Often, when this happens, it's because there's weather on the way. I need to look at the radar.
There is weather. I don't know if it's on the way or hovering on the fringe of my reach, dragging me into daft paths. I suspect that when it hits or moves away (when it makes up its mind) I'll assess today quite differently. Those hours that seem to have been working but wasted time might add up to clearing the decks for solid work. Or I might simply have lost a few hours to wittering and washing dishes, which happens.
No more houseish things until 3 pm. I must finish that book and check where I'm up to on that chapter I'm writing. I want a draft of that chapter by Monday, regardless of weather.
There is weather. I don't know if it's on the way or hovering on the fringe of my reach, dragging me into daft paths. I suspect that when it hits or moves away (when it makes up its mind) I'll assess today quite differently. Those hours that seem to have been working but wasted time might add up to clearing the decks for solid work. Or I might simply have lost a few hours to wittering and washing dishes, which happens.
No more houseish things until 3 pm. I must finish that book and check where I'm up to on that chapter I'm writing. I want a draft of that chapter by Monday, regardless of weather.
gillpolack @ 2012-06-20T17:58:00
I have neither worked nor had my second cuppa. I do feel less tired, however. My spices are (mysteriously and magically) almost sorted and tidy. It's possible, you see, that I bought those extra boxes for them after doing the stationery shop for my students and before doing my dinner party shop. Just possible.
If I eat an early dinner, I can do some writing before the CSFG meeting, otherwise, it will be 2,000 words after it. This is because the words must be written. I can dwell on the beauty of my stacked spices while writing, however. And be impressed that the numbers are so low that I only needed 55 places to put them. I am becoming a model citizen on these matters, for who needs more than 55 spices?
If I eat an early dinner, I can do some writing before the CSFG meeting, otherwise, it will be 2,000 words after it. This is because the words must be written. I can dwell on the beauty of my stacked spices while writing, however. And be impressed that the numbers are so low that I only needed 55 places to put them. I am becoming a model citizen on these matters, for who needs more than 55 spices?
gillpolack @ 2012-06-20T17:14:00
It's already 5 pm and I have only just finished my first cuppa since I got home. I sat down at the computer and was bombarded with Very Important Messages. I've done the urgent ones and dinner is on* and now I must do some work.
Before I go write words, let me tell you that the word of the day was somewhat mathematical in origin. I explained it by terrifying my poor students with the thought of Gillian cubed. This was because I was reported on today and felt ironic and squaring and cubing myself was the best response. Why ironic? The organisation in charge of us needed words for their annual report (assessing my classes, mainly) and my students wanted a check on their spelling and grammar before it all gets computerised. The last week of term now includes a reminder in the use of commas, since that appears to be a general problem. All of this goes to show that annual reports serve many uses. And that paragraphs can end in quite different worlds to the ones where they begin.
*What I thought was vegie soup in a tomato base turned out to be tomato and beef stock, so I'm making a spicy sauce for pasta.
Before I go write words, let me tell you that the word of the day was somewhat mathematical in origin. I explained it by terrifying my poor students with the thought of Gillian cubed. This was because I was reported on today and felt ironic and squaring and cubing myself was the best response. Why ironic? The organisation in charge of us needed words for their annual report (assessing my classes, mainly) and my students wanted a check on their spelling and grammar before it all gets computerised. The last week of term now includes a reminder in the use of commas, since that appears to be a general problem. All of this goes to show that annual reports serve many uses. And that paragraphs can end in quite different worlds to the ones where they begin.
*What I thought was vegie soup in a tomato base turned out to be tomato and beef stock, so I'm making a spicy sauce for pasta.
