Gillian Polack's Blog, page 245
June 9, 2011
gillpolack @ 2011-06-09T14:12:00
I'm on the verge of winning the paper war. I find myself saying this to myself very forcefully and very frequently today.
I *must* be on the verge of winning, because if I'm not I'm possibly in a spot of bother.
In front of me now are my notes for the current article/chapter. Two piles, one being used and the other still to be written up. The former is bigger than the latter and each time I turn over a new note, I rethink where it needs to go and what it needs to do. The creature from somewhere dark and dank is being written, but it's being recalcitrant at every stage.
On the back of my armchair is a complete print out of the time travellers' aspects of the novel (about 40,000 words), already covered with scribbles. Next to it is a pile of very pretty paper clips (blue and pink and purple and red) because I gave up on slipping the notes into place at the computer (my eyes hurt that day and I had some kind of thinker's block) and am doing it on the armchair. The method works. I have attached ten notes neatly to the back of appropriate pages, to be written up when I go through the manuscript and add in the scribbles.
I still have nine piles of notes to go. And I meant to put all these changes through last week. Two days of unwellness intervened. A series of major skirmishes I consistently lost.
On the chair next to my desk are more and more piles of notes. Each of them represents the detailed outline of a chapter of the dissertation. Two are possibly the bulk of chapters and one is boastfully full of changes that must be made to a draft. I knew exactly which was which a few weeks ago, but now there are books on top of it and a to-do list for tomorrow and a bunch of materials I'm using for the Chapter from Doomland (which is not, thankfully, related to my dissertation at all).
On another chair are three forms to fill in and someone's dissertation.
I'm not even looking at the rest of it. If I don't look at the rest of it then my systems and work will triumph and all these piles will fade and all the review books will go a way and I will be able to move onto the next batch of things that must be done before I leave. In other words, I must be on the verge of winning that paper war, for if I'm not, I'm going to drown in a flutter of six by four notes.
I *must* be on the verge of winning, because if I'm not I'm possibly in a spot of bother.
In front of me now are my notes for the current article/chapter. Two piles, one being used and the other still to be written up. The former is bigger than the latter and each time I turn over a new note, I rethink where it needs to go and what it needs to do. The creature from somewhere dark and dank is being written, but it's being recalcitrant at every stage.
On the back of my armchair is a complete print out of the time travellers' aspects of the novel (about 40,000 words), already covered with scribbles. Next to it is a pile of very pretty paper clips (blue and pink and purple and red) because I gave up on slipping the notes into place at the computer (my eyes hurt that day and I had some kind of thinker's block) and am doing it on the armchair. The method works. I have attached ten notes neatly to the back of appropriate pages, to be written up when I go through the manuscript and add in the scribbles.
I still have nine piles of notes to go. And I meant to put all these changes through last week. Two days of unwellness intervened. A series of major skirmishes I consistently lost.
On the chair next to my desk are more and more piles of notes. Each of them represents the detailed outline of a chapter of the dissertation. Two are possibly the bulk of chapters and one is boastfully full of changes that must be made to a draft. I knew exactly which was which a few weeks ago, but now there are books on top of it and a to-do list for tomorrow and a bunch of materials I'm using for the Chapter from Doomland (which is not, thankfully, related to my dissertation at all).
On another chair are three forms to fill in and someone's dissertation.
I'm not even looking at the rest of it. If I don't look at the rest of it then my systems and work will triumph and all these piles will fade and all the review books will go a way and I will be able to move onto the next batch of things that must be done before I leave. In other words, I must be on the verge of winning that paper war, for if I'm not, I'm going to drown in a flutter of six by four notes.
June 8, 2011
gillpolack @ 2011-06-08T16:57:00
Today I structured my mind. This means that I've done a critique for a novel (to be delivered tonight) and written fifteen hundred words of the Chapter from the land of Frustration. With any luck, I should be able to write another thousand words after the crit session, since I'm still not quite caught up with my day's aims.
If I can finish this article, I can get my sense of humour back. I've promised myself this, as a trade-off.
My class had a sense of humour today. This was just as well, because our word of the day turned out to be 'oxymoron' and instead of poetry of the day I had them writing letters. We looked at the properties of light and of molasses and of different types of nouns and we decided that we had managed to do a surprising amount, given that the cold had frozen our brains.
Speaking of cold, it's 5 pm and three degrees outside and I am going to a crit group meeting tonight. I keep telling myself that it will be summer in a mere three weeks. Three weeks, I mutter, and keep working, furiously. (Do I need a woollen cardigan for summer in Europe? Or will a lighter one suffice? I find this question unanswerable when outside it is three degrees and the sun has not even set.)
If I can finish this article, I can get my sense of humour back. I've promised myself this, as a trade-off.
My class had a sense of humour today. This was just as well, because our word of the day turned out to be 'oxymoron' and instead of poetry of the day I had them writing letters. We looked at the properties of light and of molasses and of different types of nouns and we decided that we had managed to do a surprising amount, given that the cold had frozen our brains.
Speaking of cold, it's 5 pm and three degrees outside and I am going to a crit group meeting tonight. I keep telling myself that it will be summer in a mere three weeks. Three weeks, I mutter, and keep working, furiously. (Do I need a woollen cardigan for summer in Europe? Or will a lighter one suffice? I find this question unanswerable when outside it is three degrees and the sun has not even set.)
June 7, 2011
gillpolack @ 2011-06-07T23:34:00
My errors are far more interesting than what I'm actually writing at this late stage of the day. I want to write "strange punctuation" and what comes out is "strange unctuation." I stop and look at the words and let my mind wander away from ellipses and commas. Possibly this means I should sleep soon.
gillpolack @ 2011-06-07T12:29:00
Today I woke up, did some work and then took myself back to bed. I couldn't work out why I took myself back to bed, but my legs took control of the decision and so I went. Just now I was wondering about it - and also about the fact that I went straight to sleep - and I stopped and listened to the weather. There's a fierce winter wind outside. Not bad weather. Cold and crisp. I checked the Bureau of Meteorology site. The Snowies have a severe weather warning and our closer mountains have a sheep graziers' alert.
This is all very good and proves that I am a good weather vane. The question is, will the weather do all the work I had intended to do during the two hours I slept? I didn't think so.
At least this time when I woke up, there was less pain (though still a bunch - early winter is not gentle on the chronically ill). My day may be two hours shorter, but the remaining bits of it will be higher quality.
My before-I-slept-again work was handy, too. I was still being browned off with the article I'm writing, so I decided I needed to do more literature searching, just in case someone has written on subjects close to it. They haven't. I have maybe eight secondary articles and no books at all. In toto. On the whole subject. They're on my computer to double check later, but none of them are actually terribly close to my subject (I just can't have no literature to refer to at all, it makes me feel all kinds of wrong).
My aim for the rest of the day is to finish that note-taking (still going strong - I still have to stop every fifty pages and unwind the misery from my soul while making sense of what I'm reading) and to write at least 1500 words of the piece. Tomorrow is all about teaching and CSFG. Thursday I''ll complete my first draft, all going well, read that errant miscellaneous literature and wonder why I wanted to write this one (again). Friday I'll polish off a rough draft and hunt out my MLA style manual (I know, I should be doing the style thing as I go, which is what I normally prefer, but this week I'm finding it easier to get the thing done, first.).
Now that I've expressed it to the world, I have to do it! Also, if I can do this much by then, I can return to the Middle Ages next week and get the next thing done that must be done before I leave. Right now my life is a bit like a game of skittles where the lane length and size of ball change without warning. It's not impossible, but it can take focus.
This is all very good and proves that I am a good weather vane. The question is, will the weather do all the work I had intended to do during the two hours I slept? I didn't think so.
At least this time when I woke up, there was less pain (though still a bunch - early winter is not gentle on the chronically ill). My day may be two hours shorter, but the remaining bits of it will be higher quality.
My before-I-slept-again work was handy, too. I was still being browned off with the article I'm writing, so I decided I needed to do more literature searching, just in case someone has written on subjects close to it. They haven't. I have maybe eight secondary articles and no books at all. In toto. On the whole subject. They're on my computer to double check later, but none of them are actually terribly close to my subject (I just can't have no literature to refer to at all, it makes me feel all kinds of wrong).
My aim for the rest of the day is to finish that note-taking (still going strong - I still have to stop every fifty pages and unwind the misery from my soul while making sense of what I'm reading) and to write at least 1500 words of the piece. Tomorrow is all about teaching and CSFG. Thursday I''ll complete my first draft, all going well, read that errant miscellaneous literature and wonder why I wanted to write this one (again). Friday I'll polish off a rough draft and hunt out my MLA style manual (I know, I should be doing the style thing as I go, which is what I normally prefer, but this week I'm finding it easier to get the thing done, first.).
Now that I've expressed it to the world, I have to do it! Also, if I can do this much by then, I can return to the Middle Ages next week and get the next thing done that must be done before I leave. Right now my life is a bit like a game of skittles where the lane length and size of ball change without warning. It's not impossible, but it can take focus.
June 6, 2011
gillpolack @ 2011-06-06T11:32:00
And, in an update of an update, the weather has severely warped my brain. You can see that by my latest BiblioBuffet article. All old stuff, but quite possibly it will put some friends off their dinner. (I do have molasses in my cupboard should you require any.)
gillpolack @ 2011-06-06T11:28:00
Normally when I have forms to fill in, I get grumpy. Lots of forms: no result. Today, however, I was informed that I have two that must be done, this week. This is outstanding news. Or the reason behind the paperwork is an outstanding reason.
I'm being given an ArtsACT grant to help with the BSFF Criticism masterclass and the BSFA meeting and other things (mainly accommodation and fees). I've known about it for a few days but didn't want to say anything until it was really happening. Thank you, ArtsACT!!!!
I'm being given an ArtsACT grant to help with the BSFF Criticism masterclass and the BSFA meeting and other things (mainly accommodation and fees). I've known about it for a few days but didn't want to say anything until it was really happening. Thank you, ArtsACT!!!!
gillpolack @ 2011-06-06T10:37:00
I'm at the stage of this morning's work where I'm in love with my little six by four notes. Each one represents at least fifty words of my current whatever-it-is and I have fifteen. Also, I have about 400 words written. I only worry about numbers this way when I'm likely to have problems meeting my wordcount (which is not the case here) or when I have made an unsavoury discovery during my research. My chapter will be the better for the unsavoury discovery, but fans of a certain major writer won't love me for it.
The bottom line is that, when we read and yearn for equality of the sexes, we tend to focus on the major characters in a novel. If there are female major characters who do interesting stuff, then we tend to think that the writer is a decent sort of being who gets that women have a place in the world. But what happens at the level of the worldbuild? What happens if the first mention of any female character is to put them in place as a support to a male character or as a sex object? What happens if, in the first hundred pages of that novel, not a single one of the female characters does something using their own agency?
I don't like the taste in my mouth, but I must write this thing. I intend to work a bit harder today and get all the thinking and sorting and note-taking and ordering done and even get more of the draft written. Instead of having most of it done by Friday, I want to get most of it done by Wednesday night. This is how very uncomfortable this writer's world makes me.
When I first read the book (when it first came out) I knew its mythology was flawed. I was looking at it from a different direction, then. I was quite happy explaining that it wasn't a favourite book of mine because it skated on thin ice. I didn't even begin to think of doing an analysis from the direction I'm working from today. Just as well, really. This ice is not think - it's nonexistent.
The sooner I get this done and am back in the safe realm of my dissertation and novel, the better.
The bottom line is that, when we read and yearn for equality of the sexes, we tend to focus on the major characters in a novel. If there are female major characters who do interesting stuff, then we tend to think that the writer is a decent sort of being who gets that women have a place in the world. But what happens at the level of the worldbuild? What happens if the first mention of any female character is to put them in place as a support to a male character or as a sex object? What happens if, in the first hundred pages of that novel, not a single one of the female characters does something using their own agency?
I don't like the taste in my mouth, but I must write this thing. I intend to work a bit harder today and get all the thinking and sorting and note-taking and ordering done and even get more of the draft written. Instead of having most of it done by Friday, I want to get most of it done by Wednesday night. This is how very uncomfortable this writer's world makes me.
When I first read the book (when it first came out) I knew its mythology was flawed. I was looking at it from a different direction, then. I was quite happy explaining that it wasn't a favourite book of mine because it skated on thin ice. I didn't even begin to think of doing an analysis from the direction I'm working from today. Just as well, really. This ice is not think - it's nonexistent.
The sooner I get this done and am back in the safe realm of my dissertation and novel, the better.
June 5, 2011
gillpolack @ 2011-06-05T20:47:00
Question time is all over. There won't be another one until August, I think. This is because I am evil.
Not only am I evil, but I now own a toy lamb called Baa-Baa. Rachel and Mia brought it back from New Zealand for me. I think I'll let Baa-Baa write the rest of this post.
Not only am I evil, but I now own a toy lamb called Baa-Baa. Rachel and Mia brought it back from New Zealand for me. I think I'll let Baa-Baa write the rest of this post.
gillpolack @ 2011-06-05T11:54:00
My morning has been spent looking through the edits that came back for my BiblioBuffet pieces. I did a bunch of them to cover the time I was away. Now we're all fine for most of that time. My column will appear like magic (with all the behind-the scenes hard work involved in stage magic) every second Monday (Australian time) and every second Sunday (US time) from now until August. Please take a moment and admire Nicki, who had to handle many of my words in a short time. She's not quite finished yet, too, because I'm pretty sure I sent her my stuff for August as well.
June 4, 2011
gillpolack @ 2011-06-04T19:27:00
I don't have anything wise or witty or even sensible to say today. I think my biggest accomplishment was discovering how to get to a flea market in Montpellier. This is nothing to do with my eyes and everything to do with my brain saying "It's the weekend."
"But I don't take weekends," I told my brain.
My brain begged to differ.
I've done work today (arguing with my brain the whole way) but not substantive amounts. Maybe I'll redeem my day with much work during the evening. Maybe I won't. Watch this space. Or don't. Chocolate and parks. Much more fun than watching Gillian's brain trying vainly to get Gillian to step into line. Chocolate and parks.
"But I don't take weekends," I told my brain.
My brain begged to differ.
I've done work today (arguing with my brain the whole way) but not substantive amounts. Maybe I'll redeem my day with much work during the evening. Maybe I won't. Watch this space. Or don't. Chocolate and parks. Much more fun than watching Gillian's brain trying vainly to get Gillian to step into line. Chocolate and parks.
