Gillian Polack's Blog, page 277
January 2, 2011
gillpolack @ 2011-01-02T23:48:00
Did I forget to tell you what I made for a friend's birthday dinner tonight? I chose to cook the main course (though her husband made the salad, since they have a lovely vegie patch) and the weather is a bit cooler, so I had a lot of fun. I made:
Chicken roasted with peach and guava sauce
Sweet potatoes in butter and brown sugar
Rice steamed in turkey bouillon with shredded turkey and tabasco and lemon seasoning
Potato and garlic and chickpeas in thick tomato sauce
Plain rice (which everyone ignored)
This is why I'm working now, of course. I had time out for champagne and friendship. It was a lovely evening.
Chicken roasted with peach and guava sauce
Sweet potatoes in butter and brown sugar
Rice steamed in turkey bouillon with shredded turkey and tabasco and lemon seasoning
Potato and garlic and chickpeas in thick tomato sauce
Plain rice (which everyone ignored)
This is why I'm working now, of course. I had time out for champagne and friendship. It was a lovely evening.
gillpolack @ 2011-01-02T16:35:00
I'm angsting over how much destruction a writer can do to peoples' understanding of how historians work in order to set up a novel so that it will unroll the way it needs to. I'm also angsting at some of the really idiot statements that can be made about the Middle Ages when one makes these ill-informed assumptions about how historians work and what historians can realistically be expected to know (the reality is usually more than the writer assumes, but in different areas).
More SF writers need to actually talk to historians. Really talk. Not just for five minutes. Not just sit in on an undergraduate class. Not read pop histories or good general works. They should get this serious talk in before they work on the set-up of their time-travel novel, for preference, rather than after and during or as a quick accuracy check towards the end.
Given I'm an SF writer working on the set-up of a time travel novel, I shall take my own advice. I've booked an intense discussion with myself for this evening. I'm happy to find a chatroom and share this discussion with anyone else, especially if they're more practising historians than myself and are bored on Sundays and have strong feelings on this subject.
PS This aspect of things will probably appear in my Leeds paper, though I'll be talking about the writing techniques rather than how distressing I find it to be assumed an idiot.
More SF writers need to actually talk to historians. Really talk. Not just for five minutes. Not just sit in on an undergraduate class. Not read pop histories or good general works. They should get this serious talk in before they work on the set-up of their time-travel novel, for preference, rather than after and during or as a quick accuracy check towards the end.
Given I'm an SF writer working on the set-up of a time travel novel, I shall take my own advice. I've booked an intense discussion with myself for this evening. I'm happy to find a chatroom and share this discussion with anyone else, especially if they're more practising historians than myself and are bored on Sundays and have strong feelings on this subject.
PS This aspect of things will probably appear in my Leeds paper, though I'll be talking about the writing techniques rather than how distressing I find it to be assumed an idiot.
gillpolack @ 2011-01-02T12:52:00
All my planning went astray. I've finished one article (and sent it) and am still nearly finished the other, and the third, I realised, I don't need for a fortnight.
You don't want to know that giant slugs are trying to colonise my lounge room, do you? I pick htem up wiht a big piece of scrap paper and put paper and slug in the rubbish and pretend they don't exist. I now want the weather to dry right out so the slugs stay away. (They only appear once every 15 years and they aren't nearly as horrible as the spiders-as-big-as-my-hand I get in dry years.)
Time for coffee and a bit of cooking.
You don't want to know that giant slugs are trying to colonise my lounge room, do you? I pick htem up wiht a big piece of scrap paper and put paper and slug in the rubbish and pretend they don't exist. I now want the weather to dry right out so the slugs stay away. (They only appear once every 15 years and they aren't nearly as horrible as the spiders-as-big-as-my-hand I get in dry years.)
Time for coffee and a bit of cooking.
January 1, 2011
gillpolack @ 2011-01-02T02:10:00
One essay has turned into a book review for this blog, another will be somewhat Medieval and the third is almost done. The big delay was a glorious thunderstorm that's taking a break from most strenuous effort but will be back soon. Sunday was going to be a Medieval day anyhow, so I shall simply make it a more Medieval day. With added fiction.
Something about the work in progress is going to nag me until it gets written and if I write it then I can get back to non-fiction. Besides, I only have four more teaching-free weeks and I want to see how much work I can cram in and how strange my hours will become.
Although tonight's hours are really the fault of the thunderstorm. It's a rather lovely thunderstorm.
Something about the work in progress is going to nag me until it gets written and if I write it then I can get back to non-fiction. Besides, I only have four more teaching-free weeks and I want to see how much work I can cram in and how strange my hours will become.
Although tonight's hours are really the fault of the thunderstorm. It's a rather lovely thunderstorm.
gillpolack @ 2011-01-01T20:55:00
Three more recipes to cook and I'm finished my part of the Conflux tests. I farmed out the deserts to a better dessert cook than I'll ever be and Nicole has already given me the drinks menu. The minute I have the dessert menu, I can finish the missing bits of the cookbook. Hopefully that will coincide (merely by chance - if chance is the same thing as asking outright) with the beta reader reports and the special secret surprise element. In other words, I'm possibly within 2 weeks of handing it all over for editing and even closer to having a final menu for October.
The rest of my evening will be spent on BiblioBuffet. My poor editor is used to getting articles early and I suspect she's running out. Fortunately, someone nice from Angry Robot (probably Lee) sent me review books and one of these volumes told me, quite firmly, that it wanted to be in a Bibliobuffet essay. I have a second article almost ready to finalise. The third has been delayed by the holiday season, so I shall push it back a little and fill the slot with something different. Doing most of this should take up the whole evening and clear the decks for me to finish with my primary sources for the current dissertation chapter tomorrow and write it up starting late tomorrow.
It doesn't sound nearly as exciting as it is. That's because I haven't communicated the warm mouthfeel of the recipe I tested, or the excitement of opening an ARC and discovering an essay lurking, or the small miracle that is keeping on schedule during a heatwave. Nor have I explained that I shall be editing to the gentle background of Midsomer Murders, then I might have a glass of red wine if the heat dissolves fast enough.
The rest of my evening will be spent on BiblioBuffet. My poor editor is used to getting articles early and I suspect she's running out. Fortunately, someone nice from Angry Robot (probably Lee) sent me review books and one of these volumes told me, quite firmly, that it wanted to be in a Bibliobuffet essay. I have a second article almost ready to finalise. The third has been delayed by the holiday season, so I shall push it back a little and fill the slot with something different. Doing most of this should take up the whole evening and clear the decks for me to finish with my primary sources for the current dissertation chapter tomorrow and write it up starting late tomorrow.
It doesn't sound nearly as exciting as it is. That's because I haven't communicated the warm mouthfeel of the recipe I tested, or the excitement of opening an ARC and discovering an essay lurking, or the small miracle that is keeping on schedule during a heatwave. Nor have I explained that I shall be editing to the gentle background of Midsomer Murders, then I might have a glass of red wine if the heat dissolves fast enough.
December 31, 2010
The year in burlesque ('The year in review' just didn't reflect the strangeness of it all)
Before I talk about this last year, let me remind you of the story to this day, twelve months ago.
I want to do two lists - one is the blogposts that I like (zombie view of history, Dr Who and cavespeak, this sort of thing) and the other is a list of how often I was ill and how much I complained about it. The daftness of the second list convinced me not to do either. It's a pity, though, there are some good whinges on the first and some interesting thoughts on the second. Or do I mean that the other way round? Anyway, if you want the health summary, the best overview is this.
Everything else is nicely sorted into months, because I have calendars everywhere right now. My favourite for 2011 is one for 1305, which needs more saints' days in it, also ordinary birthdays. If 2011 turns out to be as much of a strange ride as 2010, I shall use the 1305 calendar to govern my daily activities.
January
January was far too interesting. I saw a great deal of my family under very sad circumstances, when I went to Melbourne for the consecration of my stepfather's grave. The consecration reminded me that medical miracles don't always work and that it takes a long time to learn to live with the death of someone close.
On the way down to Melbourne, I saw my publisher who looked rather worried about me.
"I'm fine," I said. "Look, I'm getting better." My legs were normal size again, you see, so I must have been better. My ankles were puffy and I was out of breath, but all sorts of people told me I was fine, so I must have been. Especially if I said so, many times. Actually, the 'all sorts of people' were mostly my family, and in their midst (without them noticing anything) something had gone rather wrong. It hurt to carry an umbrella for my mother at my stepfather's grave. I had to rest far too frequently. I had a lot of asthma. I couldn't see properly out of one eye.
It was better the next day, so I caught my bus back home with equanimity and did a bunch of work on the way and made jokes about it. The eye didn't improve, though, so finally I ignored the "Gillian, stop complaining about your health" and checked my vision against an online test. I didn't like what I saw (it was funky, but not normal), so I rang my optometrist. He didn't like what he heard, so he fitted me in urgently.
I was raced to hospital and we found out that my family had been wrong, from beginning to end. Also, that I was over the worst of it, just. And I was alive.
The rest of the year has been filled with slowly improving things. My eyesight is 90% better (but I still have bad days) and everything else is about being patient and taking care and spending much money on things medical. I have specialists to check up on me and friends also check and will tell me to go to the doctor if they need to. I'm doing more than I've done in years, and my vision is stable.
My month in short? January ended badly, but I got through it.
February
The social highlight of February was my Purim party. Sometimes a group of friends getting drunk together and performing a spiel works magic. I suspect that none of us present will forget that party.
I was given more manuscript assessments by the Writers' Centre. They're a lot of fun. I get manuscripts from early career writers, mostly before they know what kind of book they want to write, but have started writing anyway. I work with them to sort out their strengths and weaknesses and get them on a path that suits their abilities and interests. Some of the intending-writers I've met through this have been totally fascinating.
Working with new writers (through my teaching, through the assessments) has helped me realise that I'm greedy for skills. It's not enough to be able to write a novel. It's not even enough to be able to edit. Not for me, anyhow. I'm a sad, sad person and am not at all happy until I understand things from many directions. This is one major reason why I took the advice of friends (Lucy Sussex and Ian Nichols gave it most strongly, but they were not alone) and am moving towards academia again. Which leads me to…
March
I became a student again. I didn't actually know I was a student until April, however, so the first five weeks of my doctorate were spent in happy oblivion. 'Happy' is not the right word, since that time was mostly spent being diagnosed by various medical practitioners and having my zombie tooth taken care of.
April
I didn't go down to Melbourne for Passover. I was still too ill. Also, I was too busy sulking about my family (note to any family reading this - if you want to show you care, then phonecalls, emails, cards are all useful - thinking thoughts in my general direction just don't do the trick). I realised that my close friends are my family, so I spent Passover with them, and it was very special.
There were other good things in April. My personal highlights were finding out I was enrolled in the doctorate and getting the column with BiblioBuffet. The BiblioBuffet column is my dream writing - I can explore all sorts of things from all sorts of directions and I have a very clever and sensitive editor.
April is when I started to learn again. My life is ashes without learning (some people need sunshine and rainbows; some people need lollipops; some people need bungee jumping - I need learning) so this is when the ashes started to show sparks again. I totally drove my friends crazy with comments about my incapacity, but they dealt, as they always do.
May
A group of friends and I went out for my birthday dinner on 1 May. This is one of those things that sounds not-too-big, but retrospectively, turns out to be the moment life starts to improve. In fact, I went out for my birthday (to Lanyon, as a present from some of those very wonderful friends) at the other end of May, too. I turned 49 in April, but May was my birthday month.
Doing the PhD was encouraging. The fact that the university wanted me and that my supervisor thought I was capable went a long way to reminding me that bad career luck is not the same thing as incompetence.
May was my turning point. Very awesome month. I was still sick as a dog, but I was starting to live again. And my eyesight improved a bit, which meant I could read more. I piled books higher and higher. I've read at least 300 books since May, which is an unchallengeably good thing. I was much happier. All those friends. Feeling as if I belong somewhere.
June
I had a work experience student in June. It was basically like full-time teaching, except that Tasha helped me with my work while I taught her. She was excellent at both the learning and the helping.
July
My diary for July is full of meetings with friends and with medical appointments. Most of it was spent catching up with those missed weeks of the doctorate. I could have claimed those missed weeks and got extensions, but that seemed an entire waste of everyone's time, so I balanced health and study and I caught up with everything. It was something I had to prove to myself, I think, that I could still do astonishing amounts of work in short periods of time, given enough space. My supervisor understood this (did I say what a very good supervisor I have?).
August
August was cool. I'm not sure I slept much, and I had to be exceptionally careful not to do too much, but it was cool. Coolness included Ditmar nominations and running workshops for National Science Week and hanging out with Kaaron Warren and family on election day.
Election day, with daleks in the library and a sausage sizzle hiding behind the polls, gave me a moment when I knew what shape I wanted my ideal life to be. It was when I gave myself permission to research and to write and to think and to teach and to be a geek and a foodie and to have my own special sense of humour and to do all this even with major crises. I just needed to think it through. And do the doctorate. I'm still working on it - this could take a while, but that moment gave me all sorts of new kinds of courage.
September
AussieCon. And AussieCon. And AussieCon. Oh, and Ditmars.
I had all sorts of expectations of AussieCon. My carefully laid plans involved much time spent in the bar chatting - I had a budget for drinks, even. It also involved finding an agent. I had carefully circled lots of bits of the academic program, because I wanted to attend a great deal of that. There wasn't time. I got two good sessions in the bar, chatting with friends. (Jenny Fallon tried to get me drunk on Cointreau.) I need to go to another WorldCon one day, just to find out what panels are like from the other side and what it really *is* like to go to room parties and hang around in the bar. And to meet other people who study spec fic as well as write it. And maybe one day to find an agent.
What did I do at AussieCon? Baggage. Lots of Baggage. And panels. And my kaffeklatsche table was full and all the people there were just lovely and laughed at my jokes even though I had not a single idea of how to run a kaffeeklatsche and couldn't think of why anyone would be there (I told them my Tim Fischer story, in the hopes that it would make amends for me being just me). And I really did meet the most amazing people and I made new friends and I had a blast. It just wasn't the blast I was expecting. I met a bunch of my personal heroes (Ellen Kushner, John Clute) and hung out with friends in the interstices of impossibly-busy.
In fact, my WorldCon was full of friends, old and new. I wince when I see pictures of myself (still sick as a dog, and it showed) but I had a fabulous roller-coaster ride.
I have to mention the Ditmar again. Still chuffed about that. I'm not the sort of person who gets awards. And I'm even more chuffed about the shortlisting for Life Through Cellophane - and I'm still getting terrific feedback about it from readers.
I did other stuff in September. I taught the guides at the Jewish Museum and I did enough of my novel so that my supervisor could check it. And he found it good, too, which means I was clear to write.
October
Mostly about writing. I went to Sydney, however, and I taught worldbuilding at the Writers' Centre and I had good quality time with people I love. I went to Luna Park with my cousin and she took the teacup photo.
November
I worked furiously between the Sydney visit and the next Sydney visit. This meant that the November Sydney visit was clear of major deadlines. I got to spend quality time harassing my supervisor, and my friends, and see some Eureka and have a totally cool dinner party with totally cool people. And then I came home to a mild virus.
December
I came within a stone's throw of being caught up with things. I discovered that 2011 is going to include a trip overseas. I filled my freezer for the summer. I finished the first draft of the Conflux cookbook. I taught. I wrote novel. I filled in many forms. Surely a year ought to end more robustly than that?
I want to do two lists - one is the blogposts that I like (zombie view of history, Dr Who and cavespeak, this sort of thing) and the other is a list of how often I was ill and how much I complained about it. The daftness of the second list convinced me not to do either. It's a pity, though, there are some good whinges on the first and some interesting thoughts on the second. Or do I mean that the other way round? Anyway, if you want the health summary, the best overview is this.
Everything else is nicely sorted into months, because I have calendars everywhere right now. My favourite for 2011 is one for 1305, which needs more saints' days in it, also ordinary birthdays. If 2011 turns out to be as much of a strange ride as 2010, I shall use the 1305 calendar to govern my daily activities.
January
January was far too interesting. I saw a great deal of my family under very sad circumstances, when I went to Melbourne for the consecration of my stepfather's grave. The consecration reminded me that medical miracles don't always work and that it takes a long time to learn to live with the death of someone close.
On the way down to Melbourne, I saw my publisher who looked rather worried about me.
"I'm fine," I said. "Look, I'm getting better." My legs were normal size again, you see, so I must have been better. My ankles were puffy and I was out of breath, but all sorts of people told me I was fine, so I must have been. Especially if I said so, many times. Actually, the 'all sorts of people' were mostly my family, and in their midst (without them noticing anything) something had gone rather wrong. It hurt to carry an umbrella for my mother at my stepfather's grave. I had to rest far too frequently. I had a lot of asthma. I couldn't see properly out of one eye.
It was better the next day, so I caught my bus back home with equanimity and did a bunch of work on the way and made jokes about it. The eye didn't improve, though, so finally I ignored the "Gillian, stop complaining about your health" and checked my vision against an online test. I didn't like what I saw (it was funky, but not normal), so I rang my optometrist. He didn't like what he heard, so he fitted me in urgently.
I was raced to hospital and we found out that my family had been wrong, from beginning to end. Also, that I was over the worst of it, just. And I was alive.
The rest of the year has been filled with slowly improving things. My eyesight is 90% better (but I still have bad days) and everything else is about being patient and taking care and spending much money on things medical. I have specialists to check up on me and friends also check and will tell me to go to the doctor if they need to. I'm doing more than I've done in years, and my vision is stable.
My month in short? January ended badly, but I got through it.
February
The social highlight of February was my Purim party. Sometimes a group of friends getting drunk together and performing a spiel works magic. I suspect that none of us present will forget that party.
I was given more manuscript assessments by the Writers' Centre. They're a lot of fun. I get manuscripts from early career writers, mostly before they know what kind of book they want to write, but have started writing anyway. I work with them to sort out their strengths and weaknesses and get them on a path that suits their abilities and interests. Some of the intending-writers I've met through this have been totally fascinating.
Working with new writers (through my teaching, through the assessments) has helped me realise that I'm greedy for skills. It's not enough to be able to write a novel. It's not even enough to be able to edit. Not for me, anyhow. I'm a sad, sad person and am not at all happy until I understand things from many directions. This is one major reason why I took the advice of friends (Lucy Sussex and Ian Nichols gave it most strongly, but they were not alone) and am moving towards academia again. Which leads me to…
March
I became a student again. I didn't actually know I was a student until April, however, so the first five weeks of my doctorate were spent in happy oblivion. 'Happy' is not the right word, since that time was mostly spent being diagnosed by various medical practitioners and having my zombie tooth taken care of.
April
I didn't go down to Melbourne for Passover. I was still too ill. Also, I was too busy sulking about my family (note to any family reading this - if you want to show you care, then phonecalls, emails, cards are all useful - thinking thoughts in my general direction just don't do the trick). I realised that my close friends are my family, so I spent Passover with them, and it was very special.
There were other good things in April. My personal highlights were finding out I was enrolled in the doctorate and getting the column with BiblioBuffet. The BiblioBuffet column is my dream writing - I can explore all sorts of things from all sorts of directions and I have a very clever and sensitive editor.
April is when I started to learn again. My life is ashes without learning (some people need sunshine and rainbows; some people need lollipops; some people need bungee jumping - I need learning) so this is when the ashes started to show sparks again. I totally drove my friends crazy with comments about my incapacity, but they dealt, as they always do.
May
A group of friends and I went out for my birthday dinner on 1 May. This is one of those things that sounds not-too-big, but retrospectively, turns out to be the moment life starts to improve. In fact, I went out for my birthday (to Lanyon, as a present from some of those very wonderful friends) at the other end of May, too. I turned 49 in April, but May was my birthday month.
Doing the PhD was encouraging. The fact that the university wanted me and that my supervisor thought I was capable went a long way to reminding me that bad career luck is not the same thing as incompetence.
May was my turning point. Very awesome month. I was still sick as a dog, but I was starting to live again. And my eyesight improved a bit, which meant I could read more. I piled books higher and higher. I've read at least 300 books since May, which is an unchallengeably good thing. I was much happier. All those friends. Feeling as if I belong somewhere.
June
I had a work experience student in June. It was basically like full-time teaching, except that Tasha helped me with my work while I taught her. She was excellent at both the learning and the helping.
July
My diary for July is full of meetings with friends and with medical appointments. Most of it was spent catching up with those missed weeks of the doctorate. I could have claimed those missed weeks and got extensions, but that seemed an entire waste of everyone's time, so I balanced health and study and I caught up with everything. It was something I had to prove to myself, I think, that I could still do astonishing amounts of work in short periods of time, given enough space. My supervisor understood this (did I say what a very good supervisor I have?).
August
August was cool. I'm not sure I slept much, and I had to be exceptionally careful not to do too much, but it was cool. Coolness included Ditmar nominations and running workshops for National Science Week and hanging out with Kaaron Warren and family on election day.
Election day, with daleks in the library and a sausage sizzle hiding behind the polls, gave me a moment when I knew what shape I wanted my ideal life to be. It was when I gave myself permission to research and to write and to think and to teach and to be a geek and a foodie and to have my own special sense of humour and to do all this even with major crises. I just needed to think it through. And do the doctorate. I'm still working on it - this could take a while, but that moment gave me all sorts of new kinds of courage.
September
AussieCon. And AussieCon. And AussieCon. Oh, and Ditmars.
I had all sorts of expectations of AussieCon. My carefully laid plans involved much time spent in the bar chatting - I had a budget for drinks, even. It also involved finding an agent. I had carefully circled lots of bits of the academic program, because I wanted to attend a great deal of that. There wasn't time. I got two good sessions in the bar, chatting with friends. (Jenny Fallon tried to get me drunk on Cointreau.) I need to go to another WorldCon one day, just to find out what panels are like from the other side and what it really *is* like to go to room parties and hang around in the bar. And to meet other people who study spec fic as well as write it. And maybe one day to find an agent.
What did I do at AussieCon? Baggage. Lots of Baggage. And panels. And my kaffeklatsche table was full and all the people there were just lovely and laughed at my jokes even though I had not a single idea of how to run a kaffeeklatsche and couldn't think of why anyone would be there (I told them my Tim Fischer story, in the hopes that it would make amends for me being just me). And I really did meet the most amazing people and I made new friends and I had a blast. It just wasn't the blast I was expecting. I met a bunch of my personal heroes (Ellen Kushner, John Clute) and hung out with friends in the interstices of impossibly-busy.
In fact, my WorldCon was full of friends, old and new. I wince when I see pictures of myself (still sick as a dog, and it showed) but I had a fabulous roller-coaster ride.
I have to mention the Ditmar again. Still chuffed about that. I'm not the sort of person who gets awards. And I'm even more chuffed about the shortlisting for Life Through Cellophane - and I'm still getting terrific feedback about it from readers.
I did other stuff in September. I taught the guides at the Jewish Museum and I did enough of my novel so that my supervisor could check it. And he found it good, too, which means I was clear to write.
October
Mostly about writing. I went to Sydney, however, and I taught worldbuilding at the Writers' Centre and I had good quality time with people I love. I went to Luna Park with my cousin and she took the teacup photo.
November
I worked furiously between the Sydney visit and the next Sydney visit. This meant that the November Sydney visit was clear of major deadlines. I got to spend quality time harassing my supervisor, and my friends, and see some Eureka and have a totally cool dinner party with totally cool people. And then I came home to a mild virus.
December
I came within a stone's throw of being caught up with things. I discovered that 2011 is going to include a trip overseas. I filled my freezer for the summer. I finished the first draft of the Conflux cookbook. I taught. I wrote novel. I filled in many forms. Surely a year ought to end more robustly than that?
gillpolack @ 2010-12-31T15:14:00
I wanted to party and I was invited to party and I accepted an invitation to party, but tonight I shall spend a quiet night seeing in the New Year. The small reason is that I'm still not fit and well but the big reason is that it's my stepfather's Yahrzeit tonight and I must light a candle. In fact, it's Friday, isn't it? I have three candles to light. Two small and one big.
I have food and drink and good movies and my lounge room is comfortably temperate*, so if any friends are at a loose end, I'm happy to be joined in my unexpectedly low key NY celebrations. Don't just drop in, though - ring first. I'm likely to be up very late, so ring right up til about 1 am to see if I'm visitor-friendly.
And now I'm about to do something daring and exciting: bring in the washing. Wish me luck! (after that it's back to work, but with coffee - I have a bit of a migraine and coffee is my saviour).
*outisde, on the other hand, is hot, which is how I realised I needed to stay in.
I have food and drink and good movies and my lounge room is comfortably temperate*, so if any friends are at a loose end, I'm happy to be joined in my unexpectedly low key NY celebrations. Don't just drop in, though - ring first. I'm likely to be up very late, so ring right up til about 1 am to see if I'm visitor-friendly.
And now I'm about to do something daring and exciting: bring in the washing. Wish me luck! (after that it's back to work, but with coffee - I have a bit of a migraine and coffee is my saviour).
*outisde, on the other hand, is hot, which is how I realised I needed to stay in.
December 30, 2010
gillpolack @ 2010-12-31T00:06:00
I have finished reading *all* the articles for this chapter. I have squillions of notes. And it's almost comfortable outside. Most flat surfaces in my living space are papered, however, and I can't tidy it at all because that would lose me hours of careful work. It will tidy itself as I write things up. I'd better explain this tomorrow morning and apologise to Llyn and Iain. There's just enough space on the coffeetable to rest cups and there are enough chairs free of paper so that people can sit. The trouble is that the paper *looks* random, and it's at that crucial stage when it's not. I've had people drop in at other crucial stages and their hands fiddle with things while I put the kettle on and they don't notice they've piled things up neatly until it's too late.
Where the incipient heat melts Gillian's brain and she rants
My weather sense says the warmth has finally come. The Bureau of Meteorology suggests that it will hit 35 degrees tomorrow. It's summer.
My brain wants to go into summer mode, but this is still a full-time study and part-time earn money bit of the year. I worked around it today by focussing on secondary research and doing some solid thinking. I had to do it before I could write a chapter - I had intended, however, to finish with the whole of the primary research for the chapter first.
Tomorrow's going to be trickier, because it's summer brain plus time with friends plus a possible NYE party (if I can sort out transport - it's only 4 minutes by car from my place, but that's a long walk). I might work a bit late tonight and see if I can do two hours of tomorrow's work, which will leave me only about 8 hours to lever in (but doesn't sort my NYE logistics). I refuse to cancel anything. Well, except the heat.
What I was sorting out today (and will continue to sort out tonight, I think) is the scholarly context for this chapter I must write. I did all the bibliography and got hold of most of the texts for this section ages back, and we're not talking about a vast number of papers. No books at all and only about 20 more articles to read, in fact. So far, not one of them has touched directly on what I'm doing, but two have given me some appreciation of things I need to address when writing and one I printed out for a close look, because I suspect it's going to be crucial.
If I can get through all this tonight, then tomorrow I can start writing and also return to Connie Willis' book, do a bit of other work and maybe write some novel. I rather wanted to be finished the Willis by 1 January (it's a round date - I like round dates), but my brain works differently in the heat and my eyes can't take too much fine print and I shall still get me a draft done by the promised date, which is the bottom line.
My public service announcement to the world is that it's possibly not wise to tell me that doctorates are not much work. If I had known that, I would never have learned the eleven languages I needed for the first one*.
In another public service announcement (this is the week for people to be very informative about degrees to me and to try hard to correct my misbegotten views) research degrees are quite, quite different in nature and quality to coursework degrees and coursework degrees are not the same as the workshops or short courses one does through a professional organisation. The differences are important and deep. Not everyone need the same kind of qualification. Not everyone needs formal qualifications at all. Some need very specialised ones. I thought this was obvious, but apparently not.
So many people have made slightly disparaging comments about higher degrees in my presence that I thought it was worth a public service announcement**. Why this became a rant is because of the time of year. I get four weeks holiday a year and put requests in for them in advance - university holidays do not apply. If I have to work long days while most people are on holiday, then I do not expect to hear words that imply that I'm lazy. I'm having a ball, but I'm putting in solid work.
The clustering of incidents amuses me, even as I wonder what the trigger was. It's a dense cluster. One friend may well read this post and say "I said that - and I didn't mean what she thought I meant" But it wasn't that person who said that precise thing. It was two other people.
This is one of the reasons I was so grumpy earlier in the week. I was having quite a nice Christmastide, with friends inviting me to celebrate and cool things happening and my work going well. Then I had financial stuff to worry about (that's not going to fade, alas - which is the story of my life, although I have more paid work now and am fine for a little as long as I'm careful) and then individual after individual started belittling research degrees to me. If you think that it must be easy because I got into it, then say so - I'd rather be told directly if you think I'm stupid or lazy. If you think government money should not be spent on higher education, then say so and we can disagree on matters political. If you have no idea what universities do or what one is supposed to put into a research degree or take from one or why I'm doing this one, then say so and we can talk it through.
And for the 99% of people who read my blog who didn't tell me these things, I'm very sorry! I feel much better for having let off steam, though.
* I think it was eleven. I lost count. Medieval Studies has to have one of the toughest prior knowledge requirements - languages plus codicology and palaeography and some diplomatics as well as the specific background for the topic. I was lucky it was reading knowledge only for most of the languages - the only one I needed at actual speaking/writing level was modern French. Although Spanish and German would have helped as well, to be honest.
** I get comments about how easy novels are to write all the time. People tell me the plots they want to see, too. I tell them to go and write them. Readers can always use more good novels, I say (and it's true). Most of them don't, and I hear nothing more, but someone did take up my challenge and write that novel and the novel was good and it got published and the writer in question is now explaining to everyone that novels require hard work and discipline over a long period of time. This is why I don't get nearly as fretted when people belittle that part of my life.
My brain wants to go into summer mode, but this is still a full-time study and part-time earn money bit of the year. I worked around it today by focussing on secondary research and doing some solid thinking. I had to do it before I could write a chapter - I had intended, however, to finish with the whole of the primary research for the chapter first.
Tomorrow's going to be trickier, because it's summer brain plus time with friends plus a possible NYE party (if I can sort out transport - it's only 4 minutes by car from my place, but that's a long walk). I might work a bit late tonight and see if I can do two hours of tomorrow's work, which will leave me only about 8 hours to lever in (but doesn't sort my NYE logistics). I refuse to cancel anything. Well, except the heat.
What I was sorting out today (and will continue to sort out tonight, I think) is the scholarly context for this chapter I must write. I did all the bibliography and got hold of most of the texts for this section ages back, and we're not talking about a vast number of papers. No books at all and only about 20 more articles to read, in fact. So far, not one of them has touched directly on what I'm doing, but two have given me some appreciation of things I need to address when writing and one I printed out for a close look, because I suspect it's going to be crucial.
If I can get through all this tonight, then tomorrow I can start writing and also return to Connie Willis' book, do a bit of other work and maybe write some novel. I rather wanted to be finished the Willis by 1 January (it's a round date - I like round dates), but my brain works differently in the heat and my eyes can't take too much fine print and I shall still get me a draft done by the promised date, which is the bottom line.
My public service announcement to the world is that it's possibly not wise to tell me that doctorates are not much work. If I had known that, I would never have learned the eleven languages I needed for the first one*.
In another public service announcement (this is the week for people to be very informative about degrees to me and to try hard to correct my misbegotten views) research degrees are quite, quite different in nature and quality to coursework degrees and coursework degrees are not the same as the workshops or short courses one does through a professional organisation. The differences are important and deep. Not everyone need the same kind of qualification. Not everyone needs formal qualifications at all. Some need very specialised ones. I thought this was obvious, but apparently not.
So many people have made slightly disparaging comments about higher degrees in my presence that I thought it was worth a public service announcement**. Why this became a rant is because of the time of year. I get four weeks holiday a year and put requests in for them in advance - university holidays do not apply. If I have to work long days while most people are on holiday, then I do not expect to hear words that imply that I'm lazy. I'm having a ball, but I'm putting in solid work.
The clustering of incidents amuses me, even as I wonder what the trigger was. It's a dense cluster. One friend may well read this post and say "I said that - and I didn't mean what she thought I meant" But it wasn't that person who said that precise thing. It was two other people.
This is one of the reasons I was so grumpy earlier in the week. I was having quite a nice Christmastide, with friends inviting me to celebrate and cool things happening and my work going well. Then I had financial stuff to worry about (that's not going to fade, alas - which is the story of my life, although I have more paid work now and am fine for a little as long as I'm careful) and then individual after individual started belittling research degrees to me. If you think that it must be easy because I got into it, then say so - I'd rather be told directly if you think I'm stupid or lazy. If you think government money should not be spent on higher education, then say so and we can disagree on matters political. If you have no idea what universities do or what one is supposed to put into a research degree or take from one or why I'm doing this one, then say so and we can talk it through.
And for the 99% of people who read my blog who didn't tell me these things, I'm very sorry! I feel much better for having let off steam, though.
* I think it was eleven. I lost count. Medieval Studies has to have one of the toughest prior knowledge requirements - languages plus codicology and palaeography and some diplomatics as well as the specific background for the topic. I was lucky it was reading knowledge only for most of the languages - the only one I needed at actual speaking/writing level was modern French. Although Spanish and German would have helped as well, to be honest.
** I get comments about how easy novels are to write all the time. People tell me the plots they want to see, too. I tell them to go and write them. Readers can always use more good novels, I say (and it's true). Most of them don't, and I hear nothing more, but someone did take up my challenge and write that novel and the novel was good and it got published and the writer in question is now explaining to everyone that novels require hard work and discipline over a long period of time. This is why I don't get nearly as fretted when people belittle that part of my life.
December 29, 2010
gillpolack @ 2010-12-29T22:17:00
Tonight I want to watch TV and eat watermelon. First I shall do another hour's work, I think, with a cuppa to get me started. It's been an odd day and a very long day (mostly good, but long) and one more hour is all I'm capable of.
