Gillian Polack's Blog, page 79
March 1, 2014
Women's History Month - guest post by Joyce Chng
Joyce Chng lives in Singapore, writes science fiction and fantasy. Her web presence is located at A Wolf's Tale. She tweets with the nick @jolantru on Twitter.
Women’s History Month starts this March and I am wondering what I should write about/for. Coming from a historian’s perspective, I have a lot to choose from, many women who have inspired me, shocked me, and showed me that the word “woman” is such a monolithic word. The experiences of these historical women are so diverse, that nothing fits and they lived, in context of their own lands and countries. Yet, they seem so exceptional, so extraordinary, in their time that they were exalted, praised and – most of the time – reviled by those who had felt offended.
My MA thesis was on Joan of Arc. This exceptional young woman was about 17 or 19 when she died, burnt at the stake. Within her short life, she led armies, held weapons, rode horses and generally inspired the men around her. At the same time, she crossed gender and material boundaries by wearing masculine clothing and did “manly” things. At the lowest point of her life, her head was shaved, perhaps, to put her at her right place. Her ashes were showed to spectators and disbelievers. To the Church, she was finally dead. A heretic. A witch. Dead. Phew. Life would go on.
Joan of Arc inspires me in that she is a warrior. She fought against the Church, against societal norms (again established by the weird mix of religion, society and state), against what was to be a female in the late Middle Ages. The psychiatric theorists would argue about her voices and talk about things like schizophrenia. I would argue that she had her own mind, found her way to cope with the frustrations and tensions in her society, and soldiered on (forgive the pun). For a teenager, she was assertive, strong-willed and focussed. I often end up telling this to the kids I teach, kids about her age, who think they are entitled to just about anything in the world. What would you do if you were her? What could you do? Silence. Perhaps, that would be the best response.
Perhaps, the best irony is from her. Nobody knew how she looked like. Medieval art is replete with her blonde-haired and fair-skinned, like a noble woman, like an aristocratic lady whose “swan-necked” beauty is praised. She is believed to have dark hair (again, the obsession on darkness and its link to evil). A doodle at a margin of a manuscript sees her in a dress, hair let down, holding a pennant. There is a strand of dark hair, purportedly, from her. Some artists portray her stern-faced and armored, a strict dark-haired lady knight. Yet… we never knew how she really looked like. I think this is for the better.
Let her continue to inspire many. Inspire women, inspire young girls, inspire the warriors at heart, inspire the fighters, inspire those who believe in themselves.
Note: I hate the word ‘exceptional’, when it is tagged to the achievements of women. I often cringe when I see things like “The first … in (country of your choice)”. It shouldn’t be this way. We have made great leaps… or have we, actually?
Women’s History Month starts this March and I am wondering what I should write about/for. Coming from a historian’s perspective, I have a lot to choose from, many women who have inspired me, shocked me, and showed me that the word “woman” is such a monolithic word. The experiences of these historical women are so diverse, that nothing fits and they lived, in context of their own lands and countries. Yet, they seem so exceptional, so extraordinary, in their time that they were exalted, praised and – most of the time – reviled by those who had felt offended.
My MA thesis was on Joan of Arc. This exceptional young woman was about 17 or 19 when she died, burnt at the stake. Within her short life, she led armies, held weapons, rode horses and generally inspired the men around her. At the same time, she crossed gender and material boundaries by wearing masculine clothing and did “manly” things. At the lowest point of her life, her head was shaved, perhaps, to put her at her right place. Her ashes were showed to spectators and disbelievers. To the Church, she was finally dead. A heretic. A witch. Dead. Phew. Life would go on.
Joan of Arc inspires me in that she is a warrior. She fought against the Church, against societal norms (again established by the weird mix of religion, society and state), against what was to be a female in the late Middle Ages. The psychiatric theorists would argue about her voices and talk about things like schizophrenia. I would argue that she had her own mind, found her way to cope with the frustrations and tensions in her society, and soldiered on (forgive the pun). For a teenager, she was assertive, strong-willed and focussed. I often end up telling this to the kids I teach, kids about her age, who think they are entitled to just about anything in the world. What would you do if you were her? What could you do? Silence. Perhaps, that would be the best response.
Perhaps, the best irony is from her. Nobody knew how she looked like. Medieval art is replete with her blonde-haired and fair-skinned, like a noble woman, like an aristocratic lady whose “swan-necked” beauty is praised. She is believed to have dark hair (again, the obsession on darkness and its link to evil). A doodle at a margin of a manuscript sees her in a dress, hair let down, holding a pennant. There is a strand of dark hair, purportedly, from her. Some artists portray her stern-faced and armored, a strict dark-haired lady knight. Yet… we never knew how she really looked like. I think this is for the better.
Let her continue to inspire many. Inspire women, inspire young girls, inspire the warriors at heart, inspire the fighters, inspire those who believe in themselves.
Note: I hate the word ‘exceptional’, when it is tagged to the achievements of women. I often cringe when I see things like “The first … in (country of your choice)”. It shouldn’t be this way. We have made great leaps… or have we, actually?
Women's History Month - let's get started
This month I'm starting a bit differently to other years. I want to remind us all that there are women all over the world, that personal history is important, that myths are just as important to history as the colour of someone's clothing, that... so many things. I could write a theoretical essay, or I could give you two posts by two quite different authors. I chose the latter, because I write theoretical essays all the time and because both of these authors can lead you into more interesting places than me. I know this, for I know their writing.
I won't be introducing each and every writer, so don't panic about vast numbers of posts from me explaining everything this month. Panic about other things, if you feel the need. Panic about my sense of humour, for instance: that's always something of concern. Or panic about me posting about other things. Most of the month, though, I'll let the writers speak for themselves.
Who are the two authors who are starting us off, and why have I chosen them to begin the festivities?
Joyce Chng is a Singaporean speculative fiction writer. She gets to represent the 48 (if it's still 48) countries of the Commonwealth, and she gets to represent herself and she gets to remind us all that we have shared background as well as unique background. Of the Commonwealth countries, we mostly see Australia and New Zealand, Canada and the countries that comprise the British isles. We tend to forget that each land has its own history and its own literature and its own writers. They're not secondary literatures and the writers ought never be relegated to the back room as second-cousins who are half-forgotten. They're full citizens of the literary world in their own right and we should be reading and enjoying their work. Joyce is here to remind us of that, and to lead you into her own writing and her own interest in history.
Joyce and I know each other because we both write speculative fiction, of course, but we bonded over the Middle Ages. A student just one year above me during my undergraduate days became the professor who supervised Joyce's thesis. I met Philippa again last year and was rather surprised to find she hadn't forgotten me. All our histories are personal, if you scratch the surface a little.
We tend to forget women in history and we tend to forget that there is a whole world of fascinating literature out there and we need to remember our shared lives: these are just three reasons why you get to meet Joyce first.
My second guest for today is very important to me. She didn't know that when she introduced herself a short while ago, commenting on something I did on Facebook. Persia Woolley was one of a select group of writers who remind me and who keeps teaching me that there is not merely one valid way of reading and interpreting story, and that women can have many places and play many roles. I was wrapped up in Arthuriana and she gently reminded me of bigger pictures. When I packed my books away, her writing stayed on the shelf, for some books remain important, life-long.
You can find Joyce here and Persia over here. You can also wait a few minutes and meet the women themselves. Joyce will be talking about Joan of Arc and Persia (to my great delight) will be talking about myths.
I won't be introducing each and every writer, so don't panic about vast numbers of posts from me explaining everything this month. Panic about other things, if you feel the need. Panic about my sense of humour, for instance: that's always something of concern. Or panic about me posting about other things. Most of the month, though, I'll let the writers speak for themselves.
Who are the two authors who are starting us off, and why have I chosen them to begin the festivities?
Joyce Chng is a Singaporean speculative fiction writer. She gets to represent the 48 (if it's still 48) countries of the Commonwealth, and she gets to represent herself and she gets to remind us all that we have shared background as well as unique background. Of the Commonwealth countries, we mostly see Australia and New Zealand, Canada and the countries that comprise the British isles. We tend to forget that each land has its own history and its own literature and its own writers. They're not secondary literatures and the writers ought never be relegated to the back room as second-cousins who are half-forgotten. They're full citizens of the literary world in their own right and we should be reading and enjoying their work. Joyce is here to remind us of that, and to lead you into her own writing and her own interest in history.
Joyce and I know each other because we both write speculative fiction, of course, but we bonded over the Middle Ages. A student just one year above me during my undergraduate days became the professor who supervised Joyce's thesis. I met Philippa again last year and was rather surprised to find she hadn't forgotten me. All our histories are personal, if you scratch the surface a little.
We tend to forget women in history and we tend to forget that there is a whole world of fascinating literature out there and we need to remember our shared lives: these are just three reasons why you get to meet Joyce first.
My second guest for today is very important to me. She didn't know that when she introduced herself a short while ago, commenting on something I did on Facebook. Persia Woolley was one of a select group of writers who remind me and who keeps teaching me that there is not merely one valid way of reading and interpreting story, and that women can have many places and play many roles. I was wrapped up in Arthuriana and she gently reminded me of bigger pictures. When I packed my books away, her writing stayed on the shelf, for some books remain important, life-long.
You can find Joyce here and Persia over here. You can also wait a few minutes and meet the women themselves. Joyce will be talking about Joan of Arc and Persia (to my great delight) will be talking about myths.
February 28, 2014
Women's History Month
It's March and so it's Women's History Month. As I often do (every year for a fair while is 'often', isn't it?) I've asked a few people to join me in celebrating it.
This year we will be joined by speculative fiction writers (of course), historical fiction writers (also of course), plus the occasional publisher and critic. By 'a few', I mean of course, lots of favourite folk. I am eschewing pictures and fancy formatting because of time constraints. I was going to apologise, but then I realised: all these wonderful people can write beautifully. They don't need pictures - they'll paint pictures with their words.
My special guest for International Women's Day is Ambelin Kwaymullina who (by no coincidence whatsoever) is also the guest of honour at the upcoming National SF Convention (Melbourne! June! be there!). I also have a special guest to start the ball rolling, but you have to wait for that. It's midnight here, and I've decided that me going to sleep will add to the narrative tension. I'll start the ball rolling later today.
Watch this space!
Special note: for Canberra people, I've been invited to be a guest at the national event on 26 March at the Albert Hall. I won't be on stage (thank goodness). I'm hoping to catch up on bunches of folks then, so if you're also there, please say 'hi.'
This year we will be joined by speculative fiction writers (of course), historical fiction writers (also of course), plus the occasional publisher and critic. By 'a few', I mean of course, lots of favourite folk. I am eschewing pictures and fancy formatting because of time constraints. I was going to apologise, but then I realised: all these wonderful people can write beautifully. They don't need pictures - they'll paint pictures with their words.
My special guest for International Women's Day is Ambelin Kwaymullina who (by no coincidence whatsoever) is also the guest of honour at the upcoming National SF Convention (Melbourne! June! be there!). I also have a special guest to start the ball rolling, but you have to wait for that. It's midnight here, and I've decided that me going to sleep will add to the narrative tension. I'll start the ball rolling later today.
Watch this space!
Special note: for Canberra people, I've been invited to be a guest at the national event on 26 March at the Albert Hall. I won't be on stage (thank goodness). I'm hoping to catch up on bunches of folks then, so if you're also there, please say 'hi.'
February 27, 2014
Questions about mothers and homemakers
I've had my time out, and I feel so much better for it. It has, however, left me with a bit of a mental puzzle and so I'm asking for thoughts.
I was thinking of stereotypes of perfect mothers and housewives. Not quite Stepford Wives, though. The warm beautiful woman who is there for everyone all the time and never has to make time for herself for she gets her satisfaction from making afternoon tea for all the neighborhood children, for instance. Or the ideal soccer Mum. There isn't one stereotype, there's a whole range of them, and I'm trying to pin them down. If I can identify enough stereotypes, then I might write them into a novel.
So... does anyone have any traits that they identify (or have seen identified in the media, in film, in fact, almost anywhere) with idea suburban mothers? Or any specific traits that indicate such motherly perfection? I ought to admit here, that my thoughts during my time out were not nice, so if you respect stereotypes of perfect mothers and homemakers, then you may not wish to volunteer anything.
This is not the seventeenth century setting - this crept up on me when I was considering what the polar opposite of Cellophane was in the world of women and some of the ramifications of the work I've been doing on the way writers build their worlds. Most people think of the polar opposite of cellophane as being fame, but I've been wondering if it isn't white picket fences - meeting so many of society's expectations that one has a clear place in the world and is fully accepted. Then I started wondering what sort of images we have in our minds that demonstrate we've met these expectations. Then I wondered how I could undermine it.
My first step is to see if I can find enough stereotypes and indications to people a whole street with these people. If I can, then I think I have something I need to write and have needed to write for a long time. As I said, It fits in with my research into worldbuilding and gender (for those who keep an eye on such things) and is, in fact, a direct consequence of my research into Gaiman. It's something I suspect he didn't address when he world built for American Gods. I want to find out the consequences of bringing it into the foreground.
I need a whole street of people who fit various stereotypes of suburban motherhood, though, if I want to explore this. One single character doesn't work. If anyone has any stereotypes (annoying, scary, charming, ubergoddess) I'd be very grateful to learn about them and the surroundings they need to create to maintain their perfection.
I was thinking of stereotypes of perfect mothers and housewives. Not quite Stepford Wives, though. The warm beautiful woman who is there for everyone all the time and never has to make time for herself for she gets her satisfaction from making afternoon tea for all the neighborhood children, for instance. Or the ideal soccer Mum. There isn't one stereotype, there's a whole range of them, and I'm trying to pin them down. If I can identify enough stereotypes, then I might write them into a novel.
So... does anyone have any traits that they identify (or have seen identified in the media, in film, in fact, almost anywhere) with idea suburban mothers? Or any specific traits that indicate such motherly perfection? I ought to admit here, that my thoughts during my time out were not nice, so if you respect stereotypes of perfect mothers and homemakers, then you may not wish to volunteer anything.
This is not the seventeenth century setting - this crept up on me when I was considering what the polar opposite of Cellophane was in the world of women and some of the ramifications of the work I've been doing on the way writers build their worlds. Most people think of the polar opposite of cellophane as being fame, but I've been wondering if it isn't white picket fences - meeting so many of society's expectations that one has a clear place in the world and is fully accepted. Then I started wondering what sort of images we have in our minds that demonstrate we've met these expectations. Then I wondered how I could undermine it.
My first step is to see if I can find enough stereotypes and indications to people a whole street with these people. If I can, then I think I have something I need to write and have needed to write for a long time. As I said, It fits in with my research into worldbuilding and gender (for those who keep an eye on such things) and is, in fact, a direct consequence of my research into Gaiman. It's something I suspect he didn't address when he world built for American Gods. I want to find out the consequences of bringing it into the foreground.
I need a whole street of people who fit various stereotypes of suburban motherhood, though, if I want to explore this. One single character doesn't work. If anyone has any stereotypes (annoying, scary, charming, ubergoddess) I'd be very grateful to learn about them and the surroundings they need to create to maintain their perfection.
February 26, 2014
gillpolack @ 2014-02-27T15:54:00
Good news about those hurty-things that are attached to my legs: no major damage from Tuesday's shoes. There is some bruising at the ankle - just where the original damage was to my left foot, though - which explains half the pain. The other half of the pain is good-news-pain, from muscles that are working properly again. The trouble with hills and steps and muscles is that muscles get tired. In other words, half my pain was from damage and half was from damage being healed. This puts me ahead of the game. It also means I've been given instructions as to precisely which shoes to wear until the bruising is healed.
There's lots else to tell, but I'm still in catch-up mode, workwise. Next time I spend most of a day travelling in the middle of a busy week, I'll have my new computer, but this time I didn't. If I had planned better, I'd be at a point in a novel where everything was on go-slow because of thinking that had to be done, and I'd tell the world I was thinking, and go sleep for two days.
Instead of sleeping for two days, I'm working in three hour blocks. In the next three hours I will beta-read an article by archaeologists, read two manga and finish the computer set-up. After dinner, my day turns to Joe Abercrombie and Raoul de Cambrai and to email catch-up.
It's all good stuff. It's just that my body says that dreaming of novels is a far, far better thing. I shall persuade my body otherwise using my evil secret weapon: strong coffee.
There's lots else to tell, but I'm still in catch-up mode, workwise. Next time I spend most of a day travelling in the middle of a busy week, I'll have my new computer, but this time I didn't. If I had planned better, I'd be at a point in a novel where everything was on go-slow because of thinking that had to be done, and I'd tell the world I was thinking, and go sleep for two days.
Instead of sleeping for two days, I'm working in three hour blocks. In the next three hours I will beta-read an article by archaeologists, read two manga and finish the computer set-up. After dinner, my day turns to Joe Abercrombie and Raoul de Cambrai and to email catch-up.
It's all good stuff. It's just that my body says that dreaming of novels is a far, far better thing. I shall persuade my body otherwise using my evil secret weapon: strong coffee.
gillpolack @ 2014-02-26T23:52:00
Focus would be my best friend, but I lost it on a train in Sydney, sometime yesterday.
Also, today's been one of those scatty days that require constant replanning. I may not get all of Friday off after all, but I'll get some, and I get a couple of extra treats on Saturday morning. And... I gave into necessity (my finances don't like me but the rest of me is very smug) and I now own an ASUS transformer notebook.
I've still got to download a couple of programs, but I've almost got the fully functional portable office set up again. My portable office still fits into my handbag, but it now comprises camera, mobile phone, e-reader*, computer, paper, pen and various USB sticks. The USB sticks contain 16,000 photographs, an as-yet-uncounted (for they're still a bit disordered) number of books and, naturally, all my work.
I didn't mean to do this today. I didn't really have time to do this today. But I realised that I need that computer if I'm going to keep up the interesting life I lead. I can now work in libraries and on busses and trains and planes again, and I can work in front of the TV (the TV work was all paper-based and I don't always have paper-based work) and I can teach with pictures again (my Wednesday class needed that resource today) and I can carry my office almost anywhere.
In other news, I think I've worked out what to do about a short story that needed solutions. Now I need to find time to write said solutions. Not this week, I fear.
There is no other news. Decisions are being made on all sorts of aspects of my life, but I won't know the answers until next week for some and later in the year for others. I'm just about to empower myself by finishing the proofreading. That's a decision I *can* take and it will mean my Rethinking History article will be done and dusted and that I'll be able to start writing up the Abercrombie chapter.
The power of words is mine. And the power to check for typesetting errors is mine. These and my storm sense are my superpowers of the week.
*The e-reader *is* the computer - for it has a detachable touchscreen. I was making a joke. My jokes today do not work.
Also, today's been one of those scatty days that require constant replanning. I may not get all of Friday off after all, but I'll get some, and I get a couple of extra treats on Saturday morning. And... I gave into necessity (my finances don't like me but the rest of me is very smug) and I now own an ASUS transformer notebook.
I've still got to download a couple of programs, but I've almost got the fully functional portable office set up again. My portable office still fits into my handbag, but it now comprises camera, mobile phone, e-reader*, computer, paper, pen and various USB sticks. The USB sticks contain 16,000 photographs, an as-yet-uncounted (for they're still a bit disordered) number of books and, naturally, all my work.
I didn't mean to do this today. I didn't really have time to do this today. But I realised that I need that computer if I'm going to keep up the interesting life I lead. I can now work in libraries and on busses and trains and planes again, and I can work in front of the TV (the TV work was all paper-based and I don't always have paper-based work) and I can teach with pictures again (my Wednesday class needed that resource today) and I can carry my office almost anywhere.
In other news, I think I've worked out what to do about a short story that needed solutions. Now I need to find time to write said solutions. Not this week, I fear.
There is no other news. Decisions are being made on all sorts of aspects of my life, but I won't know the answers until next week for some and later in the year for others. I'm just about to empower myself by finishing the proofreading. That's a decision I *can* take and it will mean my Rethinking History article will be done and dusted and that I'll be able to start writing up the Abercrombie chapter.
The power of words is mine. And the power to check for typesetting errors is mine. These and my storm sense are my superpowers of the week.
*The e-reader *is* the computer - for it has a detachable touchscreen. I was making a joke. My jokes today do not work.
February 25, 2014
gillpolack @ 2014-02-26T08:57:00
I'm having a quiet cuppa before everything gets busy today, so I thought I'd post. The shoes that caused me so much grief yesterday will have to find a new home, but they were so expensive originally that I keep thinking "I can't". I bought them when I was so very ill and my feet were so very unpredictable in size, and they adjust to meet a range of shoe sizes. The problem is that the adjusting straps are at the wrong places for my square feet and so press in when they shouldn't or fly apart when they shouldn't. They're amazingly comfortable for just wearing, however. If I had to simply stand, they'd support me comfortably for hours. It's only when I try to walk that they do all these things. They're made for slightly narrower feet than mine.
I shall start a new box for thoughtful disposal to a suitable charity. I will also hunt out shoes for today, since today, too, contains much walking. Thank goodness I see the physio tomorrow - if any of this is real damage (which I suspect it's not) she will be able to look at it.
In other news, I want to teach writing by the lakeside today, and how photos can work as writing prompts and tools for world building. The rain that started late yesterday and was supposed to be clear by now is lingering. I've given it Evil Teacher looks to scare it on its way, but it may not be gone in time.
My life isn't as mundane as it sounds right now. I'm simply focussing on the mundane for it helps to stop panic. This is quite probably the week when things are set for Schroedinger 's Gillian's status to be discovered. Except that it could also be the week when so many things fall through that her status remains still unknowable. In fact, this week I'm Schroedinger's duck, for underneath the surface my feet are paddling madly. Schroedinger's superstitious duck, because I don't want to talk too much about the paddling or about the decisions of others lest I tempt fate.
Now I really, really want a cartoon of Schroedinger's superstitious duck, to put on my wall for weeks like this. Instead, I think my students today will score a visit from Evil Teacher: I'll make them write about it.
I shall start a new box for thoughtful disposal to a suitable charity. I will also hunt out shoes for today, since today, too, contains much walking. Thank goodness I see the physio tomorrow - if any of this is real damage (which I suspect it's not) she will be able to look at it.
In other news, I want to teach writing by the lakeside today, and how photos can work as writing prompts and tools for world building. The rain that started late yesterday and was supposed to be clear by now is lingering. I've given it Evil Teacher looks to scare it on its way, but it may not be gone in time.
My life isn't as mundane as it sounds right now. I'm simply focussing on the mundane for it helps to stop panic. This is quite probably the week when things are set for Schroedinger 's Gillian's status to be discovered. Except that it could also be the week when so many things fall through that her status remains still unknowable. In fact, this week I'm Schroedinger's duck, for underneath the surface my feet are paddling madly. Schroedinger's superstitious duck, because I don't want to talk too much about the paddling or about the decisions of others lest I tempt fate.
Now I really, really want a cartoon of Schroedinger's superstitious duck, to put on my wall for weeks like this. Instead, I think my students today will score a visit from Evil Teacher: I'll make them write about it.
February 24, 2014
gillpolack @ 2014-02-25T18:44:00
I'm two thirds of the way through my curious week. In honour of this, let me give you some statistics from today:
one shopping trip, one interview, one meal, one cup of tea, one headache, one (minor) asthma attack
two cups of coffee, two lifts from friends, two airplane rides, two sore feet, two cities
three snacks
four train rides
thirty-one pieces of paper
fifty-six photographs
still to come today:
one meeting, one batch of proofreading (the Rethinking History article is almost there!), one foot-soak
eleven emails
I'm sure there are other statistics I could give you, but that's enough. I get time out for good behaviour on Friday, maybe. I will have earned it!
one shopping trip, one interview, one meal, one cup of tea, one headache, one (minor) asthma attack
two cups of coffee, two lifts from friends, two airplane rides, two sore feet, two cities
three snacks
four train rides
thirty-one pieces of paper
fifty-six photographs
still to come today:
one meeting, one batch of proofreading (the Rethinking History article is almost there!), one foot-soak
eleven emails
I'm sure there are other statistics I could give you, but that's enough. I get time out for good behaviour on Friday, maybe. I will have earned it!
February 23, 2014
gillpolack @ 2014-02-24T10:02:00
Today is a day of chunks. This morning I'm revising and thinking and hopefully adding some words to stuff that then gets emailed and forgotten about for a few months. I don't think it's ready. I don't think it will ever be ready. I think I need to start from scratch and re-think and do an entirely different project.
This is the subject I've been researching for a decade, but a good half of it can't make the book (because otherwise the book would be exceptionally stupid) and something deep inside me has decided that sulking about the missing research is a good idea. Not a useful response. I don't need to put the book on hold - I just need to get these chapters finished and off.
It's not even a rational response. The unwritten half is, you see the stuff I was creating courses on. It's ready for teaching, and my sulking interior ought to know this, for I've trialled it and tested it and know what I'm doing. The idiot part of my interior wants it in the book, though, and is out of sorts because I won't put it in the book because it JUST DOESN'T BELONG THERE (The shouting was not at you, it was at my internal self).
I need to finish this before the physio, and after the physio I need to finish preparing for tomorrow and I also need to finish preparing for teaching. Then I need to teach.
By the time I finish all this, it will be bedtime. I have no time for a sulking inner self. So hurry up, interior, and realise that no matter how wonderfully gamechanging the work I've done is for writers, I will not be writing about it yet.
I shall pacify myself into somnolence by adding cream to my coffee. If it doesn't work, at least I will be drinking coffee with cream. I'll also wear my reading glasses. *That* should intimidate my inner self into silence.
This is the subject I've been researching for a decade, but a good half of it can't make the book (because otherwise the book would be exceptionally stupid) and something deep inside me has decided that sulking about the missing research is a good idea. Not a useful response. I don't need to put the book on hold - I just need to get these chapters finished and off.
It's not even a rational response. The unwritten half is, you see the stuff I was creating courses on. It's ready for teaching, and my sulking interior ought to know this, for I've trialled it and tested it and know what I'm doing. The idiot part of my interior wants it in the book, though, and is out of sorts because I won't put it in the book because it JUST DOESN'T BELONG THERE (The shouting was not at you, it was at my internal self).
I need to finish this before the physio, and after the physio I need to finish preparing for tomorrow and I also need to finish preparing for teaching. Then I need to teach.
By the time I finish all this, it will be bedtime. I have no time for a sulking inner self. So hurry up, interior, and realise that no matter how wonderfully gamechanging the work I've done is for writers, I will not be writing about it yet.
I shall pacify myself into somnolence by adding cream to my coffee. If it doesn't work, at least I will be drinking coffee with cream. I'll also wear my reading glasses. *That* should intimidate my inner self into silence.
February 22, 2014
gillpolack @ 2014-02-23T12:17:00
At the market this morning we bought the remainder of the makings for chilli (the stuff that wasn't on my shelves already) and we made ourselves a big pot while watching DS9. By 'a big pot' I mean 10-11 meals worth of 'big.' My dinner is sorted for tomorrow (and maybe for the night after), which is good, given I'm in and out in bizarre ways tomorrow. Also, the kindness of friends will make my Tuesday far less complicated than it looked this time yesterday. I get everywhere I need to go and I get the remainder of my shopping done. I was thinking that I'd have to choose between one and the other.
I've already read my dose of Abercrombie for today. This means I'm 2/3 of the way through my close reading and my grim chapter is taking shape nicely. For my next trick, I shall do the second half of my literature check. And after that, I shall leave the chapter alone for the day (poor chapter) and work on the book.
I say all this with great confidence, even though I'm at the stage with the book where I'm really not sure I want to ever see it again.
There are two tricks I use to get past that stage. One is to leave it alone for a fortnight, which is not an option, for if I do that then things could get really funky in a fortnight (or they may not, but if I leave work then I'll lay odds they will) and the other is to get the d* thing out of the way. When the NF is out of the way, I can get back to the seventeenth century, which is a definite inducement. And I'll be able to get back there with a profound understanding of how writers use history in their fiction and I will be able to apply the techniques I've been analysing. That will give me a moment when everything comes together artistically, to match the moment earlier this week when it all came together intellectually. I'm looking forward to this, but it might be a way away.
My trouble is the same as it always is with large non-fiction projects. I'm quite happy up to the stage where I've demonstrated everything satisfactorily to myself and I'm able to teach it. Everything after that is icing on the cake. But people want to read this book (or so they keep saying), so the icing is an important part of the cake and so... yes, I will finish those chapters. Now. The files are open on my computer, nagging me...
It's not writing from scratch. I have entered all my notes, and they're mostly ordered. So it's just a matter of knuckling down and doing it. I'll report on my progress later tonight, to keep myself honest.
I've already read my dose of Abercrombie for today. This means I'm 2/3 of the way through my close reading and my grim chapter is taking shape nicely. For my next trick, I shall do the second half of my literature check. And after that, I shall leave the chapter alone for the day (poor chapter) and work on the book.
I say all this with great confidence, even though I'm at the stage with the book where I'm really not sure I want to ever see it again.
There are two tricks I use to get past that stage. One is to leave it alone for a fortnight, which is not an option, for if I do that then things could get really funky in a fortnight (or they may not, but if I leave work then I'll lay odds they will) and the other is to get the d* thing out of the way. When the NF is out of the way, I can get back to the seventeenth century, which is a definite inducement. And I'll be able to get back there with a profound understanding of how writers use history in their fiction and I will be able to apply the techniques I've been analysing. That will give me a moment when everything comes together artistically, to match the moment earlier this week when it all came together intellectually. I'm looking forward to this, but it might be a way away.
My trouble is the same as it always is with large non-fiction projects. I'm quite happy up to the stage where I've demonstrated everything satisfactorily to myself and I'm able to teach it. Everything after that is icing on the cake. But people want to read this book (or so they keep saying), so the icing is an important part of the cake and so... yes, I will finish those chapters. Now. The files are open on my computer, nagging me...
It's not writing from scratch. I have entered all my notes, and they're mostly ordered. So it's just a matter of knuckling down and doing it. I'll report on my progress later tonight, to keep myself honest.
