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THINGS HAVE CHANGED:

Since I am no longer a professor in the classroom, this blog is changing focus. (I may at some future date change platforms, too, but not yet). I am now (as of May 2019) playing around with the idea of using this blog as a place to talk about the struggles of writing creatively. Those of you who have been following (or dipping in periodically) know that I've already been doing a little of that, but now the change is official. I don't write every day--yet--so I won't post to the blog every day--yet. But please do check in from time to time, if you're interested in this new phase in my life.


Hi! And you are...?

I am interested to see the fluctuation in my readers--but I don't know who is reading the blog, how you found it, and why you find it interesting. I'd love to hear from you! Please feel free to use the "comment" box at the end of any particular post to let me know what brought you to this page--and what keeps you coming back for more (if you do).





Monday, February 9, 2015

It's just slow

I find I'm struggling quite a bit with a frustration about how slow this process is. I like the work rhythm, though today's "brain break" turned into "nope, I hit the wall," truncating the effective work time significantly. But I like that I'm in a rhythm of read a little, write a little--as well as read psych, read about Le Guin--so my brain never feels like it's silting up with too much in any one area. I also like the work at home/work at a coffee house rhythm: I can appreciate both the days I spend not at home and the days when I don't leave the nest--except, as in today, to get some exercise and fresh air.

But it's slow. It's just really slow. I'm telling myself what I was telling Paul last semester: it all counts as work--and I've done a pretty good job so far in terms of keeping myself from ridiculous distractions. OK, I spent longer than I should have a few mornings ago looking for purple wool yarn online, but it didn't get too out of control. And I do have to recognize that when my mental processes start to freeze up (which usually manifests itself in an inability to concentrate on what I'm reading), it's time to either write, if I have something in my head ready to go onto "paper" or,  barring that, to pack it in.

I don't have a whole lot else to report today. I'm finding many references to books that I want to own: books that have been out of print for a long time (a lot of the scholarship I'm interested was written 30 or more years ago). I'm making notes of the specific items I want to find at the New York Public Library (though I realize I haven't fully explored the possibilities of inter-library loan). I finished going through one of the books I already have at home. I started another. I'm saving the second psych article I have to read for Wednesday's class until Wednesday.

I'm tired. I'm hungry. I'm going to take care of the second of those needs first, but that's all I'm thinking about now: taking care of the human animal (the feline animals, too, but the human animal probably will get first dibs.

And tomorrow is another day.

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