I've broken the number one rule for new bloggers--I stopped posting altogether. It wasn't the usual "oops, forgot about it" thing that happens with any kind of journaling, but mainly the fact that my computer died for good. And I could have made time to go to the library and blog from there, but between the end of the semester and Feisty Boy and I hitting a very rough patch, I just couldn't. And then I went on vacation with the lovely Kate, to the land of no wireless. I didn't even get cell phone reception. It was most enjoyable, but I'm glad to be back and to be the propietor of a shiny new MacBook.
Summer's lazy, despite my intentions to get work done. Officially, I'm doing research full time. But between my part-time receptionist gig and recovering from a killer semester, I'm only devoting a couple of hours to it a day. I keep telling myself this will all change come Monday, when I start summer school. Sure, that means less time in my day, but it'll be more structured. I'm not so great at that self-discipline thing.
I'm living in an apartment complex almost exclusively populated by students. So, naturally, I feel like a loser for staying in on a Friday night while I can hear music blasting everywhere and see people hanging out on the lawn. My two roommates are away for the week and other than them I don't anyone too well here. Feisty Boy lives here during the school year, so he's well-acquainted with this crowd, but, alas, he's somewhere in Asia doin' his thing. Which makes it difficult for us to have any sort of conversation. Which is not good because, a) I miss him and b) we really need to talk. He objected to something I posted online. I am upset that the first e-mail I get from him in a long time is all about that posting. He's totally justified in his objection, but I can't get over the fact that he can take the time to go see what new stuff I've put up but not to write me a decent e-mail. I suppose we're just in different wavelengths; he doesn't realize that I wake up every morning hoping for a message from him.
Friday, June 23, 2006
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Monday, April 10, 2006
Naivete
I just got back from a seminar on the publishing industry that was required for my creative writing class. The panel was composed of three people: an editor at a major publishing house, an ex-literary agent that now works as a publishing consultant, and my professor (a published writer, naturally). The mantra of the night was "I don't want you to get depressed but..." as they revealed to us all the insider info about "dark side" of getting a book in print.
Perhaps I'm overly cynical and my cynicism makes me see things a certain way. I'm only familiar with the publishing industry as an avid reader and a creative writing minor who has been published by a small university press (in a foreign country, no less) and got "paid" in copies of the book. Which is to say, not very familar at all. But I know all too well that no, it's not really about the art. That yes, you need an agent if you want your book to go anywhere. And, of course, the big one: that writers don't make a lot of money.
I feel bad for those who, unlike me, did walk out of the seminar depressed. Because if their lifelong dream is to publish and they're just now learning the hard truth, they haven't done their homework. And if they haven't done it and thus don't seem to be the type that delves deeply into things, I wonder if they have what it takes to bear the blows that the publishing industry surely will dole out.
I'm not saying that they will give up for sure. I'm just saddened at seeing so many bright-eyed and bushy-tailed people my age walk into the room tonight only to leave three hours later looking like all their hopes for the future have been destroyed.
Feisty Boy asked when my first book is coming out. It'll have to wait until after the dissertation, that's for damn sure.
Perhaps I'm overly cynical and my cynicism makes me see things a certain way. I'm only familiar with the publishing industry as an avid reader and a creative writing minor who has been published by a small university press (in a foreign country, no less) and got "paid" in copies of the book. Which is to say, not very familar at all. But I know all too well that no, it's not really about the art. That yes, you need an agent if you want your book to go anywhere. And, of course, the big one: that writers don't make a lot of money.
I feel bad for those who, unlike me, did walk out of the seminar depressed. Because if their lifelong dream is to publish and they're just now learning the hard truth, they haven't done their homework. And if they haven't done it and thus don't seem to be the type that delves deeply into things, I wonder if they have what it takes to bear the blows that the publishing industry surely will dole out.
I'm not saying that they will give up for sure. I'm just saddened at seeing so many bright-eyed and bushy-tailed people my age walk into the room tonight only to leave three hours later looking like all their hopes for the future have been destroyed.
Feisty Boy asked when my first book is coming out. It'll have to wait until after the dissertation, that's for damn sure.
Saturday, April 08, 2006
Rainy Saturday Night
First things first: my hard drive arrived, I've set it up, and I'm now typing from My Very Own Computer (v. 2.0). I don't have Office installed, though, since I let one of my pals who is abroad this semester borrow my installation CDs and she never gave them back. I forgot all about it, actually, until a few hours ago as I frantically went through the box where I keep all things computer. I need my MS Word--it's April and pages and pages of final papers loom ahead. But never fear, Feisty Dad has come to the rescue, bless his heart. He wanted to reimburse me for the hard drive, which I refused to accept. I have complicated feelings about my dad's insistence on being the protector/provider. But my issues aren't so deep-seated that I couldn't take the $70 for a deeply-discounted (I love being a student) Office 2003 Standard that he offered. I get my Word and he gets to sleep at night, knowing that I'm not typing papers in a seedy, dark library (the man has interesting fears).
Yesterday, Feisty Boy and I took the day off to hit some museums. Neither of us has class or work on Fridays (or, in my case, on this particular Friday), but it's hard not to give in to the pressure-cooker atmosphere on campus these days and just stay in to do homework. We had a most pleasant day, although we were far too ambitious in our planning and ended up rushing a bit to try and get in what we really wanted/needed to see. It's always fun to see art with the Boy, who is an artist himself and has some formal training in art history, which I sorely lack.
We also saw Body Worlds. I was blown away. It's worth every penny, and then some. I thought they did an excellent job of conveying the greatness of the human body without making the exhibit morbid or sensational. The thought that all those bodies were once people was hard to stomach at first, but it was precisely that they had been alive once that gave the exhbit it's power. However, I was bothered by the lack of female bodies--which, granted, could be attributed to the people who decided to donate their bodies to science. But the fact that the "model" patient in medicine is almost always male made that a bit suspect. Also, the one pregnant woman on display was on her side, leaning on her shoulder, in a pose reminscent of a porn mag centerfold. It seemed unnecessary; other poses could have been chosen to give a good view of the fetus inside her.
After the museums, Feisty Boy went away on an all-weekend seminar to prepare for the research he'll be doing all summer. I assumed he'd be too busy to call and we'd made plans to talk on Sunday night, so it was a great surprise when he called after dinner tonight. He sounds incredibly excited about what he's experienced so far. I love him and his nerdiness and I'll miss him when he goes off to a foreign land to research while I sit in the library here. Oh, I am excited about my own research; I can hardly wait to get started. But why do his interests have to take him so far away?
I'm making myself some tea and then I'll settle in bed with some reading. Simone de Beauvoir, whom I love but is required for class, or the trashy novel I got for my birthday?
Yesterday, Feisty Boy and I took the day off to hit some museums. Neither of us has class or work on Fridays (or, in my case, on this particular Friday), but it's hard not to give in to the pressure-cooker atmosphere on campus these days and just stay in to do homework. We had a most pleasant day, although we were far too ambitious in our planning and ended up rushing a bit to try and get in what we really wanted/needed to see. It's always fun to see art with the Boy, who is an artist himself and has some formal training in art history, which I sorely lack.
We also saw Body Worlds. I was blown away. It's worth every penny, and then some. I thought they did an excellent job of conveying the greatness of the human body without making the exhibit morbid or sensational. The thought that all those bodies were once people was hard to stomach at first, but it was precisely that they had been alive once that gave the exhbit it's power. However, I was bothered by the lack of female bodies--which, granted, could be attributed to the people who decided to donate their bodies to science. But the fact that the "model" patient in medicine is almost always male made that a bit suspect. Also, the one pregnant woman on display was on her side, leaning on her shoulder, in a pose reminscent of a porn mag centerfold. It seemed unnecessary; other poses could have been chosen to give a good view of the fetus inside her.
After the museums, Feisty Boy went away on an all-weekend seminar to prepare for the research he'll be doing all summer. I assumed he'd be too busy to call and we'd made plans to talk on Sunday night, so it was a great surprise when he called after dinner tonight. He sounds incredibly excited about what he's experienced so far. I love him and his nerdiness and I'll miss him when he goes off to a foreign land to research while I sit in the library here. Oh, I am excited about my own research; I can hardly wait to get started. But why do his interests have to take him so far away?
I'm making myself some tea and then I'll settle in bed with some reading. Simone de Beauvoir, whom I love but is required for class, or the trashy novel I got for my birthday?
Thursday, April 06, 2006
New Beginnings
My computer's hard drive up and died yesterday. We've had long, complicated relationship, my hard drive and I. It'd been having problems since February of last year, but I first saw the Windows' Blue Screen of Doom on Tuesday. Now, it's gone.
Losing all of my files (most were backed up--don't worry!) feels strangely cathartic. I was figuratively walking on tiptoes around my computer--not daring to use iTunes, where I have most of my music, because that'd make it crash. Now, I can start anew, with no trojans and no corrupted copy of Acrobat Reader.
It'd be nice if I could afford a new laptop. Maybe I'd even make the big switch to a Mac, which doesn't seem as daunting now that I work with Macs regularly. But, alas, I can't afford it. I hope Dell ships me my shiny new hard drive soon.
Losing all of my files (most were backed up--don't worry!) feels strangely cathartic. I was figuratively walking on tiptoes around my computer--not daring to use iTunes, where I have most of my music, because that'd make it crash. Now, I can start anew, with no trojans and no corrupted copy of Acrobat Reader.
It'd be nice if I could afford a new laptop. Maybe I'd even make the big switch to a Mac, which doesn't seem as daunting now that I work with Macs regularly. But, alas, I can't afford it. I hope Dell ships me my shiny new hard drive soon.
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