heh.

toothpastefordinner.com

the random annoying carrie bradshaw post (without the annoying rhetorical questions)

I've deleted this post because the thought of it being here was depressing me.

business, advising, nanowrimo

I sat down with my advisor yesterday to work out my schedule for next semester. I've been pretty stressed lately, as those of you who are waiting for return phone calls (or to talk to me on the phone for more than 30 seconds) probably have realized. I've been at least committing myself to work, in that even if it means staring at one word in a poem for ten minutes, or actively journaling on the escalator to the Metro, or clicking around on the Internet to find different interpretations of Moby-Dick, I work. For about 12 hours a day, including classes. At my desk, at the dining room table, on the couch, at the library, on the roof, on the quad, in the department lounge. Anyway, I'm having a rough week, because for all the staring and clicking and reading I do, I still don't understand this poem I presented on today in one of my literature classes. But I had a meeting scheduled for yesterday, and I went, and the conversation went something like this.

Denise: How are you?
Me: I'm all right, how are you?
Denise: I'm good. You're all right?
Me: Yep.
Denise: What's wrong?
Me: Oh, you know...
Denise: Overwhelmed?
Me: Yes.
Denise: Is it the lit. classes?
Me: It's totally the lit. classes.

She was really supportive, and basically said if I fail this class, it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. Even if I get an A in her class, a B in the other class, and a C in this awful class, I'll still have the B average I need to maintain. She told me I'm a good student. Professor Sha told me I'm a conscientious student. He even emailed me today after my presentation to tell me I did well.

I think what I'm doing by throwing myself into work, even in the classes I've been doing well in since the beginning of the semester, is trying to be the student my professors think I am. I act conscientious, but am I really conscientious? I guess I'll have to be. I'm feeling more and more like I have to prove myself, my worth in the program. Some people don't ever prove that worth, I suppose. I don't want to be one of those people.

Along with the specific expectations, of what we're supposed to turn in, the classes we're supposed to take, the events we're supposed to attend, there's this idea that we're supposed to be writers now. Some people, I'd imagine, leave the program and never write again ever.

I don't want to be one of those people. I think to avoid that you have to really want it though, and I'm trying to devote as much time as possible to writing.

That's part of the reason I signed up for National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), where you're expected to write 50,000 words between November 1 and November 30. The point is quantity, not quality. The 50,000 words are going to be crap. Check out the website at nanowrimo.org if you're interested in learning more, and I'll update here with my status as the time allows.

Yeah, I know what you're thinking. You're at school for 12 hours a day, Jenny. How does this fit in?

I'm not sure. I guess I'll have to be more organized. And as I was discussing with another participant today, even if we get 25,000 words done it'll be worth it. But I really do need this.

Less than two months....the semester will be over...and I'll be the happiest person alive.

it's 2 am, i must be lonely. or something like that.

I've eaten so much candy corn I think it's coming out of my pores.

I'm looking forward to being in Florida in December. I want to ride roller coasters and wear sandals.

I bought a new coat. I call it my grown-up coat because it isn't bright red, but it's also courdoroy and a peacoat so when I pair it with a red scarf and knit cap I still end up looking like a cartoon character. I should buy some mittens.

And a button fell off today.

I wish I'd ever learned to work for more than 30 minutes at a time. Read for 30 minutes. Get coffee. Write for 30 minutes. Go to the bathroom. Research for 30 minutes. Check email. Read something else for 30 minutes. Take a walk. It's reminding me of....you know. A boring office job.

I saw a cat tonight that looked just like Tiger Lily. I sat in the bushes outside my apartment for about five minutes while we had a staring contest. When she jumped around chasing whatever she was chasing, she looked like a dolphin leaping out of the water and diving back in.

So I was thinking about dolphins, then I was thinking about manatees. I miss manatees. And alligators. And armadillos. And love bugs. And the family of cranes at UCF. Weird how you can miss what you never saw.

I still haven't seen the pandas at the zoo.

What is today? Tuesday?

I wish I had more of a social life developed. Building one from scratch is probably the most painful experience ever. Did you know that couples prefer to hang out with other couples? This is a new development for me. I've never tried to hang out with adult couples, but now I'm on to their game. It's not the coat, it's having to deal with this that makes me a grown-up.

I wish I was the kind of person who could throw myself into academics.

I miss having hours of free time to talk on the phone.

Remember when I was working and going to school full time?

I know, I know. I'm terrible at conclusions.

uh oh.

A couple of weeks ago I mentioned to my writing professor that I wanted to start working on a novel but hadn't been able to yet. He pointed out that I don't even read novels, I prefer short stories (amazing how quickly you can get to know someone), so I couldn't be expected to write one. You write what you read, he said.

This weekend, as it turns out, I spent my Saturday night reading a book called My Mentor by a man named Alec Wilkinson, who is coming to school on Wednesday as part of our Visiting Writers Series. I somehow am about halfway through it after just starting it yesterday, which is rare for me with something that isn't segmented. (I'm halfway through it but still in the first chapter.)

The book is about Wilkinson's relationship with the writer William Maxwell, who was a friend of his father and helped him as he began a career in writing. The book is nonfiction, and though I haven't read anything significant of Maxwell's before (the next book in my pile is by him), I'm fascinated by Wilkinson's description of him, how he can write such a captivating history without resorting to biography, and how I'm personally responding as a reader to a story I wasn't even interested in when I started reading.

Granted, I started reading this book because I had to. But that already is saying a lot, because (gasp) I don't always read everything I'm told. What is freaking incredible is that I'm still reading it, and even in the few seconds it took my computer to wake up before I started writing this, I had it in one hand and read about a paragraph.

As it turns out, yeah, I'm crazy about good nonfiction.

You write what you read, eh? I might be in the wrong genre.

Fortunately my program doesn't require you stick with just one, though they would prefer your thesis not be a mix of fiction and nonfiction unless there's some coherent theme. I have to register for classes in a couple of weeks though, and I guess only time will tell if I end up taking a fiction class again next semester.

I'll keep you posted, cyberspace.