And by that extension, I ain't a writer if I don't, you know, write.
It's that point in the quarter where things are letting up a little. I have 57 students and I read 2-3 things from them every week, with 2-3 of those things requiring (sometimes) comments and feedback. It's a little like a puppy mill, only with words. Sometimes the feedback is conferences, which is both less and more exhausting, but does not mean working nights and weekends. But they don't need me as much right now, and so my brain (which wants nothing more taxing than my knitting and something on Netflix) can consider its own wordish obligations.
We shall not speak of fiction. Not right now. Ideas are percolating, slowly. I am reading, actual research. I should probably be taking notes, but since the book is hardcopy and we own it, I will probably just rifle through it when I need a detail.
That's a downside to the e-book. You can mark the pages, yeah, and even annotate, but it's not as conducive to indexing for me, who learned to index with the cards that bear that moniker, and a pen, and all that. O technology, how you have freed us! But also, how I have learned to prefer pens for some purposes.
Especially since my pen is a pink aluminum Smith and Wesson (SERIOUSLY) with a glass-breaker on one end and a stylus tip on the other. How can you not write with a pen like that? The iPad stares on, jealous.
Anyway, major project may begin in spring quarter, when I am down to 38 students. And maybe also done with Dragon Age 3 because, well, that needs playin'. The sad part is that I've had that game sitting on the kitchen table since release day, and I haven't even popped it into the Xbox yet. No time, I tell myself, and I am being good and responsible and refusing to embark on a 60+ hour investment of my energy before I am done with all the knitting for the holidays, and also my classes.
But really, I suspect I'm a little chemically flat right now (because depression is far more serious and crippling than this, because I can overcome this, to some extent, with raw will) and I don't have the emotional energy to invest in the story.
Okay, maybe that does count as depression. I can point to Reasons(tm) and I know it's cyclical (although it's getting worse, as I age), and I also know that means the end is drawing nigh-ish. So fuck you, biochemistry. I can wait you out. I didn't wanna start DA:I until Thursday, anyway.
It's super warm and super dry today--that watery sun that's hot when you're in it directly and abruptly not the moment you hit shade or a good blast of wind, of which there is no shortage--and Idris is being more of an idiot than usual. He's attacking my hand, as I type, because if I am standing here I could just as well be over there playing with him. And because my cat plays fetch better than any dog I've ever had, I am going to go do that. It makes us both happy.