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Mar. 28th, 2009 11:47 amToday is a day of many small things finished. Or it will be, around midnight. Right now it's only a few small things finished.
I'm not even going to contemplate the things I have done. They're in my past. Only five minutes in my past, but still gone (hopefully forever). Except for the email that said "That's a good idea for a paper for this volume - you have until 15 April." - that won't be gone for a week.
The rest of the day comprises doing that draft menu for Conflux (which is not a little thing, but I can fool myself if I pretend very hard), creating some course outlines for Semester 2 (1 heroic, 2 Medieval and one on writing skills), submitting a manuscript (semi-scholarly - I have put this off for *months*), commenting on something (this one has only been waiting weeks), class handouts for Tuesday and... oops, I forgot to write the rest down. I know the not-written-down bits included more work on my cupboard, since all the shelves have to be relined before Passover. They also included more work.
The upside of not being mobile is I am pretty well tied to my desk and so I am forced to do things. I'm getting a break in an hour, to check out regional food with friends. Friends with cars and cheering temperaments, what's more.
I intended to get a break last night, but someone has put out a musical lure. It was so much fun, but it's definitely work-related. I'm not writing music, you'll be relieved to know. Or singing it. You may have to wait a few months to find what the music is about. Yep, it's another of those secrets that will one day emerge. Speaking of which, there is another anthology in the works. Watch this space. Watch it for a fair while, since two other books have to come first. Just sit at your computer and don't move for 8 months. Don't even flicker an eyelash.
PS Blame![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
desperance for my sudden shift in mood. I cooked my oxtail following his suggestions. Except I added grains of paradise and bush tomato and Indian bay and forest berry herb and a giant Koraima cardamom pod. I finished off most of my vegies in it: the last of my heritage carrots and most of my garlic and onion. I shall never make oxtail soup again. A rich brothy stew , extraordinarily yummy, warming and healthy, is way superior and all I have to do is make noodles or rice and I have dinner through this difficult period.
PPS Did I ever remember to post that my Conflux speech was printed in the most recent Steam Engine Time? I think you can find it here. That edition of SET is worth reading just for the letter by Michael Moorcock. I especially like this bit: "One thing about the drunken talk I gave at an SF convention, quoted, is that I wasn’t so much posing as drunk or whatever; I was getting desperately bored with the whole thing." He's pointing out a flaw with ascribing motives with insufficient evidence. The historian-me needs to memorise his example and keep it in mind. It's so easy to have theories that go beyond evidence's capacity to support.
I'm not even going to contemplate the things I have done. They're in my past. Only five minutes in my past, but still gone (hopefully forever). Except for the email that said "That's a good idea for a paper for this volume - you have until 15 April." - that won't be gone for a week.
The rest of the day comprises doing that draft menu for Conflux (which is not a little thing, but I can fool myself if I pretend very hard), creating some course outlines for Semester 2 (1 heroic, 2 Medieval and one on writing skills), submitting a manuscript (semi-scholarly - I have put this off for *months*), commenting on something (this one has only been waiting weeks), class handouts for Tuesday and... oops, I forgot to write the rest down. I know the not-written-down bits included more work on my cupboard, since all the shelves have to be relined before Passover. They also included more work.
The upside of not being mobile is I am pretty well tied to my desk and so I am forced to do things. I'm getting a break in an hour, to check out regional food with friends. Friends with cars and cheering temperaments, what's more.
I intended to get a break last night, but someone has put out a musical lure. It was so much fun, but it's definitely work-related. I'm not writing music, you'll be relieved to know. Or singing it. You may have to wait a few months to find what the music is about. Yep, it's another of those secrets that will one day emerge. Speaking of which, there is another anthology in the works. Watch this space. Watch it for a fair while, since two other books have to come first. Just sit at your computer and don't move for 8 months. Don't even flicker an eyelash.
PS Blame
desperance for my sudden shift in mood. I cooked my oxtail following his suggestions. Except I added grains of paradise and bush tomato and Indian bay and forest berry herb and a giant Koraima cardamom pod. I finished off most of my vegies in it: the last of my heritage carrots and most of my garlic and onion. I shall never make oxtail soup again. A rich brothy stew , extraordinarily yummy, warming and healthy, is way superior and all I have to do is make noodles or rice and I have dinner through this difficult period.PPS Did I ever remember to post that my Conflux speech was printed in the most recent Steam Engine Time? I think you can find it here. That edition of SET is worth reading just for the letter by Michael Moorcock. I especially like this bit: "One thing about the drunken talk I gave at an SF convention, quoted, is that I wasn’t so much posing as drunk or whatever; I was getting desperately bored with the whole thing." He's pointing out a flaw with ascribing motives with insufficient evidence. The historian-me needs to memorise his example and keep it in mind. It's so easy to have theories that go beyond evidence's capacity to support.