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Jun. 9th, 2011 02:12 pmI'm on the verge of winning the paper war. I find myself saying this to myself very forcefully and very frequently today.
I *must* be on the verge of winning, because if I'm not I'm possibly in a spot of bother.
In front of me now are my notes for the current article/chapter. Two piles, one being used and the other still to be written up. The former is bigger than the latter and each time I turn over a new note, I rethink where it needs to go and what it needs to do. The creature from somewhere dark and dank is being written, but it's being recalcitrant at every stage.
On the back of my armchair is a complete print out of the time travellers' aspects of the novel (about 40,000 words), already covered with scribbles. Next to it is a pile of very pretty paper clips (blue and pink and purple and red) because I gave up on slipping the notes into place at the computer (my eyes hurt that day and I had some kind of thinker's block) and am doing it on the armchair. The method works. I have attached ten notes neatly to the back of appropriate pages, to be written up when I go through the manuscript and add in the scribbles.
I still have nine piles of notes to go. And I meant to put all these changes through last week. Two days of unwellness intervened. A series of major skirmishes I consistently lost.
On the chair next to my desk are more and more piles of notes. Each of them represents the detailed outline of a chapter of the dissertation. Two are possibly the bulk of chapters and one is boastfully full of changes that must be made to a draft. I knew exactly which was which a few weeks ago, but now there are books on top of it and a to-do list for tomorrow and a bunch of materials I'm using for the Chapter from Doomland (which is not, thankfully, related to my dissertation at all).
On another chair are three forms to fill in and someone's dissertation.
I'm not even looking at the rest of it. If I don't look at the rest of it then my systems and work will triumph and all these piles will fade and all the review books will go a way and I will be able to move onto the next batch of things that must be done before I leave. In other words, I must be on the verge of winning that paper war, for if I'm not, I'm going to drown in a flutter of six by four notes.
I *must* be on the verge of winning, because if I'm not I'm possibly in a spot of bother.
In front of me now are my notes for the current article/chapter. Two piles, one being used and the other still to be written up. The former is bigger than the latter and each time I turn over a new note, I rethink where it needs to go and what it needs to do. The creature from somewhere dark and dank is being written, but it's being recalcitrant at every stage.
On the back of my armchair is a complete print out of the time travellers' aspects of the novel (about 40,000 words), already covered with scribbles. Next to it is a pile of very pretty paper clips (blue and pink and purple and red) because I gave up on slipping the notes into place at the computer (my eyes hurt that day and I had some kind of thinker's block) and am doing it on the armchair. The method works. I have attached ten notes neatly to the back of appropriate pages, to be written up when I go through the manuscript and add in the scribbles.
I still have nine piles of notes to go. And I meant to put all these changes through last week. Two days of unwellness intervened. A series of major skirmishes I consistently lost.
On the chair next to my desk are more and more piles of notes. Each of them represents the detailed outline of a chapter of the dissertation. Two are possibly the bulk of chapters and one is boastfully full of changes that must be made to a draft. I knew exactly which was which a few weeks ago, but now there are books on top of it and a to-do list for tomorrow and a bunch of materials I'm using for the Chapter from Doomland (which is not, thankfully, related to my dissertation at all).
On another chair are three forms to fill in and someone's dissertation.
I'm not even looking at the rest of it. If I don't look at the rest of it then my systems and work will triumph and all these piles will fade and all the review books will go a way and I will be able to move onto the next batch of things that must be done before I leave. In other words, I must be on the verge of winning that paper war, for if I'm not, I'm going to drown in a flutter of six by four notes.