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Jul. 12th, 2011 11:45 pmThere are about five panels I want to attend and I'm supposed to be meeting someone, but either she hasn't shown or she's waiting for me somewhere else. This means I'm sitting down in a comfortable armchair. This is an excellent thing, because yesterday and this morning were pretty full on. I have many thoughts and just some notes. I have teaching tools and I have discussions with editors about books (sounding each other out, basically) and I have cool new friends and meeting with people from my past. There actually *is* someone here who has definitely read and owns Illuminations. This means I have no choice but to be all my various selves and so I'm talking about narratives and fiction and the Jewish Middle Ages and food history and a sqillion other things.
My panel is straight after afternoon tea. My paper is in my handbag. I suspect I hav a bad case of the jitters, which would be worse if I were sitting in a panel a mile away, however, interesting the papers.
I've lived in a fear of being both a scholar and a fiction writer for so long that I wasn't very daring with either. This last 2 weeks I've managed to be both and all it means is being me. Nothing to be scared of. I need to time travel and let my twenty-something self know that.
If anyone reading this is at Leeds and sees a koala clinging closely to a woooden bowl in the craft fair, that might be my fault. If I'm going to be myself in public, after all, I might as well be all my selves.
For anyone enroling in my ANU courses second semester (enrol now, if you're enroling, because lack of numbers is always a potential problem) I have some seriously cool stuff for playing with. Arrowheads and pins and needles and a purse and a ship's candlestick.
I am a bit short of sleep. I keep talking to people. I tell myself that this is out of character, finding fascinating human beings and talking late, but I lie.
No news. There is none. My existence is like a bubbling pot, just coming to the boil. I have no idea what will happen next, but it's unlikely to be boring.
My panel is straight after afternoon tea. My paper is in my handbag. I suspect I hav a bad case of the jitters, which would be worse if I were sitting in a panel a mile away, however, interesting the papers.
I've lived in a fear of being both a scholar and a fiction writer for so long that I wasn't very daring with either. This last 2 weeks I've managed to be both and all it means is being me. Nothing to be scared of. I need to time travel and let my twenty-something self know that.
If anyone reading this is at Leeds and sees a koala clinging closely to a woooden bowl in the craft fair, that might be my fault. If I'm going to be myself in public, after all, I might as well be all my selves.
For anyone enroling in my ANU courses second semester (enrol now, if you're enroling, because lack of numbers is always a potential problem) I have some seriously cool stuff for playing with. Arrowheads and pins and needles and a purse and a ship's candlestick.
I am a bit short of sleep. I keep talking to people. I tell myself that this is out of character, finding fascinating human beings and talking late, but I lie.
No news. There is none. My existence is like a bubbling pot, just coming to the boil. I have no idea what will happen next, but it's unlikely to be boring.