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lenora_roseOkay, slightly more work to do on the scene than I thought, but only because it has to move from night to day. I was overemphasizing light effects - ie, sight - and understating the other senses again anyhow. Daylight might actually put paid to that, since it's not as obvious someone is *glowing*.
I so very much wanted to stay home and finish reading the Whim of the Dragon, instead of working today, though. Sigh. First, of course my brain is in the wrong universe for buckling down to work, and it's trading almost evenly between my own prose universe and Pamela Dean's. Which should be disturbing, since even my favourite creations of other writers rarely get that deep and rich when the book hadn't been touched for hours. But besides that, I just feel aching and wrong. The daylight savings change meant I stayed up too late last night because it didn't feel as late as it was. (My cat was annoyed that I got up early, too. Funny, she didn't seem annoyed that I'd *fed* her early...) Plus the massage therapist had to do severe work to loosen some of the muscles in my back, so now, instead of being tight and sore, they're very very tender. And the chai latte I bought was severely supremely oversweetened. To the point where I poured in another full coffee-mug's worth of plain tea, and *that* brought it down to merely cloyingly sweet.
Lest anyone think it got completely lost in the shuffle, I feel I should mention that I did in fact put in my Application for return to the U of Manitoba in September yesterday, along with getting the massage and wandering around picking stuff for the registry (And trying to leave my latte cup behind on odd shelves in every corner of the Bay.) I'm still worried about the money for same, but I should be able to live with a partial line of credit and a hard lesson about not buying frivolous books etc. here there and everywhere. It's one reason I was favouring presentation over gifts in the first place; part of "starting our life together" may well come in the form of further education for me*.
I'm still absolutely sure that going back to school is the right choice. But lately, while Mom is panicking about the wedding, I'm finding myself worrying more about that same schooling. Have I lost the knack of doign research? Can I still write an essay with any depth? Plus more ongoing vague dissatisfaction with my physical shape, plus increasing worry about this whole story thing. The problem, I remind myself, is that when writing novels, there's no slow accumulation of minor credits and lesser signposts as there is with short story writing. I'm working in the dark, as it were, unaware whether all this effort will actually come to something.
Which is how it always is, of course, but it's easier to see with long-form prose.
Gack. This is all navel-gazing. I suspect I'm worrying about long term things I can't help, or I know are bunk, simply to keep from doing like mom and panicking over a one-day ceremony.
* One thing that disturbed me a bit is that at the marriage seminar, one of the things they asked us to do is list our plans for the future, within a set time and in general alike. Aside from finishing renovating the house, and having children (Both of which we both listed), all the items on COLIN's list of aspirations for our marriage seemed to be my plans. My education. My writing. (He put seeing my novels published on the 5-year hopes, when I didn't. This has more to do with my knowledge of the publishing industry and its uncertainties than it does with my wishes.) I've noticed this trend before, and we've talked about it, but it was strange seeing it laid out so plain. Maybe it's that his plans, like the Tardis-building, are not more ephemeral, or even less existant, but that they're shorter term. But Colin seems to feel that my plans, even the ones that existed long before we were a couple, are indeed now very much a part of his plans. Sometimes I really like that, it's quiet encouragement -- but sometimes I wonder if I ahvent' somehow selfishly drowned some aspiration of his in the process. He says no, but I still think about it....
I so very much wanted to stay home and finish reading the Whim of the Dragon, instead of working today, though. Sigh. First, of course my brain is in the wrong universe for buckling down to work, and it's trading almost evenly between my own prose universe and Pamela Dean's. Which should be disturbing, since even my favourite creations of other writers rarely get that deep and rich when the book hadn't been touched for hours. But besides that, I just feel aching and wrong. The daylight savings change meant I stayed up too late last night because it didn't feel as late as it was. (My cat was annoyed that I got up early, too. Funny, she didn't seem annoyed that I'd *fed* her early...) Plus the massage therapist had to do severe work to loosen some of the muscles in my back, so now, instead of being tight and sore, they're very very tender. And the chai latte I bought was severely supremely oversweetened. To the point where I poured in another full coffee-mug's worth of plain tea, and *that* brought it down to merely cloyingly sweet.
Lest anyone think it got completely lost in the shuffle, I feel I should mention that I did in fact put in my Application for return to the U of Manitoba in September yesterday, along with getting the massage and wandering around picking stuff for the registry (And trying to leave my latte cup behind on odd shelves in every corner of the Bay.) I'm still worried about the money for same, but I should be able to live with a partial line of credit and a hard lesson about not buying frivolous books etc. here there and everywhere. It's one reason I was favouring presentation over gifts in the first place; part of "starting our life together" may well come in the form of further education for me*.
I'm still absolutely sure that going back to school is the right choice. But lately, while Mom is panicking about the wedding, I'm finding myself worrying more about that same schooling. Have I lost the knack of doign research? Can I still write an essay with any depth? Plus more ongoing vague dissatisfaction with my physical shape, plus increasing worry about this whole story thing. The problem, I remind myself, is that when writing novels, there's no slow accumulation of minor credits and lesser signposts as there is with short story writing. I'm working in the dark, as it were, unaware whether all this effort will actually come to something.
Which is how it always is, of course, but it's easier to see with long-form prose.
Gack. This is all navel-gazing. I suspect I'm worrying about long term things I can't help, or I know are bunk, simply to keep from doing like mom and panicking over a one-day ceremony.
* One thing that disturbed me a bit is that at the marriage seminar, one of the things they asked us to do is list our plans for the future, within a set time and in general alike. Aside from finishing renovating the house, and having children (Both of which we both listed), all the items on COLIN's list of aspirations for our marriage seemed to be my plans. My education. My writing. (He put seeing my novels published on the 5-year hopes, when I didn't. This has more to do with my knowledge of the publishing industry and its uncertainties than it does with my wishes.) I've noticed this trend before, and we've talked about it, but it was strange seeing it laid out so plain. Maybe it's that his plans, like the Tardis-building, are not more ephemeral, or even less existant, but that they're shorter term. But Colin seems to feel that my plans, even the ones that existed long before we were a couple, are indeed now very much a part of his plans. Sometimes I really like that, it's quiet encouragement -- but sometimes I wonder if I ahvent' somehow selfishly drowned some aspiration of his in the process. He says no, but I still think about it....
