World Enough and Time

“The job of the writer isn't to answer questions. The job of the writer is to ask the questions for which there are no answers.” - J.M. Porup

After being terrifically busy at work over the past few weeks, today was a bit of a change. Not that I had free time, but only one thing to do at a time, and a change to catch up on a few organizational things. Even a chance to work a bit on the database of addresses.

I had a meeting with my boss, and learned that my job will be extended till October. That's the good part. The not so good part is that in July and August, the hours will be cut. So it's still job-hunting time, and free-lancing time, but I don't feel quite so panicky.

I had lunch with Sheila at the Emerald Buffet, where they had squick and tripe, making me very happy indeed.

Then I went home and napped: not really my plan, but I've been short of sleep for days and was going past the point of functionality.

Worked on my income tax a little - tried to get a document from Revenue Canada last year that my tax accountant wanted. Getting onto the page in the first place was murder; they kept asking for lines from last year's form, which, when I found the right line, they then changed to verify my identity. Finally I got into the page, only to have about eight identity-affirming questions and they still won't give me the document I want - they're mailing it to me via Canada Post. What is so secret about my income tax that it needs levels of security worthy of the upper levels of CSIS? And why do I hate government-generated forms so much?

Went to Costco with maaseru and picked up my glasses, along with some staples like dried parsley and quinoa and fish oil pills. And, as a treat, dried mangoes, which commodorified brought to my place a while ago, and I fell in love with it. Another snacking option. I wish Costco carried the kind of yogurt I like, but they never do. I was reading a recipe today in a yoga magazine for making yogurt, and I have more than once seriously considered doing that. But it sounds fiddly, and I don't have a yogurt maker, and I'm fussy about what my yogurt tastes like. Continuing to buy the Astro Balkan is the easier option, as long as they keep producing it.

I was consulting yesterday with friends about rearranging my apartment to accommodate my comic bool collection. maaseru today had what may be the best and easier solution of all. I'm going to have a go of it on the weekend.

I fished the stinky blender out of the bucket of baking soda today, and it still smells glastly. I fear the aroma got into the plastic of the lid. I'm soaking it again tonight, and tomorrow may take more serious measures with vinegar and/or tomato juice, if I have to.

For years now I've felt creatively sluggish and unable to write. Today at last stories and ideas were coming back into my brain - stories with words, just as used to happen. I was thrilled. I wanted to write them down, but of course had no time at all: work, errands, editing, and all that serious napping got in the way.

Maybe tomorrow.

There are three rules for writing the novel. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are. - W. Somerset Maugham.

Is there anyone here able and willing to beta a story for me? It's Doctor/Jack/Rose, about 4,500 words long.

I love Annie Dillard's writing, especially in Pilgrim and Tinker's Creek. I was delighted to see this quote from her fro reginaclarejane today:

One of the few things I know about writing is this: shoot it, play it, lose it, all, right away, every time. Do not hoard what seems good for a later place in the book, or for another book; give it, give it all, give it now. The impulse to save something good for a better place later is the signal to spend it now. Something more will arise later, something better. These things fill in from behind, from beneath, like well water. Similarly, the impulse to keep to yourself what you have learned is not only shameful, it is destructive. Anything you do not give freely and abundantly becomes lost to you. You open your safe and find ashes.

I went to a meeting of the Ottawa Romance Writers Association today, because a friend of mine was speaking. We met first for lunch at Milestones on Baxter Road, and had a good time talking about Buffy and Torchwood and other important matters. I was in ORWA for years and was on their executive, but it was long enough ago that they've mostly forgotten me, or remember me as the friend of Jo Beverley's who was into Lord of the Rings. Which is cool, actually.

The talk was about conveying emotion in writing - how less is more, how metaphor and viewpoint can be used to create greater emotional impact on the reader than any kind of overemphasis will do. I was amused (but not surprised) that my friend's chosen selections for her print-outs involved three of my four favourite authors or sources: Dorothy Dunnett's Checkmate, a Susan Elizabeth Phillips novel, and Casablanca. The other citation was from a Laura Kinsale novel I haven't read. And the poetry chosen? Two other favourites: "Ars Poetica" by Archibald McLeish and "Funeral Blues" by W.H. Auden.

When I think about it, this is not surprising. A friend is a friend because of shared taste, among other things.

As with all such meetings, it got me thinking about my own writing, and reflecting that I'd like to rejoin the group even if just for the psychological boost. They're holding a conference later on in September. I'd like to go; can't afford it. Next time.