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I've been back in the UK for about a week now. Actually, yeah, a full week. I'd say I'm over the jet lag, but I slept from about midnight to noon last night, so I won't say that.
I'm working on my Masters thesis now. It will, hopefully, be a near-complete draft of my novel. I actually wrote 400 words today. That's a big deal, you know. I'm not a 1,000 word/day writer. I'd invite my close friends and family to question me about drug use if I ever go more than one day in a month wherein I write more than 1,000 words.
I don't have much to talk about at present. Life is rough and tough and tiring and heavy, but I don't have it too bad. Being the middle of a particularly tough winter (though just grossly soggy here in Oxford, more than cold) in the states, I'd like to remind everyone that donating to charities is a really nice thing to do. And for those Xians in the house: Lent is coming up. You could always give a little instead of abstaining. Giving has been on my mind a lot, lately. I wish there was better conclusive evidence about how/where to donate to improve education... Have you ever looked at Give Well? I recommend it.
And here's a quote from Vladimir Nabokov that I saw on the Paris Review's tumblr. It's why I keep Daniel around, too. If I ever publish anything, it's because my beau is my voice of reason:
“[My wife] presided as adviser and judge over the making of my first fiction in the early twenties. I have read to her all my stories and novels at least twice; and she has reread them all when typing them and correcting proofs and checking translations into several languages. One day in 1950, at Ithaca, New York, she was responsible for stopping me and urging delay and second thoughts as, beset with technical difficulties and doubts, I was carrying the first chapters of Lolita to the garden incinerator.”
Ok, back to writing. And reading. And checking Twitter/doing laundry/procrastinating.