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Wednesday, December 19, 2012

Becoming Pretentious Over Time -- Cue Pipes, Long Diatribes About Literature, and Writing

Fact One:  Apparently button-up shirts, nice ties, nice sweaters, and nice slacks are my new thing.  They're so much "my new thing" that I'm wearing them even though I have no intention of leaving the house (I'm currently sitting at a table on a houseboat that overlooks the Columbia).
Hello!  I'm a houseboat on the Columbia.  You'll have to excuse
me for not having anything green growing.  It's winter, which
typically means that nature decides to hibernate...unless you
live in Florida, where nature is constantly trying to kill you...
I see all this as my slow decline into pretentiousness.  Call it an evolutionary pathway for all PhD students.  The longer you stay in academia, the more likely you are to fall into its grasp, from which no human being can escape!

And if I'm falling into the pretentious hole of wonders, where my days are spent contemplating my research or the literary merits of obscure small press novels (hey, they're good, so shut up), then I might as well embrace it, right?  No?  Really?  Oh.  Good.  Glad that's settled.

All this is a really abstract way of explaining that things are changing around these parts.  I've finished with Fall Semester's insane grading cycle and have begun this thing they call vacation.  At some point, I'm going to start writing fiction again, because I'll have the time to actually think about stories and narrative and characters (90 hour work weeks make that somewhat difficult, to be honest).

On top of that, I'm going to do some more reading (partly for interviews I've got lined up with some amazing folks and partly for my own enjoyment).

And some where in all that, I'll blog about more literature-related stuff (some SF/F, some not), more movies, more things that interest me (and, by extension, you).  Wish me luck or something.

-------------------------------------------------------

P.S.:  If there must be a second fact, it is this -- somewhere in all this strangeness is an elf with a missing sock; he wants it back and will kill for it.  Watch yourselves.

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