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This is just to say
Feb. 23rd, 2006 11:00 am...that Gmail isn't working for me at the moment, so if you're trying to get a hold of me that way - don't! Hopefully it will come back soon. I was just going to leave it at that, but I feel pathetic for not posting something real, when I've gone to all this trouble to log in and everything.
So. My classes are spectacular this term: Renaissance Genres, Milton and Popular Culture, Research Methods and Paleography in the Renaissance, Visions and Versions of Romance, and Novelists on the Art of the Novel. Widely disparate as they are, they have all combined into somet ghastly stew that constantly percolates in the back of my head. This can be scary. But also good. If I'm lucky (and I may well be), there is a dissertation buried in it here somewhere.
The conferences (all two of'em) continue apace.
And teaching is the devil, as always. And not in that sexy Miltonic Lucifer, fair as the morning star kind of way either.
I'm teaching this course as Children's Literature and the Art of Composition, on the theory that these children do not, in point of fact, know how to read. Children's books have been teaching kids to read for several centuries now - I'm trying to see if this will work on them. So far, I'm thinking not. But it's only been a few weeks.
Winter has been odd so far - a series of peaked moments and defrauded expectations - sort of like the 'Blizzard of '06' that never quite made an impression. I am tired. I feel as if I have never been so tired.
The move goes on as well - hoping to be done with it soon, and unpack my apartment into all its essential wood-nymphishness.
Oh, and there's new Descensus up, for those of you who are interested.
http://community.livejournal.com/descensus_hp/6162.html
Someday perhaps I'll write an interesting blog post again. With actual thoughts, and everything.
So. My classes are spectacular this term: Renaissance Genres, Milton and Popular Culture, Research Methods and Paleography in the Renaissance, Visions and Versions of Romance, and Novelists on the Art of the Novel. Widely disparate as they are, they have all combined into somet ghastly stew that constantly percolates in the back of my head. This can be scary. But also good. If I'm lucky (and I may well be), there is a dissertation buried in it here somewhere.
The conferences (all two of'em) continue apace.
And teaching is the devil, as always. And not in that sexy Miltonic Lucifer, fair as the morning star kind of way either.
I'm teaching this course as Children's Literature and the Art of Composition, on the theory that these children do not, in point of fact, know how to read. Children's books have been teaching kids to read for several centuries now - I'm trying to see if this will work on them. So far, I'm thinking not. But it's only been a few weeks.
Winter has been odd so far - a series of peaked moments and defrauded expectations - sort of like the 'Blizzard of '06' that never quite made an impression. I am tired. I feel as if I have never been so tired.
The move goes on as well - hoping to be done with it soon, and unpack my apartment into all its essential wood-nymphishness.
Oh, and there's new Descensus up, for those of you who are interested.
http://community.livejournal.com/descensus_hp/6162.html
Someday perhaps I'll write an interesting blog post again. With actual thoughts, and everything.