20150914.0614

The freelance piece I noted yesterday got done. The client who ordered it accepted it and paid, both for the work and for the book from which I did the work. Another order has yet to come for me, but I am confident that one will, along with its promise of a payout. Until one does, though, I am free to pursue other work--for although I did a fair bit yesterday, and I am pleased with having been thusly productive, there is more to do. There is always more to do, of course, because the work continues. (I have to get that in there somewhere. It seemed a good enough place to put it.)

While I did not fire up the grill yesterday--the Mrs. made spaghetti, with her from-scratch sauce of excellence, and nothing I do on the grill proper is so good as that--I did get the front yard mowed and trimmed. The back, amply shaded and still recovering from plumbing work the owner of Sherwood Cottage had done, did not need it. Pushing the mower and swinging the trimmer (is that the right verb?) in the cool sunlight and gentle breeze was decent exercise, and the yard looks good, so I am happy with the efforts. Indoorsman though I am, I am happy to know that I can still do a few things under the open sky, and do them well.

As I type now, Ms. 8 is in my lap, watching intently as words form, deform, and reform on the screen (not everything I type remains in place--which is a strange thought, given some of what gets to stick around), pixels forming characters in response to the clicking and pressing of fingers on little plastic buttons. I wonder what it is that she sees in them; I wonder what she thinks, having few words and no letters, so far as I can tell. She nestles against me comfortably, so I am sure she is at ease, and I am gratified that I can put her at ease, but I do wonder what it is my daughter thinks of me. I am sure that every parent does at some point--before the kids say it. What Ms. 8 will say when she finally does tell me what she thinks of me, I am unsure. I worry about it.

I do what I can to make it a good thing. She will not be able to say with honesty that I did not work long and much to provide for her and her mother. (That does not mean she will not say it.) My earlier conceit against letting people see me work has long since fallen away, particularly for those who live with me at Sherwood Cottage or who stay for more than a few hours at a time; I am seen at work more often and for more hours than I am not. That will doubtlessly cause a problem in time to come, but if it does and when, it will do so for people with full stomachs, clothed backs, and a roof above, and if there is to be a problem, it is better to have one in such circumstances than other.

20150913.0753

The familiar refrain returns: Work continues, as it ever must.

I have a freelance piece in progress at the moment; I expect to finish it today, summarizing the remaining thirty-five chapters in some 2,000 to 2,500 words. That I will exceed the word count for which I am paid is certain (in part because the platform though which the writing is submitted counts HTML tags as part of the word count). How much is less so. Still, it will net me a tidy little sum for work that is easy for me to do and more or less enjoyable, so I do not complain. And I think the fact that I give extra value helps me get more orders; my regular client sends me as much work as I can handle at any given time, with the other things I have to do.

Among those other things is a book chapter, which I also have in progress. The text of it is due by the end of October; I anticipate having it completed well before that time. I have been noting its existence in my outgoing job materials (of which I need to produce more, I know; I have been lax over the past few days), and it would not do for me to fail to write it--and to write it well. Progress on it has not been what I would want it to be, in large part because of the other work that has presented itself for me to do (paid work tends to triumph over unpaid, for reasons that should be obvious), but that does not mean it has not been, and I hope to knock out a bit more of it in the next few days.

Aside from those piece, the usual gamut of work to do presents itself. Owing to rain a few days ago, the lawn at Sherwood Cottage needs mowing and trimming; the weather today promises to be conducive to doing so. (I should probably see about firing up my grill again before too long, as well, for although Labor Day has passed and "summer" is over, it is still a good way to cook and something I enjoy doing. I do not do it enough, more's the pity.) There will be a bit to pick up, as well, as the rain was accompanied by winds that knocked a few more things out of trees than had previously fallen. But that should not be a problem.

Other papers and paperwork remain, as well, although I am not so optimistic as to believe that I will be able to attend to them today. There are only so many hours to spend in work each day, and I wasted more of them in sleep than I would have liked today already (there are reasons I like to wake early, and today, I slept late). But that does not mean they do not need to be done, and so, the refrain again: Work continues, as it ever must.

20150912.0818

After shenanigans yesterday, I am back, if a bit belatedly. Sometimes, things get in the way. But I am back, now.

Among the things I did to entertain myself yesterday was to look at online discussions of the Legend of the Five Rings games, with which I have been involved for some time, now, as I have discussed. News came yesterday that the property is changing hands, leaving the company that began it for Fantasy Flight Games. I find myself uncertain how to feel about the shift.

I certainly experience shock about the matter. I had been given to understand that L5R was earning a fair bit of money for its now-former company, particularly through the card game (which I used to play but have long since abandoned). I know it had a smallish but dedicated following as an RPG product--largely since I stand among that following, if as a much lesser member. For the company to sell out came as something of a surprise to me--and to many others, as the online chatter has had it.

At the same time, looking back, I can see hints of it coming. The changes to management--some of which have been quite good, I might add--and some of the comments from the higher echelons of the company seem to hint at big changes, and it is not challenging to read them as a lead-up to a table-flipping "Fuck it; I'm out." Given some of what I saw administering the 2014-2015 Winter Court game, I can understand why; I am given to understand that the player base in that game is more or less representative of the player base as a whole, and there are some holes in it. (I leave it to you, dear reader, to guess what kind of hole I mean--and what can be used to fill it.)

And I have had some experience with the new company's products. What I have seen looks good; I have hope that it will be handled well. I suppose I shall have to wait and see what happens--and make sure I have a full set of the books...

20150910.0613

I spent most of yesterday fighting a headache that I think has not gone away--or if it has, it has been replaced with another one. Aspirin did not help, not even with coffee. Drinking more water did not help. Neither heat nor cool helped. Darkness was some small relief, so I have to believe part of the problem was eye strain, but it was not the whole of it. I think my sinuses may be involved; the headache I feel building even now seems to be situated in one of them. I cannot be sure, however; I am the wrong kind of doctor to know that with certainty, and I have not attended to my body as I ought during my time on the wind-swept plains and in Sherwood Cottage.

I do not write the last to heap blame upon this place. There is blame to be found for it, certainly, but that is true of all places and in all times. I am sure that there have been chances for me to act more appropriately than I have, to do more, and I have not taken them. For that, I can only hold myself to account, saying I will try to do better without a clear idea of what trying actually is, soon forgetting that I have said the thing, or else pushing having said so to the back of my mind so that it lingers and annoys me, but not enough to prompt any changes, not enough for me to take any action amid the many things I already do.

It is not as if I am idle, teaching four classes and doing the attendant grading while juggling freelance work, academic work, the search for more of both and for other work besides, and the welcome obligations of family. While I have not formally tracked my hours, I routinely begin my work around this time each day (although I admit that my personal blogging may not count as "work," I get going on the other stuff as soon as this is done), and I am often still at work at seven, eight, or nine o'clock at night. I move around among the tasks, of course, putting the needs of the Mrs. (when she is not at work) and Ms. 8 above the others, as is right, but I am more or less always on the go.

But it is not enough, somehow. It does not have me where I want to be; I am not certain I am heading in a direction that will take me there. Perhaps that is the source of the headache that will not go away, or a source of it (as I note above, I think there are several contributors to the condition), that I have no way to gauge my progress towards the goals I have set for the middle and long terms. (Short-term goals are not problematic; they amount to "get this one task done." They also multiply more quickly than flies or bacteria, and perhaps with the same effects.) Walls rise high around me, or blinders are firmly affixed; in either case, I do not see the scenery passing by.

20150909.0613

I do a decent amount of traveling, as has been the case for some years now. It is not as if I make my living on the road, certainly, but I am away from home a few times each year for both personal and professional reasons. When I am away, I am away for several days at a stretch; rarely if ever do I simply overnight at a place that is not my home. As such, I am familiar with the panic of packing to head out--will I have everything I need?--and the panic of packing to return home--did I forget anything?--as well as the excitement of leaving and the tired comfort of return.

They are not the only things with which I am familiar because of traveling, though. One with which I grapple even now is the struggle to return to daily routines. In my present case, having gone away with my family over the long weekend just past, I have had to spend time grading in something of a rush; I dislike the task, but the speed with which I had to treat it did not improve matters. Too, I have had to scramble to get my teaching materials in place for classes today, and while I have enough to go on, I do not have as much as I might otherwise prefer. The same is true of other work; I was already behind myself in treating it, and now I have to catch up to get even to that point, which is hardly thrilling.

Matters are complicated somewhat by another freelance piece awaiting me. The client has been good to me and, because I have been in contact, knows that I was away and have some catching up to do on other things; I have made no secret about having a regular job in the classroom, and until and unless the freelance work will be steady enough for me to take it on as a full-time thing, I have to keep some kind of regular work about me. That said, I do not want to miss out on the extra money. The sun shines, as it were, and my scythe is sharpened; I dare not waste the opportunity they present. But that does not mean I am at my ease, that I am not a bit...concerned about all I have offered to do and that it has been accepted that I do.

All I can do, though, is to do the tasks accorded me, and do them as well as I can. My own ethic allows me no less, and the needs imposed by being a responsible family man admit of no other course of action. I can only cling, somewhat naïvely, to the hope that my continued diligence will admit of some stability, some breakthrough that, after one more large trip, will allow me not to have to run around as much, to not have to scramble so to come back to speed, to not have to maintain such a speed as I now do and know I cannot indefinitely.

20150908.0608

Well, I'm back.

I'm back to the work of teaching and grading,
Back to the work of drafting plans I know I will not follow,
Back to the work of writing comments I know will not be read,
Back to the work of writing reports,
Back to the work of writing for money,
Back to the work of fretting about it,
Back to the work of looking for work,
Back to the work of fretting about it,
Back to the work of looking for money,
Back to the work of fretting about it,
Back to the work of fretting about fretting
And wondering if I ought not to shift the vowel,
As it is already much the same thing,
And I think I would get more out of it.

I'm back to the work that starts before sunrise,
Back to the work that ends after dark,
Back to the work that lurks in the night,
Waiting for me to wake once again
So that it can wrestle with me.

I'm back to the work of holding my own,
Back to the work of doing just barely
Enough.

20150904.0613

The Mrs., Ms. 8, and I will be heading to one of the next states east this weekend, where we will spend some time with my father-in-law. It is something we have long since arranged, although the specifics changed not long ago when we received word that his heart trouble was acting up again. Thus, instead of being out at a lake, we will be out at his house for a much more sedate time. Whether or not I will be able to post here is unclear to me, but if I do not, it is not because I am dead. Worry not. (And for those who might wish me dead...you have not succeeded yet. You really should stop trying.) At the latest, I should be writing again by Tuesday.

My family and I are not the only ones taking a trip over the weekend. I have already received word from several students that they will be out. In itself, there is nothing wrong with that. When the messages come with the "Will I miss anything important?" question, however, I find myself annoyed. (The answer, by the way, is "yes." There have been classes I have taught in which I have given quiz and test answers out on days with low attendance. There have been many more in which I have awarded bonus grades on days with low attendance.) The question necessarily carries with it the idea that what I do is unimportant, and it is not to be expected that I or anyone react well to being told that the tasks done as part of a calling--and scholarship is a calling, whether teaching or researching--and thus the calling itself are unimportant. While I am aware that the students are not aware of the overtone, I remain vexed by it; unintentional injury is still injury. And I do not excuse such absences (or any not incurred by legal obligations such as court appearance or military service).

I cannot say I do not appreciate getting to take the time away, at least in some ways. (I am sure thoughts of "you should be working" will follow me; they always do.) Yesterday saw me push through the write-up I noted. I ran somewhat over word-count (in part because the counter registers HTML tags as separate words for some damned fool reason), but even had I not, nearly 6,000 words is a fair bit to get onto the page in a day--particularly around caring for a child and doing some few things around the house. Yesterday was not the only such day, either; I am usually thusly occupied, even if I cannot ever seem to get done all of what I need to get done. A day or two away may well do me good; I already intend to sleep in tomorrow, so long as Ms. 8 will allow it. (She is better than any alarm clock. I will be returning the favor in the years to come.) It should help.

20150903.0601

The book I read for the freelance project I am currently completing is the new David Lagercrantz novel, The Girl in the Spider's Web (ISBN 9780385354295, $13.99 as a NOOK® Book). It is a continuation of Stieg Larsson's Millennium series, which I recall being wildly popular both before and after it was optioned into movie form. I suppose that I see the appeal, although I do not feel it, myself. (I will reserve a number of criticisms of the text for the write-up I will be completing today in its 5,800 words of glory. Those I treat here will not be those I treat there, although some comments may correspond.) I find it an utterly conventional action-thriller text, almost formulaic in its structure, and I am disappointed to not find something else in it, some novelty that would make for surprise. As it is, I have not read the preceding texts, and I found nothing in the work that I did not expect to see.

The strange thing is that I like getting what I expect, and much the same kind of thing that The Girl in the Spider's Web offers--in other media. I watch movies largely for escapist reasons; I am capable of applying critical faculties to film to some extent, to be sure (I am not trained in film studies per se, but the kinds of conventions that are often deployed in them are similar or identical to those deployed in narrative text, so I can make the same kinds of arguments), but I tend not to do so. I use film to go away from the burden of thought as much as for any other reason, and adherence to convention and the expected does much to that purpose. So I cannot say that I oppose conventionalism in the text simply because it is conventional, not without opening myself to allegations of hypocrisy with which I am not comfortable (as opposed to those with which I am).

But there is still something in reading conventionalism that annoys. Perhaps it is because I am habituated to reading in the ways that I am, ways that make reading an active thing that engages my faculties more powerfully because I must act upon the words rather than only being acted upon by them, that Lagercrantz's text sits oddly. Reading is not passive for me; I do not turn pages--electronic or physical--to have something before my eyes, but to have something with which to occupy my mind. (Or, as it happens, to make money, so I must be temperate in some complaints; it is not as if I am not being compensated for my efforts.) The Girl in the Spider's Web seems to me to be constructed to reward passivity, to work better for readers who read in the same way that I watch movies--and there are more of them than there are of readers who read as I do. (Again, I profit from this, so I must temper my complaints, but I still find it annoying.)

20150902.0614

It should come as no surprise that I did not get done all of what I wanted to get done yesterday. It is not because I was not busy with things, to be sure; I did get done the grading I had had to bring home (and I hate having to bring grading home), and I did read for my next freelance piece (although there is more of the book that needs reading, and as it is the most recent entry in a series I have not read, there is a bit of a learning curve). I sent out one job application and found I had to discard another couple of postings, as they had either closed or were advertised as something somewhat different than turned out to be requested. (Generalist though I am, I cannot argue effectively that I ought to be professing creative writing.) I also got the (admittedly few) dishes done, but I did not get to laundry; I am fortunate to have had another pair of pants and a shirt waiting for me, although it has been a while since I have worn long sleeves.

Ms. 8 took a bit of a tumble yesterday. She was, I believe, trying to rearrange some of the living room furniture, lost her balance, and clipped her mouth rather sharply on the corner of something. I did not realize just what she had done until after I had spent a few minutes holding her with her head on my shoulder as she cried, not until I went to look at her and talk to her and saw a smear of blood beside her mouth; whatever it was she did bloodied her mouth. No teeth appear to have been damaged, but her lip was split, and it appeared as if she had gouged a fingernail or somesuch into her gum. It hurt me to see it, although far less than for her to endure it, I think. It did not seem to hinder her, though, as she was soon eating and drinking as normal again, making delighted toddler noises most of the way (and throwing a bit of a tantrum when she was not bubbling happily). Even so, I was worried, and I am certain the bruise on her lip will not read well to many who see her.

Today, though, work will continue. I will be in the classroom and in my office today until the Mrs. comes to pick me up so that she can put in a few hours; we need the money. I will see about dealing with some of the laundry that needs doing--which is mostly my work clothes, so I really should be the one to do the work of tending to it. And I will continue to do what I can to keep an eye on Ms. 8 while I see about wrapping up the freelance reading that I need to do so that I can see about doing the writing tomorrow. So, yes, things will be busy.

20150901.0642

Work continues, even when I oversleep. I finished a piece of freelance work yesterday, and another already awaits me. The new order was placed, in fact, before the book which it is supposed to treat released. That happened this morning, so I will be picking up the text shortly, with the write-up to follow before long. I mean to earn such money as is available while it is available; I cannot count on having the freelance work to do, after all. For now, though, it seems that jobs are coming quickly and in abundance, so I am in a position to earn a bit more than would otherwise be the case for me--and that means I am able to pay down debts that would otherwise continue to mount, compound interest being what it is. Eventually, I should be able to get things paid off. I hope.

There is other work than freelancing that will require my attention today. I have some grading to do, as yesterday saw the first set of riddles in my classes. I tend to use them as in-class exercises, offering practice in proofreading and critical thinking in them. Students do not always appreciate the work at first, and some admittedly never do, but most who have received the work have benefited from it. Their writing improves in terms of depth and polish, and since I teach many writing classes, it seems to me that the exercises are successful. Too, presenting the riddles allows me to put across a number of jokes, which is always something I like to have happen in class. Teaching, even at the college level and even in required classes, need not be a dull and dreary thing, after all.

The expected other tasks also need attention today. I am trying to push out one job application each day, and while I have been less successful at doing so than I might like, I have been more successful at getting applications out into the world than I would otherwise be did I not have such a plan. Writing cover letters in fits and starts seems to work against the process, if my current results are to be taken as indicative. Some of the jobs in my docket are growing stale, if they have not already gone fully stale, but others are yet fresh, and more seem to emerge daily. Perhaps one of them will let me do what it is that I want to do, that I have trained to do, and I can then have less worry about taking care of my family--which is why I do much of what I do.

Somehow, in and among my working on such things, Sherwood Cottage itself will get some attention. Daily cleaning tasks happen, particularly with a toddler in the home; Ms. 8 is a wonder, a whirlwind of activity and inquiry, and the path she leaves behind her confirms it. I need to be sure I have pants and shirt in which to teach, since I do try to present myself as at least somewhat professional, and I cannot do so in my skvvies. Cooking, the Mrs. already has planned, so I will make sure the sink is clear and the dishes are clean so that she can enact her most excellent ideas. For the home and for what is outside it, work continues.