Family: The conference call with the siblings went rather well. My siblings and I are not close, but we have managed to stand together in dealing with my parents, which is something that makes me proud.
My husband and I actually had two date nights this week; both Friday and Saturday night we went out for drinks and appetizers. It’s not much, but we went out about ten times after having kids, so it’ll take us a while to get used to the idea.
Friends: I have been able to stay in better contact with my friends. I’m not tweeting or commenting on blogs quite as much as I would like, so that is an area to work on.
Writing: Wednesday afternoon I hit that sweet spot with the article, where the words flow as if one is channeling some 19th-century German scholar (well, for medievalists, that is the sweet spot. Yeah, I know). I wrote without needing to check a source, a definition, or a translation for two hours. It was amazing. I will definitely be done by the time I take off for Thanksgiving, so that brutal editor can tear it up over the break.
Yesterday I wrote a post on the Professional Good Girl. Born out of something Another Damned Medievalist said a few months ago; given further shape by Lena Corazon’s post last week, this post traces my childhood path through finding approbation and attention at school, since it was not available in my home.
I am going to post an excerpt today as well–perhaps part of Six Sentence Sunday, but maybe a longer snippet. I must ruminate thereon. After such a long time thinking, worrying, and being scared that I had nothing to write about on a blog, I find that topics are coming out of my ears. There is at least one more post to the PGG series, and then another about the Imposter Syndrome. I have a gratitude post for Thanksgiving: Lena Corazon gave me the Versatile Blogger award, and I am stealing Jenny Hansen’s idea of honoring Lena’s and L. S. Engler’s gifts of this award into a gratitude post. Thank you both for the honor.
Friday afternoon, I got my Kindle. I am in love. Yes, me, the one who talks about the feel of paper and vellum, whose earliest memories include the smell of my father’s print shop; yes, I love my Kindle. I am slowly learning how to make notes and highlight and organizing all my books.
Day Job: Meh. I am finding that the writer is very tired of folding herself to fit into the tiny little space I’ve given her; I used to think of her as the “dream self,” but more and more, the writer is the real me, and the person who goes to the day job is, um, not. Strange, I know. This situation bears some thought.
Please go encourage the rest of the ROWers here.