(no subject)
Been a while since I last wrote. I'm going to try to keep up with things better. I have a job now. It involves digging through articles for a professor who wants to make a new class on "advanced metals", by which we mean "here's nine materials whose only common factors are that a) they are metals, b) we don't teach them since they're not steel or aluminum, and c) someone may give us money/research opportunities/co-ops for undergrads if we teach them". It's sort of depressing that I feel obligated to use airquotes every time I explain what I'm doing.
The work is a little tedious; as much as I like metals and the science involved, most articles in science journals just aren't that interesting. Occasionally you get fun tidbits like the crucible that melted at destroyed an oven or what sounds like Soviet propaganda in a post-Soviet article, but it's mostly paragraph after paragraph describing the corrosion and wear resistance of titanium hip replacements. Which I actually find interesting to know, but it's very dry most of the time. So in summary, learning a lot, doing something useful (which is really, really nice-- busywork does not lead to job satisfaction), and a little bored.
In other news, I'm 24 words away from the minimum word requirement for femgenficathon. The fic will be more than that, but not by much, which is about what I set out to do. I'm not terribly good at wrangling my ideas into a neat plot arc with proper pacing, but it's doable if I work with a small, simple concept. Also, I'm a slow writer, and I'm a bit out of practice, so I was worried about getting in over my head if I tried to something more ambitious.
Coming back to writing after doing almost nothing but lab reports and essays for a couple of years is strange. I feel like I'm less eloquent than I was, but I've (mostly) avoided letting it bother me. That doesn't surprise me, really. What is odd is that it feels different. It's calmer now; writing used to feel... manic? I guess. Like I'd think riding a bull is like: never fully in control, just desperately hanging onto something while it goes where it wants to go, and if you fall of, that's it. Now it's calmer. There's still that feeling of being inspired, of being caught up in an idea or emotion and having the words seem more a natural response to what I'm feeling than something I consciously shaped piece by piece, but it's a steady, plodding sort of inspiration. It sounds little dull to me, reading that phrase back, but it's relaxing instead of cathartic, and I like it.
I need a shower now and then to flee to the air conditioning of a movie theater.
The work is a little tedious; as much as I like metals and the science involved, most articles in science journals just aren't that interesting. Occasionally you get fun tidbits like the crucible that melted at destroyed an oven or what sounds like Soviet propaganda in a post-Soviet article, but it's mostly paragraph after paragraph describing the corrosion and wear resistance of titanium hip replacements. Which I actually find interesting to know, but it's very dry most of the time. So in summary, learning a lot, doing something useful (which is really, really nice-- busywork does not lead to job satisfaction), and a little bored.
In other news, I'm 24 words away from the minimum word requirement for femgenficathon. The fic will be more than that, but not by much, which is about what I set out to do. I'm not terribly good at wrangling my ideas into a neat plot arc with proper pacing, but it's doable if I work with a small, simple concept. Also, I'm a slow writer, and I'm a bit out of practice, so I was worried about getting in over my head if I tried to something more ambitious.
Coming back to writing after doing almost nothing but lab reports and essays for a couple of years is strange. I feel like I'm less eloquent than I was, but I've (mostly) avoided letting it bother me. That doesn't surprise me, really. What is odd is that it feels different. It's calmer now; writing used to feel... manic? I guess. Like I'd think riding a bull is like: never fully in control, just desperately hanging onto something while it goes where it wants to go, and if you fall of, that's it. Now it's calmer. There's still that feeling of being inspired, of being caught up in an idea or emotion and having the words seem more a natural response to what I'm feeling than something I consciously shaped piece by piece, but it's a steady, plodding sort of inspiration. It sounds little dull to me, reading that phrase back, but it's relaxing instead of cathartic, and I like it.
I need a shower now and then to flee to the air conditioning of a movie theater.