Field Exam, Day One
I go to bed tonight feeling a little uneasy, a little disgruntled with myself, a little more cautious about this field exam than I felt when I woke up this morning.
I started work at 11:00 a.m. I was downright giddy, to be honest. Really excited to dig in. "I've got this," I told myself with full confidence.
By noon, I had my books organized in neat piles to reflect the outline I'd drafted. I had my notes pulled together that I'd taken during my month-long orgy of reading.
By 2:30, I had quotes pulled from my first stack of books and the first four pages basically laid out, ready to fall into place. "I've got this," I knew. I decided to take a break, to take some books to Steph that she needed for a project she's working on. I was in such good shape with the paper that a little time away would be fine.
I didn't settle back into work until 6:30, and at that point, I realized what a near-catastrophic mistake I'd made in taking time off. I could NOT get myself back into the smooth groove I'd created for myself earlier. I could not. It was terrible.
I thrashed and hacked and burned my way through Walden, one of the first books I wanted to write about because of its seminal position in creative nonfiction, particularly as a book about place. Oh, but man, oh man--Great Emerson's Ghost, was that hard to pull together. I have no idea why.
I managed to weld something together, but as I shifted gears into Edward Abbey's marvelous Desert Solitaire, it felt even more like welding. Ugh.
By the time I decided to call it quits just after 2:00 a.m., I'd pulled together about 3,200 words. Not too bad. Respectable by most standards, I suppose. At that pace, I'd be able to still wrap things up by Sunday night, I suppose.
But it shouldn't have been as hard as it was. I shouldn't have gotten so far out of my groove. I can do better. I go to bed disappointed with myself for my poor showing tonight, for failing to live up to my own potential.
Tomorrow I will do better. I've got this.
I started work at 11:00 a.m. I was downright giddy, to be honest. Really excited to dig in. "I've got this," I told myself with full confidence.
By noon, I had my books organized in neat piles to reflect the outline I'd drafted. I had my notes pulled together that I'd taken during my month-long orgy of reading.
By 2:30, I had quotes pulled from my first stack of books and the first four pages basically laid out, ready to fall into place. "I've got this," I knew. I decided to take a break, to take some books to Steph that she needed for a project she's working on. I was in such good shape with the paper that a little time away would be fine.
I didn't settle back into work until 6:30, and at that point, I realized what a near-catastrophic mistake I'd made in taking time off. I could NOT get myself back into the smooth groove I'd created for myself earlier. I could not. It was terrible.
I thrashed and hacked and burned my way through Walden, one of the first books I wanted to write about because of its seminal position in creative nonfiction, particularly as a book about place. Oh, but man, oh man--Great Emerson's Ghost, was that hard to pull together. I have no idea why.
I managed to weld something together, but as I shifted gears into Edward Abbey's marvelous Desert Solitaire, it felt even more like welding. Ugh.
By the time I decided to call it quits just after 2:00 a.m., I'd pulled together about 3,200 words. Not too bad. Respectable by most standards, I suppose. At that pace, I'd be able to still wrap things up by Sunday night, I suppose.
But it shouldn't have been as hard as it was. I shouldn't have gotten so far out of my groove. I can do better. I go to bed disappointed with myself for my poor showing tonight, for failing to live up to my own potential.
Tomorrow I will do better. I've got this.