Notes from Very Busyville
I survived Teen Read Week. No dinosaurs were actually harmed in the making of our celebration. I did, however, turn goth today, which the new contigent of gothy book club kids liked. My mission to increase book club and programming participation is working, slow but sure; we're doubling the numbers of people at discussion and checking out the books, and Jurassic Park even quadrupled our attendance. For this, I will even endure Twilight, and the endless arguments over whether they've ruined it by casting Bella/Jacob/Edward/Esme/that kid who gets forgotten after the first book WRONG.
I have as of this evening completed two outlines for novel-length works in the past two months. I am not a dive-right-in-where-you-are writer. I'm the sort of person who needs to do some basic architecture work to finish articles and short stories, let alone things that require a good solid time commitment. I require character sketches, pictures, soundtracks, possibly flowcharts that I can play with. This is because I am a taker-outer who needs to learn to put more in. I have been making huge strides since acquiring a copy of Liquid Story Binder, the best toy a girl ever had until someone figures out a way to film one's daydreams for later use, but it's also simply getting over my Summer of Woe and Coping. I am so productive I can't stand myself.
One of my outlines is under the microscope for NaNoWriMo. I was already doing jonowrimo, but NaNo is not optional anymore - my students want to do it after I mentioned it, and have basically shanghaied me into being their advisor. This is rather terrifying after also adding the gaming night to our regularly scheduled programming. I have no choice but to write a draft in November. My goth teenagers will cry Morrissey tears if I don't join them.
My grandmother is giving me her in-terrific-condition loveseat that she's had for maybe three years tops. It comes tomorrow. I needed a new couch-y thing that would actually fit in my livingroom. Though the fabulous Emmycat objects to her old couch-slash-scratchpost being moved into Jens's study, her vote doesn't count, no matter how vocal.
This election is nearly over, and I am simply and serenely convinced that the next president will be Barack Obama, to my great relief and anticipation. His campaign has canvassed me politely, and won me with substance and respect. John McCain's campaign brings to mind robocalls, mudslinging, and insulting my intelligence. It's not remotely a close contest from where I'm sitting.
I have time to play games again! Not just with my eager students, either. It's been awhile.
I have adorable pictures of Kat raking the leaves and then flinging herself into the pile. They are precious, particularly the one where she's scooping them up to fling over her head. I may share later this weekend, we'll see.
And one not-so-good thing. On a sadder note, I read in my Macalester Today that Prof. Jan Serie died, and at a very young age, too. She team-taught my freshman-year Pew-floor class alongside my advisor, Paul Solon, and was a real joy to watch in front of the classroom. I have no doubt that if I'd been placed in her section rather than Paul's, I might have leaned more towards Biology than History as a major. Godspeed.