paper and poem.
Paper-writing timeline.
2:50. I'm taking a break to start writing this timeline. My current word count is 3, 235. This is most excellent! I'm more than three/fifths done; 5,000 is the goal! I may not finish tonight, but I'm getting there. I'm just afraid I'll run out of things to say before I run out of words to write.
3:06. 3,350. I'm almost done analyzing "Injuria Amici," which might very well be my favorite poem in this collection, though I'm not entirely committed to that. I still have lots more words to write, but then I still haven't gotten to my main point (TM) which is that friendship is a redemptive force for the individual. My thoughts are all jumbled up, and I must run to the Pretty English Professor on Monday and throw myself at her mercy throw this paper on her desk and demand that she tell me how to make it coherant.
3:18. gvambat has gone to bed. *pouts* 3,552. One thousand five hundred words to go! I've finished with "Injuria Amici" and now get to move on to the Lucasia poems. I'm looking forward to that. I love Orinda/Lucasia. Theirloveissopure. (only not really, 'cause Orinda wants to fuck Lucasia.)
3:50. Whee! I hit four thousand words! I am more than 4/5 done! With that, I suspect I am going to bed, as it is nearly four o'clock and I have church tomorrow. *boggle*
I wrote paper! I wrote lots of paper! I now have nearly fifteen pages of paper, and have only five more to write! Again, I leave you with a poem:
-79-
Song,
to the tune of, Sommes nouse pas trop heureux
1
How prodigious is my Fate,
Since I can't determine clearly,
Whether you'll doe more severely,
Giving me your love or Hate.
For if you with kindness blesse me,
Since from you I soon must part,
Fortune will so disposess me,
That your Love will break my heart.
2
But since death all Sorrows cures,
Might I choose my way of dying,
I could wish the arrow flying
From Fortune's Quiver, not from yours.
For in the sad unusuall story
How my wretched heart was torne,
It will more concern your glory
That I by absence fell, then scorn.
Isn't that sweet?
2:50. I'm taking a break to start writing this timeline. My current word count is 3, 235. This is most excellent! I'm more than three/fifths done; 5,000 is the goal! I may not finish tonight, but I'm getting there. I'm just afraid I'll run out of things to say before I run out of words to write.
3:06. 3,350. I'm almost done analyzing "Injuria Amici," which might very well be my favorite poem in this collection, though I'm not entirely committed to that. I still have lots more words to write, but then I still haven't gotten to my main point (TM) which is that friendship is a redemptive force for the individual. My thoughts are all jumbled up, and I must run to the Pretty English Professor on Monday and throw myself at her mercy throw this paper on her desk and demand that she tell me how to make it coherant.
3:18. gvambat has gone to bed. *pouts* 3,552. One thousand five hundred words to go! I've finished with "Injuria Amici" and now get to move on to the Lucasia poems. I'm looking forward to that. I love Orinda/Lucasia. Theirloveissopure. (only not really, 'cause Orinda wants to fuck Lucasia.)
3:50. Whee! I hit four thousand words! I am more than 4/5 done! With that, I suspect I am going to bed, as it is nearly four o'clock and I have church tomorrow. *boggle*
I wrote paper! I wrote lots of paper! I now have nearly fifteen pages of paper, and have only five more to write! Again, I leave you with a poem:
-79-
Song,
to the tune of, Sommes nouse pas trop heureux
1
How prodigious is my Fate,
Since I can't determine clearly,
Whether you'll doe more severely,
Giving me your love or Hate.
For if you with kindness blesse me,
Since from you I soon must part,
Fortune will so disposess me,
That your Love will break my heart.
2
But since death all Sorrows cures,
Might I choose my way of dying,
I could wish the arrow flying
From Fortune's Quiver, not from yours.
For in the sad unusuall story
How my wretched heart was torne,
It will more concern your glory
That I by absence fell, then scorn.
Isn't that sweet?