As in, the end of the work week.
It’s Friday night after my first week of work. I’m tired, but in good spirits. Billy is out, and I’m in, with the dog. Our life has been one big whirlwind of activity since we returned from Europe, and I feel as though this is the first time I’ve had to myself in forever. Of course, when you’re used to having most of every day to yourself, working in an office is a bit of an adjustment. Suddenly my time is no longer (as much) my own. And I’m a constant craver of personal time.
In any case, I’ve parked myself on the couch. The dog has parked himself on the other couch, and has fallen asleep looking out the window for signs of Billy. Me, I’m catching up on blogs. I’m polishing off some chocolate I brought back from Germany. I’m eying the New Yorker fiction issue that just showed up in my mailbox. It’s been much-hyped, and I’m looking forward to reading some exquisite stories.
Speaking of which, I’ve been taking my time with Granta’s Best of Young American Novelists 2, and it is worth it. (Although I don’t really like the cover much.) I read a few of the stories on my flight home from Germany. A couple were so good I had to put the book away for a while to let them sink in, and to recover from their impact. Notably: Anthony Doerr’s “Procreate, Generate” and Kevin Brockmeier’s “Parakeets.” I am skipping around, and, like I said, going through these slowly. There are certain to be others that are as good.
I got a rejection in the mail today, from a magazine I had forgotten I had even submitted to. It wasn’t even that long ago. Ah, well. There was a hand-written note on the form letter, which is always a nice thing, when it comes to rejections. The rejection reminds me that I am due to send out more submissions. It’s been over a month, once again.
What else? Yesterday I read this post on Alexander Chee’s blog that got me thinking (again) about the whole writing vs. blogging thing.
… if someone had said, you’re going to write something as long as Anna Karenina, but it’ll be online, in a
fragmented narrative with constant references to current events, I would have said, What?
It is hard to justify blogging when time is short for writing. And yet. I can’t help it.