Okay, well this will just be a sort of quick little stream-of-consciousness sort of blog about my goings on, probably interesting only if you’re family or just not a very motivated stalker. Anyone, including stalkers, is invited to read on, though, so don’t worry about that.
Where to start…where to start, well, how about this: school started and it’s my last semester. I know I’ve harped on it so much that it probably isn’t that new to anyone, and it’s quite possible that there’s some holy-crap-I’m-about-to-graduate-in-four-months-dash-spend-hours-in-bed-despairing-comma-holding-pillow-in-technically-impressive-chokehold aura about my current writing anyway. So that’s pretty cool. I realized today that I’m going to learn more about speaking and reading French this semester than any other fifteen weeks of my life. Well, perhaps if I lived in France at some point, but that’s not the point. Anyway, not only am I taking more hours than in any other semester, six, but they’re both upper division, both one hundred percent in French, except for a few days scattered through le semestre. So that should be good, expect me to start finding the word for something I’m thinking about more often in French than in English, or, perhaps you’ll find me using archaic words or archaic meanings of words, as a result of my History of The English Language course. Already it’s got me thinking about how I say and pronounce words, and I’m starting to get more and more interested in where our words come from (of course, I’ve always enjoyed etymologies, as I am through and through a genuine nerd). And then I’ve also got two poetry classes, so just when you thought you might escape the hook of my infernal poetry you’re reeled back, lured hopeful by the thought that perhaps I’ll have learned something. Well, let’s cross our fingers on that one. One class is a “single or dual author focus” class, focusing on Robert Blake’s work, including his later mythologies and his work outside the realm of the written word, especially his engraving. The other focuses on Wallace Stevens, Galway Kinnell and Elizabeth Bishop, all twentieth century poets from the United States, which should prove interesting, especially since I like my professor a lot. So that’s school.
Besides that I’ve got work, which has been fine lately, and not a whole lot else. The view from my window is still especially nice, and now I’m entertaining the thought of trying to write a poetic cycle about my view. I honestly think I have more metaphors for the view from my window than anyone has ever had for anything ever. Maybe not, but close. I’ve been considering storylines a lot lately, and trying to decide what sort of story I want to tell. I prefer character-driven stories, and I think that would be an easier thing to start with for a novel, but I’m not sure. I suppose if I go that route, really all I need to do is figure out who I want my main characters to be, and then, you know, write the whole damn thing.
I’m pretty excited for school to have started up again – it’s possible that a few nice days after a rather gloomy week has strengthened that sentiment, but I was pretty happy in class. There’s something I like about having someplace to be, and going and taking the bus, and seeing all the different people, and walking around on campus, which since I’ve been reading a lot of Vonnegut again is swarming with young people, other babies like me, full of ideas and compassion and hopes, and you see where I’m going with all that. And then I always like the thought of getting to know new people, although so far this semester I’ve run into at least ten people I know, so now I finally have something a little more like a karass (told you, too much Vonnegut). I actually know at least one person in four of my five classes, as well, so it’s a good chance to get to know those people better.
Well, I’m going to go get into my overly long hyphenated aura-producing trance, or find something to eat. Adieu.
See Andrew Whiting. Read Andrew writing. 