That's what writers are doing when we go work in coffee shops. Isn't that wonderful? It completely explains a behavior of mine that's always puzzled me. I don't want to listen to or interact with other people, just to chomp an adjacent clump of hay.
Of course, I am also working in coffee shops these days because all the common space in my apartment is covered with shimmering plastic. Our pipes leaked again and they had to jackhammer the floor, again. Our neighbors have begun a legal crusade against mold, but I'm just using my usual coping mechanism and heading for the hills.
Faultline is on its way to being a real boy! It's still a big, daunting slice of stress pie* but it is also amazingly fun to watch it take shape. I haven't had a project to work on in I have no idea how long. Since WAND** I guess. I've worked on things with other people--like last year's MFA reading series--but this is the first time that in a long time that everyone's actually working hard and admitting that we care a lot how it comes out, and it's so much more fun that way. We (and by we I mean Collier) are starting to lay it out, and it looks beautiful. It is going to be irresistable.
* (thanks for that concept, EG)
** My first job. Really. It was an acronym.
Someone (I'll let her reveal herself if she wants) helped me get over my PhD problems this weekend by saying that Judith Butler's writing is sexy because it's smart as hell. Right! Writing can be sexy-smart-as-hell in any genre, just like it can be rote and dull and pandering in any genre. I do get an aesthetic/emotional rush from really good criticism. And if I'm in it for the rush more than most academics, well... I've always liked to think I approach life with a dangerous intensity.
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