Four things, one of them musing about writing, because who would have expected THAT?

(Locked Patreon post here.)

I am getting used to the idea that I won’t be doing much at KU this fall, since my 25% time this fall will be focused on research, which is to say writing. I am expected to do a little bit of teaching-related stuff, which will consist of making myself available to the grad students, and some service, mostly service to the field, I expect. I haven’t processed what it will look like not to teach in a traditional academic environment because I have had semesters off before this. Will I be miss it? Since I still would love to teach for a low-res program, or I may end up in a classroom because of some consulting work — and of course all my summer and other-time workshops, I honestly can’t say.

Getting used to what’s gone pushes me into considering what is coming up instead. This summer and fall is, well, bonkers: guest of honor or writer guest gigs at three conventions (plus lots of work for a fourth con); a guest-writer gig for a university; six weeks of teaching non-academic workshops in various formats (so far); a family trip with my brother’s clan (woohoo!); two artist’s residencies at the end of the year; a book release; visits to Rice Lake and a wedding out west and a consultancy out east (maybe). I feel like I list all this (or whatever is the latest list) every single time I post. I think I am always trying to make sense of the next little while: What has to be done? In what order? How far out do I need to _______?

This week in particular, because I am starting to see myself as someone who is not really at KU (except in the most minimal of ways), I’m thinking about the disjunct between the quieter, more focused, writing-centered life I’ve been imagining and the facts of the fall semester: lots and lots and lots of being gone and/or focused on intense non-writing work. Is there a way to reconcile the writing-and-contemplation and the frenetic activity? I can’t just say, yeah, it’ll sort itself out in January, because then there will be still more new-book activity, plus I will be back in the classroom at KU (even if only part-time) and, while I won’t be traveling as much, there will be plenty to do that is not writing.

I have spent most of my adult life trying to reconcile interesting or time-sucking jobs (and occasionally hobbies) with writing, which is mentally difficult and time consuming. Writing gets done: a story or three a year, a novel or novella every so often, and I know from experience that not having a dayjob doesn’t actually improve my productivity. I have been hoping that disinvesting from KU would allow writer-me (now with more maturity!) the resources to write more — but as I observe my thinking patterns about the next twelve months, I note that they are the same as they would have been in 2017 or 2008. Changing how I think is of course much harder than changing what I want to think.

I spent a few days with Barbara, who teaches the Intensive Novel Workshop with me every summer — we did not really talk much about that, but we did talk about: ChatGPT, fondue, Ted Lasso, pen club, raised-bed gardening, and jigsaw puzzles.

I also spent some hours clearing the stuff from Jim’s house. I love making order from chaos, so this sort of work is absorbing and fun for me. There have been melancholy moments, of course, as when, two and a half years after his death, I cleared the refrigerator (which hadn’t been cleaned before this). Before his death, I visited him once or twice every week, bringing sausage and onion omelettes and home-made cinnamon rolls, and I always brought extra rolls and sausage for him to tide him over the intervening days if he wanted. The refrigerator still had two rolls and a small glass storage container full of sausages, everything dried to rock-hardness, and I had a sudden flashback to sitting in the living room eating a cinnamon roll and drinking coffee from a thermos, and talking to him. What did we talk about, that last year and a half, after covid meant we had to stop going to Hyvee for breakfast on Saturdays? When Chris was there, Jim talked about the usual things — tasks and books and plans — but when it was just me, he told stories sometimes, about his youth. It was a magical privilege to listen to him. Clearing his house is the last favor I can do him, I expect.