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"Reading" Week
Aug. 10th, 2005 06:15 pm…though if I had to take a guess about what my various students are probably doing? Reading wouldn’t be at the top of the list—or two down, or even somewhere in the middle (or lower). Certainly not for guys like the one who looked at my last handout and said, in a sad little voice: "Man, that’s gonna take me like a month to get through." To which I replied, nastily bright: "But you only have a week, so…I’d start right now, if I were you!"
Monday I spent teaching a much-needed Canadian Film History make-up class designed to—hopefully—get that particular section back up to speed after the civic holiday. Of course, there was at least one guy who didn’t bother to show up, and he’s going to get a rather nasty surprise on Monday. But there ya go: It’s not like I can turn up on everybody’s doorstep, ready to punch them in the head whenever they need it. Or like I actually ever would, even if I was physically capable of doing so.
So here I am at home instead, trying to catch up on various unfinished projects: Bringing the pitch for Balance, my legendary sci fi miniseries, up to speed, for example. Answering e-mail. Arranging a potential book-signing appearance for October, in Oakville, at a store called Scene of the Crime (Edo van Belkom and Kelly Armstrong will be there too, apparently). Contacting Horror Web about getting The Worm… reviewed—thanks for the suggestion, Monica S. Kuebler! Trying to stop Cal from sticking his hands first in his mouth, then into various light-sockets. All that.
I’m also supposed to be finally putting together a pitch for my long-bruited Canadian Film History book, since the publishing house I thought couldn’t possibly be interested in what I had to say on the subject apparently still is. And if you know me even slightly, to paraphrase Nick Cage in Con Air, your first thought would probably be…a lot. Yup. But having a lot/stuff to say and doing so with artistry (while getting your points across quickly and effectively, at the same time) are often such very, very different things, aren’t they?
And right at the bottom of the roster, at the absolute back of my mind—that would be where the BIG stuff continues to lurk, like the twinned issues of which novel to focus on (I’m leaning back towards The Speed of Pain, because I’ve been thinking a lot about Jude Hark Chiu-wai lately, but I do have such a lot of Blood from the Air planned out, too), or which of my many vaguely-sketched short stories to concentrate on/try to crank out next, for what market. I mean, this huge chunk of almost-perfect writing for one of them came into my head just the other day, all but fully-formed, like it dropped straight down into my lap from Heaven (or wherever); too bad that’s one of the ones I don’t even have a title for, as yet. Though I suppose a title is often the least of your/my worries, in such cases…
Oh Christ, and now Cal’s back in the closet, shoving the vaccum cleaner’s plug down his throat. ‘Scuse me.
Monday I spent teaching a much-needed Canadian Film History make-up class designed to—hopefully—get that particular section back up to speed after the civic holiday. Of course, there was at least one guy who didn’t bother to show up, and he’s going to get a rather nasty surprise on Monday. But there ya go: It’s not like I can turn up on everybody’s doorstep, ready to punch them in the head whenever they need it. Or like I actually ever would, even if I was physically capable of doing so.
So here I am at home instead, trying to catch up on various unfinished projects: Bringing the pitch for Balance, my legendary sci fi miniseries, up to speed, for example. Answering e-mail. Arranging a potential book-signing appearance for October, in Oakville, at a store called Scene of the Crime (Edo van Belkom and Kelly Armstrong will be there too, apparently). Contacting Horror Web about getting The Worm… reviewed—thanks for the suggestion, Monica S. Kuebler! Trying to stop Cal from sticking his hands first in his mouth, then into various light-sockets. All that.
I’m also supposed to be finally putting together a pitch for my long-bruited Canadian Film History book, since the publishing house I thought couldn’t possibly be interested in what I had to say on the subject apparently still is. And if you know me even slightly, to paraphrase Nick Cage in Con Air, your first thought would probably be…a lot. Yup. But having a lot/stuff to say and doing so with artistry (while getting your points across quickly and effectively, at the same time) are often such very, very different things, aren’t they?
And right at the bottom of the roster, at the absolute back of my mind—that would be where the BIG stuff continues to lurk, like the twinned issues of which novel to focus on (I’m leaning back towards The Speed of Pain, because I’ve been thinking a lot about Jude Hark Chiu-wai lately, but I do have such a lot of Blood from the Air planned out, too), or which of my many vaguely-sketched short stories to concentrate on/try to crank out next, for what market. I mean, this huge chunk of almost-perfect writing for one of them came into my head just the other day, all but fully-formed, like it dropped straight down into my lap from Heaven (or wherever); too bad that’s one of the ones I don’t even have a title for, as yet. Though I suppose a title is often the least of your/my worries, in such cases…
Oh Christ, and now Cal’s back in the closet, shoving the vaccum cleaner’s plug down his throat. ‘Scuse me.
