taken covertly at the houghton. shh.

Back at the Houghton Library on a wonderfully crisp autumn morning. After an early morning asthma attack (which was followed later in the day by a post-frosty run asthma attack), I set out to navigate once again the absurdities of the Harvard libraries. I thought today would be relatively simple because I went thinking that I wanted to see four letters Anna Ticknor (the matriarch of the society I’ve been thinking about for awhile now) sent to Sarah Orne Jewett. I had thought – wrongly – that the letters would illuminate Jewett’s time as a student in the society. Not so, instead they mostly feature Ticknor’s obsequiously tripping over herself to figure out why Jewett never returned some darn book from the society library. But she does delightfully conclude one letter from Lenox, Mass (a place I used to love to drive to for brunch and good yarn when I taught in Lakeville, Connecticut): “Here everything is lovely, the foliage unusually fine the weather very cool, and the world in great glory, the world of nature I mean, for the reign of fashion has not begun yet.” I couldn’t agree more.

I know, I know, it’s been a long while. In the past three weeks I definitely decided to 1. Write my dissertation as quickly as possible, 2. Not write my dissertation and get the fuck on with my life, 3. Write my dissertation as painlessly as possible, and finally, 4. To seriously reconfigure my relationship to my work. Part of #2 was the decision to pretend that this blog never happened (and really that the last six years haven’t happened either). But it seems that somehow I just keep going, if only to avoid having to be 40 and plagued by self-loathing that I didn’t write the damned thing.

In a fit of rage and anxiety – that lovely combination that makes me yell at my dog and run five miles a day – I decided that it would be a good idea to level with my advisor this week:

“I need you to know that I can’t, or rather don’t know how to, or maybe don’t want to write my dissertation.”
“and you think you’re alone in this anne, that you’re the only one who has ever struggled in this?”
“well, I don’t know, everyone else seems to be sailing along.”
“get over yourself, anne. now.”

I then went on to sob while she then reminded me (with equal parts annoyance and complete confidence) that this process was bound to suck for me, that I’d struggled with debilitating anxiety for the entire year before my exams, and that she was frankly surprised that I’d made it this far without a complete breakdown in her office. And so I left, knowing that I’d hang with it, knowing that it would indeed be a struggle, and even that periods of easy writing would be infrequent at best. But nevertheless I’d keep on.

Now I’m determined to rethink the way I think about my writing. Of late, I’ve stared at the screen and cried because every sentence feels impossibly difficult. The architecture of each paragraph haunts me. I obsessively worry that I know not even enough to make common-sensical claims. So it’s time for operation behavior modification:

1. write in 30 minute blocks with five sentence goals, i.e. not the pressure of a full paragraph.
2. if said writing is actually completed, allow myself to do whatever I want for an hour.
3. if said writing is not completed, force myself to do whatever I want for an hour.
4. do not even attempt to write in a linear progression; just choose a bit of material and start recording observations.

That’s the plan for now. We'll see.

p.s. thanks heather for egging me on.

i know, i know. it's been quite a hiatus these last few weeks. day after day of transcribing documents has evoked little of interest and certainly nothing worth sharing. by the light of this photo, you'll see that i've returned to my library carrel at UNC. i had planned to be here only briefly and then depart again for new england, but life's complications -- involving a degenerating arlo and a friend who has inexplicably decided to renege on his dog-sitting promise -- mean that my plans have had to shift. i'm still hoping to get to the american antiquarian society in november, but my departure will necessarily be delayed. so in the meantime, i'm plugging away on my work on the society to encourage studies at home. i've reached that awkward (though if i were a better person i would say "exciting") stage of needing to figure out how to assimilate all that i've gathered into a chapter that in any way jives with the project as a whole. i think i'm always hopeful that i may be struck by some relatively benign form of lightning. i'm also having to face serious alcott revisions. i don't think i need to say any more about that...though it has meant that i'm finally engaging with reader-response criticism, which i'm sad to say, i somehow escaped during my course work. i worry that it often feels like i'm most compelled by that which is hopelessly passe, but who can resist it?