This morning, I drew a tarot card to give my day some shape, and it was Death.
It was the card I’ve needed to see for a while. This post is about scaling back your goals and killing off that which does not serve, in light of new priorities.
Instead of resolutions for the new year, I spend each December crafting my writing goals for the following year. I write them and pin them above my computer so that I have to stare at them every day, and so that every day I take a step toward them. And this works. I’ve had a really productive and prolific run these past few years- I landed a literary agent with a killer book proposal, I made headway on my first academic manuscript, and I wrote a few novels. This is in addition to the writing and publishing (academic articles, press releases, etc.) that I do for my jobs. I’ve been riding that cloud of smugness for years now, with no real empathy for the people who have to bleed all over the page just to get a few sentences down.
After our 2016 Holiday Hiatus, we are back with a bang! For new followers and old, welcome to our blog. We’re so glad you’re here.
I had a fantastic New Year’s eve: As I was in London for research this winter, it was an easy hop/skip/jump to Amsterdam. There I got to ring it in with old friends, and together we ate fragrant persimmons, drank sparkling wine, and watched the glorious Dutch tradition of extravagant firecrackers and rockets explode over the Overtoom for hours. I had many important and beautiful conversations with the writers who I have carried, and who have frequently carried me. Together, we fortified ourselves for the coming year.
By all rights, 2017 is going to be a hairy year for smart women everywhere. There will be a lot of changes in Washington that affect the world as the US becomes the latest nation to succumb to the global wave of aggressive nationalism and all the terrible things that accompany it.
Anyone who writes for a living is already aware that financially things will get tighter as the new political process unfolds. At minimum, we should expect that all federally-funded projects could become bargaining chips, and have the potential to be de-funded. For those of us whose main work is writing for and in those areas, either as contractors, full-time, part-time, or freelancers, it’s a really scary proposition. Continue reading “2017: The Year of Writerly Resistance”→
The election of the new president of the United States was the inglorious epilogue in the global spread of regressive, dangerous ideology. To the smart women who write, it feels like a very clear confirmation that something beautiful and important in the soul of not just the nation, but the world, has died.
Without consciously having orchestrated it, each of us (Tanya, Bryna, and Angela) wrote about living and writing and working with this stark confirmation fresh in our hearts these past few weeks. If you read all three posts together, they look a little bit like the disjointed phases of grief.
So many people have said it in the past few months that I don’t even know who I should attribute this quote to. But it’s true: nobody can tell the difference anymore between awful reality and caricature. 2016 is the year that extinguished many of our heroes and filled the swamp with bonafide jack-booted villains who half-joke about rounding us up.
I’m not going to mince words: the world feels unspeakably grim right now. I know that my feelings are not 100% a reflection of reality, but they are a reflection of the uncertainty the US and the world are facing. They are also a reflection of the fear I have for my own personal safety, and the safety of people I care about. A lot of things many of us were fortunate enough to grow up taking for granted, like universal human rights, are up for debate on a scale that only the most maligned among us truly saw coming. Nothing about this situation is normal.
Trying to peer into the future is incredibly scary, because the worst might actually come to pass. No one knows if it will or not, but it’s no longer out of the question. It’s a possibility. A deeply terrifying possibility.
I do so much work with Digital Humanities for my position. So much. But do I ever write up any of that and submit it to publication? Ha, nope.
I write everything else of course, and this always falls to the back burner. And I’m willing to bet that sadly, I am not alone. How many of you do cutting-edge work in whatever field you happen to be in, and then put off the writing for summer, or for next year, or for when you get that research leave, or or or?
We all know this is a major missed opportunity for critical reflection, for peer feedback, and for collaboration. Fortunately, Rebecca Panter, another postdoctoral fellow, felt the same way. So we made 2016 the year we did something about it: we started the Digital Humanities Writing Group for faculty and grad students on campus who found themselves always doing and never writing it up. And as anything worth implementing is worth implementing well, we slapped an ambitious goal onto it: each of our members will have a complete journal article or manuscript chapter finished by the end of the Spring 2017 semester.
It’s a lot, but it’s also doable, and I think that is one of the main draws of the group. Just like you eat an elephant one bite at a time (well, I don’t. I hope you don’t, either. We don’t have enough of them on this planet for you to be making them part of Taco Tuesdays.), you write an article one page at a time.
This post is Part 2 of a series on the Mellon Institute of Public and Digital Humanities. A special thanks to Allison Myers, Ryan Trauman, and Marie Lovejoy at the Story Center. For part 1, please click here.
I didn’t know anything about digital storytelling when I walked into the Story Center’s workshop as part of the Mellon Institute of Digital and Public Humanities. I thought it was maybe something like an audiobook, or a video of me, telling a story. No big deal, I thought. As a historian, I pretty much write and tell stories for a living.
But then the story specialists at the Story Center taught the other institute participants and I *how* to write a script for digital storytelling, and I began eyeing the door. Not because it was too big or difficult, but because it was so small and succinct. How was I going to tell a full story worth hearing in fewer than 250 words? I’ve probably written longer sentences than that!