Monday was computer set-up day; Tuesday was campus/library day; today I spent an unconscionable amount of time on the phone with customer service representatives (who were really quite nice and helpful, and one of whom was much amused by my very audible struggles with Glendower, who wanted to bite my pen, my hands, and my various bits of paper, and to walk all over the laptop keyboard), but finally I got off the phone, pulled myself away from recovery/compensatory/procrastinatory activities such as gardening and felinical service, and started writing.

1112 words.  Most of these, it’s true, are from the conference paper, and some others are along the lines of “footnote So And So” or “FIND SHELFMARK.”  (Yes, I shout at myself when writing drafts, don’t you?)  But it’s 1112 words, when the journal I plan to submit to suggests 6000 as a suitable length, so I’m 18.5% of the way to my article!

And thus I am happy to accept CK’s award of a “The Dame Rocks” sticker (see comments to last post), especially because the image that summons up for me is Mae West meets Debbie Harry.  The tide is high, so why don’t you come up and see me sometime?

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13 thoughts on “Progress

    1. It’s what manuscripts have instead of call numbers. They go back to the days when manuscripts lived in private libraries. So where a call number, in my neck of the woods, reads something like “PR1203 .A9 1977B” for a modern facsimile edition, the shelfmark for the original manuscript is Advocates 19.2.1, because in the eighteenth century it belonged to the library of an association of lawyers (advocates) in Edinburgh, bookcase 19, shelf 2, position 1. The books that belonged to Sir Robert Cotton’s library, though now in the British Library, all have shelfmarks starting with the name of a Roman Emperor (or empress), because each of his bookcases had the bust of an emperor on top of it. Thus, Cotton Nero A.x, or Cotton Cleopatra C.vi, where the letter refers to the bookshelf within the case, and the Roman number is the position of the manuscript along that shelf. Things get much simpler in modern times; libraries now just assign each MS a number corresponding to the order in which they acquired it.

  1. You DO rock! I’m impressed!

    I’m also relieved to know that I’m not the only one talking to myself when I write (I can’t shout – it would disturb “Prozac Pup” who is very, very sensitive).

      1. Prozac Pup is real. He’s an elderly Staffordshire Bull Terrier who’s the most delicate flower known to humanity when he’s not powering along on his daily walks. He can’t stand shouts of excitement, let alone sustained grumbling of the writerly sort.

  2. I shout at myself in bold. I marvel at you having the energy and enthusiasm to write after a day full of customer service phone calls.

    1. It wasn’t really a day, probably under an hour all told. It’s just that I usually find this sort of thing terribly stressful, and it took me days to get around to doing it. Today was a “strong” day and I probably should have taken advantage of it to make even more calls while I could, but not having written was making me crazy.

  3. My shouts are highlighted in yellow. The part about Glendower was amusing because I can picture that, except that I end up picturing Captain (which means adding drool). I always warn students they might get papers back with teeth marks and that’s just my cats.

  4. Am so glad you accepted the sticker. Because you DO rock. Debbie Harry + Mae West + you = the rockingest.

    Also shout at myself on paper to ADD things. ADD title. ADD year. ADD something better than what I’ve written here. Etc.

  5. Oh, I totally shout at myself when I write and I shout the same kinds of things you do. Sometimes, though, I’ll shout for multiple clauses, usually ending in BLAH BLAH BLAH, my cynical, shouting version of ETC.

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