Creative Election

Since I've started this attempt at novel writing, I've realized that I have some peculiar ideas about authorship. Over the years I've read a great many blog posts about the writing life, some of which, perhaps unhelpfully, detail the devotion, emotional involvement, and obsessive habits of true writers (in slightly-too-artistic-and-emotional prose, at that). I always find these posts off-putting, because the truth is, I am not like those writers. Maybe just because I haven't yet committed enough time to the craft. Maybe because those posts are overly dramatic and certainly generalized. But my authorial insecurities always whisper to me that the real explanation must simply be that I am not a true writer.

Pygmalion and Other Wonders

Hello all,
The past two days have been somewhat overwhelming but such a tremendous blessing! Yesterday morning, we set off for Greenwich led by one of my professors (whom I leave persistently unnamed for privacy's sake) leading the way. It was my first trip on the London Underground, affectionately known as The Tube, also my first trip on light rail in the country. I have to say, the Tube is efficient, but the light rail made me feel rather ill, and that detracted from the fact that I got to walk across the Prime Meridian several times through the course of the day. Learning the seafaring origins of Greenwich Mean Time was fascinating, though. If you get a chance, look up the story.