No Swan So Fine

This morning when I walked into Olin Hall for whatever reason everyone around me was very small. The undergraduates I passed all looked like elementary school students. Perhaps I made the coffee extra strong today?

There aren't too many days that I lament, dang, I'd like to be in Buffalo right now, but today is one of them.

For the Ohio writers out there: Rubbertop Review is now taking submissions for its second issue. Check it out!

I think I am getting used to the new camera. My old one would've picked up more definition on the gorgeous bird above, however.

I'm hoping that today is relatively peaceful so that I can continue catching up and maybe get a little time to write tonight. My kids were extra difficult to get out of the house this morning (go get your shoes so I can help you put them on // [child gets shoes and throws them into bathtub] // you are driving me crazy // [child takes socks off and runs away]).

Hopefully that's not a metaphor.

What is "not writing," and do you believe in it?

I've heard a lot of people mention "not writing," as if it's a part of the process. As if it's intentional. I'd like to know more about that.

The other day Olena Kalytiak Davis read at CSU, and she mentioned something about "not writing" sometimes being as important as "writing."

There's obviously a big difference between "not writing" and "not eating" or "not grading these papers that I need to hand back tomorrow." But I'm interested in the notion of "not writing" (and lordy, I am getting really sick of putting that in quotes) as an intentional practice, rather than a justification for writer's block, a reason to be apathetic, and so on.

Have you ever intentionally been "not writing"? Why? Did it help?

Lately I have been "not writing anything good due to other urgent matters," but I have a feeling that's not the same thing whatsoever.