It’s raining. Not drizzle, not dripping, but rain. Pouring, even. The drops are visible as big gobbets, and it’s falling so hard on the roof that I can hear it upstairs, pounding on the attic roof. In a short while, I have to go over to the academic building and listen to the academic awards given out. I was not asked to deliver one of them this term, which is fine.
I’ve just finished re-reading Stephen King’s On Writing, which is a fantastic book for getting you inspired to start writing again. Parts of it are somewhat dismaying. I’m horrified by the idea of trying to find a window in my very busy day when I can sit down at write at the same time, day in and day out. Clio kind of precludes that, actually. But I do want to try to do some of his exercises over vacation. Particularly, I want to write short stories. I’ve never had much luck writing them, but it’s clear that novels are rather difficult in my present lifestyle.