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I miss writing. Not an accurate statement in an of itself, perhaps. I do much more writing now than I have since I got my BS, much more reading than even in my deepest binges.
But it's not the kind of writing I'm talking about. I miss my characters and their stories. I miss being able to write 3K in a day because I'm just so into the scene, the moment, the story. Witty banter, exploration. I miss going to the Diesel, sitting down with my little black book and pouring out words on a page - my words, and yet not mine for they come from somewhere else that's somehow all in my head. And rereading it later and realising that yes, I wrote that. And I did it at least half-way decently and entirely intentionally. I miss exploring things I don't know about a place I've been the only one to ever imagine.
That's not to say I'm not enjoying myself now. Grad school is definitely what I want out of life, but it's not all I want out of it. Never has been, nor will it ever be. But I am enjoying it - enjoying the friends I've made and the people I've met and the things I've learned about the science and what's going on in biology, and myself. I'm also doing well, by all accounts. Grades don't count for all that much in a five-plus year program, but mine are darn good, and the professors I've interacted with thus far all have positive things to say. I've learned enough from the job of hell not to repeat old mistakes. And I enjoy writing scientifically, too. I love putting down the things I've done, the way I've moved our knowledge of something along. It's rewarding, it's enlightening, and I still get way happy about a turn of phrase, or a creative way of explaining a concept.
I guess I binge on one and miss the other, is all. So much for working consistently. Balance is a figment of my imagination, it seems.
Maybe it's time to set up a writing schedule to keep these funks in check. Say, 500 words a day on anything I want so long as its not to do with one of my assignments. Sound start, I suppose, but the idea will need to percolate more. And maybe wait until after Thanksgiving.
But it's not the kind of writing I'm talking about. I miss my characters and their stories. I miss being able to write 3K in a day because I'm just so into the scene, the moment, the story. Witty banter, exploration. I miss going to the Diesel, sitting down with my little black book and pouring out words on a page - my words, and yet not mine for they come from somewhere else that's somehow all in my head. And rereading it later and realising that yes, I wrote that. And I did it at least half-way decently and entirely intentionally. I miss exploring things I don't know about a place I've been the only one to ever imagine.
That's not to say I'm not enjoying myself now. Grad school is definitely what I want out of life, but it's not all I want out of it. Never has been, nor will it ever be. But I am enjoying it - enjoying the friends I've made and the people I've met and the things I've learned about the science and what's going on in biology, and myself. I'm also doing well, by all accounts. Grades don't count for all that much in a five-plus year program, but mine are darn good, and the professors I've interacted with thus far all have positive things to say. I've learned enough from the job of hell not to repeat old mistakes. And I enjoy writing scientifically, too. I love putting down the things I've done, the way I've moved our knowledge of something along. It's rewarding, it's enlightening, and I still get way happy about a turn of phrase, or a creative way of explaining a concept.
I guess I binge on one and miss the other, is all. So much for working consistently. Balance is a figment of my imagination, it seems.
Maybe it's time to set up a writing schedule to keep these funks in check. Say, 500 words a day on anything I want so long as its not to do with one of my assignments. Sound start, I suppose, but the idea will need to percolate more. And maybe wait until after Thanksgiving.
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