First of all, I promise that I have not stopped reading. I'm just a strange combination of swamped and lazy, so I haven't posted since...well, you know better than I do. Probably.
Second, I am currently in the process of PhD school research/applications, adding to the giant to-do list I already had (which includes taking the GRE--in two weeks, preparing a chapter of my thesis for publication, editing my novel manuscript, querying for another novel manuscript, traveling to and presenting at RMMLA, attending a mystery writer's conference in Santa Fe, teaching three sections of English 104, getting ready to perform a show this weekend with my band, making paper bead bracelets for a local craft/food festival, and tutoring at a local community college).
What does this mean? I pretty sure it means that I hate myself, because I was rarely ever this busy even in graduate school. It also means that my reading has been sporadic and all over the place. Right now, I'm reading The Sorrows of Satan, Vanity Fair, and How Novels Think: The Limits of Individualism from 1719-1900. There are also a few books in my currently reading pile that I hope to finish soon but have set aside for other, more pressing, reads.
It also means that if I can pull all of this off I will be one happy camper come the middle of December. And one waiting-with-baited-breath camper, because once I submit those PhD applications I know I'll be checking my email every day even though THE LOGICAL PART OF MY BRAIN KNOWS BETTER. Sorry. Just yelling at myself...
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