Irony: the opposite of wrinkly

Why is it that all my writing professors refuse to read genre literature on the grounds that it’s all formulaic trash where anything can happen, and then insist that we read absurdist fiction where anything can and does happen?


Bike love

The weather’s been pretty glorious this past week, so I finally made it out on the Poudre trail yesterday. I’m so used to taking the Mason trail to Barnes and Noble that I forget how pretty the Poudre is, with the river and the butterfly preserve. Twisty paths through woods and wasteland, plus glorious sunset over the mountains, and a cool breeze speeding me uphill. Couldn’t ask for better.

Of course, having procrastinated all of yesterday, I have a ridiculous amount of work to do before my afternoon class, but I so needed that joy!


Presentation went pretty well, and now I’m trying to get my Shakespeare paper proposal together. I want to look at the ways the playwrights who wrote about Edward II and Edward III tried to reconcile the differences between father and son, especially writing at a moment where history was beginning to be about cause and effect, rather than just the will of God: Do you just point up the differences between the two, the way Marlowe does, or do you get into what traits get passed down and how people overcome their heritage, like the artist possibly known as Shakespeare did? (I’m one of those staunch supporters of “Shakespeare wrote Shakespeare,” but apparently EIII authorship is disputed because it wasn’t attributed to him until a century after his death.)

What I like is that Shakespeare seems to solve the problem by giving EIII the same overwhelming passions his father had, but letting him choose to redirect those passions when they become dangerous. He can’t change who he is, but he can change what he does about it.

Also, I am sick to death of not having time or a safe route to ride my bike every day. I need my 20 miles, but I don’t particularly feel like risking my life on an iced-over blind turn every day.