I have been engaged in a bit of writing. I find it curious that I when try to write, the words do not come easily. It is, well, work. At the same time, I find that I can write emails and various other things of the "non-work" variety with lightening speed. My writing becomes clever and without much effort I get from point A to point B without too many digressions and false starts. When I sit down to write, as I have today with parts of my first chapter, it takes me a better part of the day to concoct of meaningful paragraph. I may have exaggerated on the "meaningful" part. It takes a great deal of effort to organize the various sections, and draw together the notes on the research. The research is the fun and glamorous part. Sifting through archival records, reading secondary sources, finding new things--that is where all the excitement is. The writing takes time and one is called upon to provide meaning or a larger interpretation to all those bits of information.
Over the next few weeks, I will be writing more of this chapter. It is one of those chapters which sets the tone for the rest of the work. I also wonder if I am caught by the largeness of the whole project. This is my first endeavor post graduate school. I may, just may, be experiencing a bit of apprehension that I will not prove myself. In the field of history, so much depends on what one does as a young scholar. One must either publish the dissertation asap or several articles from it and a new book within a few years of graduating, or face fading into oblivion in the wake of the next batch of new young scholars. Ambition and fear of failure are powerful motivators, are they not?
I do enjoy my work, even when I have difficulties. I may be at the end of the day tired and frustrated by my lack of progress, but I cannot imagine another working life. I just wish I did it better, and faster.
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