I can’t finish, I’ll finish.
by zunguzungu
I seem to be unable to finish anything these days. My prospectus is done — I’ll have my prospectus conference on Tuesday — despite the incongruous fact of having already written half the dissertation. But I seem unable to write the second half of anything, and the prospectus is only done because it should have been done a year ago. And finishing is the important thing, right?
This is especially true of the blog; a friend asked for the url the other day, and I told him I hadn’t written anything interesting lately, which feels true to me. Or rather, while I’m writing and writing and writing, I’m having trouble finishing the stuff I’m writing. I get interested in something and write 90% of a post only to put it away for the final touches later, and they never come. Or when they do, I find that I’ve got a new vision for the piece, and I again take it 90% of the way (a different way) before putting it aside to await, again, the ministrations of my future self, who usually doesn’t come.
Part of it, I think, is that the blessing/curse of academic work, the way it’s basically self-motivated, has fostered some counterproductive habits in me. At its best, deciding what you want to work on means you get to work on what you’re passionate about; at its worst, it means that, lacking passion, you cannot work. Or at least that’s how it is for me, and it means I’m becoming less and less able to do the work when I don’t want to. And these days I’m less and less sure I want to, for all sorts of banal reasons.
Now I’ve never been good at the all-nighter, or working when I’m tired in a general sense. I just don’t care enough, or rather, when I care I can work, and when I’m tired I don’t care and can therefore not work. If I take a drink — say a late afternoon beer — I’m done for the day; I know people that can relax with alcohol and then go back to work, or even have a beer while grading papers, but I absolutely cannot do that. I simply will not go back to work. I will do something else. I think this is why it feels like I do 75% of my work in the first two hours of the day (usually 5 – 7 am): I get up and am full of energy, full of passion for the work, and then I can work. But after that blast fades, I’m less and less likely to be able to get it back; the project grows and becomes unwieldy and my arm is too tired to lift it. And the more fun I’m having over the course of the day, the less likely it is that I’ll even try, which produces a kind of cycle of failure: if I do anything fun, I don’t want to go back to work, but if I’m bored or get antsy, I find that I don’t have even the desire to work. A happy medium sometimes…
It all sounds very self-indulgent, unless you reflect on how hard writing is. Anyone can jump rope for two or three minutes — it’s so easy, children do it! — but try to do it for twenty. Your legs will hurt in a way that’s hard to even describe, a fatigue that for me roughly approximates the feeling of writing past a certain limit. It’s so focused, and certain parts of your brain get such an excessive workout that they simply beg you for rest, for relief. You can continue, but the thing is that it’s very hard to want to continue. You hit the wall; your focus flags and you want to stop. This, I guess, is why marathons are all about hitting the wall and keeping on. And writing a dissertation is a marathon.
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Anyway, all this is just to say: I am trying to figure out to do with all the 90% written blog posts clogging up my computer. So, as always in America! (Fuck Yeah!), the answer is democracy. Which posts would you like me to finish dear readers? Yes, it’s time to pull your own weight, you sponges, you leeches, you lurkers for whom I give so much and receive so little (no seriously, I love each and every one of you, and not in the metaphorical way: I really am in love with you, yes, you! Give me that baby! Kiss, kiss!). But you have to do your part and pull that lever, honestly, I won’t forget you when I’m governor of Maryland. Vote early, vote often:
A. Keziah Jones and cowrie shells in Things Fall Apart. Or Keziah Jones and the Beatles and whiteness as a structure of amnesia. Or both.
B. More on the Nakedness of Africans. Y’all seemed to like that one, but all those comments gave me performance anxiety and I was unable to even respond. Such a wilting flower am I! And this is what the French call a Long Durry project, so expect it to be an ongoing preoccupation anyway, if not in the short term (short preview: Richard Wright, too, is freaked out by African women’s breasts).
C. Venkatesh’s Gang Leader for a Day, David Simon’s The Corner, and Bronislav Malinowski. Maybe even DuBois too. Aw, hell, and also The Wire. And Jacob Riis. See? This is why I can’t finish it.
D. Return of the Jedi, and the fact that it’s all about theorizing why American imperialism is better than British imperialism, which is teh sux, even though British accents are pretty rad too, as long as they’re dead. And with a bonus Stanley/Livingstone metaphor: Obi-Wan is Livingstone! Luke is Stanley! George Lucas is still a clown, though.
E. Shanghai Noon , which is also about that, but is also about how American imperialism puts female bodies into circulation, making sex a metaphor for capitalism and vice versa, and Owen Wilson the face of the American Empire. So dreamy! So Texan! And also, this is really just my stolen version of Scrimshander’s reading of Johnnie To’s Sparrow which he refuses to write, the bastard..
F. The Aeneid! On Facebook! Hilarity and why it ensues.
G. My feelings on the Postcolonial debate that started at the Valve. Why our thinking about “the postcolonial” has been very uptight, as if we aren’t privy to the new shit that’s come to light.
H. Youssou N’Dour and the world music. Our tradition is a very modern tradition.
I. Henry Morton Stanley and why he thinks Arabs are the Southern confederacy. Fun fact: Henry Morton Stanley fought for both sides in the Civil War, and deserted twice. The man had game.
J. Love, oh love, Careless Love. Can’t you see what your careless love has done to me? Dylan and Cash.
K. The thing that happens in every book I’m teaching this semester where it all turns out to be about the problem of African women that all, like, into clothes and superficialities and butterfly-associated fripperies, and as a result get into big old trouble and cause all sorts of problems for the tribe and also cause colonialism. Stupid women.
L. A piece I started writing about The Godfather, the novel, which may or may not be about Teddy Roosevelt, and which may or may not be burdened by being shoehorned into an argument about Marxism. I also may not mention how delightfully weird the whole “Sonny’s enormous phallus and the woman who loves it” subplot is, but if you haven’t read the novel, be warned: Sonny is packing.
M. More epochal fallacies on what’s going to happen to white people, the poor dears. On the age of Obama being a golden opportunity for men to bite dog with reference to the historical structures of racial oppression. Fish wrap that fallacy!
N. The Extraverted African Novel. More learning to love tautological generic forms. Moretti!
O. What’s the deal with A History of Violence? It isn’t violence, but it isn’t history either! Also, airline food.
P. Frederick Law Olmstead, the five day postal week, and arguing about public land. Yeah, even I can’t get excited about that one.
Q. An Orwellian screed on “Growing Your Capacity” and developmentalism as Newspeak. Actually, that’s pretty much the gist of it. So instead of that, how about this: blogging, the short form, and what the demise of journalism and the rise of new media says about what we think “culture” is. Man, I have no idea what the answer to that question is, but I’d like to.
R. What I do when I teach a class called “The African Writer”; more reasons why Stanley Fish is wrong. (Though, to be fair, did you read his piece on the Ward Churchill case? Totally lucid and smart and not at all an ideological cart hauling a horse all across the political landscape with vim and vigor, as we’ve come to expect. Flashes of the old Fish. Come back Shane! Though enough with the basketball already, dude. Seriously. I do not believe you still come to conferences and challenge your ideological foes to pick up games, though thank you for having done it in the past because that’s awesome. Man, once, a parentheses gets rolling, it’s easy to continue. By the way, should I write more on The Wire? I can’t decide. And what should my next netflixed TV show be? I’m thinking Arrested Development. Battlestar Galactica is the obvious choice, but I’m smarter about comedy, I think. When it comes to political drama, I just write the usual “Colonialism is bad” narratives. Surprise, surprise. Also, the Apatovian and why Judd Apatow is the least interesting guy doing it; the triangle of desire and why it’s all about men using women to get men, as if that wasn’t obvious.)
S. The phrase “Empire for Liberty” and Haiti.
T. White Noise! and/or Chris Abani’s Graceland, racial mimicry, and Elvis!
U. Why it’s weird that Gloria Anzaldúa’s Borderlands/La Frontera refers to the U.S.-Mexican border as an open wound, but in a good way. Hint: it’s because of Stanley and Livingstone, as pretty much everything is.
V. Children of Men, and why the new baby has to come from a black mama, and why (more interestingly) it wants to forget that it has to. Hint: the answer is T.S. Eliot.
W. Nostalgia for Nyerere. What I don’t know about Tanzania, expressed in the form of unsubstantiated generalizations about what Tanzanians don’t know about Nyerere.
X. Photographing African atrocities. What is it with showing pictures of lots of skulls in Africa? Why are shot animals sometimes posed alive and sometimes posed dead? And why is it that I imagined having seen pictures of a pyramid of hands cut off of Congolese laborers but actually only read about it? And can’t seem to find any pictures, even though I’ve looked real hard. What kind of desire is that, brown cow? Physician, deconstruct thyself!
Y. Ragging on the NPR lady who yesterday told a narrative of having un-learned a myth about the Maasai but actually just told a new myth about the Maasai, only one that she likes better. Plus, visual aids from my first day of class.
Z. Fort Frederick, in Maryland. And the CCC. With bonus bad poetry! That I saw and took a picture of.
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The ironic thing is that I finished this post on the day I started it. You might say that it performs the structure of its own critique by incorporating open-endedness into its finished form. But why would you do that? Better to ask the following hilarious joke: What is the difference between blogging and academic writing? One is unpaid writing you somehow trick yourself into thinking you want to do but if you had any sense you’d choose to do something that could make some money, and the other is written on the internet. Ha! Ha! Ha!
Man, just re-read the first half of this post. Who is that guy, and why is he pissing and moaning so hard? Listen to me, self: Chill!
I didn’t read the last 10% of the post, but it seems like you finish a lot even though you may not complete it all. I’ll give you a hug next time I see you and tell you it’s ok.
You were the toughest ball plaeyr I ever saw. It was Elmer Layden. He was one of the Four Horsemen of Notre Dame. He said they played baseball against them in some tournament in South Bend. My Grandfather was so humble with himself. He didn’t even know who the man was. He just did his job. Imagine that.
I dunno. Those all sound great, but maybe it’s more efficient to just post excellent lists of cryptic and intriguing post ideas.
In the order I scrolled:
v, r, o, n, l, g, d, and c.
All of which should x-posted, too. That said, you do realize that this too shall pass, right? That moment when you feel like a starving Balrog — having hung out in the mines for a couple thousand years with only the occasional orc to sustain you — and just when you’re about to get your hands on some tasty morsels this stupid wizard throws up his hands and yells “YOU SHALL NOT PASS!”? You know, that moment? Eventually you eat the wizard. Then you eat the fellowship. Then you eat the world. Trust me, it’ll happen. (Can you guess what my neighbor’s watching REALLY REALLY LOUDLY on television? Can you?)
Point being, eventually you hit a stretch where you can’t generate new material, and then you’ll turn to the perpetually unfinished stuff and realize the joy of completing multiple projects in a short span of time. If you were paying stalkerific attention to my blog about this time last you, you would’ve noticed that I was working on my Twain, Wharton and Weir Mitchell chapters simultaneously, and that the Wharton and Weir (much to my committee’s dismay) were “completed” in less than a week.
Seafan: Cheers! But my baseball team still sucks. Seriously? 0-6? Seriously?!
Rob: This, too, was my conclusion.
SEK: Cheers! And I enjoyed the Balrog analogy. I’m now going to imagine your neighbors accidentally knocking a bucket down the well and then getting surrounded by five billion orcs before the nameless shadow of the deep shows up and starts keeping it real on their asses.
Well, most of these sound interesting–and coming from you, even the others would be–but, man, I really want that Children of Men post, like bad.
Also, wait, are you in Maryland or something? How did I miss that?
Meanwhile, half my posts are like this one, without the selection process. I’d say chill, but I never do.
(And, I took Butterfly Burning out of the library; will report back.)
Why are you only now defending your prospectus if the dissertation is half written already? I want to hear the story of that!
Also, in that vein, obviously I vote for you to prioritize your academic work and get done! So don’t let the blogging get higher priority than the dissertating (something I have known all about).
And I like the jump-roping analogy; although I don’t think I could get any of my family members to believe it and have sympathy for me, _I_ sure get the comparison!
Finally, I would like to hear about nakedness, Venkatesh, the border as an open wound, skull atrocities, and _Graceland._ Preferably not all together. Or maybe yes, together, if it would be more interesting that way.
PS did I tell you I actually attended a talk on Erskine Caldwell and smut, just for you? (well, ok, really for the amazing title.)
What Rob MacD said about cryptic posts is a good idea.
Here are my votes: A, B, G, H, T. Obviously I like the music;-)
I would totally read about F.L. Olmstead (P), and X. May your conference tomorrow go better than the Nats’ 09 season thus far.
Why not tell your committee that if you can finish all these blog posts, you get some sort of PhD? It does not have even be in a real field, they can just give you one from History or something. Two birds, one stone, one PhD. Booyah.
Do you SERIOUSLY follow the Nats? Egads!
Richard: I *was* waxing Marylandrian, wasn’t I? I used to live in DC — thus, sadly, a nats fan — and watch the Wire like it’s going out of style (which it damn well better not!), so the governor of Maryland thing was me thinking about everrything through the lens of Carcetti. Went on a bike trip across MAryland last summer (DC to Cumberland), so therein the origin of the picture of Fort Frederick. Also, in bonus Maryland content, do you have an explanation for MAryland’s state motto? “Manly deeds, womanly words” Seriously, I can’t decide if that’s awesome or just bizarre (probably both, I guess). Enjoy BB! Remember that it’s all about the experience of urbanization, and that Rhodesian “native” policy was all about keeping AFricans rooted in the villages, and preventing them from settling in the cities permanently, which they did anyway.
Sisyphus: For seriously on the EC and smut? I need names. I’ll offer the sad story of my long deferred prospectus in exchange.
Drew: Your choice of X is good, too, given that it rewquires me to finish blood meridian (with all the scalps as currency tropery in it that John B alerted me to). How long have you been urging me to read that book? It takes me back to the era of a different banjo.
Winslow: Sounds like a plan. As for the nationals, I’m not proud. The trouble is, whenever I see them play, they always resemble a baseball team. And then when I’m not watching them, something too horrible to speak about seems to happen to them.
ZZ, if you can’t finish, then there is no hope for me. At least you’ve conceptualized your blog posts; all I have are key words in caveman-speak rumbling in my brain (“Ugh! Ben Folds Jesusland Rick Perlstein Nixonland! Must write! Ugh!”). So, on behalf of all of us who can’t get things done, you have to finish. It’s officially an obligation to the Interwebs.
My vote: V and Z.
I say take everything you have from A-Z, paste it all in one post, as one un-broken text. And publish. Get it out of yer system. We will figure out which paragraphs we want.
GG: I’m reading Nixonland right now, in the few minutes before I fall asleep each night. I’m not sure what to make of it. On the one hand, there’s so much in it that makes the present moment legible. Yet this very applicability feels suspect for that very reason; it feels like he’s writing history with such an eye to the present that it’s losing some of its strangeness. There’s got to be a balance — or rather, a push and pull — and I feel like he’s smoothed off too many edges in pursuit of that telos, given us a history that’s almost *too* useable. I dunno. Or maybe they all do that? After all, maybe I’m only noticing it because Obama’s campaign strategy seems to make no sense in Nixonland terms, and yet he won.
Sepoy: Interesting. Can I shuffle the paragraphs around too? So very web 2.0.
True dat, as the kids (used to?) say. On the other hand, I’m reading Richard White’s _The Middle Ground_ about French-Indian relations in the Great Lakes area during the 17th century, and it’s so strange that I can’t help but think: who cares? You’re right that there needs to be balance–but I err on the side of usefulness. Because, hey, it’s not like we can ever truly write anything without an eye to the present. Might as well do it right
Maryland motto “Manly deeds, womanly words”
You academics can be so dense, the meaning is TOTALLY clear.
Women’s words tell men what to do, then the men promptly do those deeds.
What’s not to understand?
Aaron, I emphatically vote for Frederick Law Olmsted. Seriously!
How to finish efficiently: put a period at the end of a sentence and announce you are done.
It works for me.
Good luck with the prospectus conference!
I vote for the History of Violence post, simply because I was underwhelmed, yet almost every guy I know (and Manohla Dargis) thought it was the profoundest profundity ever.
Second choice, Facebook Aeneid, since I posted that.
V, please.
My choices would be I., L. and V.
But as a newcomer, perhaps my vote doesn’t carry as much weight. I just found your blog through a link at The Browser, and I’m intrigued. Any blog written by a Nats fan induces sympathy, of course (especially from a fan of the Evil Empire such as myself), and any blog that requires the word “more” in “More on the Nakedness of Africans” is certainly not peddling what’s clogging up so many other blogs. In short, if these are your truncated ideas, I look forward to exploring the fully realized…
Frederick Law Olmstead was a surprising dark horse.
GG, I suspect that Nixonland suffers from DFH syndrome; it’s about how the backlash against “excesses” got instrumentalized, but it can’t help but subtly share in a distaste for the sixties that feels very, very contemporary, a painting of a heterogeneity one single color that feels questionable at best. Got to think more about it, though.
LP, the upcoming Children of Men blogathon is dedicated to you, and tell that no-good-non-commenting husband of yours that my silence to him speaks volumes.
Marisa, the Aeneid thing is part of my world thanks to your timely intervention, so thanks!
JMW, Welcome!
K (I’d love you if you tied it into Porgy & Bess), O, Q, U, V.