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Time passes.

It’s been a while since I’ve written anything. Or updated my Thesis Odyssey. Truth is, it’s been slow. And I’ve had a couple ideas for blog posts, but once I sit down to write one, I feel like I should be writing my project instead. In short, it’s been a rough week.

I wonder what the purpose of this blog is, truly? I’ve been looking at a peer’s blog. He went to my high school. I doubt he remembers much of me. But his writing is extremely elegant. And he exhibits a kind of control with his posts. Only creative writing.

I keep thinking that I’ll try to do this. Try to give myself days of the week to post on, or to limit myself to certain kinds of posts. I like the idea of the Missives, of the form of monologued-conversation with works of art/artists.

That’s why I titled this blog A Joycean Existence. Not to write solely about Joyce, but to engage with other works the way I engage with his — in a way that challenges me to think and to consider new points of view. I love having those moments when I seem to wake out of my normal existence with a realization.

It’s too much to expect that I have these realizations every day. I mean, I can’t always be writing Dear Elliot Stable, Dear Tina Fey, or Dear Jesse McCartney. I get into a zone with pop-culture, and I cycle through things, and I watch things or listen to things because they are easy and comfortable.

Of course, JMac was the first artist/singer I ever wrote to. That blog was actually called dearjessemccartney. It had it’s purpose. This one will have its. I will find it. And once I find it, I imagine it will be even easier to write.


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The Modern Library Reading Challenge

A challenge after my own heart:

The Modern Library Reading Challenge.


I have a similar kind of challenge to myself — to read all the books on this list.  (My running count is can be found here, under the BOOKS tab.)  Granted, I have not been doing too much of this lately, or really writing my thoughts about said books.  Many are in my memory, but it would be interesting to see how much I remember.  Some I owe an unbiased reread — like Catcher in the Rye and The Great Gatsby.  Others, I can’t get out of my life.  Just click the Ulysses, Stephan Dedalus, James Joyce, or Portrait of the Artist categories and you’ll see for yourself how often these emerge.

What would I say about these books if I gave myself 500, or 1000 words like Edward Champion?  What would happen if I did read in order?

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