Stalled

Having finished revising Martin's War (at least for now), and not being quite ready to start another novel (although, you know, that was how Anthony Trollope did it -- the minute he finished one book, he snatched up a sheet of paper and began the next), I am at a loss for anything to do.

It's an odd and vacant feeling and I do not like it.

I suppose I should go rake leaves, or fold laundry, or something.

I'm reading China Mieville's The City & The City, which is really good, also a fat book on the history of Modern Poetry which is annoying me mightly by leaving out all the women poets, nearly.  And I'm dealing with the prep for class tomorrow.  Other than that I am doing almost nothing.