On Sunday I snuck away from the house for a few precious hours to work on project 4- entitled writing as seeing and is all about developing my writer's eye. I think mine must be a bit short- sighted because I really struggled with these exercises. The point of them is to get me to 'see things with a fresh, imaginative slant.' and to be able to write about the most mundane object as if I am seeing it for the first time. As I worked through the exercises I felt my descriptive powers gradually increased and soon my words were flowing out freely as I recorded things that I was seeing. These took me a couple of hours, but when I reached the end the notes said that it was recommended to spend at least 4 hours for all four exercises. Woops. So then I decided to spend some time doing each exercise again, but picking different objects/scenes. This seemed to work ok initially, but towards the end of exercise 4 I think my mind was shouting "No More!" as my words suddenly dried up. As a result, on a read through I am pleased with my notes at the beginning, but towards the end the images and language seems more contrived and not as fresh. Over the past couple of days I've been working on redrafting my notes for all the exercises into the beginnings of poems, some of which I feel are quite successful, some parts not quite so. I'm not sure if I have been jumping ahead of myself a bit as they already seem poem-like in style, rather than just being like lists of descriptions which is what was specified in the course directions, but it felt like the right progression as I was working on the drafts, so I just went with it. Anyway, here is a taster of my favourite produced as a result of this work:
Plastic container of free liquid,
Transparent smoothness of the light
Reflected, refracted though and round
Encircling the lipped rim
And moving down inside
These belted bands of light
Meet the clear still water
Filled to the halfway, marked
Only by a single line
And shallow ripples touching
The surface, the reaction to
An outside world, the
Movement and vibrations
From all around.
Translucent printed words
Maroon, they shine through the sides
Suspended in the water,
Twisting bending upside down
in crystal liquid.
The beautiful teardrops left behind
Cling near the inner rim,
frozen there for now, untouched.
The citrus orb upon the table top
Sits shining bright,
Acidic colour pops
A flaming fire-ember glow.
Its waxy rind of
Close up pimpled imperfection
In porous skin
Gaping open wide
A minutely cratered hind
Is met by starfish tag
The secret sealed tight inside
Unpeeled, unbroken.
Can you guess what describing here?!
Monday, 28 June 2010
Friday, 25 June 2010
Hemingway
I have been thinking a lot about the act of writing in a notebook, and that it's something I have been doing all my life at on time or another, without realising it. I have usually only kept a diary when emotions have been rife; when I've been living life at the extremes- day to day mundanities have not been chronicled. My diary therefore consists of a string of highly charged, passionate entries connected inately to the ups and downs of my emotions. As Nicole Ward Jouve says on what her diaries have been for her in 'On Keeping a Diary', that they are 'the beginning of a voice of my own...I could hang onto a sense of self. In the choices one makes to write this or that in one's diary, year after year, out of the flow, the shape of who one is appears.'
I am really interested in looking into what other authors' notebooks contain, and my research arrived me at Ernest Hemingway's 'A Moveable Feast'. This is a memoir of Hemingway's time spent as a struggling young writer in post-war Paris, when he lived there as part of the American expatriate circle of writers in the 1920s. In 1956 Hemingway discovered an old trunk full of the notebooks he had filled during his time spent in Paris, so he had them transcribed, and he worked on this manuscript during his later years, rewriting key passages and had produced a final draft at the time of his death in 1961. 'A Moveable Feast' was published posthumously by Scribers in 1964.
It contains Hemingway's personal accounts, observations and stories of his experience of Paris. So detailed is his description that many of the cafes, bars, hotels and apartments can still be found in the modern day city. On the Moleskin notebook website it says Hemingway spent much of his time as a struggling young writer sitting in Parisian cafes watching the world go by and recording it in his Moleskin notebooks. In the memoir he reflects on this simple act- ordering a cafe au lait, pulling out his notebook and starting to write; 'that comfortable feeling that even whilst in the the midst of a bustling cafe one can immerse oneself into writing.'
The writing in "A Moveable Feast' is considered by some critics to be his finest ever produced- perhaps because it is taken direct from his very own notebooks, themselves rich with first hand imagery and thought.
Today I just bought a copy of 'A Moveable Feast' and on a quick flick through it has got me itching to get out my pen and write... so off I go to Telford to sit in Costa coffee house and do some people-watching. Hey, it's not Paris and it's not the 1920s, but it's all I have so it'll have to suffice!
I am really interested in looking into what other authors' notebooks contain, and my research arrived me at Ernest Hemingway's 'A Moveable Feast'. This is a memoir of Hemingway's time spent as a struggling young writer in post-war Paris, when he lived there as part of the American expatriate circle of writers in the 1920s. In 1956 Hemingway discovered an old trunk full of the notebooks he had filled during his time spent in Paris, so he had them transcribed, and he worked on this manuscript during his later years, rewriting key passages and had produced a final draft at the time of his death in 1961. 'A Moveable Feast' was published posthumously by Scribers in 1964.
It contains Hemingway's personal accounts, observations and stories of his experience of Paris. So detailed is his description that many of the cafes, bars, hotels and apartments can still be found in the modern day city. On the Moleskin notebook website it says Hemingway spent much of his time as a struggling young writer sitting in Parisian cafes watching the world go by and recording it in his Moleskin notebooks. In the memoir he reflects on this simple act- ordering a cafe au lait, pulling out his notebook and starting to write; 'that comfortable feeling that even whilst in the the midst of a bustling cafe one can immerse oneself into writing.'
The writing in "A Moveable Feast' is considered by some critics to be his finest ever produced- perhaps because it is taken direct from his very own notebooks, themselves rich with first hand imagery and thought.
Today I just bought a copy of 'A Moveable Feast' and on a quick flick through it has got me itching to get out my pen and write... so off I go to Telford to sit in Costa coffee house and do some people-watching. Hey, it's not Paris and it's not the 1920s, but it's all I have so it'll have to suffice!
Thursday, 24 June 2010
The Waiting Room
The surgery waiting room is nearly full, yet there hangs that familiar, stifled quietness that is so quintessentially British. The thirteen people that occupy these seats in their uniform rows fall into two different types- those that are frequent visitors to this waiting room; on first name basis with staff and wearing their ailments like a rosette of pride. The other half are those that still have that Victorian custom of keeping a 'stiff-upper-lip' and soldiering on despite knocking at death's door. Here they smother their bronchial coughs into embroidered handkerchiefs, stifling their splutters and sniffs; yet they fool no-one.
The room is speckled with the silvery grey heads of the older occupants, permed or neatly combed into that familiar style of the over sixties. The airless space is thick with the musty fragrance of stale cologne, mothballs and tobacco, remnants of odours caught in the fabrics of the people's clothes. Outfits are creased and crumpled, the colours faded through time. Some are ill- fitting and would not look out of place hanging on the rails of the Oxfam shop next door. They sit together in couples, men staring into space, lined hands resting on the worn wooden handles of their walking sticks. The women's handbags all rest primly in their laps. Some tightly clasp and fiddle with the straps as they absentmindedly pass the time until their turn with Doctor Bird. Eyes gaze unfocused at the tatty noticeboard where posters are pinned haphazardly, curling in at the edges.
A woman sits alone, set apart from the rest. Her clothes are crisp and bright; the colours are vivid and unworn. The woman's figure is lithe and slender for her age and her smooth, unlined skin suggests good care has been taken of herself. There are no outward signs of illness; she sits still and calm and straight-backed in the cheap plastic chair. The only movement comes from her fingers twisting and turning the gold ring on her left hand, round and round. A door opens with an almighty creak and there is a sudden rush of movement; heads turn in unison to greet the messenger. A name is called and the well-dressed woman stands slowly to her feet. Her eyes are steely with determination as she makes her way toward the open door to receive her dreaded news. She leaves behind her the rabble, sat comforted by their minor aches and pains.
Re-reading through my notebook, I found I kept returning to a piece of description that I had written whilst sat in the Doctor's surgery the other day, so it was this that I chose to work on for exercise 2. Whilst moving it from page to computer screen I found that I immediately became absorbed in the act of redrafting- changing its format; adding in extra details, deleting some parts and reordering the sequence of events. I also found that I remembered things from the scene that hadn't been
apparent at the time. As a first attempt at descriptive prose, I am pleased with the result. I'm surprised at how long the exercise took as the resulting passage is very short-I spent a lot of time trying things out whilst redrafting. I feel that it has been successful in re-creating the stuffy atmosphere, and setting the scene. Obviously this is a first attempt at writing prose, so some of the sentences seem slightly stilted, and possibly there are some grammatical errors, but with some extra work and practice I will hopefully make good progress. I really enjoyed writing about people and describing them in detail; I find people-watching endlessly fascinating. I love observation, it was one of the aspects I enjoyed the most about my Illustation degree, so this is an area I really want to explore further in my writing. This weekend my plan is to go out on my own with only my notebook for company and get some serious observation and description practice in; hopefully this will provide me with a whole load of interesting material to work from at a later date. Look out people of Telford- I'll be watching you..
The room is speckled with the silvery grey heads of the older occupants, permed or neatly combed into that familiar style of the over sixties. The airless space is thick with the musty fragrance of stale cologne, mothballs and tobacco, remnants of odours caught in the fabrics of the people's clothes. Outfits are creased and crumpled, the colours faded through time. Some are ill- fitting and would not look out of place hanging on the rails of the Oxfam shop next door. They sit together in couples, men staring into space, lined hands resting on the worn wooden handles of their walking sticks. The women's handbags all rest primly in their laps. Some tightly clasp and fiddle with the straps as they absentmindedly pass the time until their turn with Doctor Bird. Eyes gaze unfocused at the tatty noticeboard where posters are pinned haphazardly, curling in at the edges.
A woman sits alone, set apart from the rest. Her clothes are crisp and bright; the colours are vivid and unworn. The woman's figure is lithe and slender for her age and her smooth, unlined skin suggests good care has been taken of herself. There are no outward signs of illness; she sits still and calm and straight-backed in the cheap plastic chair. The only movement comes from her fingers twisting and turning the gold ring on her left hand, round and round. A door opens with an almighty creak and there is a sudden rush of movement; heads turn in unison to greet the messenger. A name is called and the well-dressed woman stands slowly to her feet. Her eyes are steely with determination as she makes her way toward the open door to receive her dreaded news. She leaves behind her the rabble, sat comforted by their minor aches and pains.
Re-reading through my notebook, I found I kept returning to a piece of description that I had written whilst sat in the Doctor's surgery the other day, so it was this that I chose to work on for exercise 2. Whilst moving it from page to computer screen I found that I immediately became absorbed in the act of redrafting- changing its format; adding in extra details, deleting some parts and reordering the sequence of events. I also found that I remembered things from the scene that hadn't been
apparent at the time. As a first attempt at descriptive prose, I am pleased with the result. I'm surprised at how long the exercise took as the resulting passage is very short-I spent a lot of time trying things out whilst redrafting. I feel that it has been successful in re-creating the stuffy atmosphere, and setting the scene. Obviously this is a first attempt at writing prose, so some of the sentences seem slightly stilted, and possibly there are some grammatical errors, but with some extra work and practice I will hopefully make good progress. I really enjoyed writing about people and describing them in detail; I find people-watching endlessly fascinating. I love observation, it was one of the aspects I enjoyed the most about my Illustation degree, so this is an area I really want to explore further in my writing. This weekend my plan is to go out on my own with only my notebook for company and get some serious observation and description practice in; hopefully this will provide me with a whole load of interesting material to work from at a later date. Look out people of Telford- I'll be watching you..
Wednesday, 23 June 2010
A Dream Remembered
Bus
Magic
Double-decker, old
London.
The colour blue, jade
Open back, hop on and off.
Mum and Dad, I can't see them.
They are with me.
Young, eight or nine
Step on the bus
Dark
Toys, brightly coloured seats
And soft play.
People, here, but I can't see them.
Outside vision, blurred darkness
Not scared.
Parents, here, protecting me.
Stairs
Many levels
Magic.
Up and up,
To the atmosphere.
Top room, so small.
Lighthouse
The view, a panorama
Theme park, rides everywhere.
Families I know
Through the window, dive,
Down, like a bungee jump.
This is actually my second attempt at exercise 1, creating a poem from a recurring childhood dream. The first draft I didn't feel was worthy of putting onto screen. On a read through it felt disjointed and there was a lack of continuity of language. I hadn't followed the brief: rather just copied words straight from my notebook and set them on different lines. So for my second attempt (above) I have pared things right down, stripping it back to just singular words or short phrases. This works much better, the minimalism creates quite an abstract atmosphere which is quite visually interesting. Overall I am pleased with this, my first attempt at poetry. Even though in parts, the arrangement is abrupt and clumsy, there is the beginning of some promising imagery.
For my second draft (below) I took what I had written already and added things to it- more words, more language and more description. I rephrased things and shuffled words around to try and create a more detailed, atmospheric piece of writing. I really enjoyed doing this- once the bare bones of the piece were in place it was fun messing around with it to create something similar but new. The results of both drafts are quite dark and sinister, with a recurring theme of darkness and the image of this big bus. This is surprising as I didn't set out to create this; it's just where the language has taken me. Overall I am pleased with the results- also surprising as I was convinced that I was going to hate anything I wrote at the beginning of this course, especially seeing as it is poetry! Which just goes to show that I mustn't have preconceived ideas about things beforehand, and just throw myself into everything. On a more technical side, I feel that some of the verses are beginning to fit together nicely, but I don't feel confident about the correct grammatical layout of poetry and how it is all supposed to fit together, so perhaps this accounts for the disjointed feel the poem has in parts. I feel the poem works best in the first and last verse due to the strong imagery of the double-decker bus and the figure jumping into the final panorama. This has taught me the vital importance of creating strong images in my writing- it will make both prose and poetry from now on far more interesting and exciting for both me as the author, and for the reader.
Draft 2:
The bus from Nowhere
Arrives, as if by magic.
Old double-decker,
London Retro
Not red but bright blue-jade.
The open back-
Hop on. Hop off.
Mother and Father, here they are,
But I can't see them.
They are with me.
Inside the darkness
Of the bus.
Here is the Funbus
With toys and brightly coloured seats.
The people here, I can't see them.
Exist outside my vision
In the blurred darkness.
No feelings inside, just empty void.
Not scared, they are with me.
Go up the stairs
Up and up,
High into the atmosphere.
Very small, this room atop.
The view- a panorama
Of huge theme park and rides.
Friends and family,
Laughing voices float up from down below.
Out the window now, diving
Down, down
A bungee jump to join them
On their rides, below.
Magic
Double-decker, old
London.
The colour blue, jade
Open back, hop on and off.
Mum and Dad, I can't see them.
They are with me.
Young, eight or nine
Step on the bus
Dark
Toys, brightly coloured seats
And soft play.
People, here, but I can't see them.
Outside vision, blurred darkness
Not scared.
Parents, here, protecting me.
Stairs
Many levels
Magic.
Up and up,
To the atmosphere.
Top room, so small.
Lighthouse
The view, a panorama
Theme park, rides everywhere.
Families I know
Through the window, dive,
Down, like a bungee jump.
This is actually my second attempt at exercise 1, creating a poem from a recurring childhood dream. The first draft I didn't feel was worthy of putting onto screen. On a read through it felt disjointed and there was a lack of continuity of language. I hadn't followed the brief: rather just copied words straight from my notebook and set them on different lines. So for my second attempt (above) I have pared things right down, stripping it back to just singular words or short phrases. This works much better, the minimalism creates quite an abstract atmosphere which is quite visually interesting. Overall I am pleased with this, my first attempt at poetry. Even though in parts, the arrangement is abrupt and clumsy, there is the beginning of some promising imagery.
For my second draft (below) I took what I had written already and added things to it- more words, more language and more description. I rephrased things and shuffled words around to try and create a more detailed, atmospheric piece of writing. I really enjoyed doing this- once the bare bones of the piece were in place it was fun messing around with it to create something similar but new. The results of both drafts are quite dark and sinister, with a recurring theme of darkness and the image of this big bus. This is surprising as I didn't set out to create this; it's just where the language has taken me. Overall I am pleased with the results- also surprising as I was convinced that I was going to hate anything I wrote at the beginning of this course, especially seeing as it is poetry! Which just goes to show that I mustn't have preconceived ideas about things beforehand, and just throw myself into everything. On a more technical side, I feel that some of the verses are beginning to fit together nicely, but I don't feel confident about the correct grammatical layout of poetry and how it is all supposed to fit together, so perhaps this accounts for the disjointed feel the poem has in parts. I feel the poem works best in the first and last verse due to the strong imagery of the double-decker bus and the figure jumping into the final panorama. This has taught me the vital importance of creating strong images in my writing- it will make both prose and poetry from now on far more interesting and exciting for both me as the author, and for the reader.
Draft 2:
The bus from Nowhere
Arrives, as if by magic.
Old double-decker,
London Retro
Not red but bright blue-jade.
The open back-
Hop on. Hop off.
Mother and Father, here they are,
But I can't see them.
They are with me.
Inside the darkness
Of the bus.
Here is the Funbus
With toys and brightly coloured seats.
The people here, I can't see them.
Exist outside my vision
In the blurred darkness.
No feelings inside, just empty void.
Not scared, they are with me.
Go up the stairs
Up and up,
High into the atmosphere.
Very small, this room atop.
The view- a panorama
Of huge theme park and rides.
Friends and family,
Laughing voices float up from down below.
Out the window now, diving
Down, down
A bungee jump to join them
On their rides, below.
Notebookin'
My Notebook work has built up quite rapidly in only a handful of days, which is pleasantly surprising. I have found that the words have flown out very easily on the most part as I was worried that I would find the blank page hurdle difficult to overcome. I haven't read through what I have written yet- I want to let the material build up a bit first before I look back through it, and before I begin any of the exercises in earnest. I do feel slightly doubtful about the content of the Notebook- most of what is in there is quite personal and I'm afraid it reads much like a diary rather than a collection of words for the basis of prose/poetry. Maybe this is ok; perhaps my personal thoughts will later become internal dialogue for a character. Must worry less and just see where the writing takes me.
Overall I have found the experience of writing everyday very cathartic, especially when I have unloaded my thoughts at the very end of the day into my Notebook. It definitely helps to clear the mind; my head doesn't feel quite so jumbled. So far I have particularly enjoyed the section on recalling dreams- especially the recording of a recurring dream from my childhood. I'm looking forward to using this as the basis for Exercise 1 as there is some nice imagery to play around with.
As for the other forms of notetaking, I'm beginning to worry that all my Notebook material is going to be very mundane and routine as my life on a day to day basis is pretty similar- there's not much opportunity to go to new places and get fresh ideas for inspiration. Perhaps to overcome this I will have to focus on the 'creative diary' use of the notebook and become a bit more imaginative with truth. This will help to develop my description and imagination anyway, so will be quite a useful tool.
My aim for the next couple of days is to try and complete exercise 1, the poetry exercise using my remembered dreams that I have recorded so far. Will report back on my success... or failure! Over and out.
Overall I have found the experience of writing everyday very cathartic, especially when I have unloaded my thoughts at the very end of the day into my Notebook. It definitely helps to clear the mind; my head doesn't feel quite so jumbled. So far I have particularly enjoyed the section on recalling dreams- especially the recording of a recurring dream from my childhood. I'm looking forward to using this as the basis for Exercise 1 as there is some nice imagery to play around with.
As for the other forms of notetaking, I'm beginning to worry that all my Notebook material is going to be very mundane and routine as my life on a day to day basis is pretty similar- there's not much opportunity to go to new places and get fresh ideas for inspiration. Perhaps to overcome this I will have to focus on the 'creative diary' use of the notebook and become a bit more imaginative with truth. This will help to develop my description and imagination anyway, so will be quite a useful tool.
My aim for the next couple of days is to try and complete exercise 1, the poetry exercise using my remembered dreams that I have recorded so far. Will report back on my success... or failure! Over and out.
Tuesday, 22 June 2010
An American Psycho in London
Am bursting with excitement- have just booked tickets to see Bret Easton Ellis at the Southbank Centre in July. He's one of my favourite authors, his books totally encapsulate that feeling of irreverence of youth and the vacuity of modern society. This year it will be 25 years since Ellis's debut novel, Less than Zero was published and it feels as fresh, current and relevant as the day it was written. I read this novel, and it's successor, The Rules of Attraction whilst I was at University; Ellis's minimalistic prose spoke to me and his imagery remained in my head to this day. As an author he is the equivalent of Marmite- people either love or loathe him. I'm firmly in the former camp; the influence he has had on modern literature, particularly with the publication of the ever controversial "American Psycho", is undeniable- as Stuart Evers writes in the Guardian blog:
If you've read American Psycho, you probably have a very strong opinion either way. If there's a more divisive novel out there, I've yet to read it. Even love-it-or-loathe it classics such as Amis's Money, Lawrence's Sons and Lovers or Hardy's Tess of the D'Urbervilles don't come close to engendering the levels of admiration or utter revulsion reserved for American Psycho. Personally I think it's one of the key novels of the last century, though I've spent hours arguing with people who believe it's nothing more than cheap exploitation, misogynistic violence and some pointless – if funny – asides about rubbish music. Whichever side you stand on, though, it's impossible to ignore the book's huge cultural impact.
Easton Ellis is at the Southbank Centre on the 13th July talking about his new book, Imperial Bedrooms, the much anticipated follow up to Less than Zero, which revisits the lives of Clay et al, as they approach middle age. This is one of only two Uk appearances and tickets are selling like slices of fried gold. See you there.
If you've read American Psycho, you probably have a very strong opinion either way. If there's a more divisive novel out there, I've yet to read it. Even love-it-or-loathe it classics such as Amis's Money, Lawrence's Sons and Lovers or Hardy's Tess of the D'Urbervilles don't come close to engendering the levels of admiration or utter revulsion reserved for American Psycho. Personally I think it's one of the key novels of the last century, though I've spent hours arguing with people who believe it's nothing more than cheap exploitation, misogynistic violence and some pointless – if funny – asides about rubbish music. Whichever side you stand on, though, it's impossible to ignore the book's huge cultural impact.
Easton Ellis is at the Southbank Centre on the 13th July talking about his new book, Imperial Bedrooms, the much anticipated follow up to Less than Zero, which revisits the lives of Clay et al, as they approach middle age. This is one of only two Uk appearances and tickets are selling like slices of fried gold. See you there.
Monday, 21 June 2010
Me Me Me, (My Student Profile)
Originally from London, my family and I decamped to West Dorset when I was 11, where I attended a pretty good Grammar school. It was here that I excelled in English and Art, both of which I studied through to A' Level. It was a close call between which to study at degree level; and my passion for picture making and drawing won over eventually. After finishing my Ba (Hons) in Illustration at the AUCB in 2007 my intentions were to take a year out to travel the world and gain inspirations for my work and experience a different sort of lifestyle. However, life took a different turn as its oft to do; and whilst working in a nightclub to fund my travels I met and fell in love with my husband and proceeded to get married and give birth to two beautiful daughters; although not necessarily all in that order! During our time together my husband has joined the RAF, so now we live in the married quarters in a little village called Albrighton near Wolverhampton whilst my husband gets his qualification and I am a stay-at-home-mum of two girls under two. Very hectic! In fact as I write this I have won baby on my lap and the other tugging at my clothes vying for attention!
Previous experience:
English Language to GCSE level and English Literature to A'Level. My degree required the writing of several essays, and a dissertation, so hopefully my written skills aren't too rusty...
My Expectations of the Course:
I've always loved writing and reading; I devour books with a passion and my head is filled with stories and characters and ideas. But so far that's where they have stayed- in my head. I'm hoping this course will help give me the tools to get my thoughts onto paper and get me working rather than just daydreaming- I want to be a writer, not a thinker. Mainly, I'm pleased to be doing something that's just for me. I feel the past couple of years I've put my thoughts and feelings on a backburner whilst raising my new babies; but now I feel the time has come to start thinking about my future as an individual, not just a mum. I feel excited about venturing into the realms of education again, and also nervous. As of yet I'm undecided about assessment and working towards a degree; I just want to get started on this course and see where my writing takes me. As I have a degree qualifiction already I don't feel the urgency to work toward that as the end goal, although I am interested in some of the other courses; again as a more personal undertaking.
Previous experience:
English Language to GCSE level and English Literature to A'Level. My degree required the writing of several essays, and a dissertation, so hopefully my written skills aren't too rusty...
My Expectations of the Course:
I've always loved writing and reading; I devour books with a passion and my head is filled with stories and characters and ideas. But so far that's where they have stayed- in my head. I'm hoping this course will help give me the tools to get my thoughts onto paper and get me working rather than just daydreaming- I want to be a writer, not a thinker. Mainly, I'm pleased to be doing something that's just for me. I feel the past couple of years I've put my thoughts and feelings on a backburner whilst raising my new babies; but now I feel the time has come to start thinking about my future as an individual, not just a mum. I feel excited about venturing into the realms of education again, and also nervous. As of yet I'm undecided about assessment and working towards a degree; I just want to get started on this course and see where my writing takes me. As I have a degree qualifiction already I don't feel the urgency to work toward that as the end goal, although I am interested in some of the other courses; again as a more personal undertaking.
Hopes and Expectations
I am a self-confessed literary nerd. I am at my happiest curled up with a good book and there are mountains of novels stacked in great piles around our modest abode. Ever since I was little I've had ideas for stories of my own, fragments of scenes and even the echoes of different characters' voices swirling around my head. I've never really made the most of these thoughts before, and before you know it, they've disappeared. I'm hoping this course will really help me get my ideas down onto paper, clarify my thoughts and give me the skills to shape my notes into something more coherent and workable and real.
In The Beginning
On Friday I filled out my student profile and emailed it off to my assigned tutor- Jane Rogers. I briefly summarised my background and previous experience plus my expectations of the course. The booklet emphasised briefly, so I couldn't waffle on for pages, but once I started writing I felt like there were so many things that I wanted to included and put down on paper that my words and thoughts were all coming out in a jumble. I had to mentally reign myself in for fear of overwhelming/boring the poor woman to death! This made me realise that: a) obviously there are lots of things in my head that have happened that I want to write about and b) my favourite subject to write about is myself! What a Narcissist. Indeed, when flashes of characters and ideas for stories and bits of scenes have come into my head, most often they are influenced by things I have done, seen; places that I have been. After all there is that saying- 'write what you know.'
After sending off my profile to my tutor, I googled this Jane Rogers, like you do, and was instantly struck down with self doubt about myself and my silly little blurb I'd written. Her CV is very impressive, filled with the titles of various novels, lecturing posts and awards that have been won. Good job I did the nosing after I'd sent my profile off!
After sending off my profile to my tutor, I googled this Jane Rogers, like you do, and was instantly struck down with self doubt about myself and my silly little blurb I'd written. Her CV is very impressive, filled with the titles of various novels, lecturing posts and awards that have been won. Good job I did the nosing after I'd sent my profile off!
Time Planning, or Not Enough Hours in the Bloody Day.
I'm not going to lie to you; am feeling some trepidation about my 'time-management' skills for this course. Mainly my fears lie in pondering how I am going to get really stuck in to the different projects and assignments with the constant interruptions that come with having small children. Mine come with an in-built sensor that kicks in when I'm trying to focus my attention elsewhere. Hopefully this is where Cbeebies (during the week) and my husband ( at the weekends) will come in handy. My plan of action is to sneak away for a couple of hours on a Saturday or Sunday (or both, depending on how generous the husband is feeling.) I will flee the house to the child free sanctuary of the Library if I am doing an assignment; or the nearest indoor shopping centre, abundant with cafes and benches from which I can people-watch, observe and practice my detailing skills in my notebook. During the week I shall endeavour to fit in a sneaky hour a day of work in between housework and baby duties- most probably when they are safely ensconsed in their beds, the little lambs.
Friday, 18 June 2010
Older and Wiser
Just sent off my Student Profile to my new tutour. Argh, it's Official now. I quite like being a student again! Much more different this time round though.... hopefully I'm older, wiser and more responsible than the days of all night drinking, all day sleeping and Not Much Work being done. Well, I'm definitely older- I keep plucking these damn grey hairs and they keep on growing right back....
Hello There Peeps
Welcome.
I will let you in on a little secret. This is actually my third attempt at keeping a blog; although in all respects I still consider myself a blog-virgin. So go easy on me! My other attempts have all failed miserably- started up enthusiastically on a whim before sputtering to a slow death a mere handful of posts later. You see, the problem before lay in the fact that I didn't really believe that I was doing anything interesting enough to merit being blabbed all over the internet. And in fact, I probably wasn't. But now. Now things have really hotted up. I've only gone and enrolled myself on a Creative Writing course, haven't I? ( So you see the blog name. ) Yeah. So it's my intention to use this blog as a way of 'getting my words out there' for want of a less cheesy line. I shall endeavour to post as frequently as possible, and we'll see what happens. I'm terrified. Let's get started!
I will let you in on a little secret. This is actually my third attempt at keeping a blog; although in all respects I still consider myself a blog-virgin. So go easy on me! My other attempts have all failed miserably- started up enthusiastically on a whim before sputtering to a slow death a mere handful of posts later. You see, the problem before lay in the fact that I didn't really believe that I was doing anything interesting enough to merit being blabbed all over the internet. And in fact, I probably wasn't. But now. Now things have really hotted up. I've only gone and enrolled myself on a Creative Writing course, haven't I? ( So you see the blog name. ) Yeah. So it's my intention to use this blog as a way of 'getting my words out there' for want of a less cheesy line. I shall endeavour to post as frequently as possible, and we'll see what happens. I'm terrified. Let's get started!
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