My dream of being a fiction writer is a quiet one. Although authors nowadays are expected to have a personality, a media presence, a charismatic skill at promoting ones own work, it is still largely a quiet profession. There are long hours of reading and researching and sitting in secluded corners of cafes frantically scribbling in a notebook or typing in a netbook (at least that’s what I do).
My dream of being a writer has developed from my love of stories, and of course stories can come from multiple different mediums. So for almost as long as I have wanted to write, I have wanted to work for television. A far more active and social way to express stories.Read More »
This dream was dreamt in the early hours of the morning while I was feeling horribly ill and dehydrated and as such it was possibly trying to comfort me in some way. It was quite hallucinatory and very sentimental for myself towards the end.
I dreamt I was partying with angels that had most likely fallen from heaven. They appeared to be in the bodies of everyday women, mostly in their thirties or forties, from various different backgrounds, and seemed confused as to whether they were actually humans or actually angels. Perhaps they were neither, or both? Read More »
Wow! I am done with university! Handed in my last essay ten days ago, actually, just been sending off applications and browsing through jobs and generally having a bit of a holiday. The day after I handed my last essay in I got one of those facebook memory notifications telling me that four years ago I had just heard that I’d been accepted into Edinburgh University! That’s a pretty poetic round-up, doncha think?Read More »
Been riding a low-but-constant stream of stress and panic the past few weeks whilst getting my dissertation and philosophy essay done. I began to feel, in the middle of writing my philosophy essay, that I perhaps shouldn’t have taken it as a subject. My worst marks are in philosophy and although I enjoy the classes I am always struggling with the essays. With philosophy I also get that thing where when I work really hard at an essay I get a really terrible mark and when I throw something together last minute I end up getting a much (slightly) better mark. So yeah, every other sentence I would stop and think ‘what is the point?’
Handed my dissertation in a couple weeks ago, printed on normal university paper and stapled together by the EngLit Office Secretary because I was that last minute. Handed in my philosophy essay a couple days ago with a few minutes spare so also last minute (although to be fair I had taken a two hour break before finishing up my references). Now I have just one more essay which we have all been given an extension for and it’s the essay which I have actually been looking forward to (nerd) so hopefully the next week will be somewhat relaxing.
… except I’ve gone and challenged myself to the NaNoWriMo 5k 1 week challenge. Where you write 5k in one week, if that wasn’t clear. Starts tomorrow, I better get an idea quick!
Her feet were bare.
At first they thought she hadn’t any shoes; she was dressed in a tiny slip of a thing that could have been a dress, could have been a nightgown, with bare legs and no underwear, and had clearly been dragged across the wet grass. Their first thought had been a fight turned ugly at home. There were too many cases like those – hospitalisations and much worse just because some guy couldn’t keep his temper under control. So it would make sense if there were no shoes.
A search was ordered anyway. I circled the area round the trees, glancing my torch off of roots and unopened flower heads. My heart sank as I heard the calls from behind me; someone had found a pair of tights, almost disintegrated in the wet grass; then a pair of bloodied knickers, a scattering of objects obviously from a spilled handbag. And then I saw them: a pale blue to match the silvery fabric she wore, heels almost two inches high, both unbroken, sitting innocently in the grass as if someone had placed them deliberately.
(Another quick passage written before our food arrived in Nando’s. I spent two minutes staring at my boyfriend as he scribbled away while I was totally stuck for ideas, and then wrote this in another two minutes and it ended up being twice as long as his even though we ended at the same time)
‘Yeah, puddle. You like it?’
‘Why would I like being called a puddle? It’s all wet and shallow and… and… drippy!’
She three her pillow at his face.
(My boyfriend and me wrote little passages using random words which he came up with. I was reluctant to, so I wrote this in retaliation)
Okay, so I do this incredibly cute (or nauseating, depending how old you are) thing for my boyfriend – I draw him adorable pokemon in cute poses and with little hearts everywhere and then give him the pictures for birthdays or Christmas or valentines or anniversary’s (etc, etc). It all started on our very first Valentines Day togetherRead More »