Look, I've been writing.

Dumbing Down

Sixty years ago it wasn't uncommon for some people to be unable to spell correctly, mostly due to a lack of education or the family's need for more regular incomes. You would like to think that we as a society have gone beyond that. It is not illegal to refuse anyone their right to an education but unfortunately our modern ways mean that people are still – or should that be again – losing a fighting battle with the English language.

Commonly regarded as the most complex language to master for those coming to it later in life, I believe it should be given the respect it deserves by those who call it mother tongue. But modern technology is gradually degrading it. With the invention of text messages and instant messaging services our communication age rounded a corner – leaving half of the alphabet behind. Words have been shortened, others replaced by symbols or numbers and even vowels removed – all in an attempt to save space and time. Even sites such as Twitter constrict the amount you can write in one go, at 140 characters a turn.

Why are we all in such a hurry?

The written word is a wonderful part of our lives. Think to those well thumbed books on your shelf; letters from an old friend; an invitation to a weddings; cards on your birthday. Without these things our lives would ultimately be wildly different and without the written word none of these would be possible. One could argue that there have been entire societies and tribes who used merely pictures and images to convey messages, but none of those people have ever felt the joy of following “Once upon a time...” to its conclusion, or reading a love letter dedicated solely to them.

Writer's Block

I always seem to suffer from writer's block when I have an assignment due. Any other time I can write and write and write, and come up with some good ideas, but when I have something that needs to be written for a specific time I get stuck. I have a 4,500 word piece due on Wednesday and I currently have just shy of 2,000 words written for it. I cannot seem to expand. It has to be either a complete short story or a section of one. So I wrote a scene between two people to throw into the middle of a short story that I have in my head, but that scene doesn't go beyond the 2,000 mark. So now I need to expand upon that, or write another scene, or the opening of the story or something to make it hit the word count.

Of course the fact that I'm slowly but surely driving myself insane thinking about the future doesn't help my writer's block. I know I shouldn't be worrying about it right now, and focusing on the papers that are going to shape my future, but I can't help it. With every essay I hand in I think I'm a grade closer to graduating. I'm terrified. I have no idea what to do. I have plenty of options - I think.

1: Run for a sabbatical position and if I succeed in getting it, stay in Hull for an extra year and work at that job. Pro's and Con's are fairly obvious. I get to stay in Hull, I get a fantastic criteria to put on my cv for the future, and I get to do something I think I would enjoy. On the other hand, the job does seem really difficult and taxing, it's very low pay and it's a very busy position. I'd have to forego the majority of the social side of my life to do this job to the degree it deserves to be done.

2: Stay in Hull. I've spent a while tonight looking at jobs online in places I know of. Looked at Hull, home, Edinburgh, High Wycombe and a few others. Even went so far as to looking at jobs in Australia. I'd like to be able to stay in Hull once I graduate for another year, six months minimum. But I know from talking to friends who have graduated before me that there is a very small amount of jobs in this city, unless you like factory work or bakeries. And I've done both in my time, and don't feel the urge to repeat either just yet.

3: Move home. It's an option, but one I don't feel ready for. I've built a life here, my friends are here, and despite it's drawbacks and bad reputation I love this city. It's quirky, it's odd, but I love it. If I move home yes it's a cheaper option, yes it means I get to be with my family more - which I really really miss - and yes I know I could find a job easily. But the chances of me finding a job I would enjoy are slim. I know I'd end up working back somewhere like Euro 2. Had enough of that thank you! I didn't go do an English degree so I could go back to being a supervisor in a discount store.

Option 4: Move and start again. As I said, I was looking at jobs all over, and I know I could move and start again, if I found a dream job. But I don't know what my dream job is. I'd like to go into a job that at least has some connection to my degree, otherwise whats the point? But that's limiting. I'm going to send cv's to every newspaper in the country I think, and every publishing house and every magazine HQ - anyone, anywhere, that might employ me because I can write fast and spell properly and have an opinion on literature.

It doesn't help that I keep hearing friends discussing applying for jobs, how bad the job market is in Hull, filling in masters applications, talking about housing. If I want to stay in Hull I need to decide, I need to find somewhere to live.

Jobs and housing is just one thing freaking me out about the future. I'm dating a guy I like, a lot, and I've been with him longer than I thought I'd be. But - and I know there are people who will kill me for saying this - I doubt it'll go anywhere. I know, I know, I'm young, I should just enjoy it while it lasts and not think about the future etc., etc. But the thing is, that's what I do. I think about how things are going, and where they are going, and as much as I like him I can't see us being together outside of university. University is a funny thing, people are all the same. Older, younger. Local, foreign. Widely travelled, never left home. Doesn't matter. People are just people. But outside that little world, people are not just people. People become things, instead of humans. Those labels that you managed to shake off for the three or four years you studied come back to haunt you. Who you are. Where you're from. What colour skin you have.

I can see myself leaving uni and travelling. I can see myself in the future moving alot. It's in my blood. I like to change the scenery from time to time. He was born and bred near Hull, and I can see him staying in the area. There's nothing wrong with that, don't get me wrong, but it's not me. I've a gypsy, he's a home boy.

BUT, for now, all is still good. It's three months and I'm still happy. He makes me smile, he's good to me and I like being with him. So, I will do what I know I would be told to do, and enjoy it while it lasts, and just wait and see what happens.

Baking, Rock Music & Girlfriends!

Being back at university seems to be taking its toll on me, but I don't think its neccisarily a bad thing. I've had trouble sleeping the past few nights, but it has caused me to be more productive. Last night I was awake until after three, and awake again this morning at about 9:30, but it meant that I finished reading a play and am now about a third of the way through another book. However I'm also baking a lot, and listening to my heavy/rocky music. I baked sugar cookies last week, apple crumble yesterday and am going to try skins and garlic and bacon sauce today. Assuming I don't burn the kitchen down while trying to cook the skins! But the music mixed with the baking isn't a good sign. When I listen to this kinda music {Nickleback, Rasmus, Def Leppard} while doing something creative like baking or painting, it usually means I'm feeling stressed and need a release. Either that or I want to do something....different!! But when it happens one session usually fixes everything....not this time. I'm on baking effort three and still feeling tense and wound up. Maybe I'm just looking for the right kind of junk food to make me feel right again!

Monday was my first class for the semester. Yesterday I had my second, and my third and fourth ones are on Friday. So today and tomorrow are free. I had intended to put them to good use and be productive, so far it's not going too well. It's ok, but not great. Fingers crossed that I'll get some inspiration later on this evening. I was sitting in my Prose Portfolio class on Monday, and kept thinking to myself that I have no idea what to write for the class. I have a 5000 word piece due in May, which can be one of three things, either one long short story, the beginning of a novel or novella, or a collection of short shorts, which must all be connected somehow. Where to begin? How to begin? I'm scared.

And now for something totally unrelated. I have discovered a new pet peeve - girlfriends!! As a general observation, most of my friends are of the male variety. I have a handful of female friends, who I can see on a regular basis and not want to decapitate. But in general I have always gotten on well with guys and my male friends outweigh my female ones at least 3 to 1. Now this wouldn't be a problem in and of itself, but it's when you include the girlfriends into the equation that we get the problem. Supposedly I am a threat. One friend of mine cannot say hello to me in the street if he is with his girlfriend because she will throw a strop at him for it; another can talk to me and see me, there's no problem there, but his girlfriend has made it fairly obvious to me that he is 'her man' and not available. Little things she does, like wrapping her arm around his when we talk, or laying her head on his shoulder....just making sure I'm aware they're together. A message to her: I am aware.
How in the hell can I be a threat? Am I being punished for being a friendly, chatty, outgoing person now?? Can't I do anything right?

Letter To Someone

Hi,
I've been thinking about you again. It hasn't happened for a while but well, here I am. I was lying in bed, the darkness overtook me but sleep refused to. I closed my eyes and saw your face. It brought back memories. Memories of walks we took together; the conversations we had. Memories of things you said to me that I'm sure you must have forgotten. Memories I sometimes think I would like to forget.
You said that I had charmed you, do you remember that? That night we met and spoke properly for the first time, you said I had charmed you and that you wanted to get the chance to know more about me. Do you remember saying that? I doubt it, but I remember. It's not something you tend to forget - being told you're charming. Although I've found I do like to remember genuine compliments. Everyone compliments everyone these days, so I like to pick out the genuine ones and keep them close to me. That one honest phrase from you meant more to me than most other things I heard that year. And that - if you'll take it - is a genuine compliment.
You said you would be there for me whenever I needed you, and you were as good as your word. I remember calling you quite late one night after getting some bad news and now knowing who else to turn to. I remember trying to disguise my voice so you wouldn't hear it shaking but you saw through me instantly. You turned up on my doorstep a half hour later and let me cry on your shoulder until the early hours of the morning, purely because you knew I needed you.

Mia's Story - a work in progress

Mia was the girl everyone knew and everyone liked. She had a kind word and a shoulder to cry on for anyone that needed her. She could never say no to a friend and packed her free time with sociable meetings. Yet Mia was the girl everyone forgot.

She could talk to almost anyone, anywhere – a trait she inherited from her grandmother – meaning, she knew people in every walk of life. Where her parents and siblings knew the people in their small, middle-class mostly white town Mia knew people of all races, colours, nationalities and cultures. Her closest friends thought it was just her way; her friendly nature getting her out in the world. She knew the real reason – she was yearning to belong.

As a child Mia always felt slightly odd and she lived under different titles – the New Girl {she earned that one a number of times, finally settling in a school when she was ten}; the Nerd {Maths and English came easy to her}; Teachers Pet {was it her fault adults liked her?}. As she got older titles followed her, though they changed from time to time – the Hippie {she liked bright colours and flowers}; the suck-up {another version of teachers pet}; and the Sober One {her friends all drank before legal age, she waited until a year or so after}. These titles themselves never really bothered her, she believed it was just the other kids way of expressing themselves. So she expressed herself in a more unique manner and it got her nicknames – at least she was being true to herself, right?

Throughout her teenage years Mia always had a large group of friends, though she spent a lot of time debating with herself if they really were that. When there were parties or events organised, or cinema trips planned she was often left out until the last minute, if invited at all. Gradually she began to feel unwanted, and would occasionally make excuses not to go on the times she was invited.

The Drifter

His hair fell about his face in a manner that could be described as fashionably unkempt; but he didn’t seem the kind to be bothered about fashion, or about putting in the effort to make his hair look any specific way. On his face he donned something that was somewhere between stubble and a beard – to say the lower half of his face was overgrown would just about cover it. This patch of growth matched his hair, both a dark sandy coloured mix, and from the way it stood on end one would have thought it was trying to escape from his head. It looked rough, and as he came closer I had a sudden urge to run my fingers against it. It looked like a beach after a storm, but did it feel that way too? From underneath the sandy barren of his forehead shone two piercing eyes that sent a shiver of sadness through you.
His clothes looked as if they had seen better days. He wore a navy fleece which looked as if it had come from the shores of the Aran Islands many years before. His right knee was exposed through a hole in his jeans, which were faded from time, not like the manufactured faded jeans in all the stores. The skin that was visible looked rough and weathered. There were scrapes and grazes covering the knee, some looked old and almost healed, some seemed fresh. The tattered ends of his jeans fell across a pair of tan coloured hiking boots that looked as if they were well accustomed to feeling mountainous terrain under their soles.

Notice to all

This is gonna be a mixture of blogs, feelings, ramblings, writings, musings.....lots of ings. Comments on all and sundry would be appreciated, especially the writings and ramblings. You'd be surprised how much criticism from friends and strangers helps.