World Literature Blues

I also have  coursework to do, which does put a crimp in my plans for literary world domination.  The subject is fun, though, and is hopefully, giving me more tools with my writing. 

But flicking through a pile of books looking for that one quote, watching the word count climb slower than a sloth on a bank holiday, and forgetting my initial argument,  all conspire to leave no time or patience for write.

(Having read through the last two paragraphs, I suddenly remember my media lessons.  Too many clauses.  Must think like Heminway.  A lot. More.)

So, the subject is something-I-decide, on some World-Literature worthies that-I-decide.  Chances are I will go for Chinue Achebe’s Things Fall apart, Ahdaf Soueif’s The Map of Love, and Joe Sacco’s Palestine.  The theme will be resistance-writing, and the three different voices, and how they capture the struggle their books embody.

Or something like that.  My problem is that I rarely know what the end product will look like.  Time to get the Celtx quecards on, and shuffle dem cards!


… In Medias Res … (kinda)

… Ellie and I we were sat in the library, where the students go for their free wi-fi, and she told me all she had done in the last few months.  She has editors in America and Ireland who are interested in her work.  She has an illustrator who will draw her children’s book, and she also has the contact details of a BBC commisioner for Childrens drama.

I sat agog, the coffee turning acrid in my mouth.

In the same amount of time, I had done nothing.  Not a word written, not a piece set anywhere.  No one contacted, no forums-posts made.  Nothing.  Once again, Ellie, the one who seems to finish everything she ever starts, has trumped me back into the place where I should be – creating.

So this is where I am now, and why I starting this blog.  Again.  Those of you who might have come here before might be surprised to find that it isn’t an art-blog any more.  This is me telling myself off.  Feel free to join in.

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