Some call me lucky...

others, names I can't repeat. The reason? My dissertation is not one that most students get to undertake. While the rest of the third years hammer away at their academic and research based dissertations I get to leisurely write the beginning part of a novel, 10,000 words to be exact. Except it's not leisurely. It's not even easy. They have a hammer and a chisel; I have nothing but a toothpick and a stale piece of gum. I've spoken to several people who gave the impression that I was lucky. Hell! I get to make the whole thing up after all. So excuse me for feeling a little put out when I complete it and then have to re-write it 59 million times before I can even begin thinking about handing it in. 

For the last week I've had something similar to writers block, only it's not quite the same. I can write, but the quality isn't there. Nothing reads well and it's starting to really grind on me, especially since I have a tutorial with my dissy tutor tomorrow and I have nothing new to show her. Nothing of any worth any way. Maybe now would be a good time to emmigrate to New Zealand.

No comments:

Post a Comment