Lucky Stars

I’m refusing to succumb to “Fresher’s flu”. I’m no Fresher. I haven’t been to a single Student Union event, although I don’t feel like I’m missing out on much. I did my time, dancing on that dance floor. I’m twenty one now, a grown up don’t you know. My dry, scratchy throat just needs soup to comfort it. I’m sneezing due to the shift to cooler temperatures. This headache is because I’m run down after a hectic fortnight returning to University. It’s certainly been manic. But I love every single second of it.

Nothing affects me like writing. It occupies all possible time and space. My room is filled with notebooks and reading books. My head is filled with settings and characters. I think I’m very lucky to be able to say, hand on heart, I adore my degree. The tutors are vastly knowledgeable and friendly to boot. I learn so much every time they speak. We discuss the Sims and other computer games. I did my homework this week on how chocolate is made. I am actively encouraged to sit around and day dream in order to generate new ideas. What’s not to love?

Well, it is an awful lot of hard work. There is always reading to be done, and being forced to read specific texts does sap a certain amount of enjoyment from it. There is also a presence of expectation in every classroom. You are sitting amongst pupils who have the same dreams as you. Only a certain number of these dreams will come true. You listen to tutors who have been published many times over, and you can’t help but wonder, “Am I good enough?”

But as one of my favourite tutors said this week, “we all deserve to be writers!” Since being given the gift of time, I’m feeling confident about all of my modules for this year. I feel ready to succeed. This achievement does not come lightly. At present, a social life seems a small sacrifice for setting up the foundations of my future career. My family and the chap remain of the utmost importance, naturally. But if I do disappear from time to time (read: Monday’s nonexistent post), you can be sure I’ll be buried in a story. Stories of a queen and a teleport. Stories of witches and precious stones. The story of the Rambling Man. Oops, I’ve said too much.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s