So my first assignment of this semester has been sent off to uni. I can't decide whether this fact causes me relief or more nerves. I'm glad it's out the way and everything but I'm now terrified of looking at anything relating to the story (Hide and See) just in case I realised I've done something wrong. 'Twould be too late to correct it and I would, as a result, have a metaphorical heart attack.
The unfortunate result of this new fear is that I am supposed to be continuing said novel for my dissertation. I'm not really sure how to go about working on something while also avoiding it completely. I'm not much of a science-type-person but I'm pretty sure that would violate some sort of law of physics.
Fortunately (in a way) I have another assignment due first: my Titanic piece for non-fiction. I'd been feeling fairly relaxed about the whole thing until I handed in my Publishing Project assignment - now, the next deadline feels awfully close. I need to rework the main body of the piece and I haven't even started on the rationale (ah, 'rationale': possibly the most hated r-word in all the world - or for Arts students at least).
I've written a plan for said rationale but the whole thing seems at risk of just turning into a rant. It doesn't take much for me to have a rant, as evidenced by this here blog. Not that my Titanic rationale plan seems particularly angry (can a plan seem angry?) but I think there's the possibility that I might go too far into my personal reasons rather than the technical method behind the piece. Unless this is what I'm supposed to do? Or was I only supposed to do this in the actual creative part?
Conclusion: I probably have no idea what I'm doing.
I think I may have gone on a bit of a mini-rant for my PP rationale as well, although I promise I did try to minimise that section. I was basically defending fantasy against critics and/or academics who turn their noses up at it. It's a bit of a sore subject for me, given that I have never written a 'Literary' novel and don't ever intend to. It's not my thing and I don't appreciate being told that I have to appreciate something just because the experts tell me to.
How lovely it was to be sent this link (thanks Natasha!) about author Stephen Hunt defending genre literature for us plebs who like to read such trash. I'm glad someone's saying it. I don't know what I'd do if the only novels around were about middle-class, middle-aged professionals who have lots of feelings, don't really do much and have rather weird ideas about sex (Ian McEwan, I'm looking at you).
Okay, methinks I've ranted for long enough. I wish I could put some sort of 'final thought' which sums up everything I whinged about in this entry but it's so all over the shop I don't think I'd manage anything coherent.
So instead I'm going to do a Craig Ferguson and ended on an awkward pause.