I am tired and I have a headache and whine, whine, whine, my life is all sucky, etc.
At least I didn't forget my file this time. I had to go to Chemistry and explain to Mrs Miller that yes, I know I ought to get a result of 44, and yes, I have got 44 in my answer somewhere, and yes, that means the answer I got was in fact 0.0000000044, and no, I don't have any idea how it happened.
She was sympathetic. I'm glad, because otherwise I would have cried. We went on to doing a practical involving calcium and popping hydrogen and that was fun, so it's all good.
English came next and we're doing coursework. This is not a bad thing. In every other subject, it is, but not in English, oh, no. The guidelines are so incredibly general - it must be written for a specific purpose, a specific reading audience, be under 1500 words and... um... that's it. Attitudes and values come into it, but when don't they? People seem to be doing all kinds of things - leaflets and articles and reviews and critiques and even CD inlays - but I decided to take the simple route. I want to write a short story, for teenagers and adults. I can't decide on a theme, but I've narrowed down the possibilities to a few (comments are very very welcome).
Firstly, there's the whole multicultural thing. I'm still the only person on LJ with "displaced persons" as a listed interest. I thought about doing a Christmas-type story, exploring a few of the reasons why I hate it so much, bringing in Diwali and the brightness and the colours and the incense and lots of luscious description and calling it "Festive Spice" as a nice punning title. A particular benefit is I'd actually be writing it in the run-up to Christmas and have a good chance of capturing the feel of it.
Secondly, there's my other pet theme, which is sort of kind of drawn from On The Road by Jack Kerouac - an exploration of the idea that everyone secretly wants to ditch their humdrum daily routine life and grab a bag and a handful of CDs, go out that door, head towards the horizon where the sky meets the sea and never, ever come back. I thought I could blend it with another theme - how young people are a different breed, ready to rebel and wave placards and believe, passionately and strongly, that they really can overthrow the Establishment.
Thirdly - well, the third and last idea is vague and I probably won't use it. It's related to a short story by Penelope Lively called "The Darkness Out There" and I loved it so much, because it has a very lyrical, singsong style, and deals with the theme of there being darkness in every human being, where you wouldn't always expect it, and there's no escaping it, ever.
Now I've been sufficiently pretentious, let's move on.
I would go into detail about the afternoon, but nothing actually happened, if you exclude Mr Evans chasing after me waving a map of the British constituencies. I'm sure microscopes were involved somewhere, and the game for the day is throwing a bouncy ball into the air and attempting to clap four times before it comes down. No-one has yet succeeded.
I walked home with Becca and then with Julie through really cold, autumnal fog and chill. It's quite nice if you like that sort of thing, which I do. Tonight I ought to actually do some work, but I can't be bothered.
Hungry now. Want coffee. Wah.
At least I didn't forget my file this time. I had to go to Chemistry and explain to Mrs Miller that yes, I know I ought to get a result of 44, and yes, I have got 44 in my answer somewhere, and yes, that means the answer I got was in fact 0.0000000044, and no, I don't have any idea how it happened.
She was sympathetic. I'm glad, because otherwise I would have cried. We went on to doing a practical involving calcium and popping hydrogen and that was fun, so it's all good.
English came next and we're doing coursework. This is not a bad thing. In every other subject, it is, but not in English, oh, no. The guidelines are so incredibly general - it must be written for a specific purpose, a specific reading audience, be under 1500 words and... um... that's it. Attitudes and values come into it, but when don't they? People seem to be doing all kinds of things - leaflets and articles and reviews and critiques and even CD inlays - but I decided to take the simple route. I want to write a short story, for teenagers and adults. I can't decide on a theme, but I've narrowed down the possibilities to a few (comments are very very welcome).
Firstly, there's the whole multicultural thing. I'm still the only person on LJ with "displaced persons" as a listed interest. I thought about doing a Christmas-type story, exploring a few of the reasons why I hate it so much, bringing in Diwali and the brightness and the colours and the incense and lots of luscious description and calling it "Festive Spice" as a nice punning title. A particular benefit is I'd actually be writing it in the run-up to Christmas and have a good chance of capturing the feel of it.
Secondly, there's my other pet theme, which is sort of kind of drawn from On The Road by Jack Kerouac - an exploration of the idea that everyone secretly wants to ditch their humdrum daily routine life and grab a bag and a handful of CDs, go out that door, head towards the horizon where the sky meets the sea and never, ever come back. I thought I could blend it with another theme - how young people are a different breed, ready to rebel and wave placards and believe, passionately and strongly, that they really can overthrow the Establishment.
Thirdly - well, the third and last idea is vague and I probably won't use it. It's related to a short story by Penelope Lively called "The Darkness Out There" and I loved it so much, because it has a very lyrical, singsong style, and deals with the theme of there being darkness in every human being, where you wouldn't always expect it, and there's no escaping it, ever.
Now I've been sufficiently pretentious, let's move on.
I would go into detail about the afternoon, but nothing actually happened, if you exclude Mr Evans chasing after me waving a map of the British constituencies. I'm sure microscopes were involved somewhere, and the game for the day is throwing a bouncy ball into the air and attempting to clap four times before it comes down. No-one has yet succeeded.
I walked home with Becca and then with Julie through really cold, autumnal fog and chill. It's quite nice if you like that sort of thing, which I do. Tonight I ought to actually do some work, but I can't be bothered.
Hungry now. Want coffee. Wah.
no subject
on 2003-11-11 02:23 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2003-11-12 09:06 am (UTC)no subject
on 2003-11-11 04:24 pm (UTC)And I second the comment above -- I'd like to read it, if you write it. I'd like to read it regardless of which topic you choose, really, because they all appeal to me.
no subject
on 2003-11-12 09:56 am (UTC)