Categories: uncategorized
Date: 22 January 2004 20:34:57
I've been thinking.
I'm sitting at my desk having (in the last 3 days) written one fairy storyesque thing, one thing in response to something on the John Heron Project, one history essay, one religion essay, a couple of poems, a confession and an absolution.
Ok, so admitidly, they are probably not all top quality, but I WROTE them.
Which probably isn't a big deal, but feels like it to me. Since primary school I was told I had no talent in writing, i could read books for England but my written work was crap. So I wrote what I had to and that was that. Everything I wrote got rubbished, even if it had a good mark from school it wasn't good enough for home. I only wrote in secret, destroying the evidence. Some of my writings (when I was secondary school age) did get found. But then chucked away. They were too depressing.
So now, I'm at my third year in college. Writing as me. I still don't know if my fiction writing is any good, but I have been told that I have a writing style that is a plesure to read. I've had good comments about my poems. But I'm left with a major regret.
Why did I listen to the people telling me I was rubbish?
It's not something that can be answered, i suppose I just have to (to quote Martyn Joseph) Tresure the question.
OH, and Glasgow Uni offered me B C C to study Philosophy and Theology.
But I really want to go to York St. John or Exeter (or possibly Durham, but i have no chance of making there