Yup. I'm not entirely sure how I feel about it. The person closest in age to me is in their thirties, and they're all very...I don't know...critical. I know that's a good thing. I mean, you'll never improve if you don't get criticism, but I can't help thinking that if I submit anything, they're going to maul it to death. I feel paranoid about being there. I feel as though I don't belong, kind of like I'm not good enough. The stuff they had brought along was good. Not exactly my cup of tea, but I can appreciate it. It's more literary fiction than commercial fiction. I'm much more of a commercial fiction gal.
In other news, I had my first university class of the new semester today. It was good. Chauver's London Poetics. I'm looking forward to it, as I am rather a fan of medieval literature, especially Chaucer. I've never read Troilus and Criseyde before, though, and that's what the bulk of the first half of the semester is on. So that'll be interesting.
The Guinea Pigs are grand. Fed them kale for the first time since before Christmas and they were popcorning all over the place. They do love it, though I think it's disgusting.
I'm also going blonde. We'll see how that turns out. Likely bad, especially when my brown roots start growing. But I figure that I'll be able to dye over the blonde with a colour closer to my own when that happens.
Did a little more work on my fantasy novel today. I'm getting to the first major plot point when the characters' town gets pillaged, and they're taken prisoner. Hopefully I've done a good job of working up to it, and it's enjoyable. I'll upload the chapters soon.
Off to make fifteens!
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Monday, January 28, 2008
It's ten to one in the morning, and I start my new job at nine a.m. And what am I doing instead of resting my world-weary head on my pillow? Blogging.
Hmm.
Anyway, my name is Rainey, and this blog has been created in a vain effort to get me to continue writing my novels. I don't know how. I mean, it can't exactly poke me in the side repeatedly chanting, 'Write, write write!' in my ear, nor can it really do anything. But it is late (or early). And it seems to make sense to me.
To tell you a little about myself, I'm twenty years of age, living in Belfast, Northern Ireland. I'm at Queen's University studying English, and probably should be working on my dissertation. Representation of the Self in Renaissance Literature. Yeah, I know, it's boring. I don't even like Renaissance Literature. But apparently I'm writing ten thousand words on it. I suffer from a variety of mental health conditions including a recurrent depressive disorder and borderline-Borderline Personality Disorder (meaning I just fall short of a definite diagnosis).
I have four permanent house-guests in the form of Guinea Pigs -- two bonded males and a neutered male living in sin with a female. The first two, Bill and Ben, were sold to me as 'brothers', but there's no way they're littermates. Neutered Cookie is incredibly aggressive and tries to mount anything and everything in sight, except Heidi, who has breathing problems, and usually just smacks him in the face with her arse. Don't know if that deters him or not, though... They live in a block of wire flats under my bed (my bed is one of those top bunk with no bottom bunk jobbies).
I'm working on three novels and a play at the moment. The first novel is a fantasy book called Child of Light. It's becoming increasingly feminized. Female protagonists living in a matriarchal world, with two goddesses at war with each other. Oh, and they're lesbians, kind of like me (I'm bisexual -- or greedy, as manys a person has called me).
The second is a story from the point of view of Dominic Kelly, a nurse born in Dublin, raised all around Ireland, who attends QUB, falls in love with his best friend, and subsequently gets his heart broken. He's an affable chap, my Dominic, but nothing seems to go quite right for him, bless.
The third is an untitled autobiographical account of my mentalness. Well, as autobiographical as any autobiography can be. What I remember may not actually be accurate. Memory is unreliable. So perhaps it should be semi-autobiographical. Or maybe just fake.
The play deals with mental health issues too (hey, most writers just write the same thing over and over. Take Jane Austen, for example. Or Stephen King, in my opinion). I've quite blatantly stolen a dramatic technique from Brian Friel in his play Philadelphia, Here I Come! wherein he has two actors play 'public' and 'private' versions of the main character, Gar. I have three actors playing the same character. One is the 'everyday' version, the true character. Another is the vehemently negative and self-harming version, and the final character is the voice of positivity. The idea is that as the character's mindset changes, the actors slip on and off stage as fluidly as possible. I'm trying to visualize how it feels to be in such a position.
So it's now thirteen past one, and I'm getting a bit tired. The pigs are safely tucked up in bed, and I feel that it's about time I joined them. Not in the cage, obviously. I don't find hay comfortable, or nutritious.
Thanks for reading. Hopefully I'll be back.
Hmm.
Anyway, my name is Rainey, and this blog has been created in a vain effort to get me to continue writing my novels. I don't know how. I mean, it can't exactly poke me in the side repeatedly chanting, 'Write, write write!' in my ear, nor can it really do anything. But it is late (or early). And it seems to make sense to me.
To tell you a little about myself, I'm twenty years of age, living in Belfast, Northern Ireland. I'm at Queen's University studying English, and probably should be working on my dissertation. Representation of the Self in Renaissance Literature. Yeah, I know, it's boring. I don't even like Renaissance Literature. But apparently I'm writing ten thousand words on it. I suffer from a variety of mental health conditions including a recurrent depressive disorder and borderline-Borderline Personality Disorder (meaning I just fall short of a definite diagnosis).
I have four permanent house-guests in the form of Guinea Pigs -- two bonded males and a neutered male living in sin with a female. The first two, Bill and Ben, were sold to me as 'brothers', but there's no way they're littermates. Neutered Cookie is incredibly aggressive and tries to mount anything and everything in sight, except Heidi, who has breathing problems, and usually just smacks him in the face with her arse. Don't know if that deters him or not, though... They live in a block of wire flats under my bed (my bed is one of those top bunk with no bottom bunk jobbies).
I'm working on three novels and a play at the moment. The first novel is a fantasy book called Child of Light. It's becoming increasingly feminized. Female protagonists living in a matriarchal world, with two goddesses at war with each other. Oh, and they're lesbians, kind of like me (I'm bisexual -- or greedy, as manys a person has called me).
The second is a story from the point of view of Dominic Kelly, a nurse born in Dublin, raised all around Ireland, who attends QUB, falls in love with his best friend, and subsequently gets his heart broken. He's an affable chap, my Dominic, but nothing seems to go quite right for him, bless.
The third is an untitled autobiographical account of my mentalness. Well, as autobiographical as any autobiography can be. What I remember may not actually be accurate. Memory is unreliable. So perhaps it should be semi-autobiographical. Or maybe just fake.
The play deals with mental health issues too (hey, most writers just write the same thing over and over. Take Jane Austen, for example. Or Stephen King, in my opinion). I've quite blatantly stolen a dramatic technique from Brian Friel in his play Philadelphia, Here I Come! wherein he has two actors play 'public' and 'private' versions of the main character, Gar. I have three actors playing the same character. One is the 'everyday' version, the true character. Another is the vehemently negative and self-harming version, and the final character is the voice of positivity. The idea is that as the character's mindset changes, the actors slip on and off stage as fluidly as possible. I'm trying to visualize how it feels to be in such a position.
So it's now thirteen past one, and I'm getting a bit tired. The pigs are safely tucked up in bed, and I feel that it's about time I joined them. Not in the cage, obviously. I don't find hay comfortable, or nutritious.
Thanks for reading. Hopefully I'll be back.
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