On a Rainy Sunday

So, I am sitting here on a Sunday afternoon debating if I want to power through the rest of Pirate Latitudes (Michael Crichton’s last *tear* book published posthumously) or say screw it all and try and level my night elf on WOW or if I should try and figure out the best route through Gran Pulse in FFXIII without dying a bazillion times.

Of course, there are also the practical options, like cleaning…laundry….or in general getting off the Internet. (But then you would have nothing to read! Oh noes!)

To be honest, I LOVE warm, rainy, spring weekends.  There is nothing better than curling up and or getting things done.  They are really calming to a person like me. That is why it is so hard to decide what to do.

What I really need to do though, is what I am most fervently avoiding until tomorrow, and that is hardcore studying for my exams at the end of next week.

I’ve realized something though.  I can study a lot, and I can retain most of the information, but what the better question is, is do I understand the information?  I can use a formula type rubric, say this fits under heading A, this is under heading B, and then dissect, dissect, dissect to explain what something means using terms and concepts of rhetoric…but does that mean I actually understand?

I am obviously not trying to imply that I am stupid.  But what I am trying to say is that in today’s world, to maximize profit and prestige and graduation rates, University kids are just thrown information, have terms and concepts thrown down their throats, and then sent on their merry way without having been actually told what to do. No one can take the time to explain the massive amounts of information given to us–it takes enough time just to spit out the definitions and an example.

Maybe I am complaining too much?  Maybe their goal is to encourage us to use our powers of deduction and fill in the blanks.  I just think it’s a bit too much to be left to chance.

Here’s my point: This weekend (yesterday) I went to a local festival held every year.  I met up with some old friends/kids I nannied and mentioned that I am getting into publishing, once I have my English degree and the Publishing certificate.

Well, the particular kid I was talking to got very excited, and proceeded to tell me about many friends of his who have written their own material, and I should help them edit it, and so on and so forth.  This of course puffed my chest a bit but there is a problem.

Now, grammar whiz that I am I can already do a fairly good editing job as it is.  Editing, I think, is sort of learned through absorption.  Through reading works you understand the structure of language and dialogue and plots that are sought after.  Grammar teaches you how sentences work and where to put a comma and that the semi-colon is the single greatest punctuation mark ever.  (Followed closely by a sarcastic second place, the interrobang.)

However, I am not actually educationally qualified to legitimately edit novels.  Obviously this was not a professional project, but, how well are people going to think of your editing skills if you don’t have a piece of paper backing it up?  That damn piece of paper….

So frustrating! I mean, I wrote a novella, and it was relatively crappy because I was young and too romantic and I rushed the plot and many other reasons.  If I went back and edited it, I could turn it into something decent, and not because of school but because I am simply older and more mature and have a better grasp on this stuff.  The things I currently write are much better because of experience.  Not necessarily school, and not a slip of paper.

I am pining for the day I graduate, simply for that piece of paper.  I am trying my hardest to understand these concepts and terms and how to apply them, because I want to apply them.  I ardently daydream about writing novels, or editing novels, or seeing them put on the shelf, or all three.

But I won’t give up in between.  I will still write everyday, read everyday and revise everyday to know that I personally feel up to the task.  I will give in and study tomorrow and everyday until my exams, but I won’t forget to do what I actually enjoy in the mean time.  School can kill passion; I won’t let that happen.

So excuse me while I read my Crichton novel, then clean a little house and do a little gaming before settling down to the books.

A degree in being Literate

I am terribly insane.  Which I figure makes me normal.

I’m pretty girly, by some standards.  I like my nails done, I like to write in pastel pink and purple pilot pens, I have an obsession with any Real Housewives franchise (especially Vancouver) and have an attachment to Hello Kitty which is probably unhealthy and makes my boyfriend frequently facepalm.  I am a bit of a princess.

Typical girl, yea?

But when I was young I read The Andromeda Strain, not Sweet Valley High.  I chose Tolkien over Blume and picked The Shining up at the garage sale instead of the Nicholas Sparks romance.

Yes, I read hand-me-down babysitters club as an 8-year-old and I will steadfastly promote Meg Cabot and all the Princess Diaries–but I pine for good writing and thoughtful fiction.  Princess Mia is, after all, much more badass in writing than her Anne Hathaway counterpart (no offense, Disney likes to butcher anything worth producing).

I’m out there.  I subscribe to Quill & Quire and follow Xiaxue.  I watch Sailor Moon in Japanese and read manga.  I read Wikipedia for fun and try to learn 3 languages at a time, trying to fix my terrible French accent.  Sashimi is my vice and I love watching Supernatural with my boyfriend.  I love hashtags and Starbucks and Sephora and Victoria’s Secret.

But my goal here?  Write.  To write and to share my writing journey.  To take my favourite fiction and honour it with my own fiction, and my own opinions.

I am here to fight for the English Degree.  A laughable post-secondary pursuit because it has been sullied by the dirty paws of too many spoiled children wasting their parents’ money.  They never could figure out quite what to do so they’ll wait around here until good connections drop opportune employment in their laps.  Kids who still can’t figure out after 4 years the difference between “your” and “you’re” have made the English Degree synonymous with a Slacker’s Degree.

I’m here to reclaim the meaning for myself.  I’m here to push myself to write.  To edit.  To publish.  To dream.

And occasionally post about the latest Game of Thrones episode, and how it wasn’t long enough.