You heard me, I did a degree in reading. Well, English Literature. But that's what people assume a degree in English Literature boils down to, and I suppose in part that they're right. There is a lot of reading involved in what I have done for the past three years, but that isn't all there is to it.
A degree in English Literature gives you no particular career outcome; when you do a graduate search for jobs in humanities and arts subjects there isn't much there. Most of us are hopeful writers, wannabe journalists, publishing interns. I am the former sadly, a wanabee writer who aches to have people clamouring to read what she has to say. I don't just mean on this blog either, oh no! I want to write books. Oh yes, that grand old tale. Not only am I a wannabe writer, I am a wannabe author.
I remember once reading a statistic which defiantly told me that less than 1% of manuscripts which reach a publisher's desk actually manage to get published, and I am not ashamed to say that it is this notion which has haunted me ever since. The feeling of failure has dogged me ever since, in spite of the fact being that I have not yet sent any manuscripts away to even try for publishing. I am a foggy writer, still caught up in myself and my words, playing with the way they look across the page and watching the word count rollercoaster its way no closer to a finish.
The truth is that my degree has little to do with my hopes of being a writer; I did not study creative writing after all, which at least would have prompted me to step outside of my comfort zone creatively. Rather I studied the works of others, in the hopes of learning how to do it myself. I inspired myself plenty in the process, I have to admit, but I also dissauded myself as well. So few writers are successful, so few admired. And for every shred of admiration they receive, they receive three times that in criticisms.
Studying English Literature therefore, does not teach you how to be a writer yourself, nor is it as simple as merely reading a book and writing a little about it. No, over the past three years I have studied not only literature, but aspects of language, history, and psychology. Due to my studies in literature I know more now about cultural dimensions than I did three years ago, and I have contextual evidence for my opinions.
But yes, I just read books.
So how does it feel to have received a degree in something which gives me no definite career prospects, and makes most people look at me like I have done an extended A Level course for the past three years ('but you just... read?') I hear you ask?
More than a little pissed off.
Sunday 15 July 2012
Saturday 14 July 2012
A warning, perhaps
Perhaps it is time to introduce myself. The beginning is usually the place for such things, and this is most definitely a beginning of sorts for me.
My name is Jess. Call me Jess unless you know me already by a different name, which some do. I'm 21, Northern by birth and by labour of love. I've recently finished a Ba(Hons) (does the Honours part really matter, though?) degree in English Literature. Yeah, that's right, you read that correctly. I did a degree in reading. More on that another time.
After finishing my degree, I promptly moved back home (temporarily so, I hasten to add) and found myself with a grand amount of free time and very little to do with it. I went down the usual routes at first; I scoured 4OD, bought some new XBox games, and devoted a lot of time to talking to our house pets. It was a few days ago that I had the idea of perhaps doing something somewhat useful and starting a blog.
And now, here we are. A blog. I do not wish to be popular, or highly linked to. To be read at all would be lovely, of course, but for now I am comfortable to write to the void, if only because it fills my time. I wrote a brief, if not somewhat idealistic sounding, post about love, posted it online, and voila! I have joined the masses of online public blogging.
Read me if you choose, but never feel obliged. I promise to speak my mind on here, and not everyone may like what I have to say. But, as a friend as of mine pointed out recently on her own blog (check her out, she is incredibly thoughtful and intelligent- 'missing apostrophes'), no matter what I say, it is that I have the FREEDOM to do so that is most important.
This is my little corner of freedom, and I hope you enjoy what I have to say. I may not always be correct, I may not always speak as eloquently as possible, but I promise to always be honest. And that's enough for now.
My name is Jess. Call me Jess unless you know me already by a different name, which some do. I'm 21, Northern by birth and by labour of love. I've recently finished a Ba(Hons) (does the Honours part really matter, though?) degree in English Literature. Yeah, that's right, you read that correctly. I did a degree in reading. More on that another time.
After finishing my degree, I promptly moved back home (temporarily so, I hasten to add) and found myself with a grand amount of free time and very little to do with it. I went down the usual routes at first; I scoured 4OD, bought some new XBox games, and devoted a lot of time to talking to our house pets. It was a few days ago that I had the idea of perhaps doing something somewhat useful and starting a blog.
And now, here we are. A blog. I do not wish to be popular, or highly linked to. To be read at all would be lovely, of course, but for now I am comfortable to write to the void, if only because it fills my time. I wrote a brief, if not somewhat idealistic sounding, post about love, posted it online, and voila! I have joined the masses of online public blogging.
Read me if you choose, but never feel obliged. I promise to speak my mind on here, and not everyone may like what I have to say. But, as a friend as of mine pointed out recently on her own blog (check her out, she is incredibly thoughtful and intelligent- 'missing apostrophes'), no matter what I say, it is that I have the FREEDOM to do so that is most important.
This is my little corner of freedom, and I hope you enjoy what I have to say. I may not always be correct, I may not always speak as eloquently as possible, but I promise to always be honest. And that's enough for now.
Friday 13 July 2012
Let us speak of love
What does it mean to fall in love? Truly, madly, deeply, I mean. Is it a split second connection, or is it something which must build slowly, over time, filling in the gaps where you hadn't even realised that there was anything missing?
Some people say that when you find love, you will know it the instant that you see them; that person who you are about to lose your heart and mind to, sometimes irrevocably. Perhaps I'm merely a cynic, but I believe that love takes more than single glance. To me, a glance is attraction, but it is time which gives you true love. You must experience things with this person, understand them, desire them in a way which transcends the physical.
Love is not a single glance. After all, it changes everything.
You'll have to forgive me, I'm new to this game. This lark that is publicly blogging my thoughts that is, not the love lark.
But I digress.
What is love?
What does it mean to fall in love with somebody? And, on the flipside of this, what does it mean to lose that love?
More recently I've been asking myself these questions over and over. I guess the end of a relationship will do that to somebody; it brings up all of those thoughts and feelings which you manage to avoid and ignore whilst you're caught up in the moment.
Earlier today I watched a programme, a piece of trash programme I must admit, called 'Undercover Lover'. I found this show whilst searching through 4OD for something to fill the endless time I suddenly seem to have acquired in the absence of University studies and employment.
On this programme, a young man who has made a success of himself has gone undercover to try to find 'true love'. Driven away by women who are merely interested in the type of car he drives, he seeks out love in cheap bowling alleys and seedy London pubs with girls who all look like similar, blonde copies of another, and all have jobs which I'm fairly sure none of my twenty-something friends have. Not that I'm questioning the reality of the situation or anything.
What drew me to this programme was that this young man, merely 24, was looking for someone to fall in love with because he wanted to get married. He said it like it was an ambition, much like someone would discuss a work promotion. For this guy, love was a box which was waiting to be checked off of the to-do list, and he would not be satisfied until he had found it.
It made me think; do every single one of us get into relationships, thinking that each one will be the be all and end all of our Universes? Do each of us think that this person is The One, until The One turns out to be a lying bastard, or a thoughtless person, or just Not The One after all.
If so, why do we do it to ourselves? What is it about the human mind which tricks us every time into beliving that this one, this time, it'll be the one?
Some people are lucky; I may be but 21 but I already have an invite to a wedding which has been held off for long enough. The bride will be but a few months my junior, and I couldn't be happier for her.
Others are less lucky, falling from relationship to relationship, always falling in love but never quite having the impact they want.
Of course, I am merely speaking for the sake of it, after all it is unlikely that I'll ever really understand why we do it to ourselves. People will tell me that the pros outweigh the cons, and I'll agree with them, because they do. When you're caught in the moment of love, nothing else matters. The cracks in the veneer have been filled in, and life is glossy and sweet. You forget what 'single' feels like, and you forget even more what the gaping spaces feel like until you get them back; like fleshy sore spots in my mouth after getting teeth removed.
But the gum heals, hardens. And before long we forget what the pain was even like, its agony a dim memory in our minds. After all, I don't think that everyone must be in a relationship in order to be truly happy. 'Single' is not some awful disease which grows in absence of romantic love, and not everybody spends their lives looking each day for The One. What I speak of instead is that pain of loss, of knowing what you have had and knowing that you have it no longer.
And yet it is worth it, for those beautiful moments it gives you. And it is those moments I suppose we must hold onto, even after everything else has faded away from memory.
For after all, where would we be without love? Our culture is built upon it, upon finding it, keeping it, chasing after it. I speak not only of romantic love by this point, but every kind of love; I love many of my closest friends after all, and tell them so without consequence. Without love, we are left keeping everyone at a distance, and that isn't a world that I can truthfully say I enjoy the sound of.
Let's keep love, then. I may not understand it, but I will never pretend to. Instead, I think I shall just be glad for what love I have in my life, I shall keep close to my heart and ignore the gaps in favour of glossy days.
Some people say that when you find love, you will know it the instant that you see them; that person who you are about to lose your heart and mind to, sometimes irrevocably. Perhaps I'm merely a cynic, but I believe that love takes more than single glance. To me, a glance is attraction, but it is time which gives you true love. You must experience things with this person, understand them, desire them in a way which transcends the physical.
Love is not a single glance. After all, it changes everything.
You'll have to forgive me, I'm new to this game. This lark that is publicly blogging my thoughts that is, not the love lark.
But I digress.
What is love?
What does it mean to fall in love with somebody? And, on the flipside of this, what does it mean to lose that love?
More recently I've been asking myself these questions over and over. I guess the end of a relationship will do that to somebody; it brings up all of those thoughts and feelings which you manage to avoid and ignore whilst you're caught up in the moment.
Earlier today I watched a programme, a piece of trash programme I must admit, called 'Undercover Lover'. I found this show whilst searching through 4OD for something to fill the endless time I suddenly seem to have acquired in the absence of University studies and employment.
On this programme, a young man who has made a success of himself has gone undercover to try to find 'true love'. Driven away by women who are merely interested in the type of car he drives, he seeks out love in cheap bowling alleys and seedy London pubs with girls who all look like similar, blonde copies of another, and all have jobs which I'm fairly sure none of my twenty-something friends have. Not that I'm questioning the reality of the situation or anything.
What drew me to this programme was that this young man, merely 24, was looking for someone to fall in love with because he wanted to get married. He said it like it was an ambition, much like someone would discuss a work promotion. For this guy, love was a box which was waiting to be checked off of the to-do list, and he would not be satisfied until he had found it.
It made me think; do every single one of us get into relationships, thinking that each one will be the be all and end all of our Universes? Do each of us think that this person is The One, until The One turns out to be a lying bastard, or a thoughtless person, or just Not The One after all.
If so, why do we do it to ourselves? What is it about the human mind which tricks us every time into beliving that this one, this time, it'll be the one?
Some people are lucky; I may be but 21 but I already have an invite to a wedding which has been held off for long enough. The bride will be but a few months my junior, and I couldn't be happier for her.
Others are less lucky, falling from relationship to relationship, always falling in love but never quite having the impact they want.
Of course, I am merely speaking for the sake of it, after all it is unlikely that I'll ever really understand why we do it to ourselves. People will tell me that the pros outweigh the cons, and I'll agree with them, because they do. When you're caught in the moment of love, nothing else matters. The cracks in the veneer have been filled in, and life is glossy and sweet. You forget what 'single' feels like, and you forget even more what the gaping spaces feel like until you get them back; like fleshy sore spots in my mouth after getting teeth removed.
But the gum heals, hardens. And before long we forget what the pain was even like, its agony a dim memory in our minds. After all, I don't think that everyone must be in a relationship in order to be truly happy. 'Single' is not some awful disease which grows in absence of romantic love, and not everybody spends their lives looking each day for The One. What I speak of instead is that pain of loss, of knowing what you have had and knowing that you have it no longer.
And yet it is worth it, for those beautiful moments it gives you. And it is those moments I suppose we must hold onto, even after everything else has faded away from memory.
For after all, where would we be without love? Our culture is built upon it, upon finding it, keeping it, chasing after it. I speak not only of romantic love by this point, but every kind of love; I love many of my closest friends after all, and tell them so without consequence. Without love, we are left keeping everyone at a distance, and that isn't a world that I can truthfully say I enjoy the sound of.
Let's keep love, then. I may not understand it, but I will never pretend to. Instead, I think I shall just be glad for what love I have in my life, I shall keep close to my heart and ignore the gaps in favour of glossy days.
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