I don’t think I could write science fiction. My imagination would stall at the boundaries of science and I wouldn’t end up producing anything entertaining.
I guess the bottom line is that sci-fi becomes much more enjoyable once you get over the impossible premises (or, better still, if your ignorance never had a problem with them!). I take the facts too seriously and spoil it for myself.
Today I spent six hours in the Library cramming shamelessly. It’s that time of year when you have to get there early and stake out a spot or face walking aimlessly through the aisles all morning waiting for someone to leave, like trying to park your car in the centre of London. Students like to camp out in the Library: they leave their shit sprawled across several tables while they go out for lunch to lull themselves into false sense of responsibility. But hey, we’re all in this together: it’s revision time!
At least they call it revision. I’m pretty sure it doesn’t qualify if you never had the vision in the first place. And I swear I learnt stuff this morning. Stuff I’d never known before. So I’m going to stick with “studying”.
This evening, after an unhealthily productive day, I decided I’d go out, breathe the air and celebrate I was alive. So I donned my running shoes and headed south. There are three good reasons why I chose south. First of all, south of Durham is the road to Darlington. Parallel to it runs a pavement from which you can take several footpaths, all spilling into the neighbouring fields. The fields lie on a gentle hill, basking in the spring sunsets and brimming with dandelions. You see the appeal. Secondly, south is home. This might sound stupid, but I come from Spain, and I promise I can feel it in my bones that I am getting closer to Spain when I’m on that road to Darlington. Last of all, running south is usually a good idea when in doubt. You may recall Treebeard saying: “I always like going south; somehow, it feels like going downhill.” Continue reading “A day in the life: on running and revision”
In my short experience, life is all about anticipation.
Dread before impending doom is usually worse than “doom” itself. In fact, emotional build-up to most anticipated moments is stronger than feelings on the day (anyone who has been in a race knows this). Luckily, this also means that happiness can stretch for weeks before a point in time we look forward to!
Remember this as a strategy for life – and plan accordingly. Nice as it is to be pleasantly surprised by unexpected events, scattering nuggets of happiness into your calendar can make days much more enjoyable. Anything from booking tickets to a play to simply planning on watching TV in the evening can help break up your time into more fulfilling, pleasant and productive modules.
I have been called a control freak in the past, but this has nothing to do with my planning obsession. It is simply a way of dealing with routine by exploiting that quirk of the human brain that allows us to savour emotions from the future so realistically.
So, what are you looking forward to?
I look films up on Rotten Tomatoes before watching them. I look books up in Goodreads before reading them. I go through the reviews of stage productions before going to the theatre. Most of us do. Why? What do we expect to read?
“You-are-going-to-love-it!” That is what we expect to read. Or at least we’d like to. Because that would make sense. How awesome would it be if rating machines from the future could rummage through our brains and pick out the works of art that we are going to fall in love with next?
Instead, we are faced with a confusing blend of categorical comments about the quality of the piece and a set of thoroughly unhelpful golden stars. Surely it is against the nature of art to be labelled objectively? Worse, to be quantified. Is it not the height of arrogance, like appraising a painting, to slap a number onto every work? And yet we insist upon it. Why? Because it is the best we can do: guess what? – those rating machines from the future don’t exist. The closest we have is friends and family. They don’t have to rummage through our brains to know our tastes and make recommendations.
Ultimately, art is to be enjoyed. And it ought to be enough that you enjoy reading this book, or listening to that album, whatever people are saying about it. Sure, there is a consensus on the technical aspects of artistic creation. Indeed, most ratings are derived from said consensus. But no-one can tell you how much you will enjoy art. So be free to make your own mind up.
This might sound like a tired topic, but I feel like I’ve yet to make my point. Ratings are useful, yes. I do, on average, enjoy films with a >50 rating on Rotten Tomatoes more than I do films with a <50 rating. That is because bad ratings are likely to single out the poorly acted films, the ones with a weak narrative, or shoddily shot scenes. However, ratings also create self-reinforcing bias in the public opinion and ultimately lead to the subconscious invasion of people’s freedom. They create stigma.
So next time you are about to preach about how good or bad something is, instead consider if it might just have pushed your personal buttons. Don’t give in to peer-pressure and don’t take part in peer-pressure. Say “I really enjoyed Animal Farm” or “I’m not a great fan of The Fellowship of the Ring” (although Lord of the Rings is amazing, whatever you think). And don’t feel embarrassed about that k-pop on your iPod because it’s not Pink Floyd or Vivaldi. If you like it, that’s enough.
Have you ever felt so sick of being unproductive that you wanted to curl up and implode? Of course you have. I call them “amoeba” moments, because at those times I wish I was an amoeba – but that might just be me.
There are a number of ways in which you may find yourself at this unpleasant state. Waking up to a blank day (that is, one for which you have no plans) or failing to carry out scheduled tasks in the wake of procrastination can both induce such horrid despair. Spending too long indoors has a similar effect. And, of course, prolonged spans of unsuccessful study are known to drain every student’s soul.
The causes may vary, but the symptoms do not. Universal, and impossible to miss: the grouchy, grumpy outward disposition coupled to that internal sense of distress and desperation. Know what I’m talking about? Enter the hump. The cameelious hump. The hump that is black and blue. All across the globe, people are growing and, with varying degrees of success, shedding, humps daily. Rather than attempt to explain, I shall relay the words of Rudyard Kipling, author of this uncannily insightful allegory:
The Camel’s hump is an ugly lump
Which well you may see at the Zoo;
But uglier yet is the hump we get
From having too little to do. Continue reading “The cameelious hump”
I’ve tried blogs before, on and off. You see, I like words. More importantly, I like communication. And since words are the best form of communication I know (save for a few important exceptions which I shall not delve into), it is probably not surprising that I like posting my thoughts on the Internet.
Problem is, I have commitment issues with blogs. A busy student life and a healthy predisposition to procrastination mean I’ve never kept up my writing for long enough to gather a loyal readership. Or, rather, I haven’t kept my writing constant enough. I hear short periodicity is key to the blogger’s success.
But who needs success! I’m doing this for me, and, if you want, for you. I welcome you to read my musings, when I am in the sharing mood.
For now, that is all – until such a time as the sharing mood strikes again!