Good day, reader. My name, or such as you shall call me henceforth, is Squeaks. I'm terribly sorry to be such a stranger in your life. You see, I fear I have utterly neglected this blog -- I shan't be disappointed if you have all forgotten who I am.
What have I been up to lately? Well, I've finished the last of my university exams (huzzah) and am now fervently praying I will pass all of my courses with good grades. I still have 2 more years of this drab left, but for now I can look forward to 4 beautiful months of summer. I intend to do plenty of reading; however, I can't say nearly so much for writing.
Shall I discuss my turbulent feelings concerning writing with my readers? Ah, let it be so.
I seem to have lost my desire to write. Was that an audible gasp? Well, nevertheless -- I've heard it said that once a writer, always a writer. I hope this is the case. Even now, I cringe as I pen these sentences: my grammar has taken a terrible hit, my choice of words no longer portrays my true heartfelt intentions, and altogether the flow of my prose is poor. I despise my writing (perhaps that word was rather strong, but it does convey the emotion).
I wrote an English essay a month ago on the significance of Christ-like characters in several Victorian novels. While I did manage to get a B on the paper (and my adopted grandma proceeded to tell me that was quite grand for a fourth year university English course) I still felt as though I'd done a terrible job. Well, perhaps not so terrible as it was unsatisfactory. Had I not been bogged down with the thousand other assignments due, I believe I could have written a far more successful paper.
All thoughts of formal writing aside, I still feel as though I won't be able to write any good prose for a long while. Foremost on my mind is the fact that I simply have a poor knack for conversation interchange. Back-and-forth banter between characters has always played out perfectly in my mind, but to transfer that to paper is to script horror. The comments simply do not flow the way I want them to flow.
I currently feel as though I am Jane Eyre bickering with some sort of Rochester/St John/Darcy - esque figure.
This shall be all for now. I will return later. I feel a calling to some sort of movie...or perhaps another book. Yes, maybe a book -- I'm quite ravishingly hungry for literature...perferrably fiction or fantasy :P
God bless, dear readers!
Signed with musical notes & a plethora of squashed leaves,
News: Since April of last year I have managed to accomplish several monumental things in my studies, but I update you now to tell you that three nights ago I had the best sleep since I last visited my aunt's house (years ago) and probably will never have another good sleep like it for years to come *nods sagely*.
--12 March 2017 --
Quote: I really dislike how glasses slide down your nose impetuously when you're glaring down at your unfinished work. -Me