A side effect of today's exercise in narcissism that I hadn't forseen: I now have no urge whatsoever to go on and on about myself. I've purged it - it's all out of my system. I don't know how long it will last for, but it's probably a good thing!
The other amusing this is that I keep having to restrain myself from going back and editing the post, or writing a disclaimer along the lines of "Watch out - I'm going to talk about myself for ages and it will be boring!" The old piece of social advice goes tells us that people love to talk about themselves, and I suppose that's true. But it's interesting to try and think of a way to phrase it that might make it interesting to others. I don't think I did that here - it was too thorough, so perhaps next time I'll try and write the most interesting summary of myself that I can in, say, 250 words. That would be a challenge.
In other news, I felt like I should start talking about some of the writing I was doing. "Proper" writing (though who knows what constitutes proper) outside of the blog. I was rather pleased last night - I hit the 100,000 word mark on the story that I'm writing at the moment. This is a good and a bad thing. It's good because, obviously, I've put in a sustained effort (no mean feat given my pathetic attention span) and written an extended story. It's bad because it is definitely not finished yet and I suspect it's going to end up far too long. Though this isn't so awful, because I already knew that it needed a vicious prune, as I was still coming to terms with plot things when I was writing it - a few things are probably now superfluous and can be removed with a minimum of griping on my part. Pleasing.
The grander goal of course (as stated on the Ravelry writers group, so gosh darnit, you know I mean business) was to finish this piece by the end of January. I am now doubtful as to whether or not this is possible, but I'll keep on aiming anyway. It's definitely doable if I get on a roll. And on that note, I'm going to get back to it. 101,319 words and counting...
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Friday, January 23, 2009
Something vaguely self-centred...
I'm still really deciding what kind of things are going to be posted here. Obviously it's a place for me to cheer and wave my arms in the air when I finish writing projects, and I'll be posting updates on my progress in the '52 Books in 52 Weeks' challenge too. Once I actually start working on them, my responses to the writing challenges will be posted here as well. But what else?
I've been musing over this question, and I'm still not sure what conclusion I've come to, if any. Obviously, anything I post here is going to revolve around writing or reading, but I'm not sure what limits to place on this. The pieces of writing that I've found either pleasing to read or exceptionally well written have come from so many places that I'm not sure if it's useful to place limits on what gets posted here. So I'm thinking that perhaps I'll just post lots of different kinds of writing here, with the one requirement be that I've actually written it as well as I can. On my other blog I'm all too guilty of rambling on for too long, inserting brackets into anywhere that they'll fit, and sometimes even resorting to dot point and one word sentences. Not here.
It does admittedly seem a little bit strange to say that I'm going to try and post well written things here, as you'd think that such a thing would be a more or less universal aim. But increasingly I'm finding that that isn't the case, with me and with others. Often people's blogs seem to dissolve into bad punctuation, oddly formed sentences, and sometimes even some strange variation on the text message vernacular. Um, LOL? All good in context, but that context is not going to be here. In this space, I plan to strive for (and probably frequently fall short of) better writing, no matter what the actual content of the text is.
Since I have to start somewhere, I decided that writing about me was as good a place as any. A little vain perhaps, but let's be honest: most people enjoy writing about themselves. It's still early days in the blog, so I suppose it's not entirely out of place.
Well.
My name is Anna. Not a name I've ever been particularly attached to, but it's the only one that I have. I'm 24 years old, though not too far from 25. All those north of that mark will probably start laughing from this point onwards, but the prospect of reaching this point scares me a little, because it sounds like an age that implies more responsibility and experience than I seem to have accumulated thus far. That's not to say that I haven't had a lot of varied experiences - only that they seem woefully inadequate because despite them all, I'm still chronically (and joyfully) juvenile and ignorant in a great many ways.
Of course, I've seen and done things. A lot of things, in a great many places. It's rare that I find someone my age who has travelled to as many different countries as I have, though I must admit that I definitely don't remember a lot of the destinations - my parents got me started young. By the age of 6 I had already been to more places than most people will ever see in their entire lives. The list only expanded as I got older, and it's still growing - I don't think it's in my nature to ever stop wanting to see different places. On that note, I was one of those kids who always wanted to do everything. I read too much and had far too many hobbies. I was always nothing short of vigorously encouraged on both of these fronts, something that I'm still incredibly grateful for. All said and done, I think that I had the kind of childhood that most people can only dream of.
Of course, life has also been a bit of a bastard in other ways. If I've racked up more good experiences than other people my age, the same can be said of bad ones. By the age of 16 I'd already lost one parent. I finished high school at 17, having a lot of knowledge but very few friends to show for it - for a variety of reasons, I've not always been good at playing nicely with the other children, so to speak. I got married at 23, and had the relationship dissolve messily only few months after my 24th birthday. Perhaps dissolve is the wrong word - I ended it, though not before enduring treatment that I cringe to remember now. The less said about it the better really. I've not always been a happy person. One hand would be insufficient to count the different counsellors I've meandered back and forth from over the years, wondering when one would successfully crack the code of my head. All this said, I don't think life has treated me unfairly. Far from it. I still consider myself one of the luckiest people I know. Most of the bad things were just consequences of my own choices, and I can live with that.
So now here I am. Anna at age 24. I live in Melbourne, Australia - my most beloved city, which I suspect will always be home, no matter how many places I visit. I attend the University of Melbourne, and have done for far, far too long. At the moment I am one year off completing a law degree. Before that it was an arts degree, double majoring in history and english literature, with an honours year devoted to the Black Death and medieval medicine thrown in for good measure. Given this, it's probably unsurprising that I find it hard to comprehend an existence beyond study.
However, despite all the time spent at university, I'm not a particularly fast learner. My attention span is short, and it can take me a long time to comprehend new ideas. I often forget things not long after I've learned them, much to my frustration and embarrassment. It all amuses me quite a lot in some ways. People often expect me to be so ferociously intelligent (I suspect it's an assumption based on the fact that I'm in law school), that I really do wonder how they're going to react when they realise that there really isn't anything particularly exceptional inside my skull. Perhaps this sounds too self deprecating, but I don't think so. I have other intellectual strengths, and I am very proud of them - they're just a little less tangible. My imagination, for example, is a force to be reckoned with.
On the employment front, there is not much of interest to say. Uni has (or should have) taken priority throughout most of my life, so the jobs I've worked haven't been particularly exciting ones. I've worked in a bakery, a pizza shop, a pet shop, and as a tutor. Also for one hour in a call centre - one hour being all it took to convince me that I would never voluntarily return to that place. They have nearly all been customer service jobs, which is probably a little odd given the fact that I am not a people person. For some reason though, I'm good at customer service. Excellent, actually. I just hope to escape it one day.
As previously mentioned, I still have too many hobbies. The most prominent - at the moment, anyway - are writing and knitting, but I also read a lot, bake, grow carnivorous plants, practice calligraphy, swim, dabble in sewing, and draw. As well as about a thousand other things. Heaven knows it probably all detracts from both my studies and my personal life, but I wouldn't change it. I am never, ever bored.
My social life is not a particularly stellar one. I have the usual amount of acquaintances, but few people I would call friends. I've never been much of a people person, for all that I continue to make valiant attempts at it. In all honesty, the opposite sex generally don't seem to take that much interest in me either - though it should be noted that at the time of writing this, there is a certain individual who would say otherwise. Regardless of his wishes though, I am most resolutely single, and expect to stay as such for quite some time.
I suppose all that's left to talk about now is my temperament. It's the trickiest thing to describe though. I'm quiet, except when I'm loud. I'm reclusive, except when I'm overbearing. I'm optimistic, except when I'm depressed. Thankfully, I think that that about covers the more contradictory elements of my personality. I have a sense of humour - I refuse to say a 'good' sense of humour, because I'm not really sure how to define 'good' in this context, but I definitely have one, whether it's good or otherwise. There are very few things in this life that I can't laugh about. Indeed, humour is essentially my coping mechanism, as various poor mortified people have discovered when I loudly poke merry fun about hardships of mine that a normal person simply would not find funny. Still, in my opinion, if you can laugh at something, then you can live through it. And sometimes the only way to salvage any kind of good from a situation is to find something humorous in it, no matter how perverse the humour is.
I'm definitely cynical, though as previously mentioned, I'd call myself an optimist too - I don't view the two as mutually exclusive. I'm very opinionated, though I don't tend to subject other people to my thoughts on controversial topics unless I have been invited to. I like to think that I'm a person with a strong code of ethics. I am one of the most stubborn people you will ever have the misfortune of meeting - I'm still not sure if it's a fault or a virtue, because heaven knows it has served me well over the years. That said, I am open minded too. I like variety, in all things: I don't think that you need to only associate with people who are the same age, subculture, or political leaning as you, nor have I ever understood why anyone would feel that way. I'm generous - though I sometimes regret it afterwards. I probably have a tendency to be self centred, though in all honesty, who doesn't? I am sometimes too paranoid for my own good. I am sometimes a nervous person, though when push comes to shove, I am brave enough to get through it. Of everything though, I think that the thing I like best about myself is that I take pleasure in small things. I enjoy life, am grateful for living it, and on good days I find a small measure of peace in that. It sounds pretentious, but I can't think of any other way to articulate it.
Well, that's me - and that's definitely enough now. And I for one am thoroughly sick of hearing about myself now. I'm off to go and write about someone a little more interesting.
I've been musing over this question, and I'm still not sure what conclusion I've come to, if any. Obviously, anything I post here is going to revolve around writing or reading, but I'm not sure what limits to place on this. The pieces of writing that I've found either pleasing to read or exceptionally well written have come from so many places that I'm not sure if it's useful to place limits on what gets posted here. So I'm thinking that perhaps I'll just post lots of different kinds of writing here, with the one requirement be that I've actually written it as well as I can. On my other blog I'm all too guilty of rambling on for too long, inserting brackets into anywhere that they'll fit, and sometimes even resorting to dot point and one word sentences. Not here.
It does admittedly seem a little bit strange to say that I'm going to try and post well written things here, as you'd think that such a thing would be a more or less universal aim. But increasingly I'm finding that that isn't the case, with me and with others. Often people's blogs seem to dissolve into bad punctuation, oddly formed sentences, and sometimes even some strange variation on the text message vernacular. Um, LOL? All good in context, but that context is not going to be here. In this space, I plan to strive for (and probably frequently fall short of) better writing, no matter what the actual content of the text is.
Since I have to start somewhere, I decided that writing about me was as good a place as any. A little vain perhaps, but let's be honest: most people enjoy writing about themselves. It's still early days in the blog, so I suppose it's not entirely out of place.
Well.
My name is Anna. Not a name I've ever been particularly attached to, but it's the only one that I have. I'm 24 years old, though not too far from 25. All those north of that mark will probably start laughing from this point onwards, but the prospect of reaching this point scares me a little, because it sounds like an age that implies more responsibility and experience than I seem to have accumulated thus far. That's not to say that I haven't had a lot of varied experiences - only that they seem woefully inadequate because despite them all, I'm still chronically (and joyfully) juvenile and ignorant in a great many ways.
Of course, I've seen and done things. A lot of things, in a great many places. It's rare that I find someone my age who has travelled to as many different countries as I have, though I must admit that I definitely don't remember a lot of the destinations - my parents got me started young. By the age of 6 I had already been to more places than most people will ever see in their entire lives. The list only expanded as I got older, and it's still growing - I don't think it's in my nature to ever stop wanting to see different places. On that note, I was one of those kids who always wanted to do everything. I read too much and had far too many hobbies. I was always nothing short of vigorously encouraged on both of these fronts, something that I'm still incredibly grateful for. All said and done, I think that I had the kind of childhood that most people can only dream of.
Of course, life has also been a bit of a bastard in other ways. If I've racked up more good experiences than other people my age, the same can be said of bad ones. By the age of 16 I'd already lost one parent. I finished high school at 17, having a lot of knowledge but very few friends to show for it - for a variety of reasons, I've not always been good at playing nicely with the other children, so to speak. I got married at 23, and had the relationship dissolve messily only few months after my 24th birthday. Perhaps dissolve is the wrong word - I ended it, though not before enduring treatment that I cringe to remember now. The less said about it the better really. I've not always been a happy person. One hand would be insufficient to count the different counsellors I've meandered back and forth from over the years, wondering when one would successfully crack the code of my head. All this said, I don't think life has treated me unfairly. Far from it. I still consider myself one of the luckiest people I know. Most of the bad things were just consequences of my own choices, and I can live with that.
So now here I am. Anna at age 24. I live in Melbourne, Australia - my most beloved city, which I suspect will always be home, no matter how many places I visit. I attend the University of Melbourne, and have done for far, far too long. At the moment I am one year off completing a law degree. Before that it was an arts degree, double majoring in history and english literature, with an honours year devoted to the Black Death and medieval medicine thrown in for good measure. Given this, it's probably unsurprising that I find it hard to comprehend an existence beyond study.
However, despite all the time spent at university, I'm not a particularly fast learner. My attention span is short, and it can take me a long time to comprehend new ideas. I often forget things not long after I've learned them, much to my frustration and embarrassment. It all amuses me quite a lot in some ways. People often expect me to be so ferociously intelligent (I suspect it's an assumption based on the fact that I'm in law school), that I really do wonder how they're going to react when they realise that there really isn't anything particularly exceptional inside my skull. Perhaps this sounds too self deprecating, but I don't think so. I have other intellectual strengths, and I am very proud of them - they're just a little less tangible. My imagination, for example, is a force to be reckoned with.
On the employment front, there is not much of interest to say. Uni has (or should have) taken priority throughout most of my life, so the jobs I've worked haven't been particularly exciting ones. I've worked in a bakery, a pizza shop, a pet shop, and as a tutor. Also for one hour in a call centre - one hour being all it took to convince me that I would never voluntarily return to that place. They have nearly all been customer service jobs, which is probably a little odd given the fact that I am not a people person. For some reason though, I'm good at customer service. Excellent, actually. I just hope to escape it one day.
As previously mentioned, I still have too many hobbies. The most prominent - at the moment, anyway - are writing and knitting, but I also read a lot, bake, grow carnivorous plants, practice calligraphy, swim, dabble in sewing, and draw. As well as about a thousand other things. Heaven knows it probably all detracts from both my studies and my personal life, but I wouldn't change it. I am never, ever bored.
My social life is not a particularly stellar one. I have the usual amount of acquaintances, but few people I would call friends. I've never been much of a people person, for all that I continue to make valiant attempts at it. In all honesty, the opposite sex generally don't seem to take that much interest in me either - though it should be noted that at the time of writing this, there is a certain individual who would say otherwise. Regardless of his wishes though, I am most resolutely single, and expect to stay as such for quite some time.
I suppose all that's left to talk about now is my temperament. It's the trickiest thing to describe though. I'm quiet, except when I'm loud. I'm reclusive, except when I'm overbearing. I'm optimistic, except when I'm depressed. Thankfully, I think that that about covers the more contradictory elements of my personality. I have a sense of humour - I refuse to say a 'good' sense of humour, because I'm not really sure how to define 'good' in this context, but I definitely have one, whether it's good or otherwise. There are very few things in this life that I can't laugh about. Indeed, humour is essentially my coping mechanism, as various poor mortified people have discovered when I loudly poke merry fun about hardships of mine that a normal person simply would not find funny. Still, in my opinion, if you can laugh at something, then you can live through it. And sometimes the only way to salvage any kind of good from a situation is to find something humorous in it, no matter how perverse the humour is.
I'm definitely cynical, though as previously mentioned, I'd call myself an optimist too - I don't view the two as mutually exclusive. I'm very opinionated, though I don't tend to subject other people to my thoughts on controversial topics unless I have been invited to. I like to think that I'm a person with a strong code of ethics. I am one of the most stubborn people you will ever have the misfortune of meeting - I'm still not sure if it's a fault or a virtue, because heaven knows it has served me well over the years. That said, I am open minded too. I like variety, in all things: I don't think that you need to only associate with people who are the same age, subculture, or political leaning as you, nor have I ever understood why anyone would feel that way. I'm generous - though I sometimes regret it afterwards. I probably have a tendency to be self centred, though in all honesty, who doesn't? I am sometimes too paranoid for my own good. I am sometimes a nervous person, though when push comes to shove, I am brave enough to get through it. Of everything though, I think that the thing I like best about myself is that I take pleasure in small things. I enjoy life, am grateful for living it, and on good days I find a small measure of peace in that. It sounds pretentious, but I can't think of any other way to articulate it.
Well, that's me - and that's definitely enough now. And I for one am thoroughly sick of hearing about myself now. I'm off to go and write about someone a little more interesting.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
The auspicious first post...
Yes, I know deep down that really, I need another blog like I need a hole in the head. Well, perhaps that's a little extreme. I need another blog like I need an asparagus flavoured ceiling fan. I just don't. But the problem is that I don't like to dilute my craft blog too much with that other craft I practice - that persistant one that involves all those delightful words. And my Livejournal is more a place for my (lack of a) social life than it is a forum for me to wax lyrical about which of my characters is being a misbehaving tool this week. I had considered a blog for this pesky conceit of mine for a little while, but I'd happen across other people's writing blogs from time to time and find them for the most part tedious at best and narcissistic at worst, and then I would once again discount the idea.
But the writing - it takes over and seems to think that it needs a place to be rambled about. And then I decided to do the 52 Books in 52 Weeks challenge on Ravelry, and it feels odd to be directing people to my knit-blog for that when there is really bugger all by way of reading/writing content on there. And now we've got writing assignments, which I think will be a lot of fun, but once again, I don't really want to post them on my knit-blog (or at least not now that it actually has - gasp - readership, albeit small). So I succumbed. Here, ladies and gentleman, from this point onwards shall dwell: the word-blog.
This isn't entirely a bad thing, I suppose. For a start, it means that I no longer have to brag to the people who subject themselves to my other internetty endeavours when I hit 50,000 words on a story I'm writing. I can post it here and save them the trouble of scratching their heads and saying to themselves, "Wait, Anna was writing something? When did that start?" My various random hobbies vie for my attention enough in my actual life - they don't need to compete for space on the wide open and fertile plains of the internet.
It also means that I won't need to keep all of my writing-centric ramblings locked away on wordfiles on my harddrive, or banished to battered notebooks that never seem to escape the recesses of my bag. The problem with doing things this way is that when these diatrabes are kept private, with no intention of ever being otherwise, I get repetitive, lose any motivation to be concise, and generally my thoughts end up chasing themselves around in circles. The whole 'writing my thoughts on the piece that I'm writing' thing stops being as helpful as it was originally, and starts being confusing and self indulgent. Probably bad habits to be falling into.
However, the main benefit of the word-blog that I can see is that it might actually force me into better habits. You see, I have this quirk. Like many people, I am a procrastinator. I have trouble helping it, although it should be noted that I'm getting better as I get older (she proudly proclaims at the ripe old age of 24). And one thing that I've noticed is that the more people I tell about my intentions, the less likely I am to put them off or not fulfil them at all. A muttered "I'll do it when I finish this chapter", grumbled over my shoulder to a single member of my immediate family, is much less likely to be followed up on than a proclamation to a group of friends, or a declaration to the inhabitants of LiveJournal land that I am going to undertake something. So, in keeping this word-blog, I'm hoping to scare myself straight and actually write everything I'm intending to. See, I have to do it, because if I don't the Internet at Large will think worse of me. All the billions of people who could potentially happen across this blog (though of course won't) will parade through my mind, saying "Oh, that Anna, she never follows through on what she says she's going to do", and lo and behold, I will magically become Productive... Or that's the plan anway.
So. There's the justification. Of course, one can justify a lot of things. Hey, I'm a law student - I'm supposed to be good at this kind of rubbish. Now, let's see if I can actually live up to all of these good intentions. Time will tell, I suppose.
But the writing - it takes over and seems to think that it needs a place to be rambled about. And then I decided to do the 52 Books in 52 Weeks challenge on Ravelry, and it feels odd to be directing people to my knit-blog for that when there is really bugger all by way of reading/writing content on there. And now we've got writing assignments, which I think will be a lot of fun, but once again, I don't really want to post them on my knit-blog (or at least not now that it actually has - gasp - readership, albeit small). So I succumbed. Here, ladies and gentleman, from this point onwards shall dwell: the word-blog.
This isn't entirely a bad thing, I suppose. For a start, it means that I no longer have to brag to the people who subject themselves to my other internetty endeavours when I hit 50,000 words on a story I'm writing. I can post it here and save them the trouble of scratching their heads and saying to themselves, "Wait, Anna was writing something? When did that start?" My various random hobbies vie for my attention enough in my actual life - they don't need to compete for space on the wide open and fertile plains of the internet.
It also means that I won't need to keep all of my writing-centric ramblings locked away on wordfiles on my harddrive, or banished to battered notebooks that never seem to escape the recesses of my bag. The problem with doing things this way is that when these diatrabes are kept private, with no intention of ever being otherwise, I get repetitive, lose any motivation to be concise, and generally my thoughts end up chasing themselves around in circles. The whole 'writing my thoughts on the piece that I'm writing' thing stops being as helpful as it was originally, and starts being confusing and self indulgent. Probably bad habits to be falling into.
However, the main benefit of the word-blog that I can see is that it might actually force me into better habits. You see, I have this quirk. Like many people, I am a procrastinator. I have trouble helping it, although it should be noted that I'm getting better as I get older (she proudly proclaims at the ripe old age of 24). And one thing that I've noticed is that the more people I tell about my intentions, the less likely I am to put them off or not fulfil them at all. A muttered "I'll do it when I finish this chapter", grumbled over my shoulder to a single member of my immediate family, is much less likely to be followed up on than a proclamation to a group of friends, or a declaration to the inhabitants of LiveJournal land that I am going to undertake something. So, in keeping this word-blog, I'm hoping to scare myself straight and actually write everything I'm intending to. See, I have to do it, because if I don't the Internet at Large will think worse of me. All the billions of people who could potentially happen across this blog (though of course won't) will parade through my mind, saying "Oh, that Anna, she never follows through on what she says she's going to do", and lo and behold, I will magically become Productive... Or that's the plan anway.
So. There's the justification. Of course, one can justify a lot of things. Hey, I'm a law student - I'm supposed to be good at this kind of rubbish. Now, let's see if I can actually live up to all of these good intentions. Time will tell, I suppose.
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