rah-de-rah rah rah

I should be studying.


If you are reading this, you probably should be studying too. But don’t, keep reading. I delight in being one of your many providers of procastinationary entertainment.

Actually, just today a few of us were talking about procrastination and our favourite lecturer, the one who wears fisherman pants and read us poetry and short stories before launching into the work of Polanyi, or critiquing the MDGs. He sent us all a random article one day, not because it had anything to do with the course content, but because he deemed it worthy of procrastination.

Just thinking about that article then made me go hunt it down and reread it. It’s called My Father’s Suitcase, and it was written by Orhan Pamuk, the winner of the Nobel Prize in Literature in 2006. Pamuk talks about writing, about what writing means to him. He’s the Nobel Prize in Literature so, of course, it’s very well written.

I desperately want to write and to write well. I think that’s why I first decided to study journalism. The deep, underlying reason at least. The practical reason was  much more trivial.

It was only a few nights before our QTAC application had to be in and I had no idea what to put down. I flicked through the QTAC guide and just kind of picked journalism. My personality’s little stubborn streak had been living large for the past few months and had decided that, despite the expectations (real or imagined) of teachers and fellow classmates, I was NOT going to uni the following year. I had no idea what I would do, but I wasn’t going to jump straight back into academia after twelve years of schooling.

(The rational, thinking person that also exists somewhere inside of me then took on my stubborn side, engage in some good old fashioned dialogue and they then both decided that I should go to uni – not only was that the rational option, it was somewhat stubborn on a whole new level – ‘yeah, I’m rebelling against expectations and not going to uni, but wait, there’s more, I’m so rebellious that I will rebel against my own rebellion and go to uni anyhow! Wham, take that!

…..yes. I was the kid who never rebelled. Against anything. Ever.)

Anyhow, back to writing.

I really, really want to write. Perhaps its the stories I’ve been reading lately, or the films I’ve been watching. I want to write because I’m realising just how many stories there are to be told. I want to live a life worth writing about – not necessarily my life and the circumstances of it, but the stories of people I meet and places I live in.

A wise woman once wrote, and I quote, “80% of the blogs I read and made up of posts that are 80% full of pictures that people have taken. No one writes blogs anymore, they take pictures. It’s a pity I don’t have a camera, and that I can’t do anything to take a picture of. All I can do is write, and in this day and age that makes for a boooorrring blog.

It’s funny, despite this huge desire to write, to share stories, to tell tales, there have been too many times when I am just too lazy and don’t sit down and put to paper the story I have inside.

I don’t believe the boring blog is the one with no writing. Photos or videos or little web discoveries are a cop out really. I didn’t start this blog to share pretty pictures. I didn’t start this blog to provide endless links to sites that will only distract you further.  I started it to write.

And so, dear friend/blog reader/procrastinator, whoever you may be, since you’ve got this far through this very picture-less post about writing, I shall share with you a secret.

I’m giving up on photos and links and videos and trivial rah-de-rah rah rah. Yes, giving up on it all, at least for a little while. For the next month, you shall only have writing. I can’t promise Nobel-Prize-in-Literature-style writing, I can’t even promise it will always make sense.

But this girl, this stubborn and rational girl, well she wants to write.


3 thoughts on “rah-de-rah rah rah

  1. More interviews? Those are always fun.

    Writing, real writing, is deeply undervalued online. Too many people simply spew words from their heads into the bloggosphere, where they sit and moulder. Writing is about art as much as it is about communication. Which I think goes some of the way to explaining how I manage to get decent marks in most of my subjects — my essays are more like sculptures than conversations or debates. Then again, I’ve been writing for years, and made a poor stab at teaching English, so maybe I just love it too much 😛

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