Monthly Archives: November 2011

Writing in hiccups

I was thinking about history. In Italian (my mother tongue), there’s one noun for history and story: storia.

There’s no differentiation. It’s all narrative. Which I think makes its own sense, depriving history of its status as something separate, detached by a narrative that, as we know, is and can be constructed, performed, manipulated.

I was thinking about science fiction. How science fiction is the history of the future. A future. Imagined, perceived, feared, doesn’t matter. I like this idea, history and future in one. Antithetical and all-encompassing.

This image from Watchmen pivots on an imagined/fictional past of an imagined/fictional history diverging from a ‘factual’ one (please not the inverted commas, and the what ifs, and how history is contextual and in flux) in a film based on the graphic novel of the same title.*

*written by Alan Moore, art by Dave Gibbons. Go read it, it’s complex and a great part of it just wasn’t translatable on film, and whether it’s to your liking or not, it’s worth reading anyway

~~~

 In other news, my schedule is still erratic. Finishing the Master was a starting point, not a point of arrival, but while you’re sweating on essays and studying theory and experimenting with your own writing, the focus is on the dissertation, the going through, the ‘finishing’.

In my case, the Master collided with moving to a new city (with no previous support network in place); buying my first house and all the related responsibilities and choices; witnessing my mother’s passing (expected due to cancer, but the when and how…death is a stranger, uninvited, unknown, heartbreaking); my partner moving in with me.  In the space of two years,  quite some baggage to deal with and carry through. Not to mention what doing the Master meant in terms of accepting in myself the wish and need and pleasure of writing, and making it public (so to speak).

I’ve been lucky, in my life in general and in Edinburgh: I had great tutors at Napier, made true friends. But I see now how it all has come and crashed on me somewhat: I should not feel guilty about losing my focus, and instead work to regain it, because the passion and the pleasure of writing are all still here.

The strongest feelings are not necessarily loud, or dramatic. Sometimes they get whispered, and people don’t hear them. Doesn’t make them less strong.

So, onward, onward, always onward. With a smile.

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