10:29PM

I

Submitted

My

Assignment

Finally

After

Three

Long

Weeks

of

Brain

Fever.

You would think I would be able to now breathe a lovely sigh of relief and lounge around with a tall glass of lemonade or, given the season, a big mug of thick, delicious melted chocolate.

But no, my loves. I have another assignment due in a week and a half. Luckily this is a creative writing assessment. Still exhausting, given that I don’t have free reign and must comply with textbook standards… but it is definitely (hopefully) easier than analysing female demons in Wuthering Heights!

This Transient Worry

Good evening.

 

Tonight I am writing a screenplay called ‘A Transient Guest’, even though the ‘guest’ in question (who is actually a dead girl) is not transient at all, but haunts the entire 15 minute film with her accusing presence.

In fact, if it wasn’t for her encompassing, haunting presence, the film would have no substance at all and would cease to be a story and instead be a string of scenes of a lonely boy walking around through the years.

It’s sad because I love the title, but can’t let a good story be moulded around a title that is so mismatched to the story.

Do you think it would be good to leave the title as it is? Would its vagueness cause  people to wonder at my pretentious daring and muse over the ‘transiency’ of my ‘guest’, or would it just be arty, ostentatious and irrelevant?

Should I change it to something more suitable and in turn, more mundane, and have it be glaringly obvious that I was just too pooped to find a decent title?

Decisions, decisions.

Either way, my tutor will receive it tomorrow and judge it to within an inch of its poor struggling life, and I really must have something remarkable to present to her, otherwise I am a useless writer and might as well employ my energy elsewhere.

The Glass Library

Two years ago I stood outside a large, three storey glass building with a gaggle of other students from my year, as a senior university student explained to us that that was the Leicester University library.

The minute he said that, the rest of his words melted into a droning hum which dissolved into background noise.

“Wow.” said my mind, “This is the university library. THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY!”

Heavy, dull British clouds massed over the building, darkening the day. The library refused to bow to such gloom! It was glorious. I ached to walk through the gleaming doors. Students piled in and thronged out, meandering in small patches of hurried fashion and haggard stress.

But to me it was fascinating, alluring, sparkling with promise and purpose. My fingers tingled at the prospect of thumbing through rows and rows of books, my brain relishing all the information I would accumulate.

Well, hello today, dears. I am now five years in the future, 21 years old, dropped out of one Accounting degree and enrolled in another English one, sitting on the third floor of the very same library!

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Yes!

The Leicester University sparkling glass building of promise, and books, where the minds of academics have mused over mountains of knowledge for ninety four years (founded: 1921!). Here is a picture of what it (the campus library, not the university) looks like right now.

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I was feeling GLOOMY, folks, because I am analysing conceited statements from pretentious theorists on topics I really couldn’t care less about but must pretend that I do for the sake of some figurative marks. But then I sat back and let my mind wander and I thought about some things and then, it came to me!

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I am HERE.

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I am where I WANTED to be when I was young, impressionable, and excited about life! So this was a cause for a massive smile, of course. I am cheered up, dear readers. And this post is a result of that.

Much love,

Lenora.