The new OU course (creative writing) starts in a couple of weeks, so you can probably expect more regular posts on here as I try avoiding real work. I'm only on the first chapter of the course book, but it's already irritating me. A chunk of the book is put aside for short stories and novel extracts, so we can 'get a taste of different genres'. I don't get that. Why would you take a writing course if you don't already read a lot? Surely students don't have to be taught how to recognise mystery or science fiction? Oh well, I'll skip that bit and read a book instead. And then there are all the 'activities' you're meant to do ('Add another couple of paragraphs to this story,' or 'Change the genre of this extract'). I'm glad someone else in the OU Facebook group admitted to ignoring them all.
My first assignment is due at the end of October, and I think I'll be writing fiction based on the local battle-area, which swallowed up part of a village and several little hamlets in the early 1940s. People who lived in that area were given around a month to leave their homes before the area was taken over by the Ministry of Defence, so I think there may be some 'scope for the imagination' there.
I was getting a bit worried about the end of my OU degree. I could see a future in which boredom would start to creep in. My spending on books would go through the roof, and I would get sucked into watching Strictly Come Dancing and soap operas. Thankfully, The Husband has said we have the finances for me to do a Masters degree. I think he, too, is envisaging a future in which I become bored and impossible to live with. 'A Masters will keep her busy for another few years,' he's plotting, 'and then I can go to lots of football matches while she's busy writing assignments.' So I've emailed Roehampton, and they've said my study record is good enough, and my job is 'brilliant preparation' for a Masters in Children's Literature. They start taking applications in November, so I must start thinking of things to write that'll make them realise just how amazing I am. It may take some time.
School-wise, we've just taken the year 5s and 6s to Grimes Graves, a local area where there are Neolithic flint mines. It was, surprisingly, a rather good day. I say 'surprisingly', because school trips are often days of continual head-counts and stress before you go home and down an entire bottle of spirits in a bid to forget the whole thing. We had talks and guided walks from local wildlife experts, during which we saw a lizard and the children became obsessed with different types of animal poo. We also went down one of the mines, got to see flint tools and had multiple trips to the very far-away toilets. I'd have been quite happy to have been left behind when the children returned to school. One of the guides was an ex-archaeology teacher and was a source of amazing information: did you know that 10% of Neolithic people were left-handed? Apparently, they can tell from the deer antlers miners used as pick-axes to get the flint. Sadly, we were only with this guy for an hour, but I felt like sending the children off for a long walk - with a warning not to fall down any deep holes - and just do more listening.
I was kindly invited to share a table with some of the girls at lunch-time, during which they quizzed me on whether I like Marmite and how many times I'd had my ears pierced. Then we had more toilet trips. Why is it they only decide at ten minute intervals that they need the loo, but if you shout out: 'Who needs the toilet?' the whole class comes with you?
Well, I suppose it's time to get on with some proper work. I've just been assigned my new tutor. Poor guy. I wonder if he knows what he's in for?
'Magic' by Shel Silverstein
My first assignment is due at the end of October, and I think I'll be writing fiction based on the local battle-area, which swallowed up part of a village and several little hamlets in the early 1940s. People who lived in that area were given around a month to leave their homes before the area was taken over by the Ministry of Defence, so I think there may be some 'scope for the imagination' there.
I was getting a bit worried about the end of my OU degree. I could see a future in which boredom would start to creep in. My spending on books would go through the roof, and I would get sucked into watching Strictly Come Dancing and soap operas. Thankfully, The Husband has said we have the finances for me to do a Masters degree. I think he, too, is envisaging a future in which I become bored and impossible to live with. 'A Masters will keep her busy for another few years,' he's plotting, 'and then I can go to lots of football matches while she's busy writing assignments.' So I've emailed Roehampton, and they've said my study record is good enough, and my job is 'brilliant preparation' for a Masters in Children's Literature. They start taking applications in November, so I must start thinking of things to write that'll make them realise just how amazing I am. It may take some time.
School-wise, we've just taken the year 5s and 6s to Grimes Graves, a local area where there are Neolithic flint mines. It was, surprisingly, a rather good day. I say 'surprisingly', because school trips are often days of continual head-counts and stress before you go home and down an entire bottle of spirits in a bid to forget the whole thing. We had talks and guided walks from local wildlife experts, during which we saw a lizard and the children became obsessed with different types of animal poo. We also went down one of the mines, got to see flint tools and had multiple trips to the very far-away toilets. I'd have been quite happy to have been left behind when the children returned to school. One of the guides was an ex-archaeology teacher and was a source of amazing information: did you know that 10% of Neolithic people were left-handed? Apparently, they can tell from the deer antlers miners used as pick-axes to get the flint. Sadly, we were only with this guy for an hour, but I felt like sending the children off for a long walk - with a warning not to fall down any deep holes - and just do more listening.
I was kindly invited to share a table with some of the girls at lunch-time, during which they quizzed me on whether I like Marmite and how many times I'd had my ears pierced. Then we had more toilet trips. Why is it they only decide at ten minute intervals that they need the loo, but if you shout out: 'Who needs the toilet?' the whole class comes with you?
Well, I suppose it's time to get on with some proper work. I've just been assigned my new tutor. Poor guy. I wonder if he knows what he's in for?
