Just before Reading Week, a couple representatives of the UBC English Honours Program came to talk to my Arts One group about applying for next year. Overall, I was intrigued, as I liked the smaller group feel it promoted, and the idea that I could explore English to such an extent. I figured it would be more difficult, as it requires a thesis in the fourth year, but I know I could handle that. The main set back was the grades they were looking for, as it was a good 10% above my current average. I figured I would get closer to it throughout this term, as my marks have only been going up, but I couldn’t really get close enough to be there. They said they were flexible when it comes to judging grades, so I still felt some hope, but mostly I was just unsure as to what I wanted to do.
I talked to my prof the next day and he didn’t know much about the program, but suggested that I look into creative writing instead. I perked up at the notion, as I have wanted to write books since I was eight years old, but quickly got over my excitement, as it is common knowledge, writers don’t make any money. Ugh, just typing that sentence upsets me. It’s partially false, as there are some writers that make lots of money (take J.K. Rowling, for instance). The catch is, it’s hard to become a published writer, let alone a successful published writer. That’s why I approached University with the idea that every writer needs a day job. I set my sights on becoming either an English Prof or a psychotherapist.
Problem is, now I am realizing that I am not as enamored with either of my favorite subjects as I was before. I don’t go to psychology class anymore (I found I can get a 75% on the test if I just read the book) and the book is pretty interesting, but I don’t know if I am willing to fully commit to a PHD in psych, which is what I would need if I were to become a psychotherapist. Even if I were, I’m not all that sure I could complete a PHD. I have a pretty good average, but not an amazing one. Same story with becoming an English Prof, except I am going to class, I am just stumbling with the material. I have to give SparkNotes a good look over before I write any of my Arts One essays, and I don’t feel like I am comprehending the material like my classmates. I love to read, especially classics, so how come I haven’t already read The Birth of Tragedy or The Republic, or even the freaking Iliad, (which I bought prior to coming to UBC and still didn’t touch until the last minute) when a fair share of my classmates have, or at least are very good at pretending they have.
This all comes back to honours. I thought, maybe if I throw myself into literature, my love for it will carry me through, but, as in the case of Arts One, that doesn’t really work. As far as wanting to be a writer, I am a bit in the opinion that in order to write books you need to have read a whole lot of them, even though this isn’t necessarily true. Nevertheless, I am still lost when it comes to whether or not I should apply to honours. I mean, if they say yes, I can always change my mind, and if they say no, they will have made up my mind for me. I just think I wouldn’t want to say no if I got in, so if I apply, that means I want to be in it and…well then we’re back to the beginning.
The final road block I have to deal with in my dreams of becoming a novelist is the fact that I have never actually written anything even close to a novel. I haven’t even attempted. The last story I wrote that was more than a page long was in grade eight and it was awful. As far as my writing goes, it’s mostly blogging (like here, and my livejournal) as well as, well, poetry. I like to write poetry. Actually, I am pretty sure that I am somewhat good at writing poetry. Great. I am good at and enjoy writing something that no one makes money with. I mean, how the hell do you become a successful poet anyway? Far as I can see, you spend your life writing poetry that no one understands, die tragically, become famous, then, from beyond the grave, watch 10th graders squirm while they try interpret what you did mean. Woo. I am just afraid that I will spend my entire life wanting to be a poet, all the while working at some large company, doing a job that murders my soul on a daily basis, until I retire, and then focus my attentions to pressuring my children to have more children themselves, until I die. That is not the life for me.
I think the whole point of this entry is to say that I have no idea what I am doing anymore.
