As we drive along this road called life, occasionally a gal will find herself a little lost. And when that happens, I guess she has to let go of the coulda, shoulda, woulda, buckle up and just keep going.

Sarah Jessica Parker

Besides, I had to abandone my planned thesis topic and am now searching for a new one. While I might have found something that really interests me, there is the problem that our library does not really provide much material on the topic. Now I need to figure out whether I can get everything I need by inter-library loan or whether this would get too complicated. So there’s basically a lot on my plate right now, that keeps me out of the blogging world, eventhough I still read, but rarely comment these days.

This being said, I’d like to ask those of you who do come here every now and then: would you care to read a bit more about my feats at university? I’m a major in medieval history and have two minors, politics and english literature. I’ll be writing my thesis next term and after that, it’s final exams. I’ll try to get into a PHD program for medieval history in Great Britain or the US after that. So these would be the things mainly adressed within my posts on academia.

I’ll also try to come back to fashion and food within my next posts.  I really miss writing about these things, but atm, I just can’t get my head around much else but university related things.

Today is the first day of National Novel Writing Month, which I already mentioned in an earlier post.

I’ll be writing romance. A mixture of historical and contemporary with implied phantastic elements. There are basically two story lines, both of which revolve around an old italian palazzo set on the sea. The setting is Caserta, an italian city which once belonged to the kingdome of Sicily and was also the kings residence. The story takes place in the 18th century and involves an italian lady in waiting and an dutch merchant son who deeply fall in love but can’t be together due to circumstances. The lady in waiting is also some kind of great-great-great-grandmother to the main character of the contemporary storyline, and she gets involved with the Palazzo again and meets a young swiss guy there, who fascinates her, but she’s in a long-time relationship already.

Both storylines will connect at some point and in the end, it all will make sense and there will be a happily ever after. Or at least that’s what I hope for.

While that sounds pretty lame in itself and is pure escapism, that’s excactly what it’s meant to be. Not lame, of course, but escapism. It will be a christmas present for my best friend, who loves this kind of stories (and so, in my girlish heart, do I) and can do with a little distraction since she’s to deal with several hardships and had a very rough year in general.

I managed 3202 words today, which is fairly good. The goal is, to have written 50.000 words by the end of November.

It sounds harder than it is, really, so if you want to try something fun, go and register, you can still make it!

I even missed out on my literary sunday, which is why I’dlike to  provide some compensation, a line from Extremely loud and incredibly close by Jonathan Safran Foer, which I’m reading for some distraction from the university related reading load. And yes I am that crazy, trying to relax from reading by simply reading something else.

I think and think and think, I’ve thought myself out of happiness one million times, but never once into it.

Now, while that seems to be an incredibly sad line, it also is very insightful. How often do we tend to think too much? This decision that we just can’t make because there is this or that fact that is still uncertain and MIGHT turn out a tad negative, the crazy dress we love but can’t wear because we think to much about what someone else might think about it, the relationship that is awesome, but forces us to look for it’s downside,  because things that seem to be flawless usually never come without hidden problems, right?

While not to think at all and always go with your instincts or whatever it is that leads your decisions, is certainly not what I’d advise, sometimes, we need to take a step back. Sometimes, we just need to act instead of pondering for hours and days and weeks and month. Thinking does not always make you happier. Thinking too far ahead, to deeply or in too complicated ways often makes us discover problems that are basically just born by the process of thinking itself. Once we found a flaw with something we loved or enjoyed, it loses it’s glamour and will never be the same again. Certain things are there to be enjoyed. Full stop.

Of course, you can also look at things from a different angle. Too often, our thinking is directed towards negative thoughts. Or at least, it’s meant to solve a problem. Only rarely do we take time to sit back and ponder happy times. Think about little things that made us smile, or try to find out what could get us laughing imidiately within the next minutes. To direct our thoughts into more positive directions and let the process of enjoying happy thoughts become a routine might be a strategy worth pursuing.

To think is a rather natural process and nonetheless a seriously complicated business. To find a balance between over-thinking things and being careless is a true form of art.

How do you keep yourself from falling into the thinking-things-to-pieces trap?

I’m taking a course in modernist / postmodern literature this term. Besides having an amazing lecturer, this is a period I can relate to very easily. You may think: well, of course you can, because it’s a period that’s within a timeframe that one can grasp. The 18th century, or even medieval literature are much more alien to us. But truth to be told, you always have to adjust your mind to get to the ideas behind a period, even if it’s only 20 years ago.

What I find most intriguing yet also slightly unsettling is the deconstruction of the idea of a holistic self. The notion that you are always yourself, always the same, recognizable person. With the ideas of Freud and Jung, with daily life becomming so much faster, with different ideas of time and space, people suddenly found themselves kicked out of this seemingly secure spot that was their self. They suddenly found that there wasn’t only one version of a person, but many. You are never only one thing. While I’m certainly a student, I’m also a tutor for other students, I’m a friend, a daughter, a colleague. While I’m the woman (or girl? Who can tell?) who securely walks around the floors at university and has no issues speaking up in courses, I’m also the insecure lady who has issues to trust, who doesn’t always feel safe and happy within her own body and mind.

But there’s more than the different roles we take on. There’s the fact that, while I’m certainly living in the present and try to enjoy most of it, I’m also constantly reflecting my past and anticipating my future. Modern life more or less forces you to do so, because without looking ahead while being in the present, the speed of our lives will just swallow us.

Modernist and also postmodern literature tries to capture all these things. Whether they take a pessimistic view or try to ridicule certain aspects of modern life, whether they embrace modernity (whatever that may be) or long for long gone times and pastoral quiet, they offer way more than the story that you can read on the surface.

While I enjoy reading Jane Austen, Julian Barnes or John Fowles give me much more to feed my mind on. They challenge me and my thinking. They make me go deeper,  and while they often confuse me, they help me to ask questions that are crucial to recognizing all the persons that I am.

Apparently, many of these ideas and thoughts also can be translated into our style persona. Most women have a work and a private self. Most women confuse themselves because they suddenly feel the yearning to wear sky-high stilettos and black leather while usually, they are the cowboy boots and dress type. In a certain way, we all are schizophrenic. But that’s not a bad thing. It just means that we explore more deeply who we are and who we can be.

In the end, it boils down to being able to recognize the core of all this. No matter how many different versions of ourselve we are comprised of, I’m totally opposed to the idea that the self is totally deconstructed. All the parts still contribute to one person. You, me, your neighbour, your boss… Whoever. Every aspect and every dimension that a person has adds interest. For me, it’s not defragmentation. It’s realizing the whole in the parts and the parts as the whole.

The Lady of Shalott (Lord Alfred Tennyson)

On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And thro’ the field the road runs by
To many-tower’d Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Through the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four grey walls, and four grey towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.

By the margin, willow veil’d,
Slide the heavy barges trail’d
By slow horses; and unhail’d
The shallop flitteth silken-sail’d
Skimming down to Camelot:
But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?

Only reapers, reaping early,
In among the bearded barley
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly;
Down to tower’d Camelot;
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers, ” ‘Tis the fairy
Lady of Shalott.”

There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.

And moving through a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot;
There the river eddy whirls,
And there the surly village churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls
Pass onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd lad,
Or long-hair’d page in crimson clad
Goes by to tower’d Camelot;
And sometimes through the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two.
She hath no loyal Knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror’s magic sights,
For often through the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
And music, went to Camelot;
Or when the Moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed.
“I am half sick of shadows,” said
The Lady of Shalott.

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro’ the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight for ever kneel’d
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.

The gemmy bridle glitter’d free,
Like to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The bridle bells rang merrily
As he rode down to Camelot:
And from his blazon’d baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armor rung
Beside remote Shalott.

All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewell’d shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn’d like one burning flame together,
As he rode down to Camelot.
As often thro’ the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, burning bright,
Moves over still Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow’d;
On burnish’d hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow’d
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flashed into the crystal mirror,
“Tirra lirra,” by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces through the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She look’d down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack’d from side to side;
“The curse is come upon me,” cried
The Lady of Shalott.

In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining.
Heavily the low sky raining
Over tower’d Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And around about the prow she wrote
The Lady of Shalott.

And down the river’s dim expanse
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance –
With a glassy countenance
Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.

Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right –
The leaves upon her falling light –
Thro’ the noises of the night,
She floated down to Camelot:
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
The Lady of Shalott.

Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darkened wholly,
Turn’d to tower’d Camelot.
For ere she reach’d upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
The Lady of Shalott.

Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale between the houses high,
Silent into Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and Burgher, Lord and Dame,
And around the prow they read her name,
The Lady of Shalott.

Who is this? And what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they crossed themselves for fear,
All the Knights at Camelot;
But Lancelot mused a little space
He said, “She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott.”

I’ve been doing Nano only once so far (and won, eventhough I didn’t manage to finnish the story, it’s about halfway ready and I never got around finnishing it. One day I will, though).  I actually didn’t consider taking part this year due to a full schedule. Three jobs plus university sure take time.

But I’d love to write again, I haven’t really done any creative writing in about a year or even longer. Since my best friend is pretty much into reading stories people post online, mostly fanfictions, and constantly complains that these stories go wrong / end wrong / whatnot, I thought it might be nice to use NaNo to write a story for her. A truly heartbreaking but happily ever after lovestory, just the right thing to relax when you come home from a stressful day at work and want escapism. I’ll have it printed and bound and then will have a great christmas present for her.

So if you find time, take out your notebooks, scribble down some inspirational ideas and then just write away. It’s so much fun, and writing becomes a part of your routine when you do it on a more or less daily basis.

@Jane from smallfabricofmylife I know you’ve taken part before, what did you write? And do you plan to re-enter the fun?

The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other’s welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.

While reading a magazine today, I noticed an article headed: the best way to burn fat (which refered to rope-skipping. Certainly an effective method to burn fat, but the best? Who knows…).  Reading this, a question hit me. Why, nowadays, everything seems to be THE BEST way/ method / product / idea … you name it?

I understand that you have to sell whatever you offer, I understand that the huge variety of products (of any kind) available forces people to try to make their stuff stand out. But honestly, you don’t make something stand out by calling it “the best” anymore, do you? If everything has upgraded to “the best”, where’s the difference?

Is it only me who imidiately reacts with “oh no, now what kind of stupid thing is it this time” whenever something new is praised as the next best thing? Considering the over-excessiv (ab-)use of superlatives, it’s probably an appropriate reaction. What are your thoughts when you cross something that’s advertised as “the best”?

I have my mind set on taking and uploading pictures latest by wednesday, though.

I’ve also not been home since friday, because I went on a spontanous weekend visit to my best friend. Truth to be told, that basically means that I spent the weekend at the other end of town, but still. There’s no internet at her new place yet, so I wasn’t able to post.

For today, I’ll leave you with a Polyvore.  University is about to start again soon, so I created a back to university outfit.

How do you like it?