Well,here I am, yet again. Hopefully this one sticks. I paid for this one, after all.
I’m currently in my final year of a Masters degree, majoring in Writing, Editing and Publishing. I have nothing left to do except my dissertation. Feels like I’m standing at the bottom of the tallest mountain of all, looking up at the grand vista in reverse, from the vista itself. Maybe that analogy bears out, we’ll see.

The degree has been great. I quit a social work undergrad to get back into something that I was more motivated to do. I have a lot of thoughts on social work and even how it plays with what I’ve been doing in the Masters, but that can wait.

The main thing that I’ve discovered, at least in terms of unearthing knowledge, is that editing is fun. I used to be of the opinion that you had to write it perfectly the first time around, and that editing was for someone else to do. But, it’s been a great part of the process to learn about and I can really see the value in it now.
Second, Creative Non-Fiction has been the discovery of a lifetime. I was aware that the genre existed, of course – it just wasn’t something that I ever thought I’d be particularly interested in writing, never mind that I’d be good at it. This has also been connected to something else that’s come crashing into my life in this strange period of it – the awareness of a class consciousness, which I think I’ll also have more to say about in the future.

The short version is that I appear to have lived a life that is at least entertaining to other people. For me, it’s often been so challenging and saddening that I haven’t thought it interesting in any way at all. But this is also a feature of people in lower socio-economic positions, it seems – they don’t see themselves as being worthy of being talked about. Since I’ve been at the university I’m at, I’ve met dozens of upper middle class people who have lived completely prosaic lives, right down to the stereotypical and completely boring way they take holidays and relate to their families (in particular, the younger people at the end of their undergrad seem to be fascinated by their families and things that their relatives have done, and think that everyone else will find them enrapturing as well). But they are all the same, from their conduct to their dress to their attitudes, and I have found my eyes glazing over the longer they talk. It’s all very uninteresting but they think it’s amazing, and have no problem with telling you all about it. By contrast, people in the ‘lower’ class have much better stories to tell – true, many of them involve pointless dramas and are entirely epics of self-destruction, but at least things are happening. There is frisson, action, movement. Their stories matter more to them because there are stakes. There’s nothing in a rich person visiting Italy because they’re never in danger or excitement – everything that’s interesting comes from outside themselves.

Perhaps I am being uncharitable – these thoughts are still in a very early conception. End of the day, I don’t imagine that people better off than me money wise give a shit about what I think about their situation or their stories. I think the negative space generated by class consciousness – that is, awareness of my Self – has come into being. It explains a lot of things in my life, from the relationships I’ve had to my lack of understanding about my place in the world.

I wonder what other tools I have available to me that I don’t know about, and where all of this will lead me. Either way – it’s good to be back on the keys again.