"To the stars on the wings of a pig".
All of John Steinbeck's books are printed with this insignia, after a professor told him he would be an author when pigs flew. Inspirational huh? When faced with doubt he used it to make a joke and then went on to be very successful. I am currently suffering some kind of crisis of faith. Or something. I remember when my friend James set up his blog he said it would be good writing practice. We're all English Literature students and no doubt, one day, we'll end up in jobs that utilise the skills we're supposedly honing during our six hours a week (six hours! A £10,000 education and I have six hours of lectures a week!) but I keep wondering what all of this is really achieving? Naturally, given the culture I am being raised and informed in, I assume that somehow I'll gain millions of followers, become some kind of icon and this will segue way into my dream career. And I expect it all to be frighteningly instantaneous. This is my fifth blog post...why am I not famous yet?
Because no one reads this.
And furthermore, why should they? I'm not saying or doing anything that thousands before me haven't. I am not particularly witty, clever or interesting. And I am constantly plagued by this sense that I am waiting for my life to begin, that defining moment where everything I want comes to me. Meanwhile, all the savvier people are working hard, taking as many chances and gaining as many opportunities as possible and making those dreams happen. Basically, I should be more proactive. I thought maybe writing this blog was going to help but it only will as long as I remember that is is for my benefit, it's for me to practice and develop my writing skills and NOT for me to be 'discovered'. Damn.