I have been looking at some of the stuff I wrote before I went to university. I became full of longing for that time. Some of the pieces were beautiful and imaginative, even magical. I wanted to be able to write that way again but I can’t. I’m a different kind of writer now. In those days, I lived in a world of my own. I hope I can still exercise my imagination, but it is more likely to be informed by some of the darker, disenchanting truths of today’s world.
The first essay I wrote for my BA degree was shite. The tutor gave me a third, but told me he was being generous. It was about the Qabbalah, and it was speculative to say the least. He told me to always start with what I know.
It was good advice, but the boundaries of academia can be stiffling. At the beginning of my third year, I wrote a book review of a work of postmodern theology in the style of the author, emulating his playful postmodern language. It was clever, funny, and said everything a review should say.
The review was marked by a extremely ambitious young tutor, who is now (not surprisingly) head of the department where I read for my degree. His comment was kindly condescending, clearly implying that any review not written in standard academic prose was totally unacceptable.
I suspect the Tasneem Project Scrapbook will only work if I give a heavy nod to the former tutor, and two fingers to the latter.
Filed under: education, tasneem project, writing
