I'm back? Maybe. Who knows. I spend enough bloomin' time on my laptop that I'm sure some sparodic posts to this half-empty, echoing blogosphere will appear. A pretence of a life that I actually lead. Because let's face it, words are hardly something to rely on. It's nothing compared to being in my head and witnessing my actual life.
For an English undergrad, I probably shouldn't have as much trouble verbalising my thoughts as I sometimes do. That bubble of thought, of emotion; caught in your throat, dying to escape, that ends up choking you. Pop, disappear - it'll be back again later for another attempt.
I've been told that my writing style actually mimics my real speech. O was the first to mention it: 'When you text, I can hear your voice echoing in my head. I can even guess your exact tone and stresses. It's really funny.' And it's no bad thing, surely, to be so recognisable even through letters on a screen. Surely the whole point of the written word is to express what's in your head, what you would like to verbalise, in written form.
My teachers and now professors have always praised my writing style. It's not something I've ever purposely cultivated or shaped. It's simply how my brain works. When I'm thinking about Literature, I think abstractly; my sentences become bordering-on-absurdly-long, polysyllabic words crowd the page and I routinely add adjectives everywhere. And I do mean everywhere. When I'm writing my journal or texts however, I'm rather blunt. One of the best methods of human-to-human communication, I believe, is to try and speak your mind in as simple a way as possible. Digging for meaning in your crush's IM's and texts, or trying to decipher the tone of an upset friend's "I'm fine" to determine just how NOT fine they are is TOUGH.
Look at me, talking about language like I'm an expert. I don't even know what this post is about. All I know is that human communication and language will never cease to intrigue me.
Time to unpack I guess. Hello Easter Holidays. xo
