It’s been six weeks since I started Kingston University and this week is reading week so I finally have a chance to catch up on the reading, and the work, and the writing and to start thinking about my finished piece. You know I won’t be thinking about quitting smoking anytime soon, but for one reason the only thing I have on my mind is Virginia Woolf, and her essay A Room of One’s Own.
I pulled this from Wiki, which may explain what the hell I’m talking about
The title of the essay comes from Woolf’s conception that, “a woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction”. Woolf notes that women have been kept from writing because of their relative poverty, and financial freedom will bring women the freedom to write; “In the first place, to have a room of her own… was out of the question, unless her parents were exceptionally rich or very noble”. The title also refers to any author’s need for poetic license and the personal liberty to create art.
Well, Virginia, I have a room of my own, the problem is I haven’t got the time to write. Then again as a feminist, what I understood about Virginia Woolf I recall from a lecture back in the day, about Mrs Dalloway. And how dear Virginia was too good for this sinful patricial earth, so walked into the River Ouse with stones in her pocket and passed on like a water spirit.
From what I got from my research, Virginia Woolf had all the above, alas never went to University but took up with the Bloomsbury Set. Took part in the Dreadnought Hoax, had daddy issues, breakdown after breakdown and I get that mental illness is a serious thing and I have every sympathy for her, but she had all of the above and crafted some great books.
However, it’s hard to really against a patriarchal system when it pays for what you want to do. Not what you have to do.
Yes, a feminist critical of Virginia Woolf, the same way I constantly am of middle-class writers.
You can tell by this since I’ve compared myself to Virginia Woolf, is that I am struggling.
Right now I’m a full-time student, a part-time worker currently doing four days a week, to afford said masters, and being stretched at best while currently telling myself that this will help me in the future…and god knows how!
If anyone out there ever feels trapped, this is what it feels like!
The worst thing is, is that I need support. I haven’t written an essay in ten years, I haven’t really done anything academic and Kingston does ironically provide this type of support, but it’s on a day I don’t have lectures and a day when I’m at work.
This new reality is a lot different from living in Hall’s I tell you, and with regards to me it’s already having a knock-on effect because I am so tired all the time.
Already I’m behind in my writing, and having my work critiqued, which is as painful as it sounds, especially since I’m surrounded by many talented writers who can’t see how their talented, and each time I critique their work, I feel like taping a sign saying “It’s Perfect”.
I never realised how much easier it was in Winchester, since yes I was working forty hours a week, but since they were near to my home, and university, since I worked twenty-four hours over the weekend and the rest during the day so it was easier. Now I have to drag myself home as a shift worker at ten pm each night, and hit the books, whilst praying for a lottery win, or a mysterious benefactor who will take an interest in me.
It worked for Now You See Me, which was less that a mysterious benefactor and more of a…just watch, the film if you haven’t. No spoilers here
Ok, Great Expectations, Pip had a benefactor, and did good things with his life…as memory serves. That book really depressed the hell out of me.
Why do I feel like a mysterious Benefactor would screw me up emotionally, so perhaps just a lottery win instead would be nice?
So we got to Virginia Woolf and my struggles at university but to put a point to this post…is that my book will be out within a week. My stress levels have so increased again.
Be back soon