I have a writing assignment to do about making a story outline based on an idea formed from a Grimm Brothers fairy tale. I took the first one I read and made up some arbitrary morality tale about an ex-military drug dealer in an attempt to flash in a neon sign that I’m trying to be deep and controversial with morally questionable acts.
I’m over the page limit, losing track of my plot progression, and losing faith in my characters. The characters are forced, the action’s predictable, and the message is heavy-handed.
Considering I might want to take the writing courses offered in my program in my upper years—and thank God I even have that option for my program; this might be what I have to expect from now on.
The one assignment basically this whole month I’ve been wanting to do has been buried by the other weekly quizzes or assignments that I could care less about, but should care more about because my professors and peers keep telling me its essential to know based on the fact that my program’s curriculum is so specific and centralized that there’s not much I can afford to miss to prepare me for next year.
Rather than continue writing this assignment, I’ve come here to complain. Because I’m good at that, and I need to feel like I’m good at something right now.
No, my program isn’t as intellectually stimulating as some others. No, my university as prestigious as yours, and frankly I don’t know if I can represent the ideal of ‘immediate employment’ that my program emphasizes for its undergrads to potential applicants.
But hell, it’s fun, you know? I get to press buttons, frame shots, be creative, make ideas, and work with my hands more than my head.
But right now, fuck it. Fuck it all.
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