Friday, 15 January 2016

A New York Dream


A NEW YORK DREAM

Three and a half years ago (oh how time flies!) I was lucky enough to have the chance to go to the magical, elusive, city of dreams: New York. I don't know how it happened. All I remember is my sister went on and on about going for a very long time, and my parents resisted all the same until suddenly one day, they didn't. They started to consider the idea, talk it over, check it out, and then in what felt like a flash of light, a whirlwind of time, we suddenly had a trip to New York booked and sorted. It didn't even feel real. These are the sorts of things that happen in dreams, on TV shows and films, written about it songs. It happens to other people, not you, until one day your golden ticket arrives, or you decide to give yourself that golden ticket, and voila, away you go to the Big Apple. 

When we went it was early June 2012, the tailcoat of spring gradually transcending into a glorious summer. The weather was heavenly, mostly very sunny, warm and beautiful, with one day put aside for a spot of heavy rain. We stayed for a week and as you can imagine it all became one big blur of wonder, excitement, adventure, happiness. I don't even remember the whole trip chronologically any more. I just remember pockets of it every now and again. Sometimes I forget I even went at all, it feels like a dream I once had, because once again New York has returned into that magical, mysterious far-away paradise all over again. It's like my mind can't quite comprehend that I went there, yet simultaneously. I cherish those memories so dearly. I don't even know how to describe the city to you, or how it feels getting off the plane in New Jersey and seeing that looming, promising skyline in the distance, and realising for the first time that this incredible city really does exist. They weren't lying in all the books, photographs, articles, songs, films, TV shows. In fact, that might not have even done it true justice, but then again, how can you properly capture the essence and magnitude of a city like New York?

At the time I had just turned 16 and I didn't know what to expect or what I would find. I was somewhat naive, I was young, I was discovering myself, I was full of youthful optimism and at that point of my life I don't think I'd properly started living yet. I was only getting started, and New York marked what felt to me, my first tentative steps into what would become the best years of my life. I was buzzing. This is what is waiting out there in the world. This is just a taste of the possibilities that lie ahead. This is where dreams surely come true. There's more to life than I had previously thought. When we crossed over from New Jersey to New York by Amtrak, we were underneath the city when we arrived. We thought we knew what to expect, when we finally emerged into the New York City night and made our grand entrance, but I don't think anything can ever truly prepare you for something like that. When we walked out that Subway exit, it felt like climbing ascending stairs to paradise, because when we emerged we were right in front of Madison Square Garden, surrounded by arching skyscrapers, infinite motion, a million different lights, this exuberant, thriving electricity and hum of life unlike anything I've ever witnessed before. It was incredible. The rest of our trip was equally awe-inducing and very Gossip Girl-esque, whether our adventures were taking place in the light of day or dead of night. Even now it's all flooding back to me, all these simple yet wondrous things we did, and if I could give that experience to you I would a thousand times over. If you haven't yet been, I urge you to go at some point in your life. Just do it. You need to see this place. You'll never visit anywhere like it again. NYC has it's own brand of magic that it shares willingly with anyone who takes the time to visit.

The other day I was looking through photographs from our trip. I didn't take anywhere near as many photographs as I would have this time round. There's so much I didn't document or account for, with only my memories now to remind me. Yet simultaneously, that's okay because if I wasn't incessantly taking photos, that means I was living in the moment, and that's absolutely fine by me. At the time, I didn't have an outlet through which to share the photographs I did take from the special trip to NYC, hence I thought it would be nice to share them with you dear readers now, and I hope you love them as much as I do!


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-NEW YORK STATE OF MIND-







































Thursday, 14 January 2016

Making A Murderer


MAKING A MURDERER

If you know me at all, you'll know that generally I'm not one for politics. Whether wrongly or rightly, I normally try to stay out of things where I can, duck my head down and get on with my life. If I get too involved, or allow myself to think too much, I find that I get annoyed very, very quickly at those in the highest levels of power especially, and because I currently don't know where to outlet that frustration and anger, it just builds up and up and up. And I don't want to waste my chance at life feeling mad all the time about everything and everyone. I'm not going to let anyone take away my right to enjoy my life, this world, and be happy. I don't want to see the good and kindness and beautiful things in this world get lost along the way. Yet more and more so these days, I keep noticing the bad, as much as I don't want to. The corruption. The injustice. The inhumanity. The inequality. I could go on for days. Those true human values, the true meaning of life, freedom, love, peace, kindness, the things that make this world good, the way we should treat each other, use our time on this earth, all those things that should be defining us and shaping us are not. It gets lost so easily all the time, and I don't know about you, but I didn't sign up to live in a world like that. Where my fellow human beings have simply forgotten or overlooked that defining, important natural characteristic of our species: humanity. Where people don't know how to live alongide one another, be nice to one another, respect one another, be fair to one another. I'm not saying I myself am perfect because I'm not. I try my best to do right, be a good person, but there's a lot more that I could do too. We all could. Sometimes I really can't believe the world we actually live in. If you stop to examine the sheer perplexity of how we live our lives, the way we conduct ourselves, the way we hurt each other, hurt the planet, build up societies with highly questionable morales and ethics and practice that we scarcely take time to actually question. What is wrong with us? Why are we like this? How did we get like this? Will it ever change?

If you've been reading this blog for a while, or if you've just popped by now (in which case hello!), you might wonder why on earth I'm even writing a post like this. This is very unusual for me. It's a first. Normally it's art, incessant rambling about life and personal experience, food, photographs. But recently I kept finding that a lot of things about this world were really grinding my gear (*cough cough* NHS strikes, wars, refugees... the list goes on), and that all accumulated and came to an explosive head when I recently watched the Netflix sensation Making a Murderer. Everything I was just moaning about in the previous paragraph, none of it is more relevant and truer than when put in relation to this documentary. I've never watched something that's struck such a chord with me before. Never watched something that's pricked my conscience so strongly and deeply. Never watched something that's provoked me to react the way I have. If you haven't seen it yet, Making a Murderer has been blazing across social media and word of mouth like a wildfire in the outback. One of few documentaries to compel, stun and anger the world in such a manner, this ten part series chronicles over ten years the unfortunate series of events, at the hands of the American justice system, that have blighted the life of Steven Avery. (spoiler alert) Originally sentenced to 36 years in prison for a crime he didn't commit, in spite of consistent highly questionable police activity, it took 18 years for Steven's innocence to be proven by DNA testing in 2003. Finally released and rightfully given back his freedom, poised to win $36 million dollars for his wrongful imprisonment, Steven only managed to enjoy his freedom for two years before the awful murder and burning of local female photographer, Teresa Halbach, occured on the land where he and his family lived.

What happened after, and before Teresa's death, for that matter, is shown throughout the documentary, with every episode highlighting the multitude of questionable, unjust, unfair, unprofessional and corruptive actions, of the American legal justice system throughout the case, up to 2015. I would list them all but honestly we would be sitting here for quite some time. It flags up compelling questions regarding evidence validity, the practice, honesty and validity of the American justice system, investigation flaws, weaknesses in alibis, potential suspects who never got questioned. Things that were consistently brought up by Steven's defence but ultimately were overlooked. In 2007 Steven and his 16 year old nephew, Brendan Dassey, were eventually charged with Teresa's murder, amongst other questionable charges, and sentenced to life imprisonment, in spite of the serious issues, flaws and inconsistencies presented, some of which occurred years before the murder even happened. Their attempts to appeal and have a fair re-trail were consistently denied by judges who already had key, and highly suspicious roles in both Steven and Brendan's trials previously. To date, Steven has spent almost 30 of his 53 years in prison, 18 for a crime he didn't commit, and 9 for a crime he continually maintains and is trying to prove his innocence for. Meanwhile Brendan's life is currently mirroring his uncle's, having spent almost 10 years in prison for a crime he simply could not have committed, if only for the fact his DNA was not found anywhere, and his only chance at freedom will come in 2048.

I understand that having read this far, if you haven't yet watched Making A Murderer, you'll probably be scratching your head wondering just what the big deal is, having gotten the general jist of it but not the full magnitude. It's hard to fully translate and dilute it into words. To put it simply: I got too many feels. I can't stop thinking about the injustice and inhumanity of it all, the loss of human right to freedom and justice, the individuals who got off scot free. The cruel and harsh reality of the world we live in and the quite frankly scary corruption of the systems we put our trust in most. In my personal opinion, one person lost her life in an incredibly inhumane and horrific manner, yet her death was corruptly used to the advantage and agenda of others. Two innocent people have also in theory lost their chance at life, by being unjustly set-up and sentenced by the legal system for a crime they surely didn't commit. God knows how many people are walking around freely with a hidden guilty conscious and memories of what really happened. One murderer, maybe more, is still out there. But putting my own speculation aside, the main reason I wanted to write this post is to urge you to go onto Netflix, or borrow someone's account to do so, and watch the Making a Murderer documentary for yourself. Please, please, please go educate yourself, see it for yourself, judge it for yourself and consider your own opinion and what you make of it. It's so important, if anything to remind you how not to treat your fellow man, and to also encourage you to exercise your right to question, be cynical of authority. You might agree with me, you might disagree. Steven Avery may indeed be guilty, but even if that prevails as being the truth, he wasn't entitled to the fair, unbiased trial every charged citizen legally should have. And I, and millions of others worldwide, can't help but feel like this is an incredibly unjust wrong that needs to be righted. So often in this life you're made to feel inferior to authority, like you can't make a difference, that your voice and the voices of other people, don't really matter. But on a humane level, when you see what your fellow humans have suffered through at the hands of other humans, so many wrongs and on so many levels, that natural animal instinct within you is provoked, it cries out: this is not right, we have to do something. Granted the social outcry doesn't hold an awful lot of power, but it's already garnered the attention of the White House, lead to a 470,00+ petition, extensive mass media coverage, and helped Steven Avery acquire one of the best defence lawyers in the US, in the space of a month, and that's pretty incredible.

If you do decide to watch Making a Murderer, all ten episodes, that's only ten hours of your life you'll never get back, but for the victims and subjects of this monumental case however, Teresa Halbach, Steven Avery, Brendan Dassey, that's ten years of their life lost, and it increases with every passing day. It's not often that you come across cases that impact the general public so strongly, but this is one of them, not only for the injustice and unfairness of it all, but also for the way it makes you question the validity and honesty of those authoritative figures that govern our world. Watching this documentary makes it impossible to continue doing nothing. It plays on your mind. It gives you a new lens in which to see the world. It makes you question people and their motives, the way we treat one another, the way we conduct our lives and the systems we have in place. I've recently come to realise that knowledge and education equates to power. We often choose not to question and educate ourselves, for fear of what we'll find on the other side if we do, but if we take the time to start to explore, think things through, what we learn in the process becomes fuel that we can use, and that fuel, that power, is what lights that all important first spark of change.

Tuesday, 12 January 2016

Creating Collages


CREATING COLLAGES

Across the years I seem to have left a trail of creation in my wake. Especially during my early teenage years, I would divulge my creative ideas and urges into a multitude of projects that were often left unfinished, incomplete, intended to be revisited at a later date. There's notebooks semi filled with poems, songs, doodles, neglected drawings. The realms of creative stimuli that I constantly stick to the wall of any bedroom I've inhabited. Three journals packed full of teenage diary confessions, drawings, random bits and bobs stuck in as mementoes, things that inspired me, that chronicle my final years of school, and which I actually finished too. There's wallets full of photographs I printed. A4 and A3 sketchbooks full of watercolour drawings. Collections of postcards which I used to obsessively buy from Paperchase for 60p a go. Two small notebooks filled with illustrations. Photo journals that I started but forgot to finish. My college artwork shoved under the bed. Notebooks crammed with ideas and brainwaves. Everything begun with intent, only some of it persisting and reaching completion, fruition. 

One of my favourites things of mine though, something that I've started and am yet to finish, is my collage book. Bought in a Paperchase sale many a year ago, this flower adorned book filled with 80 pages of crisp white card and wrapped with a royal blue ribbon, is what I bought in a time of need. You see, a few years ago I randomly started cutting out the pretty pictures I saw in the Sunday magazines, or those free magazines you can pick up when out and about in the city. I'd see all this imagery that inspired me, and to leave it permanently embedded in that page, only to be thrown in the recycling bin, lost forever more, started to seem wrong. I wanted to keep these pretty images that had inspired me in some way, appealed to my aesthetic eye, and use them for something. As you can imagine, a lot of imagery fell into that category, so my collection of cuttings began to build and build. I kept the images dotted around my bedroom, and then that wasn't enough, so I had to start filling big envelopes with all the images. Some images made it to the bedroom wall or my journals, but the majority was left with a mental note to use at a later date. Buying that special notebook was me finally giving myself a creative outlet that I didn't yet have. A space to use these images, assemble them together, keep them safe and preserved, be a little bit creative, make a book that meant something to me.

To date, I've probably filled about 22 pages, and as you can guess, I still have a lot of images left waiting to be used. And I'm getting there, bit by bit. Only this weekend gone I cut out a load of images and put them in the envelope for future use. I always seem to forget about the book, and then I rediscover it and all those pictures, and I'm overcome with the desire to create again. It's very soothing, is collaging. So for this post I wanted to show you some of those collages, filled with an assortment of random pictures, and urge you to have a go at collaging yourself. It's so much fun, it's such a calming process, cutting things out and then putting them back together again in a new and innovative way. Taking what was, seeing what could be, and then putting that vision together, seeing things come together in a different way. I love it. Whether your four years old, nineteen like me, late twenties, mid thirties etc., collaging is perfect for everyone. You don't have to be particularly creative, it's all about picking out images that mean something to you, and putting them down somewhere to inspire you later, however you please. Taking time out to relax, create, indulge in your interests. Anyone can do it, and it's strange because it reveals a lot about the kind of person you are too. What subject matters interest you, what qualities in a picture attract you most and draw you in, the way you assemble the pictures afterwards, the way you cut out the pictures. It's great, I love it, and the best thing is it's super easy, and here's how to do it....
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HOW TO DO IT

You will need: scissors, something sticky (glue, tape, blu tack), things to cut out (free magazines in the paper, in shops, print out pictures from the internet, photographs, coloured paper, your own drawings or writing), something to put your cut outs into (eg. an envelope), somewhere to stick your cut outs 

1) Look through your resources and cut out words, comments, pictures, drawings etc. that inspire you in some way, or catch your eye. Likewise just keep an eye for things that inspire you in general, even if you aren't planning on collaging, and keep them for a later date.
2) Put them into a pile and then sift through and pick out images that you like and want to group together. It might be they have similar colours, subject matters, have a similar look about them or common theme, or they might just be completely random.
3) Play about with them on the page, deciding how you want to arrange them. You might do it very simple, minimal and clean cut, or you might start overlapping images, piecing them together in an intriguing and innovative manner. You might fill the page or fill part of the page.
4) When you've decided on where you want to put the pictures, stick them down.
5) Add extra patterns, words, details if you please, using pens, stickers, felt tips... 
6) Marvel at how awesome you are, then repeat, and you may want to Instagram a few pics along the way :)
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MY COLLAGES



















Monday, 11 January 2016

David Bowie: A Tribute


DAVID BOWIE: A TRIBUTE

At the moment, my mind is filled with so many ideas for this blog, but somehow, the thought of writing a post without pausing to stop and celebrate the iconic, incredibly influential, mesmerising music great, David Bowie, feels so completely and utterly wrong. To continue life as though nothing out the of the ordinary has happened, doesn't feel like the right thing to do. To move forwards to the future, without stopping to remember this amazing, extraordinary human being who has sadly departed this world and this life, feels almost immoral in a way. David Bowie. Ziggy Stardust. David Jones. Father. Husband. Friend. Musician. Pioneer. Actor. Icon. A national treasure whose value is not measured in money or material things, but in hearts touched, souls electrified, lives influenced and defined, movements generated, the realms and realms of respect and admiration, generations who identify, decades of social evolution characterised by this incredible man's continued presence and influence. One of the most important figures of both this century and the last. A constant in the lives of millions. A source of inspiration, an emotional and social stronghold, an innovator who changed the times, beliefs, arts. A man who descended upon this world in a whirlwind of light, electricity, belief, determined to make a change, cause a stir, shake things up, set the world alight and enjoy every minute of it.

Now I can't profess myself a massive or knowledgeable Bowie fan, because his music and Bowie himself have only be dotted on the circumference of my life. Both have emerged here and there, crept their way in through other channels, but I haven't actively sought either out, nor have I had much of a desire to do so yet. I always assumed that Bowie was something that I would do seek out when the time was right. Sometime in the future, when I found that I needed it, when my tastes changed, influences broadened even more so, when one dot connected to another and lead me to him, or his music crossed my path in a defining, significant way. I knew I would take the time to explore David Bowie's music in greater depth one day, I just didn't expect it to be now. Why I've never had that overwhelming urge to discover David Bowie yet, is something I can't honestly give you an answer for. I'm a huge music lover, the industry fascinates me, I love exploring it, embedding myself within it, learning all about it and educating myself. Music is a vital part of my life. Yet for some reason, in spite of actively pursuing other greats like The Beatles, The Kinks, The Rolling Stones, Elvis, Fleetwood Mac, The Bee Gees, Joni Mitchell, Springsteen, I never had that urge to pursue Bowie. Today has made me start to question why. Part of me feels it's because I was born into a generation that has never actively been pointed towards Bowie and his music. A generation that missed Bowie when he was at the absolute pinnacle of his career, when his very presence was a catalyst of cultural change, when he had the greatest effect. For example, some of the only reasons I even know David Bowie and some of his songs include the 90's definitive coming-of-age novel 'The Perks of Being A Wallflower', the iconic 1985 film 'The Breakfast Club', his song 'Changes' appearing in Shrek, an M&S advert, the TV series 'Life on Mars', the hugely successful V & A exhibition and my Dad. 

Bowie always appeared to me through other means, indirectly, a spark on the perimeter, not an explosion right in front of my very eyes. I'm part of the generation that has unknowingly grown up surrounded by Bowie's influence. Grown up in a world that has been shaped by David Bowie. The songs I hear, the clothes I see, the magazines I read, the visuals I watch, the cultural and social pillars, beliefs, movements that have always been upright and present in my lifetime, but weren't always. All of those things I take for granted, take a face value, never before realising that they all had to be inspired by something, someone. For my generation, discovering Bowie, and I mean really discovering Bowie, was a choice, a decision, a path one carved for themselves alone. On the converse, I then see those from the generation before mine, and the one before that. I see my parents generation, and the generation before that. For them, all those millions upon millions of people worldwide, Bowie is not someone that popular culture or one's own curiosity lead them to, Bowie is someone they grew up with. Someone who was always there. Someone who shaped and defined their lives, who characterised and influenced every decade lived. Someone who's decisions and actions challenged and changed public perception, someone who's artistic choices reverberated endlessly and powerfully, someone who's music is a soundtrack and inspiration to the lives of so many people. I'm not saying that Bowie isn't all those things still, because that would simply not be true. His presence and influence is still felt strongly to this day. His 25th album Black Star was already number one before news of his passing was released. It's just that to me, the loss of David Bowie means something different to those who's lives have already been defined by him, who's lives he has already touched. Just like I said before, Bowie and his music, and now his passing, affect me indirectly. For the vast majority of people, including loved ones in my own life, it's a direct wound straight through the heart. I feel the loss through them.

Right now I don't really feel I have the right or authority to truly mourn David Bowie's passing, or celebrate who he was and what he meant. I wasn't a massive fan, my life hadn't been properly touched by him and his music. My time hadn't come yet. But that leads me onto my final point. For many people, the passing of David Bowie is a loss. It's a reason to cry. A reason to hurt. An event that most people never, ever thought would happen. A sad day for the world. They will play his music and laugh, cry, sing, remember. Watch videos and remember when the events happened. See pictures and have them resonate. Hear interviews and remember when it was recorded. And yes, I completely agree, the world is a poorer place without David Bowie in it. We are poorer without this great man in our lives. The world had to stop spinning temporarily, just to try and comprehend the magnitude of what has happened, and the gaping hole the loss of David Bowie has created. Things will never be the same from here on out. But here's the thing. Although the passing of David Bowie is a tragic, significant, awful thing, simultaneously, just like the man himself and all those many, many things he did, it is this: influential. For my generation, and those to come after, today has been a direct dose of Bowie. The day when our path and Bowie's path finally, finally collided, crossed, experienced that colossal impact that so many millions of others have already experienced. Today he has been brought to the forefront of our worlds and our minds. He has shot through the sky of our consciousness like a starman in his rocket, Finally, finally, we have been introduced to Bowie and his greatness. This is a true artist. This is what a legend looks like, sounds like. This is a courageous, wise, creative, innovative man. The world has finally directed us towards this iconic, definitive figure and unleashed his greatness, his power, his brilliance upon us, and I don't know about you but I can feel those reverberations running throughout me, and I finally get that magic. I understand why this great man was and is adored so intensely, and now I can't wait to go and learn about him further. 

We may have lost today yes, but simultaneously, we are left with Bowie's continued power, influence and the gift of his timeless music. Another generation has been set alight with that special Bowie magic, another generation is inquisitive, wants to know more, wants to actively seek out this hugely adored icon so beloved by the world around them. And that will be passed down to future generations, and so on. Bowie may have died, but I guess what I'm trying to say is that a star that bright, that bold, that beautiful, can never truly burn out. It can never truly die. It leaves a legacy, and in Bowie's case, that legacy will last forever.

Friday, 8 January 2016

How To Survive Writing A Uni Essay


HOW TO SURVIVE WRITING A UNI ESSAY

Essays. Aren't they just the biggest inconvenience in the world? Whether you're currently at college or uni now, have been previously or will do soon, you'll probably agree that essays very quickly become the absolute bane of your life. A dark cloud continually looming on the horizon that refuses to budge until you bow down to it in some sort of sacrifice, and just get on with writing the damn thing. You don't really want to write it, and in theory, at those levels of education you don't even have to write that essay. You could just say 'nah mate, got better things to do with my time, see ya laterz', and be done with it. But for some reason, most of us, in spite of considering that very course of action numerous times, don't. We stick it out. We send ourselves to the library for hours, days at a time. We lock ourselves in our room and refuse to emerge till night falls again. We dramatically plod around procrastinating, exclaiming 'woe is me', flopping on the floor in despair, consuming endless cups of caffeine, and wondering why we were ever so determined to access higher education in the first place and if life will ever be good again...

Okay, so I might be over-exaggerating just a little bit here, but you get the idea. Essays aren't fun. I've had two to do this Christmas holiday (oh the joys!), as well as revision for two exams, and over the course of December I continually found myself questioning those higher powers about how exactly was I actually going to do this. I was terrified I wouldn't be able to do it. I didn't even know where to begin. It just all seemed so daunting, and when you've spent the last four months busy as a bee and living away from home, the Christmas holidays are supposed to be the perfect time to relax, see family and friends, chill out, recharge the old batteries. Not to mention, it had been exactly a year since I had last written an essay, and with uni essays especially seeming very intimidating for the first year or two, I was extremely tempted to dig a hole somewhere and hide in it till February, when all this stuff would be over. Obviously I didn't do that. As always I just sucked it up and got in with it, and almost a month later, I've finally finished both essays, learnt a hell of a lot in the process, and I've managed to start revision too, so not too bad in my books, not too bad at all. Freedom, I'm thrilled to report, is now just around the corner, instead of a far off speck on the horizon, and I therefore want to do some dancing like those dancers in Justin Bieber's Sorry video to celebrate this. I'm getting there slowly but surely.

Whilst I was writing my essays, well supposedly writing them, because there was an awful lot of procrastination, it got me thinking. What makes writing an essay easier? What are good things to do in the essay writing process? How do you maintain concentration and determination? How do you even finish the damn thing? When I'd figured out a few of those very nuggets of information, I thought it would be a rather good idea to make a list out of them and share it on the old blog in case they might be of use to you dear readers now or in future, or for future me, a I always conveniently forget how to write an essay. So below is said list for you to peruse. I hope it's helpful in some way and just remember you can do it. And when you do, please do come join me in my re-enactment of Justin's video.

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-TOP TIPS-

1) Know what your lecturer wants you to write about and break it down into all the component parts so you know what to cover, and what's expected of you.
2) Layout. Plan roughly what parts of the essay will go where and how many words you're going to use per section.
3) Check your word count regularly, especially when getting towards the end of your essay. If you have to go for the chop, the word chop, keep all the words that are crucial to making the essay make sense, and remove words that technically you don't need, as your essay still makes sense without them. Remember, you're trying to convey the most amount of information with the least amount of words, and you want it to make sense. 
4) Take a look at the books in your library and take out four or five good ones, and use on-line library resources like books and journal articles too.
5) If you use Google Scholar, click on the little button that says cite and it will give you the citation you need, in whatever reference style you need.
6) Spend time making sure that you understand the information you're writing about, even if that means googling stuff for your own sake. You need to have a solid understanding to ensure that when you write about the information in your own words, it makes sense. It will also make you feel very clever, which is always a bonus.
7) Write down key things from the resources you read, that you think may be of use to you. Title your piece of paper or word doc with the name of the resource, the author and publication date, and if it's a book note down the publishers name, and for articles, note the publication name, volume, issue and pages used. It's really helpful when writing your essay and doing references.
8) Begin to search for articles on your uni's online library or Google Scholar. Normally it leads you to other information sources and databases that might be useful.
9) Use your lecture notes as guidance.
10) Pester your lecturer if you don't understand something or want to clarify. They're normally very helpful :)
11) If you feel overwhelmed, which you probably will on multiple occasions, don't give up. The feeling will pass, and the best way to tackle it is do what I do: go eat something. Then, take a little break and come back to it and be productive, determined, carry on! Normally it all starts to fall into place, but if you're still really struggling, let your lecturer know and get some extra support and guidance.
12) Try and start doing parts of your essay as soon as you can, like putting bricks into place to build a house. It relieves you of the tension and pressure, and you'll really notice the progression you've made every time you come back to your essay, which is pretty motivating. Don't put your essay off to the last minute, it isn't worth the stress and pressure. Just think the sooner you crack on with it, the sooner you'll be done, and the sooner you'll be able to do fun staaaffff darling.
13) Sometimes it's best to just stop and let yourself rest when you've done a big stint on your essay. Even though you may not be finished, it's good to call it a day, chill out, think of other things, and come back to it the next day with fresh eyes.
14) Make sure you reference in the text as you go along, and likewise write down the reference in the list at the bottom as soon as you use it. That way you won't forget and have to go back and find it later, which is a right ball ache. References are done in alphabetical order and typically in Harvard style. I find websites like this very useful to double check how to reference, and don't worry, referencing gets super easy as you go along.
15) Essays normally seem like a big inconvenience designed to poop all over your parade, but I assure you that as time goes on, you will start to see the relevance and you might even be secretly glad (shock horror) that your lecturer gave you the essay in the first place.
16) Whenever you're about to do a stint on your essay, prepare a drink. For some reason, I always find it makes me a lot more focused, motivated and ready to work.
17) Have a snack pile near you to keep you going. V. important.
18) It's good to stop every hour or so for five minutes and get up, go for a walk, whatever, or likewise work for a few hours, stop for half an hour or so and treat yourself.
19) Regularly read through what you're writing to make sure it makes senses.
20) Format your essay in the way it's been asked, even if that means using Arial Black size 12 font with 1.5 spacing, when ur fave font is Calibri size 11 with 1 spacing.
21) Have a treat planned for when you submit your essay. Normally something food related is defo the way to go.
22) Don't beat yourself up about getting certain grades. Take note of what will get you a higher grade, try and aim for that if you can, but the most important thing is that you do your best. Submit an essay that you actually wouldn't mind showing your grandkids when in future, just 4 the lolz.
23) Don't be afraid of feedback. You'll probably already be aware of what you might get picked up on, so if that's the case, make the changes now if it's bugging you that much, or submit your essay and wait and see what happens. It might turn out that you were worrying for nothing, and anyway, all feedback you get is good feedback because it all helps make you more amazing than you already are.
24) Have some music on during those times when you find yourself writing like an absolute boss, to keep that momentum going. And if things are getting a bit dry and confusing, opt for silence so you can concentrate on getting yourself out of that rut. Likewise stop, go blast some music and crazy dance out all those emotions, then get back to it.
25) I find that doing some kind of exercise in the morning or evening helps gives your body a work out, so that your mind can just relax, and it's nice to get outside (and rejoin humanity).
25) If you want to procrastinate, do it. Don't feel ashamed about it. Give into those urges. Normally I find when I'm writing an essay, I get very productive in all other areas of my life instead, and I think that's something you should ride with. Just make sure that 1) your choice of procrastination is satisfying and 2) when that guilty conscious says 'alright luv, now back to the old essay' valiantly follow that urge and get that damn essay done and dusted. You can do it.

Wednesday, 6 January 2016

Swooning Over Alex Turner


SWOONING OVER ALEX TURNER

Over the last five years I've had numerous blogs. And every single time, I have refrained from talking about one particular topic. One very specific topic, to be precise. And that specific topic is none other than Mr Alexander Turner, lead singer of the Arctic Monkeys. You see dear readers, over the last five years, I have resisted that desire to splurge my inner feelings. I have pushed away that overwhelming need to ramble on and on and on. I have turned down the opportunity to gush endlessly. To put it simply, I just adore Alex Turner, and have done for the last five years. In my eyes, there is nobody better than this King of the Yorkshire Dales, creator of bizzare, beautiful, electric, spectacular music, part time poet, sass machine and dare I even say this, but what the heck I'm going to anyway, sex god. Alex Turner floats my boat, rules my world, rocks my socks (wow, very crazy indeed), and I have also wanted to express just why that is so, but something has stopped me every single time. What that very thing may be, I have not a clue. But today is when I say no more. Today, I make a stand. Today is Alex Turner's 30th Birthday, and I feel like if there was any time when writing this very post about Alex Turner would be appropriate, today is that day. Wouldn't you agree? So with that, I apologise in advance for what I am about to do, especially to future me, who would probably inwardly agree with every single word but outwardly be laughing her head off with embarrassment. So with that, here we go.

I didn't even know who Alex Turner was until mid 2011, because I was a massive Jonas Brother fan when the Arctic Monkeys were starting out and making it big, and I didn't really care for anyone or anything else. Jo Bros all the way innit. And once that minor obsession ran it's course, I looked for my musical fix in bands like The Killers, The Kooks, Snow Patrol. Very indie indeed. No-one I knew spoke of the Arctic Monkeys. No-one, as far as I knew, listened to them. So I obliviously carried on with my life, trying out lots of new music and artists, in the hopes of finding that one special artist that stuck. The one that struck a chord, if you'll pardon the pun. Someone to claim that impressive title of favourite artist, which had previously been occupied by the musical greats: S Club 7, McFly, Take That and The Jonas Brothers. I liked lots of different artists very much so, but no-one quite deserving of that special, acclaimed title, and it was a tad frustrating but none the less, I continued my pursuit. The moment that all changed is a moment that I remember very distinctly to this day. I was in  year eleven art class, my amazing teacher had been a gem and put the radio on. We were singing along, doing our drawings, chatting away, when this rather peculiar and intriguing song came on the radio. "Suck it and see you never know, sit next to me before I go, jigsaw women with horror movie shoes, be cruel to me, cos I'm a fool for you." And with that, I entered swoonsville, never to emerge from it again. I was caught hook, line and sinker. That soothing, sultry voice, those bizzare yet gorgeous lyrics, those dazzling guitar riffs, that little touch of magic. I had no idea who this band was, or what this song was called, but I suddenly felt like I had caught onto something special. This could be it. This sounded like exactly what I had been waiting to hear, so I strived to hear Fearne Cotton when the song finished, hoping she could put me out of my misery, and when she delivered the artist and song name, like winning a prize from an arcade machine, it felt like I'd finally been given my golden ticket. Arctic Monkeys. Suck It And See. This was it. And all guns were ablaze from there on out.

I instinctively knew at that very moment, that the Arctic Monkeys were exactly what I'd been looking for. This was it. Finally. And I wasn't even sure why, but something about them was just right in a way that nothing else quite was. So as soon as I heard that song, I spent hours listening to their music on You Tube. I looked at their pictures on Google images, and realised that Alex Turner was the most handsome man I'd ever seen in my whole and entire life. I found out they were from Sheffield, 45 minutes up the road. Maybe they sometimes went shopping at Meadowhall too! I went out and bought Suck It And See when it came out, and it's since become one of my favourite albums of all time. I bought copies of Q and NME Magazine because they had interviews with the band in them.Within a few weeks I impulsively bought tickets to their UK tour, and went to see them live only a couple of weeks later. It was one of the best gigs I'd ever been too. At Christmas I asked for all their CD's and I thought they were the best things I'd ever heard. And it all just stemmed from there, and hasn't really diminished since. Arctic Monkeys had officially claimed that prestigious title of favourite artist, and I suspect they always will be my favourite band for as long as I live.

So what about Alex Turner? Where does he come into play here? Where does that massive adoration (that's a bit embarrassing really) come from, cause I'm not really feeling it right now? Well there's a multitude of reasons really, aside from the fact that he's the lead singer of my favourite band. For starters, like I said, I think he's drop dead gorgeous in every single way. His hair is always in some sort of state of perfection, whether that be long and mysterious like in the Humbug days, trimmed and sweeping like back in '07 and 08', or fookin' swoonalicious with that little quiff, like in AM onwards. He has the biggest, brooding brown eyes, the cutest smile, the sassiest pout. His wardrobe decisions, from casual through to evening wear, are always en pointe. I love his ears, his nose, his great footwear choices, his tattoos. And then there's the fact that he has that cracking on stage persona, where he has the crowd in the palm of his hand as he combs his quiff, does kung fu fighting to 'Don't Sit Down Cause I Moved Your Chair', gyrates as he sings, sips a bottle of water, says Happy Birthday to his Mum whilst headlining Glastonbury. You know, all that rock star stuff. There's the fact he's from Sheffield, right next to Derby(!), which was always one of my favourite cities to go up to when growing up, and that South Yorkshire accent with the 'were's and the 'reights' and the extra annunciation on the 't's, which quite literally melts my heart. 

There's the fact that had his music career not took off, he would've studied English at the University of Manchester, which is where I ended up too  by chance. How he's so witty and funny in interviews, what with that classic Yorkshire dry sense of humour. The little facts about him, that seem to make him even more likeable. The beautiful love letters he wrote to his girlfriends. The range of his voice when he sings, whether that be sultry, smooth, pregnancy inducing, or sassy, witty and matter of fact. His kick ass speech about rock and roll at the Brit Awards, and when the Arctic Monkeys all dressed up in tweed or Wizard of Oz costumes when attending the awards in previous years. How he's proud of where he came from, and what made him who he is. How the Arctic Monkeys are made up of four childhood best friends who all asked for musical instruments on for Christmas one year, and decided to form a band just because, and they're still good friends to this day. How he doesn't take himself too seriously, and still retains such modesty in spite of all the success he's deservingly had. All that stuff, and much more, make him pretty amazing in my eyes. But what I think makes me love, admire and respect Alex Turner as much as I do, is both his song writing, and the person on the other side of that media persona. That very first time I heard Suck It And See, my first exposure to an Arctic Monkey's song, what struck me most was the emotion and beauty of the voice singing, and the sheer breathtaking bizarreness of the lyrics. That's my kind of songwriter. Someone who's doing their own thing, irrespective of everyone else, and doing it so damn well. I'd never heard anyone write like that before, let alone someone who had made it to primetime radio and the mainstream music industry platform. I'm such a sucker for poetic language, intriguing and dazzling word combinations that make you think, or feel something deep within you. I could immerse myself within it forever more. And I always have so much respect for those who are masters at crafting such stunning pieces of language. People who have that way with words. It's like a key to my heart, a passage to my soul, a joy for my brain to decode. I want to see the world the way they do. Find out that secret. Lose myself in the beauty forever more.

Whether he's being witty, bold and introspective, like in earlier Arctic Monkey's albums, or busy establishing himself as a fully fledged modern day musical poet, there's no doubt that Alex Turner is incredibly gifted when it comes to using language. Often people criticize him for the ambiguity of his lyrics, or they don't understand what he's trying to get at, and I'll hold my hands up and say I've not the slightest clue either, but I don't even mind because that ambiguity, that elusiveness, that seemingly bizarre conceptualisation, grammatical encoding, word selection (out comes my inner Speech Therapist!), are the very things I love most of all about Alex Turner's lyrics. In my eyes he is a pure genius. That sturdy, gorgeous, unique, bizarre lyrical backbone and the strongest musical fleshing out to match. And to have the chance to pick his brain about his songwriting process, and his relationship with language, would be an absolute dream come true. To find out why he chooses such words and decides to combine and contort them in that intriguing way, if he's using that language to express an idea or simply because he enjoys forming it in a way that surprises and intrigues people. Do his words have a hidden depth or are they serving a purpose, is he taking the mick or being deadly serious, does he strive for that poetic sound or is it something he can't help doing, does he see the world in technicolour or varying shades of black and white, who inspires him to write like that, and most importantly, does he use thersauras.com to help him out. Alex's lyrical abilities are like his weapon, his power, his gift, the very thing that make him so great and set him apart from all other modern day artists. They're a joy to listen to, they provoke you to think about the world, yourself, with greater depth and introspectiveness, they're masterpieces of the greatest kind, and I love not knowing what to expect from Alex next.

Likewise to write in that kind of way, to see the world in that kind of way, to use your words in that kind of way, you have to firstly be very talented and adept, and secondly, you have to be a somewhat emotionally aware, insightful, introspective, creative, thoughtful individual with a deep, rich heart full of integrity, feeling, meaning. Not just anyone can write like that, and do so as well as Alex Turner does. His lyrics make me laugh. They make me think. They make me dance. They dazzle me. They inspire me. They make me want to be a better writer. They make me feel something. They mean something. And for him to do that, for his lyrics, an externalisation of who he is, to transmit that to the listener, means he has to be a certain kind of person. So when I hear people criticizing Alex for the way he talks, dresses, presents himself, sings, performs, when I see them falling for his persona and not realising that it's just that, a persona, it doesn't half annoy because, irrespective of whether I like him or not, its's clear as day that he isn't the person he leads everybody to believe he is. There's more to him than meets the eye.What you see isn't the truth. There's a real person behind the façade, and he's probably very sweet, nice, a little bit sensitive, sometimes confident, sometime shy, full of interesting observations and insights and quirks, very funny, good to be around, loyal. And the fact that he has those two sides, and that he connects the two together so expertly, that he has a hidden depth, that he retains some privacy, that he's so crazy talented yet so modest too, is something I greatly admire. 

I guess what I'm trying to say is that this guy, Alex Turner, is a right legend, a defining figure in my life, one of the musical greats, and I could go on for days and days about why that is so. And maybe you see it too, or maybe you don't. Maybe it's someone else that means all these things to you. Someone else who floats the old boat. Maybe you disagree with me entirely, maybe you agree to some extent. That's okay. We all have people in our lives who mean something significant to us, and I think that's one of the great things about being human, the way we relate to, connect and identify with one another. But for now, my gushing has to come to an end. My soul is content. Life can continue once again. And if you made it this far, thanks for reading, you're amazing and very persistent, it would appear, and to future me, sorry not sorry. You know you love it really!
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