Up Yours, Thesis!
I have some three months to churn out some sixty pages of emo gibberish before I can get myself a degree. Before that, I had an entire year but I never found myself in the proper mood to sit down and face the intimidating blank.
Somehow it feels like the proper circumstances to get myself started never really happened. Everytime I picture myself writing away, it would always be on a wooden table by a window looking out over a street, a cup of coffee or tea at hand, and freshly showered with warm clothes on. There will also be an abundance of greens, every shade of it, outside.
The problem with this aggrandized scenario, however, is it doesn’t exist. The denuding atmosphere that closes in on me in every corner of this apartment has never welcomed the possibility for its happening. Despite my best efforts to replicate this tableau, particular details just won’t blend together and contribute to the awesomeness of what I have in mind.
The hardest thing about any task is getting started. Tonight, I managed to forge the first sentence for my creative non-fiction thesis more out of necessity than inspiration. It took me two hours to come up with the words and an hour after countless re-readings, it still comes across as a bit rusty. Why can’t I ever write like Chabon or Proust?







I came across