Whilst going through folders of old paperwork to compile the list of projects (mentioned in my last post) I came across some old stories written when I was at secondary school. I surprised myself at how good they were, but what also struck me was how the themes of insecurity and paranoia kept cropping up within the neatly inked pages of A4.
That got me thinking of my time at school (ooh! bad idea!) and about the kind of person I was back then. I can't say I had a really bad time at the place - I was only moderately bullied and made fun of, nothing I couldn't handle - but I never really embraced learning at that time. I used to dream the lessons away, my head so far in the clouds I'm surprised Air Traffic Control wasn't on permanent alert. Consequently I was one of those invisible students - not brilliant, not so awful that they had to be constantly monitored - just average. Even the other children didn't seem to notice me (here Mister Cellophane from Chicago springs to mind), apart from the few friends I had.
I think back at the time I wasted hanging around at lunchtimes, in the doorway to the main building (which was also the entrance to the boys toilets... oh man, how bad does that look), just doing nothing, waiting for the wretched bell to ring in another tedious lesson. If I could travel back in time I would march that young man by the ear to the library and make him read until his eyes bled. It's easy for me to think now that I should have made more of my time at school, but it just wasn't me back then.
Apart from English lessons, of course, which I loved. I finally left Fitzharrys Secondary in 2005, with two 'O' levels both in English - language and literature - and a handful of CSEs. And I was never happier to leave. The irony of it all is at that point I suddenly became interested in learning. So that's what I did, which resulted in a degree from the Open University, finally achieved in 2005, twenty years after leaving school. In-between and since that time I've attended numerous work-placed and evening classes - Spanish, Japanese, IT, desktop publishing, drawing, tap-dancing, therapeutic massage, creative writing - plus an abortive attempt to get a degree at Newport Art College (as it was then called) in Film and Animation. I find the older I get the more I want to learn; even that invisus dictata maths suddenly has an appeal - c'mon, I can't be the only one who finds algebraic equations arousing??
I was also thinking about how much I've changed as a person since those early years. I'm more confident now then I've ever been in my life, but still people label me 'quiet'. (Apart from when I'm writing blogs, then I can't shut the hell up about myself.) I suppose that's true, but compared to some people I'm practically mute. But that's ok - I'm comfortable with myself now, knowing that I've made up for lost time and still have a lot more that I want to achieve.
As for the stories I had written I'm proud of what I did back then and who knows? I may use them as future projects. The creative vein has been tapped and I'm simply haemorrhaging stories. Well, maybe a slight exaggeration. But If you don't see another entry on here then you know that I've shuffled off this mortal coil due to literary induced anaemia.
Anyway, that's enough of that. I've got a chilli on the stove and a DVD of Alex Proyas's wonderfully dark The Crow to watch with Stu later. Good times!
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