Saturday, 1 August 2015

Change of Web Adress

Hi guys,

My blog has moved to my website (elizaserenarobinson.com). To keep up-to-date with my mad ramblings, check out my new blog, and, while you're on my website, buy my books :D

Wednesday, 31 December 2014

On Pain, Timing, Heartbreak, and All the Rest of that Character Building Stuff.

When I was a little kid, I never cried at anything important. I cried at stupid things, like being “hungry” (as in, I wasn’t actually hungry; I just liked to eat out of boredom. I still do), but I didn’t cry when my Nana died, and I only cried a tiny bit when my cat Bella died. Now I cry at practically everything. I think I started crying about actual sad things when I was somewhere between ten and twelve, and by “actual sad things” I mostly mean books. My emotional journey, and practically everything I’ve ever learnt about life, came from novels and the lessons they taught me.

The first book I remember being truly distraught at was John Dickinson’s “The Cup of the World”. It was my favourite book when I was twelve/thirteen, though I only ever read it once. I would repeatedly reread my favourite scenes, especially the one where Phaedra confronts Ulfin (page 400andsomething, I believe). I probably cried at “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows” prior to this, but it’s “The Cup of the World” which I remember as the breakthrough book in terms of emotions.

As I come to the end of my sixteenth year, I cry at many things; I cry freely, and I cry too much. In The Fault in Our Stars, one of my all-time favourite books (do not read it, you will absolutely sob! But do read it because Augustus Waters is the most perfect guy to ever not exist), there’s this line “That’s the thing about pain; it demands to be felt”, and I have found that to be more and more true the more of life I experience.

I’ve changed a lot in the past few years. I used to be really shy, and scared of so many things. I’m still scared of things. Last night I actually jumped at my own shadow, which I think proves what a complete cliché I am (though I laughed a lot about it afterwards, because it is so incredibly cliché, and so am I, to some extent).
But I have changed, and my response to fear has changed with me. I have become gutsy and impulsive, and that terrifies me more than anything, because once I get an idea into my head, I will follow through with it, and that never works out the way I plan.

Over the past year or so, I have because more and more passionate about feminism, and I’m beginning to realise exactly what that means. It’s not always easy to practice what you preach. I’m forever telling my sister that “If you like someone, you have to communicate with them, you have to tell them how you feel, otherwise you can never move forward”. I’m always telling her to do that, but when have I ever done that? You can probably see where this is going now, right?

Today I did something very brave. It’s not the bravest thing I’ve ever done; the bravest thing I’ve ever done was go to secondary school after years of being homeschooled, but I’d say that this is a close second.

There was a guy (isn’t that how all the stories start?), and he was absolutely beautiful. He had dark hair, and really dark eyebrows which were juxtaposed to his pale face, and he had dimples, and the loveliest smile I had ever seen. He was intoxicating in the most calming way.
When I was fourteen, I bought a juice in a café, and the guy behind the counter smiled at me, and I knew then that he was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Afterwards, my sister said that the guy was really hot, and I felt really angry with her, because I didn’t want her to agree with me.

He’d be working in that café sporadically over the next two years, and whenever he saw me he’d grin at me and say “Hi, how are you?” even if he was in the middle of a conversation. He left an impression on me, certainly, but I didn’t see him enough for it to be at the forefront of my mind. Last May, though, I started working in that very same café. By this point, he was working in a different part of the same place, but he’d always come into the café to get ice cubes, or to just stand in the kitchen and talk to whomever was working. He still smiled at me, still asked me how I was, but it was different now, because it was more often, and he seemed even more beautiful than he had before.

There was only a month or so when we were both working in the same building at the same time, because he went travelling, and after that I only saw him once before he went to university. But he’s back now, for the Christmas Holidays, and he’s even more beautiful than I remembered.
I’ve used the word “beautiful” quite a few times now, so I’d just like to clarify that I don’t just mean he’s aesthetically attractive, or anything as superficial as that. He is incredibly attractive, but it’s not just that: it’s the way he smiles as if he’s completely enchanted by the person he’s smiling at, and it’s the way that he talks, and the way that he’s just so completely himself. I was enchanted by him – I still am.

Three days ago, I was talking about him to some women at work. Not in the context of “I really really like him”, because there was no way I was going to say that. But when I mentioned him, one of the women randomly said “You two would be good together”, and I suppose my blushing (and eventual agreement) gave me away, because a few minutes later I had four women telling me that I needed to ask him out.

At first, I was completely adamant that I could NOT EVER ask him out; because what if he thought I was stupid? What if he said no? What if he was gay? What if he just didn’t like me like that? What if he thought I was too young for him, or the distance was too much, etc?
The problem with me, though, is that once I get a really stupid and risky idea in my head, I just absolutely HAVE to do it. For anyone who’s read TRANSCEND, think of what happens in Chapter Eight. That storyline came to me in a dream, and I woke up and thought “No, I can’t POSSIBLY do that! It just wouldn’t work!” By the end of the day, I’d changed the entire plot of the novel to incorporate that idea into the story.

So you can probably imagine how I would react when I got the idea into my head that I should ask someone out. Especially given that it also meant I was proving my worth as a feminist. In a patriarchal society, girls are taught not to ask guys out, because girls are meant to be the passive sex, whilst guys are the motivated ones, the ones who are allowed to make all the moves. Whereas in a feminist society there would be true equality, and girls would be allowed to ask guys out.

So I decided that I would, no matter how nervous I got, and no matter how much I wanted to chicken out, I would do it: I would ask him out.

Here’s some life advice: don’t drink coffee when you’re nervous, because it will increase it tenfold. And don’t eat lemon cake and almond croissants, because they will bring you very close to throwing up.

So, after consuming way too much caffeine, with my heart battling the constraints of my chest the way a wild animal battles a cage, I did it. I asked him out. And he said he needed to think about it. I felt so ill. My entire body was comprised of my heartbeat and nothing else, as though all my blood was trying to escape me. I had always known he was never going to say yes. He had been acting like he really liked me, but for all I know it could have just been my imagination putting a different spin on things to make it seem that way. And I couldn’t imagine him saying a straight-out no, because he’s too nice for that. So I had always known it wasn’t going to be an easy answer.

A couple of hours later he came up to me and explained why he couldn’t say yes: he was already seeing someone else. “Of course”, thought my deflated mind, “of course.” And beneath the raging sea of bitter disappointment, I knew that this was how it was meant to be, because that’s how it works. Nothing is simple in the way you want it to be.
He apologised, and he smiled his beautiful smile, and I still found him completely irresistible, but I knew that that was the end of my silly fantasies. For the second time today, I proved my worth as a feminist. Because feminism means you respect other women enough to never even consider chasing after another girl’s boyfriend, no matter how much you want to be with him.

So I smiled back, apologised myself, and went to the toilets and cried for a bit. Then I went and got a cup of tea, because not only am I a cliché, but I’m a British cliché. Then I went and cried some more, but it wasn’t proper crying, it was that awful thing where you try not to cry and your face gets redder and redder, and your lip trembles, and tears slide over the bottom of your eyes and down your face. I told myself to breathe; I told myself that I am a strong, independent, feminist woman who don’t need no man. Then I cursed myself for using a sentence with a double-negative in it, then I told myself to breathe, and left the toilets. Twenty or so minutes later, I went up to him and told him that I hoped he was really happy with her/him (well he could have been gay). He smiled slightly at the “him”, and said “She’s really nice”. I smiled back, and I gave him a quick hug and told him that if he ever changes his mind he knows where to find me (which I know is decidedly un-feminist, but the sad thing is that the patriarchy creeps into our actions no matter how hard we try to avoid it, because it has been conditioning us for our entire lives).

And then I walked away. I, Eliza Serena Robinson, the queen of Never Letter Things Go, walked away from the one person that I truly wanted, and that scares me like hell because it means that I’m maturing.

After letting myself be completely enchanted by his smile one last time, I left the building, and walked to the quietest part of town I could find, and cried more than I’ve cried in a very long time. And I didn’t stop myself. I didn’t try to tell myself that everything was okay, because I knew that it wasn’t. That’s the thing about pain, it demands to be felt. So I felt it, and it ached. It ached more than the end of Mockingjay, more than the end of Allegiant, more than the end of every book I’ve ever read. Because life is not a novel but at the same time it most painfully is.

There was so much foreshadowing, but I never guessed the way the plot would end. And sometimes the “happily ever after” you so wish for can only be once upon a time. And that hurts like hell, but it builds your character. And we’re not dead yet, so you never know. But it probably won’t happen, because why would it? I hope he’s really happy with this girl; I genuinely do, because he is beautiful, and he deserves to be loved, even if it’s not by me. And I hope that I’m happy with the cats which I intend to acquire, because all this has done is assist me on my way to spinsterhood and crazy-cat-lady-ness.

And hey, at least I’ve got something to write about. Because let’s face it, this will probably end up in one of my novels, because how can it not? Every time I feel hurt, another character is born deep inside of me, and one day that character will emerge, and grow, and the pain will go away.

I don’t know which of my characters have been born out of pain, and which out of curiosity, but I think I can guess. Phoenix is a character made out of pain. Phoenix was meant to be a nice, happy, bubbly character, and she was meant to be like the best friend I’d never had but always wanted. Instead she turned into the bitterest form of myself that it was possible to imagine, and if you read TRANSCEND you can see just how well she finally manages to overcome that. Phoenix transformed her pain, for the greater good, and I transformed my old pain, for my own good. And I have a best friend now; I’ve found my Persephone, and she’s such a wonderful friend. The bonds you form in Maths classes last for life (I hope).

But Phoenix and I have learned the same lesson, and it’s that one person isn’t enough. Phoenix wasn’t happy with just Persephone, in the same way that I need more than just my best friend, no matter how wonderful she is. Because everybody has other people, and when people have someone other than you, you’re going to end up alone. So I have my Persephone, but I don’t have my Kai yet. I don’t have the person who’ll choose me over and over again, but maybe that’s because I’m not ready yet, or they’re not. Or maybe we haven’t met, or maybe we have. I don’t know. Timing’s a bitch.

Time works in a weird way. Because if I’d just asked him out at the end of the summer, he wouldn’t have met this girl, but I doubt he would have said yes to me, because it wasn’t meant to be back then, just as it’s not meant to be right now. I hadn’t grown enough back then. I’ve changed so much since starting Sixth Form, and I’ve grown into the person that I’m probably going to be for a while. But he’s grown in a different direction, and our paths just haven’t crossed at the right time.

Here’s the difference between me and Phoenix: I’m not angry. When Phoenix found out that Kai was with Abynechka, she: threw up, freaked out, joined the army, and hated Abynechka (okay, she hated her anyway, but this strengthened it). And Phoenix hated Kai, too. She hated him because she wanted him so much.
I don’t hate this guy – at all – because he’s lovely, and he deserves to be happy, and, let’s face it, I would have been the girlfriend from hell. And I don’t hate the girl that he’s with, either. How could I? I’ve never met her; I don’t know her. He says she’s really nice, so that means that she is really nice. And even if she’s not, he thinks she is, and that’s all that matters. I wish them well.

And if they don’t work out, and I’m still around, well then maybe… Just maybe… But I’m not going to focus on it for too long, because he isn’t mine to focus on, and I have enough self-respect to know when to let things lie.

So this is the end of the road: our paths have diverged, we’ve gone in different directions. In a week or so, he’ll go back to university, and he’ll be gone again for several months.
On Monday, I’ll be back at school. I’ll fall back into my old routines. I’ll do my schoolwork; write the five-or-so essays a week which will define the next two years of my life. I’ll spend all my free lessons hanging out in a tiny room in the English department, hiding away from the rest of my year-group. I’ll write my novels. I’ll read novels. I’ll pass my A Levels, and I’ll go to university, and I’ll follow my plans. Because some plans do work out (but only the ones which don’t involve other people).

I’m learning more and more often that there is a difference between plans and fantasies. Plans are something you can work towards, a means that you can follow to a definite end. Fantasies, though… well they can completely crush you. Fantasies don’t have logic or instructions; they are nothing more than spontaneous bouts of unacknowledged self-destruction. I spend a great deal of my life fantasising about all these different little things that I want to happen. The problem is my fantasies have never really come true, so somewhere deep inside me I don’t expect them ever to.

The things I want to achieve in my life, such as the grades I want in my A Levels, are things which I can plan, things which I can work towards… But anything involving other people, whether that is in terms of friends, or anything else, that’s something I can’t plan for. All I can do is cling on to the thinnest threads of hope as I fall blindly, headfirst, into the abyss.

But it’s the end of this year, so I should embrace the theme of endings, and focus not on the old, but on the new. Or even better than that, I should focus on something equally beautiful: continuation. So instead of heartbreak, or agony, or the cruelty of timing, I’m going to focus on the following things: finishing writing The Choices We Made; getting straight A’s in my A Levels (I’m getting close to straight B’s, so hopefully I’ll get there by next summer); making the most of the friendship I have with my wonderful friend Freya; rereading my favourite novels, and continuing to learn the lessons that they are teaching me; putting my all into school, and not getting distracted by beautiful boys with enchanting smiles; adoring my teachers the way I do; writing blogs to say all the things I can never say aloud; smiling, because that’s what life is about.

This year has been a series of challenges, but they have made me stronger; they have built my character, and pretty soon I may even be ready to be the protagonist in my own life-story, rather than the wacky, eccentric anti-hero. I learnt three things about myself today, and they are some of the most important things I will ever learn: 1) I am brave; so, so, so much braver than I thought. 2) I know when to be selfless, when to put other people first, and that if you truly care for someone, you’ll set them free, let them go their own way, rather than continuing to fight for a hopeless cause. And 3) I learnt the most important lesson of all: when to walk away. (And 4) sometimes you can feel so sad that you actually won't be hungry. I never knew that was possible).

And I have no regrets, not a single one. There’s nothing I did today that I would have done differently. Maybe everything happens for a reason, or maybe life is random and we are thrashed about at the universe’s whims. But if there’s one thing I know, it’s this: no matter what life throws at us, we can’t let it defeat us. Instead, we can let it help us grow. If life feels too much, remember that somewhere in the world, there are flowers which roll up into a dry skeleton plant for hundreds of years, waiting for the next rain. If they can survive, if they can live throughout the most impossible of odds, then so can we.

And if that fails, then listen to music. Whether it’s “leaning on a lamppost” or “almost lover” or “all about that bass” it doesn’t matter, because music is therapeutic. I myself will probably spend the brief remainder of this year listening to The Band Perry’s “Lasso”, because it’s the song which completely gets how I feel right now. Whether it’s “You looked at me and the stars lined up” or “I found all the clouds touch the ground / In this small town”, or the most simple of all: “You can’t blame a girl for trying”, that song completely understands my soul.

There are fewer than four hours left of this year, so now I must go and write a long, reflective, and completely pretentious-yet-somehow-true-to-myself diary entry about how much I’ve changed in the past twelve months, and eat Doritos and drink Chardonnay, and stay up till midnight, and hope that next year brings me happier times, and if it doesn’t, I’ll at least hope that it will bring further strength to my character.


I’ve felt sadder today than I have in a long while, but I don’t feel defeated. If anything, I feel energised and hopeful. Why? Because in spite of everything, I’m still smiling.


Shakespeare knows what's up^

Friday, 19 December 2014

#TRANSCENDHASARRIVED

So my beautiful book TRANSCEND has finally reached the world of mortals. Let's just say that I'm going to be fangirling over this for quite a while. Oh my gosh, my trilogy is over, I can't even. It's like real. I don't sound like an intelligent individual right now, do I? This is what books do to people like me.






Sunday, 30 November 2014

Some Brief Thoughts on Friendship and Hair Dye.

I am currently experiencing a dilemma.
For part of my Media AS coursework, I have to make a storyboard for a movie trailer, and then design film posters based on that storyboard. I decided to use the plot of The Choices We Made (the novel I am currently writing) as the inspiration for the storyboard. And so there are thirty+ drawings of my characters, mostly the protagonist, Katerina. I decided that I would use myself as the model for the posters, because I am a loner who prefers to work on her own, and doesn’t want to use someone else in her pictures. However, I began to find a problem with this. Katerina has long blonde hair, which was evident in the storyboard, and dominated both the mise-en-scene descriptions, and the impact of the lighting. I, however, have conspicuously not-blonde hair. So I’m considering dyeing my hair blonde for the posters, so that there are no continuity errors between the storyboard and the posters.

But dyeing my hair blonde would be a rather drastic thing to do, and I can’t decide whether it’s worth it. (And I’m scared it won’t match my eyebrows, and I’ll look really odd). The whole should-or-shouldn’t-I-dye-my-hair issue has highlighted another issue, and this issue is that I don’t have anyone I can go to for advice.

Every time I ask people for advice on things, the answer is always “don’t focus on it” “it will be okay” “just ignore them” “don’t do anything drastic” “don’t risk it”. Basically, it’s Leave Things As They Are, and Don’t Disturb The Natural Order. I, however, am a drastic person, and I don’t know whether I should be drastic, or whether I should fall into the comfortable trap of Always Being Careful.

To some extent, my preoccupation is purely “Is it worth dyeing my hair blonde?” but underlying that preoccupation is another one, and that is “I’m drowning in still waters”. I don’t have anyone who is also drastic; I don’t have anyone to tell me “Go for it!” “Do the thing!” “Take a chance, take a risk!” There’s no one to tell me to be brave, or to escape my comfort zone, so if I take that leap, I always have to take it alone. I don’t want to be told to stay unchanging forever, and I don’t want to be confined to how I’ve always been. I want to be brave enough to push forward, and take risks, even little ones (like dying my hair a colour which may not suit me). And I want a friend who pushes me to be brave and strong, someone who’s there for me both when I’m melancholy, and when I’m joyous, but also for the in-betweens, and for the indecision, and the worry. I want someone who’s there for everything, because I’m sick of feeling like it’s preferable to be alone.


I feel as though I’ve grown apart from the friends that I do/did have, because we’ve grown in separate directions. The direction that I’ve grown in is a bit diagonal, and not even I can see where it’s going. So maybe I push people away a little, and seek my own company rather than that of others, but it’s because I genuinely feel that I don’t belong anymore, if I ever did. I don’t know who I’m becoming, but I know I don’t want to grow into her alone. But I also know that I have to be careful of surrounding myself with people who are careful. Because careful will hold me back, and that may be more comfortable, but it won’t help me grow, and it won’t help me make decisions.

Thursday, 6 November 2014

TRANSCEND Cover Reveal

TRANSCEND, the final instalment of my The Three Stages trilogy comes out early December 2014, don't forget: you can buy the first two books CONSEQUENCE and AMEND on Amazon or at elizaserenarobinson.com
Cool fact: the initials of the books in the trilogy spell out cat C(onsequence)A(mend)T(ranscend), so I am technically a crazy cat lady #justsayin'

Thursday, 30 October 2014

Thoughts, Feelings, Daydreams, and Bullet Points.

Lately I’ve been feeling deeply melancholy, and I can’t even quite figure out why. Perhaps it’s the darkness of autumn, or the rain and clouds that hover low in the sky like a smothering blanket. Or perhaps it’s just me, just my natural temperament. I always thought I was a naturally positive, optimistic person, as if I could only be one thing, that how I was on the surface was the same as who I was in my depth, but lately I have come to realise that that isn’t the case. On the surface I seem pessimistic, and beneath that is a layer of hopefulness, of optimism, and right at my core there is yet another layer of pessimism. Which am I? Am I hopeful or hopeless? Sometimes it’s hard to tell.

It’s becoming harder and harder not to become completely embittered about life. It feels as though everything I want is just being pushed further and further into the future, and I have nothing to look forward to in my life (apart from the fact that the Mockingjay movie comes out in three weeks!!! :D #justsayin’). I have hopes and dreams and plans of how I want my life to go, but right now they’re less than a shadow – they not real to me except in my dreams, or my daydreams.

I like to think that I have a nice firm grip on reality, but I spend at least 80 percent of my time daydreaming and making little stories in my head of how things will turn out, and they almost never happen the way I want them to. I can only think of one occasion where one of my daydreams actually happened. I had been thinking about someone I knew and hadn’t seen in a while, and my mind just drifted off into flights of fantasy (the way it always does). I saw him a couple of days later, and it went almost identical to how it was in my head. But that was the exception, not the rule. Generally, if something I want to happen does happen, it will happen with a twist, making it something that I don’t really want. Because life’s fair, you know?

The thing about my unrealistically optimistic daydreams is that it’s not that unlikely that they will happen; it’s just about circumstance and timing. I know what I want, and when I want something, I will go after it with all I’ve got. I’m not going to use the term obsession, but that’s pretty much it. I don’t really have any hobbies – unless you count writing, reading, and over-thinking – so when I decide there is something I want to gain or achieve, I will work towards it with all the strength I possess.

I know what I want to do in my life:
  • I want to go to Oxford University and study English Literature & Language.
  • I want to travel all over the world, and go to places like Russia and Estonia (because CONSEQUENCE, AMEND, and TRANSCEND are set in those countries, so I can be like “Yeeeaaahhh! Half my characters are going to be murdered here in about three hundred years! Isn’t that absolutely fantastic?!”), New York (city of dreams, and I’m such a dreamer), Nashville (because country music is seriously the best thing ever) and I want to go to places that no one has heard of as well, because that would be totally amazing, to just get lost in some far-flung corner of the world.
  • I want to get married (see my previous blog “the hundred point checklist of what my ideal man should be” if you’re interested in the kind of person I want to marry. The most important point on the list is obviously number 50, which reads simply “Dimples”, because I know what’s important in life).
  • I want to have children (this is all obviously when I’m at least a decade older than I am now); so long as they’re not evil monsters.
  • I want to write loads of books which will become world-renowned best-sellers that millions of people will read and fall in love with and see themselves in. I don’t want to be famous or anything, but I want my books to be famous.
  • I want to have a really successful career, whether that’s as an author or as anything else I choose to be.
  • When I grow old, I want to be one of those cool old ladies that are really eccentric and people are all like “oh my gosh, what on Earth has Granny done now?”
  • Mostly I just want to be middle-aged. I don’t know why, but that is my life aspiration. I want to be late thirties-early forties, married, with like four kids or something, I want to write loads of books and stuff, but I just want to be settled in a nice, quiet (but still awesome and passionate) routine after having spent twenty years doing loads of amazing things.
  • I also want to go to protests and wave placards in the air and fight for a better world.

Out of all the things on the list, how many of them aren’t possible? (Marriage, maybe?) Even going to Oxford, which seems quite a challenge isn’t that impossible. To study English, I need to get three A grades at A Level. I’m two months into Year 12, and my current grades are this:
English Lit: B
History: D (cries a thousand tears)
Media: B
Philosophy: A (hell yes!!!!!!!!)
Apart from the trauma that is my History grade (it physically hurts me to get such an awful grade) I’m pretty close to three As already. I have close to two years to get the grades I need, and, on top of that, because I am (sadly) in a Comprehensive school, I have 80 percent more chance of getting into Oxford or Cambridge than somebody from a private school, because the top universities have to pay a fine if they don’t let “ordinary” people in. So dream no. 1 isn’t as impossible as it sometimes feels.

Dream number two is probably slightly more expensive, but still completely possible, as are all my dreams (okay, I don’t know how possible it is for my books to become world-renowned best-sellers, but hey, never say never).

It is my short-term goals which feel as though they’re blocked by insurmountable obstacles, because these goals aren’t things you can achieve by getting good grades or saving up money. My current goals are this:
  • To no longer by isolated. To have friends who understand me, who hear me when I’m quiet, who accept me for me, and who choose me again and again. I want to find my tribe, the people I belong with, people who I click with.
  • I want people at school to stop talking crap about me, and I want random thirteen-year-olds who I don’t even talk to to stop laughing at me for stupid things which really aren’t their business.
  • I want more people to read my books, because nobody’s bought either of them in months.
  • I want to be happy (which I’m not).
  • I also want things such as: to get paid more; to be able to drive (only three months till I can start learning); to get a car once I’ve learned to drive; to do more fun things (I don’t even know what fun is); to have more spare time, rather than writing five essays a week and falling asleep the moment I get home from school. But these little things aren’t impossible, they just take time. It’s the rest of the list which doesn’t feel possible.

That’s why I feel sad: because I feel lonely even when I’m with other people, and because so many people laugh at me, and because I’m unhappy. I’m so unhappy. I don’t connect properly with people my age. No matter how hard I try, I just don’t fit in. I’m not saying I’m special, or that I’m better or worse than anyone else, and I’m not romanticizing my differences, or anything else that people have said I apparently do in my blogs; I am simply saying how I feel, and how I feel is completely alone, because I don’t know how to be normal.

I hate being the age that I am (I’ve already mentioned that I’d rather be middle-aged). I don’t want to be so young, because I don’t feel like I am. I want to have life-experience, and I want to have been to lots of places and seen lots of things. I still want an amazing future, but I also want an amazing past.

I have come to realise that time is the answer to practically all of my problems, but the problem with time is that it’s not in the present moment, it’s something in the future, and I don’t know when it will be, and until then I have to find a way to make the best of what I have right now, rather than being so miserable about things that will one-day end. Even school, which feels like it will last forever, will be finished in twenty months, at least four of which will be half-terms/holidays, plus two days off for weekends, so that twenty months quickly diminishes, and isn’t half as much time as it seems. Before I know it I’ll (hopefully) be going to University (hopefully Oxford), and my life will be completely different (hopefully). I have so much to hope for, so much to wish for, and maybe my hopes and wishes aren’t real right now, but one day they could be. So until then I shall live in my little dream world, and revel in the fact that Taylor Swift released an album a couple of days ago (and quote lyrics from that album on every possible occasion), and I shall strive to get the grades I need, and when my twenty-month sentence is done, I shall be out of here, and move on to greater things (hopefully).


And if all else fails, I can become a hermit in the Scottish Highlands, or the Himalayas, or maybe the North Pole, and I can get a really big cat to snuggle, and read lots of books, and everything will be okay.



You can buy my books CONSEQUENCE and AMEND on Amazon or at elizaserenarobinson.com; my third book, TRANSCEND, will be out by Christmas.