One of the best things about university is that you’re told, no, commanded, to let your imagination go free. Work as hard as you can; achieve whatever you can. Publish, research, propose, discover, conclude, produce theories, launch websites, yada, yada, yada. It’s great stuff.
The negative part?
You’re hemmed into a specific method of doing something – such as writing. You can write what you want, but it has to be about this [insert random topic here]. You can have whatever colour you want, as long as it’s black. You know what I mean? Sure, I love some of my classes, (and hate others) but as a writer I feel that we aren’t given enough freedom. While others might write about themselves or their lives, I’d rather write about alternative universes, aliens, magic, the future, and whatever else comes to mind. It’s partially because my life isn’t that interesting, but it’s also because I feel there’s more to literature and university than complying by the rules. In some boring lectures I think about a new short story and by the end of the 2 hours I have about 1.5k of words down. Probably not something I should admit, but whilst university is a great place to expand your mind, they should allow you to think freely in how you do so.
Anyway, enough of my ranting: I’ve got some studying to do and some lectures to attend, although my mind will likely be elsewhere….