GoKawiilI delete the same sentence from my thesis introduction, for the twentieth time today. It feels like no combination of letters will save me: how will any of them convince a PhD assessment committee?
The ringing bell is a welcome interruption. I join my friend for a walk, happy to enjoy the three days of summer we get this year.
We wander through the canals when she stops abruptly, summons a notebook, and starts sketching the alleyways. She tells me how she can use it in her next commission: a cover for a fantasy book.
For a few minutes, her attention is entirely absorbed. She sees something I am not, hears magic whispers in an unknown language, and takes notes of their message.
“I envy how creative your job is,” I tell her.
“But your job is creative too, no?”
Not the right question for today.
“Well, in a way,” I say. “I can be creative with my lectures and my research, but both come with constraints. I teach what needs to be taught. I research what I'm funded to research. My work depends on collaborators, deadlines, publishing venues... It never feels as creative as stopping in the middle of the street because you've just found inspiration.”
We stay silent for a while.
“You know, I was quite creative as a kid,” I add. “Always making up stories. My mum could leave me with a pencil case and come back hours later, to hear all about the adventures of the courageous Blue Pen, who fought the evil Black Pencil for the love of Red Eraser.”
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