This morning, after writing a midterm exam for Political Philosophy, I stumbled upon an astounding realization. I hear voices in my head that help me to write better.
No, don't walk away. I'm not crazy -- at least, not that crazy. That is, I'm not crazy enough to actually hear schizophrenic-type voices and believe they help to perfect my academic abilities.
What I mean by voices is, well, while I write something, while I read something, while I do most things that involve words, I read or write with a certain voice. Usually it's some distortation or other of my own voice. But sometimes, especially if the piece of writing is particularly intellectual or thought-stimulating, the voice in my head obtains an English-accent characteristic to give it a more professional and academic effect. I call this English voice the "little British novelist". Every time I have written an essay or story, with this voice in my mind, I accepted the fact that whatever it is I had just written was, well, damned good if I do say so myself.
This very phenomenon just happened to me this morning as I wrote the long essay for the exam. The question was a comparison between Aristotle's and Rousseau's political philosophies. And I must say, I am more than pleased with my results. That is to say, I have not yet received any feedback whatsoever; but the feeling of extreme satisfaction and joy with my own writing proved quite sufficient in my thinking that I had just written a rather enjoyable essay. Even though my professor might think I missed a fact or two, or that I know nothing whatsoever about political philosophy, I am happy to say that I put a reasonable amount of effort in making it an easy, fun, and overall a "nice" read. Thank you, British Novelist.
(Note: I did not hear his voice during this blog. If you did walk away in the beginning, it was not because I was weird; but because this blog sucks).
