Essay-er.

I was getting a little lost. I read and read, and typed and typed, but it didn't feel like I was being productive. And then today, I struck gold. It is still not the masterpiece of the year, but at least now it feels like I am actually writing something which is me, and not just copying out of a book. Not that I've written anything yet, but I've made lists and conclusions and I can see the essay forming itself in front of my eyes.

As a literature student, I am used to reading a book, consulting maybe one or two sources before spinning a theory on how certain characters act or social issues are brought forward or whatever a literary style and vocabulary can create within a book. I made the analysis, I came to the conclusion, I wrote the paper. As a historian, things are slightly different. You see, you cannot invent history. You cannot have a take on history, a theory, a view on what happened. You can write about people's opinions, but those opinions are all based on facts (no matter how biased). There is nothing you can write which you create yourself, everything has happened in the past. It is a mere labour of copying the way which was walked before you and hoping that you'll find a side-way which hasn't been trod upon before. And frankly, this is a depressing matter. I myself cannot claim to have found the new road to truth, but yes, I think I might have finally found a little corner of the way which hasn't been described in detail yet. A little loophole in the theory, an excavation of the past. It is barely worth mentioning, but at least I am not copying quote after quote out of a book anymore. These are the grindings of my thoughts, a thing I might not have created from scratch, but at least it feels my own. I put my stamp on history and even though it's barely a postscript to the epos which is the past, at least the ink is there to prove it's mine and no-one else's.