Two Viruses, Two Times, Two Cities

by Russell Christie

Temporary

I wanted to walk in a plague city, through the streets of a ghost town. But London was not deserted. On Wednesday, people were still going about their business. Through an office window, I saw a man curl closely around a colleague to manipulate her mouse, to show her how to do something on screen. Another man stood close beside the desk, talking over their heads, the heavy parts of his breath descending on their hair. I thought I was taking risks, venturing in. They carried on regardless. I pressed the key of the pelican crossing with the knuckle of my middle finger, and then rubbed that on my jeans until the friction burned. Not out of fear, but because I enjoy sensible precautions and like to pretend I know what I’m doing. What was I doing? I was walking in a plague city to contrast now and then. My fear then with my fear now.

As a young man, as is typical of young people, I felt I was mortal and destructible, my body in the world was paper thin and life tenuous, always momently sure to come to an end, my sojourn here insecure and brief, liable to be snuffed out at any moment, my flesh so fragile as to be almost absent. This is typical of the young, they believe they are mortal and live surrounded by fear, they panic. My fear of death now has gone. I am calm as I walk through its valleys. As an older person, well established here, I am as invincible as the world around me, unsurpassable, my life indestructible, my body, the ever living mountain. The young are deluded in their mortality.

I wanted to contrast my fear then with my lack of fear now. I wanted to compare this plague city now with the plague of my youth, so I went into town against advice. I wanted to feel nostalgia and victory, knowledge and sadness, to page back through the stack of intervening years. To look at the long corridor of my life between that plague and this.

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I arrived in San Francisco in 1990. Half the city was dead or dying from AIDS. The mortality rate of that disease was 100%. It was harder to catch but, equally, if you confined yourself and took precautions for a decade, you’d be okay. I was a gay man and intravenous drug user, my death was categorically guaranteed. From the repeated heart attacks of my father to endless homophobic calls of derision, I’d lived my whole life with the ever imminent threat of death in one form or another. The mortuary of San Francisco rose to meet me, confirming my advance intimacy with its pre-ordained legacy. I was familiar with streets of imminence and anxiety. The city greeted me like an old friend, a compatriot in anxiety consoling my anxiety with its acceptance, normalising me in multiple ways. It resonated with my self in its plague, every mortal street spoke to me. I had met my own exact absence, death. It was fitting. San Francisco converged upon my multiple exiles, my homelessness was home.

I had just been venturing out of my insecurity in the UK, my interior apartness, the bipole to my external homelessness — just coming out of the shell/fortress I’d hidden in as an escape from homophobia and the precarity of life as it had been largely advertised to me through the ever present threats of demise around me as I grew. Just coming out again, into the world. I was eighteen or nineteen when the undercurrent to the building wave of HIV began. A disease that came to be relished by the UK government and the right wing press. People with AIDS were ‘swirling in a human cesspit of their own making,’ according to the much publicised pronouncement of James Anderton, Chief Constable of Greater Manchester. Some still lick their lips at the prospect of the death of others they despise. Homophobia doubled in the UK and my fear was reinstated, seemed reasonable in the face of all, justified and not just my own condition. Again I returned to the absence of life, withdrawal from the firm ground of the world: death and precarity. The media mobilised HIV to create a balloon of death and isolation for a decade. For a decade, my 100% mortality rate and my contagion, if I was to be who I was, was proclaimed.

Myself and my friends walked in and out of this air for ten years, many dying along the way, until medication was found and anti-virals made headway in the mid to late 1990s. But for more than a decade, little of this struggle was acknowledged or helped. Instead, gay men, with or without HIV, were mostly shunned as vectors of disease. HIV was confirmation of our pariah status. We were shrouded from the day we were born until we met our inevitable destiny. The TV said repeatedly: You will surely die of this disease, unless you stop your interactions: stop this, and this, and this. We will control your behaviour or you will be the death of yourselves and us all. The ‘gay plague’, the ‘Chinese’ virus.

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So now I compare. There are globes of difference, but memory and triggers are only natural. All I can be is transparent about memory’s information of now and its origins in the configuration of my life in this planetary history. Two viruses, two times, two cities. Other feelings and perspectives are no more nor less valid, some feel it’s egregious to compare and will not speak of similarities. They must be heard also in the depth of their silence. The coexistence of opposites is available through authenticity and acknowledgment, a two way path in which difference is no contradiction. Openness to provisionality and allowing diverse experiences of the same events, is all. I make no universal statements. Now, walking through London, echoes of the ghost towns of the gay bars of San Francisco flock around me, memories of the deserted End Up on a Sunday afternoon in 1991. From The Mission District to Greek Street and Oxford Circus.

I went into London on the Wednesday before the lockdown became a legal obligation, to hear and taste again my own death and resurrection, to see the phantoms of my memories and the ghosts of my life; its could-have-beens walking and not walking these streets, from Soho to Trafalgar Square. And to feel the weight of myself now, no longer precarious but embedded in the turning of the world. That we are flies in history is our grandeur. But it was not yet as advertised, the streets were not yet deserted. And, major things have changed.

The government did not rally to our aid then, hospitals were not geared up, the resources of the world were not mobilised. Employers discharged us as soon as they knew of our categorisation for contagion and there was no special support. No sympathy was advertised for this demise of our own making, which we deserved at the hands of god and the Bible and the common sense of the press. We were left to walk alone in the hundred percent valley of death. ‘What does GAY stand for?’ My brother wasn’t the only one to tell me this joke: ‘Got Aids Yet?’ We were called names and abused and ostracised in the midst of our pandemic, while we coped with the ever present spectre of death.

After eight years of this atmosphere while growing up, I left England in 1990 to find the gay Mecca and epicentre of my tormenting world.

So I wanted to walk again in a plague city, the streets of a ghost town, to contrast my fear then with my fear now. To see if my acquired immunity to mortality is real, to practice again my familiarity and relaxation when death finally hits the fan. The more imminent death is, the more relaxed I am. As well as flocking contagions, I have had a real gun to the back of my head (a hard steel gun) and know what it is like for me. And exactly because of that, and its contradiction of commonplace presumptions, I would not monopolise the experience or claim that this is how you would feel in the same situation or inhibit others from imagining how it may be for them with peremptory, regulatory phrases like, ‘Young people believe they’re indestructible, don’t they? You feel immortal when you’re young.’ Tell me your reality, not this abstract speculation of other people, the policing of emotion, the peer pressure of emotional regulation. I don’t controvert your reality, you don’t controvert mine. If you say, ‘I feel immortal,’ fair enough, that is you. We exist in a shared world, that is not required to be identical for each one of us. A world in which we recognise each other because it is shared in its difference. Don’t close it down. Its ever available ground is the very vector of our communication. We are the world’s diversity in our seeing of it, its unity is our seeing of each other, an openness.

It feels better for me now, in this plague, when people help each other out and no single social group is blamed for their behaviour, for their merely holding hands – now we are in it more thoroughly together, as we stand apart. This is the contrast between then and now.

I find it hard to generate fear, whatever the percentage mortality. I am tired of my history of fear, but not tired of pushing through the other side to the expansive relaxation that for me arises most in the face of certain death. I would have made a good soldier. But it would be a strange curve, on which everything below 100% was worse. This virus is easier now, when I find all acquaintances saying to me and each other equally, the phrase gay men alone used to exchange with the pertinence and deep, mortal knowing of their time: ‘Stay safe.’

Russell-001Russell is currently studying part time at Brunel for a Masters degree in Screenwriting. Originally from Nottingham, he spent several years in the USA, some of his experiences being documented in his semi-autobiographical novel, The Queer Diary Of Mordred Vienna, published in 2015. After a late start in academia, he hopes to be able to continue into a PhD at Brunel.

Let’s Have a Think About Toothpaste

by Chloe Perrin

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Let’s have a think about toothpaste.

Why toothpaste, you ask? Well, you exhausted every game and TV series in lockdown week one, you’re sick of social media because all your friends keep trying to make you do exercise and you’ve had enough of allowing the news to encase you in a shell of unending dread.

So, what’s left? Toothpaste, that’s what.

I promise you, the ordinary household toothpaste can be your greatest friend during these trying times of fear and isolation.

Still not convinced? Not a problem! Here’s a list of ten incredible things you can do with your very own tube of toothpaste during the lockdown:

  1. A classic – you can clean your teeth with it! Who needs dentists, eh? Besides, it’s not like you’re going to see one of those anytime soon!
  2. Slather your body in it! If it’s good enough to fix your teeth, it might be good enough to fix you.
  3. Wash it all off your body! It really stings and now you can’t stop crying.
  4. Throw your toothpaste at spiders! The spiders won’t like it. But they also won’t stop you.
  5. Talk to the toothpaste. Ask it how long it’s been since you’ve both seen another human being. Keep asking. Don’t be put off by its silence, ask louder! Demand answers from the toothpaste!
  6. Use the toothpaste to create a protective circle around yourself because the spiders have started to revolt.
  7. Become romantically involved with your toothpaste – briefly, and because you’ve forgotten what normal is.
  8. Show the toothpaste pictures of your favourite dim sum places online and pretend you’re not eating there because you’re too tired and not because the government said no.
  9. Dump the toothpaste because it forgot your birthday.
  10. And this is really important – don’t wonder why you’re doing any of this. You have toothpaste, why would you need anything as distracting as healthy introspection? You know deep in your heart that you can’t risk focusing on anything else right now. Even though your skin hurts, even though everything’s sticky and you’re covered in spiders – even though you’re still crying, and you’re scared and lonely and you miss your family, it doesn’t matter.

If you can focus on your toothpaste, everything will turn out fine.

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Chloe Perrin is a second year Creative Writing student from North Wales. She sees a therapist, and so should you.

So You’re in the Middle of a Global Pandemic: An Abridged Guide to Surviving the Boredom of Lockdown

by Kasey Smith

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I find there is nothing greater about living under glorious capitalism than the never ending list of pointless tasks it spawns, which pile up in the back of your mind and fill you with so much anxious stress that you are forced to constantly self-motivate to make sure you don’t slip down a rung on the towering ladder of meritocracy. So, now that we find ourselves in a time without structure, like a tacked-on poem in a portfolio submitted five minutes before a deadline, it is important to seek out things to do. Because God forbid you stopped working, even in the midst of a global crisis.

1. Structure

Keeping a routine to your day is important, so here’s a list of things I like to do to ensure I make the most of this period of isolation: enforce a regular sleep schedule; eat three meals a day and stay hydrated; scream out of my window, ‘next, please’ and ‘would you like a bag?’ so as to not lose the authority in my customer service voice; exercise; meditate to keep the existential dread at bay; rearrange my room and then walk around it as if it isn’t the same room I’ve been in every day for the past… how long has it even been? What day is it? Who am I? Will we ever be let out? I miss Brexit.

2. Creative Output

Hahahaha you have no excuse now! All those novel ideas, poetry concepts, short story inspirations have all been waiting patiently to finally meet the page, and what better time than in a period of impending societal collapse? Think of the witty commentary you can make on the Boris government. Of the flourishing nature outside that reminds us everyday that we were, in fact, the fucking problem. Of how America seems to be eating itself alive. And how, no matter the amount of students that are on campus, the smell of weed still drifts in through my open window to remind me that someone is having a far more relaxed afternoon than I am. So, sit down at your desk (or equivalent) and start writing. After all, great art is born from interesting times, or so they say. Who says, you ask? They. Them, over there.

3. Self Care and Mental Health

I consider myself to be very lucky when it comes to the support network that I have. That’s why, if, like me, you are unfortunate enough to have to deal with a mental health issue, I just want to remind you to take care of yourself. Even if it is just doing one thing a day that makes the burden a little bit lighter. I understand how difficult it can be to force yourself out of bed in the morning after a night of staring at the ceiling, or to force yourself to eat when you feel so nauseous you could vomit, or to reach out to friends or family for help or even to just be sociable. I can’t say I know how you feel exactly, but I’ve been in very similar situations and I’m sorry. At the bottom of this post are some links that you may find useful.

I know I run the risk of sounding very cliché but fuck it, I believe that everyday you prove that negative voice inside your head wrong, it gets quieter. And honestly, that little bastard has done nothing for you so far. So just do your best, even if that means doing something small every so often.

It’s a strange time to be alive, especially when you consider that in ten to fifteen years time a reluctant seventeen year old is going to write a really half-assed history essay on everything happening right now. But, at least this lockdown gives us all a chance to work on the stories we will tell future generations. You want to know what Grandpa did during the great lockdown of 2020? Well, come and sit on my lap and I will tell you about the time I stared at a wall for two whole months and forgot what we called the days of the week.

Mental Health Helplines

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Kasey Smith is a first year creative writing student at Brunel University London, who hopes to go on to write novels, poetry, and plays and maybe have some of them published.

Nest: A Covid-19 Easter Mini-Saga

by Emma Filtness

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Friday

I sit on the green velvet couch in my third floor flat staring out of the closed door to my Juliet balcony, sweltering in the sky-blue heat, and I’ve got no idea why they call it a balcony when it’s just a door that opens onto fresh air mediated by a grey metal railing overlooking the faded tarmac of a car park and the ugly Tetris-piled red brick of the building next door and I think surely Juliet must’ve had better than this as I clutch a navy can of fly and wasp killer, knuckles white, lid off and in a perpetual “position of readiness,” to quote my secondary school PE teacher, Ms Rugg (I wonder what became of her) during enforced netball training thinking they didn’t teach me this, they didn’t prepare me for this, there wasn’t a class on how to deal with wasps building a nest above the door to an invisible balcony during a pandemic and I’ve been googling all morning, clicking on hit after hit of perfect nightmare material – stalker-lens close-ups of antennae and all those legs and stripes and stingers that can be used again and again unlike bees, I wish they were bees, and pictures of round grey nests that look like paper mâché creations from a hell-dimension, and home-remedies offering wisdom like spray surfaces with peppermint oil or a mixture of clove oil and lemongrass and I haven’t even got a spray-bottle let alone the peppermint oil, only lavender and frankincense for my oil burner but there’s no scientific evidence so I panic-order two kinds of wasp killer with Prime with a dose of extremely short-lived vegetarian guilt and after check-out it tells me they won’t be here for another week as apparently they’re not “essential” and the property management team are not answering their phones as it’s not only a pandemic but a fucking bank holiday and no amount of Easter eggs will ever make this okay.

Saturday

I binge-watch Grey’s Anatomy from the beginning in an attempt to distract myself from the hive. I somehow managed to forget just how amazing Sandra Oh’s hair is, and the rest of her, to be honest, and think I finally need to watch Killing Eve soon. I’d be under the duvet ideally, but it’s too hot what with the door and window closed and the evil little shits keep nosing at the window. When I turn off the lights to sleep, I see tiny flitting shadows everywhere, but I know they are not in my room – they are inside my head. I dream of wasps, obviously.

Sunday

My partner bought me a chocolate egg, a posh one from M&S, but I managed to drop it somewhere between the bag-for-life and the kitchen worktop, and it feels like the perfect metaphor for life this Spring. I eat most of my stoved-in egg anyway and feel sick afterwards.

Monday

Brian from Rentokil called. He’s coming over tomorrow. I eat the last of my egg and a whole bag of Colin the Caterpillars. I’m on Season Two already (which is impressive, even for me).

Tuesday

Brian from Rentokil arrived a whole hour early and I could’ve kissed him, social distancing be damned (relax, I didn’t).

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meDr Emma Filtness is a poet and lecturer in Creative Writing at Brunel University London, currently zine-making and binge-watching her way through the apocalypse. Follow her on Twitter @Em_Filtness and find her poetry project exploring nature and the dark feminine @cultofflora on Instagram.

Living in the Age of Coronavirus

by Marie-Teresa Hanna

As I write this from my bedroom, the sun is shining through the window, the birds are singing and I can hear a neighbour exercising to Andra Day’s song, ‘Rise Up’. My next-door neighbours are entertaining their toddler, and she is giggling at their duck noises while the neighbour across is washing dishes in her kitchen. Separated by windows, walls, and doors, we are all aware of each other and although our lives are different, we are collectively trying to get through this pandemic, each with our individual stories, worries and emotions.

As for many of us, this is the first time I have witnessed global fear and collective grief, not only for the uncertainty of the future, but most importantly, for the lives lost within the NHS, communities, family members and friends. With close friends working in pharmacies and Intensive Care Units, a vulnerable and high-risk parent, and elderly family members, I find myself taking precautions that seemed unimaginable before. In between essential bi-weekly hospital visits and once a week shopping trips, I am haunted by the fear in people’s eyes, floored by older members of the community who are unable to get groceries delivered, and the rising mortality rates where human lives are turned into numbers on the news. In contrast, staying safe at home and smelling of pure alcohol and disinfectant wipes is a small compromise.

Although I limit watching the news and social media, the impact of the Coronavirus is constantly on my mind and I have to remind myself that productivity is not the be-all and end-all. Some days I get on with university work, attend Zoom meditation and yoga classes, read, write a few lines of poetry or exercise. Most of the time, I watch Netflix, funny animal videos on YouTube, or end up daydreaming, aware that my mind is processing this current climate and forcing anything would be counterproductive. As I connect remotely with friends and call members of my book club, I hear stories of struggle, change and resilience. Talking to these members brings intergenerational connectedness centred around individuals who tell me their narratives of surviving wars, migration and several losses. Or my father, who recalls stories of waiting in six-hour queues for essentials such as bread and petrol, while growing up in Sudan. In these moments I am reminded that we are hardwired for survival.

In the future, this will be our story to tell. For now, all we can do is connect with each other, give ourselves time to feel, grieve, and remember, because like the sun that sets, we too will rise.

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Marie-Teresa Hanna is a British Egyptian-Sudanese writer, interested in BAME, Middle Eastern and North African women’s fiction. She is currently completing an MA in Creative Writing at Brunel University London. In her spare time, she runs a monthly hospice book club and always enjoys listening to podcasts, and long river walks while contemplating life. If you would like to follow her thoughts and ramblings, find her on Twitter @MarieTeresaHan3.

 

Brunel Creative Writing MA Students Write, Record and Mix an Album in a Week

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By Alex and Simone Ayling-Moores

The coronavirus pandemic has affected everyone. Whether it’s our collective isolation and restrictions leaving home comforts, or those fears and concerns for both loved ones, and those we’ll never meet: it is a uniquely uncertain time for almost all of us around the globe.

As both musicians and music teachers (and aspiring writers too!) we had the prospect of losing  a big chunk of our income so, instead of twiddling our thumbs, we decided to try and make something positive from all of this.

Thus the challenge to write, record and mix an album, all in one week, was something we set ourselves… and WE DID IT! Pushing through early mornings and very late evenings, the compositions were crafted and recorded with passion (and a lot of persistence!).

It wasn’t easy. But that’s not to say that it wasn’t fun too!

The album, entitled ‘Escapism’, was started on Monday (March 23rd) and was released Sunday (March 29th). It’s an eclectic album, which presents listeners with a smorgasbord of musicality. From dark harmonies, and electronic distortions, to offbeat lyrics and exotic rhythms, the album blends styles and genres to surprise, entertain and delight.

Like its title suggests, we want it to be a space you can escape into for forty minutes or so, and catch a little novelty and intrigue in moments of dismay and doubt.

‘Escapism’ is available for download through the link below for merely a fiver.

Any download or share really is massively appreciated – if we can make up even an hour’s worth of lost earning from this, it will all have been worth it!

https://alexandsim.bandcamp.com

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Surviving The Horror That is Final Year Dissertation – by Amena Begum

‘What do you mean, I have to write a DISSERTATION?’

‘Well, I’m afraid that’s the only way you’ll be able to get your degree’, said the professor with a grin.

Dissertation…that’s a pretty big word and a rather terrifying concept, but as someone who’s gradually approaching the end of this experience, I can share some of the things I did to make it slightly more manageable. These tips and tricks certainly won’t make writing a dissertation a piece of cake, nor will it take away the stress, but it can certainly make life that tiny bit easier amidst the hundreds of other things that you’ll be required to do in final year.

You’ve got your topic, but you just don’t know where to begin. Completing a ‘disso’ can be a daunting task, since for many students this is the first time that they’ll have produced something on such a large scale. But fear not, I got you.

Firstly, plan, plan, plan! For something as big as this, it’s crucial to plan out your reading and chapter outlines early on. Start off by reading around your topic to get a general flavour of what you’re actually trying to nail down. Find books and articles which will enable you to see the bigger picture, and then slowly home in on the finer, crisper details specific to your chapters and research arguments. Shout out to Brunel Library, JStor, Academic Search Complete and many more for having my back! Make sure you have enough knowledge on your primary reading, so that way the extra secondary material will become much easier to apply. That’s the initial ‘gathering your materials’ phase tackled, now you’re probably thinking, ‛how do I go about starting?’ This is always a difficult question when it comes to a complex piece of work, but if you have planned sufficiently it should not be too taxing.

Many people, including some of my friends, prefer to write their introduction last because it allows them to piece all the threads together and outline what exactly they’re going to cover throughout the project. If the idea of writing a long introduction puts you on edge, then don’t worry, you can always come back to it later. It’s natural to feel most comfortable about writing your chapters on your chosen areas, since that’s what you’ll have spent the most time reading up on. In that case, start writing about your first chosen issue, combining all the relevant juicy secondary material that you’ve read. Continue to do this for each of your chapters, ensuring that there are links between the sections where applicable.

Next, let’s talk about making effective use of your supervisor. Now for some people, they just like to be left to their own devices and prefer not to be overshadowed. But personally, I would highly recommend keeping in regular contact with your dissertation supervisor. They are literally a godsend at a time like this! They’re the ones who have extensive knowledge in the area that you’ll be examining. As for me, I like to meet with my supervisor each time I complete a section as a good progress checker, and to gain feedback on how to sharpen my work even further. Often, we are subjective to our own work and are reluctant to find room for improvement since we’ve had our eyes glued to it for such a prolonged period of time. Use your supervisor’s help and expertise – that’s what they’re there for!

Finally, I want to address some general study habits that can make writing a dissertation simpler. Create a study group where you and your friends can work on the disso on a weekly basis. It’s unrealistic to say, ‘I’m gonna write a thousand words each day’, that ain’t gonna happen, so don’t be one of those people. It’s important to work on it over time so that it remains fresh and concise. Instead, plan out small chunks to work on at least twice a week in your study groups, bearing in mind that it won’t be possible to work on it daily, since you’ll have other assignments and commitments too. For a disso, study groups are a fantastic way of collaborating and providing each other with support. Dissertations can be exhausting both physically and mentally, so working alongside the right people can help put your mind and work at ease. You’re all in the same position and can help each other with constructive peer reviewing.

Those are my tips on how to survive the demon that will inevitably take over your life, aka disso. Hopefully they’ll be of good use and help you on your path to success. So, what are you waiting for? Get typing away on that keyboard!

 

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Amena is a third year English Literature student who can speak English, Bengali, Hindi, and Urdu. Despite the stereotype associated to Shakespeare as being the epitome of literature, he is actually her least favourite literary figure. Her aspiration is to one day become a university lecturer.

Brunel Writers Series 2020

Hosted by Bernardine Evaristo

Be sure not to miss this year’s Writers Series at Brunel! Starting this Wednesday January 29th, our very own Emma Filtness will be interviewing author Christy Lefteri in an event around her bestselling novel, The Beekeeper of Aleppo. Attendance is free, with refreshments provided! You just need to book your spot here.

All of the events in the series will take place on Wednesdays at 5.30pm, in the Antonin Artaud building room 101 (except for the final session with Frazer Lee on March 4th, which will be hosted in Gaskell 012). Check out the full line-up of writers in the poster below, or click here for more details on each event.

We hope to see you there!

The Importance of Building an Online Presence as a Writer – by Amena Begum

Gone are the days when an author would publish their work and that was that. No engagement with their readership, public appearances or glossy interviews explaining the rationale behind their produced masterpiece. That, of course, was then. The stone ages, the ancient time, call it what you will. Now, we have progressed into a modern age in which a writer’s interaction with his or her audience and the public eye is of utmost significance. Think about it. How many times a day do you scroll through social media feeds aimlessly, networking with others, and most notably updating your own social media portals for them to see? The very same principle applies to writers. They too have to make a conscious effort to create and maintain their online profiles in order to attract readership and gain public demand.

Each writer’s virtual world acts as a mechanism to depict what they are like as an individual and what their works entail and carry. When crafting your online presence, you are not just showcasing yourself as a person, but rather, you are meticulously constructing your brand. This shows your active connection with your audience and displays your key values and ideologies, which helps gain the trust and loyalty of fans. Once that has been established, your community of fans/readers can wait for your upcoming works. This reflects anticipation and shows that they are keen to commemorate and enjoy what you have written. It is vital to note that your online presence must be in action prior to your first publication so that the appropriate recognition can be built, therefore creating a greater fan following.

Above all, the craftsmanship of a successful online presence feeds into the digital world’s dynamic of strategic marketing. It is all about promotion and advertising in a nifty way to make your mark. These days, with it being so easy to track down a writer’s profile as they are only one click away from a quick Google search, it is imperative to have a lively and impactful online presence. Having sound knowledge on how to present yourself as a writer in the fast-paced online world puts your work in good stead of attaining optimum success and enables your writing career to flourish. Internet-based mediums are a fresh and candid way to gain loyalty from your desired readership and it gives them a glimpse into your world of producing publications. The ease and accessibility that it has in today’s modernity makes individuals more willing to engross themselves into the writer’s world, and keeps them wanting more. What’s not to love about that? So, online presence making is a real game-changer for any budding writer or artist. For the upcoming writers out there, now is the time to start making a name for yourselves.

 

Amena is a third year English Literature student who can speak English, Bengali, Hindi, and Urdu. Despite the stereotype associated to Shakespeare as being the epitome of literature, he is actually her least favourite literary figure. Her aspiration is to one day become a university lecturer.

Featured Student Blog: Travelling the World in 360

My name is Becca Arlington and in September 2018, at the age of 24, I quit my job to go travelling for six months.

I had always wanted to travel the world and, although I had initial fears about being a solo female traveller, I knew this would be the experience of a lifetime.

I was excited to see varying landscapes, encounter wild animals in their natural habitats, meet people of many other cultures, from various walks of life, and open my eyes to all the beauty, and unfortunately destruction, that this world has to offer. Cliché as it sounds, perhaps I would even find myself on a path of self-discovery.

The beautiful Lake Malawi

So, after months of planning, thirteen jabs, countless flights booked, bags on all sides to balance me out and many a visa later, I was finally ready to say my teary goodbyes to family and friends and set off on my own.

Along the way, I wrote numerous notes (as my fellow travellers can vouch for!) took 360° photos galore and snapped a mere 16,000 pictures on my camera and phone combined.

And now I am excited to be blogging about my travels. Along with the 360° pictures and interesting information, my blog posts contain breathtaking safaris, at least a million sunset pics, an abundance of culture, plenty of disasters, small triumphs, activities I won’t forget in a hurry, new friendships across the globe, beautiful sunshine, the occasional downpour, and much, much more!

View my travel blog here and follow me on my journey: https://travellingtheworldin360.blog

So I hope you enjoy reading my ramblings and seeing my snaps as I take you with me on my travels through Kenya, Tanzania, Malawi, Zambia, Zimbabwe, Botswana, Namibia, South Africa, Australia, New Zealand, Dubai, India, Thailand, Laos, Cambodia, Vietnam, Malaysia, Singapore and Indonesia.

View my first 360° virtual tour of the Serengeti National Park here!

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