When I was little and we used to visit my parents’ family “back home” there were two things I loved the most about the weather.
- Summer in England is Rainy Season in Trinidad & Tobago.
- The rain is warm and hard, but not often.
It’s Rainy Season in my life.
I’m in the second term of my MA Publishing course now. I feel like the time has gone too quickly, I am learning so much and I have learned so much. I’m actually making progress on surrounding myself with like-minded people and I have an understanding of the industry that the person I was a year ago was only vaguely aware of.
As January came to a close and I realised that I was already halfway through February, (oh, not to mention that Easter is early this year which means I have a lot of March off) I finish classes around April. I feel like I’ve taken the International Baccalaureate all over again, instead my five terms have been halved.
I’m getting the chance to help bring a short story anthology into print. I’m coming up with and practising a pitch for a hypothetical mobile app that I think could increase the number of readers-for-pleasure in those aged twenty-five and under. I’m still looking for that placement, and I’ve yet to be discouraged or focused on putting all of my eggs in any one basket. And finally, I’m coming up with the bare bones of what I think could be a study on Fantasy fiction for my dissertation.
It is a lot to handle- and yet I am doing it?
For a while I was feeling overwhelmed. I think I don’t often let myself go through the short panic, I used to let it consume me for at least a month before the pressure got to great and I perfected my fail or fly baby bird imitation.
Before when I was going through these situations in life, it felt like I was taking an ice-shower in Hoth- too cold to do anything other than stay in place and wait for it to pass by so I could finally make a chance to move on. Now, it feels a lot more like the hot rains back home, lying in the conservatory alcove opposite the stone mermaid and under a galvanised roof and listening to the raindrops pound against it. I have red stained lips on account of all the salted prunes I’ve been eating and the bottles of Chubby Reggae Red I’ve been drinking. The mosquitoes aren’t biting my legs and the dog is hiding from the rain with me. A book is lying across my lap and every now and then the wind changes direction and I get a little rain sprayed in my face- but it isn’t enough to drench me.
And I am fine.