You heard that right. I handed in my thesis, put on the cap and gown, and walked. My diploma is... somewhere in my room right now, but it's there. It's all in Latin, so I can't read a thing, and my cap and gown are currently in the bottom drawer, where they'll rest for the foreseeable future/ until some weird Halloween function comes up. It felt really weird putting it on, and even weirder packing it back up. Somehow, I feel like it should have had a longer lifespan, given its significance.
And now, I'm home.
I've never actually been in London for anything other than holidays. We moved here while I was in boarding school, and then I went from here straight to uni, so I haven't really experienced life in action at home since I was fourteen. That's about eight years. I've been here for less than two weeks, and it still hasn't really sunk in.
But, hey, more writing time!
My novel, TA, is undergoing serious revisions in the wake of graduation and thesis feedback. Everything's been very encouraging, so I'm pumped! I'm planning to have a full, revised draft by the end of June, which means that I've got to really push myself.
It's kind of strange to have all of this free time suddenly open up before me. For writing, for reading, for music, for drawing, for running, for binge-watching QI on Netflix. I'm a little afraid of it, to be honest. It's a glorious, terrifying freedom that requires a fair amount of self-discipline to govern. I can do so much with it - or nothing at all. I can come away with a finished book, or not. I can be ready to query, or not.
The craziest part is that I can see myself heading down two timelines. In one, I fight for my story, and I pursue my dreams to the endgame (well, endgame, pt. 1 of many). In the other, I'm not a writer. I'm someone who writes occasionally, but not with any real intent. Who's forgotten their dream.
This is what I'm really afraid of - that I lack the self-discipline to make it, or even that I lack the confidence to believe I can make it. I know so many talented writers who've simply decided that their options are better in a pragmatic, nine to five job, and as a result, have put their publishing dreams in a box at the back of their mind.
I'm so worried this will be me.
But the truth is, I don't really have an answer for that kind of worry, except to continue onwards and upwards, and to believe that I am capable of achieving all that I set my mind to.
So... onwards and upwards?