I turned twenty-eight this week. It was a surreal experience. Second birthday in lockdown, second birthday miles and miles away from my family, friends and significant other. Two more birthdays until thirty.
Scary times. It feels like I have to be an adult now. Which seems weird to write; of course I’m an adult! I pay taxes, have two jobs and an apartment. But I also still forget to do laundry, endlessly procrastinate on bedtimes and play video games with my friends. Being an adult really does mean having it all I guess.
I hit a bit of a slump this week. I still got all of my words done but my heart wasn’t really in it. I got feedback from my last piece of writing on my Master’s course and my tutor slammed me. It was pretty bad. Those of us who have ADHD can attest that rejection hits pretty hard. I am left with the lingering feeling that in the course of writing for my MA I have somehow become a worse writer. Which is a bad thought to entertain.
The Crime Writing course cheered me up though. My peers seem to enjoy my writing even if my tutor doesn’t. I think that’s what writing always seems to boil down to: you can’t please everyone. I really wish that was an easy thing for me to live with.
Anyway, here’s to twenty-eight and to greater things to come.