I wasn’t home for too long. Just long enough to eat two hot cross buns to Nathan’s twenty-two (don’t ask, he’s still feeling sorry for himself), run around to a couple of family Easters, and then yesterday I took off again. This time to Adelaide, for something rather important.
And yes, the flight was totally okay. Approximately thirty seconds of panic at about thirty percent of normal intensity, so I’m counting that as a huge win. And I took some gorgeous photos out of the window. I’ve started reading a book called Cockpit Confidential by Patrick Smith, and it’s really helping so far in getting me excited about flying again – let’s hope it continues.
Back to today: I’ve spent the day grabbing last minute essentials, gathering every question that I can possibly think of for my one-on-one with Fiona, timing the walk to the venue and getting distracted by the beautiful gardens along the way. The last of the dahlias were still out, and they were gorgeous.
It all begins.
Fiona’s masterclass was such a pie in the sky kind of ‘wouldn’t it be nice?’ idea for most of last year, until Nathan pushed me to actually do it. Writing a novel has always been the goal, and I was going to get there one way or another, but I’m hoping this will be the end of years in the wilderness being too afraid to fully commit to my ideas because they might not be viable. I know how to write, I have a whole degree in it, I know a bunch about publishing, but I’m hoping this class is the missing piece. And who better to learn from than somebody who is doing it all, and doing such an amazing job of it?
I’m currently in my hotel room, simultaneously feeling nerves that makes me want to just go to sleep for a hundred years, and buzzing with the kind of energy and excitement that makes me want to jump around and do the dance from Sia’s Chandelier video clip. I don’t know what to eat for dinner, and my stomach is too tied up in knots to be hungry for much of anything.
I hope that all the people are nice.
I hope I can stay focused for such long days of being bombarded with so much information.
I hope I learn lots about how to plan a whole writing career, not just one book.
I hope I don’t share my work and realize I’m the worst in the class.
I hope it doesn’t rain on me when I walk to the venue.
Most of all, I hope I get what I came for. And I hope that a year from now, this little novel and this little career are something so much bigger, brighter and better. I probably won’t be writing anything else about it until it’s all over and I’ve had time to process the whole thing, so wish me luck!