Yesterday I handed in my last packet of materials for grad school. I still have a week to compile my final paperwork for my degree, but all the heavy lifting is done. There’s also that little matter of a residency to attend in January – something about delivering a lecture and attending a graduation ceremony – but, yeah, done.
It feels so anti-climactic.
I’ve got some work in for my final workshop that I know isn’t up to the standards of the novel I just finished (hmm, need to start looking for an agent I guess) but I also didn’t have the time to make it top drawer. Thinking about it, about its flaws and how much work it needs, makes me wonder if I can do it on my own. For two years now I’ve had one-on-one responses from advisors who would ask the hard questions at every step of the way, making sure my manuscript took a nice, balanced, well-rounded shape.
From here out I have to rely on that voice being inside my head.
For the next month it will be easier to retreat into the world of school just a little longer, to mercilessly edit and refine my lecture and prepare for book discussions and workshops. Then, come January 20th, the tether is cut and I’m set to glide free.
And that large land mass below, with its persistent and unfeeling gravity, attempting to pull me down flatten me on impact?
That would be fear.