Many times in the last year, I stayed up long nights typing stories. Pages were filled with ideas and ripped sheets with stories that were stapled to folders. I even ignored my lecturers and pored over plots and characters from several stories. In all that time, I wrote with the aim to produce something amazingly good, something that would win me a Hugo award (You know, I love that Spec-Fic Life, even though I try so hard to be a “Literary” writer).
You know what I achieved in the one million hours I wrote? Zilch published tales; stories that now sit in my mail box gathering dust. Ones that I killed off the characters for lack of what to do with them.
Last year, when I got into the Erasmus Journalism program; I wrote about that here. It was an amazing experience–for those that wanted to do something with Journalism. Everyday I was there, I asked myself why I was filling a spot that someone else could have taken. It was horrible. I was tired and unhappy and just wanted to go home. It showed in my enthusiasm to write and be friendly. I ate a lot: whole bags of chips and sausages and when I got back to Nigeria, I heard a million and one tales about how my skin glowed and how healthy (not thin) I was. Nonsense. I was just happy to be home.
I didn’t return to the program after the summer break, for reasons best left private and now, I can actually say I’m happier. I want to write. I spend hours reading fiction (Something I formerly exchanged for hours of YouTube streaming. Cursed app.) I’m trying to better myself as a writer and I have applied for another Master’s program; one that interests me.
I do not know what this year brings, but I can sincerely say that I’m grateful for 2016. I’m grateful for life, for the gift of change and for choice. This year is going to be amazing, I can feel it deep in my bones. It is one of those years where a gate that’s never been there opens. So, lift your cups, mugs and glasses with me, to new possibilities and new heights. To a new year with published stories.