Yay! Rain!

So, for the first time in about three weeks it rained properly here last night. I'm not only happy about this because of the hot weather, nor is it just because of the cool squelch of the ground this morning, it is, in fact, more to do with the smell.

Smell is supposedly the most nostalgic of the commonly documented "five senses" though of course there are many more that have been acknowledged. This could be said of the smell of rain. I'm not sure if you have ever noticed, but when it's been hot, and it finally rains, you can smell not only the delicious freshness of the air, but also the electricity of fallen dust as it gets caught my the plummeting drops. The way I used to describe it (when I was younger, had a less active vocabulary, and an imagination with less of a thirst for books) was thus: "I love the rain, it makes the air all clean."

In such style, today, as well as rain, marks the end of my second year at university. While other people I know have exams, I don't. All my assignments were handed in today, and that's a day early for two of them. Just like last week I am sat here enjoying the first of three glasses of Asti from this bottle, two smooshed strawberries in the top.

I'm also wondering where this summer will take me. On at least two holidays, I know that much, but here I'm specifically thinking more about writing. I'll aim to write the first draft of my FYP (or final year project for those of you who haven't encountered the abbreviation before) and probably much more too. I've had to put on hold at least three short stories recently for no reason more prominent than the pile of looming assignments I had to complete.

I'm not saying I'm longing to write, because for at least a day or two I'll be completely drained. Right now for instance, I could open up a blank document and stare at it for five minutes wondering how to start. Because the problem here is that my imagination is blocked up with all the crap that I've written, and my mind needs a rest.

In truth, it could be argued, that I'm still suffering the block that started two years ago last February, though short stories have leaked out. The most I've written on a single story is around 30,000 words. Wow! You gasp, that's loads. No... it's not, especially when you consider the 30 - 40,000 I wrote in one month before the block developed.

I hope beyond hope that this summer sees some improvement, because if not, I'm worried that I'll never get back to that quantity of writing again. Perhaps then I'd be doomed to short fiction.

All that aside, I feel happy that everything around me seems at peace. I can't be sure, as yet, that the bad dreams will go with the vanished work-load, but I have a good feeling they will. That and the continued support of those I love should scare them away, at least until something just as frightening surfaces.