A Tropical Room of My Own

I’m sitting on a villa balcony overlooking the Atlantic Ocean as it gently crashes into the rocks down below. The hills and mountains of Jost Van Dyke line the horizon, and tiny white sailboats dot its coves.

It’s day three of a losing battle with the local mosquitoes. My ankles were covered in itchy pink bumps as I walked out of the tiny Tortola airport on Tuesday. Yesterday, a sneaky mosquito bit my spine, so I ventured out in the hot afternoon and purchased a plastic floor fan. I think the tides have turned. (Though spending $80 on what feels like a dollar store fan doesn’t exactly feel like winning). Then again, a few mosquito bites are a small price to pay for an ocean view and a month of uninterrupted writing time. Which — let me back up — is why I'm here at all.

My first semester at TCNJ is complete! (Read here to catch up) After being waitlisted at Smith College for the spring semester, I was encouraged to reapply for the fall. I pushed hard to make sure that my grades at TCNJ would reflect well on the mid-term report for my reapplication to Smith. Alas, despite all my efforts the past year and a half, I did not get in. I had mixed feelings of sadness and relief when I found out in April. After about six months in limbo, unsure if I should put down roots and fully commit myself at TCNJ or do just enough to get me to Smith, I now knew for sure that I wasn’t going to upend my family and move to Massachusetts.

So now what?

During a quick, last-minute trip to St. Thomas, USVI, for my spring break in March, the inspiration stick whacked me hard. I wanted to work on my YA fantasy manuscript again. It had been a while since I felt a spark to revisit it, but being in the setting that inspired it awakened the novel writer deep inside me (and quite honestly, I was sick of the essay/paper writer I had become thanks to a year and a half of school). I was surprised by the feeling, especially as my chest tightened on our way to the airport to head home. I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to sit and write and finish and get this damn book out of my brain and into the world.

I talked to my therapist about it, wondering out loud if I was a mood writer. And if so, what would it be like to honor that part of me? I don’t like putting myself in label-y boxes like that (my therapist would catch it and shred the idea to pieces, anyway), but I’ve always struggled with accepting things, like my sensitivity, stubbornness, or my desire for solitude. She was all for it, suggesting experimenting with the idea before deciding. One of my favorite takeaways from a session a long time ago I keep on a sticky note above my desk: “No conclusions without all the information.”

When I found out I wasn’t accepted to Smith, I decided I would accept myself then. (Those dum dums!) I would honor my feelings of working on my book. If I was planning on spending 100K a year at Smith (as a junior transfer, not a freshman—only two years instead of four), why not figure out how to invest that much in myself another way, like working on my book? What would it take? How could I do that? What would that look like?

For me, it looked like a month-long, self-made writing residency in the Virgin Islands.

I scoured the internet looking for the right place, one that was private, quiet, and allowed me to sit and look at the water while writing. I found a gorgeous villa in Tortola that was wildly out of my price range, but it had no bookings for the weeks I wanted to stay. I sent an email to the host asking if they’d consider giving me a steep discount. After all, some money is better than making no money, right?

The Tortola villa owners accepted my offer.

I had doubts about the whole idea. A month away from my family? Alone? Spending money I didn’t have? But then, as I wrote an email to my advisor trying to figure out my classes for the fall semester, I came across this quote from one of his favorite playwrights, Edward Albee:

“If you’re willing to fail interestingly, you tend to succeed interestingly.”

It felt like the universe (and my amazing husband) was giving me a green light rather than a stop sign. The catch: I had to leave the minute I finished my last final exam this past Monday. Every other window was a no-go — summer is sweltering, stormy, and fully booked with families traveling, fall and spring I'm in school, and Christmas break is both too short and too expensive.

So here I am.