The lights have faded, the bulbs have ceased flashing and the cameras have stopped rolling. There are no more hands to shake and no more books to sign; the party has come to an end. The announcement of the best overall winners has been made and as the sun dips behind mountain peaks, my time in South Africa draws to a melancholy close.

Imagine This didn’t take home the trophy; the well-deserved accolade for best first book went to Tamima for her book A Golden Age. The best book prize went to Lawrence Hill for his masterpiece The Book of Negroes. When I found out, I was overcome by a fleeting feeling of disappointment. An overwhelming feeling of relief swiftly followed this.

Winning would have been great, especially as a self-published writer, the relief however, comes from no longer feeling the weight of expectation for what is to come.

However, this trip has been fantastic and long after the memories have turned sepia and curled around the edges, I won’t forget the feeling of joy, for being accepted and validated when I’d all but given up. This experience has given me the courage to continue writing, I now know that unlike what I’ve been told by some publishers, Lola’s story is plausible and there is an audience out there waiting to be taken on a journey through her life.

This is starting to sound like an Oscar speech, but I’ve got to thank the people I’ve been hanging with this last week. Nicky, you’ve been a brilliant mother to us all, herding us around and making sure we were in the right place at the right time. To my fellow writers, I’m honoured to be one of the eight finalists, to the judges who faced a daunting task and finally to Jen and Andrew the unsung heroes behind the scene whom made everything happen.

I’m gone, laters. ☺ Sx