I’m living with another writer.
You’d think – or envision – a bit of genius going on at work perhaps a lot of grunting going on as we type our fingers to a stubs and hating one another for writing more, being inspired more than the other. Writers are apparently mean and anti-social beings. I can imagine a household of writers being a great place for a scene of a crime.
“It was Tolkien with the candlestick in the study!”
But rather than words the genius in the house has been in the kitchen.
The oven… Cookies.. 500 grams of cooking butter gone in two weeks. A stove top of meat-balls and the house-mate with a chocolate moustache and goatee. Thick cocoa clouds mingled with parsely and basil grabbed in handfuls from the pot. Lovely. My house-mate has a type-writer so she’s got that vintage air of a writer about her. But she like, totally sold out man, when she got her e-reader.
I am back at uni and it feels like a home for my brain to rest in. It is a feeling I can’t really explain but I suppose it fits in that neat little word “purpose.” It’s not a very romantic word a bit ho-hum but at least the word means business. I guess I often wish that my chosen career path to pursue wasn’t so ERGHHH-like and that I could do something easier – to get a job that is. But I want to give it my best shot and for now I am happy trying.
My novel teacher is Toni Jordan which I very excited! The year is off to a good start. I hope things are good with you as well.