Ever since I read Virginia Woolf's A Room of Ones Own I knew I wanted nothing more than a quiet room of my own, a stipend or wage of sorts, and enough time and space to write, or more properly to think. All that seems a little crazy on paper, but it was where I was … Continue reading Interview Day and Keeping Going
Virginia Woolf
Slave to the pen, and the (non) Grinding out of Words
Many moons ago, when I was in full time paid pensionable decent law abiding comfortable employment, the type that enables one to live a fairly bourgeois existence, I used write a lot of poetry, mostly in the evenings, and the occasional short story. Sometimes I used get paid for the work I did, money I … Continue reading Slave to the pen, and the (non) Grinding out of Words
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