For those expecting a gushing post akin to a typical DH Lawrence novel , look elsewhere! We are talking more reclusive stuff here. (Take a look at the blog heading if you aren't convinced).
I dream of sitting in a coffee shop. The dark,Bohemian one's that exist only in movies and books. The kind that are haunted by writers, poets, rebles and the unemployed (I come under all four categories). I dream of writing my first novel on the napkins with a leaky gel pen (I stopped using ink pens because they slow me down). I don't talk much, I just write. I take ages to finish the cup of coffee. I start when the shop opens and leave at sunset. I don't know where my home is so I just wander the streets watching people. I write about all that I see.
In reality I would never use a pseudonym, but my alter-ego is content with a pseudonym for the sake of privacy. There is still more to come, for none of it ever ends. It plays like a broken record.