I knew I’d keep this site random!  The photo above is very reminiscent of my writer’s creative voice… the one that never goes to sleep.

Contrary to mythical belief, being a writer isn’t as aristocratic as one might glean the image, although I speak solely for myself.  A near-unattainable hybrid-esque market, the niche is all about the ‘know’.  My morning commences much a habitual regulation—Chihuahuas in tow—as a muddling of tatty papers askew the desk, obscuring it completely.  Dim illumination floats through the air as if an omniscient life form to the barrage of stuff beside my computer screen… and yes, I finally begin.  There are generally, albeit I say shamelessly, three cups of cold coffee within arms reach decorating the corners of a silver Tiffany’s picture frame that houses an award I received last year for outstanding artistry by a poet.  Yay me!

Reference books, bulging notepads with unkempt spirals look like words with broken spines, a relic Corona typewriter implies an air of mystery, files, folders, pens, Sharpies, crinkled stamps, manuscripts, and a variable amount of other random(-y) chaos awaits.  It runneth over…literally.

More tomorrow.

Outfit: Shirt, F21.  Slip and shorts, Old Navy. Cuff, Vintage.  Shoes, Nine West.

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