these days, I’m spending my time with a few interesting characters who are taking up an increasing amount of real estate in my brain. one of them is an octopoidal monster. another is an aging hippie named Spring. there’s also Isobel, a slightly naive reporter. and the most dastardly of the bunch is the mastermind behind the ultimate conspiracy, aka the Evil Genius. I’ve been letting them rattle and ramble around up there, bumping over the furniture and unearthing old dusty forgotten junk I thought I’d thrown away.

I’ve been humouring them by taking their whispering voices seriously, stepping into their shoes and looking at the world through another pair of eyes. in return they shyly reveal more of themselves, unfolding a new leaf every now and then, sometimes stretching out whole branches. they’re so delicate, sensitive to cold winds and hard knocks. they’re like unborn children.

every now and then, when I go out into that place called “The Real World,” people ask me what I’m doing with my time now that I’m unemployed. and I mumble something about volunteering, and starting work on my masters, and enjoying the time I spend at home. which makes me think I am coming across as a lazy toad, and I usually follow up with some kind of apologetic statement about looking for work, I really must start working, I’m really going to find work soon, yes I am definitely going to get on that. I’m not sure whether I am protecting myself from the judgements of others about the likelihood of becoming a successful published novel writer, or whether I am simply acting in the best interests of my delicate embryos.

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