Thanks ...it's in an agricultural office (which I know NOTHING about lol), but I think I'll just be needed to do general administratve work like filing, photocopying, answering phones etc etc. It's simple work really but I'm desperate for the money so i'll do anything! lol
*arrives drinking tea* I wish you good luck there, LaGs! =] My summer job...didn't go as well as I hoped. I didn't get one, so hopefully I can get a job on my campus during the semester.
But non-existent jobs are the best! Hope you find something! I just have one more semester left before I can start the awesome job searching process again.....
I just realized something...As of today, it's been seven years since I was bitten by the writing bug. Seven years since my Heridon Copper mysteries entered my head. I wonder if this is a sign?
^Nah, ignore it and just keep writing. Just had a bowl of ramen. Yum, yum Whatcha other guys doing tonight or rather, today? Anything exciting?
Instead of touching up my roots and redying them blonde, my grandma accidentally dyed them purple. Yes, I have purple roots and the rest of my hair is blonde.
(If the third-person perspective gets on anyone's nerves, lemme know and I'll cut it out.) Ollpheist walked into the tavern, noting the pleasant decor and the motley group of writers involved in their various discussions. After the stress in his own writing, he sat down and ordered a tall whiskey from the seemingly mythical bartender. The bartender poured the drink slowly, allowing Ollie to lose himself momentarily in the brown and amber swirls of the drink before nodding to the barkeep and passing over a few bills and a tip. Enjoying his drink slowly, Ollie felt the stress melt away, but the problems were still there. Work wasn't helping, nor were any of the well-intended but misguided ideas from his friends, who should've been familiar with his work. Perhaps a fresh perspective--and a tall glass of Irish wine--would help. As he began to lose himself again in the gentle tones of the liquid, Ollie snapped his attention back to the real world and smiled. "Hello, I guess I'm fairly new here. It's my first time to the Tavern, anyway. I'm glad to see this is a sensible place, and I look forward to getting to know all of you better."
I love that. You know, I always envision this place to be like The Prancing Pony or The Leaky Cauldron or some other such fantasy inn or pub -- darker lighting, small, warm fires and nice armchairs, and this motley group of writers (wonderful phrasing there!) sitting around, enjoying drinks and each others' company.
"Thank you. The bookstore where I attend a weekly writers' group has a cafe, and while the cafe itself is not fitting to your description, it does have a pastel painting emblazoned over the cafe's service bar. Portrayed in the painting are various classic authors (from Twain to Poe to Austen) sitting in such a scene. I love the aesthetic. Now if only they'd find music to match. It's difficult working on a hard science fiction zombie apocalypse novel when they're playing Madonna."
Tell me about it. I work in a gorcery store, and all the music is apparently "calming" stuff customers want to shop to, but it's all crap. I love the imagery of authors sitting together though. I can't tell you how many times I think about how much I'd love to sit next to Poe, Tolkien, Rowling (they can be alive, too!), and others and just talk about their stories and their inspirations. I think Tolkien and Rowling would be lovely to talk with.
"Yeah, if I could talk to Mark Twain and Edgar Allen Poe, I'd be very happy," Ollie said as he lifted his glass as if toasting two of his favored authors before taking a sip. The alcohol burned nicely, and relaxed Ollie away from his problems. He gently withdrew a pack of Lucky Strikes from his coat and held it up somewhat to indicate it. "Does anyone mind?" he asked, eying those in the room.
Ollie withdrew a cigarette, which looked stubby and rather much like a joint due to its lack of a filter. He was aware of the comparison every time he lit one up, though he'd never done a joint and didn't intend to. He let the thought fade away with the first curls of steel-blue smoke that licked at the tavern's ceiling. Slowly, he turned and regarded the newest unfamiliar face to him. "Ah, J.P. is it? I'm Ollpheist, or Ollie," he said, raising his glass and taking a sip.
(Thank you; you just literally made my day. ) "Nice to meet you, Gigi. At the risk of sounding like a writers' conference newbie, what is it you like to write?" Ollie asked, setting his cigarette in a conveniently imagined ashtray and ignoring the drink for a moment as the alcohol began to work its magic in his blood.
I gave a faint smile to the man sitting in the tavern, drinking a hard drink. He smelled of cigarettes and was clouded in a miasma of smoke. His features were clouded and hidden within shadows of burnt smoke. "A pleasure Ollie," I said calmly sitting next to him, "You can call me Clyde or J whichever suits your fancy."
It's almost eleven am where I live I've been up since before seven... What's everyone up to today? Right now, I'm at my local library researching some stuff.
