Ashland Pym

The day my shelves stopped being perfectly organised was the day I entered academia.

I lied. I didn’t write a word in the more-than week we had no power. I felt guilty, but I felt more guilty that I didn’t WANT to.

In the days after the power came back, I had a flood of ideas.

I guess I needed a rest. Or I don’t write well on survival mode.

Take it easy on yourselves, writers.

Also, it will surprise no one that the current book is deeply cottagecore. Also, a bunch of these fly agarics appeared in my garden last fall.

While we surveyed the damage done by Éowyn, this lovely lady was glued to my shoulder. She is now officially featured in every book I write moving forward.

What a year. Finally back after Storm Éowyn knocked out power and mobile phones two Fridays ago. The shitgibbon is back in office. A bunch of fraudulent charges made to my bank account.

But hey, I learned how to cook over candles. Ate a lot of salads. Oh, and did some writing.

Know me, know my typewriter. Say hello to my 1960s Baby Hermes, so named for the Greek god of language and writing. Aesthetically I prefer something Victorian, perhaps Edwardian, but this one is easier on my hands. Also, Hermes.