My housemate Rachel wrote the following about me:
The Writer
She narrowed her eyes and stared up at the ceiling, not entirely sure what to do next. Not that it mattered. She would finish her latest manuscript even if it meant forgoing sleep, forgoing household chores, or even forgoing food. Her housemates would be quick to point out that these were all fairly standard practice, and not at all indicative of a deep and complex grappling with her craft, although that was entirely beside the point. A wisp of a thought curled through her mind, but even as she tried to catch it and constrict it into words on a page, it vanished. “Ah well,” she said aloud, “another milky tea should do the trick.”
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