One of the things I quickly learned about a writer's life is that it is nowhere near as glam as I imagined. I always pictured writers swanning about, laughing it up with all their writer mates, and watching the royalties roll in.
Instead, I spend my days wrapped up in a Primark robe to keep from freezing, watching the crazy people forage for food in the bin outside my window.
Of course, I'm not a published fiction writer (here's where the optimism kick in) -- yet. I'm sure once my words hit the printing press, my life will dramatically change. I won't snack on dried nuts left over from last Christmas. I'll swap my robe for cashmere -- or maybe even splurge and buy a space heater.
Until then, there's always