Confess: Northern Italy, a little villa, watching four seasons worth of sunsets while I feverishly write my masterly novel; later published to critical acclaim, family members launching defamation cases merely garnering further attention for my runaway success as Quentin Tarantino begs for movie rights.
Six months in Italy and France, (my own nurturing gig) triggered a book infused with a whole dose of humbleness which triggered a whole raft of prograstinating gratuituous oversharing as we reach the end of first draft. Here I offer a wee glimpse into the ruminations of an aspiring writer.
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