Sometimes, I admit, I really love primitive scenarios of writing on a type-writer in a secluded spot somewhere, ‘far away’.
There’s something so liberal about that notion..
And if I could make it work that way for me, for some period of time, I would..
One summer in Greece, by chance, I found a perfect little white-washed house right above a beach and away from the Mykonos town hoopla.
I could very distinctly and lucidly visualize myself there, exercising my creative and literary liberties, extracting inspiration from the simplest things like the palette of the Aegean and the types of wind lashing around..
I think that fantasy is just going to hunt me until I make it a reality.
Yet, somehow, it seems even more distant, right here and right now.