'I hope you're keeping a journal,' said everyone, ever.
Honestly, if I had a pound for every time this phrase has been spouted in my direction, well, I'd be able to relay all my unfortunate events in a notepad made of solid gold. Alas, I'm tapping away on an iPad that keeps falling over. But I am on a plane to Bermuda, feeling pretty badass even in economy. I'm also blaming the fidgety women in front for the unstable writing conditions.
So to satisfy the masses (and so my mother doesn't have to listen to my rants on the phone every day), I'm doing the only thing I know how and writing about it (ish). I've played with the idea of personal diaries, secret Tumblr accounts and, this, publicly posting where everyone can put a face to the faux pas. Somethings might stay private (I won't be naming and shaming, simply sharing thought pieces), but given that I'm a writer by trade (lols), I'll probably just plaster everything here and hope for the best.
Or I might continue to put my faith in nothing but Lindsey Kelk books and count the days until I spontaneously leg it to New York. Place your bets wisely.
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