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I use fiction like sunglasses, to see the world but to keep myself secret from it.

I am a writer.

I’m a student of it actually. I’ve just given up my career to study it full time at University. And I thought if I’m telling all my friends and family that I want to spend the rest of my life writing, well, I’d better get started.

And so the idea for this blog was born.

This is an experiment. A learning curve. Like the last twelve years of my life since finishing high school.  Again, I don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m determined to do it anyway.

Giving up a fulltime, well paying, successful job at 30 isn’t cool, by the way. Everyone was against it. Especially to study writing.

‘You won’t make any money out of that’.

The most common response. As if going back to University to study law, medicine or something that would make money was okay – but to follow my heart and love of writing was not.

It’s hard to go against the will of the people you love, when you know they want to cocoon you and keep you safe, to do the dangerous thing and make the crazy choice. And the scary thing is that I don’t know if this will make me any happier. What if I become a full-time writing, and the mononoty of writing is as soul-crushing as being a human resource manager?

My mom thinks I’m going through a mid-life crisis after my fiancé broke up with me. And sometimes I find myself biting my nails at 2am, wondering if she’s right? So I’m single. A student. Broke. Overweight. Living in a sharehouse. And this is how I tumbled into my thirties…