The Dream Job by Fran Brady
If someone had ever asked me what my dream job would be, I would have said sitting in a peaceful place making up stories. And that is exactly what my writing life was like when I took my first tentative steps ten years ago. I had this elderly laptop that didn't do the internet: no interruptions ( you've got mail!); no temptations to google, youtube, pinterest, facebook, twitter or any other irresistible time-waster. I dazzled myself with the number of words I could write. I marvelled at how characters developed and drove the dialogue and plot. I spontaneously woke up every morning, bright as a button, at about 5.00 am, made myself a huge mug of coffee and settled down to write, write, write. It was bliss. I wrote two novels in two years, sent them off to some publishers and waited for global recognition. It may have been bliss but it was also a fool's paradise. Global recognition played remarkably coy and hard-to-get. I carried on writing because it had become a part ...