LIFESTYLE Bohemia is a dirty word. At least it was to an ex of mine who used it as an insult to cover an array of aspects of my life he couldn’t cope with – ‘You’re so... erm, bohemian’ he would spit, before glaring into the shallows of his bitter pint. I irritated him even more by being happy with that label. He was right. I am and I don’t mean in the wears-the-same-boots-as-Sienna-Miller hijacked shoddy heat magazine redefinition of the word either. As such, rewind to January 2008 and you won’t be too surprised to find that, while I may not be cutting off my ear in Paris I am in San Franscisco, my new favourite place, I am sitting at the bar of Vesuvio, on my last few dollars, swapping scrawled poems for drinks with understanding bar staff, and slyly people watching. I am also, finally, writing my first book. All around me a serious-looking literary crowd of writers, wannabe writers and culture vulture tourists are sipping from misty liquid. Murmuring. ...
Posts from life as a writer and publishing editor...