Work Text:
I always thought of wanting to be a writer like Mrs. Marcela Cruz. Her books are intriguing adventures that delve unto topics that were rarely touched upon. It's a shame that she had to hide her writing prowess under Brigitte Boswell, which I'd say is a rather comforting pseudonym that suits her. It made me ponder whether or not to use one like that, too, by the time I decide to write...
Well, now that I'm seeing my two friends just beyond the shoreline, doing nothing but enjoying each other's company, I think of sticking to being myself. My own name plastered on a novel cover, telling all about a story inspired by my friends, Beth and Sophie.
It took me a while to muster up the courage to quit my job at the Clarington Hotel. After hearing many shortcomings from Sophie about Bernard's brazen demeanor one night at Beth's bar, I decided I'd do the same and quit... well, in solidarity for Beth, I reckon, but I won't be telling her that: she'd tease me to no end about it.
Once I was out of a job, I took whatever savings I have to buy my own typewriter, and just write away a blooming tale of love. A love that knows no boundaries, no matter when it happens. A love that can sometimes heighten the genuine warmth of summertime traipsing through my own skin, and that is the case for my friends who were first my colleagues. my workmates, once upon a winter's dream.
