My first prose poem in English !
A BIG thanks to Marguerita, who worked a lot on the correction !
And to Johnny, my first reader.
I’m not sitting at my desk. I’m fighting Evil. With my Dragon : « Brisingr ». It means « Fire » in our magical language.
No, I’m not at my computer, working for Humans. I work for myself. It’s hard. But I like it. That’s my true life. I’m chasing adventures.
I don’t take the bus. No. Because, I fly with Brisingr through the air. My white Dragon. White like the snow. Like the old winters in the Vikings’ mountains. My white Dragon can breathe fire like Hell.
It will be a cold day in Hell.
I don’t eat in the canteen. I take my lunch in an old and strange tavern, in the middle of nowhere and I don’t drink Guinness either. No, I drink Hydromel. Sitting close to the fireplace, during the night, with strangers all over the place. Drinking, singing and whispering.
I don’t have a phone or keep a track of time. Time is nothing. I watch the stars to know the days, the years and the hours. It’s not about one month, it’s all about one full moon to the next one,
I don’t live in the real World.
I’m a Writer. I have Magic.