Saturday, 28 December 2013

Nothing a little polyfilla won't fix

I always thought it was important for me as a writer to have my own house. I wanted the security and the settled-ness that would free me to let my writing explore the unsettled. I set my mind to this goal when we lived in Regina in the early 90s and houses could be had for less than $20,000 (mind you, those were usually sinking into the prairie gumbo). The one we eventually bought was about 700 square feet and could be had for monthly payments (spread out over 25 years) of $400. I had my "office" in a cramped corner of the bedroom. The walls had very little insulation and some winter days, if I pulled out the desk, I saw frost on the wall. Still, it was my place and I wrote two books there. These little houses in Detroit, scarred by bullet holes, are being made over into places for writers. I would think they'd be haunted with stories.

write a house

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