Man this must be the life

        
           My dearest,

Am I the only one working past midnight

perhaps. I am like a owl, except they tolerate the night hours better. I find that the hours of writing happens late.  Oui I also confess, I respond to emails After midnight.

For the big news,

 Hence, I will no longer be accepting literary agents. At this moment. I feel beyond honored but literally I cannot entertain the idea of being social or being Interviewed at all. Maybe Till perhaps the summer of this year, Oui ou non?

After I have completed 6 books, I should revise everyone’s interest at that point. Till then I shall sip tea, eat dark chocolats, stay hidden from the world, maybe after next week Et mind my own business
I am yet to answer to many emails, which is awkward Et simply delightful from agents wanting to represent moi. I would have naturally been jumping of a plane, with such glee,  but as I work continuously on my books, my standards Loathe the scent of mediocrity.
Well that’s done, now I must read 100 pages. I should be sleeping on the floor, literally it’s how I read. Et voila I fall asleep. I am an exciting creature.
Awkward  non? Hey never mind my many sitting rooms, it’s for decorations. My husband was right.
I live in a museum

I am a simple writer as of late.

Use your chairs my fellow citizens.

Asseoir.

I bid you bonsoir,  RSps. I have completely ditched
my violin for this song,
I think monsieur Bach
Et Schubert are weeping for me. 

“Maybe we could take a drive,
maybe we could
hit the 405…
man this must be the life 🤷🏼‍♀“  *Obviously someone never had fun or adventures