Waiting for the gates to open

Late February and most of March, I do very little on the writing front. I try to settle into my new life in Sydney, and make the last of the summer weather. I am concious of an active avoidance of my writing, though I make some efforts to write in my journal (which seems to be a nonstop lament about my insecurities and my rather grim sex and love life). I also send amusing amusing little email updates to my friends and family around the world (which are the subject of my manabouttheworld blog).

I attend a course at the University of Sydney on what publishers are looking for in travel writers. God, there are a lot of keen people here. I hate them. They network with a rapacity during the break, smarm up to the teachers and the publishers. I can't stand it. So during the break I go outside into the autumn sunshine and phone my friends. One of the panelists remarks that if you make more than $50,000 (presumably Australian, and that doesn't improve the financial picture) as a travel writer, you are doing well. Yikes. It ain't good.