Harriet Gausman whose real name I don’t know, unless that is her real name and there is no other Harriet Gausman in the known universe, asked me to write a column, a regular column, a piece of blog, a wooden log, for this esteemed online journal.

Now, as those of you who know me, know, I am never short of words, only inches. In the last (and first) Milk Wood newsletter Harri describes me as a “funny little fellow with loud shoes”. This is, I am sure, not meant as an insult. It might help you avoid me if you should come across my persona, my avatar, my masked gentleman, on the islands that house Virtual Writers, Inc. (Run by Harri) and Bookstacks, a fabulous venue hosted and maintained by Simeon Beresford and Kghia Gherardi and various Milk Wood implements far too numerous to list. To cut this rather long introduction short: you know that I’m approaching you if you see someone looking like Benjamin Franklin. This might be a good moment to remember one of the quotes from school – like this:

“A house is not a home unless it contains food and fire for the mind as well as the body.”

Which brings me to the central topic of my first post: the importance of a proper home for the virtual writer. After all, we must imagine him as someone who has little space for his art in real life: hence, he branches out into the metaverse. Perhaps he must make do with nothing else but a desk or, as in my case, not even a desk, just a laptop computer, in his cherished family home (we assume he cherishes his family – if not, there is a whole bunch of other problems for which I know no medicine grown virtually). In his second life, which he hopes, may become his first life one day, when he receives the credit he knows he deserves for his writing (or rather, for the writing he will then do and have done – for the time being, he is still content to be a writer in the making), he can create an environment conducive to his fantasy of a writer at small cost.

What's a bath without thy pen?

What the unsuspecting visitor will find in your chosen virtual writing and dwelling place, I do not know. In my place, he finds everything for which there is no space nor pecunary basis: a finely crafted wooden desk with a typewriter made 1850 (and still functional), a grand piano which requires no lessons or pain to be played beautifully, a bathtub whose water is hot and steaming all the time, soft rugs that stroke the sole of the feet, a large bed with plenty of so-called pose balls, the most favourite of mine is “restless”, a state of lolling about in odd positions looking for inspiration and/or sleep, and, last but not least, a wall-size media installation, less harmfully called a “tv” in the real world, where the writer can enjoy in-world broadcasts, movie trailers, music videos and even the odd adult flick to be watched in secret while at work under the rendered blanket. (Is watching porn in-world too gross an image for you? sure it’s as boring as in real life – but we must deal with it – virtual writers come in all sizes, straight and bent, tall and small, and whatever they may may do with their bodies, they’re all on the same mental road to writer’s heaven, where everyone gets published and read and where applause is not withheld but hangs on trees and falls in our laps ripe and juicy, a pleasure to behold.)

In front of this house which is a thatched cottage rented from Harriet Gausman, is a lawn from which I watch the surf. Seals play in the waves – I tried to catch them once and got wetter than my cousin Jay the fisherman. On the lawn, I peddle in-world books for in-world reading and a free t-shirt, which I ask my fan community to wear on the high holidays and when the weather allows. There is a bench under a rose bush where you can enjoy the view. The land is yours for the looking and for the electronic touching.

Gathering dust and cottage thoughts

Right next to my rental lies Gypsy Camp where writers meet on week days (Monday, Wednesday, Friday) for one hour of writing meant to be undisturbed, but often the opposite if whoever attends or hosts the meeting (currently Nitewanderer Webwyre also known for his dark fantasy writer’s group) provides banter giving rise to plentiful procrastination. I often emerge from these meetings with less words to my name but more wisdom under my brocade vest.

Ah yes, the vest, and the jacket, and the glasses and…there is a whole lot more to virtual writing than housing – and writing. But that’s for another article. For now, forgive my ramblings, come see the motley crew in Milk Wood, Awen, and for Linden’s sake wear my t-shirt when you meet me there!

Virtually yours,

Flawnt Alchemi

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