"Writers don't have lifestyles. They sit in little rooms and write." — Norman Mailer.
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This was not how his life was supposed to be, Ben thought to himself as he found himself digging through an oak tree at twelve in the night. How had his life come to this?
After Scarlett had informed him of the latest happenings, Ben had paid a stupendous amount of money to the taxi driver - he couldn't resist the money- to drive him over to her hometown.
It had taken him six hours to arrive at the little town with a population of three thousand that occasionally increases during festive periods, mostly Christmas. Anyway, he had arrived at nine in the night and tactically made inquiries about Oaktree.
