Chapter One: Why I Like Tea and Scones When it Rains

Okay, so I'm not jumping right in to the writing autobiography. Mostly because I only have about ten minutes until the scones are done, and that isn't enough time to document the long, tumultuous story of how Just Hanna became Hanna the Aspiring Author.

What I want to say now is only that, today, on my day off, I am experiencing a state of elevated bliss which can only be achieved through the presence of these specific elements:

- A steady downpour outside, fully visible through a balcony window.
- Jazz music.
- Goldish lamplight.
- The promise of a good book and a good movie, for later.
- A dog and a cat with sleepy afternoon expressions.
- The smell of raisin scones and Irish breakfast tea, shortly to be served with clotted cream and blackberry jam.

For some reason, dismal weather seems to positively scream "Tea and Scones" to me. Maybe this is because their native environment is prone to being grey and rainy, or maybe it's just a result of my having had a PERFECT tea once upon a time on a rainy day in Salisbury.

[Sidenote: don't you think "grey" spelled with an "e" should be applied to things like skies, and rain, and clouds, and oceans, whereas "gray" with an "a" should be reserved for eyes, fabrics, and all things Tolkien-elvish?]

All this is to say that, despite the fact that I currently have a deceased Rosemary topiary slumped in my kitchen sink, I am having an absolutely top-notch day off.

Pilot. (Or, more appropriately, Prologue.)

I've never been opposed to the idea of blogging. However, like Twitter (which I recently joined in a rapturous, drooling-fan sort of way to follow J.K. Rowling), it has always struck me as somewhat not-for-me. But I'm beginning to wonder if it isn't... actually. Especially with the realization that my intended profession is beginning to operate very internetly (of course it's a word), and puts a lot of stock in these electronic modes of social networking.

So the conclusion is: I'm blogging now, to no specific end, as one might take up spelunking or scrapbooking without any clear idea of whether one will really need it in the long-run.

But isn't that just how life is? (Insert pensive sigh.)

In any event, welcome to my life, or my Life in Words. And so long for now, dear Reader, because it is nearly ten a.m., and Ophelia still hasn't had her morning walk. She's getting yellow eyes, as my father would say.

Until next time, when we begin chapter one.