You might not know me, do you? My name is Vanessa Cavendish. I own and operate what started out as a nursery slash greenhouse slash gift shop and has since turned into a minor tourist attraction out south of town. I call it Repurpose Farm. I probably should’ve gone with my gut and called it Recluse Farm, but with my luck, that might’ve only compounded the mystique of it all and give me what they call a paradoxical result.
I built my house and my shop and most of my outbuildings out of cob and straw bale, galvanized sheet metal and whatever else I could lay my hands on, because that’s what I could afford. Nowadays folks show up by the busload, Sundays included, and as flabbergasted as I am by it all, I don’t have the heart to turn them away. It makes trying to get anything written a royal pain in the–do I have to say “behind” or do you got your big girl pants on? So anyway, I have to remind myself on a daily basis that everything else I do is to keep me supplied with ink and ambition.
One thing else. I keep a ten gauge close to hand. I shoot from the hip and I write the way a certain blind friend of mine plays piano: partly by ear and the rest by heart. So don’t even think about correcting my grammar.
Did I say that with enough sugar on it?