Im really inspired by this author- anya peters.
cause she's a sunday times bestseller of th book, abandoned [as shown above] and yet she's homeless.
unbelievable?
yeah. its true.
she has been homeless for more than 2 years, living on streets in mountains and stuff.
she doesnt have a job, she doesnt have friends and people look down on her cause she's homeless
then she goes to the library and sets up a blog and posts about her everyday life, about surviving, about how people diss her and about life.
its really cool. go check out her web www.wanderingscribe.blogspot.com
and then this publisher (?) finds out about her so she writes a book or something.
and now its sunday times bestseller
how amazing is that?
i found out about her through readers' digest

anyway,just a random extract from febrauary 2006 from wanderingscribe.bs.com,

My body is deformed from all this cold and fear. Woke with stiff, painful joints, and every muscle, in every part of me, feels like flint. Today, all I want to do is lay down on a flat surface. A hard, flat, warm surface; before I collapse down. I need some hint from my muscles, that one day, when all this cold is finally over, they will be able to slide back down again, nearer to where they once were.

Frustrating that I can’t find anywhere to do that — but there just isn't. Considered dragging one of the sleeping bags off into the middle of the woods yesterday, to stretch out on a bed of last year’s leaves. Would have been very muddy, but in the end felt too unsafe to go. Would be too exposed out there in a sleeping bag, where anyone could be watching from behind one of the trees, someone out with binoculars, peering through branches. Someone who might follow me back and realise that I am the woman from the laneway — the madwoman, who is living there alone in her car. I'm not, mad, but if anyone comes by I let them think I am, if they think you're mad they leave you alone. I try to visualise the enormous seagulls that used to land on the wooden tables outside cafe's, their mad, yellow eyes, swivelling with killer instinct, as they strutted about terrorising the tourists, daring them with those insane eyes to make one false move. When anyone walks past when I'm in the car I harden my face and think that look into my eyes. But out of the laneway things are different. Couldn’t bear the other people I come across during the day to discover this double life I am leading.

credits: www.wanderingscribe.blogspot.com