Other tales of making ends meet, included one young publicist moving to Washington Heights under the hospices of a demented room mate before saving herself and sanity and caving in and taking out a bank loan and finally moving out. Then there was my tale-My glamorous life as a broke artist. To say it brought a pall of despair amongst the roomful of aspiring writers was an understatement, not to mention a degree of nerves on my behalf reading in front of the collective- one of the pitfalls of sharing ones work in intimate surroundings. Oh well…
