I am in Oxford—the Mecca of fantasy literature and definitely one of the literary Meccas of all genres. Tolkien. Lewis. Pullman. Carroll. Shelley. Auden. Hardy. Eliot. Golding. Huxley. Dr Seuss. Wilde. Greene.
I’m sitting next to the river with my back comfort-ably leaning against an ages-old tree, and I can feel my mind wandering imaginatively. The paths, the ancient buildings, the trees’ dryad/Entish souls whispering in the breeze...This is the perfect setting to foster so many inspiring stories. As I was walking through here, I was overwhelmed by the number of greats who walked here before me and how many brilliant, creative thoughts they must have had while walking those same paths.
As anyone can see, I am enjoying Oxford much more than Brighton. Both the place and the hostel suit me infinitely better. The hostel is cleaner, less rowdy, more accommodating, and oh yeah, my roommates are all females. The hostel is also family-friendly and is filled with people of many ages, not juts college students looking to get drunk. (As I sit here writing, I’m hoping some of the tourists on ‘rowboat’ tours think I’m a student here. Just because I would love to be one!)
I’m going to keep wandering now.
P.S. The tree I’m leaning against fits my back perfectly...it’s destiny! :-)
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