Write What You Love

Reader, we can all agree I’m at the top of my game, professionally, academically, and socially. As everyone knows, life is made up of these three components, and, yes, I’ve reached the peak of success in every aspect of my existence. Observe the following thoughts:


It’s a universal truth that a successful professional life is marked by sudden, violent and unplanned career changes. In the last year, I’ve received money for

  • teaching English,
  • writing dumb stupid words,
  • serving coffee,
  • shrugging off bed bugs,
  • writing smart words,
  • pretending to care about the fashion industry,
  • putting words in one language into another language, and (who can forget)
  • being just absolutely adorable and generally universally attractive.*

*I mean I got tips for being cute af.

As you can see, my professional development has been as tumultuous as it has been completely healthy and great. Everything that’s gone on has happened entirely on purpose and I’m at peace with my plans for the future. No, I’m not worried I’m going to wake up one morning, middle aged, and realise I’ve had eighty jobs in six years. What was the question?


Ah, learning. Truly the thinking man’s McDonald’s, as I often quip to my fellow students. Just as fast food is the stuffing of greasy nourishment into your stupid face, learning is the ramming of fatty words into your dumb head. I can’t think of a better metaphor, and I doubt anyone else could either.

I’m back at university now, having failed to find a suitably rich husband in my two years on the Continent. Back at Plato’s bosom, as I remarked to a fellow student on the tram. “Who are you?” the student replied.

I’m a full-time student once more, and, as we all agree, doing something all the time means you must be good at it, engaged with the process, and in control of your decisions.

As far as achievement goes, I read a whole book about referencing last night, so I have a lot to be proud of.


Ah, romance. Truly the sensitive man’s McDonald’s, as I often quip to people I’m trying to seduce. Just as fast food is the stuffing of lipid beef into your fat mouth, romance is the ramming of destructive feelings into your congested heart.

You might think success in romance should be characterised by e.g. having a stable, loving relationship, bringing out the best in the people you’re with, raising an otter together e.t.c. e.t.c. e.t.c.. No! That’s bullshit. True success in romance, as I mutter every night when I tuck myself in, means being fine with being single. Why win the game, when you could just not play it? And, about 30% of the time, I think being single is great. So, you know. Doing just fine, aren’t I.

Yes, I feel comfortable saying it: I am at peak Rosie right now. My life is almost without any drawbacks. If someone begged me to name something I’m not happy with – and, reader, I sense that you are doing that – and I managed to prevent myself from saying something glib about depression, I would be hardpressed to put my finger on anything.

Reading back that sentence, I realised it basically means: “I love my life! If you forget about the crippling mental health disorder.” More high quality introspection from Ro Daniels. You are welcome.

If that same person got quite cross and insisted that I try harder to name just one fucking thing I would like to improve about my life (and I avoided saying something flippant about brain chemistry), I would have to admit that I’d like to improve my skills as a writer.

“But Rosie!” I hear you exclaim. “You’re already such a talented writer. Your work has been featured in such varied publications as your school magazine and your friend’s blog. You have already reached the peak of literary achievement. I was thinking about liking and sharing your blog. You write dialogue so well.”

Yes, and thank you, reader, that’s all true. I am a genius. Unfortunately, whilst you and I seem to be in agreement, the public at large has yet to buy into my crushingly depressing brand of comedy writing. And, yeah, you and I both know that those philistines ought to change their perspectives and not be so closed minded, but even so – I find myself wondering whether my universal unpopularity might be down to me actually, deep down, being a fairly shit writer.

In a display of sycophancy that still makes my toes curl (although, I insist, I was being sincere), I asked the editor of Oko! to give me some writing tips. After all, I thought to myself, if he can make me – notorious land developer that I am – care about conservation in the Tatras, he’s clearly a talented boi.

I wanted to link you directly to the superlative article, but I couldn’t figure out how to do. Just read the whole goddamn magazine, you know you want to.

Leigh recommended I practice and try to write about things I love. He said that he’d always loved English at school, from which I understood that he’d had a childhood full of books and scribbling stories in the back of his exercise books. I reread the article of his I’d particularly liked, and it did seem to me that I could sense the author’s excitement – although, thinking back, the six coffees I’d had might have been giving me heart palpitations. Passion oozed out of the website into my little eyes.


This is great advice for anyone with legitimate interests and passions. I was sure that following Leigh’s advice would improve my literacy no end, but doubts were running through my mind. How can you write about what you love if you hate everything? What if you’re dead inside? What if, like me, your main interests are cuddling bread and thinking about Death?

“You’re being silly now, Rosalind,” I said out loud, scaring the other people in the lift. “There are many things that you love.” I slammed my hand on the emergency button, and in the time it took fireofficers [the gender neutral term for people who put out fires] to cut us free from the elevator, I compiled the following list of things I love. Be prepared for lots of content about…

  • dark liquid (coffee, beer, the moisture you get from squeezing moss);
  • cranes (paper, feather, industrial);
  • toilets;
  • punching people when you see yellow cars.

I can hardly wait!


  1. retiredmartin · Sep 26, 2019

    But Rosie!. You’re already such a talented writer. You have already reached the peak of literary achievement. I was thinking about liking and sharing your blog. You write dialogue so well.

    By the way, what’s wrong with cuddling sourdough and thinking about death ?

    Liked by 1 person

    • death and the penguin · Sep 28, 2019

      there’s nothing WRONG with it per say, but people seem sick of me constantly telling them about yeast and mortality xox


  2. Nelson · Sep 26, 2019

    You ARE a gifted writer, actually. It does take time to find our true voice and niche. You also have the gift – but some might call it a curse, as I have many times over the years, to SEE, through the facade, the persona of people and culture. How to deal with that and how to express that can be a real challenge. The process during such searching and exploration can be slow and arduous. Can elicit depression even….don’t let that seduce you into omplacency. Use it to ingite the fire of your heroes quest. Go forth with boldness!. You have really inspired me here today, Ro, thank you!!! ((((((Hugs))))))💜

    Liked by 1 person

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