8.3.

Rita was frustrated – pacing the room.

“Max – please, listen to me. You’ve got it all wrong – you don’t have to actually do something to write about it.”

“Don’t you?”

“Of course not! Dostoyevsky’s greatest novel was about a brilliant young student who brutally murdered an old lady and spent the whole novel worrying about whether he should be worrying about it.”

“Really – and that was great? Sounds like another thrill killing to me – you see stories like that on television every day.”

“It’s not the story that matters!” Rita stressed.

“Isn’t it?”

Max was quite enjoying himself – he thought it was amazing that she was so passionate about all of this – so intensely negative.

“No – the talent is in the writing! Talented writers can take any story and make it great. But that’s not the point. What you don’t seem to understand is that Dostoyevsky wrote about it, but he didn’t actually do it.”

“Well… that’s a bit different from what I…”

“No it’s not – it’s normal!”

Rita slumped into the chair beside the mirror.

“Max – you know nothing about writing do you? Writers use their imagination! They write stories about things they’ve never done and characters they’ve never been… all the time – it’s not personal. You don’t have to try to be all those people yourself!”

She glared at him – got that… stupid!

“Obviously you’re right, but with some things…”

“Of course I’m right! Listen to me – I’ve got a degree in creative writing! And I know that if you seriously want to write you need to be in a comfortable place… with access to a good library…  someone to look after you… and… you know, really, the best place for you to start your writing career would probably be…”

Let’s guess…

         “London.”