Austin Mullen
Excerpt:
I slip onto a faded vinyl stool at a low counter peppered with disposable chopstick wrappers and soy sauce packets. "Irasshaimase," the old man calls without turning around. "Gochuumon wa?" "Ramen," I say quietly, without looking at the menu. He pauses, nearly turns around, decides against it. "Extra pork," I say, in English, and his head bows minutely. Noodles, sauce, pork into the pot: a dash of scallion, a pinch of bonito, and then, barely perceptibly, something else, something clear and liquid and slightly acrid-smelling. He smells but does not taste, adds another pinch of salt and, satisfied, pours it into a bowl, turns to face me finally with knowing eyes.
Bio:
Wandering child staying in the City of Literature that's not Edinburgh. I miss the seas and the mountains, but most of all I miss the trees. Currently preparing my life to uproot to a tiny island on the other side of the world, to study the people there and the people around them.
Writing Description:
I make things up and write them down. Mostly impossible things.
Writing Goals:
I am going to impose the structure that I've long lacked by writing for 30 minutes a day, every day.
Website:
twitter.com/eleraama
