I would rent a cheap room room at the Merchants Inn and, like Hemingway at La Closerie des Lilas in Paris, nurse a bottle of Cheap Wine at a corner table of The Feed Bag during the day while I wrote the amazing multi-volume account of how I, Pseron Wyrd, happened, against all odds, to travel from earth to Nirn.
Why the Imperial City? Because that's where the big publishing houses and well-connected literary agents are located. A short walk will take me from my agent's office to my daytime haunt at The Feed Bag, where I will get drunk and boast about my adventures fighting Mountain Lions in The Great Forest to anyone who will buy me a bottle of Tamika's. Afterwards I will stumble, drunk, back to my rented room at The Merchant's Inn.
Once my exciting story became a best-seller I would use my millions of Septims in royalties to buy up the entire town of Water's Edge, erect a six-foot wall around it, and spend the remainder of my days giving interviews and writing incisive op-ed pieces for the Black Horse Courier.
What would I take with me? A large backpack containing photographs of my daughter, my treasured six-inch plastic action figure of Xena: Warrior Princess (which, as I type this, I am dismayed to realize is twenty years old this year) and paperback copies of Ulysses, Naked Lunch and On The Road. There is nothing else I need. Everything else I might require, such as clothes and writing materials, could be found in Cyrodiil.