This was yesterday. Today was, at least briefly, brighter.
Appropriately, or perhaps inappropriately, enough, yesterday I also started reading Orhan Pamuk's Other Colours. Perhaps these collected short pieces of a wonderful writer will help to unblock my own words. Or perhaps they'll have the opposite effect - why bother? In general, though, good writing, especially good writing about being a writer - as much of this is, directly or indirectly - fills me with joy in the act and its possibilities.
I attack the new shiny hardback, pen in hand. I'll mark the best bits (sorry, yes, I'm someone who does this). Fifty pages in, I've marked only one sentence. Not because little is outstanding. Because all of it is.
4 comments:
Yup. That's my London :-)
You're making the Pamuk sound utterly irresistible. For someone who doesn't actually read anything the list of things I find myself *wanting* to read is getting alarmingly long.
I agree with rr .... very london.
What's with the clock and the deer ... christmas is coming soon maybe?
Jean, I love your new blog and the things you are writing and photographing for it Lately with all my writing should-ness in my brain, I don't get to read many blogs - but yours I read every day!! Dear friend.
These are just beautiful. I am loving being taken along on your "looking" journeys; it feels to me like you're moving fast forward into exciting new territory.
Post a Comment