Sunday, 25 November 2007
Full colour, November
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.