Writing- or not writing- or trying to write
I seem to be passing through all three of the title’s stages! It’s dizzying, perplexing, and all over the place! And I don’t blame the baby which is not here yet, but is absolutely here, all the time and whom I love to absolute smithereens! Even writing in the diary doesn’t go uninterrupted- ‘ooh what was that?!’ A distraction is what it was- a leaf blowing in the wind, a flock of parakeets shooting across the reddening sky, the young ‘clubber’ postman passing by who carelessly lets his mail cart go and nearly swings into a parked car. My writing task at
Snippets of life
I still haven’t had a chance to put together a post of our Sussex holiday in September, I seem to be lagging in everything! Is this what people refer to as baby brain? I’d like to believe that I’ve held onto all my faculties which include clear thinking and not drooling when a nap suddenly knocks me off my feet- errrrrm well maybe I’m not actually fully in charge of what’s going on with my body! And maybe I do have baby brain as every second thought is of the baby- well it’s a bit difficult when you are writing
Hello Autumn
Autumn has at last tapped us on the shoulder and asked us to take notice. And how can one not notice!? The drop in temperature has replaced that stifling heat we had for a while with its crispness. The crunch beneath our feet as we walk mesmerised in a new world of gold and orange. I do love Autumn! My mother asked me today which season I preferred to which I said, ‘I greet each season with excitement and enjoy each one for what it is…as long as they don’t drag out.’ On our walk this morning, I pointed out
Walking. Lots of walking.
Gosh I love the outdoors, and walking, lots of it to the point where my leg muscles feel like solid blocks. When I walk the dog, I fall into a rhythm as I follow the park’s overgrown track, brushing against blackberry bushes and treading carefully around mud pits that have been churned by horse hoofs and joggers. A breeze brushes through the narrow path, tickling the hairs on my neck. In the summer, I am shrouded by nature, thanking the tall trees for their thick foliage which hide me from the sun (when we’ve had it). Being pregnant in the heat
WRITING FOR #AMWRITING- WHY I REVIEW BOOKS
I’m was so humbled when Johanna Harness asked me to do a blog post for #amwriting, and it’s up today . It’s all about why I chose to review books of all things.
Sussex; a year on
I was meant to write this post a month or so ago, but you know how life is; it swallows you and takes over once more, but here it is. A few pics from Sussex; where Mr C and I cycled for miles along the Cuckoo trail and through sweet welcoming towns between Hailsham and Pevensey Bay. We walked, talked, laughed, smiled, cooked and planned. It was our first year wedding anniversary (Sussex last yr) and we were just as thankful, maybe even more so as Mr C took me once more on my yearly homage to Virginia Woolf’s Monk’s house, this
Did London kill Sheila Fell ?
One must embrace Woman’s Hour on Radio 4, sometimes it’s downright interestimg, sometimes….not so. But today, my ears perked up as soon as I heard the name Sheila Fell; a Cumberland artist who painted her home surroundings with a great passion. It was unfortunate, but it seems that when she eventually became known and moved to London, she missed her home. She turned to drink and died tragically. In the spirit of not being a fan of London at the moment I deduced that it was London that killed her! Well there, I’ve said it! Moving away from such dramatic
Are you sure you can carry those books back?
“Lets go to this Charity shop,” Mr Cranmer beckoned, “Very well, I replied,” and followed him in. “I found something,” I hold up my book. “It’s big,” he looks at my book, he’s holding a small Agatha Christie “Don’t worry, I’ll carry it,” I ignore the fact that we have to cycle back, he’s already going to have to carry my bag of rocks and pebbles that I had brought back from the seaside at Eastbourne along with 2 pairs of my shoes and two mobiles made out of rock and sea shells. 10 bookshops or so later…… I have
Writers’ Room
Writers’ Room: Zehra Mustafa (published in “Avrupa” newspaper) What does it mean to me a writer? To be the person who sits for many hours in a trusty chair, at an oak table pressed up against a wall or looking out on a busy street, or a canopy of trees, hoping that their blood, sweat and hours of solitude may be reduced to those pages that we so love to read. Interest has always been placed on the way in which an artist or writer lives, the Guardian back in 2007 did a long series on the Writers’ room which
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