Reflections of a working writer and reader
As I sit at my table, for days, months, years, slowly adding words to empty pages, I feel as if I were bringing into being that other person inside me, in the same way that one might build a bridge or a dome, stone by stone. As we hold words in our hands, like stones, sensing the ways in which each is connected to the others, looking at them sometimes from afar, sometimes from very close, caressing them with our fingers and the tips of our pens, weighing them, moving them around, year in and year out, patiently and hopefully, we create new worlds. Orhan Pamuk
i’m on a stationary train in the middle of a field en route to London to see Jessica Lange in The Glass Menagerie. We hit a flock of sheep, which were on the track and one of the diesel tanks was damaged and is leaking. Fingers crossed . . .
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The train hit a flock of sheep?
That sounds messy.
jb says: I’m not gonna describe it.
We were having a nice pleasant day wandering about when a great big metal monster came out of nowhere and ploughed into us. Some of us are sadly no more but at least we managed to injure the monster.
I’m sorry that you were delayed but even sorrier to hear about about the poor sheep.
Nice blog, by the way
jb says: Thank you, sir.