Lost in a book

Forgive me reader, for I have not blogged. Recently I've felt I've needed some non-screen time. Spending all day and all night in front of a computer can make you yearn for the yellowed page. So I spent yesterday curled up under a blanket, lost in a book. This used to be one of my favourite things to do; still is in fact, but funny how reading gets shoved to the bottom of the list these days. But yesterday I threw that to-do list out the window and immersed myself in another world. I was reading Anne Tyler's Digging to America, that I picked up for 99p at Oxfam.  An easy, almost comforting read full of colourful characters, families, noise -  I read it all in one sitting. 

Do you find that the more you write and the more you try to squeeze in the less you read? When was the last time you let yourself get lost in a book?

A conversation over fish and chips

Him: So when are you going to write a book?

Me: Well I've started lots. But at the moment I'm trying to concentrate on shorter things, you know, short stories, articles, so I can get published and get some work behind me. 

Him: But when are you going to write an actual book?

Me: I will one day. 

Him: I might write a book. That would be good, wouldn't it. I'll just sit down and write one.

Does anyone else ever have conversations like these?  He does it to wind me up, surely.

Three things I have loved today

1. A man who knows how to make perfect poached eggs.

2. This sweet red felt heart, handstitched by 7 year old Colette. 

3. A playful cat, rolling in the sunshine. 

Happy Valentines Day! What things have you loved today?

Settling

I went to see Revolutionary Road today. I was prepared for it to be hard hitting,  and it is, but at the same time it is powerful and honest and will make you squirm in recognition. The part that resonated with me was how important it is to have an outlet for your creativity, something you do not for the money, but because you love to do it. The film is the story of what happens when you ignore your creative passions, make excuses, and settle.

It reminded me of a piece I read in 'Women who run with the wolves' the other night:

'Excuses are another form of pollution. From women writers, painters, dancers, and other artists, I have heard every excuse concocted since the earth cooled. "Oh, I'll get round to it one of these days." In the meantime, she has the grinning depression. "I keep busy, yes I squeeze in my writing here and there, why I wrote two poems last year, yes, and finished one painting and part of another over the last eighteen months, yes, the house, the kids, the husband, the boyfriend, the cat, the toddler, need my consummate attention. I am going to get around to it, I don't have the time, I can't find the time, I can't make the time, I can't start until I have the finest most expensive instruments or experiences, I just don't feel like it right now, the mood is not right yet. I just ned at least a day's worth of time, I just need to have a few days' time to get it done,  I just need to have a few weeks of time to myself to get it done, I just, just, just..."

What excuses do you make to yourself and how do you overcome them?

P.S On a lighter note, Kate Winslet gets to wear some great 50s outfits. 

A page of snow

Overnight, the snow fell thick and silent. We were woken early by a cat miaowing at her familiar world transformed by a strange white blanket. 

I sat in the dark kitchen, sipping tea and listening to tales of closed roads and four hour journeys to work on the radio. All the trains and buses cancelled. The only taxi driver to be found was from Afghanistan, used to driving in snow drifts.

Realising I wouldn't be able to get into work I sat down at my computer to check my emails. But I was too tempted - I had to get out before the world woke up. I crept out just after 7 into a muffled white world. It was so quiet you could hear the beat of the starlings' wings as they flocked overhead. A couple of determined people waited at the bus stop for a bus that would surely never come. I tramped slowly down to the seafront, crunching virgin snow underfoot. A man was building an igloo with an ice cream carton and further down the beach, someone was skiing. A few people wandered around with dazed smiles on their faces, some taking pictures. I followed a man filming silently on his video camera.

The snow on the beach was untouched. It started to get lighter. On the way home, a girl danced in the street singing 'I don't have to go to scho-ol, I don't have to go to scho-ol.' A woman glared as she scraped snow off her car. The snow began to fall again.

I sit at my desk, watching a cat watching the whirling snowflakes.