What have I learnt through another year in northern Italy, trying to write my way out of a wet paper bag?
That I love getting up before dawn. I like the blankness, the unwritten quality, the last coursing of the night between trees in the yard. The way stars fade or the moon delivers its final beams. I like having a clean mind, breathing in cold air.
|photo:Paul McVeigh/Word Factory|
That there is a God. This higher entity encouraged my current favourite writer to walk through the bookshop door at my reading in Soho last Saturday night. This higher entity allowed the tongue in my head to move and speak words in English.
That a writer should go home and write. Ha! you laugh. She didn't know that? Oh I've heard it bandied about many times. Writers write. Builders build. Musicians perform. But I wasn't connecting the dots. I was writing - yeah - but I wasn't putting up a brick walled fence between my writing time and my social media time. Things were getting mushy. Lately, they are not.
That most of our problems are very minor.
Let me know what you think you have learnt this year. Are we taking ourselves too seriously here? No chance.
MERRY FESTIVITIES AND DON'T DRINK AND DRIVE
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