The shame of Pachinko

When I was reading Pachinko, by Min Jin Lee, it was such a totally absorbing book that as I went about my own domestic tasks every day, I could picture these poor women in 1920s Korea, running their households with nothing, and trying to make every little grain of barley matter. In the later parts... Continue Reading →

More procrastination

I don't really write much any more. This is partly due to not seeing the point in publishing stuff that no one will read, and partly because two small children remove most of my brain. I'm sure they get up in the night and suck all my ideas out with a straw. Anyway, my husband seems to... Continue Reading →

Giving up

It is hard to believe in anything, particularly oneself, at the best of times. The more life progresses, the more it seems a succession of minor disappointments, which are a natural part of growing up and realising that I won't get to go on a bouncy castle every afternoon. Sometimes, it seems as if that... Continue Reading →

Human nature

I am currently reading a novel about a dystopian future in which the world has been destroyed in some sort of holocaust, and all the survivors live in a collection of huge underground bunkers near Atlanta. As with all science fiction, it is about the dynamics of human interaction in a hostile environment. I was... Continue Reading →

Fred

I wrote a rather strange story for a writing course back in 2009. Any comments most welcome.   The rosemary was looking a bit peaky. It usually survived the frequent episodes of drought quite well, but recently the spiny leaves had turned quite brown. Delilah took the small white watering can off the round iron... Continue Reading →

What should my novel be about?

My husband has been badgering me to write something more comprehensive, and fictional, than my blog. Of course, being an arts graduate, I would very much like to write a book. In 2010, I enrolled in a creative writing course, to see whether maybe there was some sort of golden rule of writing I could... Continue Reading →

On the mild disappointment of getting older

In November, I read an article in the Times written by Walter James, who turned 100 last year. It was entitled, "I remember love, just not how it feels". It was a beautifully written and poignant article, about both the practical hazards of a frail body, and the decline of sensibility that old age brings with... Continue Reading →

The ballerina Marianela Nunez was in Trevor Sorbie this morning, having her nails done. First, I saw a bright pink trainer walk past me; it barely seemed to touch the ground, moving along on springs, rather like people do in Nike ads. The way she walked, and her absolutely emaciated frame, made it very obvious she... Continue Reading →

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