Many many years ago, I had a terrible, horrible experience. read an article about the morning pages from The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron.
It’s conflicting to see the amount of hustle involved in modern publication, whether traditional or self-published.
My views of writing are continuously changing. I began writing, after many many years as an avid reader, in an attempt to express myself freely as I adapted to a new culture, new language, new marriage, new country.
Musings about all aspects of social media and websites from access to ownership, scrolling to mindful use
So having set up my wonderful efficient productivity app, what happened next? Things got busy of course, with kids requiring ferrying to and from school exams, and changes to my work schedule and life in general. And when I finally had time to look up, I realised that my motivation had disappeared. Looking at all the neat little plans was like looking at something written by a stranger. Overall, my target hadn’t changed, what I’d set up was still there Click for more
I have a habit of making lists on pieces of paper, or under notes for other things. Then I lose track of what lists or notes refer to what
A few weeks ago, someone made a comment about how emails were the bane of their lives. I have to admit I smiled smugly to myself.
All of this emphasises the importance of infrastructure and laying it before you have to dig it all up multiple times. At the moment I’m trying to lay my own infrastructure for a stable writing practice and for my current project. One of the things I need to do is set up a website or two, and plan some writing.
Books are a large part of my life: that may be an understatement. I’ve lost myself in them, found myself in them and traveled to places I could never go in reality. Describing myself in seven books was never going to be possible, so I settled for going through my shelves for books that made deep impressions on me. It wasn’t easy to do, there’s quite a few books to choose from so I limited myself to physical books and Click for more
Ebru dragged the shopping trolley over the paving stones and through the entrance into the market. Spring was just around the corner judging by the fruit tree saplings. She walked through the crowds, looking left and right at the piles of fruit and vegetables on low trestles on either side of the passage. Spring had not arrived to the stalls yet judging by the predominance of spinach and cabbage. Winding a path through the market she stopped in front of Click for more