I'm sat in a caravan in Wales; halfway between Cricceith and Pwllheli, surrounded by stunning scenery. I got here on Monday and, with the exception of this morning, the weather has been good.
But, as I was saying ... typing ... I've been reading, Doctor Sleep to be precise, Stephen King's latest book. King was the first adult author I ever read. He seems on good form in this latest story.
Taking a break from reading, I remembered that I used to enjoy writing as much as I enjoy reading. And then I remembered this blogger page, something I haven't updated in three years.
So, here I am. Writing. Rambling. I remember my English Lit teacher calling it "stream of conscience" or something.
The last few years I've kidded myself that I don't have the time to read or write as much as I like, if at all. I suppose it would be more accurate to say I've been lying to myself.
So, here I am. Contemplating. Considering a promise. Not to you, but to myself. I'm going to start writing more. Whether anybody reads it or not, doesn't matter to me.
It's kind of like ... therapy.
3 comments:
Well, let us see if you keep your promise...
Me too
I'm a little late but I'm trying
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