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Showing posts from October, 2012

Bits n drabs

So, it's been a little while. The day job can be all consuming. That doesn't mean that I'm not writing though - I felt satisfied with what I managed to get done over the weekend. And despite my time being seriously limited, I'm actually writing more slowly on the work-in-progress. I watched a documentary the other night on Edna O'Brien. She said that she thinks a book will take her two years to write - but it's more like four! And that made me feel less anxious about my current pace.

I am also reading in bits and drabs; fits n starts. There was a great story in the last issue of the New Yorker: The Simplica Girl Diaries by George Saunders.

The current issue of the LRB features yet another poem by August Kleinzahler. I don't like his work. And every time I see his name I sigh. Sorry, August, your work is just lost on me and it elicits no emotional response.

I can't say there are any books around that I feel I must be reading either. I've never bee…

Blogacy - for my nephews and niece(s)

I have sometimes wondered what will remain of me in the memories of my nephews and niece (and another on the way, courtesy of my sister). The aunt who lived in London who sent us books, and every time she visited, or we visited her, took us to a museum or a gallery - and always banged on about learning. And politics. That one.

I have sometimes felt it would be nice to write a little book for them, charting their family tree from the Webb side (and the maternal side of course). But then I realised, they may have this blog; this will be my blogacy!

To them, I bequeath my web words.

Regarding books. Read Orwell.

Start with Animal Farm then move onto Down and out in Paris and London.

Or not.

Try Jack London's The Star Rover, especially if you ever find yourself in prison.

If you need identification for how you feel, or if you're going through a hard time, faced with homelessness, destitution, despair, divorce, death or just plain old alcoholism - pick up a good novel - if you don&#…

And Henson

I've been trying to ward off a cold. I knew it was inevitable when people in the office began sneezing one after the other. I bought First Defence, but I still got it. And I've been supping echinacea, for what good it does. I ended up leaving work a little early today, feeling somewhat dazed and a bit faint. Unable to face the bus from Ealing Common I ended up walking the three or so miles home, telling myself that it was doing me good. I had a quick peek in at Gunnersbury Park, an expanse of unspoilt autumnal greenery with dashes of brown to mark the strewn conkers. A solitary jogger doggedly dragged his curving frame around a never ending lap. I must venture in for a cycle.

I'm in a fallow reading period after my little glut of The Lighthouse, The Twin and Nightwoods. I've not yet returned to Canada; unable to face yet more of the same. It needs a hefty cull of the old verbiage. Opened beside me is the Granta Book of the Irish Short Story. I also opened the member…