My creative impulse has been flat out lately.  I am bursting with ideas.  More than I can develop at once.  I have notebooks of notes and dot points to remind me of where I want to be going with my writing.  I have half written drafts in various stages of readiness.  I have been practising dialogue and narrative.  Now I need to go back to fundamentals.  I need to find and establish my Voice.

The great RAH, probably quoting someone else, said there is one thing you must do every day if you wish to be a writer:  Write.  So I have been trying to do that.

But there is one other thing one must do if one wishes to be a writer:   Read.

Someone else very clever said that.  Not me.

I am shocked when I realise that it is at least 6 months since I read a book.

Since abandoning my library in NZ I kind of lost heart, and the reading petered out. It was exacerbated by finding that my reading glasses make my eyes tired.   I need to use my reading muscles again, before I really get down to flexing my writing muscles.   I need to read some good turns of phrase in order to turn out some good readable phrases of my own.

I have a small pile of unread books waiting.

About Uisce úr

Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands, I will find out where she has gone, And kiss her lips and take her hands; And walk among long dappled grass, And pluck till time and times are done, The silver apples of the moon, The golden apples of the sun.
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