Back in the Saddle
One sweet soul wrote people like me made him want to kill himself. I refrained from replying that I was not inclined to stand in his way. I refrained from replying to any of the comments. But yeah, they chinked my confidence.
One sweet soul wrote people like me made him want to kill himself. I refrained from replying that I was not inclined to stand in his way. I refrained from replying to any of the comments. But yeah, they chinked my confidence.
And in a heartbeat, reading had morphed from being a solely leisure activity into a necessity.
While we’re all still intact, we have to make the very most of it. And live each day to the full. And say I love you to those who matter while we can.
I liked the novelty of not knowing. Liked the adventure of turning those first few pages to see what time and setting we were in. Discovering the style of the writer and, gradually, the genre of the book. The premise, the theme.
One little girl had won her trip in a competition. Her tattered library card is among the artefacts.
As I sat in Starbucks drafting this blog — on paper with pen in hand — and contemplating our migration from graphite to graphics, I did wonder whether any other generation will ever experience as many different kinds of writing implement as we have.