I have taken some time off to clear the mind a bit and have undertaken a round of writing reviews of other peoples works. It is a very stimulating exercise which I recommend if you have never tried it. I wonder sometimes how some people can live with the obvious despair they must have in their hearts, I could never bring myself to construct some of the bleak stories I have read. Where, I wonder, has all the reckless joy of living gone? Well that aside, I have to say there are some very good writers out there and it is a great pity that in this world of mass publishing opportunities the vast majority will just never get selected to be read from among the myriad of works offered for sale. So I do my little bit to help, reviews being the life blood of book publishing in this age.
Another of my zen like activities has been to catch up with my painting, which I have sadly neglected these last few years. A dear friend is lucky enough to have wonderfully luminous studio in a village close by and I have the good fortune to be able to go there whenever I want to dabble away. I have been sloshing of a goodly amount of the jolly old acrylic and am showing signs of getting back a bit of the old skills. I find that some maturity, in the chronological meaning of the word, not the character development you understand, has given me a greater interest in the human form and movement. Principally that of the female, I will admit. This is another exercise I recommend for clearing some of the accumulated rubbish from the cranium, the sheer frustration of trying to express yourself on canvas leaves no room for useless regurgitation of unresolved problems.
I am in danger of sitting cross legged and humming in a monotone with my finger tips pressed together. Excepting the knee joints will no longer allow such stupidity.
Guess what I find I am writing again as well, how will I fit it all in?