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| Hiding from the ghosts |
I just read the most wonderful thing about Dorothy Parker, which is that her mother was Scottish and her father was Jewish. What an odd combination. One parent born in a country and the other in a religion. Isn't that a curious notion? Also, I wonder if that is why she is a spectacularly bad poet? Except I suspect that is just cruel for she wasn't really a poet but a writer who versified occasionally and some fool published a lot of it. But I guess that happens everywhere, there really is some spectacularly bad writing published - I have just read such a novel, whose title I will not repeat but it has snowdrops in it and it was also shortlisted for the Costa Prize - sigh. But I am now thinking about writing again and come April I will begin. The trouble is, since I have spent so long on academic books I have a notebook of too many ideas. And such a notebook is a heavy burden to carry around because the 'where-to-begin-ghost' lurks within, scribbled in the margins, leaking out of the unwritten, uttering the unsaid words that haunt the shadows. Sigh, where to begin when the beginning is obscured by clutter.
Working in the soul mine,
walking in the sunshine,
taking in the night time,
flying 'cross the timeline,
soul mining...
Bring on your wrecking ball:
