“Had he and I but met By some old ancient inn, We should have sat us down to wet Right many a nipperkin! “But ranged as infantry, And staring face to face, I shot at him as he at me, And killed him in his place.
Prompted by Jenn Ashworth ‘s lively and expansive talk at Horwich’ s Thyme Coffee Shop, (hosted by the Thyme to Read Book Group), I downloaded Ashworth’s most recent novel Fell, onto my kindle. On this first time reading, although I was acutely aware of the ins
Our brains ache, in the merciless iced east winds that knive us . . . Wearied we keep awake because the night is silent . . . Low drooping flares confuse our memory of the salient . . . Worried by silence, sentries whisper, curious, nervous, But nothing happens. Watching,
Writing at speed is great fun as ‘one’ never knows what might happen or come out of your keyboard or pen. It is also freeing as you don’t have time to censor or edit your writing which often hampers the flow even before your story takes place. Writing begets writing.
Here’s a devastating example of character assassination by DH Lawrence ! It is somewhat suggestive of the playful opening to Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, but without the irony which defines Austen’s writing. In Lawrence the concerns are explicitly desperate a
If the past is a ‘foreign country’ and we do things ‘differently there’ ( L.P.Hartley) then reading this old piece about young George and his pen confirmed It! For even after three years ‘George’ seemed a stranger to me and yet I found his need to
Mercy is rarely mentioned in today’s feverishly hyperbolic world of media sound bites and distorting news copy. It is not noisy enough for editors who assume their readers are perpetually connected to outrage. Yet here is one of the most resonant speeches ever written and even
Home is where one starts from. As we grow older The world becomes stranger, the pattern more complicated Of dead and living. Not the intense moment Isolated, with no before and after, But a lifetime burning in every moment And not the lifetime of one man only But of old stones that ca
Susan Hill’s The Woman in Black puzzles me. You will know that is a novel designed to scare you and that the ghost of the woman in black is capable of murderous cruelty-little wonder you may say that the last line of the novel is just a single word: ‘enough’ ironical