Pickling walnuts. Imagine a slab of sourdough, some fruit chutney (maybe apple and almond or fig and onion) some delicious aged cheddar that bites one’s tongue and pickled walnuts on the top. A thing of joy!
I’m a very slow reader of fiction.
Partly because I spend a great deal of time reading non-fiction for research. For time off, I either embroider or tumble into bed exhausted at night and manage just 3-4 pages of the fiction novel I might be reading.
I haven’t counted the books I’ve read this year and will just list those in my library which appealed the most to me as a reader and writer. I’m not a believer in listing books which have not been what I had hoped or which I was unable to finish. I think it’s unfair to the author who may well by liked by many other readers and who has a brand and who has worked hard to pull off a good novel. Reading ‘likes’ are completely subjective and so below is my very subjective list…
In a recent interview, I was asked whether I visited the sites in my stories. Living in Australia, I’m many air-miles from the sites about which I write, and the cost of visiting those places annually would send me into debit rather than credit with my friendly financial institution.
What to do?
My latest guest was born of academia, wanted to be a cat burglar, got high through the seventies (one is desperate to ask was it good?) hates diets but has never ever had a surfeit of life and in addition writes killingly observant blogs on the world of writing. Not only that, her latest book, Food Of Love, is amongst other things an homage to chocolate.
My guest today, Stuart Aken, says that he was born against the odds to a widowed mother in a neighbour’s bed. Then raised in a number of homes by an artist mother who knew what love meant and a step-father who lacked imagination but made up for it with affection and education in things natural. Stuart maintains he wrote all the wrong things for a lifetime until he learned who he was and I thought that apart from the initial burst into the world, all we writers have done exactly that: written all the wrong things until we ‘grew up’. Stuart welcome,
Today’s instalment is part of the new Twitter feature called #SampleSunday or #ss
Finnian stared at the waters of Veniche as they flowed around him like undulating threads of silk. Guilt pulled him in one direction, anger and revenge in another, indifference in another still. What is a Færan but one who has only self-interest at the heart of his life. I am no different. The sailor’s death shouldn’t matter. What do I care for a young boy destined for life without a father. I managed.