This latest addition to my published list is a rather cryptic, enigmatic little non-fiction book called The Pillowbook of Prudence.
A million miles from what I usually write.
On this 23rd day of August, one thinks on truths…
One of the things I love about being a writer and engaging with people online, is that one meets others and hears about their lives. I’m in awe about many who write wonderful novels whilst caring for little children, or for loved ones who might be housebound, or who work fulltime in another job, or who live in the country, the mountains, by the sea. In America, Canada, the UK, Italy, Germany, Scandinavia, Africa. Even Australia.
Inspired by The Pillowbook of Sei Shonagon.
Things that I hate:
Living in the city. Traffic lights and lines of traffic. Tarmac paths. Crowds. Being away from the city in a quiet village and finding that some selfish little 20-something has decided to have a party with boom-boom music which he feels obliged to have at full volume. No doubt he is from the city and is returning to the city on Sunday. I wanted so much to have the peace of wind, waves and nightbirds this evening. (Perhaps it will rain, driving the Spoilers and Soilers inside.) Realising its getting a little chilly to wear red shorts. The smell of garlic the next day. Autumn leaves. Missing my husband. Having no daylight saving. Having to go back to the city tomorrow and leaving House. Black clothing.
Things that make one’s heart beat faster: Winter trees silhouetted on ‘Camden’ hill against a clear azure sky. Her Excellency the Governor General’s beautiful daffodil yellow suit with a purple flower pinned to the shoulder. The shorn sheep lying in winter sunshine, faces turned to a sunbeam. Me standing at the door of the shearing shed, face turned to a sunbeam. Today’s frost in first light – a comparison with diamonds and white gold filigree is not idle. A kookaburra’s call at ‘cut-out’, almost like a finishing bell. The pressed wool in bales, lined up like soldiers. The AAA stencil in black.
The smell of berry slice. A letter folding in the right way so that it slips into its envelope as if they were lovers. The smell of fresh laundry as it is folded. Crisp cotton sheets. Autumn lasting until Spring. The ocean. The sound of waves. The squeak of white sand when walked across. Views of land and sea that take one’s breath away. Bright red leaves like slashes of blood on blueberry bushes.