books – Page 17 – don't confuse the narrator

notes for a love story

Flyleaf dedication: to Grace with love from Arthur

In recent years, I’ve tended to do most of my reading while waiting in queues or while travelling. So far, I remain unconvinced by electronic ‘reading devices’, although having the complete works of Shakespeare on my phone does provide useful ‘comfort reading’ when waiting in the bank.

When flying, though, there’s altogether too much time when electronic devices have to be switched off; after all, if I can’t read during take off and landing, how am I supposed to distract myself? So I often read second-hand paperbacks that can simply be abandoned when finished.
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pause to regroup

Well I knew I wouldn’t be able to write a poem a day through April, and I didn’t promise even a daily blog post, but it was never my intention to go three weeks without writing anything.

I’ve noticed, though, that I get far more ideas for writing when I have other things I should be doing.

Recently one of the big projects I’ve been working on for the last few years came to a stop, which means that all of a sudden I am no longer obliged to sit in front of the computer for several hours every single day whether I want to or not.

Looked at positively, this should provide an opportunity to catch up with all my own writing projects, but that isn’t the way it’s turned out so far.
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the root of the problem

As I mentioned in seeing for yourself, I’m dipping into the works of Saki each time I take a coffee break.

This morning I chanced on the story Reginald’s Rubaiyat, which begins:
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seeing for yourself

As I’ve said before on the blog (of pigs and poetry), I’ve had in mind for years now to write a poem about la matanza, but have never actually witnessed a pig slaughter. I’d just about psyched myself up to do so this year, but when the time came, the neighbour and his helpers only hobbled the pigs with ropes and then drove them away squealing.

Even this tile – given me recently by a fellow poet who hoped, I think, that it would inspire me to finish the piece I took in to the writers’ group for commentary back in December – isn’t a lot of help as it doesn’t seem to show the actual killing.

I was reminded of the fact I was prepared to witness a slaughter in order to be able to write about it when I was reading during my coffee break this morning.
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not enough poetry

There’s definitely not enough poetry on this blog recently.

This morning, while walking back from the village, I heard something scuttle across the road and turned to look, only to find it was just a dry leaf blown by the wind, not an interesting small creature that would inspire me to write something new.

Then again, the scampering noise and the slight incongruity reminded me of the white mice in this piece, which dates all the way back to the year 2000:
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