The busy mind, never at rest. Informed by the Guardian (here) that Eeyore turns 140 today, I reread some of the quotes they attribute to that immortal donkey for the first time since childhood, and now, with the wisdom of experience, I realize with blazing clarity that Eeyore was an
Tag: writing
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Hmm, so publishers finally catch up with Foyle’s, do they? A million years ago, when I was a slip of a gel — well, in the 1980s, maybe even the 1990s — Foyle’s bookshop used to shelve its books, not by subject, nor by genre, nor even by colour of
Over the weekend, the novelist Richard Ford wrote a piece on the vocabulary of what he does (here). I use this circuitous phrase because he isn’t sure that what he does is work. It’s an interesting, if somewhat odd piece, in that such a nuanced writer seems to not notice
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